be run, had taught him the hideous possibility of cowardice. He was
now confronted with the hideous fact. He could not afterwards clear
his mind of the memory of that evening.

He grew up with it; he looked upon himself as a born coward, and all
the time he knew that he was destined for the army. He could not have
avoided his destiny without an explanation, and he could not explain.
But what he could do, he did. He hunted deliberately, hoping
that familiarity with danger would overcome the vividness of his
anticipations. But those imagined hours before the beginnings of
battles had their exact counterpart in the moments of waiting while
the covers were drawn. At such times he had a map of the country-side
before his eyes, with every ditch and fence and pit underlined and
marked dangerous; and though he rode straight when the hounds were
off, he rode straight with a fluttering heart. Thus he spent his
youth. He passed into Woolwich and out of it with high honours;
he went to India with battery, and returned home on a two years'
furlough. He had not been home more than a week when his father broke
one morning into his bedroom in a great excitement--

"Geoff," he cried, "guess the news to-day!"

Geoffrey sat up in his bed:--"Your manner, Sir, tells me the news. War
is declared."

"Between France and Germany."

Geoffrey said slowly:--

"My mother, Sir, was of Germany."