as somewhat
vulgar. Conservative by caste, he had once, when the opportunity was
almost forced on him, voted for the Conservative candidate of the
constituency. European politics on the grand scale did not arouse his
interest at all. England, save as the wise Mentor, had nothing to do
with them. Still, if Russia fought, France would have to join her
ally. It was not till he went to the Deanery that he began to
contemplate the possibility of a general European war. For the next
day or two he read his newspapers very carefully.

On Saturday, the 1st of August, Oliver suddenly reappeared, proposing
to stay over the Bank Holiday. He brought news and rumours of war from
the great city. He had found money very tight, Capital with a big C
impossible to obtain. Every one told him to come back when the present
European cloud had blown over. In the opinion of the judicious, it
would not blow over. There was going to be war, and England could not
stay out of it. The Sunday morning papers confirmed all he said.
Germany had declared war on Russia. France was involved. Would Great
Britain come in, or for ever lose her honour?

That warm beautiful Sunday afternoon they sat on the peaceful lawn
under the shadow of the great cathedral. Burford brought out the
tea-tray and Mrs. Conover poured out tea. Sir Archibald and Lady Bruce
and their daughter Dorothy were there. Doggie, impeccable in dark
purple. Nothing clouded the centuries-old serenity of the place. Yet
they asked the question that was asked on every quiet lawn, every
little scrap of shaded garden throughout the land that day: Would
England go to war?

And if she came in, as come in she must, what would be the result? All
had premonitions of strange shifting of destinies. As it was yesterday
so it was to-day in that gracious shrine of immutability. But every
one knew in his heart that as it was to-day so would it not be
to-morrow. The very word "war" seemed as out of place as the
suggestion of Hell in Paradise. Yet the throb of the War Drum came
over the broad land of France and over the sea and half over England,
and its echo fell upon the Deanery garden, flung by the flying
buttresses and piers and towers of the grey cathedral.

* * * * *

On the morning of Wednesday, the 5th of August, it thundered all over
the Close. The ultimatum to Germany as to Belgium had expired the
night before. We were at war.

"Thank God," said the Dean at break