Chapter Twenty. The Storm Breaks in the West

Mr. Standfast

by John Buchan

The following evening - it was the 20th day of March - I started
for France after the dark fell. I drove Ivery's big closed car, and
within sat its owner, bound and gagged, as others had sat before him
on the same errand. Geordie Hamilton and Amos were his companions.
From what Blenkiron had himself discovered and from the papers seized
in the Pink Chalet I had full details of the road and its mysterious
stages. It was like the journey of a mad dream. In a back street of
a little town I would exchange passwords with a nameless figure and
be given instructions. At a wayside inn at an appointed hour a voice
speaking a thick German would advise that this bridge or that railway
crossing had been cleared. At a hamlet among pine woods an unknown
man would clamber up beside me and take me past a sentry-post.
Smooth as clockwork was the machine, till in the dawn of a spring
morning I found myself dropping into a broad valley through little
orchards just beginning to blossom, and I knew that I was in France.
After that, Blenkiron's own arrangements began, and soon I was
drinking coffee with a young lieutenant of Chasseurs, and had taken
the gag from Ivery's mouth. The bluecoats looked curiously at the
man in the green ulster whose face was the colour of clay and who lit
cigarette from cigarette with a shaky hand.

The lieutenant rang up a General of Division who knew all about
us. At his headquarters I explained my purpose, and he telegraphed
to an Army Headquarters for a permission which was granted. It was
not for nothing that in January I had seen certain great personages
in Paris, and that Blenkiron had wired ahead of me to prepare the
way. Here I handed over Ivery and his guard, for I wanted them to
proceed to Amiens under French supervision, well knowing that the men
of that great army are not used to let slip what they once hold.

It was a morning of clear spring sunlight when we breakfasted in
that little red-roofed town among vineyards with a shining river
looping at our feet. The General of Division was an Algerian veteran
with a brush of grizzled hair, whose eye kept wandering to a map on
the wall where pins and stretched thread made a spider's web.

'Any news from the north?' I asked.

'Not yet,' he said. 'But the attack comes soon. It will be
against our army in Champagne.' With a lean finger he pointed out
the enemy dispositions.

'Why not against the British?' I asked. With a knife and fork I
made a right angle and put a salt dish in the centre. 'That is the
German concentration. They can so mass that we do not know which
side of the angle they will strike till the blow falls.'

'It is true,' he replied. 'But consider. For the enemy to
attack towards the Somme would be to fight over many miles of an old
battle-ground where all is still desert and every yard of which you
British know. In Champagne at a bound he might enter unbroken
country. It is a long and difficult road to Amiens, but not so long
to Chilons. Such is the view of Petain. Does it convince you?'

'The reasoning is good. Nevertheless he will strike at Amiens,
and I think he will begin today.'

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 'Nous verrons. You are
obstinate, my general, like all your excellent countrymen.'

But as I left his headquarters an aide-de-camp handed him a
message on a pink slip. He read it, and turned to me with a grave
face.

'You have a flair, my friend. I am glad we did not wager. This
morning at dawn there is great fighting around St Quentin. Be
comforted, for they will not pass. Your Marechal will hold them.'

That was the first news I had of the battle.

At Dijon according to plan I met the others. I only just caught
the Paris train, and Blenkiron's great wrists lugged me into the
carriage when it was well in motion. There sat Peter, a docile
figure in a carefully patched old R.F.C. uniform. Wake was reading
a pile of French papers, and in a corner Mary, with her feet up on
the seat, was sound asleep.

We did not talk much, for the life of the past days had been so
hectic that we had no wish to recall it. Blenkiron's face wore an
air of satisfaction, and as he looked out at the sunny spring
landscape he hummed his only tune. Even Wake had lost his
restlessness. He had on a pair of big tortoiseshell reading glasses,
and when he looked up from his newspaper and caught my eye he smiled.
Mary slept like a child, delicately flushed, her breath scarcely
stirring the collar of the greatcoat which was folded across her
throat. I remember looking with a kind of awe at the curve of her
young face and the long lashes that lay so softly on her cheek, and
wondering how I had borne the anxiety of the last months. Wake
raised his head from his reading, glanced at Mary and then at me, and
his eyes were kind, almost affectionate. He seemed to have won peace
of mind among the hills.

Only Peter was out of the picture. He was a strange,
disconsolate figure, as he shifted about to ease his leg, or gazed
incuriously from the window. He had shaved his beard again, but it
did not make him younger, for his face was too lined and his eyes too
old to change. When I spoke to him he looked towards Mary and held
up a warning finger.

'I go back to England,' he whispered. 'Your little mysie is
going to take care of me till I am settled. We spoke of it yesterday
at my cottage. I will find a lodging and be patient till the war is
over. And you, Dick?'

'Oh, I rejoin my division. Thank God, this job is over. I have
an easy trund now and can turn my attention to straight-forward
soldiering. I don't mind telling you that I'll be glad to think
that you and Mary and Blenkiron are safe at home. What about you,
Wake?'

'I go back to my Labour battalion,' he said cheerfully. 'Like
you, I have an easier mind.'

I shook my head. 'We'll see about that. I don't like such
sinful waste. We've had a bit of campaigning together and I know your
quality.'

'The battalion's quite good enough for me,' and he relapsed into
a day-old Temps.

Mary had suddenly woke, and was sitting upright with her fists
in her eyes like a small child. Her hand flew to her hair, and her
eyes ran over us as if to see that we were all there. As she counted
the four of us she seemed relieved.

'I reckon you feel refreshed, Miss Mary,' said Blenkiron. 'It's
good to think that now we can sleep in peace, all of us. Pretty soon
you'll be in England and spring will be beginning, and please God
it'll be the start of a better world. Our work's over, anyhow.'

'I wonder,' said the girl gravely. 'I don't think there's any
discharge in this war. Dick, have you news of the battle? This was
the day.'

'It's begun,' I said, and told them the little I had learned
from the French General. 'I've made a reputation as a prophet, for
he thought the attack was coming in Champagne. It's St Quentin right
enough, but I don't know what has happened. We'll hear in Paris.'

Mary had woke with a startled air as if she remembered her old
instinct that our work would not be finished without a sacrifice, and
that sacrifice the best of us. The notion kept recurring to me with
an uneasy insistence. But soon she appeared to forget her anxiety.
That afternoon as we journeyed through the pleasant land of France
she was in holiday mood, and she forced all our spirits up to her
level. It was calm, bright weather, the long curves of ploughland
were beginning to quicken into green, the catkins made a blue mist on
the willows by the watercourses, and in the orchards by the
red-roofed hamlets the blossom was breaking. In such a scene it was
hard to keep the mind sober and grey, and the pall of war slid from
us. Mary cosseted and fussed over Peter like an elder sister over a
delicate little boy. She made him stretch his bad leg full length on
the seat, and when she made tea for the party of us it was a
protesting Peter who had the last sugar biscuit. Indeed, we were
almost a merry company, for Blenkiron told stories of old hunting and
engineering days in the West, and Peter and I were driven to cap
them, and Mary asked provocative questions, and Wake listened with
amused interest. It was well that we had the carriage to ourselves,
for no queerer rigs were ever assembled. Mary, as always, was neat
and workmanlike in her dress; Blenkiron was magnificent in a suit of
russet tweed with a pale-blue shirt and collar, and well- polished
brown shoes; but Peter and Wake were in uniforms which had seen far
better days, and I wore still the boots and the shapeless and ragged
clothes of Joseph Zimmer, the porter from Arosa.

We appeared to forget the war, but we didn't, for it was in the
background of all our minds. Somewhere in the north there was raging
a desperate fight, and its issue was the true test of our success or
failure. Mary showed it by bidding me ask for news at every
stopping-place. I asked gendarmes and Permissionnaires, but I
learned nothing. Nobody had ever heard of the battle. The upshot
was that for the last hour we all fell silent, and when we reached
Paris about seven o'clock my first errand was to the bookstall.

I bought a batch of evening papers, which we tried to read in
the taxis that carried us to our hotel. Sure enough there was the
announcement in big headlines. The enemy had attacked in great
strength from south of Arras to the Oise; but everywhere he had been
repulsed and held in our battle-zone. The leading articles were
confident, the notes by the various military critics were almost
braggart. At last the German had been driven to an offensive, and
the Allies would have the opportunity they had longed for of proving
their superior fighting strength. It was, said one and all, the
opening of the last phase of the war.

I confess that as I read my heart sank. If the civilians were
so over-confident, might not the generals have fallen into the same
trap? Blenkiron alone was unperturbed. Mary said nothing, but she
sat with her chin in her hands, which with her was a sure sign of
deep preoccupation.

Next morning the papers could tell us little more. The main
attack had been on both sides of St Quentin, and though the British
had given ground it was only the outposts line that had gone. The
mist had favoured the enemy, and his bombardment had been terrific,
especially the gas shells. Every journal added the old old comment -
that he had paid heavily for his temerity, with losses far exceeding
those of the defence.

Wake appeared at breakfast in his private's uniform. He wanted
to get his railway warrant and be off at once, but when I heard that
Amiens was his destination I ordered him to stay and travel with me
in the afternoon. I was in uniform myself now and had taken charge
of the outfit. I arranged that Blenkiron, Mary, and Peter should go
on to Boulogne and sleep the night there, while Wake and I would be
dropped at Amiens to await instructions.

I spent a busy morning. Once again I visited with Blenkiron the
little cabinet in the Boulevard St Germain, and told in every detail
our work of the past two months. Once again I sat in the low
building beside the Invalides and talked to staff officers. But some
of the men I had seen on the first visit were not there. The chiefs
of the French Army had gone north.

We arranged for the handling of the Wild Birds, now safely in
France, and sanction was given to the course I had proposed to adopt
with Ivery. He and his guard were on their way to Amiens, and I
would meet them there on the morrow. The great men were very
complimentary to us, so complimentary that my knowledge of
grammatical French ebbed away and I could only stutter in reply. That
telegram sent by Blenkiron on the night of the 18th, from the
information given me in the Pink Chalet, had done wonders in clearing
up the situation.

But when I asked them about the battle they could tell me
little. It was a very serious attack in tremendous force, but the
British line was strong and the reserves were believed to be
sufficient. Petain and Foch had gone north to consult with Haig.
The situation in Champagne was still obscure, but some French
reserves were already moving thence to the Somme sector. One thing
they did show me, the British dispositions. As I looked at the plan
I saw that my old division was in the thick of the fighting.

'Where do you go now?' I was asked.

'To Amiens, and then, please God, to the battle front,' I
said.

'Good fortune to you. You do not give body or mind much rest,
my general.'

After that I went to the Mission Anglaise, but they had nothing
beyond Haig's communique and a telephone message from G.H.Q. that the
critical sector was likely to be that between St Quentin and the
Oise. The northern pillar of our defence, south of Arras, which they
had been nervous about, had stood like a rock. That pleased me, for
my old battalion of the Lennox Highlanders was there.

Crossing the Place de la Concorde, we fell in with a British
staff officer of my acquaintance, who was just starting to motor back
to G.H.Q. from Paris leave. He had a longer face than the people at
the Invalides.

'I don't like it, I tell you,' he said. 'It's this mist that
worries me. I went down the whole line from Arras to the Oise ten
days ago. It was beautifully sited, the cleverest thing you ever
saw. The outpost line was mostly a chain of blobs - redoubts, you
know, with machine-guns - so arranged as to bring flanking fire to
bear on the advancing enemy. But mist would play the devil with that
scheme, for the enemy would be past the place for flanking fire
before we knew it... Oh, I know we had good warning, and had the
battle-zone manned in time, but the outpost line was meant to hold
out long enough to get everything behind in apple-pie order, and I
can't see but how big chunks of it must have gone in the first rush.
... Mind you, we've banked everything on that battle- zone. It's
damned good, but if it's gone -'He flung up his hands.

'Have we good reserves?' I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

'Have we positions prepared behind the battle-zone?'

'i didn't notice any,' he said dryly, and was off before I could
get more out of him.

'You look rattled, Dick,' said Blenkiron as we walked to the
hotel.

'I seem to have got the needle. It's silly, but I feel worse
about this show than I've ever felt since the war started. Look at
this city here. The papers take it easily, and the people are
walking about as if nothing was happening. Even the soldiers aren't
worried. You may call me a fool to take it so hard, but I've a sense
in my bones that we're in for the bloodiest and darkest fight of our
lives, and that soon Paris will be hearing the Boche guns as she did
in 1914.'

'You're a cheerful old Jeremiah. Well, I'm glad Miss Mary's
going to be in England soon. Seems to me she's right and that this
game of ours isn't quite played out yet. I'm envying you some, for
there's a place waiting for you in the fighting line.'

'You've got to get home and keep people's heads straight there.
That's the weak link in our chain and there's a mighty lot of work
before you.'

'Maybe,' he said abstractedly, with his eye on the top of the
Vendome column.

The train that afternoon was packed with officers recalled from
leave, and it took all the combined purchase of Blenkiron and myself
to get a carriage reserved for our little party. At the last moment
I opened the door to admit a warm and agitated captain of the R.F.C.
in whom I recognized my friend and benefactor, Archie Roylance.

'Just when I was gettin' nice and clean and comfy a wire comes
tellin' me to bundle back, all along of a new battle. It's a cruel
war, Sir.' The afflicted young man mopped his forehead, grinned
cheerfully at Blenkiron, glanced critically at Peter, then caught
sight of Mary and grew at once acutely conscious of his appearance.
He smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie and became desperately
sedate.

I introduced him to Peter and he promptly forgot Mary's
existence. If Peter had had any vanity in him it would have been
flattered by the frank interest and admiration in the boy's eyes.
'I'm tremendously glad to see you safe back, sir. I've always hoped
I might have a chance of meeting you. We want you badly now on the
front. Lensch is gettin' a bit uppish.'

Then his eye fell on Peter's withered leg and he saw that he had
blundered. He blushed scarlet and looked his apologies. But they
weren't needed, for it cheered Peter to meet someone who talked of
the possibility of his fighting again. Soon the two were deep in
technicalities, the appalling technicalities of the airman. It was
no good listening to their talk, for you could make nothing of it,
but it was bracing up Peter like wine. Archie gave him a minute
description of Lensch's latest doings and his new methods. He, too,
had heard the rumour that Peter had mentioned to me at St Anton, of a
new Boche plane, with mighty engines and stumpy wings cunningly
cambered, which was a devil to climb; but no specimens had yet
appeared over the line. They talked of Bali, and Rhys Davids, and
Bishop, and McCudden, and all the heroes who had won their spurs
since the Somme, and of the new British makes, most of which Peter
had never seen and had to have explained to him.

Outside a haze had drawn over the meadows with the twilight. I
pointed it out to Blenkiron.

'There's the fog that's doing us. This March weather is just
like October, mist morning and evening. I wish to Heaven we could
have some good old drenching spring rain.'

Archie was discoursing of the Shark-Gladas machine.

'I've always stuck to it, for it's a marvel in its way, but it
has my heart fairly broke. The General here knows its little tricks.
Don't you, sir? Whenever things get really excitin', the engine's
apt to quit work and take a rest.'

'The whole make should be publicly burned,' I said, with gloomy
recollections.

'I wouldn't go so far, sir. The old Gladas has surprisin'
merits. On her day there's nothing like her for pace and
climbing-power, and she steers as sweet as a racin' cutter. The
trouble about her is she's too complicated. She's like some breeds
of car - you want to be a mechanical genius to understand her ... If
they'd only get her a little simpler and safer, there wouldn't be her
match in the field. I'm about the only man that has patience with her
and knows her merits, but she's often been nearly the death of me.
All the same, if I were in for a big fight against some fellow like
Lensch, where it was neck or nothing, I'm hanged if I wouldn't pick
the Gladas.'

Archie laughed apologetically. 'The subject is banned for me in
our mess. I'm the old thing's only champion, and she's like a mare I
used to hunt that loved me so much she was always tryin' to chew the
arm off me. But I wish I could get her a fair trial from one of the
big pilots. I'm only in the second class myself after all.'

We were running north of St just when above the rattle of the
train rose a curious dull sound. It came from the east, and was like
the low growl of a veld thunderstorm, or a steady roll of muffled
drums.

'Hark to the guns!' cried Archie. 'My aunt, there's a tidy
bombardment goin' on somewhere.'

I had been listening on and off to guns for three years. I had
been present at the big preparations before Loos and the Somme and
Arras, and I had come to accept the racket of artillery as something
natural and inevitable like rain or sunshine. But this sound chilled
me with its eeriness, I don't know why. Perhaps it was its
unexpectedness, for I was sure that the guns had not been heard in
this area since before the Marne. The noise must be travelling down
the Oise valley, and I judged there was big fighting somewhere about
Chauny or La Fere. That meant that the enemy was pressing hard on a
huge front, for here was clearly a great effort on his extreme left
wing. Unless it was our counter-attack. But somehow I didn't think
so.

I let down the window and stuck my head into the night. The fog
had crept to the edge of the track, a gossamer mist through which
houses and trees and cattle could be seen dim in the moonlight. The
noise continued - not a mutter, but a steady rumbling flow as solid
as the blare of a trumpet. Presently, as we drew nearer Amiens, we
left it behind us, for in all the Somme valley there is some curious
configuration which blankets sound. The countryfolk call it the
'Silent Land', and during the first phase of the Somme battle a man
in Amiens could not hear the guns twenty miles off at Albert.

As I sat down again I found that the company had fallen silent,
even the garrulous Archie. Mary's eyes met mine, and in the
indifferent light of the French railway-carriage I could see
excitement in them - I knew it was excitement, not fear. She had
never heard the noise of a great barrage before. Blenkiron was
restless, and Peter was sunk in his own thoughts. I was growing very
depressed, for in a little I would have to part from my best friends
and the girl I loved. But with the depression was mixed an odd
expectation, which was almost pleasant. The guns had brought back my
profession to me, I was moving towards their thunder, and God only
knew the end of it. The happy dream I had dreamed of the Cotswolds
and a home with Mary beside me seemed suddenly to have fallen away to
an infinite distance. I felt once again that I was on the razor-edge
of life.

The last part of the journey I was casting back to rake up my
knowledge of the countryside. I saw again the stricken belt from
Serre to Combles where we had fought in the summer Of '17. I had not
been present in the advance of the following spring, but I had been
at Cambrai and I knew all the down country from Lagnicourt to St
Quentin. I shut my eyes and tried to picture it, and to see the
roads running up to the line, and wondered just at what points the
big pressure had come. They had told me in Paris that the British
were as far south as the Oise, so the bombardment we had heard must
be directed to our address. With Passchendaele and Cambrai in my
mind, and some notion of the difficulties we had always had in
getting drafts, I was puzzled to think where we could have found the
troops to man the new front. We must be unholily thin on that long
line. And against that awesome bombardment! And the masses and the
new tactics that Ivery had bragged of!

When we ran into the dingy cavern which is Amiens station I
seemed to note a new excitement. I felt it in the air rather than
deduced it from any special incident, except that the platform was
very crowded with civilians, most of them with an extra amount of
baggage. I wondered if the place had been bombed the night
before.

'We won't say goodbye yet,' I told the others. 'The train
doesn't leave for half an hour. I'm off to try and get news.'
Accompanied by Archie, I hunted out an R.T.O. of my acquaintance.
To my questions he responded cheerfully.

'Oh, we're doing famously, sir. I heard this afternoon from a
man in Operations that G.H.Q. was perfectly satisfied. We've killed
a lot of Huns and only lost a few kilometres of ground ... You're
going to your division? Well, it's up Peronne way, or was last night.
Cheyne and Dunthorpe came back from leave and tried to steal a car
to get up to it ... Oh, I'm having the deuce of a time. These
blighted civilians have got the wind up, and a lot are trying to
clear out. The idiots say the Huns will be in Amiens in a week.
What's the phrase? "Pourvu que les civils tiennent." 'Fraid I must
push on, Sir.'

I sent Archie back with these scraps of news and was about to
make a rush for the house of one of the Press officers, who would, I
thought, be in the way of knowing things, when at the station
entrance I ran across Laidlaw. He had been B.G.G.S. in the corps to
which my old brigade belonged, and was now on the staff of some army.
He was striding towards a car when I grabbed his arm, and he turned
on me a very sick face.

'Good Lord, Hannay! Where did you spring from? The news, you
say?' He sank his voice, and drew me into a quiet corner. 'The news
is hellish.'

'They told me we were holding,' I observed.

'Holding be damned! The Boche is clean through on a broad front.
He broke us today at Maissemy and Essigny. Yes, the battle- zone.
He's flinging in division after division like the blows of a hammer.
What else could you expect?' And he clutched my arm fiercely. 'How
in God's name could eleven divisions hold a front of forty miles? And
against four to one in numbers? It isn't war, it's naked lunacy.'

I knew the worst now, and it didn't shock me, for I had known it
was coming. Laidlaw's nerves were pretty bad, for his face was pale
and his eyes bright like a man with a fever.

'Reserves!' and he laughed bitterly. 'We have three infantry
divisions and two cavalry. They're into the mill long ago. The
French are coming up on our right, but they've the devil of a way to
go. That's what I'm down here about. And we're getting help from
Horne and Plumer. But all that takes days, and meantime we're
walking back like we did at Mons. And at this time of day, too ...
Oh, yes, the whole line's retreating. Parts of it were pretty
comfortable, but they had to get back or be put in the bag. I wish
to Heaven I knew where our right divisions have got to. For all I
know they're at Compiegne by now. The Boche was over the canal this
morning, and by this time most likely he's across the Somme.'

At that I exclaimed. 'D'you mean to tell me we're going to lose
Peronne?'

'Peronne!' he cried. 'We'll be lucky not to lose Amiens! ...
And on the top of it all I've got some kind of blasted fever. I'll
be raving in an hour.'

He was rushing off, but I held him.

'What about my old lot?' I asked.

'Oh, damned good, but they're shot all to bits. Every division
did well. It's a marvel they weren't all scuppered, and it'll be a
flaming miracle if they find a line they can stand on. Westwater's
got a leg smashed. He was brought down this evening, and you'll find
him in the hospital. Fraser's killed and Lefroy's a prisoner - at
least, that was my last news. I don't know who's got the brigades,
but Masterton's carrying on with the division ... You'd better get
up the line as fast as you can and take over from him. See the Army
Commander. He'll be in Amiens tomorrow morning for a pow-wow.'

Laidlaw lay wearily back in his car and disappeared into the
night, while I hurried to the train.

The others had descended to the platform and were grouped round
Archie, who was discoursing optimistic nonsense. I got them into the
carriage and shut the door.

'It's pretty bad,' I said. 'The front's pierced in several
places and we're back to the Upper Somme. I'm afraid it isn't going
to stop there. I'm off up the line as soon as I can get my orders.
Wake, you'll come with me, for every man will be wanted. Blenkiron,
you'll see Mary and Peter safe to England. We're just in time, for
tomorrow it mightn't be easy to get out of Amiens.'

I can see yet the anxious faces in that ill-lit compartment. We
said goodbye after the British style without much to-do. I remember
that old Peter gripped my hand as if he would never release it, and
that Mary's face had grown very pale. If I delayed another second I
should have howled, for Mary's lips were trembling and Peter had eyes
like a wounded stag. 'God bless you,' I said hoarsely, and as I went
off I heard Peter's voice, a little cracked, saying 'God bless you,
my old friend.'

I spent some weary hours looking for Westwater. He was not in
the big clearing station, but I ran him to earth at last in the new
hospital which had just been got going in the Ursuline convent. He
was the most sterling little man, in ordinary life rather dry and
dogmatic, with a trick of taking you up sharply which didn't make him
popular. Now he was lying very stiff and quiet in the hospital bed,
and his blue eyes were solemn and pathetic like a sick dog's.

'There's nothing much wrong with me,' he said, in reply to my
question. 'A shell dropped beside me and damaged my foot. They say
they'll have to cut it off ... I've an easier mind now you're here,
Hannay. Of course you'll take over from Masterton. He's a good man
but not quite up to his job. Poor Fraser - you've heard about
Fraser. He was done in at the very start. Yes, a shell. And
Lefroy. If he's alive and not too badly smashed the Hun has got a
troublesome prisoner.'

He was too sick to talk, but he wouldn't let me go.

'The division was all right. Don't you believe anyone who says
we didn't fight like heroes. Our outpost line held up the Hun for
six hours, and only about a dozen men came back. We could have stuck
it out in the battle-zone if both flanks hadn't been turned. They got
through Crabbe's left and came down the Verey ravine, and a big wave
rushed Shropshire Wood ... We fought it out yard by yard and didn't
budge till we saw the Plessis dump blazing in our rear. Then it was
about time to go ... We haven't many battalion commanders left.
Watson, Endicot, Crawshay ...' He stammered out a list of gallant
fellows who had gone.

'Get back double quick, Hannay. They want you. I'm not happy
about Masterton. He's too young for the job.' And then a nurse
drove me out, and I left him speaking in the strange forced voice of
great weakness.

At the foot of the staircase stood Mary.

'I saw you go in,' she said, 'so I waited for you.'

'Oh, my dear,' I cried, 'you should have been in Boulogne by
now. What madness brought you here?'

'They know me here and they've taken me on. You couldn't expect
me to stay behind. You said yourself everybody was wanted, and I'm
in a Service like you. Please don't be angry, Dick.'

I wasn't angry, I wasn't even extra anxious. The whole thing
seemed to have been planned by fate since the creation of the world.
The game we had been engaged in wasn't finished and it was right that
we should play it out together. With that feeling came a conviction,
too, of ultimate victory. Somehow or sometime we should get to the
end of our pilgrimage. But I remembered Mary's forebodings about the
sacrifice required. The best of us. That ruled me out, but what
about her?

I caught her to my arms. 'Goodbye, my very dearest. Don't
worry about me, for mine's a soft job and I can look after my skin.
But oh! take care of yourself, for you are all the world to me.'

She kissed me gravely like a wise child.

'I am not afraid for you,' she said. 'You are going to stand in
the breach, and I know - I know you will win. Remember that there is
someone here whose heart is so full of pride of her man that it
hasn't room for fear.'

As I went out of the convent door I felt that once again I had
been given my orders.

It did not surprise me that, when I sought out my room on an
upper floor of the Hotel de France, I found Blenkiron in the
corridor. He was in the best of spirits.

'You can't keep me out of the show, Dick,' he said, 'so you
needn't start arguing. Why, this is the one original chance of a
lifetime for John S. Blenkiron. Our little fight at Erzerum was
only a side-show, but this is a real high-class Armageddon. I guess
I'll find a way to make myself useful.'

I had no doubt he would, and I was glad he had stayed behind.
But I felt it was hard on Peter to have the job of returning to
England alone at such a time, like useless flotsam washed up by a
flood.

'You needn't worry,' said Blenkiron. 'Peter's not making
England this trip. To the best of my knowledge he has beat it out of
this township by the eastern postern. He had some talk with Sir
Archibald Roylance, and presently other gentlemen of the Royal
Flying Corps appeared, and the upshot was that Sir Archibald hitched
on to Peter's grip and departed without saying farewell. My notion
is that he's gone to have a few words with his old friends at some
flying station. Or he might have the idea of going back to England
by aeroplane, and so having one last flutter before he folds his
wings. Anyhow, Peter looked a mighty happy man. The last I saw he
was smoking his pipe with a batch of young lads in a Flying Corps
waggon and heading straight for Germany.'