after me. 'On Tuesday after Moot. I have already written.' He
whisked Mary away from me, and I had to content myself with
contemplating her figure till it disappeared round a bend of the road.

Next day in London I found a letter from Peter. He had been
very solemn of late, and very reminiscent of old days now that he
concluded his active life was over. But this time he was in a
different mood. '_I _think,' he wrote, '__that you and I will meet again soon,
my old friend. Do you remember when we went after the big black-maned
lion in the Rooirand and couldn't get on his track, and then one morning
we woke up and said we would get him today? - and we did, but he
very near got you first. I've had a feel these last days that we're
both going down into the Valley to meet with Apolyon, and that the
devil will give us a bad time, but anyhow we'll be _together.'

I had the same kind of feel myself, though I didn't see how
Peter and I were going to meet, unless I went out to the Front
again and got put in the bag and sent to the same Boche prison.
But I had an instinct that my time in Biggleswick was drawing to a
close, and that presently I would be in rougher quarters. I felt quite
affectionate towards the place, and took all my favourite walks, and
drank my own health in the brew of the village inns, with a
consciousness of saying goodbye. Also I made haste to finish my
English classics, for I concluded I wouldn't have much time in the
future for miscellaneous reading.

The Tuesday came, and in the evening I set out rather late for
the Moot Hall, for I had been getting into decent clothes after a
long, hot stride. When I reached the place it was pretty well packed,
and I could only find a seat on the back benches. There on the