"That was nothing," said Bob. "Of course, I did seem like a coward, I suppose, and I don't wonder at your doing what you did; but that's nothing. You'll be happy when it's all over; and really, he's a fine soldier, Nancy; and a fine fellow too; all his men just worship him."
"Oh, Bob, can't you understand?" her voice was almost inaudible.
"Yes, yes, I understand, but don't trouble about me one little bit; I shall be all right. There—go now, they want you."
"Do you really wish me to go, Bob?"
"Of course I do; it's your duty, and duty is everything in these days; it's hard and stern now, but by and by it'll become joyful."
"And when the war is over?" she stammered—"I—I . . ."
"It won't be over yet for a long time; still, we must keep a brave heart. You remember those lines of William Blake, Nancy? I used to laugh at them because he mixed his metaphors, but I see their meaning now:
"I will not cease from mental strife,
Nor shall the sword sleep in my hand,
Till I have built Jerusalem,
In England's good and pleasant land."
There, get back Nancy; perhaps we shall see each other again, before I go?"
Without another word she went back to her grim and horrible work; her feet seemed like lead as she dragged them across the open space which lay between her and the great, gaunt building.