It was to Tod’s eternal sorrow that he was not in Blake’s parlour that night. Lou told all in unblemished vividness later, with the Packer to grunt the burden; and the middle piece came once from Steve when his great blundering heart ached for the unburdening.
“I was mad,” he said. (This was up a dried water-course under the stars, with no one to hear but Tod.) “I was blind, blazin’ mad. What sense had Maiden ter go takin’ up wi’ the Army, an’ ter go singin’ in the street? An’ she innercent as a little soft-breasted bush-wren, an’ them Army lassies hevin’ ter wade roun’ in all the devil’s evil o’ the world. It was Randal cut us out a way through the ruck, wi’ his head under his arms same as we does in a football rush—near got squished too, he did. I hed holt on her ter carry her out ’fore I knew who it was. There was Pug Chaney wi’ his arm roun’ her———” Steve looked down at his knuckles. “Tuk near as much skin offen him as offen them,” he said.
“I was fancyin’ as it was Lou brart her out,” said Tod. “It was Lou she was walkin’ wid up to the cemet’ry lasht avenin’.”
“Was she?” Steve’s voice roughened. “I didn’t think—but she ain’t spoke to me sence last night, an’ Lou—he caught her hand when I was lightin’ out wi’ her, an’ he kissed it. ‘You’re brave. Maiden,’ he said, an’ was inter the thick of it agin ’fore I could lash him. An’
