It was just the one soft impact with a suggestion of earth-wide portentous force; and an interval followed; and the blurred sound again.

The dwellers in those parts, who had sons and husbands at the war, made up no fancies to explain it.

They listened with a sinking of the heart; for what they heard was the roar of the British guns at Ypres.
Into this country Martin Hillyard drove a small motor-car on a day of October two years afterwards.

Until this week he had not set foot in his country of the soft grey skies since he had left Rackham Park.

He had hurried down to Rackham as soon as he had reported to his Chief, but not with the high anticipation of old days.