Over the weary city still glide and hover the thin beams of light, vainly regretting their lost prey. A few useless shells leap into red brilliance here and there among the stars, while the last lovely chain of green balls rises upward through the night. To the dim north, by the docks, glows the dull glare of a fire, where some bomb has gone home. To the west we fly onwards in the moonshine over the pale pattern of the fields. Far ahead glimmer the white flames of the star-shells in the mist along the floods. The sense of duty well done, of dangers faced and conquered, gives an exhilaration which has made the whole night of terror worth the while. The moments of dread through which we have lived have been so vivid, so intense, that they have left us cool-headed and tranquil, and now we know that we are on the way home, and that we go to rest and forgetfulness. Minutes pass, and below us gleams the fading loveliness of a star-shell. To the left flickers Ypres. On the right at Nieuport one shell bursts out along the coast, beyond which lies the vast expanse of the quiet sea. Minutes pass, and below us shines the little T of lights at Coudekerque. Down drifts our light--up drifts the welcome answer. Softly we sink towards the world, which slowly, slowly grows real from out a map.... Gladly I drop through the little door when we have at last drawn up beside the mighty hangars. Gladly I stretch my cramped legs and walk for a while unfamiliarly upon the grass. Gladly at last I switch off the light in my bedroom, and curl up in the sheets with my feet upon the hot-water bottle. On the ceiling gleams the fire-light. Voices sound more rarely in the cabins. Suddenly I remember something, and call out-- "Who was it getting hell over Ghistelles?" "Bob!" comes an answer from some near-by cabin. "I say, Bob! Did you have a bad time?" "Twenty-five holes in the machine! Jack shoved the bombs right across the aerodrome, though--he's not a bad observer!" "Shut up, Bob!" "Good-night, Jack! Good-night, Bob! Good-night, Bill! Good-night, Shoey!" "Good-night, Paul!" "Good-night, Jimmy--it wasn't so bad, was it?" "No! Good-night, Paul!" Soon I drift to sleep and the well-loved world of dreams. VII. DAWN TO DAWN. "When in the East the evening stars burn clear, We know our time of toil is drawing near; For as the evening deepens in the West, It brings an ending to our day-long rest. One after one we slip into the gloom, And through the dusk like great cockchafers boom; High in the stars you hear our mournful cry, As we sail onward through the sapphire sky." --_The Night Bombers._ I suddenly wake, and sit up in bed with strained ears. I have a dim recollection of a noise. Then I hear three or four dull explosions like distant gunfire, and out wails the piteous appeal of "Mournful Mary" at the Dunkerque docks. _Zoop-zoop_ ... bo-o-o-o-m! The last is a tremendous explosion. I wonder what is happening.