afely. It has brought very bad news. Two of the outer forts are said to
have fallen. The position is critical, and grave anxiety is felt for
the safety of the English in Antwerp. Mrs. St. Clair Stobart has asked
us for one of our ambulances. But even if we could spare it we cannot
give it up without an order from the military authority at Ghent. We
hear that Dr. ----, one of Mrs. Stobart's women, is to leave Antwerp and
work at our hospital. She is engaged to be married to Dr. ----, and the
poor boy is somewhat concerned for her safety. I'm very glad I have left
the "Flandria," for she can have my room.

I wish they would make Miss ---- come away too.

Yes: Miss ----, that clever novelist, who passes for a woman of the
world because she uses mundane appearances to hide herself from the
world's importunity--Miss ---- is here. The War caught her. Some people
were surprised. I wasn't.[5]

* * * * *

Walked through the town again--old quarter. Walked and walked and
walked, thinking about Antwerp all the time. Through streets of
grey-white and lavender-tinted houses, with very fragile balconies. Saw
the two Cathedrals[6] and the Town Hall--refugees swarming round it--and
the Rab--I can't remember its name: see Baedeker--with its turrets and
its moat. Any amount of time to see cathedrals in and no Mrs. Torrence
to protest. I wonder how much of all this will be left by next month, or
even by next week? Two of the Antwerp forts have fallen. They say the
occupation of Ghent will be peaceful; while of Antwerp I suppose they
would say, "_C'est triste, n'est-ce pas?_" They say the Germans will
just march into Ghent and march out again, commandeering a few things
here and there. But nobody knows, and by the stolid faces of these
civilians you might imagine that nobody cares. Certainly none of them
think that the fate of Antwerp can be the fate of Ghent.

And the faces of the soldiers, of the men who know? They are the faces
of important people, cheerful people, pleasantly preoccupied with the
business in hand. Only here and there a grave face, a fixed, drawn face,
a face twisted with the irritation of the strain.

Why, the very refugees have the look of a rather tired tourist-party,
wandering about, seeing Ghent, seeing the Cathedral.

Only they aren't looking at the Cathedral. They are looking straight
ahead, across the _Place_, up the street; they do not see or hear the
trams swinging down on