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In the amethyst twilight of a quiet church the two lovers and their war-dog keep a vigil as the knight did long ago when he fiercely desired that his arms be blest with victory and he himself return. This time no tears. These are three soldiers now. Once they said good-by with moans and weak souls. Now they exult in service, pray to "WIN!" And the tiny prayer, "May we be happy, too!" only comes in at the last in tiny type! "Pooh! we know that already—that WE will be happy. We are already, Golden-Eyes. Did we ever know such glory as this? Did we ever love so well?"
And so good-by, but "so-long"—this hour before Bill goes to his brothers on the Marne—French, English and Italian. Golden-Eyes kneels beside, this once clad in the angelic white of the great Cross she serves instead of her ambulance boots and breeches.
"For you!" she smiles.
So Bill's short, happy days "in repose" in the town where Golden-Eyes and "Uncle Sam" are "based" is over, and the order comes.
"MARCH ON!"
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