"And Rose? One thing father said is being such
a comfort to me. Father thinks that I shall still be
able to be of use -- I mean in the way I should like to
be, especially if the war goes on a long time. I wonder
if he showed you this?" He picked up off his bed a
little piece of paper and held it out to her.

Through her bitter tears she read the words:
"German thoroughness" -- and then a paragraph which
explained how the German military authorities were
using their disabled officers in the training of recruits.

"Father thinks that in time they'll do something
of the sort here -- not yet, perhaps, but in some months
from now."

And then, as she still did not speak, he grew uneasy.
"Come a little nearer," he whispered. "I feel as if
you were so far away. We needn't be afraid of any
one coming in. Father has promised that no one shall
disturb us till you ring."

She did as he asked, and putting his uninjured arm
right round her, he held her closely to him.

It was the first time since that strange home-coming
of his that Jervis had felt secure against the sudden
irruption into the room of some well-meaning person.
Of the two it was Jervis who had been silently
determined to give the talkative, sentimental nurses no
excuse for even the mildest, the kindliest comment.

But now everything was merged in this great ordeal
of love and grief they were battling through together --
secure from the unwanted presence of others
as they had not been since he had last felt her heart
fluttering beneath his, in the porch of the cathedral.

"Oh, Rose," he whispered at last, "you don't know

[[258]]

p257 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p258w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p259

v?