I saw it afterwards, written in a big scrawl—a few lines which now I copy out:
"Dear old Brand, It's the end of the adventure. Somehow I funk Peace. I don't see how I can go back to Wimbledon as if nothing had happened to me. None of us are the same as when we left, and I'm quite different. I'm going over to the pals on the other side. They will understand. Cheerio!
Cyril Clatworthy."
"I was playing my flute when I heard the shot," said
the Colonel.
Brand put the letter in his pocket, and made only one comment.
"Another victim of the war-devil. . . . Poor kid!"
Presently he went up to young Clatworthy's room, and stayed there a long time.
A few days later we began to move on towards the Rhine, by slow stages, giving the German army time to get back. In Brand's pocket-book was the letter to Franz von Kreuzenach, from Eileen O'Connor.
