"I’ll have you down: ’Killed in action,’" said I, loud into his ear. And he heard, though he was slipping away very fast. He grinned at me again, and then died without a sigh, his head on my breast, like a child. This is the fifth week of siege. * * * * * I am haunted by your presence. We all dream a great deal when we sleep, these times. That’s part of the game when one is half-starved. The fellows amuse themselves by telling their dreams at breakfast. It’s almost like: "What’s the news?" when one meets at the club. Bethune makes every one laugh: he’s so deadly matter-of-fact, "I dreamed I was sitting down to a Porterhouse steak!" You should hear the boys yell! Leicester, now, yarns away at a magnificent rate. Of course it’s half invention; he’s a real Irishman; but he keeps us alive. It’s as good as a mutton chop to us to see him come dancing into mess—such a mess!—twanging his banjo and singing some absurd lilt of his own making. "You see, boys," he says, with a piece of horse on his fork; "to a fellow brought up on ’potatoes and point,’ this is positively gorgeous!" But I don’t tell my dreams, Rosamond. They are yours and mine. * * * * * Once you looked at me with fear in your eyes. It was on board ship. I think if I had ever seen that shadow in your beautiful eyes again, I should have had it in me to throw myself into the sea. Oh! what could you fear in me, Rosamond? * * * * * It has been snowing again on the heights. I pity those who try to conquer the snow. You take it to your arms and try to warm it, and it goes from you in tears. Rosamond, you have been like the snow to me. How could I have ever aspired to you?—white child! I think I am wandering—you are the rose-flower to me. My white rose—no! my red red rose—Rose of the World! * * * * * If they are coming over the snows to relieve us, it will go hard with them. Were it only not to disappoint the brave fellows, I’ll hold on; but we are pulling the belt pretty tight. The worst of it is, I feel so terribly alive; I’ll take as much killing as a wild cat. I have so much to live for: I have to come back to you! I can make such a fight for it yet. Rosamond, if I have to die, I’ll die hard. Now Bethune will be like an old dog fox; he’ll sit on his tail and show his teeth and let them have their will at the end without a sound—but I’ll fight! * * * * *