heart. It was like a bit of Jervis himself -- direct, simple,
telling her all she wanted to know, yet leaving
much unsaid. Rose had once been shown a love-letter
in which the word "kiss" occurred thirty-four times.
She was glad that there was nothing of that sort in
Jervis's letter, and yet she longed with a piteous, aching
longing to feel once more his arms clasping her close,
his lips trembling on hers....

At last her mother asked her casually, "Has Jervis
Blake written to you, my darling?" And she said,
"Yes, mother; once. I think he's busy, getting his
outfit."

"Ah, well, they won't think of sending out a boy as
young as that, even if Major Guthrie was right in
thinking our Army is going to France." And Rose to
that had made no answer. She was convinced that
Jervis was going on active service. There was one
sentence in his letter which could mean nothing else.

Life in Witanbury, after that first week of war,
settled down much as before. There was a general
impression that everything was going very well. The
brave little Belgians were defending their country with
skill and tenacity, and the German Army was being
"held up."

The Close was full of mild amateur strategists,
headed by the Dean himself. Great as had been, and
was still, his admiration for Germany, Dr. Haworth
was of course an Englishman first; and every day,
when opening his morning paper, he expected to learn
that there had been another Trafalgar. He felt certain
that the German Fleet was sure to make, as he
expressed it, "a dash for it." Germany was too gal-

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