e who leads us,
Honour's self now proudly leads us,
Freedom! God and Right!
Loose the folds asunder!
Flag we conquer under!
Death is glory now."

The words were splendidly sung and the room was filled with patriotic
fervour. Then the Bishop gave Ragnor and Thora a comforting look, as
he asked, "Who wrote that song, Ian?"

"Ah, sir, it was never written! It sprang from the heart of some old
Druid priest as he was urging on the Welsh to drive the Romans from
their country. It is two verses from 'The Song of the Men of
Harlech.'"

"In olden times, Ian, the bards went to the battlefield with the
soldiers. We ought to send our singers to the trenches. Ian, go and
sing to the men of England and of France 'The Song of the Men of
Harlech.' Your song will be stronger than your sword."

"I will sing it to my sword, sir. It will make it sharper." Then Rahal
said, "You are a brave boy, Ian," and Thora lifted her lovely face and
kissed him.

Every heart was uplifted, and the atmosphere of the room was sensitive
with that exalted feeling which finds no relief in speech. Humanity
soon reacts against such tension. There was a slight movement, every
one breathed heavily, like people awakening from sleep, and the Bishop
said in a slow, soft voice:

"I was thinking of Boris. After all, the dear lad may return to us.
Surgeons are very clever now, they can almost work miracles."

"Boris will not return," said Rahal.

"How can you know that, Rahal?"

"He told me so."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"On the afternoon of the eleventh of this month."

"How?"

"Well, Bishop, I was making the cap I am wearing and I was selecting
from some white roses on my lap the ones I thought best. Suddenly
Boris stood at my side."

"You saw him?"

"Yes, Bishop. I saw him plainly, though I do not remember lifting my
head."

"How did he look?"

"Like one who had just won a victory. He was much taller and grander
in appearance. Oh, he looked like one who had realized God's promise
that we should be satisfied. A kind of radiance was around him and the
air of a conquering soldier. And he was my boy still! He called me
'Mother,' he sent such a wonderful message to his father." And at the
last word, Ragnor uttered just such a sharp, short gasp as might have
come from the rift of a broken heart.

"Did you ask him any question, Rahal?"

"I could not speak, but my soul longed to know what he was doing and