, Miss L. is gone. The rest of us have passed and no
one misses us much, I suppose. Our places are easily filled. Her
place in that camp no one will ever quite fill. "Many daughters have
done virtuously, but thou excellest them all."

CHAPTER XVI

LEAVE

At last! I have the precious paper safe in my hand, in my pocket with
a button fastened tight to keep it there: my leave warrant, passport
to ten days' liberty, rest, and--other things much more desirable
than liberty or rest. It is issued to me late on Sunday night for a
start on Monday morning.

The authorities are desperately suspicious. They trust no man's
honour. They treat even a padre as if he were a fraudulent cashier,
bent on cheating them if he can. I do not blame them. In this matter
of leave every man is a potential swindler. A bishop would cheat if
he could. If I had got that leave warrant an hour or two sooner than
I did, I should have made a push for the boat which left on Sunday
evening. Thereby I should have deprived the army of my services
during the night, a form of swindling not to be tolerated, though
what use I am to the army or any one else when I am in bed and
asleep it would be very difficult to say.

All that night the wind shrieked, rattling windows to the discomfort
of those who were lucky enough to have roofs over their heads,
threatening the dwellers in tents with the utter destruction of their
shelters. Very early, before the dawn of the winter morning, the rain
began, not to fall--the rain in a full gale of wind does not
fall--but to sweep furiously across the town.

I heard it, but I did not care. I turned and snuggled close under my
blankets. In an hour or two it would be time to get up. My day would
begin, the glorious first day of leave. What does rain matter? or
what do gales matter? unless--a horrid fear assailed me. Was it
possible that in such a gale the steamer would fail to start. I
turned and twisted, tortured by the thought. Every time the windows
rattled and the house shook I sweated hot and cold.

In the end, tormented beyond endurance, I got up and dressed some
time between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m. I did more. Without the coffee which
Madame had promised me I sallied forth and tramped through the
deserted streets of the town, fording gutters which were brooks,
skirting close by walls which promised what sailors call a "lee."

The long stretch of the quay was desolate. Water lay in deep pools
between the railway