'No message, thank you,' said she slowly.

'Then I'll bid ye guid-bye--an' I could bet ye a bob ye'll never see me again. So I'll tell ye something.' His words came with a rush. 'Ye're aboot the nicest girl I ever kent, Christina.

Macgreegor's a luckier deevil nor he deserves. But I'll look efter him for ye in Flanders. Trust me for that. Noo that we're really boun' for the Front, in a day or so, things is different--at least I'm feelin' different. Dinna laugh! I--I dinna want to ha'e ony enemies but the Germans. I've jist been an' kissed ma aunt--dammit! An' noo'--he caught her hand, pulled her to him--'I'm gaun to kiss _you_! There!' He turned and bolted.

Christina's hand went to her cheek, and fell back to her side. Her colour ebbed as swiftly as it had flowed. She began to shake.

'Bound for the Front, in a day or so.' . . .

Later she went to the sitting-room where her employer was once more absorbing comfort from a cup. 'Miss Tod,' she said quietly, 'I want to gang hame.'

In the evening she posted a small package with this note enclosed--

'I am sending the ring Mrs. McOstrich said I was to give you when the time came for you to go. I hope it will bring you good luck.

G.o.d bless you.

'CHRISTINA.'

She lay awake most of the night, wondering if she might not have written more, wondering what answer he would send, wondering--wondering. . . .

And as she fell asleep in the grey of morning, hours before the package would be delivered at the camp, a long train, at an outlying station, started on its way south, and six hundred eager lads shouted in the face of all things.

'We're awa' this time, by Goad!' yelled Willie in his friend's ear.

And Macgregor laughed wildly and wrung his friend's hand.

XXI

'HULLO, GLESCA HIELANDERS!'

Like a trodden, forgotten thing Private Macgregor Robinson lay on the Flanders mud, under the murk and rain. A very long time it seemed since that short, grim struggle amid the blackness and intermittent brightness. The night was still rent with noise and light, but the storm of battle had pa.s.sed from the place where he had fallen. He could not tell whether his fellows had taken the enemy's trench or retired to their own. He had the vaguest ideas as to where he was. But he knew that there was pain in his left shoulder and right foot, that he was athirst, also that he had killed a man--a big stout man, old enough to have been his father.

He tried not to think of the last, though he did not regret it: it had been a splendid moment.

He was not the only soldier lying there in the mud, but the others, friend or foe, were quite still. The sight of them in the flashes distressed him, yet always his gaze drifted back to them. His mind was a medley of thoughts, from the ugliest to the loveliest. At last, for he was greatly exhausted, his head drooped to his uninjured arm, his eyes closed. For a while he dozed. Then something disturbed him, and he raised himself and peered. In the flicker of a distant flare he saw a shape approaching him, crawling on hands and knees, very slowly, pausing for an instant at each still figure. It made Macgregor think of a big dog searching for its master--only it wore a helmet. Macgregor, setting his teeth, drew his rifle between his knees and unfixed the bayonet. . . .

'Hist! Is that you, Macgreegor?'

'Wullie!'

'Whisht, ye----!'

'Oh, Wullie'--in a whisper--'I'm gled to see ye!'

'I believe ye!' gasped Willie, and flattened out at his friend's side, breathing heavily. At the end of a minute or so--'Ha'e ye got it bad, Macgreegor?' he inquired.

'So, so. Arm an' leg. I'm feelin' rotten, but I'm no finished yet. Ha'e ye ony water? Ma bottle's shot through.'

'Here ye are. . . . Feelin' seeck-like?'

'I'm seeck at gettin' knocked oot at the vera beginnin.'

'Never heed. Did ye kill yer man?'

'Ay.'

'Same here. . . . In the back. . . . Ma Goad!'

'Ha'e we ta'en their trench?'

'Ay; but no enough o' us to haud it.

We're back in the auld place. Better luck next time. No safe to strike a match here; could dae fine wi' a f.a.g.'

There was a silence between them, broken at last by Macgregor.

'Hoo did ye find me, Wullie? What way are ye no back in the trench?'

'Wasna gaun back wi'oot ye--I seen ye drap--even if ye had been a corp. . . . Been snokin' aroun' seekin' ye for Guid kens hoo lang.

I'm fair hingin' wi' glaur.'

'. . . I'm obleeged to ye, Wullie, but ye shouldna ha'e done it.

Whauraboots are we?'

'I wisht I was sure. Lost ma bearin's. I doobt we're nearer the Germans nor oor ain lot. That's the reason I'm weerin' this dish-cover. But it's your turn to weer it. Ye've been wounded a'ready.'

'Na, na, Wullie!'

'Dae what I tell ye, ye ----!' Willie made the exchange of headgear. . . . 'I say, Macgreegor!'

'What?'

'This is Flanders. Ye mind oor bet? Weel, we're quits noo. I'm no owin' ye onything--eh?'

Macgregor grinned in spite of everything. 'Ay, we're quits noo, Wullie, sure enough.'

'If ever we get oot o' this, will ye len' us dew francs?'

''Deed, ay. . . . Wullie, ye're riskin' yer life for me.'

'Awa' an' chase yersel'! I wonder what that girl o' yours is thinkin' aboot the noo--if she's no sleepin'.'

There was a pause till Macgregor said awkwardly: 'Christina's finished wi' me.'

'Eh?'

'I couldna tell ye afore; but she had got wind o' Maggie.'