man," he added reflectively, after a pause, "have you ever
considered what a goodly company it will be? When you come to look at
it that way, it makes Death quite a trivial affair."

"I suppose it does to us while we're here," said Doggie. "We've seen
such a lot of it. But to those who haven't--my poor Peggy--it's the
end of her universe."

Yes, it was all very well to take death philosophically, or
fatalistically, or callously, or whatever you liked to call it, out
there, where such an attitude was the only stand against raving
madness; but at home, beneath the grey mass of the cathedral, folks
met Death as a strange and cruel horror. The new glory of life that
Peggy had found, he had blackened out in an instant. Doggie looked
again at the old man's letter--his handwriting was growing shaky--and
forgot for a while the familiar things around him, and lived with
Peggy in her sorrow.

* * * * *

Then, as far as Doggie's sorely tried division was affected, came the
end of the great autumn fighting. He found himself well behind the
lines in reserve, and so continued during the cold dreary winter months.
And the more the weeks that crept by and the more remote seemed
Jeanne, the more Doggie hungered for the sight of her. But all this
period of his life was but a dun-coloured monotony, with but few
happenings to distinguish week from week. Most of the company that had
marched with him into Frelus were dead or wounded. Nearly all the
officers had gone. Captain Willoughby, who had interrogated Jeanne with
regard to the restored packet, and, on Doggie's return, had informed
him with a friendly smile that they were a damned sight too busy then
to worry about defaulters of the likes of him, but that he was going
to be court-martialled and shot as soon as peace was declared, when
they would have time to think of serious matters--Captain Willoughby
had gone to Blighty with a leg so mauled that never would he command
again a company in the field. Sergeant Ballinghall, who had taught
Doggie to use his fists, had retired, minus a hand, into civil life. A
scientific and sporting helper at Roehampton, he informed Doggie by
letter, was busily engaged on the invention of a boxing-glove which
would enable him to carry on his pugilistic career. "So, in future
times," said he, "if any of your friends among the nobility and gentry
want lessons in the noble art, don't forget your old friend
Ballinghall." Whe