"And--and, Bob"--with the words came a sob--"there's no one in the world but you." "Nancy," he cried, "You don't mean . . . ?" At that moment he was summoned to his duty. Still she stood before him--half sobbing, the same light in her eyes which he remembered seeing down by the Cornish sea. A command from his superior officer was given; he must go. Close by, the soldiers stood in marching order. They had been wounded, but now they were ready for duty again; they were in great good humour, and discipline even yet was somewhat relaxed. They were laughing and talking gaily; they were going back to fight, but they were going with a laugh upon their lips. A minute later some one had started a song--the song which he had heard often in the trenches, when shot and shell were falling thickly: "It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long, long way to go; It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know." "Nancy," he cried eagerly, "do you mean that . . . ?" Before her reply had come, even before he had finished his sentence, he had to leave her, and in a minute more he was on his way to the front. Hours later he heard the booming of the great guns again, and was met with sight and sound which told him of his duty, but through it all and beyond it all he saw Nancy's face; he heard the music of her voice; he remembered the look in her eyes--eyes that were filled with tears, yet shining like stars, and he thought again and again of her words: "There's no one in the world but you." NOTE I had just finished reading the proofs of the aforegoing, when I received a letter from my friend, a part of which I have decided to insert here. "It is now some time since you heard from me, and I am scribbling this hurried note to tell you that I am still alive and well. That I am able to say this seems to me nothing less than miraculous, for I have been in the thick of the fighting ever since I left the hospital. When I have time to write fully, I shall have some wonderful things to tell you concerning the heroism of our Army, and of the marvellous way in which we have not only held our own, but advanced. As you will see, I am now in Belgium, and we are in the midst of one of the most deadly struggles ever known in history. Nothing but the almost superhuman courage of our men could have saved us. It has been simply miraculous. Again and again have the Germans hurled themselves upon us, only to fail. There are signs now that their attacks are weakening, and their defence more feeble. If we only had more men, we could put them to rout and that right quickly. That is our great need. More men like the London Scottish, who have simply covered themselves with glory.