And always, when she managed to catch the long line on the march, the sight of the intent masterful faces under the cocked bonnets, and the rhythmic swing of the kilts and bare knees and hodden-gray stockings and blue flashes, to the spirited skirling of the pipes, brought her heart up into her throat, and, often as not, the tears into her eyes. They looked so gallant and so gay, so eager to be at it, so gloriously young and full of life, so ready to do, and dare, and die,--and, inevitably, some of them, many of them maybe, would swing away into the war-cloud, just like that--gaily, gallantly, eagerly, and would never come out of it. The glorious young life would gasp itself out on the foreign soil,--those who loved them would know them no more save as happy memories,--and maybe that life that was dearer to her than her own would be among them. It was a sweet, poignant, uplifting time, and she lived to its utmost every vital moment of it. As in one of those gorgeous death-banquets of old, the ever-pressing knowledge of the inevitable end heightened and deepened and quickened the vitality of the moments that were left. Life--in herself and in these others--had never seemed so wonderful and so desirable. For--for some of them--its hours were numbered. XXIII Lois was present, in a corner, at that last parade at Fortune’s Farm when the new rifles were given out. And, later on, with misty eyes and that troublesome choking in the throat, she was watching the long wavering gray line as it swung gallantly away with skirling pipes and eager faces--en route for the front. Then she turned to go quietly home to her mother and Uncle Tony, and to wait God’s will in the matter. She was to live at Oakdene as became Ray’s wife, but her time was to be spent between the old home and the new, and her energies devoted to cheering them both. For both were lonely now and clouded. Of all the merry company that had filled them with such joyousness of youth, she was the only one they could now count upon. Victoria and Honor were out all day, slaving on Out-of-Work-Girls and Belgian Refugee Committees, organising crowds of willing but in many cases incompetent workers,--arranging accommodation and hostels,--procuring houses, funds, and furniture, and getting them into something like working order. Noel was only in for supper, bed, and breakfast, and not always that. The Colonel was carrying on a recruiting campaign with a patriotic vehemence much in excess of his years and his bodily powers. Miss Mitten meekly, and Mrs Dare boldly, did their utmost to keep his exertions within reasonable limits. But to all their expostulations and warnings his invariable reply was,--“We need every man we can get, and since I can’t go out, I must do all I can at home. Better to wear out than to rust out or go under to those damned barbarians.”