despatches. He had never yet known fear in the field--never even such a
shudder at the unknown--which was yet the possible!--as he had just been
conscious of. His nerves had always been strong, his nature was in the
main simple. Yet for him, as well as for so many other 'fellows' he
knew, the war had meant a great deal of this new and puzzled
thinking--on problems of right and wrong, of 'whence' and 'whither,' of
the personal value of men--this man, or that man. By George, war brought
them out!--these personal values. And the general result for him, up to
now,--had he been specially lucky?--had been a vast increase of faith in
his fellow men, yes, and faith in himself, modest as he was. He was
proud to be an English soldier--proud to the roots of his being. His
quiet patriotism had become a passion; he knew now in what he had
believed.

Yes--England for ever! An English home after the war--and English
children. Oh, he hoped Nelly would have children! As he held her pressed
against him, he seemed to see her in the future--with the small things
round her. But he did not speak of it.

She meanwhile was thinking of quite other things, and presently she said
in a quick, troubled voice--

'George!--while you are away--you don't want me to do munitions?'

He laughed out.

'Munitions! I see you at a lathe! Dear--I don't think you'd earn your
keep!' And he lifted her delicate arm and tiny hand, and looked at them
with scientific curiosity. Her frail build was a constant wonder and
pleasure to him. But small as she was, there was something unusual, some