rywhere in Europe, there were
mourners for the young, slain for the folly and incompetence of the old
and the worn and the impatient.

He released Mary's hand, and resumed the writing of his letter. Before
he had finished it, Mrs. Graham returned to the room.

"Poor Widger," she said, "he ... he cried!"

She came to the table where Henry was writing, and placed her hand on
his shoulder, and looked concernedly at him.

"Aren't you tired, Henry?" she said.

"No, thanks!" he answered, glancing up at her and smiling.

"You mustn't tire yourself!" she bent over him and kissed his forehead
lightly. "You've been a great help, Henry," she said.

6

But in her room, where none could see her, she shed her tears....

THE TENTH CHAPTER

1

He had returned to Ireland. In Dublin, he found a strange mixture of
emotions. Marsh and Galway and their friends were drilling with greater
determination than ever, and occasionally they were to be seen parading
the streets. Some of them wore green uniforms, shaped after the pattern
of the khaki uniform of the British Army, but most of them wore their
ordinary clothes, with perhaps a bandolier and a belt and a slouch hat.
They carried rifles of an old make, and had long, clumsy bayonets slung
by their sides. It seemed to Henry as he watched a company of them
marching through College Green that these men were not of the fighting
breed ... that these pale clerks and young workmen and elderly
professors and hungry, emaciated labourers were unlikely to deal in the
serious work of war ... and when he met John Marsh in the evening, he
sneered at him. Marsh kept his temper. He was more tolerant now than he
had been in the days when he had tutored Henry at Ballymartin. He
admitted that the Sinn Feiners were widely unpopular. There were many
reasons why they should be. Dublin was full of men and women mourning
for their sons who had died at Suvla Bay ... and were in no mood for
rebellion.

"The war's popular in the Combe," he said. "The women are better off now
than they were in peace times. That's a handsome tribute to
civilisation, isn't it? The country people are the worst. They're rich
... the war's bringing them extraordinary prosperity ... and some of our
people are tactless. But we've got to go on. We've got to save Ireland's
soul!..."

Henry made an impatient gesture. "Why do you talk that high-falutin'
stuff," he said.

"It isn't high-falutin' stuff, Henry. I'm speak