For three further searing years the war continued its desolating course, that entailed the death and mangling of millions of the combatants and the expenditure of uncountable wealth.
The end came with dramatic suddenness that almost paralysed the suffering nations, who could scarcely realize that intense courage, energy, and determination had at length given the Allies the victory.
Even while the Germans stood at the bar of justice at the Peace Conference, Mother Empire decided the time had arrived to take Edith Cavell to her own broad bosom; and the dust of one of the most gallant women of our race was brought from Belgium to be reinterred under the shadow of Norwich Cathedral, in the county that must ever be proud that it gave her birth.
From Dover the body of Nurse Cavell came through Kent towards the capital; the orchards were in full blossom, the fields golden with buttercups, every bank blue and white with wild flowers, as if England had put on her richest garment to receive her own.
From Victoria Station the funeral cortège passed into the streets amid the wonderful stillness and silence of vast crowds, a tribute of silence that acclaimed the dead no less surely and splendidly than the living heroes of the war had been welcomed home by the heartfelt cheers of the multitude.
To the roll of the drums, the stately tread of escorting Coldstreamers, the beautiful melody of funeral marches by the Scots and Welsh Guards' bands, the gun-carriage and its honoured burden came to Westminster Abbey, where, in the shadows of the dim old church, the first portion of the funeral ceremony was to be performed.
A great congregation, representing all classes of society, had assembled, and the nursing profession and the various branches of the women's military services were largely in evidence. For fully half an hour the waiting gathering listened enraptured to entrancing and uplifting music of the Grenadier Guards' band.
The last notes died away. Suddenly the assembly rose as Queen Alexandra was ushered to her seat. With her was Princess Victoria; and the King was represented by the Earl of Athlone.
A few moments later the strains of Chopin's funeral march could be heard outside the Abbey, betokening the arrival of the cortège; and then beautiful voices echoed and re-echoed through aisle and transept as the choir met the coffin, which progressed slowly from the great west door towards the catafalque that waited to receive its noble burden. Tall Guardsmen bore shoulder high the coffin, covered with the Union Jack, which Edith Cavell had honoured with her life. To rest upon the glorious colours Queen Alexandra had sent a magnificent wreath of red and white carnations and arum lilies, to which an autograph card was attached upon which she had written:
In memory of our brave, heroic, never-to-be-forgotten Nurse Cavell.
Life's race well run,
Life's work well done,
Life's crown well won,
Now comes rest.
From Alexandra.