It is extremely difficult, and occasional mistakes are only too apt to be widely advertised and give a wrong impression. Think of the task of the hundreds and thousands of casualties; and the errors, terrible though the suffering entailed may be, are comparatively insignificant. But I have led the reader away from my story. They thought me dead. Yes; killed in action. There was no getting away from it; no need for me to describe the tears and sorrow. Those who suffer must bear their sorrow in silence--more honour to them. Obituary notices appeared in the newspapers, and letters and telegrams of condolence poured in. My solicitors took possession of my belongings and explained their contents to my family. A firm of photographers who generously invite officers to have their portraits taken free of charge, now offered the plate for a consideration to the illustrated papers; and even as I write these lines many months later, my picture is dished up again in this week's issue of an illustrated magazine as among the dead. In short, during those few weeks which followed my fall, I became as dead and completely buried as modern conventions demanded. It is expensive to die and not be dead, for clothes of mourning cannot afterwards be hidden under any other disguises; and it is a peculiar feeling to be called upon to pay for your own funeral expenses. And when once you are officially dead it is very difficult to come officially to life again. Months have passed, and I am still waiting for the official correction to appear. As I walk through the streets of London my friends stare at me as though I were a ghost. I feel as though I am a living apology for the mistake of others. To the illustrated magazine I have just referred to I wrote assuring the editor that I had every reason to believe he was wrong in his contention. He replied, enclosing my photograph, and asking me if I was sure I was not some other person, as the picture referred to an officer who was surely dead. Perhaps even now I am wrong. Yet, I ought to know. CHAPTER XXIV WARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR Before the war Reserve Lazarette 5 at Hanover was a military school. It is now used for wounded military prisoners, and for German soldiers suffering from venereal disease. The same operating-room is used for all patients; the wounded prisoners receiving treatment in the morning, and the Germans in the afternoon. There is a fair-sized garden, not unattractive, and the wounded are permitted to take the fresh air, and to walk about freely, if they are able to do so. So are the German patients, and so are their visitors, on Tuesdays and Saturdays, from 2 till 4 in the afternoon. There is no separation of the two classes of patients, and honour must share the company of disgrace in her captivity.