massing, directly over his head, and he feared another fall. It was
unfortunate, but nothing could drive him back, and finding a flight of
stone steps he ascended them and entered the village.

Chastel had looked somber from the plain below, where some of the
effect, John had thought, might be due to distance, but here it was a
silent ruin, tragic and terrible. Over this village, once so neat and
trim, as he could easily see, war had swept in its most hideous fashion.
Houses were riddled and the gray light showed through them from wall to
wall where the great shells had passed. A bronze statue standing in a
fountain in the center of the little place or square had been struck,
and it lay prone and shattered in the water.

The first flakes of the new snow began to fall, and the sinister sky,
heavy with clouds, took on the darkness of twilight, although night was
far away. Yet the huge rents and holes in the houses and the fallen
masonry seemed to grow more distinct in the gloom. The village consisted
chiefly of one long street, and as John looked up and down it, he did
not see a single human being. Nothing was visible to him but the iron
hoof of war crushing everything under it, and he shuddered violently.

The snow began to drive, whipped by a bitter wind, and he drew the heavy
blue overcoat closely about him. The shuddering which was not of the
snow and the cold, passed, but his heart was ice. The abandoned town
over which Germans and French had fought oppressed him like a nightmare.
What had become of Julie? Why had Philip asked her to meet him at such a
place? There was the hospital, but it was in the plain below, where
lights now shone faintly through the heavy gray air and the driving
snow.