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bounds, tanks churning up the turf. Instead of rooks cawing there’ll be the crack of tank cannon, and splintered trees.” He thought of Bourlon Wood in the battle for Cambrai in November 1917, and drove on slower than before.
    “Didn’t they say at the enquiry that there wouldn’t be any firing this side of the downs, Pip?”
    “Well, to be honest, it isn’t altogether a question of tanks or a firing range. It’s the fact that I’ve failed in what I undertook todo. As you know, Uncle Hilary bought back the family land my grandfather threw away, so that I could succeed him, and I—well—I threw it away, too. And I want to be near a trout stream, to watch fish, for my book. And I’d like to move nearer the sea, and I think I’ve found a house. It was to be a surprise, but I’ve told you before we get there. We’re on the way now.”
    “How lovely!”
    “It’s got plenty of room,” he went on with a stir of optimism, “and it’s all by itself in a hamlet called Flumen Monachorum. There used to be monks in the Abbey, but Henry the Eighth dissolved them. Lord Abeline lives at the Abbey, he’s the landlord .”
    Lucy blushed. Should she tell Phillip that George Abeline was her cousin, by marriage? No, it was not important.
    The elderly tenants were only too pleased that someone had come to look at the house. Over tea Colonel Gott said that he and his wife wanted to move nearer a town, the place was rather isolated for them, they had been thinking of going back to Cheltenham to be among friends. It was a jolly little place, he declared, not too difficult to run, and plenty of help was available in the hamlet. The bath-water was fed to a tank in the roof from a ram beside the river, and drinking water came from a well, as was usual in the district. They were shown round the bedrooms, five in all, and three living rooms in addition to kitchen and scullery. There were the usual outhouses, and drainage by septic tank.
    “There’s a couple of miles of fishin’, the rent is moderate, forty pounds a year, tenant paying rates, another twenty. The very place to study trout, if you want to write about them. I’ve read your book on the otter’s wanderings with interest, knowing the Devon moorland country more or less. We took this place and the fishin’ on a seven-year lease, two of which are yet to run. I’ll speak to the Steward, if you like, and may I tell him that you’re prepared to consider taking over the unexpired portion of the lease?”
    “Thank you, Colonel Gott.”
    Lucy and Phillip went away happy at the prospect of living in such a secluded place. They drove into the town, and visited the Steward, a solicitor to whom Phillip made a formal application to take over the remainder of Colonel Gott’s lease at Midsummer. For references he gave the name of Lucy’s father, his uncle Sir Hilary Maddison, and his bank.
    “I’ll put your application before his Lordship, who will want to see you, Mr. Maddison.”
    The following week, wanting to run-in the rebored engine, he set off for London to break the news to his parents. He took Felicity with him, she was going to stay at home for awhile. He said he was determined to begin the trout book, for which he had had the advance royalties more than a year ago. She had heard that before.
    “I don’t see why I can’t do the book on the trout at the same time as the war book, once I get into a routine. I’ll send a chapter of each to you every day, and not re-write one sentence. Then when I’m in full flow, you can come down. I mean, if you can live at home for awhile, you can also begin the novel you want to write, can’t you?”
    She remained silent: she felt depression growing upon her: this was his way of telling her it was over. She tried not to cry. A little farther on he stopped beside a wood near Andover and said, “Come on.” She trembled: she prayed she would not fail him by remaining tense, so that he would turn away from her. They lay on dry