He saw the casualty lists as they were compiled at the office, long before they were issued, and groaned over them in general and in particular. Killed, wounded, missing,--many whom he had known, and more whose people he knew, were already gone. Who would be left when the full tale was told?--he asked himself gloomily,--when this was barely the beginning. Then, one day, his anxious old finger, following the list down, name by name, stopped with a sudden stiffening on the name of “Dare, Lieut. C., R.A.M.C.” under the head of “Missing,” and he had to inflate his chest with a very deep breath and hold himself very tightly, before he could mechanically get through the rest of the list. “Missing!”--Under all the ordinary circumstances of civilised warfare that would leave abundant ground for hope. But the appalling stories he had been hearing of late as to the newest German methods left only room for fear. They were, on the most indisputable evidence, behaving worse than the worst of savages. Their barbarous cruelties were the result of a deliberate system of frightfulness and terrorism inspired by headquarters. They had shocked and wounded his soul till at times it had felt sick of humanity at large. But they filled him also with a most righteous anger which helped to brace him up again. That a hitherto reputedly civilised nation could, of cold deliberation, do such things!--and exult in them!--Faugh! It was savages they were,--and worse than any savages he had ever come across! And so he feared the worst for Con, and his heart was heavy for Con’s wife and mother and father. He went over to his club to think it over, but found too many friends there for his present humour. So he turned into St James’s Park, and walked on and on, with his mind full of Con and Alma, past the Palace and the Duke’s statue, and found himself in Hyde Park, where the London Scottish were drilling and manœuvering with a huge crowd looking on. That made him think of Ray, and he wondered briefly where those two had got to. If Ray had been at home, as he ought to have been, he would have been among these stalwart kilties who looked fine and fit for anything. As soon as he got home he would take his place of course. And young Noel and Gregor MacLean,--he had heard that very day that reserve battalions were to be raised pretty generally. So they would be in it too. And that was all right. Duty called, and it was the part of the young to bear the burden and heat of this desperate life-struggle to the death. But his heart gave a twinge, all the same, at the possibilities. Con was possibly gone. Suppose these others went too! It would leave a dreadful gap in their homes, and wounds in their hearts that would never heal. This was what war meant. God help them all!