"Yes." My husband nodded jerkily. "I don't really like telling you about it, but this comes rather strangely on the top of ugly dreams I've had lately. I dreamt four times last week that I saw Roland and Gretton coming along arm in arm, laughing together, but looking more like upright dead men than living flesh and blood. And the queer thing about it was that, though they were laughing together, Roland was trying to get away from Gretton, and somehow he couldn't. It was as if something that was stronger than their own will kept them close to each other. There was something horrible about it." I knew that the blood was leaving my cheeks and lips as I looked at him. And yet this boy Gretton was a person whom I had never spoken to in my life! For the first time for nearly three months, I felt a deadly chill run through me again, just as when Little Yeogh Wough had first gone out to the Front. "Do you know, I can't help feeling troubled about this?" I heard myself saying in a strange whisper. "It is very silly of me, but I can't help feeling that--that Gretton may be calling to him to follow." It was not so mad a thing as it seemed, this fear that had just come to me that the boy Gretton, killed five days ago, might be calling to the boy of my heart. Their lives had been linked together in a most curious way. They had never had any particular liking for each other--indeed, it must have been almost the other way about, for Little Yeogh Wough had never brought him to us or gone to his home--and yet in their careers they had been as brother spirits. They had both opened their eyes on life in the same year and month, and within a stone's throw of each other in London. They had both been given the Christian name of Roland, spelt without a "w." They met by going to the same preparatory school, and from the hour of this first meeting their lives had run side by side. They had not run quite neck and neck, for Little Yeogh Wough was always ahead. He got a seventy-pound scholarship for a certain great Public School, when Gretton won a fifty-pound one. It was the same with Oxford, for which they both gained classical scholarships. Little Yeogh Wough was always well ahead. Yet, still, they were always together. When the war had come, they had got their commissions at the same time. But Gretton had got out to the Front first. "I shall get out soon now that Gretton's out there," Little Yeogh Wough had said to me confidently. And he had gone soon, and they had fought the Germans side by side, as they had fought for honours at school. And now Gretton had been killed, and my husband had dreamed that he saw him walking with our Roland, arm linked in arm, holding on to him closely and refusing to let him go.