Noel gone! Gregor gone! It seemed incredible. Those two dear boys so full of bounding life and energy. Gone!--lying dead and cold under the French mud. She could not quite realise it yet. She felt numbed with the shock of it. Dead! Never to return to them! Never to see them in this life again! Oh, Gregor, Gregor! But she must be brave, for, just across the Common there, was Gregor’s mother in happy unconsciousness of the blow that had befallen them. Oh, it would hurt her. It would bruise her. It might break her. She, Honor, must be brave and strong and help her to bear it. And as she breasted the wind, and the sleet bit at her face, her mind began to work again with acute clarity of understanding. It carried her above herself. She saw--as though scales had fallen from the eyes of her spirit--that this fearsome Death which seemed so dreadful was not the end but the beginning. Their boys were possibly--probably--nearer to them even than they had been in life. The dear bodies might be lying there in France, but all that had been really _them_ was living still and might be--would be, she thought, watching them now, near at hand, nearer than ever before. So full was her mind of the thought that she actually found herself glancing upwards into the sleety sky as if she might catch sight of them. There was only gray sky and whirling sleet up there, but the belief was strong in her and she went on comforted. The maid greeted her with her usual bright smile, and helped her off with her dripping coat. They all knew how things stood between Mr Gregor and her and cordially approved. “Is Mrs MacLean down yet, Maggie?” she asked. “Not yet, Miss Honor. She was feeling the cold, so she said she would have her breakfast in bed,”--as she showed her into the morning-room at the back, where a wood fire was burning brightly with cheerful hissings and spittings and puffs of smoke, and everything spoke of comfort and the quiet joy of life. “Will you please ask her if I can see her at once, Maggie?” “Yes, Miss Honor. Not bad news, I do hope, Miss,” but she knew that it was, for Honor’s face was tragic in spite of herself. “Don’t hint it, Maggie. Just tell her I must see her,” and Maggie went quietly, as though she savoured the coming news already. A table with newspapers and books and magazines was drawn up near the fire alongside Mrs MacLean’s favourite chair. On it was a photograph of Gregor in his uniform, in a massive silver frame. He looked bravely out at her. Just his own dear look as she knew him best. Quiet, reserved, but with the smiles just below and ready to break through on smallest provocation. And it was all over. He was gone,--lying under the blood-stained soil across there. No,--she was to remember--he was more alive than ever, nearer to them than ever,--but--ah me!--they would never see him again on this side. She was still bending over the photograph when Maggie came in, with a quiet, “Will you please to come up, Miss Honor?”