“Oh! Beg y’ pardon! He went on with his braziers, hummin’ his hymn, down Butcher’s Row. Just before we got to the old dressin’-station he stops and sets ’em down an’ says: ‘Where did you say she was, Clem? Me eyes ain’t as good as they used to be.’
“‘In ’er bed at ’ome,’ I says. ‘Come on down. It’s perishin’ cold, an’ I’m not due for leaf.’
“‘Well, I am,’ ’e says. ‘I am....’ An’ then—’give you me word I didn’t recognise the voice—he stretches out ’is neck a bit in a way ’e ’ad, an’ he says: ‘Why, Bella!’ ’e says. ‘Oh, Bella!’ ’e says. ‘Thank Gawd!’ ’e says. Just like that! An’ then I saw—I tell you I saw—Auntie Armine herself standin’ by the old dressin’-station door where first I’d thought I’d seen her. He was lookin’ at ’er an’ she was lookin’ at him. I saw it, an’ me soul turned over inside me because—because it knocked out everything I’d believed in. I ’ad nothin’ to lay ’old of, d’ye see? An’ ’e was lookin’ at ’er as though he could ’ave et ’er, an’ she was lookin’ at ’im the same way, out of ’er eyes. Then he says: ‘Why, Bella,’ ’e says, ‘this must be only the second time we’ve been alone together in all these years.’ An’ I saw ’er half hold out her arms to ’im in that perishin’ cold. An’ she nearer fifty than forty an’ me own Aunt! You can shop me for a lunatic to-morrow, but I saw it—I saw ’er answerin’ to his spoken word!... Then ’e made a snatch to unsling ’is rifle. Then ’e cuts ’is hand away saying: ‘No! Don’t tempt me, Bella. We’ve all Eternity ahead of us. An hour or two won’t make any odds.’ Then he picks up the braziers an’ goes on to the dug-out door. He’d finished with me. He pours petrol on ’em, an’ lights it with a match, an’ carries ’em inside, flarin’. All that time Auntie Armine stood with ’er arms out—an’ a look in ’er face! I didn’t know such things was or could be! Then he comes out an’ says: ‘Come in, my dear’; an’ she stoops an’ goes into the dug-out with that look on her face—that look on her face! An’ then ’e shuts the door from inside an’ starts wedgin’ it up. So ’elp me Gawd, I saw an’ ’eard all these things with my own eyes an’ ears!”
He repeated his oath several times. After a long pause Keede asked him if he recalled what happened next.
“It was a bit of a mix-up, for me, from then on. I must have carried on—they told me I did, but—but I was—I felt a—a long way inside of meself, like—if you’ve ever had that feelin’. I wasn’t rightly on the spot at all. They woke me up sometime next morning, because ’e ’adn’t showed up at the train; an’ some one had seen him with me. I wasn’t ’alf cross-examined by all an’ sundry till dinner-time.
“Then, I think, I volunteered for Dearlove, who ’ad a sore toe, for a front-line message. I had to keep movin’, you see, because I hadn’t anything to hold on to. Whilst up there, Grant informed me how he’d found Uncle John with the door wedged an’ sand-bags stuffed in the cracks. I hadn’t waited for that. The knockin’ when ’e wedged up was enough for me. ’Like Dad’s coffin.”
“No one told me the door had been wedged,” Keede spoke severely.
“No need to black a dead man’s name, sir.”
“What made Grant go to Butcher’s Row?”
“Because he’d noticed Uncle John had been pinchin’ charcoal for a week past an’ layin’ it up behind the old barricade there. So when the ’unt began, he went that way straight as a string, an’ when he saw the door shut, he knew. He told me he picked the sand-bags out of the cracks an’ shoved ’is hand through and shifted the wedges before any one come along. It looked all right. You said yourself, sir, the door must ’ave blown to.”