urmured, under her
breath--'because it's then they're fighting--when we're in
bed--sleeping.'

'My boy was killed between one and two in the morning '--whispered Mrs.
Grayson. 'I heard from one of his friends this morning. He says it was
a lovely night, and the daylight just comin' up. I think of it when I'm
layin' awake and hearing the birds beginning.'

There was silence again, till Mrs. Grayson said, suddenly, with a
strange passion:--

'But I'd rather be Jim's mother, and be settin' here without him, than
I'd be the mother o'yan of them young fellows as is just gone!'

'Yes,' said Nelly slowly--'yes. If we think too much about keeping them
safe--just for ourselves--If; they despise--they _would_ despise us.
And if anyone hangs back, we despise them. It' a horrible puzzle.'

'We can pray for them,' said Mrs. Grayson simply. 'God can keep them
safe if it's His will.'

'Yes '--said Nelly again. But her tone was flat and hesitating. Her
ever-present fear was very little comforted by prayer. But she found
comfort in Mrs. Grayson. She liked to stay on in the old kitchen,
watching Mrs. Grayson's household ways, making friends with the stolid
tabby cat, or listening to stories of Jim as a child. Sometimes she
would read parts of George's letters to this new friend. Bridget never
cared to hear them; and she was more completely at ease with the
farmer's wife even than with Hester Martin.

But she could not linger this afternoon. Her news might come any time.
And Sir William had telephoned that morning to say that he and his
sister would call on their way from Windermere, and would ask for a cup
of tea. Marsworth would probably meet them at Rydal.

As she descended the lane, she scolded herself for ingratitude. She was
glad the Farrells were coming, because they would bring newspapers, and
perhaps information besides, of the kind that does not get into
newspapers. But otherwise--why had she so little pleasure now in the
prospect of a visit from Sir William Farrell? He had never forced
himself upon them. Neither his visits nor his lessons had been
oppressively frequent, while the kindnesses which he had showered upon
them, from a distance, had been unceasing. She could hardly have
explained her disinclination. Was it that his company had grown so
stimulating and interesting to her, that it made her think too much of
other things than the war?--and so it seemed to separate her from
George? Her own quiet occupations--th