'You have been to the village?'
'To the hospital. Thirty fresh wounded arrived last night.'
'I have just seen Chicksands,' said the Squire abruptly. 'Arthur
tells him the German attack must be launched in a week or two, and
may come any day. A million men, probably, thrown against us.'
'So--the next few months will decide,' said Elizabeth, shuddering.
'My God!--why did we ever go into this war!' cried the man beside
her suddenly, in a low, stifled voice. She glanced at him in
astonishment. The new excuses, the new tenderness for him in her
heart made themselves heard.
'It was for honour,' she breathed--'for freedom!'
'Words--just words. They don't stop bombs!'
But there was nothing truculent in the tone.
'You had a line from Mr. Desmond this morning?'
'Yes--a post card. He was all right.'
Silence dropped between them. They walked on through the beautiful
wooded park. Carpets of primroses ran beside them, and masses of
wild cherry blossoms were beginning to show amid the beeches.
Elizabeth was vaguely conscious of beauty, of warm air, of heavenly
sun.
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