"HE, BEARING HIS CROSS, WENT FORTH"




VI

The Burden Bearer


The sound of the running feet of the man smashing through the burned
stubble ceased abruptly. He stopped at the threshold of the door. No
friendly bark of dog welcomed him. From the barn there came no gentle
lowing of cattle, no homely clucking of chickens. Like the house the
byre too had been ruined, gutted with flame.

The soldier whose march had brought him back to his own village that
night stood in the entrance of what had been his home and stared at the
smoking walls, the charred roof gaping to the sky, the empty casements.
The enemy had been there. He whispered his young wife's name, he called
softly to the baby, as if they might be sleeping somewhere within the
devastated house. He listened for a reply but none came. Perhaps he
would have been thankful even for a groan or a cry of agony, anything
that meant life. But all was silence within, without.

Yonder on the winding road at the foot of the hill he could hear the
trampling of men, the groaning of wheels, the clank of iron cavalrymen,
the jingling of bits and swords, sharp words of command. The army was
advancing. He could delay no longer. He must get back to his place in