It came like a trumpet blast in the ear of a sleeping man, and it found Western Europe unprepared—with its energy wasted under the rule of Socialism, and with its armies and navies almost deteriorated out of existence.
CHAPTER XXX.
Wilbrid Passes Out.
I remember it was the afternoon of Christmas Day, 1916.
Madame had come across to our little home at Dinant for a few days' rest.
She had almost worked herself to sickness in her active campaign of organising in preparation for the war-storm that threatened Europe.
We were sitting on the verandah, overlooking the river, when we noticed far down the zig-zag track that led to the house, a black-cloaked figure. It was coming towards us and walked with the aid of a stick. As it approached, it brought to my memory a similar figure I had met on the Coblenz road; and I told Madame the story of my meeting with Wilbrid.
"If that is Wilbrid," she exclaimed, "he is spying. He must not see me here."
I explained that it could not be the Great Humanist, as, eighteen months before, he had changed his clerical garb for that of a civilian; and this figure was old and bent, whereas Wilbrid was tall and erect.