home, and was spending his own hard-earned leave in easing
the boy's death, Chicksands found that Martin's impression was the
same as his own.

'It's wonderful how he's grown and _thought_ since he's been out
there. But do we ever consider--do we ever realize--enough!--what a
marvellous thing it is that young men--boys--like Desmond--should be
able to live, day after day, face to face with death--consciously
and voluntarily--and get quite used to it? Which of us before
the war had ever been in real physical danger--danger of
violent death?--and that not for a few minutes--but for days,
hours, weeks? It seems to make men over again--to create a
new type--by the hundred thousand. And to some men it is an
extraordinary intoxication--this conscious and deliberate
acceptance--defiance!--of death--for a cause--for their country. It
sets them free from themselves. It matures them, all in a moment--as
though the bud and the flower came together. Oh, of course, there
are those it brutalizes--and there are those it stuns. But Desmond
was one of the chosen.'

The night passed. The Squire came in after midnight, and took his
place by the bed.

Desmond was then restless and suffering, and the nurse in charge
whispered to the Squire that the pulse was growing weaker. But the
boy opened his eyes on his father, and tried to smile. The Squire
sat bowed and bent beside him, and nurses and doctors withdrew from
them a little--out of sight and hearing.

'Desmond!' said the Squire in a low voice.

'Yes.'

'Is there anything I could do--to please you?' It was a humble and a
piteous prayer. Desmond's eyes travelled over his father's face.

'Only--love me!' he said, with difficulty. The Squire grew very
white. Kneeling down he kissed his son--for the first time since
Desmond was a child.

Desmond's beautiful mouth smiled a little.

'Thank you,' he said, so feebly that it could scarcely be heard.
When the light began to come in he moved impatiently, asking for the
newspapers. Elizabeth told him that old Perley had gone to meet them
at the morning train at Fallerton, and would be out with them at the
earliest possible moment.

But when they came the boy turned almost angrily from them. 'The
Shipping Problem--Attacks on British Ports--Raids on the French
Front--Bombardment of German Towns--Curfew Regulations'--Pamela's
faltering voice read out the headings.

'Oh, what rot!' he said wearily--'what rot!'

After that his strength e