"No, not in so many words; but he spoke of her to one of the other men as his fiancée."
Bob's heart sank like lead; the worst he had feared had come to pass. This, then, was his reward for his fidelity to his conscience. He could not understand it. He knew Nancy was angry with him—angry at what she had called his cowardice, at his refusal to obey the call of his country. But he was sure she loved him: had she not told him so?—and now, to become engaged within only a few weeks, to the man she had spoken of, almost with scorn, was simply unbelievable.
For the moment he had become heedless of his surroundings; the fact that thousands of soldiers were crouching in the trenches waiting for any possible advance of the enemy, the groans of men who were wounded and perhaps dying, did not exist to him.
At that moment the issue of battles was less to him than the action of the woman he loved.
"I used to imagine you were gone on her," went on Pickford; "I suppose it was only a boy-and-girl affair."
Bob did not reply; he could not discuss the tragedy of his life with his old school-fellow.
"Where is Trevanion now?" he asked presently.
"He must be close by," was the reply. "I saw him less than an hour ago, when the Germans were beginning to give way. Of course I have always known him to be a fine soldier, but I never knew he had so much of the fighting devil in him. Man, you should have seen his eyes burn red—he was just like a wild savage. I think he forgot his duties as an officer and gave himself up to the lust of fighting."
Pickford had scarcely uttered the words when a man came up to him. "I say, Trevanion's missing," he said.
"Trevanion missing? I was telling Nancarrow here that I saw him less than an hour ago."