"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.
Ruth slept, strangely comforted.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE STATION
Next day Ernie was to join up.
After dinner he kissed Susie and Jenny, gave them each a penny, and despatched them to play. Hand in hand they stamped away to Motcombe Garden with clacking heels, roguish backward glances and merry tongues.