Everyman's Land

. In the uproar of explosions and crashings and jinglings, the small silence of our room-with

o smoke calmly, a half-smile on his face, as if the bombardment carried him back to life in the trenches. But the beautiful sightless eyes searched for what they could not see: and I knew that I was in his thoughts. I

you not better go and t

! Look at her! Does sh

ked to the table, helped herself to a cigarette from Brian's silver case which lay ope

natched at the end of a scarf I wore. "No one's looking," he said. "Take this-for your own sake." And he thrust into a l

e landlord appeared, apologizing for the raid as if it had been an accident of his kitchen. We must have no fear. All danger was over. The avion-only one!-had been chased

y well for our first air raid," he said. "The rest of you were fine! But I suppose even you ladies have seen some of these shows before? As for you, Brian, my boy,

swered quickly. "It

an it is now, why, it must have been a marvel! We're ignorant in t

I sang in New York only part of last winter, and then I-came over here, like everyone else. My name is Julian O'Farrell, b

hrough France and Belgium. The next I heard was that he had "gone back" to Italy. I had of course supposed him to be an Italian. But now he boasted-or confessed-that he was an Irishman. Why, then, had he lef

ds I could not hear, but with a sullen, doubtful look, like a small trapped creature that snaps at a friendly hand. The landlord was helping a white-faced waiter to

r. O'Farrell? Or should I say Lieutenant or Captain?" Father Becke

as been, and she's on leave because she's tired out. She faints easily-and what with the air raid-maybe you'll let us pay our respects before you leave to-morrow? Then we'll tell you all

warned me to do so, and his allusion to the Paris newspapers explained much. For the second time a reporter had caught Father Beckett, and got out of him the

llow, waving the sword of Damocles! His note burned my pocket. And I burned to know what i

et this poor little girl" (a tap on his sister's sho

but the kindly Becketts were the last creatures to be critical. They sympathized, and changed their invitation from after-dinner coffee to breakf

t wheel had time to crush me. I could throw doubt upon their good faith. I could hint that, if they had really been doing Red Cross or other work at St. Raphael, I should certainly have heard of them. But I held my peace-partly through qualms of conscience, partly through fear. Unless the man had proofs to

Father Beckett noticed that his wife was pale. "She looks as if she needed bed a good sig

, even Brian and I. Then-in my own room-I was fre