And later on came a telegram from Sir John French himself, conveying his “warmest congratulations and thanks for the fine work you did yesterday at Messines,”--and saying, “You have given a glorious lead and example to all Territorial troops who are going to fight in France.” So from that point of view all was as well as it possibly could be, and proud men were they who answered the roll-call at the edge of the wood. Dishevelled and torn and shaken,--and very sober-faced at the heavy tale of missing,--but uplifted all the same, with the knowledge that the record of the old corps had not suffered at their hands. They had a few days out of the firing line to let their nerves settle down and within a week were back in the trenches. XXX The news of the London Scottish charge at Messines, and their success in holding back the enemy at that time and point of terrific pressure, was made public by the Censor almost at once. And great was the jubilation at Head-Quarters and throughout the Second Battalion, and grievous the anxiety in many a home over the tardy casualty lists, for it was recognised that the losses must necessarily be heavy. Lois suffered only one day of acutest mental distress, thanks to Ray’s precious bits of pencilled notes, three of which--addressed to “Lady Luard”--arrived all together the day after the news was made known. But that one long day taught her to the full what long-drawn agonies thousands of other anxious hearts must be suffering until all the details were published. Ray’s latest note, scribbled by the roadside just after his elevating chat with the Adjutant, was very short and very scrawly in its writing. But it told that he was alive and that was all she cared for. “Can’t write much,” he said in it, “for my hand’s got the jumps yet. We’ve just come through hell and I haven’t a scratch. I live and marvel. God’s great mercy. They say we’ve done well. It was certainly hot. Going to have a bit off-time, I believe, and we need it. Keep your heart up. I can’t imagine anything worse than we’ve come through.” Noel and Gregor MacLean swelled visibly with pride in the prowess of their First Battalion,--so the girls asserted,--and certainly in their at-length-completed uniforms they looked unusually big and brawny and ready for anything. A draft was preparing for the front to fill up the gaps in the depleted First, and they enthusiastically put in for it. And, as they were about the two fittest men in the regiment, thanks to their own arduous preliminary training, they were accepted, and--again according to the girls--forthwith became so massive in their own estimation that it was as much as one’s place was worth for ordinary mortals to venture to address them.