mutter hoarsely. By thousands the bereaved would be tossing, stifling
their moans; by thousands the ruined would be gazing into the dark
future; and housewives struggling with sums; and soldiers sleeping like
logs--for to morrow they died; and children dreaming of them; and
prostitutes lying in stale wonder at the busyness of their lives; and
journalists sleeping the sleep of the just. And over them all, in the
moonlight that thought 'The cursed war!' flapped its black wings, like an
old crow! "If Christ were real," he mused, "He'd reach that moon down,
and go chalking 'Peace' with it on every door of every house, all over
Europe. But Christ's not real, and Hindenburg and Harmsworth are!" As
real they were as two great bulls he had once seen in South Africa,
fighting. He seemed to hear again the stamp and snort and crash of those
thick skulls, to see the beasts recoiling and driving at each other, and
the little red eyes of them. And pulling a letter out of his pocket, he
read it again by the light of the moon:

"15, Camelot Mansions, "St. John's Wood.

"DEAR MR. FORT, "I came across your Club address to-night, looking at
some old letters. Did you know that I was in London? I left Steenbok
when my husband died, five years ago. I've had a simply terrific time
since. While the German South West campaign was on I was nursing out
there, but came back about a year ago to lend a hand here. It would be
awfully nice to meet you again, if by any chance you are in England. I'm
working in a V. A. D. hospital in these parts, but my evenings are
usually free. Do you remember that moonlit night at grape harvest? The
nights here aren't scented quite like that. Listerine! Oh! This war!
"With all good remembrances, "LEILA LYNCH."

A terrific time! If he did not mistake, Leila Lynch had always had a
terrific time. And he smiled, seeing again the stoep of an old Dutch
house at High Constantia, and a woman sitting there under the white
flowers of a sweet-scented creeper--a pretty woman, with eyes which could
put a spell on you, a woman he would have got entangled with if he had
not cut and run for it! Ten years ago, and here she was again,
refreshing him out of the past. He sniffed the fragrance of the little
letter. How everybody always managed to work into a letter what they
were doing in the war! If he answered her he would be sure to say:
"Since I got lamed, I've been at the War Office, working on remounts,