Another shell came, and another, and with each his feeling grew. Just so must a mouse feel, he thought, when a cat plays with it. He felt as though he were at the mercy of an enormous giant, and that, each time he thought to escape, the shadow of a huge hand fell on the ground around him, and he knew that the hand above was waiting to crush him. At the thought, the hair on his forehead grew damp; time after time he checked his mad impulse to quicken his pace, and caught himself glancing covertly at his servant to see if he noticed his captain's strange behaviour. Suppose the hand should crush him before he could get back to England, to his home, to his marriage! Suddenly there were four short, loud hisses, and four shells burst along the road close in front of them. "They're searching the road. Quick, into the ditch," shouted Carr to his servant, as he jumped into an old trench that ran along the roadside. Butler turned to do the same, slipped on the _pave_, and fell heavily, his ankle badly sprained. Those hateful hisses would come again before the man could crawl into safety, and this time they would probably be nearer, and escape almost miraculous. Captain Carr leaped out of the trench again and helped his servant to his feet. "Cling on to me, man!" and, a moment after, he shouted, "down, here they come again!" and they flung themselves on their faces scarce two feet from the ditch and probable safety. When Butler raised his head again after the four explosions, Captain Ronald Carr lay at his side, dead. The hand had grasped its prey. * * * * * Margery Debenham was standing in front of her mirror, getting ready to go to meet Ronald by the 3.20 train, when Mr. Carr came to announce the receipt of the War Office telegram. She could find no tears when she heard the news; she felt stunned, and vaguely bored by the platitudes of consolation people uttered. When she could escape, she went slowly down the flagged path, where they used to walk to the orchard, where the future had been planned by two people full of the happy confidence of the young. She flung herself down in the long grass by the stream, and buried her hot face in her hands. "What does it all mean?" she said to herself. Then, a minute later, she thought of all the other women who had to bear the same pain, and all for no reason. "There is no God," she cried passionately. "No one can help me, for there is no God." Day after day, night after night of waiting, and all for nothing. All those hours of agony, when the papers talked of "diversions" on the British front, rewarded by the supreme agony, by the sudden loss of all hope. No more need to hunt for a loved but dreaded name through the casualty lists every morning; all that was finished now. The splash of a jumping trout in the pool under the willow tree took her thoughts away from her pain for the fraction of a second--just sufficient time to allow the soothing tears to come.