nly this fearsome job of
waiting. I hardly ever feel cold, but now my blood seemed to be getting
thin, and I astonished my staff by putting on a British warm and
buttoning up the collar. Round that derelict farm I ranged like a
hungry wolf, cold at the feet, queasy in the stomach, and mortally edgy
in the mind.

Then suddenly the cloud lifted from me, and the blood seemed to run
naturally in my veins. I experienced the change of mood which a man
feels sometimes when his whole being is fined down and clarified by
long endurance. The fight of yesterday revealed itself as something
rather splendid. What risks we had run and how gallantly we had met
them! My heart warmed as I thought of that old division of mine, those
ragged veterans that were never beaten as long as breath was left them.
And the Americans and the boys from the machine-gun school and all the
oddments we had commandeered! And old Blenkiron raging like a
good-tempered lion! It was against reason that such fortitude shouldn't
win out. We had snarled round and bitten the Boche so badly that he
wanted no more for a little. He would come again, but presently we
should be relieved and the gallant blue-coats, fresh as paint and
burning for revenge, would be there to worry him.

I had no new facts on which to base my optimism, only a changed point
of view. And with it came a recollection of other things. Wake's death
had left me numb before, but now the thought of it gave me a sharp
pang. He was the first of our little confederacy to go. But what an
ending he had made, and how happy he had been in that mad time when he
had come down from his pedestal and become one of the crowd! He had
found himself at the last, and who could grudge him such happiness? If
the best were to be taken, he would be chosen first, for he was a big
man, before whom I uncovered my head. The thought of him made me very
humble. I had never had his troubles to face, but he had come clean
through them, and reached a courage which was for ever beyond me. He
was the Faithful among us pilgrims, who had finished his journey before
the rest. Mary had foreseen it. 'There is a price to be paid,' she had
said--'the best of us.'

And at the thought of Mary a flight of warm and happy hopes seemed to
settle on my mind. I was looking again beyond the war to that peace
which she and I would some day inherit. I had a vision of a green
English landscape, with its far-flung scents of wood and meadow and
ga