When the welter of blood and the ruinous dissipation of treasure is at an end, and we can appraise our tangible losses in life and money and endeavour to form some conception of the moral gains resulting from the conflict, amid the innumerable individual deeds that make us proud of those of our race the heroism in life and death of Edith Cavell will shine forth like a precious jewel. It is well to remember that 'of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed, some good is born, some gentler nature comes'; and in her death and the tears that we shed for it, the martyr leaves behind her an inestimable legacy that will yield rich dividends to humanize the souls of those who are left behind to admire and reverence the example of a noble woman. * * * * * When the foregoing paragraph was written, one's faith in the strength of our Empire and belief in the righteousness of our cause justified the sure knowledge that we had not witnessed the real conclusion of this pathetic soul-rending incident, that was without exact parallel in our varied Empire story; but one could only wait--and wonder. For three further searing years the war continued its desolating course, that entailed the death and mangling of millions of the combatants and the expenditure of uncountable wealth. The end came with dramatic suddenness that almost paralysed the suffering nations, who could scarcely realize that intense courage, energy, and determination had at length given the Allies the victory. Even while the Germans stood at the bar of justice at the Peace Conference, Mother Empire decided the time had arrived to take Edith Cavell to her own broad bosom; and the dust of one of the most gallant women of our race was brought from Belgium to be reinterred under the shadow of Norwich Cathedral, in the county that must ever be proud that it gave her birth. From Dover the body of Nurse Cavell came through Kent towards the capital; the orchards were in full blossom, the fields golden with buttercups, every bank blue and white with wild flowers, as if England had put on her richest garment to receive her own. From Victoria Station the funeral _cortège_ passed into the streets amid the wonderful stillness and silence of vast crowds, a tribute of silence that acclaimed the dead no less surely and splendidly than the living heroes of the war had been welcomed home by the heartfelt cheers of the multitude. To the roll of the drums, the stately tread of escorting Coldstreamers, the beautiful melody of funeral marches by the Scots and Welsh Guards' bands, the gun-carriage and its honoured burden came to Westminster Abbey, where, in the shadows of the dim old church, the first portion of the funeral ceremony was to be performed.