ss slaves in this country did, one day, combine and refuse to be
bled by every other class? We're bled by the people on top for their
own advantage; and then we're bled again for the advantage of the dear
workman. . . ." She laughed a little. "Forgive me talking so much;
but not for Jack, thank you."

Vane bowed. "Mrs. Vernon, I think you're perfectly right--and I wish
you and him the very best of luck." He shook hands gravely and a few
moments later he was walking back towards the station with Binks
trotting sedately at his heels. In all probability he would never see
Mrs. Vernon again; war and its aftermath had brought their paths
together for a space, and now they were diverging again. But that
short space had been enough to make him feel ashamed and proud.
Ashamed of himself for his cynicism and irritability; proud of the
woman who, with her faith clear and steadfast, could face the future
without faltering. Her man's job had been laid upon her; she would
never fail him till the time came for her to join him. . . . And by
then she would have earned her reward--rest. . . . She will deserve
every moment of it. . . . Surely the Lord of True Values will not
grudge it to her. . . .

And though he had said nothing to her of his thoughts--men when deeply
moved are so hopelessly inarticulate--somehow he wished going up in the
train that he had. Falteringly, crudely, he might have said something,
which would have helped her. If only a man had the power of expressing
sympathy without words. He needn't have worried, had he known . . .
and Binks, who was looking out of the window with interest, could not
tell him. Anyway, it was not anything to make a song or dance
about--putting a cold wet nose into a hand that hung down from a chair,
and letting it rest there--just for a while. . . . But it was not the
first time, and it will not be the last, that the Peace that passeth
all understanding has been brought to the human heart by the touch of a
dog. . . . Binks had justified his inclusion in the trip. . . .

CHAPTER VII

The days that followed passed pleasantly enough. Gradually the
jaundice was disappearing, and Vane was becoming normal again. The war
seemed very far away from Rumfold; though occasionally a newcomer
brought some bit of intimate gossip about Crucifix Alley or Hell Fire
Corner, or one of the little places not shown on any map, which mean so
much more to the actual fighting man than al