Ruth reclined on the bed of sand. The calm blessedness of night embraced her; and the stars lay on her face. She lifted her lips to them, seeming to draw them down with each breath, and blow them away again, babe-like. A dreamy amazement still possessed her. "Who'd ever ha beleft it?" she said quietly. Then she turned her face to him and laughed. "Ernie!" she called. "Whose are you now?" he said fiercely in her ear. She chuckled and gathered him to her bosom. He sighed his content. "That's better," he murmured. "Now, never no more of it!" A great mate, Ruth was a still greater mother; and this living, pulsing creature in her arms was her child, her first-born cub. In the stress and conflict of the last few years necessity had compelled her to discard the royal indolence that was her natural habit. The lioness in her, roused by conflict, had made her fierce and formidable in any battle. Six months ago she had fought Ernie--because he was weak; now she would shield him--because he was strong. Jealously she pressed him to her. "They shan't get you, my lad," she said between her teeth. "I'll see to that." "I'm not afraid o them," answered Ernie drowsily. "I knaw the Germans. All you got to do is to say Shoo!--and goo with your arms and they're off like rabbits from the garden." She thrust his head back till she saw it as a dim blob against the shining night; and looked up into his eyes, her own so close to his, so deep, so dear. "You're my soldier," she murmured in his ear. "I always knew you was." Then she drew his face down to hers, till their lips met. "I got something to tell you, Ern." Now she leaned over him. The moon shone on the smooth sweep of her shoulders, rounded and luminous. "I only deceived you the once, Ern," she whispered, her voice murmuring like a stream that issued from the slowly-heaving ocean of her chest. "Afore we were married. He ne'er wrote me ne'er a letter." "I knew that then," muttered Ernie, sleepily, his head beside her own. "It was Madame," Ruth continued. "She come over in a car and told the tale." Her confession made she waited; but in a moment his breathing told her that he had fallen off to sleep. She stroked him rhythmically, just as she would her children when they were tired. He was going back to the regiment--to Captain Royal--to the Unknown. She was not afraid for him--nor for herself--nor for the children. An immense peace had fallen on her. Then all about her a murmur as of wings grew. There was a whispering patter as of rain upon the turf that ringed the covert; but no rain fell. Through the patter came the tinkle of a bell. An immense flock of sheep was rippling dimly like a flood over the parched turf to the dew-pond by the old wall on the brow. The whisper grew louder, as though the rain had turned to hail. The flock was crossing the road. Then there was almost a silence, and in the silence the leader ba-a-a-d. The flock had reached the waters of refreshing.