fear, by
telling himself that these were only the unreal anticipations that were
always ready to pounce on one even before such mildly alarming affairs
as a visit to the dentist; but in spite of his efforts, he found his
hands growing clammy and cold at the thoughts which beset his brain.
What if there happened to him what had happened to another junior
officer who was close to him at the moment, when a fragment of shell
turned him from a big gay boy into a writhing bundle at the bottom of
the trench! He had lived for a couple of hours like that, moaning and
crying out, "For God's sake kill me!" What if, more mercifully, he was
killed outright, so that he would lie there in peace till next night
they removed his body, or perhaps had to bury him in the trench itself,
with a dozen handfuls of soil cast over him! At that he suddenly
realised how passionately he wanted to live, to escape from this
infernal butchery, to be safe again, gloriously or ingloriously, it
mattered not which, to be with Sylvia once more. He told himself that
he had been an utter fool ever to re-enter the army again like this.
He could certainly have got some appointment as dispatch-carrier or had
himself attached to the headquarters staff, or even have shuffled out of
it altogether. . . . But, above all, he wanted Sylvia; he wanted to be
allowed to lead the ordinary human life, safely and securely, with the
girl he loved, and with the musical pursuits that were his passion.
He had hated soldiering in times of peace; he found now that he was
terrified of it in times of war. He felt physically sick, as with cold
hands and trembling knees he stood and waited, lighting cigarettes and
throwing them away, in front of the kitchen fire, where the stewpot
was already bubbling again for those lucky devils who would return here
to-night.

The Major of his company was sitting in the window watching him, though
Michael was unaware of it. Suddenly he got up, and came across to the
fire, and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't mind it, Comber," he said quietly. "We all get a touch of it
sometimes. But you'll find it will pass all right. It's the waiting
doing nothing that does it."

That touched Michael absolutely in the right place.

"Thanks awfully, sir," he said.

"Not a bit. But it's damned beastly while it lasts. You'll be all right
when we move. Don't forget to take your fur coat up if you've got one.
We shall have a cold night."

Just after sunse