er subaltern. The
bomb had burst at the foot of his bed . . . A cheery soul . . . A
bitter end . . .

Opposite, the bed blown in half, the boy who would not have lasted
through the night sprawled uncouthly on to the floor. God knows! a
merciful release. . . . A few hours sooner--that's all. . . . And to
both--Kismet.

All around lay fragments and debris. For a few seconds he stood there
motionless, while every now and then the canvas heaved where it lay on
the ground, and someone crawled out into the open. Then he felt a
touch on his arm, and, turning, he saw Margaret. Dry-eyed, she watched
with him, while the wounded dragged themselves painfully past the still
smoking crater, and the acrid smell of high explosive tainted the air.

In the far distance the drone of aeroplanes was getting fainter and
fainter. Success had crowned the raider's daring exploit; they were
entitled to their well-earned rest. And so for a space did Vane and
Margaret stand. . . . It was only when very gently he slipped his arm
round her waist that a hard dry sob shook her.

"Oh! the devils," she whispered--"the vile devils."

CHAPTER III

The following afternoon Vane turned his steps once again towards the
beach at Paris Plage. The wreckage in the hospital had been cleared
away, and there were rows laid side by side in the mortuary. Over
everyone there breathed a sense of restless excitement and fierce
anger, and Vane wanted to get away by himself. He felt that he had to
think.

For suddenly and quite unexpectedly Margaret Trent had become a factor
in his life. After long years their paths had touched again, and Vane
found that he could not turn away with the same careless indifference
as he had in the past. Though she had always attracted him, he had
never seriously contemplated the final step; he had had far too good a
time as a bachelor. And then when she had so unaccountably cooled
towards him, he had shrugged his shoulders and sought distraction
elsewhere.

Before the war Derek Vane had been what is generally described as a
typical Englishman. That is to say, he regarded his own
country--whenever he thought about it at all--as being the supreme
country in the world. He didn't force his opinion down anyone's
throat; it simply was so. If the other fellow didn't agree, the
funeral was his, not Vane's. He had to the full what the uninitiated
regard as conceit; on matters connected with literature, or art, o