"What excites you, Fancy?" "I sat with Alfred Yellam at the back of school-house amongst the young fellows." "Well?" "Before Alfred left me, he told me to tell you, sir, that the young fellows was not too well pleased with what Captain Davenant said. Alfred was real vexed at their remarks. He thought you did ought to know." "I'm much obliged to Alfred for a timely hint. But couldn't this have kept till the morning?" "There's something else, sir." "Out with it!" He smiled more encouragingly. "After Alfred went, Molly told me as everybody in village was saying as how George Mucklow's father _made_ him go, and that upset the other young men.... And then...." Her soft voice faltered and died away. "And then...?" "Molly and me fell to talking about Mr. Edward." The sympathy in her voice was almost too much for the Parson. He shaded his eyes with his hand. She continued in a lower tone: "Excuse me, sir, for asking you something, but I do want to know so bad." "Ask your question, Fancy." "Did you tell Mr. Edward to go?" "No." "Ah! He wanted to go, and you didn't raise a finger to prevent him. If you had, maybe he'd have stayed." "I--I don't think so." The Parson's voice was not too steady. How sorely he had been tempted to raise that finger none would ever know. Fancy went on, breathlessly: "Molly and me thinks that those who can least be spared may have to go, if--if the others hold back." "I see. You are thinking of your Alfred?" He lowered his hand, looking straight at her. "If you please, sir. He be terrible put out at the others hanging back." "I give my opinion for what it is worth, Fancy. In these deep matters none can speak for another. I do not presume to speak for Alfred. But Lord Kitchener, if he were here, would assure you that Alfred is certainly not needed yet, nor likely to be for a long time." "Thank you, sir. That does hearten me. But, if he should want to go, and if--if he left it to me, what should I do? What ought I to do?" Her big eyes were flaming with interrogation. The Parson dared not temporise with her. All his thoughts concerning women seemed to have become focussed on this individual case. All that the finest gentlewomen in the Empire were feeling expressed itself poignantly from the mouth of his parlourmaid. All his convictions concerning the potentialities of the soul became fortified. They burst suddenly into full flower. Yet he answered curtly, distrustful of sentiment when tremendous issues were at stake. "You will tell him, Fancy, to act according to the dictates of his own conscience." "Yes, sir." "Do you mean that you will tell him that, regardless of your own feelings?" "Yes, sir." She got up, begging his pardon for keeping him out of bed. As he rose from his chair, he wondered what he could say to comfort her; some word of solace that might woo sleep to her tired brain. They went together into the small hall. He took her hand.