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+Project Gutenberg's Everyman's Land, by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Everyman's Land
+
+Author: C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson
+
+Release Date: November 14, 2006 [EBook #19806]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERYMAN'S LAND ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by V. L. Simpson, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "I can't believe that the castle of Ham was as striking
+  in its untouched magnificence, as now, in the rose-red
+  splendour of its ruin!" -- pg. 248]
+
+
+
+
+                EVERYMAN'S LAND
+
+          BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
+
+
+                   AUTHOR OF
+
+  "_The Lightning Conductor Discovers America_,"
+        "_Lady Betty Across the Water_,"
+         "_Set in Silver_," _Etc._
+
+                _Frontispiece_
+
+                A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+  Publishers                                    New York
+
+  Published by arrangement with Doubleday, Page & Company
+
+
+            COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
+          C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
+    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
+      TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
+          INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+    TO ALL SOLDIERS WHO HAVE FOUGHT
+    OR FIGHT FOR EVERYMAN'S LAND AND
+    EVERYMAN'S RIGHT; AND TO THOSE
+           WHO LOVE FRANCE
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+Padre, when you died, you left a message for me. You asked me to go on
+writing, if I were in trouble, just as I used to write when you were on
+earth. I used to "confess," and you used to advise. Also you used to
+scold. _How_ you used to scold! I am going to do now what you asked, in
+that message.
+
+I shall never forget how you packed me off to school at Brighton, and
+Brian to Westward Ho! the year father died and left us to you--the most
+troublesome legacy a poor bachelor parson ever had! I'd made up my mind
+to hate England. Brian couldn't hate anything or anybody: dreamers don't
+know how to hate: and I wanted to hate you for sending us there. I
+wanted to be hated and misunderstood. I disguised myself as a Leprechaun
+and sulked; but it didn't work where you were concerned. You understood
+me as no one else ever could--or will, I believe. You taught me
+something about life, and to see that people are much the same all over
+the world, if you "take them by the heart."
+
+You took _me_ by the heart, and you held me by it, from the time I was
+twelve till the time when you gave your life for your country. Ten
+years! When I tell them over now, as a nun tells the beads of her
+rosary, I realize what good years they were, and how their
+goodness--with such goodness as I had in me to face them--came through
+you.
+
+Even after you died, you seemed to be near, with encouragement and
+advice. Remembering how pleased you were, when I decided to train as a
+nurse, added later to the sense of your nearness, because I felt you
+would rejoice when I was able to be of real use. It was only after you
+went that my work began to count, but I was sure you knew. I could hear
+your voice say, "Good girl! Hurrah for you!" when I got the gold medal
+for nursing the contagious cases; your dear old Irish voice, as it used
+to say the same words when I brought you my school prizes.
+
+Perhaps I _was_ "a good girl." Anyhow, I was a good nurse. Not that I
+deserved much credit! Brian was fighting, and in danger day and night.
+You were gone; and I was glad to be a soldier in my way, with never a
+minute to think of myself. Besides, somehow I wasn't one bit afraid. I
+_loved_ the work. But, _Padre mio_, I am not a good girl now. I'm a
+wicked girl, wickeder than you or I ever dreamed it was in me to be, at
+my worst. Yet if your spirit should appear as I write, to warn me that
+I'm sinning an unpardonable sin, I should go on sinning it.
+
+For one thing, it's for Brian, twin brother of my body, twin brother of
+my heart. For another thing, it's too late to turn back. There's a door
+that has slammed shut behind me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now, I'll begin and tell you everything exactly as it happened. Many a
+"confession-letter" I've begun in just these words, but never one like
+this. I don't deserve that it should bring me the heartease which used
+to come. But the thought of you is my star in darkness. Brian is the
+last person to whom I can speak, because above all things I want him to
+be happy. On earth there is no one else. Beyond the earth there
+is--_you_.
+
+When Brian was wounded, they expected him to die, and he was asking for
+me. The telegram came one day when we had all been rather overworked in
+the hospital, and I was feeling ready to drop. I must only have imagined
+my tiredness though, for when I heard about Brian I grew suddenly strong
+as steel. I was given leave, and disinfected, and purified as thoroughly
+as Esther when she was being made worthy of Ahasuerus. Then I dashed off
+to catch the first train going north.
+
+St. Raphael was our railway station, but I hadn't seen the place since I
+took up work in the Hopital des Epidemies. That was many months before;
+and meanwhile a training-school for American aviators had been started
+at St. Raphael. News of its progress had drifted to our ears, but of
+course the men weren't allowed to come within a mile of us: we were too
+contagious. They had sent presents, though--presents of money, and one
+grand gift had burst upon us from a young millionaire whose father's
+name is known everywhere. He sent a cheque for a sum so big that we
+nurses were nearly knocked down by the size of it. With it was enclosed
+a request that the money should be used to put wire-nettings in all
+windows and doors, and to build a roofed loggia for convalescents. If
+there were anything left over, we might buy deck-chairs and air-pillows.
+Of course it was easy for any one to know that we needed all these
+things. Our lack was notorious. We sent a much disinfected,
+carbolic-smelling round robin of thanks to "James W. Beckett, Junior,"
+son of the western railway king.
+
+As I drove to the _gare_ of St. Raphael, I thought of the kind boys who
+had helped our poor _poilus_, and especially of James Beckett. Whether
+he were still at the aviation camp, or had finished his training and
+gone to the front, I didn't know: but I wafted a blessing to our
+benefactor. I little dreamed then of the unforgivable injury I was fated
+to do him! You see, Padre, I use the word "_fated_." That's because I've
+turned coward. I try to pretend that fate has been too strong for me.
+But down deep I know you were right when you said, "Our characters carve
+our fate."
+
+It was a long journey from the south to the north, where Brian was, for
+in war-days trains do what they like and what nobody else likes. I
+travelled for three days and nights, and when I came to my journey's
+end, instead of Brian being dead as I'd seen him in a hundred hideous
+dreams, the doctors held out hope that he might live. They told me this
+to give me courage, before they broke the news that he would be blind. I
+suppose they thought I'd be so thankful to keep my brother at any price,
+that I should hardly feel the shock. But I wasn't thankful. I wasn't!
+The price seemed too big. I judged Brian by myself--Brian, who so
+worshipped beauty that I used to call him "Phidias!" I was sure he would
+rather have gone out of this world whose face he'd loved, than stay in
+it without eyes for its radiant smile. But there I made a great mistake.
+Brian was magnificent. Perhaps you would have known what to expect of
+him better than I knew.
+
+Where you are, you will understand why he did not despair. I couldn't
+understand then, and I scarcely can now, though living with my blind
+Brian is teaching me lessons I feel unworthy to learn. It was he who
+comforted me, not I him. He said that all the beauty of earth was his
+already, and nothing could take it away. He wouldn't _let_ it be taken
+away! He said that sight was first given to all created creatures in the
+form of a desire to see, desire so intense that with the developing
+faculty of sight, animals developed eyes for its concentration. He
+reminded me how in dreams, and even in thoughts--if they're vivid
+enough--we see as distinctly with our brains as with our eyes. He said
+he meant to make a wonderful world for himself with this vision of the
+brain and soul. He intended to develop the power, so that he would gain
+more than he had lost, and I must help him.
+
+Of course I promised to help all I could; but there was death in my
+heart. I remembered our gorgeous holiday together before the war,
+tramping through France, Brian painting those lovely "impressions" of
+his, which made him money and something like fame. And oh, I remembered
+not only that such happy holidays were over, but that soon there would
+be no more money for our bare living!
+
+We were always so poor, that church mice were plutocrats compared to us.
+At least they need pay no rent, and have to buy no clothes! I'm sure, if
+the truth were known, the money Father left for our education and
+bringing up was gone before we began to support ourselves, though you
+never let us guess we were living on you. As I sat and listened to Brian
+talk of our future, my very bones seemed to melt. The only thing I've
+been trained to do well is to nurse. I wasn't a bad nurse when the war
+began. I'm an excellent nurse now. But it's Brian's nurse I must be. I
+saw that, in the first hour after the news was broken, and our two lives
+broken with it. I saw that, with me unable to earn a penny, and Brian's
+occupation gone with his sight, we were about as helpless as a pair of
+sparrows with their wings clipped.
+
+If Brian in his secret soul had any such thoughts, perhaps he had faith
+to believe that not a sparrow can fall, unless its fall is appointed by
+God. Anyhow, he said never a word about ways and means, except to
+mention cheerfully that he had "heaps of pay saved up," nearly thirty
+pounds. Of course I answered that I was rich, too. But I didn't go into
+details. I was afraid even Brian's optimism might be dashed if I did.
+Padre, my worldly wealth consisted of five French bank notes of a
+hundred francs each, and a few horrible little extra scraps of war-paper
+and copper.
+
+The hospital where Brian lay was near the front, in the remains of a
+town the British had won back from the Germans. I called the place
+Crucifix Corner: but God knows we are all at Crucifix Corner now! I
+lodged in a hotel that had been half knocked down by a bomb, and patched
+up for occupation. As soon as Brian was able to be moved, the doctor
+wanted him to go to Paris to an American brain specialist who had lately
+come over and made astonishing cures. Brian's blindness was due to
+paralysis of the optic nerve; but this American--Cuyler--had performed
+spine and brain operations which had restored sight in two similar
+cases. There might be a hundredth chance for my brother.
+
+Of course I said it would be possible to take Brian to Paris. I'd have
+made it possible if I'd had to sell my hair to do it; and you know my
+curly black mop of hair was always my pet vanity. Brian being a soldier,
+he could have the operation free, if Doctor Cuyler considered it wise to
+operate; but--as our man warned me--there were ninety-nine chances to
+one against success: and at all events there would be a lot of expenses
+in the immediate future.
+
+I sent in my resignation to the dear Hopital des Epidemies, explaining
+my reasons: and presently Brian and I set out for Paris by easy stages.
+The cap was put on the climax for me by remembering how he and I had
+walked over that very ground three years before, in the sunshine of life
+and summer. Brian too thought of the past, but not in bitterness. I hid
+my anguish from him, but it gnawed the heart of me with the teeth of a
+rat. I couldn't see what Brian had ever done to deserve such a fate as
+his, and I began to feel wicked, _wicked_. It seemed that destiny had
+built up a high prison wall in front of my brother and me, and I had a
+wild impulse to kick and claw at it, though I knew I couldn't pull it
+down.
+
+When we arrived in Paris, Doctor Cuyler saw us at once; but his opinion
+added another pile of flinty black blocks to the prison wall. He thought
+that there would be no hope from an operation. If there were any hope at
+all (he couldn't say there was) it lay in waiting, resting, and
+building up Brian's shattered health. After months of perfect peace, it
+was just on the cards that sight might come back of itself, suddenly and
+unexpectedly, in a moment. We were advised to live in the country, and
+Doctor Cuyler suggested that it would be well for my brother to have
+surroundings with agreeable occupation for the mind. If he were a
+musician he must have a piano. There ought to be a garden for him to
+walk in and even work in. Motoring, with the slight vibration of a good
+car, would be particularly beneficial a little later on. I suppose we
+must have looked to Doctor Cuyler like millionaires, for he didn't
+appear to dream that there could be the slightest difficulty in carrying
+out his programme.
+
+I sat listening with the calm mien of one to whom money comes as air
+comes to the lungs; but behind my face the wildest thoughts were raging.
+You've sometimes seen a row of tall motionless pines, the calmest,
+stateliest things on earth, screening with their branches the mad white
+rush of a cataract. My brain felt like such a screened cataract.
+
+Except for his blindness, by this time Brian was too well for a
+hospital. We were at the small, cheap hotel on "_la rive gauche_" where
+we'd stayed and been happy three years ago, before starting on our
+holiday trip. When we came back after the interview with Doctor Cuyler,
+Brian was looking done up, and I persuaded him to lie down and rest. No
+one else could have slept, after so heavy a blow of disappointment,
+without a drug, but Brian is a law unto himself. He said if I would sit
+by him and read, he'd feel at peace, and would drop off into a doze. It
+was three o'clock in the afternoon, and I hadn't glanced yet at the
+newspaper we had bought in the morning. I took it up, to please Brian
+with the rustling of the pages, not expecting to concentrate upon a line
+but instantly my eyes were caught by a name I knew.
+
+"Tragic Romance of Millionaire's Family," I read. "James W. Beckett
+brings his wife to France and Reads Newspaper Notice of Only Son's
+Death."
+
+This was the double-line, big-lettered heading of a half column on the
+front page; and it brought to my mind a picture. I saw a group of nurses
+gazing over each other's shoulders at a blue cheque. It was a cheque for
+six thousand francs, signed in a clear, strong hand, "James W. Beckett,
+Junior."
+
+So he was dead, that generous boy, to whom our hearts had gone out in
+gratitude! It could not be very long since he had finished his training
+at St. Raphael and begun work at the front. What a waste of splendid
+material it seemed, that he should have been swept away so soon!
+
+I read on, and from my own misery I had an extra pang to spare for James
+Beckett, Senior, and his wife.
+
+Someone had contrived to tear a fragmentary interview from the "bereaved
+railway magnate," as he was called in the potted phrase of the
+journalist. Apparently the poor, trapped man had been too soft-hearted
+or too dazed with grief to put up a forceful resistance, and the
+reporter had been quick to seize his advantage.
+
+He had learned that Mr. and Mrs. James W. Beckett, Senior, had nearly
+died of homesickness for their son. They had thought of "running across
+to surprise Jimmy." And then a letter had come from him saying that in a
+fortnight his training would be over. He was to be granted eight days'
+leave, which he didn't particularly want, since he couldn't spend it
+with them; and immediately after he would go to the front.
+
+"We made up our minds that Jimmy _should_ spend that leave of his with
+us," the old man had said. "We got our papers in a hurry and engaged
+cabins on the first boat that was sailing. Unluckily there wasn't one
+for nearly a week, but we did the best we could. When everything was
+fixed up, I wired Jimmy to meet us at the Ritz, in Paris. We had a
+little breeze with a U-boat, and we ran into some bad weather which made
+my wife pretty sick, but nothing mattered to us except the delay, we
+were so crazy to see the boy. At Bordeaux a letter from him was waiting.
+It told how he was just as crazy to see _us_, but we'd only have
+twenty-four hours together, as his leave and orders for the front had
+both been advanced. The delay at sea had cost a day, and that seemed
+like hard lines, as we should reach Paris with no more than time to wish
+the lad God-speed. But in the train, when we came to look at the date,
+we saw that we'd miscalculated. Unless Jimmy'd been able to get extra
+leave we'd miss him altogether. His mother said that would be too bad to
+be true. We hoped and prayed to find him at the Ritz. Instead, we found
+news that he had fallen in his first battle."
+
+The interviewer went on, upon his own account, to praise "Jimmy"
+Beckett. He described him as a young man of twenty-seven, "of singularly
+engaging manner and handsome appearance; a graduate with high honours
+from Harvard, an all-round sportsman and popular with a large circle of
+friends, but fortunately leaving neither a wife nor a fiancee behind him
+in America." The newly qualified aviator had, indeed, fallen in his
+first battle: but according to the writer it had been a battle of
+astonishing glory for a beginner. Single-handed he had engaged four
+enemy machines, manoeuvring his own little Nieuport in a way to excite
+the highest admiration and even surprise in all spectators. Two out of
+the four German 'planes he had brought down over the French lines; and
+was in chase of the third, flying low above the German trenches, when
+two new Fokkers appeared on the scene and attacked him. His plane
+crashed to earth in flames, and a short time after, prisoners had
+brought news of his death.
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. James W. Beckett will have the sympathy of all Europe as
+well as their native land, in these tragic circumstances," the
+journalist ended his story with a final flourish. "If such grief could
+be assuaged, pride in the gallant death of their gallant son might be a
+panacea."
+
+"As if you could make pride into a balm for broken hearts!" I said to
+myself in scorn of this flowery eloquence. For a few minutes I forgot my
+own plight to pity these people whom I had never seen. The Paris _Daily
+Messenger_ slid off my lap on to the floor, and dropped with the back
+page up. When I had glanced toward the bed, and seen that Brian still
+slept, my eyes fell on the paper again. The top part of the last page is
+always devoted to military snapshots, and a face smiled up at me from
+it--a face I had seen once and never forgotten.
+
+My heart gave a jump, Padre, because the one tiny, abbreviated
+dream-romance of my life came from the original of that photograph.
+Although the man I knew (if people can know each other in a day's
+acquaintance) had been _en civile_, and this one was in aviator's
+uniform, I was sure they were the same. And even before I'd snatched up
+the paper to read what was printed under the picture, something--the
+wonderful inner Something that's never wrong--told me I was looking at a
+portrait of Jimmy Beckett.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I never mentioned my one-day romance to anybody. Only very silly,
+sentimental girls would put such an episode into words, and flatter
+themselves by calling it a romance. But now that you and Jimmy Beckett
+have both given your lives for the great cause, and are in the same
+mysterious Beyond while I'm still down here at Crucifix Corner, I can
+tell you the story. If you and he meet, it may make it easier for him to
+forgive me the thing I have done.
+
+When Brian and I were having that great summer holiday of ours, the year
+before the war--one day we were in a delicious village near a cathedral
+town on the Belgian border. A piece of luck had fallen in our way, like
+a ripe apple tumbling off a tree. A rich Parisian and his wife came
+motoring along, and stopped out of sheer curiosity to look at a picture
+Brian was painting, under a white umbrella near the roadside. I was not
+with him. I think I must have been in the garden of our quaint old hotel
+by the canal side, writing letters--probably one to you; but the couple
+took such a fancy to Brian's "impression," that they offered to buy it.
+The bargain was struck, there and then. Two days later arrived a
+telegram from Paris asking for another picture to "match" the first at
+the same price. I advised Brian to choose out two or three sketches for
+the people to select from, and carry them to Paris himself, rather than
+trust the post. He went; and it was on the one day of his absence that
+my romance happened.
+
+Ours was a friendly little hotel, with a darling landlady, who was
+almost as much interested in Brian and me as if she'd been our
+foster-mother. The morning after Brian left, she came waddling out to
+the adorable, earwiggy, rose-covered summer-house that I'd annexed as a
+private sitting room. "Mademoiselle," she breathlessly announced, "there
+is a young millionaire of a monsieur Anglais or Americain just arrived.
+What a pity he should be wasted because Monsieur your brother has gone!
+I am sure if he could but see one of the exquisite pictures he would
+wish to buy all!"
+
+"How do you know that the monsieur is a millionaire, and what makes you
+think he would care about pictures?" I enquired.
+
+"I know he is a millionaire because he has come in one of those grand
+automobiles which only millionaires ever have. And I think he cares for
+pictures because the first thing he did when he came into the hall was
+to stare at the old prints on the wall. He praised the two best which
+the real artists always praise, and complimented me on owning them" the
+dear creature explained. "Besides, he is in this neighbourhood expressly
+to see the cathedral; and monsieur your brother has made a most
+beautiful sketch of the cathedral. It is now in his portfolio. Is there
+nothing we can do? I have already induced the monsieur to drink a glass
+of milk while I have come to consult Mademoiselle."
+
+I thought hard for a minute, because it would be grand if I could say
+when Brian came back, "I have sold your cathedral for you." But I might
+have saved myself brain fag. Madame Mounet had settled everything in her
+head, and was merely playing me, like a foolish fish.
+
+"What I have thought of is this," she said. "I told the monsieur that he
+could see something better than my prints if he would give himself the
+pain of waiting till I could fetch the key of a room where an
+artist-client of ours has a marvellous exhibition. There is _no_ such
+room yet, but there can be, and the exhibition can be, too, if
+Mademoiselle will make haste to pin her brother's pictures to the walls
+of the yellow _salon_. With a hammer and a few tacks--_voila_ the thing
+is done. What does Mademoiselle say?"
+
+Mademoiselle said "Yes--yes!" to her part of the programme. But what of
+the millionaire monsieur? Would he not balk? Would he not refuse to be
+bothered?
+
+Madame was absolutely confident that he would not do these disappointing
+things. She was so confident that I vaguely suspected she had something
+up her sleeve: but time pressed, and instead of Sherlock Holmesing I
+darted to my work. Afterward she confessed, with pride rather than
+repentance. She described graphically how the face of the monsieur had
+fallen when she asked him to look at an exhibition of pictures; how he
+had begun to make an excuse that he must be off at once to the
+cathedral; and how she had ventured to cut him short by remarking,
+"Mademoiselle the sister of the artist, she who will show the work, ah,
+it is a _jeune fille_ of the most _romantic_ beauty!" On hearing this,
+the monsieur had said no more about the cathedral, but had ordered the
+glass of milk.
+
+In fifteen minutes the exhibition (consisting of six sketches!) was
+ready in the showroom of the hotel, the yellow salon which had been
+occupied as a bedchamber one night by the Empress Eugenie, and was
+always kept locked except on gala occasions. I, not knowing how I had
+been over-praised to the audience, was also ready, quivering with the
+haste I had made in pinning up the pictures and opening the musty, close
+room to the air. Then came in a young man.
+
+As I write, Padre, I am back again in that _salon jaune_, and he is
+walking in at the door, pausing a second on the threshold at sight of
+me. I will give you the little play in one act. We smile. The hero of
+the comedy-drama has a rather big mouth, and such white teeth that his
+smile, in his brown face, is a lightning-flash at dusk. It is a thin
+face with two dimples that make lines when he laughs. His eyes are gray
+and long, with the eagle-look that knows far spaces; deep-set eyes under
+straight black brows, drawn low. His lashes are black, too, but his
+short crinkly hair is brown. He has a good square forehead, and a high
+nose like an Indian's. He is tall, and has one of those lean, lanky
+loose-jointed figures that crack tennis-players and polo men have. I
+like him at once, and I think he likes me, for his eyes light up; and
+just for an instant there's a feeling as if we looked through clear
+windows into each other's souls. It is almost frightening, that effect!
+
+I begin to talk, to shake off an odd embarrassment.
+
+"Madame Mounet tells me you want to see my brother's pictures," I say.
+"Here are a few sketches. He has taken all the rest worth looking at to
+Paris."
+
+"It's good of you to let me come in," the hero of the play answers.
+Instantly I know he's not English. He has one of those nice American
+voices, with a slight drawl, that somehow sound extraordinarily frank. I
+don't speculate about his name. I don't stop to wonder who he is. I
+think only of _what_ he is. I forget that Madame has exploited him as a
+millionaire. I don't care whether or not he buys a picture. I want
+nothing, except the pleasure of talking with him, and seeing how he
+looks at me.
+
+I mumble some polite nonsense in return for his. He gazes at Brian's
+water-colours and admires them. Then he turns from the pictures to me.
+We discuss the sketches and the scenes they represent. "Oh, have you
+been _there_?" "Why, I was at that place a week ago!" "How odd!" "We
+must have missed each other by a day." And we drift into gossip about
+ourselves. Still we don't come to the subject of names. Names seem to be
+of no importance. They belong to the world of conventions.
+
+We talk and talk--mostly of France, and our travels, and pictures and
+books we love; but our eyes speak of other things. I feel that his are
+saying, "You are beautiful!" Mine answer, "I'm glad you think that. Why
+do you seem so different to me from other people?" Then suddenly,
+there's a look too long between us. "I wish my brother were here to
+explain his pictures!" I cry; though I don't wish it at all. It is only
+that I must break the silence.
+
+This brings us back to the business in hand. He says, "May I really buy
+one of these sketches?"
+
+"Are you sure you _want_ to?" I laugh.
+
+"Sure!" he answers. And I never heard that word sound so nice, even in
+my own dear Ireland.
+
+He chooses the cathedral--which he hasn't visited yet. Do I know the
+price my brother has decided on? With that question I discover that he
+has Madame Mounet's version of our name. Brian and I have laughed dozens
+of laughs at her way of pronouncing O'Malley. "_Ommalee_" we are for
+her, and "Mees Ommal_ee_" she has made me for her millionaire. For fun,
+I don't correct him. Let him find out for himself who we really are! I
+say that my brother hasn't fixed a price; but would six hundred francs
+seem _very_ high? The man considers it ridiculously low. He refuses to
+pay less than twice that sum. Even so, he argues he will be cheating us,
+and getting me into hot water when my brother comes. We almost quarrel,
+and at last the hero has his way. He strikes me as one who is used to
+that!
+
+When the matter is settled, an odd look passes over his face. I wonder
+if he has changed his mind, and doesn't know how to tell me his trouble.
+Something is worrying him; that is clear. Just as I'm ready to make
+things easy, with a question, he laughs.
+
+"I'm going to take you into my confidence," he says, "and tell you a
+story--about myself. In Paris, before I started on this tour, a friend
+of mine gave a man's dinner for me. He and the other chaps were chaffing
+because--oh, because of a silly argument we got into about--life in
+general, and mine in particular. On the strength of it my chum bet me a
+thing he knew I wanted, that I couldn't go through my trip under an
+assumed name. I bet I could, and would. I bet a thing I want to keep.
+That's the silly situation. I hate not telling you my real name, and
+signing a cheque for your brother. But I've stuck it out for four weeks,
+and the bet has only two more to run. I'm calling myself Jim Wyndham.
+It's only my surname I've dropped for the bet. The rest is mine. May I
+pay for the picture in cash--and may I come back here, or wherever you
+are on the fifteenth day from now, and introduce myself properly?
+Or--you've only to speak the word, and I'll throw over the whole
+footling business this minute, and----"
+
+I cut in, to say that I _won't_ speak the word, and he mustn't throw the
+business over. It is quite amusing I tell him, and I hope he'll win his
+bet. As for the picture--he may pay as he chooses. But about the proper
+introduction--Heaven knows where I shall be in a fortnight. My brother
+loves to make up his mind the night beforehand, _where_ to go next. We
+are a pair of tramps.
+
+"You don't do your tramping on foot?"
+
+"Indeed we do! We haven't seen a railway station since our first day out
+from Paris. We stop one day in a place we don't care for: three in a
+place we like: a week or more in a place we _love_."
+
+"Then at that rate you won't have got far in fifteen days. I know the
+direction you've come from by what you've told me, and your brother's
+sketches. You wouldn't be here on the border of Belgium if you didn't
+mean to cross the frontier."
+
+"Oh, we shall cross it, of course. But where we shall go when we get
+across is another question."
+
+"I'll find the answer, and I'll find you," he flings at me with a smile
+of defiance.
+
+"Why should you give yourself trouble?"
+
+"To--see some more of your brother's pictures," he says gravely. I know
+that he wishes to see me, not the pictures, and he knows that I know;
+but I let it go at that.
+
+When the sketch has been wrapped up between cardboards, and the twelve
+hundred francs placed carelessly on a table, there seems no reason why
+Mr. Jim Wyndham shouldn't start for the cathedral. But he suddenly
+decides that the way of wisdom is to eat first, and begs me to lunch
+with him. "Do, _please_," he begs, "just to show you're not offended
+with my false pretences."
+
+I yearn to say yes, and don't see why I shouldn't; so I do. We have
+_dejeuner_ together in the summer-house where Brian and I always eat. We
+chat about a million things. We linger over our coffee, and I smoke two
+or three of his gold-tipped Egyptians. When we suppose an hour has gone
+by, at most, behold, it is half-past four! I tell him he must start: he
+will be too late for the cathedral at its best. He says, "Hang the
+cathedral!" and refuses to stir unless I promise to dine with him when
+he comes back.
+
+"You mean in a fortnight?" I ask. "Probably we shan't be here."
+
+"I mean this evening."
+
+"But--you're not coming back! You're going another way. You told me----"
+
+"Ah, that was before we were friends. Of course I'm coming back. I'd
+like to stay to-morrow, and----"
+
+"You certainly must not! I won't dine with you to-night if you do."
+
+"Will you if I don't?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Then I'll order the dinner before I start for the cathedral. I want it
+to be a perfect one."
+
+"But--I've said only perhaps."
+
+"Don't you want to pour a little honest gold into poor old Madame
+Mounet's pocket?"
+
+"Ye-es."
+
+"If so, you mustn't chase away her customers."
+
+"For her sake, the dinner is a bargain!"
+
+"Not the least bit for my sake?"
+
+"Oh, but yes! I've enjoyed our talk. And you've been so _nice_ about my
+brother's pictures."
+
+So it is settled. I put on my prettiest dress, white muslin, with some
+fresh red roses Madame Mounet brings me; and the dinner-table in the
+summer-house is a picture, with pink Chinese lanterns, pink-shaded
+candles, and pink geraniums. Madame won't decorate with roses because
+she explains, roses anywhere except on my _toilette_, "spoil the unique
+effect of Mademoiselle."
+
+The little inn on the canal-side buzzes with excitement. Not within the
+memory of man or woman has there been so important a client as Mr. Jim
+Wyndham. Most motoring millionaires dash by in a cloud of dust to the
+cathedral town, where a smart modern hotel has been run up to cater for
+tourists. This magnificent Monsieur Americain engages the "suite of the
+Empress Eugenie," as it grandly advertises itself, for his own use and
+that of his chauffeur, merely to bathe in, and rest in, though they are
+not to stay the night. And the dinner ordered will enable Madame to show
+what she can do, a chance she rarely gets from cheeseparing customers,
+like Brian and me, and others of our ilk.
+
+I am determined not to betray my childish eagerness by being first at
+the rendezvous. I keep to my hot room, until I spy a tall young figure
+of a man in evening dress striding toward the arbour. To see this sight,
+I have to be at my window; but I hide behind a white curtain and a
+screen of wistaria and roses. I count sixty before I go down. I walk
+slowly. I stop and examine flowers in the garden. I could catch a
+wonderful gold butterfly, but perhaps it is as happy as I am. I wouldn't
+take its life for anything on earth! As I watch it flutter away, my host
+comes out of the arbour to meet me.
+
+We pass two exquisite hours in each other's company. I recall each
+subject on which we touch and even the words we speak, as if all were
+written in a journal. The air is so clear and still that we can hear the
+famous chimes of the cathedral clock, far away, in the town that is a
+bank of blue haze on the horizon. At half-past nine I begin to tell my
+host that he must go, but he does not obey till after ten. Then at last
+he takes my hand for good-bye--no, _au revoir_: he will not say
+good-bye! "In two weeks," he repeats, "we shall meet again. I shall have
+won my bet, and I shall bring _you_ the thing I win."
+
+"I won't take it!" I laugh.
+
+"Wait till you see it, before you make sure."
+
+"I'm not even sure yet of seeing you," I remind him.
+
+"You may be sure if I'm alive. I shall scour the country for miles
+around to find you. I shall succeed--unless I'm dead."
+
+All this time he had been holding my hand, while I have pretended to be
+unconscious of the fact. Suddenly I seem to remember, and reluctantly he
+lets my fingers slip through his.
+
+We bid each other _adieu_ in the arbour. I do not go to "see him off,"
+and I keep the picture of Jim Wyndham under the roof of roses, in the
+moon-and candle-light.
+
+Just so I have kept it for more than three years; for we never met
+again. And now that I've seen the photograph of Jimmy Beckett, I know
+that we never shall meet.
+
+Why he did not find us when the fortnight of his bet was over I can't
+imagine. It seems that, if he tried, he must have come upon our tracks,
+for we travelled scarcely more than twenty miles in the two weeks.
+Perhaps he changed his mind, and did not try. Perhaps he feared that my
+"romantic beauty" might lose its romance, when seen for the second time.
+Something like this must be the explanation; and I confess to you,
+Padre, that the failure of the prince to keep our tryst was the biggest
+disappointment and the sharpest humiliation of my life. It took most of
+the conceit out of me, and since then I've never been vain of my alleged
+"looks" or "charm" for more than two minutes on end. I've invariably
+said to myself, "Remember Jim Wyndham, and how he didn't think you worth
+the bother of coming back to see."
+
+Now you know why I can't describe the effect upon my mind of learning
+that Jim Wyndham, the hero of my one-day romance, and Jimmy Beckett, the
+dead American aviator, were one.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+There could be no chance of mistake. The photograph was a very good
+likeness.
+
+For a while I sat quite still with the newspaper in my hands, living
+over the day in the shabby old garden. I felt like a mourner, bereaved
+of a loved one, for in a way--a schoolgirl way, perhaps--I had loved my
+prince of the arbour. And always since our day together, I'd compared
+other men with him, to their disadvantage. No one else ever captured my
+imagination as he captured it in those few hours.
+
+For a moment that little bit of Long Ago pushed itself between me and
+Now. I was grieving for my dead romance, instead of for Brian's broken
+life: but quickly I woke up. Things were as bad as ever again, and even
+worse, because of their contrast with the past I'd conjured up. Grief
+for the death of Jimmy Beckett mingled with grief for Brian, and
+anxieties about money, in the dull, sickly way that unconnected troubles
+tangle themselves together in nightmare dreams.
+
+I'm not telling you how I suffered, as an excuse for what I did, dear
+Padre. I'm only explaining how one thing led to another.
+
+It was in thinking of Jim Wyndham, and what might have happened between
+us if he'd come back to me as he promised, that the awful idea developed
+in my head. The thought wasn't born full-grown and armoured, like
+Minerva when she sprang from the brain of Jupiter. It began like this:
+
+"If I'd been engaged to him, I might have gone to his parents now. I
+should have comforted them by talking about their son, and they could
+have comforted me. Perhaps they would have adopted us as their children.
+We need never have been lonely and poor. Jim would have wished us to
+live with his father and mother, for all our sakes."
+
+When the thought had gone as far as this, it suddenly leaped to an
+enormous height, as if a devil in me had been doing the mango trick.
+
+I _heard_ myself thinking, "Why don't you go to see Mr. and Mrs.
+Beckett, and tell them you were engaged to marry their only son? The
+paper said he left no fiancee or wife in America. You can easily make
+them believe your story. Nobody can prove that it isn't true, and out of
+evil good will come for everyone."
+
+Flames seemed to rush through my head with a loud noise, like the
+Tongues of Fire in the Upper Room. My whole body was in a blaze. Each
+nerve was a separate red-hot wire.
+
+I rose to my feet, but I made no sound. Instinct reminded me that I
+mustn't wake Brian, but I could breathe better, think better standing, I
+felt.
+
+"They are millionaires, the Becketts--millionaires!" a voice was
+repeating in my brain. "They wouldn't let Brian or you want for anything.
+They'd be _glad_ if you went to them. You could make them happy. You
+could tell them things they'd love to hear--and some would be true
+things. You were in the hospital close to St. Raphael for months, while
+Jimmy Beckett was in the training camp. Who's to say you didn't meet? If
+you'd been engaged to him since that day years ago, you certainly would
+have met. No rules could have kept you apart. Go to them--go to them--or
+if you're afraid, write a note, and ask if they'll receive you. If they
+refuse, no harm will have been done."
+
+Maybe, even then, if I'd stopped to tell myself what a wicked, cruel
+plan it was, I should have given it up. But it seemed a burning
+inspiration, and I knew that I must act upon it at once or never.
+
+I subsided into my chair again, and softly, very softly, hitched it
+closer to the table which pretended to be a writing-desk. Inside a
+blotting-pad were a few sheets of hotel stationery and envelopes. My
+stylographic pen glided noiselessly over the paper. Now and then I
+glanced over my shoulder at Brian, and he was still fast asleep, looking
+more like an angel than a man. You know my nickname for him was always
+"Saint" because of his beautiful pure face, and the far-away look in his
+eyes. Being a soldier has merely bronzed him a little. It hasn't carved
+any hard lines. Being blind has made the far-away things he used to see
+come near, so that he walks in the midst of them.
+
+I wrote quickly and with a dreadful kind of ease, not hesitating or
+crossing out a single word.
+
+  "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Beckett," I began (because I meant to
+  address my letter to both). "I've just heard that you have
+  come over from America, only in time to learn of your great loss.
+  Is it an intrusion to tell you that your loss is mine too? I dearly
+  loved your son. I met him nearly four years ago, when my
+  brother and I were travelling in France and Belgium. Our
+  meeting was the romance of my life. I hardly dare to think
+  he told you about it. But a few months ago I took up nursing
+  at the Hopital des Epidemies, near St. Raphael. As you know,
+  he was there training. He sent us a cheque for our sufferers; and
+  what was fated to happen did happen. We met again. We
+  loved each other. We were engaged. He may have written
+  to you, or he may have waited till he could tell you by word of
+  mouth.
+
+  "I am in Paris, as you will see by this address. My soldier
+  brother has lost his sight. I brought him here in the hope
+  of a cure by your great American specialist Dr. Cuyler, but
+  he tells me an operation would be useless. They say that one
+  sorrow blunts another. I do not find it so. My heart is almost
+  breaking. May I call upon you? To see _his_ father and mother
+  would be a comfort to me. But if it would be otherwise for you,
+  please say 'no.' I will try to understand.
+
+  "Yours in deepest sympathy,
+
+    "MARY O'MALLEY."
+
+As I finished, Brian waked from his nap, so I was able to leave him and
+run downstairs to send off the letter by hand.
+
+When it had gone, I felt somewhat as I've felt when near a man to whom
+an anaesthetic is being given. The fumes of ether have an odd effect on
+me. They turn me into a "don't care" sort of person without conscience
+and without fear. No wonder some nations give soldiers a dash of ether
+in their drink, when they have to go "over the top!" I could go, and
+feel no sense of danger, even though my reason knew that it existed.
+
+So it was while I waited for the messenger from our mean little hotel
+to come back from the magnificent Ritz. Would he suddenly dash my sinful
+hopes by saying, "_Pas de reponse, Mademoiselle_"; or would he bring me
+a letter from Father and Mother Beckett? If he brought such a letter,
+would it invite me to call and be inspected, or would it suggest that I
+kindly go to the devil?
+
+I was tremendously keyed up; and yet--curiously I didn't care which of
+these things happened. It was rather as if I were in a theatre, watching
+an act of a play that might end in one of several ways, neither one of
+which would really matter.
+
+I read aloud to Brian. My voice sounded sweet and well modulated, I
+thought; but quite like that of a stranger. I was reading some moving
+details of a vast battle, which--ordinarily--would have stirred me to
+the heart. But they made no impression on my brain. I forgot the words
+as they left my lips. Dimly I wondered if there were a curse falling
+upon me already: if I were doomed to lose all sense of grief or joy, as
+the man in the old story lost his shadow when he sold it to Satan.
+
+A long time passed. I stopped reading. Brian seemed inclined for the
+first time since his misfortune to talk over ways and means, and how we
+were to arrange our future. I shirked the discussion. Things would
+adjust themselves, I said evasively. I had some vague plans. Perhaps
+they would soon materialize. Even by to-morrow----
+
+When I had got as far as that, tap, tap, came the long expected knock at
+the door. I sprang up. Suddenly the ether-like carelessness was gone. My
+life--my very soul--was at stake. I could hardly utter the little word
+"_Entrez!_" my throat was so tight, so dry.
+
+The very young youth who opened the door was not the one I had sent to
+the Ritz. But I had no time to wonder why not, when he announced: "_Un
+monsieur et une dame, en bas, demandent a voir Mademoiselle_."
+
+My head whirled. Could it be?--but, surely no! They would not have come
+to see me. Yet whom did I know in Paris? Who had learned that we were at
+this hotel? Had the monsieur and the dame given their name? No, they had
+not. They had said that Mademoiselle would understand. They were in the
+_salon_.
+
+I heard myself reply that I would descend _tout de suite_. I heard
+myself tell Brian that I should not be long away. I saw my face in the
+glass, deathly pale in its frame of dark hair, the eyes immense, with
+the pupils dilating over the blue, as an inky pool might drown a border
+of violets and blot out their colour. Even my lips were white. I was
+glad I had on a black dress--glad in a bad, deceitful way; though for a
+moment after learning who Jimmy Beckett was, I had felt a true thrill of
+loyal satisfaction because I was in mourning for my lost romance.
+
+I went slowly down the four flights of stairs. I could not have gone
+fast without falling. I opened the door of the stuffy _salon_, and
+saw--the dearest couple the wide world could hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+They sat together, an old-fashioned pair, on an old-fashioned sofa,
+facing the door. The thing I'd thought impossible had happened. The
+father and mother of Jim Beckett had come to me.
+
+For some reason, they seemed as much surprised at sight of me as I at
+sight of them. We gazed at each other for an instant, all three without
+moving. Then the old man (he was old, not middle-aged, as most fathers
+are nowadays) got to his feet. He took a step toward me, holding out his
+hand. His eyes searched mine; and, dimmed by years and sorrow as they
+were, there was in them still a reminder of the unforgotten, eagle-gaze.
+From him the son had inherited his high nose and square forehead. Had he
+lived, some day Jim's face might have been chopped by Time's hatchet
+into just such a rugged brown mask of old-manliness. Some day, Jim's
+thick and smooth brown hair might have turned into such a snow-covered
+thatch, like the roof of a cottage on a Christmas card.
+
+The old lady was thin and flat of line, like a bas-relief that had come
+alive and lost its background. She had in her forget-me-not blue eyes
+the look of a child who has never been allowed to grow up; and I knew at
+once that she was one of those women kept by their menfolk on a high
+shelf, like a fragile flower in a silver vase. She, too, rose as I
+entered, but sank down again on the sofa with a little gesture at the
+same time welcoming and helpless.
+
+"My daughter, no wonder he loved you!" said the old man. "Now we see
+you, we understand, don't we, Jenny?" Holding my hand, he turned and led
+me toward his wife, looking at me first, then at her. "We _had_ to come.
+We're going to love you, for yourself--and for him."
+
+Speaking, his face had a faintly perceptible quiver of strained nerves
+or old age, like a sigh of wind ruffling the calm surface of water. I
+felt how he fought to hide his emotion, and the answering thrill of it
+shot up through my arm, as our hands touched. My heart beat wildly, and
+the queer thought came that, if we were in the dark, it would send out
+pulsing lights from my body like the internal lamp of a firefly.
+
+He called me his "daughter!" As I heard that word of love, which I had
+stolen, I realized the full shame and abomination of the thing I had
+done. My impulse was to cry out the truth. But it was only an impulse,
+such an impulse as lures one to jump from a height. I caught myself back
+from yielding, as I would have caught myself back from the precipice,
+lest in another moment I should lie crushed in a dark gulf. I waved
+before my eyes the flag of Brian's need, and my bad courage came back.
+
+I let Mr. Beckett lead me to the sofa. I let his hand on my shoulder
+gently press me to sit down by his wife, who had not spoken yet. Her
+blue eyes, fixed with piteous earnestness on mine, were like those of a
+timid animal, when it is making up its mind whether to trust and "take
+to" a human stranger who offers advances. I seemed to _see_ her
+thinking--thinking not so much with her brain as with her heart, as you
+used to say Brian thought. I saw her ideas move as if they'd been the
+works of a watch ticking under glass. I knew that she wasn't clever
+enough to read my mind, but I felt that she was more dangerous, perhaps,
+than a person of critical intelligence. Being one of those always-was,
+always-will-be women--wife-women, mother-women she might by instinct see
+the badness of my heart as I was reading the simple goodness of hers.
+
+Her longing to know the soul of me pierced to it like a fine crystal
+spear; and the pathos of this bereaved mother and father, who had so
+generously answered my call, brought tears to my eyes. I had not winced
+away from her blue searchlights, but tears gathered and suddenly poured
+over my cheeks. Perhaps it was the tragedy of my own situation more than
+hers which touched me, for I was pitying as much as hating myself. Still
+the tears were true tears; and I suppose nothing I could have said or
+done would have appealed to Jim Beckett's mother as they appealed.
+
+"Oh! you _loved_ him!" she quavered, as if that were the one question
+for which she had sought the answer. And the next thing I knew we were
+crying in each other's arms, the little frail woman and the cruel girl
+who was deceiving her. But, Padre, the cruel girl was suffering almost
+as she deserved to suffer. She _had_ loved Jim Wyndham, and never will
+she love another man.
+
+"There, there!" Mr. Beckett was soothing us, patting our shoulders and
+our heads. "That's right, cry together, but don't grudge Jim to the
+cause, either of you. I don't! I'm proud he went the way he did. It was
+a grand wayand a grand cause. We've got to remember how many other
+hearts in the world are aching as ours ache. We're not alone. I guess
+that helps a little. And Jenny, this poor child has a double sorrow to
+bear. Think of what she wrote about her brother, who's lost his sight."
+
+The little old lady sat up, and with a clean, lavender-scented
+handkerchief wiped first my eyes and then her own.
+
+"I know--I know," she said. "But the child will let us try to comfort
+her--unless she has a father and mother of her own?"
+
+"My father and mother died when I was a little girl," I answered. "I've
+only my brother in the world."
+
+"You have us," they both exclaimed in the same breath: and though they
+bore as much physical likeness to one another as a delicate mountain-ash
+tree bears to the rocky mountain on which it grows, suddenly the two
+faces were so lit with the same beautiful inward light, that there was a
+striking resemblance between them. It was the kind of resemblance to be
+seen only on the faces of a pair who have loved each other, and thought
+the same thoughts long year after long year. The light was so warm, so
+pure and bright, that I felt as if a fire had been lit for me in the
+cold dark room. I didn't deserve to warm my hands in its glow; but I
+forgot my falseness for a moment, and let whatever was good in me flow
+out in gratitude.
+
+I couldn't speak. I could only look, and kiss the old lady's tiny
+hand--ungloved to hold mine, and hung with loose rings of rich, ancient
+fashion such as children love to be shown in mother's jewel-box. In
+return, she kissed me on both cheeks, and the old man smoothed my hair,
+heavily.
+
+"Why yes, that's settled then, you belong to us," he said. "It's just as
+if Jimmy'd left you to us in his will. In his last letter the boy told
+his mother and me that when we met we'd get a pleasant surprise.
+We--silly old folks!--never thought of a love story. We supposed Jim was
+booked for promotion, or a new job with some sort of honour attached to
+it. And yet we might have guessed, if we'd had our wits about us, for we
+did know that Jimmy'd fallen in love at first sight with a girl in
+France, before the war broke out."
+
+"He told you that!" I almost gasped. Then he _had_ fallen in love, and
+hadn't gone away forgetting, as I'd thought! Or was it some other girl
+who had won him at first sight? This was what I said to myself: and
+something that was not myself added, "Now, if you don't lose your head,
+you will find out in a minute all you've been puzzling over for nearly
+four years."
+
+"He told his mother," Mr. Beckett said. "Afterwards she told me. Jim
+wouldn't have minded. He knew well enough she always tells me
+everything, and he didn't ask her to keep any secret."
+
+"It was when I was sort of cross one night, because he didn't pay enough
+attention to a nice girl I'd invited, hoping to please him," Mrs.
+Beckett confessed. "He'd just come back from Europe, and I enquired if
+the French girls were so handsome, they'd spoiled him for our home
+beauties. I let him see that his father and I wanted him to marry young,
+and give us a daughter we could love. Then he answered--I remember as if
+'twas yesterday!--'Mother, you wouldn't want her unless I could love her
+too, would you?' 'Why no,' I answered. 'But you _would_ love her!' He
+didn't speak for a minute. He was holding my hand, counting my
+rings--these ones you see--like he always loved to do from a child. When
+he'd counted them all, he looked up and said, 'It wasn't a French girl
+spoiled me for the others. I'm not sure, but I think she was Irish. I
+lost her, like a fool, trying to win a silly bet.' Those were his very
+words. I know, because they struck me so I teased him to explain. After
+a while he did."
+
+"Oh, do tell me what he said!" I begged.
+
+At that minute Jim was alive for us all three. We were living with him
+in the past. I think none of us saw the little stuffy room where we sat.
+Only our bodies were there, like the empty, amber shells of locusts when
+the locusts have freed themselves and vanished. I was in a rose arbour,
+on a day of late June, in a garden by a canal that led to Belgium. The
+Becketts were in their house across the sea.
+
+"Why," his mother hesitated, "it was quite a story. But when he found
+you again he must have told you it all."
+
+"Ah, but do tell me what he told you!"
+
+"Well, it began with a landlady in a hotel wanting him to see a picture.
+The artist was away, but his sister was there. That was you, my dear."
+
+"Yes, it was I. My poor Brian painted such beautiful things before----"
+
+"We know they were beautiful, because we've seen the picture," Father
+Beckett broke in. "But go on, Mother. We'll tell about the picture by
+and by. She'll like to hear. But the rest first!"
+
+The little old lady obeyed, and went on. "Jimmy said he was taken to a
+room, and there stood the most wonderful girl he'd ever seen in his
+life--his 'dream come alive.' That's how he described her. And there was
+more. Father, I never told you this part. But maybe Miss--Miss----"
+
+"Will you call me 'Mary'?" I asked.
+
+"Maybe 'Mary' would like to hear. Of course I never forgot one word. No
+mother could forget! And now I see he described you just right. When you
+hear, you'll know it was love made his talk about you poetry-like. Jimmy
+never talked that way to me of any one, before or since."
+
+Padre, I am going to write down the things he said of me, because it is
+exquisite to know that he thought them. He said, I had eyes "like
+sapphires fallen among dark grasses." And my hair was so heavy and thick
+that, if I pulled out the pins, it would fall around me "in a black
+avalanche."
+
+Ah, the joy and the pain of hearing these words like an echo of music I
+had nearly missed! There's no language for what I felt. But you will
+understand.
+
+He had told his mother about our day together. He said, he kept falling
+deeper in love every minute, and it was all he could do not to exclaim,
+"Girl, I simply _must_ marry you!" He dared not say that lest I should
+refuse, and there would be an end of everything. So he tried as hard as
+he could to make me like him, and remember him till he should come back,
+in two weeks. He thought that was the best way; and he would have let
+his bet slide if he hadn't imagined that a little mystery might make him
+more interesting in my eyes. Believing that we had met again, Mrs.
+Beckett supposed that he had explained this to me. But of course it was
+all new, and when she came to the reason why Jim Wyndham had never come
+back, I thought for a moment I should faint. He was taken ill in Paris,
+three days after we parted, with typhoid fever; and though it was never
+a desperate case--owing to his strong constitution--he was delirious for
+weeks. Two months passed before he was well enough to look for me, and
+by that time all trace of us was lost. Brian and I had gone to England
+long before. Jim's friend--the one with whom he had the bet--wired to
+the Becketts that he was ill, but not dangerously, and they weren't to
+come over to France. It was only when he reached home that they knew how
+serious the trouble had been.
+
+While I was listening, learning that Jim had really loved me, and
+searched for me, it seemed that I had a right to him after all: that I
+was an honest girl, hearing news of her own man, from his own people. It
+was only when Mr. Beckett began to draw me out, with a quite pathetic
+shyness, on the subject of our worldly resources that I was brought up
+short again, against the dark wall of my deceit. It _should_ have been
+exquisite, it _was_ heartbreaking, to see how he feared to hurt my
+feelings with some offer of help from his abundance. "Hurt my feelings!"
+And it was with the sole intention of "working" them for money that I'd
+written to the Becketts.
+
+That looks horrible in black and white, doesn't it, Padre? But I won't
+try to hide my motives behind a dainty screen, from your eyes or mine. I
+had wanted and meant to get as much as I could for Brian and myself out
+of Jim Beckett's father and mother. And now, when I was on the way to
+obtain my object, more easily than I had expected--now, when I saw the
+kind of people they were--now, when I knew that to Jim Wyndham I had
+been an ideal, "his dream come true." I saw my own face as in a mirror.
+It was like the sly, mean face of a serpent disguised as a woman.
+
+I remember once saying to you, Padre, when you had read aloud "The
+Idylls of the King" to Brian and me as children, that Vivien was the
+worst _cad_ I ever heard of since the beginning of the world! I haven't
+changed my mind about her since, except that I give her second place. I
+am in the first.
+
+I suppose, when I first pictured the Becketts (if I stopped to picture
+them at all) I imagined they would be an ordinary American millionaire
+and millionairess, bow-fronted, self-important creatures; the old man
+with a diamond stud like a headlight, the old lady afraid to take cold
+if she left off an extra row of pearls. In our desperate state, anything
+seemed fair in love or war with such hard, worth-their-weight-in-gold
+people. But I ought to have known that a man like Jim Beckett couldn't
+have such parents! I ought to have known they wouldn't be in the common
+class of millionaires of any country; and that whatever their type they
+would be unique.
+
+Well, I _hadn't_ known. Their kindness, their dear humanness, their
+simplicity, overwhelmed me as the gifts of shields and bracelets from
+the Roman warriors overwhelmed treacherous Tarpeia. And when they began
+delicately begging me to be their adopted daughter--the very thing I'd
+prayed for to the devil!--I felt a hundred times wickeder than if Jim
+hadn't set me on a high pedestal, where they wished to keep me with
+their money, their love, as offerings.
+
+Whether I should have broken down and confessed everything, or brazened
+it out in spite of all if I'd been left alone to decide, I shall never
+know. For just then the door opened, and Brian came into the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Why Brian's coming should make all the difference may puzzle you, Padre,
+but I'll explain.
+
+Ours is an amateurish hotel, especially since the war. Any one who
+happens to have the time or inclination runs it: or if no one has time
+it runs itself. Consequently mistakes are made. But what can you expect
+for eight francs a day, with _pension_?
+
+I said that a very young youth brought up the news of the Becketts'
+arrival. He'd merely announced that "_un monsieur et une dame_" had
+called. Apparently they had given no names, no cards. But in truth there
+were cards, which had been mislaid, or in other words left upon the desk
+in the _bureau_, with the numbers of both our rooms scrawled on them in
+pencil. Nobody was there at the time, but when the concierge came back
+(he is a sort of unofficial understudy for the mobilized manager) he saw
+the cards and sent them upstairs. They were taken to Brian and the names
+read aloud to him. He supposed, from vague information supplied by the
+_garcon_ (it was a _garcon_ this time) that I wished him to come and
+join me in the _salon_ with my guests. He hated the thought of meeting
+strangers (the name "Beckett" meant nothing to him), but if he were
+wanted by his sister, he never yet left her in the lurch.
+
+He and I both knew the house with our eyes shut, before the war; and
+now that Brian is blind, he practises in the most reckless way going
+about by himself. He refused to be led to the _salon_: he came unaided
+and unerring: and I thought when he appeared at the door, I'd never seen
+him look so beautiful. He _is_ beautiful you know! Now that his physical
+eyesight is gone, and he's developing that mysterious "inner sight" of
+which he talks, there's no other adjective which truly expresses him. He
+stood there for a minute with his hand on the door-knob, with all the
+light in the room (there wasn't much) shining straight into his face. It
+couldn't help doing that, as the one window is nearly opposite the door;
+but really it does seem sometimes that light seeks Brian's face, as the
+"spot light" in theatres follows the hero or heroine of a play.
+
+There was an asking smile on his lips, and--by accident, of course--his
+dear blind eyes looked straight at Mrs. Beckett. We are enough alike, we
+twins, for any one to know at a glance that we're brother and sister, so
+the Becketts would have known, of course, even if I hadn't cried out in
+surprise, "Brian!"
+
+They took it for granted that Brian would have heard all about their son
+Jim; so, touched by the pathos of his blindness--the lonely pathos (for
+a blind man is as lonely as a daylight moon!) Mrs. Beckett almost ran to
+him and took his hand.
+
+"We're the Becketts, with your sister," she said. "Jimmy's father and
+mother. I expect you didn't meet him when they were getting engaged to
+each other at St. Raphael. But he loved your picture that he bought just
+before the war. He used to say, if only you'd signed it, his whole life
+might have been different. That was when he'd lost Mary, you see--and
+he'd got hold of her name quite wrong. He thought it was Ommalee, and we
+never knew a word about the engagement, or her real name or anything,
+till the letter came to us at our hotel to-day. Then we hurried around
+here, as quick as we could; and she promised to be our adopted daughter.
+That means you will have to be our adopted son!"
+
+I think Mrs. Beckett is too shy to like talking much at ordinary times.
+She would rather let her big husband talk, and listen admiringly to him.
+But this _wasn't_ an ordinary time. To see Brian stand at the door,
+wistful and alone, gave her a pain in her heart, so she rushed to him,
+and poured out all these kind words, which left him dazed.
+
+"You are very good to me," he answered, too thoughtful of others'
+feelings, as always, to blurt out--as most people would--"I don't
+understand. Who are you, please?" Instead, his sightless but beautiful
+eyes seemed to search the room, and he said, "Molly, you're here, aren't
+you?"
+
+Now perhaps you begin to understand why his coming, and Mrs. Beckett's
+greeting of him, stopped me from telling the truth--if I would have told
+it. I'm not sure if I would, in any case, Padre; but as it was I _could_
+not. The question seemed settled. To have told the Becketts that I was
+an adventuress--a repentant adventuress--and let them go out of my life
+without Brian ever knowing they'd come into it was one thing. To
+explain, to accuse myself before Brian, to make him despise the only
+person he had to depend on, and so to spoil the world for him, was
+another thing.
+
+I accepted the fate I'd summoned like the genie of a lamp. "Yes, Brian,
+I'm here," I answered. And I went to him, and took possession of the
+hand Mrs. Beckett had left free. "I never told you about my romance. It
+was so short. And--and one doesn't put the most sacred things in
+letters. I loved a man, and he loved me. We met in France before the
+war, and lost each other.
+
+"Afterward he came back to fight. A few days ago he fell--just at the
+time when his parents had hurried over from America to see him. I--I
+couldn't resist writing them a letter, though they were strangers to me.
+I----"
+
+"That's not a word I like to hear on your lips--'strangers'," Mr.
+Beckett broke in, "even though you're speaking of the past. We're all
+one family now. You don't mind my saying that, Brian, or taking it for
+granted you'll consent--or calling you Brian, do you?"
+
+"Mind!" echoed Brian, with his sweet, young smile. "How could I mind?
+It's like something in a story. It's a sad story--because the hero's
+gone out of it--no, he _hasn't_ gone, really! It only seems so, before
+you stop to think. I've learned enough about death to learn that. And I
+can tell by both your voices you'll be friends worth having."
+
+"Oh, you _are_ a dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Beckett. "God is good to give
+you and your sister to us in our dark hour. I feel as if Jimmy were here
+with us. I do believe he is! I know he'd like me to tell you what he did
+with your picture, and what we've done with it since, his father and I."
+
+Brian must have felt that it would be good for us all to talk of the
+pictures, just then, not of this "Jimmy" who was still a mystery to
+him. He caught up the subject and said that he didn't understand. What
+picture was it of which they spoke? He generally signed his initials,
+but they'd mentioned that this was unsigned----
+
+"Don't you remember," I explained, "the sketch I sold for you to Mr.
+Wyndham when we were tramping through France? You told me when you came
+back from Paris that it wasn't quite finished. You'd meant to put on a
+few more touches--and your signature. Well, 'Wyndham' was only the
+middle name. I never told you much about that day. I was half ashamed,
+because it was the day when my romance began and--broke. I hoped it
+might begin again sometime, but--but--you shall hear the whole story
+soon. Only--not now."
+
+Even as I promised him, I promised myself to tell him nothing. I might
+have to lie in deeds to Brian. I wouldn't lie in words. Mrs. Beckett
+might give him her version of her son's romance--some day. Just at the
+moment she was relating, almost happily, the story of the picture: and
+it was for me, too.
+
+Jim had had a beautiful frame made for Brian's cathedral sketch, and it
+had been hung in the best place--over his desk--in the special sanctum
+where the things he loved most were put. In starting for Europe his
+father and mother had planned to stop only a short time in a Paris
+hotel. They had meant to take a house, where Jim could join them
+whenever he got a few days' leave: and as a surprise for him they had
+brought over his favourite treasures from the "den." Among these was the
+unsigned picture painted by the brother of _The Girl_. They had even
+chosen the house, a small but charming old chateau to which Jim had
+taken a fancy. It was rather close to the war zone in these days, but
+that had not struck them as an obstacle. They were not afraid. They had
+wired, before sailing, to a Paris agent, telling him to engage the
+chateau if it was still to let furnished. On arriving the answer awaited
+them: the place was theirs.
+
+"We thought it would be such a joy to Jim," Mrs. Beckett said. "He fell
+in love with that chateau before he came down with typhoid. I'll show
+you a snapshot he took of it. He used to say he'd give anything to live
+there. And crossing on the ship we talked every day of how we'd make a
+'den' for him, full of his own things, and never breathe a word till he
+opened the door of the room. We're in honour bound to take the house
+now, whether or not we use it--without Jim. I don't know what we _shall_
+do, I'm sure! All I know is, I feel as if it would kill me to turn round
+and go home with our broken hearts."
+
+"We've got new obligations right here, Jenny. You mustn't forget that,"
+said Mr. Beckett. "Remember we've just adopted a daughter--and a son,
+too. We must consult them about our movements."
+
+"Oh, I hadn't forgotten!" the old lady cried. "They--they'll help us to
+decide, of course. But just now I can't make myself feel as if one thing
+was any better than another. If only we could think of something _Jim_
+would have liked us to do! Something--patriotic--for France."
+
+"Mary has seen Jim since we saw him, dear. Perhaps from talk they had
+she'll have a suggestion to make."
+
+"Oh no!" I cried. "I've no suggestion."
+
+"And you, Brian?" the old man persisted.
+
+Quickly I answered for my brother. "They never met! Brian couldn't know
+what--Jim would have liked you to do."
+
+"It's true, I can't know," said Brian. "But a thought has come into my
+head. Shall I tell it to you?"
+
+"Yes!" the Becketts answered in a breath. They gazed at him as if they
+fancied him inspired by their son's spirit. No wonder, perhaps! Brian
+_has_ an inspired look.
+
+"Are you very rich?" he asked bluntly, as a child puts questions which
+grown-ups veil.
+
+"We're rich in money," answered the old man. "But I guess I never quite
+realized till now, when we lost Jimmy, how poor you can be, when you're
+only rich in what the world can give."
+
+"I suppose you'll want to put up the finest monument for your son that
+money can buy," Brian went on, as though he had wandered from his
+subject. But I--knowing him, and his slow, dreamy way of getting to his
+goal--knew that he was not astray. He was following some star which we
+hadn't yet seen.
+
+"We've had no time to think of a monument," said Mr. Beckett, with a
+choke in his voice. "Of course we would wish it, if it could be done.
+But Jim lies on German soil. We can't mark the place----"
+
+"It doesn't much matter--to him--where his body lies," Brian went on.
+"_He_ is not in German soil, or in No Man's Land. Wouldn't he like to
+have a monument in _Everyman's Land_?"
+
+"What do you mean?" breathed the little old lady. She realized now that
+blind Brian wasn't speaking idly.
+
+"Well, you see, France and Belgium together will be Everyman's Land
+after the war, won't they?" Brian said.
+
+"Every man who wants the world's true peace has fought in France and
+Belgium, if he could fight. Every man who has fought, and every man who
+wished to fight but couldn't, will want to see those lands that have
+been martyred and burned, when they have risen like the Phoenix out of
+their own ashes. That's why I call France and Belgium Everyman's Land.
+You say your Jim spent some of his happiest days there, and now he's
+given his life for the land he loved. Wouldn't you feel as if he went
+with you, if you made a pilgrimage from town to town he knew in their
+days of beauty--if you travelled and studied some scheme for helping to
+make each one beautiful again after the war? If you did this in his name
+and his honour, could he have a better memorial?"
+
+"I guess God has let Jim speak through your lips, and tell us his wish,"
+said Mr. Beckett. "What do you think, Jenny?"
+
+"I think what you think," she echoed. "It's right the word should come
+to us from the brother of Jim's love."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+That is the story, Padre, as far as it has gone. No sign from you, no
+look in your eyes, could show me myself in a meaner light than shines
+from the mirror of my conscience. If Jim hadn't loved me, it would be
+less shameful to trade on the trust of these kind people. I see that
+clearly! And I see how hateful it is to make Brian an innocent partner
+in the fraud.
+
+I'm taking advantage of one man who is dead, and another who is blind.
+And it is as though I were "betting on a certainty," because there's
+nobody alive who can come forward to tell the Becketts or Brian what I
+am. I'm safe, _brutally_ safe!
+
+You'll see from what I have written how Brian turned the scales. The
+plan he proposed developed in the Becketts' minds with a quickness that
+could happen only with Americans--and millionaires. Father Beckett sees
+and does things on the grand scale. Perhaps that's the secret of his
+success. He was a miner once, he has told Brian and me. Mrs. Beckett was
+a district school teacher in the Far West, where his fortune began. They
+married while he was still a poor man. But that's by the way! I want to
+tell you now of his present, not of his past: and the working out of our
+future from Brian's suggestion. Ten minutes after the planting of the
+seed a tree had grown up, and was putting forth leaves and blossoms.
+Soon there will be fruit. And it will come into existence _ripe_! I
+suppose Americans are like that. They manage their affairs with mental
+intensive culture.
+
+The Becketts are prepared to love me for Jim's sake; but Brian they
+worship as a supernatural being. Mr. Beckett says he's saved them from
+themselves, and given them an incentive to live. It was only yesterday
+that they answered my S. O. S. call. Now, the immediate future is
+settled, for the four of us; settled for us _together_.
+
+Father Beckett is asking leave to travel _en automobile_ through the
+liberated lands. In each town and village Jim's parents will decide on
+some work of charity or reconstruction in his memory, above all in
+places he knew and loved. They can identify these by the letters he
+wrote home from France before the war. His mother has kept every one.
+Through a presentiment of his death, or because she couldn't part from
+them, she has brought along a budget of Jim's letters from America. She
+carries them about in a little morocco hand-bag, as other women carry
+their jewels.
+
+The thought of Brian's plan is for the two old people like an infusion
+of blood in emptied veins. They say that they would never have thought
+of it themselves, and if they had, they would not have ventured to
+attempt it alone, ignorant of French as they are. But this is their
+generous way of making us feel indispensable! They tell us we are needed
+to "see them through"; that without our help and advice they would be
+lost. Every word of kindness is a new stab for me. Shall I grow callous
+as time goes on, and accept everything as though I really were what they
+call me--their "daughter"? Or--I begin to think of another alternative.
+I'll turn to it if I grow desperate.
+
+The bright spot in my darkness is the joyful change in the Becketts.
+They feel that they've regained their son; that Jim will be with them on
+their journey, and that they've a rendezvous with him at "_his_
+chateau," when they reach the journey's end. They owe this happiness not
+to me, but to Brian. As for him, he has the air of calm content that
+used to enfold him when he packed his easel and knapsack for a tramp.
+Blindness isn't blindness for Brian. It's only another kind of sight.
+
+"I shan't see the wreck and misery you others will have to see," he
+says. "Horrors don't exist any more for my eyes. I shall see the country
+in all its beauty as it was before the war. And who knows but I shall
+find my dog?" (Brian lost the most wonderful dog in the world when he
+was wounded.) He is always hoping to find it again!
+
+He doesn't feel that he accepts charity from the Becketts. He believes,
+with a kind of modest pride, that we're really indispensable.
+Afterward--when the tour is over--he thinks that "some other scheme will
+open." I think so too. The Becketts will propose it, to keep us with
+them. They will urge and argue, little dreaming how I drew them, with a
+grappling-hook resolve to become a barnacle on their ship!
+
+To-morrow we move to the Ritz. The Becketts insist. They want us near
+them for "consultations"! This morning the formal request was made to
+the French authorities, and sent to headquarters. On the fourth day the
+answer will come, and there's little doubt it will be "yes."
+
+Can I bear to go on deceiving Jim Beckett's father and mother, or--shall
+I take the other alternative? I must decide to-night.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Since I wrote that last sentence I have been out, alone--to decide.
+Padre, it was in my mind never to come back.
+
+I walked a long, long way, to the Champs-Elysees. I was very tired, and
+I sat down--almost dropped down--on a seat under the high canopy of
+chestnut trees. I could not think, but I had a sense of expectation as
+if I were waiting for somebody who would tell me what to do. Paris in
+the autumn twilight was a dream of beauty. Suddenly the dream seemed to
+open, and draw me in. Some one far away, whom I had known and loved, was
+_dreaming me_! What I should decide about the future, depended no longer
+on myself, but upon the dreamer. I didn't know who he was; but I knew I
+should learn by and by. It was he who would come walking along the road
+of his own dream, and take the vacant place by me on the seat.
+
+Being in the dream, I didn't belong to the wonderful, war-time Paris
+which was rushing and roaring around me. Military motors, and huge
+_camions_ and ambulances were tearing up and down, over the gray-satin
+surface of asphalt which used to be sacred to private autos and gay
+little taxis bound for theatres and operas and balls. For every girl, or
+woman, or child, who passed, there were at least ten soldiers: French
+soldiers in _bleu horizon_, Serbians in gray, Britishers and a
+sprinkling of Americans in khaki. There was an undertone of music--a
+tune in the making--in the tramp, tramp, of the soldiers' feet, the
+rumble and whirr of the cars-of-war, the voices of women, the laughing
+cries of children.
+
+I thought how simple it would be, to spring up and throw myself under
+one of the huge, rushing _camions_: how easily the thing might be taken
+for an accident if I stage-managed it well. The Becketts would be angels
+to Brian when I was gone! But the dreamer of the dream would not let me
+stir hand or foot. He put a spell of stillness upon me; he shut me up in
+a transparent crystal box, while outside all the world moved about its
+own affairs.
+
+The mauve light of Paris nights filtered up from the gleaming asphalt,
+as if through a roof of clouded glass over a subterranean ballroom lit
+with blue and purple lanterns. Street lamps, darkly shaded for
+air-raids, trailed their white lights downward, long and straight, like
+first-communion veils. Distant trees and shrubs and statues began to
+retreat into the dusk, as if withdrawing from the sight of fevered
+human-folk to rest. Violet shadows rose in a tide, and poured through
+the gold-green tunnel of chestnut trees, as sea-water pours into a cave.
+And the shadow-sea had a voice like the whisper of waves. It said, "The
+dream is Jim Wyndham's dream." I felt him near me--still in the dream.
+The one I had waited for had come.
+
+I was free to move. The transparent box was broken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What the meaning of my impression was I don't know. But it must have a
+meaning, it was so strong and real. It has made me change my mind
+about--the other alternative. I want to live, and find my way back into
+that dream.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Padre, you were right. My greatest comfort, as of old, is in turning to
+you.
+
+I think you had a glimpse of the future when you left me that last
+message: "Write to me, in the old way, just as if I were alive and had
+gone on a long journey."
+
+When I lock my door, and get out this journal, it seems as if a second
+door--a door in the wall--opened, to show you smiling the good smile
+which made your face different from any other. I don't deserve the
+smile. Did I ever deserve it? Yet you gave it even when I was at my
+worst. Now it seems to say, "In spite of all, I won't turn my back on
+you. I haven't given you up."
+
+When I first began to write in this book (the purple-covered journal
+which was your last present to me), I meant just to relieve my heart by
+putting on paper, as if for you, the story of my wickedness. Now the
+story is told, I can't stop. I can't shut the door in the wall! I shall
+go on, and on. I shall tell you all that happens, all I feel, and see,
+and think. That must have been what you meant me to do.
+
+When Brian and I were away from home a million years ago, before the
+war, we wrote you every day, if only a few paragraphs, and posted our
+letters at the end of a week. You said those letters were your "magic
+carpet," on which you travelled with us. Poor Padre, you'd no time nor
+money for other travelling! You never saw France, till the war called
+you. And after a few bleak months, that other great call came. I shall
+write to you about France, and about myself, as I should have written if
+you were back at home.
+
+First--about myself! A few pages ago I said that there was no one alive
+who could prove me a liar, to the Becketts or Brian: that I was
+"safe--brutally safe." Well, I was mistaken. I am _not_ safe. But I will
+go back to our start.
+
+Everyone warned the Becketts that they would get no automobile, no
+essence, and no chauffeur. Yet they got all three, as magically as
+Cinderella got her coach and four. The French authorities played fairy
+godmother, and waved a wand. Why not, when in return so much was to be
+done for France?
+
+The wand gave a permit for the whole front (counting in the American
+front!) from Lorraine to Flanders. It produced a big gray car, and a
+French soldier to drive it. The soldier has only one leg: but he can do
+more with that one than most men with two. Thus we set forth on the
+journey Brian planned, the Becketts so grateful--poor darlings--for our
+company, that it was hard to realize that I didn't _belong_.
+
+It was a queer thought that we should be taking the road to Germany--we,
+of all people: yet every road that leads east from Paris leads to
+Germany. And it was a wonderful thought, that we should be going to the
+Marne.
+
+Surely generations must pass before that name can be heard, even by
+children, without a thrill! We said it over and over in the car: "The
+Marne--the Marne! We shall see the Marne, this autumn of 1917."
+
+Meanwhile the road was a dream-road. It had the unnatural quietness of
+dreams. In days of peace it would have been choked with country carts
+bringing food to fill the wide-open mouth of Paris. Now, the way to the
+capital was silent and empty, save for gray military motors and
+lumbering army _camions_. The cheap bowling alleys and jerry-built
+restaurants of the suburbs seemed under a spell of sleep. There were no
+men anywhere, except the very old, and boys of the "class" of next year.
+Women swept out the gloomy shops: women drove omnibuses: women hawked
+the morning papers. Outside Paris we were stopped by soldiers, appearing
+from sentry-boxes: our papers were scanned; almost reluctantly we were
+allowed to pass on, to the Secret Region of Crucifix Corner, which
+spying eyes must not see--the region of aeroplane hangars, endless
+hangars, lost among trees, and melting dimly into a dim horizon, their
+low, rounded roofs "camouflaged" in a confusion of splodged colours.
+
+There was so much to see--so much which was abnormal, and belonged to
+war--that we might have passed without glancing at a line of blue water,
+parallel with our road at a little distance, had not Brian said, "Have
+we come in sight of the Ourcq? We ought to be near it now. Don't you
+know, the men of the Marne say the men of the Ourcq did more than they
+to save Paris?"
+
+The Becketts had hardly heard of the Ourcq. As for me, I'd forgotten
+that part in the drama of September, 1914. I knew that there was an
+Ourcq--a canal, or a river, or both, with a bit of Paris sticking to its
+banks: knew it vaguely, as one knows and forgets that one's friends'
+faces have profiles. But Brian's words brought back the whole story to
+my mind in a flash. I remembered how Von Kluck was trapped like a rat,
+in the _couloir_ of the Ourcq, by the genius of Gallieni, and the
+glorious cooeperation of General Manoury and the dear British
+"contemptibles" under General French.
+
+It was a desperate adventure that--to try and take the Germans in the
+flank; and Gallieni's advisers told him there were not soldiers enough
+in his command to do it. "Then we'll do it with sailors!" he said.
+"But," urged an admiral, "my sailors are not trained to march."
+
+"They will march without being trained," said the defender of the
+capital. "I've been in China and Madagascar, I know what sailors can do
+on land."
+
+"Even so, there will not be enough men," answered the pessimists.
+
+"We'll fill the gaps with the police," said the general, inspired
+perhaps by Sainte-Genevieve.
+
+So the deed was dared; and in a panic at sight of the mysteriously
+arriving troops, Von Kluck retreated from the Ourcq to the Aisne. It was
+when he heard how the trick had been played and won by sheer bravado,
+that he cried out in rage, "How could I count on such a _coup_? Not
+another military governor in a hundred would have risked throwing his
+whole force sixty kilometres from its base. How should I guess what a
+dare-devil fool Gallieni would turn out? But if Trochu, in '70, had been
+the same kind of a fool, we should never have got Paris!"
+
+Half the ghosts in history seemed to haunt this Route de Strasbourg, and
+to meet us as we passed. You know how you see the characters in a
+moving-picture play, and behind them the "fade ins" that show their life
+history, visions that change on the screen like patterns in a
+kaleidoscope? So on this meadow-bordered road, peaceful in the autumn
+sunlight, we saw with our minds' eyes the soldiers of 1914: behind them
+the soldiers of 1870: farther in the background Napoleon the Great with
+his men: and fading into the distance, processions of kings who had
+marched along the Marne, since the day Sainte-Genevieve ordered the
+gates of Paris to be shut in the face of Attila.
+
+Such a gay, gold-sequined blue-green ribbon of a river it looked! Almost
+impudent in gaiety, as if it wished to forget and be happy. But souls
+and rivers never really forget. When they know what the Marne knows,
+they are gay only on the surface!
+
+It was at Meaux where we had our first close meeting with the Marne:
+Meaux, the city nearest Paris "on the Marne front," where the Germans
+came: and even after three years you can still see on the left bank of
+the river traces of trench--shallow, pathetic holes dug in wild haste.
+We might have missed them, we creatures with mere eyes, if Brian hadn't
+asked, "Can't you see the trenches?" Then we saw them, of course, half
+lost under rank grass, like dents in a green velvet cushion made by a
+sleeper who has long ago waked and walked away.
+
+From a distance the glistening gray roofs of Meaux were like a vast
+crowd of dark-winged doves; but as we ran into the town it opened out
+into dignified importance, able to live up to its thousand years of
+history. There was no work for the Becketts there, we thought, for the
+Germans had time to do little material harm to Meaux in 1914: and at
+first sight there seemed to be no need of alms. But Jim had loved Meaux.
+His mother took from her blue morocco bag his letter describing the
+place, mentioning how he had met the bishop through a French friend.
+
+"Do you think," she asked me timidly, "we might call on the bishop? Who
+knows but he remembers our Jimmy?"
+
+"He's a famous bishop," said Brian. "I've heard _poilus_ from Meaux tell
+stories of how the Germans were forced to respect him, he was so brave
+and fine. He took the children of the town under his protection, and no
+harm came to one of them. There were postcard photographs going round
+early in the war, of the bishop surrounded by boys and girls--like a
+benevolent Pied Piper. It's kindness he's famous for, as well as
+courage, so I'm sure we may call."
+
+Near the beautiful old cathedral we passed a priest, and asked him where
+to find the bishop's house. "You need not go so far; here he comes," was
+the answer. We looked over our shoulders, almost guiltily, and there
+indeed he was. He had been in the cathedral with two French officers,
+and in another instant the trio would have turned a corner. Our look and
+the priest's gesture told the bishop that we were speaking of him. He
+paused, and Mr. Beckett jumped out of the stopped car, agile as a boy in
+his excitement.
+
+"Oh, I forgot, I can't talk French! Mary, you must see me through!" he
+pleaded.
+
+I hurried to the rescue, and together we walked up to the bishop. Off
+came Mr. Beckett's hat; and both officers saluted us. One was a general,
+the other a colonel.
+
+If I'd had time to rehearse, I might have done myself some credit. As it
+was, I stammered out some sort of explanation and introduced Jim's
+father.
+
+"I remember young Monsieur Beckett," the bishop said. "He was not one to
+be forgotten! Besides, he was generous to Meaux. He left a noble present
+for our poor. And now, you say, he has given his life for France? What
+is there I can do to prove our gratitude? You have come to Meaux because
+of his letters? Wait a few minutes, till these brave messieurs have
+gone, and I myself will show you the cathedral. Oh, you need not fear!
+It will be a pleasure."
+
+He was as good as his word, and better. Not only did he show the
+splendid Gothic cathedral, pride of the "fair Ile-de-France," but the
+bishop's house as well. Bossuet had lived there, the most famous bishop
+Meaux had in the past. It was dramatic to enter his study, guided by the
+most famous bishop of the present; to see in such company the room where
+Bossuet penned his denunciation of the Protestants, and then the long
+avenue of yews where he used to walk in search of inspiration. We saw
+his tomb, too--in the cathedral (yes, I believe Brian saw it more
+clearly than we!), one of those grand tombs they gave prelates in the
+days of Louis XIV: and when the Becketts had followed Jim's example in
+generosity, we bade adieu to the--oh, _ever_ so much kindlier heir of
+the great controversialist. I'm afraid, to tell the truth, the little
+old lady cared more to know that her Jim's favourite cheese--Brie--was
+made in Meaux, than anything else in the town's history. Nevertheless,
+she listened with a charmed air to Brian's story of Meaux's great
+romance--as she listens to all Brian's stories. It was you, Padre, who
+told it to Brian, and to me, one winter night when we'd been reading
+about Gaston, de Foix, "Gaston le Bel." Our talk of his exploits
+brought us to Meaux, at the time of the Jacquerie, in the twelfth
+century. The common people had revolted against the nobles who oppressed
+them, and all the Ile-de-France--adorable name!--seethed with civil war.
+In Meaux was the Duchess of Orleans, with three hundred great ladies,
+most of them beautiful and young. The peasants besieged the Duchess
+there, and she and her lovely companions were put to sore straits, when
+suddenly arrived brave Gaston to save them. I don't quite know why he
+took the trouble to come so far, from his hill-castle near the Spanish
+frontier, but most likely he loved one of the shut-up ladies. Or perhaps
+it was simply for love of all womanhood, since Gaston was so chivalrous
+that Froissart said, "I never saw one like him of personage, nor of so
+fair form, nor so well made."
+
+From Meaux our road (we were going to make Nancy our centre and stopping
+place) followed the windings of the green ribbon Marne to
+Chateau-Thierry, on the river's right bank. There's a rather thrilling
+ruin, that gave the town its name, and dominates it still--the ruin of a
+castle which Charles Martel built for a young King Thierry. The legend
+says that this boy differed from the wicked kings Thierry, sons and
+grandsons of the Frankish Clovis; that he wanted to be good, but "Fate"
+would not let him. Perhaps it's a judgment on those terrible Thierry
+kings, who left to their enemies only the earth round their
+habitations--"because it couldn't be carried away"--that the Germans
+have left ruins in Chateau-Thierry more cruel than those of the
+crumbling castle. In seven September days they added more _monuments
+historiques_ than a thousand years had given the ancient Marne city.
+
+Jim Beckett had written his mother all about the town, and sent postcard
+pictures of its pride, the fortress-like, fifteenth-century church with
+a vast tower set upon a height. He liked Chateau-Thierry because Jean de
+la Fontaine was born there, and called it "a peaceful-looking place,
+just right for the dear fable-maker, who was so child-like and
+sweet-natured, that he deserved always to be happy, instead of for ever
+in somebody's debt." A soldier having seen the wasted country at the
+front, might still describe Chateau-Thierry as a "peaceful-looking
+place." But it was the first glimpse the Becketts had had of war's
+abominable destruction. I took up nursing in the south of France before
+the Zeppelins made much visible impression on London; and as I
+volunteered for a "contagious" hospital, I've lived an isolated life far
+from all horrors save those in my own ward, and the few I saw when I
+went to nurse Brian. Perhaps it was well for us to begin with
+Chateau-Thierry, whose gaping wounds are not mortal, and to miss tragic
+Varreddes. Had Sermaize-les-Bains, which burst upon us later, been our
+first experience, the shock might have been too great for Mrs. Beckett.
+As it was, we worked slowly to the climax. Yet even so, we travelled on
+with a hideous mirage of broken homes, of intimacies brutally laid bare,
+floating between the landscape and our eyes. We could not get rid of
+this mirage, could not brush it away, though the country was friendly
+and fair of face as a child playing in a waterside meadow. The crudely
+new bridges that crossed the Marne were the only open confessions of
+what the river had suffered. But the Marne spirit had known wars enough
+to learn "how sweet it is to live, forgetting." With her bits of
+villages scattered like strewn flowers on her green flood, she floats
+in a dream of her adventurous past and the glorious future which she has
+helped to win for France.
+
+It was hard to realize that the tiny island villages and hamlets on the
+level shores had seen the Germans come and go; that under the gray
+roofs--furry-soft as the backs of Maltese cats--hearts had beaten in
+agony of fear; that along the white road, with its double row of
+straight trees like an endless army on parade, weeping fugitives had
+fled.
+
+We were not aiming to reach Nancy that night, so we paused at Epernay.
+The enemy behaved better there than in most Marne towns, perhaps because
+Wagner once lived in it, or, more likely, under the soothing influence
+of Epernay's champagne, which has warmed the cockles of men's hearts
+since a bishop of the ninth century made it famous by his praise.
+Nevertheless, there are ruins to see, for the town was bombarded by the
+Germans after they were turned out. All the quarter of the rich was laid
+waste: and the vast "Fabrique de Champagne" of Mercier, with its
+ornamental frieze of city names, is silent to this day, its proud facade
+of windows broken. Not a big building of the town, not a neighbouring
+chateau of a "Champagne baron" has a whole window-pane visible, though
+three years have rolled on since the cannonading did its work! Nowadays
+glass is as dear as diamonds in France, and harder to get.
+
+Outside Champagnopolis, in the wide wooden village of hospital huts, a
+doctor told us a war ghost story. One night the Germans made a great
+haul of champagne, of a good year, in a castle near by. They had knocked
+off the heads of many bottles, naming each for a French general of
+yesterday or to-day, when some officer who knew more history than the
+rest remembered that Henri IV had taken Epernay in 1592. He named his
+bottle for Henri de Navarre, and harangued his comrades on the
+superiority of Wilhelm von Hohenzollern. As the speechmaker cracked the
+neck with his sword, the bottle burst in a thousand pieces, drenching
+everyone with wine. A bit of glass struck the electric lamp over the
+table, and out went the light. For an instant the room was black. Then a
+white ray flickered on the wall, as if thrown through the window by a
+searchlight. Out of its glimmer stepped a man, with a long, laughing
+face and a pointed beard. Round his neck was a high ruff. He wore a
+doublet of velvet, and shining silk hose. In his hand was a silver
+goblet, frothing over the top with champagne. "He drinks best who drinks
+last!" cried he in French, and flung the goblet at the face of him who
+named the bottle. At the same second there was a great explosion, and
+only one soldier escaped; he who told the story.
+
+Think, Padre, it was near Chalons that Attila was defeated, and forced
+to fly from France for ever! I ought to say, Attila the first, since the
+self-named Attila II hasn't yet been beaten back beyond the Rhine.
+
+We--you, and Brian and I--used to have excited arguments about
+reincarnation. You know now which of us was right! But I cling to the
+theory of the spiral, in evolution of the soul--the soul of a man or the
+soul of the world. It satisfies my sense of justice and my reason both,
+to believe that we must progress, being made for progression; but that
+we evolve upward slowly, with a spiral motion which brings us at
+certain periods, as we rise, directly above the last earth-phase in our
+evolution. If it's true, here, after nearly thirteen centuries, are the
+Huns overrunning Europe once more. Learned Huns, scientific Huns, but
+always Huns, repeating history on a higher scale, barbarously bent on
+pulling down the liberty of the world by the power of brute force. Again
+they're destined to be conquered as before, at a far bigger price. What
+will the next turn of their spiral bring, I wonder? A vast battle of
+intellect, perhaps, when wars of blood have been forgotten. And I
+wonder, too, where has Attila been, since he was beaten in this
+Champagne country of the Marne, and died two years later at his
+wedding-feast in Hungary!
+
+Did he appear in our world again, in the form of some great, cruel
+general or king, or did his soul rest until it was reincarnated in the
+form that claims his name to-day?
+
+I could scarcely concentrate upon Chalons, though it's a noble town,
+crowded with grand old buildings. My mind was busily travelling back,
+back into history, as Peter Ibbetson travelled in his prison-dreams. It
+didn't stop on its way to see the city capitulate to the Allies in 1814,
+just one hundred years before the great new meaning came into that word
+"allies." I ran past the brave fifteenth-century days, when the English
+used to attack Chalons-sur-Marne, hoping to keep their hold on France. I
+didn't even pause for Saint-Bernard, preaching the Crusade in the
+gorgeous presence of Louis VII and his knights. It was Attila who lured
+me down, down into his century, buried deep under the sands of Time. I
+heard the ring of George Meredith's words: "Attila, my Attila!" But I
+saw the wild warrior Attila, fighting in Champagne, not the dead man
+adjured by Ildico, his bride. I saw him "short, swarthy, broad-chested,"
+in his crude armour, his large head, "early gray," lifted like a wolf's
+at bay. I saw his fierce, ugly face with its snub nose and little,
+deep-set eyes, flushed in the fury of defeat as he ordered the famous
+screen of chariots to be piled up between him and the Romano-Gauls. I
+saw him and his men profiting by the strange barrier, and the enemy's
+exhaustion, to escape beyond the Rhine, with eyes yearning toward the
+country they were to see no more.
+
+History calls that battle "one of the decisive battles of the world,"
+yet it lasted only a day, and engaged from a hundred and seventy-four
+thousand to three hundred thousand men. Oh, the spiral of battles has
+climbed high since then!
+
+I think I should have had a presentiment of the war if I'd lived at
+Chalons, proud city of twenty-two bridges and the Canal Rhine-Marne. The
+water on stormy days must have whispered, "They are coming. Take care!"
+
+At Vitry-le-Francois there is also that same sinister canal which leads
+from the Marne to the Rhine, the Rhine to the Marne. The name has a
+wicked sound in these days--Rhine-Marne; and at Vitry-le-Francois of all
+places. The men from over the Rhine destroyed as much as they had time
+to destroy of the charming old town planned by Francis I, and named for
+him. All the villages round about the new Huns broke to pieces, like the
+toy towns of children: Revigny, sprayed from hand pumps with petrol, and
+burnt to the ground: Sermaize-les-Bains, loved by Romans and Saracens,
+obliterated; women drowned in the river by laughing German soldiers,
+deep down under yellow water-lilies, which mark their resting place
+to-day: everywhere, through the fields and forests, low wooden crosses
+in the midst of little votive gardens, telling their silent tale.
+
+Ah, but it is good that Mother Beckett saw Chateau-Thierry first, or she
+might have covered her eyes and begged to go back to Paris! Here all
+speaks of death and desolation, save the busy little hut-villages of the
+Quakers. The "Friends" quietly began their labour of love before the
+Battle of the Marne was ended, and they're "carrying on" still. The
+French translate them affectionately into "_les Amis_."
+
+It was at Bar-le-Duc that I met disaster face to face in so strange a
+way that it needs a whole letter to tell you what happened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+There were so many things to see by the way, and so many thoughts to
+think about them, that Father Beckett and Brian decided on an all night
+stop at Bar-le-Duc. The town hadn't had an air raid for weeks, and it
+looked a port of peace. As well imagine enemy aeroplanes over the
+barley-sugar house of the witch in the enchanted forest, as over this
+comfortable home of jam-makers!
+
+"Jim always asked for currant jam of Bar-le-Duc on his birthdays, ever
+since he was a little, little boy," Mrs. Beckett remembered aloud. "And
+even when he was grown up! But then, he wouldn't wait for birthdays. He
+wanted it every day for breakfast; and for tea at those grand New York
+hotels, where I wouldn't go without him, any sooner than in a lion's
+den. Oh, it will be nice to stay at Bar-le-Duc! If there's been a jam
+factory blown up, we'll help build it again, to please Jim."
+
+Father Beckett was shrewdly of opinion that the jam factories could take
+care of themselves, which rather disappointed his wife. She was vaguely
+disappointed too, in Bar-le-Duc. I think she expected to smell a
+ravishing fragrance of Jim's favourite _confiture_ as we entered the
+town. It had been a tiring day for her, with all our stops and
+sightseeing, and she had less appetite for history than for jam. We had
+passed through lovely country since Chalons, decorated with beautiful
+tall trees, high box hedges, and distant, rolling downs golden with
+grain and sunlight. Also, whenever our road drew near the railway, we'd
+caught exciting glimpses of long trains "camouflaged" in blurry greens
+and blues, to hide themselves from aeroplanes. Nevertheless, Mother
+Beckett had begun to droop. Her blue eyes hardly brightened to interest
+when Brian said we were in the famous region of the Meuse, part of the
+Austrian Empire in Charlemagne's day: that somewhere hereabout
+Wittekind, the enslaved Saxon, used to work "on the land," not dreaming
+of the kingly house of Capet he was to found for France, and that
+Bar-le-Duc itself would be our starting-point for Verdun, after Nancy
+and the "Lorraine Front."
+
+For her Bar-le-Duc had always represented jam, endless jam, loved by
+Jim, and talk of the dukes of Bar brought no thrill to Jim's mother. She
+cared more to see the two largest elms in France of which Jim had
+written, than any ruins of ducal dwellings or tombs of Lorraine princes,
+or even the house where Charles-Edouard the Pretender lived for years.
+
+Fortunately there was a decent hotel, vaguely open in the upper town on
+the hill, with a view over the small tributary river Ornain, on which
+the capital city of the Meuse is built. One saw the Rhine-Marne Canal,
+too, and the picturesque roofs of old fifteenth-century houses, huddled
+together in lower Bar-le-Duc, shut in among the vine-draped valleys of
+Champagne.
+
+As we left the car and went into the hotel (I lingering behind to help
+Brian) I noticed another car behind us. It was more like a taxi-cab than
+a brave, free-born automobile, but it had evidently come a long way, as
+it was covered with dust, and from its rather ramshackle roof waved a
+Red Cross flag.
+
+In the good days before the war I should have thought it the most
+natural thing on earth if a procession of twenty motors had trailed us.
+But war has put an end to joy-rides. Besides, since the outskirts of
+Paris, we had been in the _zone de guerre_, constantly stopped and
+stared at by sentinels. The only cars we passed, going east or west,
+were occupied by officers, or crowded with _poilus_, therefore the
+shabby little taxi became of almost startling interest. I looked back,
+and saw that it was slowing down close behind our imposing auto, from
+which a few small pieces of luggage for the night were being removed.
+
+The Red Cross travellers were evidently impatient. They did not wait for
+our chauffeur to drive away. The conductor of the car jumped down and
+opened the door of his nondescript vehicle. I made out, under a thick
+coat of dust, that he wore khaki of some sort, and a cap of military
+shape which might be anything from British to Belgian. He gave a hand to
+a woman in the car--a woman in nurse's dress. A thick veil covered her
+face, but her figure was girlish. I noticed that she was extremely small
+and slim in her long, dust-dimmed blue cloak: a mere doll of a creature.
+
+The man's back was turned toward me as he aided the nurse; but suddenly
+he flung a glance over his shoulder, and stared straight at me, as if he
+had expected to find me there.
+
+He was rather short, and too squarely built for his age, which might be
+twenty-eight or thirty at most; but his great dark eyes were splendid,
+so gorgeously bright and significant that they held mine for a second or
+two. This vexed me, and I turned away with as haughty an air as could be
+put on at an instant's notice.
+
+The hotel had no private sitting rooms, but the landlord offered Mr.
+Beckett for our use a small _salle de lecture_, adjourning the _salon
+public_. There were folding doors between, for a wonder with a lock that
+worked. By the time we'd bathed, and dressed again, it was the hour for
+dinner, and Mr. Beckett suggested dining in our own "parlour," as he
+called it.
+
+The landlord himself brought a menu, which Mother Beckett accepted
+indifferently up to the entremets "_omelette au rhum_." This she wished
+changed for something--anything--made with Jim's favourite jam. "He
+would want us to eat it at Bar-le-Duc," she said, with her air of taking
+Jim's nearness and interest in our smallest acts for granted.
+
+So "_omelette a la confiture de groseilles_" was ordered; and just as we
+had come to the end of it and our meal, some one began to play the piano
+in the public drawing room next door. At the first touch, I recognized a
+master hand. The air was from Puccini's "La Tosca"--third act, and a
+moment later a man's voice caught it up--a voice of velvet, a voice of
+the heart--an Italian voice.
+
+We all stopped eating as if we'd been struck by a spell. We hardly
+breathed. The music had in it the honey of a million flowers distilled
+into a crystal cup. It was so sweet that it hurt--hurt horribly and
+deliciously, as only Italian music can hurt. Other men sing with their
+brains, with their souls, but Italians sing with their blood, their
+veins, the core of their hearts. They _are_ their songs, as larks are.
+
+The voice brought Jim to me, and snatched him away again. It set him far
+off at a hopeless distance, across steep purple chasms of dreamland. It
+dragged my heart out, and then poured it full, full of an unknown elixir
+of life and love, which was mine, yet out of reach forever. It showed me
+my past hopes and future sorrows floating on the current of my own blood
+like ships of a secret argosy sailing through the night to some unknown
+goal. So now, when I have told you what it did to me, you will know that
+voice was like no voice I ever heard, except Caruso's. It _was_ like
+his--astonishingly like; and hardly had the last note of "Mario's" song
+of love and death dropped into silence when the singer began anew with
+one of Caruso's own Neapolitan folk-songs, "Mama Mia."
+
+I had forgotten Mother and Father Beckett--even Brian--everyone except
+my lost Jim Wyndham and myself. But suddenly a touch on my hand made me
+start. The little old lady's, small, cool fingers were on mine, "My
+daughter, what do the words mean?" she asked. "What is that boy saying
+to his mama?" Her eyes were blue lakes of unshed tears, for the thought
+of her son knocked at her heart.
+
+"It isn't a boy who sings, dear," I said. "It's supposed to be a young
+man who tries to tell his mother all about his love, but it is too big
+for any words he can find. He says she must remember how she felt
+herself when she was in love, and then she will understand what's in his
+heart."
+
+"Oh, it's wonderful!" she whispered. "How _young_ it sounds! Can it be
+a _man_ singing? It seems too beautiful for anything but a gramophone!"
+
+We broke out laughing, and the little lady blushed in shame. "I mean,
+it's like one of the great singers they make records of," she explained.
+"There, he's stopped. Oh, James, don't let him go! We _must_ hear him
+again. Couldn't you go next door and thank him? Couldn't you beg him to
+sing some more?"
+
+An Englishman would sooner have died a painful death then obey; but,
+unabashed, the American husband flung wide open the folding doors.
+
+At the piano sat the short, square-built young man of the Red Cross
+taxi. Leaning with both elbows on the instrument stood the doll-like
+figure of his companion, the girl in nurse's dress. His back and her
+profile were turned our way, but at the sound of the opening door he
+wheeled on the stool, and both stared at Mr. Beckett. Also they stared
+past him at me. Why at me, and not the others, I could never have
+guessed then.
+
+Our little room was lit by red-shaded candles on the table, while the
+_salon_ adjoining blazed with electricity. As the doors opened, it was
+like the effect of a flashlight for a photograph. I saw that the man and
+the girl resembled each other in feature; nevertheless, there was a
+striking difference between the two. It wasn't only that he was squarely
+built, with a short throat, and a head shaped like Caruso's, whereas she
+was slight, with a small, high-held head on a slender neck. The chief
+difference lay in expression. The man--who now looked younger than I had
+thought--had a dark, laughing face, gay and defiant as a Neapolitan
+street boy. It might be evil, it might be good. The girl, who could be
+no more than twenty, was sullen in her beauty as a thundercloud.
+
+The singer jumped up, and took a few steps forward, while the girl stood
+still and gloomed.
+
+"I hope I didn't disturb you?" The question was asked of Mr. Beckett,
+and thrown lightly as a shuttlecock over the old man's head to us in the
+next room. It was asked in English, with a curiously winning accent,
+neither Italian nor Irish, but suggesting both.
+
+"Disturbed!" Father Beckett explained that his errand was to beg for
+more music. "It's like being at the opera!" was the best compliment he
+had to give.
+
+The young man smiled as if a light had been turned on behind his eyes
+and his brilliant white teeth. "Delighted!" he said. "I can't sing
+properly nowadays--shell shock. I suppose I never shall again. But I do
+my best."
+
+He sat down once more at the piano, and without asking his audience to
+choose, began in a low voice an old, sweet, entirely banal and utterly
+heartbreaking ballad of Tosti's, with words by Christina Rossetti:
+
+    "When I am dead, my dearest,
+    Sing no sad songs for me,
+    Plant thou no roses at my head,
+    Nor shady cypress tree.
+    Be the green grass above me
+    With showers and dewdrops wet,
+    And if thou wilt, remember,
+    And if thou wilt, forget.
+
+    I shall not see the shadows,
+    I shall not feel the rain;
+    I shall not hear the nightingale
+    Sing on as if in pain.
+    And dreaming through the twilight
+    That does not rise nor set,
+    Haply I may remember,
+    And haply may forget."
+
+The words were of no great depth or worth, and the music was too
+intentionally heart-wringing to be sincerely fine, yet sung by that
+man's voice, the piano softly touched by his hands, the poor old song
+took my self-control and shivered it like thin glass. Tears burst from
+Mrs. Beckett's eyes, and she hid her face on my shoulder, sobbing
+beneath her breath: "Oh, Jim--Jim!"
+
+When the singer had finished he looked at her, not in surprise, but
+thoughtfully. "Perhaps I oughtn't to have sung that stuff, Mr. Beckett,"
+he said. "But your son liked it at St. Raphael. We knew each other
+there, very well."
+
+As he spoke his eyes turned to me, deliberately, with meaning. There was
+a gentle, charming smile on his southern face, but I knew, as if he had
+told me in so many words, that my secret was his.
+
+Involuntarily I glanced at the girl. She had not moved. She stood as
+before, her elbows on the piano, her small face propped between her
+hands. But she, too, was looking at me. She had no expression whatever.
+Her eyes told as little as two shut windows with blinds drawn down. The
+fancy flashed through me that a judge might look thus waiting to hear
+the verdict of the jury in a murder case.
+
+"These two have followed us on purpose to denounce me," I thought. Yet
+it seemed a stupidly melodramatic conclusion, like the climax of a
+chapter in an old-fashioned, sentimental story. Besides, the
+man--evidently the leader--had not at all the face of Nemesis. He looked
+a merry, happy-go-lucky Italian, only a little subdued at the moment by
+the pathos of his own nightingale voice and the memory of Jim Beckett. I
+was bewildered. My reason did not know what to make of him. But my
+instinct warned me of danger.
+
+Mother Beckett dried her eyes with one of her dainty handkerchiefs which
+always smell like lavender and grass pinks--her leitmotif in perfume.
+"You knew our Jim?" she exclaimed, choking back tears. "Why, then,
+perhaps you and Mary--Miss O'Malley----"
+
+What would have happened if she had finished her sentence I shall never
+know, for just then came a crash as if the house were falling.
+Window-glass shivered. The hotel shook as though in an earthquake. Out
+went the electric light, leaving only our candles aglow under red
+shades.
+
+Bar-le-Duc was in for an air raid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+For a moment we thought the house had been struck by a bomb, and were
+astonished that it stood. In the uproar of explosions and crashings and
+jinglings, the small silence of our room--with its gay chrysanthemums
+and shaded candles--was like that of a sheltered oasis in a desert
+storm.
+
+Not one of us uttered a sound. Father Beckett took his wife in his arms,
+and held her tight, her face hidden in his coat. Brian had not even got
+up from his chair by the table. He'd lighted a cigarette, and continued
+to 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 would have gone to him, after the first petrifying instant
+of surprise, but the singing-man stopped me. "Are you afraid?" I heard
+his voice close to my ear. Perhaps he shouted. But in the din it was as
+if he whispered.
+
+"No!" I flung back. "Had you not better go and take care of your
+sister?"
+
+He laughed. "My sister! Look at her! Does she need taking care of?"
+
+The girl had come from the suddenly darkened _salon_ into our room. As
+he spoke, she walked to the table, helped herself to a cigarette from
+Brian's silver case which lay open, and asked its owner for a light. It
+struck me that she did not realize his blindness.
+
+Certainly the young woman did not "need taking care of." Nor did I!
+Deliberately I turned my back upon the man; but he snatched 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 little outside pocket of my dress a folded
+bit of paper. Then he let me go, stepping back to prevent my returning
+the note.
+
+For a second I hesitated, not knowing which of two evils to choose; but
+the woman who hesitates is inevitably lost. Before I could make up my
+mind, the door opened and the 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 out of our
+neighbourhood. The noise we heard now was merely shrapnel fired by
+anti-aircraft guns. We would not be disturbed again, that he'd guarantee
+from his experience!
+
+Mrs. Beckett emerged from her husband's coat. Mr. Beckett laughed, and
+patting his wife's shoulder, complimented her courage. "I'm not sure we
+haven't behaved pretty 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, you're a soldier. What we've
+been through must seem a summer shower to you. And you, sir"--he turned
+to the singing-man--"I think you mentioned you'd had shell shock----"
+
+"Yes," the other answered quickly. "It cost me my voice."
+
+"Cost you your voice?" Father Beckett echoed. "If it was better than it
+is now, why, it must have been a marvel! We're ignorant in the music
+line, my wife and I, so if we ought to know who you are----"
+
+The young man laughed. "Oh, don't be afraid of hurting my feelings! If
+you were an Italian, or a Britisher--but an American! 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, but my mother was an Italian of
+Naples, once a prima donna. She wished me to make my professional debut
+as Giulio di Napoli."
+
+The name appeared to mean nothing for the Becketts, but instantly I knew
+who the man was, if little about him. I remembered reading of the
+sensation he created in London the summer that Brian and I tramped
+through 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 left
+England for Italy when the war broke out? Why had he been singing in New
+York after Italy joined the Allies? Above all, what had happened since,
+to put him on my track, with a Red Cross flag and a taxi-cab?
+
+These questions asked themselves in my head, while I could have counted
+"One--two--three." Meantime, Brian had spoken to the girl, and she had
+answered shortly, in words 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 clear a place on the table
+for a tray of coffee and liqueurs; and outside the noise of shrapnel
+had died in the distance. The air-raid incident was closed. What next?
+
+"You'll both have coffee with us, won't you, Signor di Napoli--or Mr.
+O'Farrell? Or should I say Lieutenant or Captain?" Father Beckett was
+urging. "You were a friend of our son's, and my wife and I----"
+
+"Plain Mister O'Farrell it is," the other broke in. "Thanks, it would be
+a pleasure to stay, but it's best to refuse, I'm sure, for my sister's
+sake. You see by her dress what her work has 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 you want to know. Anyhow, we may be going on for
+some time in your direction. I saw by a Paris paper a few days ago you
+were making a tour of the Fronts, beginning at the Lorraine end."
+
+His eyes were on me as he spoke, bright with imp-like malice. He looked
+so like a mischievous schoolboy that it was hard to take him seriously.
+Yet everything 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 statement that "My dead son's
+fiancee, Miss Mary O'Malley, who's been nursing in a 'contagious'
+hospital near St. Raphael, will be with us: and her brother."
+
+So that was how the man had heard about me, and for some reason found it
+worth while to follow, waving the sword of Damocles! His note burned my
+pocket. And _I_ burned to know what it said. No doubt it would explain
+why he did not cut off my head at once, and have it over!
+
+"I think," he was going on, "that the sooner I can get this poor little
+girl" (a tap on his sister's shoulder) "to her room and to bed the
+better it will be."
+
+Any one apparently less likely to faint, or less in need of rest, than
+the "poor little girl" indicated, it would be difficult to find, I
+thought: but the kindly Becketts were the last creatures to be critical.
+They sympathized, and changed their invitation from after-dinner coffee
+to breakfast at nine. This was accepted by O'Farrell for himself and his
+sister, and taking the girl's arm, the ex-singer swept her off in a
+dramatic exit.
+
+When they had gone, it was Brian who asked me if I had known them in the
+south; and because no incentive could make me lie to Brian, I promptly
+answered "No." As I spoke, it occurred to me that now, if ever, was the
+moment when I might still succeed in spoking the wheel of Mr. and Miss
+O'Farrell before that 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 bring of his _bona fides_
+where Jim Beckett was concerned, he would scarcely have followed us to
+claim acquaintance with the parents and confound the alleged fiancee.
+That he had followed us on purpose I was sure. Not for a second did I
+believe that the arrival of the taxi-cab in our wake was a coincidence!
+
+We drank our coffee, talking of the raid and of the O'Farrells, and--as
+always--of Jim. Then Father Beckett noticed that his wife was pale. "She
+looks as if she needed bed a good sight more than that little girl
+did," he said in the simple, homely way I've learned to love.
+
+Presently we had all bidden each other good-night, even Brian and I.
+Then--in my own room--I was free to take that folded bit of paper from
+my pocket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+To my surprise, there were only three lines, scribbled in pencil.
+
+"Come to the _salon_ for a talk when the rest of your party have gone to
+bed. I'll be waiting, and won't keep you long."
+
+"Impudent brute!" I said out aloud. But a moment later I had decided to
+keep the appointment and learn the worst. Needs must, when the devil
+drives!--if you're in the power of the devil. I was. And, alas! through
+my fault, so was Brian. After going so far, I could not afford to be
+thrown back without a struggle; and I went downstairs prepared to fight.
+
+It was not yet late; only a few minutes after ten o'clock; and though
+the Becketts and Brian were on the road to sleep, the hotel was awake,
+and even lively in its wakefulness. The door of the public _salon_ stood
+open, and the electric light had come on again. At the table, in the
+centre of the room, sat Mr. Julian O'Farrell, _alias_ Giulio di Napoli,
+conspicuously interested in an illustrated paper. He jumped up at sight
+of me, and smiled a brilliant smile of welcome, but did not speak. A
+sudden, obstinate determination seized me to thwart him, if he meant to
+force the first move upon me. I bowed coolly, as one acknowledges the
+existence of an hotel acquaintance, and passing to the other end of the
+long table, picked up a _Je Sais Tout_ of a date two years before the
+war.
+
+I did not sit down, but assumed the air of hovering for a moment on my
+way elsewhere. This manoeuvre kept the enemy on his feet; and as the
+cheap but stately clock on the mantel ticked out second after second, I
+felt nervously inclined to laugh, despite the seriousness of my
+situation. I bit my lip hard to frighten away a smile that would have
+spoilt everything. "If it goes on like this for an hour," I said to
+myself, "I won't open my mouth!"
+
+Into the midst of this vow broke an explosion of laughter that made me
+start as if it announced a new bombardment. I looked up involuntarily,
+and met the dark Italian eyes sparkling with fun. "I beg your pardon!"
+the man gurgled. "I was wondering which is older, your _Je Sais Tout_ or
+my _Illustration_? Mine's the Christmas number of 1909."
+
+"Yours has the advantage in age," I replied, without a smile. "Mine goes
+back only to 1912."
+
+"Ah! I'm glad to score that one point," he said, still laughing. "Dear
+Miss O'Malley, won't you please sit down? I'm a lazy fellow, and I'm so
+tired of standing! Now, don't begin by being cross with me because I
+call you 'dear.' If you realized what I've done for you, and what I'm
+ready to do, you'd say I'd earned _that_ right, to begin with!"
+
+"I don't understand you at all, or why you should claim any right," I
+hedged. But I sat down, and he sank so heavily into an ancient,
+plush-covered chair that a spray of dust flew up from the cushions.
+
+"I'm afraid I'm rather too fat!" he apologized. "But I always lose flesh
+motoring, so you'll see a change for the better, I hope--in a week or
+two. I expect our lines will be cast in the same places for some time
+to come--if you're as wise as--as you are pretty. If not, I'm afraid you
+and Mr. O'Malley won't be long with our party. I say, you are gorgeous
+when you're in a rage! But why fly into a fury? You told me you didn't
+understand things. I'm doing my best to explain."
+
+"Then your best is very bad," I said.
+
+"Sorry! I'll begin another way. Listen! I'm going to be perfectly frank.
+Why not? We're birds of a feather. And the pot can't call the kettle
+black. Maybe my similes are a bit mixed, but you'll excuse that, as
+we're both Irish. Why, my being Irish--and Italian--is an explanation of
+me in itself, if you'd take the trouble to study it. But look here! I
+don't _want_ you to take any trouble. I don't want to _give_ you any
+trouble. Now do you begin to see light?"
+
+"No!" I threw at him.
+
+"I don't believe you, dear girl. You malign your own wits. You pay
+yourself worse compliments than I'd let any one else do! But I promised
+not to keep you long. And if I break my promise it will be your
+fault--because you're not reasonable. You're the pot and I'm the kettle,
+because we're both tarred with the same brush. By the way, _are_ pots
+and kettles blacked with tar? They look it. But that's a detail. My
+sister and I are just as dead broke and down and out as you and your
+brother are. I mean, as you _were_, and as you may be again, if you make
+mistakes."
+
+"I'd rather not bring my brother into this discussion," I said. "He's
+too far above it--and us. You can do as you choose about your sister."
+
+"I can make _her_ do as _I_ choose," he amended. "That's where my
+scheme came in, and where it still holds good. When I read the news of
+Pa and Ma Beckett arriving in Paris, it jumped into my head like a--like
+a----"
+
+"Toad," I supplied the simile.
+
+"I was leaving it to you," said he. "I thought you ought to know, for by
+a wonderful coincidence which should draw us together, the same great
+idea must have occurred to you--in the same way, and on the same day. I
+bet you the first hundred francs I get out of old Beckett that it was
+so!"
+
+"Mr. O'Farrell, you're a Beast!" I cried.
+
+"And you're a Beauty. So there we are, cast for opposite parts in the
+same play. Queer how it works out! Looks like the hand of Providence.
+Don't say what you want to say, or I shall be afraid you've been badly
+brought up. North of Ireland, I understand. We're South. Dierdre's a
+Sinn Feiner. You needn't expect mercy from her, unless I keep her down
+with a strong hand--the Hidden Hand. She hates you Northerners about ten
+times worse than she hates the Huns. Now you look as if you thought her
+name _wasn't_ Dierdre! It is, because she took it. She takes a lot of
+things, when I've showed her how. For instance, photographs. She has
+several snapshots of Jim Beckett and me together. I have some of him and
+her. They're pretty strong cards (I don't mean a pun!) if we decide to
+use them. Don't you agree?"
+
+"I neither agree nor disagree," I said, "for I understand you no better
+now than when you began."
+
+"You're like Mr. Justice What's-his-name, who's so innocent he never
+heard of the race course. Well, I must adapt myself to your child-like
+intelligence! I'll go back a bit to an earlier chapter in my career,
+the way novels and cinemas do, after they've given the public a good,
+bright opening. It was true, what I said about my voice. I've lost
+everything but my middle register. I had a fortune in my throat. At
+present I've got nothing but a warble fit for a small drawing room--and
+that, only by careful management. I knew months ago I could never sing
+again in opera. I was coining money in New York, and would be now--if
+they hadn't dug me out as a slacker--an _embusque_--whatever you like to
+call it. I was a conscientious objector: that is, my conviction was it
+would be sinful to risk a bullet in a chest full of music, like mine--a
+treasure-chest. But the fools didn't see it in that light. They made
+America too hot to hold either Giulio di Napoli or Julian O'Farrell. I'm
+no coward--I swear to you I'm not, my dear girl! You've only to look me
+square in the face to see I'm not. I'm full of fire. But ever since I
+was a boy I've lived for my voice, and you can't die for your voice,
+like you can for your country. It goes--pop!--with you. I managed to
+convince the doctors that my heart was too jumpy for the trenches. I see
+digitalis in your eye, Miss Trained Nurse! It wasn't. It was
+strophantis. But they _would_ set me to driving a motor
+ambulance--cold-hearted brutes! I got too near the front line one
+day--or rather the front line got too near me, and a shell hit my
+ambulance. The next thing I knew I was in hospital, and the first thing
+I thought of was my voice. A frog would have disowned it. I hoped for a
+while it might come right; but they sent me to St. Raphael for a sun
+cure, and--it didn't work. That was last spring. I'm as well as I ever
+was, except in my throat, and there the specialists say I need never
+expect to be better. I'd change with your brother, Miss O'Malley. My
+God, I would. If I could lose my eyes and have my voice again--my
+voice!"
+
+His flippancy broke down on those words, with one sincere and tragic
+note that touched me through my contempt. Watching, he saw this, and
+catching at self-control, he caught also at the straw of sympathy within
+his reach.
+
+"I wanted to die for a while," he went on. "But youth is strong, even
+when you're down on your luck--down at the deepest. My sister came to
+St. Raphael to be with me. It may seem queer to you, but I'm her idol.
+She's lost everything else--or rather she thinks she has, which is much
+the same--everything that made her life worth living. She wanted to be a
+singer. Her voice wasn't strong enough. She wanted to be an actress. She
+knew how to act, but--she _couldn't_, Heaven knows why. She's got
+temperament enough, but she couldn't let herself out. You see what she's
+like! She failed in America, where she'd followed me against our
+mother's will. Mother died while we were there. Another blow! And a man
+Dierdre's been half engaged to was killed in Belgium. She didn't love
+him, but he was made of money. It would have been a big match! She took
+to nursing only after I was called up. You know in France a girl doesn't
+need much experience to get into a hospital. But poor little Dare wasn't
+more of a success at nursing than on the stage. Not enough
+self-confidence--too sensitive. People think she's always in the
+sulks--and so she is, these days. I'd been trying for six months' sick
+leave, and just got it when I read that stuff in the paper about Beckett
+being killed, and his parents hearing the news the day they arrived. It
+struck me like drama: things do. I was born dramatic--took it from my
+mother. The thought came to me, how dead easy 'twould be for some girl
+to pretend she'd been engaged to Beckett, and win her wily way to the
+hearts and pockets of the old birds. Next I thought: Why not Dierdre?
+And there wasn't _any_ reason why not! I told her it would be good
+practice in acting. (She hasn't quite given up hope of the stage yet.)
+We started for Paris on the job; and then I read in a later copy of the
+same paper about the smart young lady who'd stepped in ahead of us. If
+old Beckett hadn't been bursting with pride in the heroic girl who'd got
+a medal for nursing infectious cases in a hospital near St. Raphael, I'd
+have given up the game for a bad job. I'd have taken it for granted that
+Jim and the fiancee had met before we met him at St. Raphael. But when
+the paper said they'd made acquaintance there, and gave your name and
+all, I knew you were on the same trail with us. You'd walked in ahead,
+that was the only difference. And _we_ had the snapshots. We could call
+witnesses to swear that no nurse from your hospital had come near St.
+Raphael, and to swear that none of the chaps in the aviation school had
+ever come near them. Dierdre hadn't been keen at first, but once she was
+in, she didn't want to fail again; especially for a North of Ireland
+girl like you. She was ready to go on. But the newspaper gushed a good
+deal over your looks, you remember. My curiosity was roused. I was--sort
+of obsessed by the thought of you. I decided to see what your head was
+like to look at before chopping it off. And anyhow, you'd already
+started on your jaunt. Through a rich chap I knew in New York, who's
+over here helping the Red Cross, I got leave to carry supplies to the
+evacuated towns, provided I could find my own car. Well, I found
+it--such as it is. All I ask of it is not to break down till the
+Becketts have learned to love me as their dear, dead son's best friend.
+As for Dare--what she was to the dear dead son depends on you."
+
+"Depends on me?" I repeated.
+
+"Depends on you. Dare's not a good Sunday-school girl, but she's good to
+her brother--as good as you are to yours, in her way. She'll do what I
+want. But the question is Will _you_?"
+
+For a moment I did not speak. Then I asked, "What do you want?"
+
+"Only a very little thing," he said. "To live and let live, that's all.
+Don't you try to queer my pitch, and I won't queer yours."
+
+"What is your pitch?" I asked.
+
+He laughed. "You're very non-committal, aren't you? But I like your
+pluck. You've never once admitted by word or look that you're caught.
+All the same, you know you are. You can't hurt me, and I can hurt you.
+Your word wouldn't stand against my proofs, if you put up a fight. You'd
+go down--and your brother with you. Oh, I don't think he's in it! The
+minute I saw his face I was sure he wasn't; and I guessed from yours
+that what you'd done was mostly or all for him. Now, dear Miss O'Malley,
+you know where you are with me. Isn't that enough for you? Can't you
+just be wise and promise to let me alone on my 'pitch,' whatever it is?"
+
+"I won't have Mr. and Mrs. Beckett made fools of in any way."
+
+He burst out laughing. "That's good--from _you_! I give you leave to
+watch over their interests, if you let me take care of mine. Is it a
+bargain?"
+
+I did not answer. I was thinking--thinking furiously, when the landlord
+came to the door to put out the lights.
+
+O'Farrell sprang to his feet. "We're ready to go. We can leave the room
+free, can't we, Miss O'Malley?" he said in French.
+
+Somehow, I found myself getting up, and fading out of the room as if I'd
+been hypnotized. I walked straight to the foot of the stairs, then
+turned at bay to deliver some ultimatum--I scarcely knew what. But
+O'Farrell had cleverly accomplished a vanishing act, and there was
+nothing left for me to do save go to my own room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Thinking things over in the night, I decided to wait until after
+breakfast before making up my mind to anything irrevocable. Breakfast
+being the appointed rendezvous, O'Farrell would then lay his cards on
+the table. If he slipped some up his sleeve, I must make it my business
+to spot the trick and its meaning for the Becketts.
+
+As I offered this sop to my conscience, I could almost hear O'Farrell
+saying, with one of his young laughs, "That's right. Set a thief to
+catch a thief!"
+
+At ten o'clock we were to start for Nancy via Commercy, so there would
+be little time to reflect, and to act on top of reflection; but my
+strait being desperate, I resolved to trust to luck; and to be first on
+the field of battle, I knocked at Brian's door at half-past eight.
+
+He was already dressed, and to look at his neat cravat and smoothly
+brushed hair no one would have guessed that his toilet had been made by
+a blind man. We had not yet exchanged opinions of the O'Farrell family,
+and I had come early to get his impressions. They were always as
+accurate and quickly built up as his sketches; but since he has been
+blind, he seems almost clairvoyant.
+
+"What do you think of those two?" I asked. "Or rather, what do you think
+of the man? I know you have to judge by voices; and as the girl hardly
+opened her mouth you can't----"
+
+"Queer thing--and I don't quite understand it myself," said Brian; "but
+I see Miss O'Farrell more clearly than her brother."
+
+He generally speaks of "seeing people," quite as a matter of course. It
+used to give me a sharp pain at my heart; but I begin to take his way
+for granted now. "There's something about O'Farrell that eludes
+me--slips away like quicksilver. One is charmed with his voice and his
+good looks----"
+
+"Brian! Who told you he was good-looking?" I broke in.
+
+Brian laughed. "I told myself! His manner--so sure of his power to
+please--belongs to good looks. Besides, I've never known a tenor with
+any such quality of voice who hadn't magnificent eyes. Why they should
+go together is a mystery--but they do. Am I right about this chap?"
+
+"Yes, you're right," I admitted. "But go on. I'm more interested in him
+than in his sister."
+
+"Are you? I've imagined her the more interesting--the more repaying--of
+the two. I see O'Farrell, not a bad fellow, but--not _sure_. I don't
+believe he's even sure of himself, whether he wants to be straight or
+crooked. How he turns out will depend--on circumstances, or perhaps on
+some woman. If he travels with us, he'll be a pleasant companion,
+there's no doubt. But----"
+
+"But--what?"
+
+"Well, we must always keep in mind that he's an actor. We mustn't take
+too seriously anything he says or does. And you, Molly--you must be more
+careful than the rest."
+
+"I! But I told you I'd never met him at St. Raphael. I never set eyes on
+him till last night."
+
+"I know. Yet I felt, when he 'set eyes' on you--oh, I don't know how to
+express what I felt! Only--if it had happened on the stage, there'd have
+been music for it in the orchestra."
+
+"Brian, how strange you are!" I almost gasped. "Ought we to let the man
+and his sister go on with us, if that's their aim? Their Red Cross flag
+may be camouflage, you know! Very likely they're adventurers, after the
+Beckett's money. We could advise Father and Mother Beck----"
+
+"Let's follow a famous example, and 'wait and see'--if only for the
+girl's sake."
+
+"Oh, you think so well of her!"
+
+"Not well, exactly," Brian hesitated. "I don't know what to think of her
+yet. But--I think _about_ her. I feel her, as I feel electricity before
+a thunderstorm bursts."
+
+"A thunderstorm expresses her!" I laughed. "I thought of that myself.
+She's sullen--brooding, dark as a cloud. Yet the _tiniest_ thing! One
+could almost break her in two."
+
+"I held out my hand for good-night," Brian said. "She had to give hers,
+though I'm sure for some reason she didn't want to. It was small
+and--crushable, like a child's; and hot, as if she had fever."
+
+"She didn't want to take yours, because we're North of Ireland and she's
+a fierce Sinn Feiner," I explained. Luckily Brian did not ask how I'd
+picked up this piece of information! He was delighted with it, and
+chuckled. "So she's a Sinn Feiner! She's very pretty, isn't she?"
+
+"In a cross-patch way. She looks ready to bite at a touch."
+
+"Poor child! Life must have gone hard with her. She's probably got a
+grouch, as the American boys over here say. We must try and do something
+to soften her down, and make her see things through rosier spectacles,
+if she and her brother join on to our party for a while."
+
+"Ye-es."
+
+"You don't like her, Molly?"
+
+"Oh, I've hardly thought of her, dear. But you seem to have made up for
+that."
+
+"Thunderstorms _make_ you think about them. They electrify the
+atmosphere. I see this girl so distinctly somehow: little, white thing;
+big, gloomy eyes like storms in deep woods, and thin eyelids--you know,
+that transparent, flower-petal kind, where you fancy you see the iris
+looking through, like spirit eyes, always awake while the body's eyes
+sleep; and--and lots of dark hair without much colour--hair like smoke.
+I see her a suppressed volcano--but not extinct."
+
+"The day may come when we'll wish she were extinct. But really you've
+described her better than I could, though I stared quite a lot last
+night. Come along, dear. It's six minutes to nine. Let's trot down to
+breakfast."
+
+We trotted; but early as I'd meant to be, and early as we were, the
+O'Farrells and the Becketts were before us. How long they had been
+together I don't know, but they must have finished their first
+instalment of talk about Jim, for already they had got on to the subject
+of plans.
+
+"Well, it will be noble of you to help us with supplies. The promise
+we've got from our American Red Cross man in Paris is limited,"
+O'Farrell was saying in his voice to charm a statue off its pedestal, as
+we came in. He sprang to shut the door for us, and gave me the look of
+a cherubic fox, as much as to say, "You see where we've got to! But it's
+all for the good cause. There's more than one person not as black as
+he's painted!"
+
+"Molly's watch must be slow," said Brian. "She thought it was only six
+minutes to nine."
+
+"She's right. But it seems the big clock in the hall outside our door is
+fast," explained Father Beckett. "We heard it strike nine, so we hurried
+down. The same thing happened with Mr. and Miss O'Farrell."
+
+Another glance at me from the brilliant eyes! "Smart trick, eh?" they
+telegraphed. I had to turn away, or I should have laughed. Surely never
+before, on stage or in story--to say nothing of real life--was the
+villain and blackmailer a mischievous, schoolboy imp, who made his
+victims giggle at the very antics which caught them in his toils! But,
+come to think of it, _I_ am a villain, and next door to a blackmailer!
+Yet I always see myself (unless I stop to reflect on my sins) as a girl
+like other girls, even better-natured and more agreeable and intelligent
+than most. Perhaps, after all, villains don't run in types!
+
+I soon learned that Father and Mother Beckett were rejoicing in the
+acquisition of Jim's two friends as travelling companions. The
+celebrated snapshots were among the cards O'Farrell had kept up his
+sleeve. No doubt he'd waited to make sure of my attitude (though he
+appeared to take it for granted) before deciding what use to make of his
+best trumps. Seeing that I let slip my one and only chance of a
+denunciation-scene, he flung away his also, with an air of dashing
+chivalry which his sister and I alone were in a position to appreciate.
+For me it had been a case of "speak now, or forever after hold your
+peace." For him, a decision was not irrevocable, as he could denounce me
+later, and plead that I had been spared at first, through kindness of
+heart. But I did not stop to consider that detail. I saw the man and
+myself as accomplices, on an equal footing, each having given quarter to
+the other. As for the girl, I still thought of her hardly at all, in
+spite of Brian's words. She was an unknown quantity, which I would waste
+no time in studying, while the situation that opened bade me sharpen my
+wits.
+
+In the five or ten minutes before we joined them the Becketts had
+consented--or offered--to help finance the Red Cross crusade. To achieve
+this was worthy of the Irish-Italian's talents. But the little dining
+room was littered with samples of the travellers' goods: clothing for
+repatriated refugees, hospital supplies; papier-mache splints, and even
+legs; shoes, stockings, medicines; soup-tablets, and chocolates. The
+O'Farrells might be doing evil, but good would apparently come from it
+for many. I could hardly advise the Becketts against giving money, even
+though I suspected that most of it would stick to O'Farrell's
+fingers--even though I knew that the hope of it consoled Signor Giulio
+di Napoli for leaving me in my safe niche. Yes, that was his
+consolation, I realized. And--there might be something more which I did
+not yet foresee. Still, being no better than he was, I was coward enough
+to hold my peace.
+
+This was the situation when we set out for Nancy, our big car running
+slowly, in order not to outpace the rickety Red Cross cab. We were not
+allowed by the military authorities to enter Toul, so our way took us
+through delightful old Commercy, birthplace of Madeleines. Of course
+the town had things to make it famous, long before the day of the
+shell-shaped cakelets which all true sons and daughters of France adore.
+Somebody founded it in the ninth century, when the bishops of Metz were
+the great overlords of its lords. It was a serious little city then, and
+Benedictine monks had a convent there in the Middle Ages. The fun began
+only with the building of the chateau, and the coming of the Polish
+Stanislas, the best loved and last Duke of Lorraine. He used to divide
+his years between Nancy, Luneville, and Commercy; and once upon a time,
+in the third of these chateaux, the _chef_ had a _chere amie_ named
+Madeleine. There was to be a fete, and the lover of Madeleine was
+racking his tired brain to invent some new dainty for it. "_I_ have
+thought of something which can make you famous," announced the young
+woman, who was a budding genius as a cook. "But, _mon cher_, it is my
+secret. Even to you I will not give it for nothing. I will sell it at a
+price."
+
+The _chef_ feigned indifference; but each moment counted. The Duke
+always paid in praise and gold for a successful new dish, especially a
+cake, for he was fond of sweets. When Madeleine boasted that her
+"inspiration" took the form of a cake, the man could resist no longer.
+The price asked was marriage--no less, and paid in advance! But it
+turned out not excessive. The feather-light, shell-shaped cakes were the
+success of the feast; and when Duke Stanislas heard their history, he
+insisted that they should be named Madeleines--"after their mother."
+
+Even in war days, "Madeleines de Commercy" is the first cry which greets
+the traveller entering town. Jim, it seems, had a charming habit of
+sending to his mother at home a specimen of the cake, or confiture, or
+bonbon, for which each place he visited abroad was famed. These things
+used to reach her in jars or boxes adorned with the coat-of-arms and
+photographs of the city concerned--a procession of surprises: and I
+think as she bought Madeleines of Commercy she moistened them with a few
+tears.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I expected to find Nancy beautiful, since for so long it was the capital
+of proud Lorraine, but I hadn't guessed how beautiful or individual. Now
+I shall always in future see the details of each splendid square and
+park by shutting my eyes and calling the vision to come--as Brian does.
+
+We drove straight to the door of a fascinating, old-fashioned hotel in
+the most celebrated square of all, the Place Stanislas; but we didn't go
+in. We couldn't stolidly turn our backs upon the magic picture, lit by a
+sudden radiance of sunshine, for in another moment the fairy-like effect
+might fade. Yes, "fairy-like" is the word; and as our two cars drew
+up--like Dignity and Impudence--I had the feeling that we'd arrived in
+the capital of fairyland to visit the king and queen.
+
+It was I who described the scene to Brian: the eighteenth-century
+perfection of the buildings, each one harmoniously proportioned to suit
+the others; the town hall, with its wonderful clock; the palace; the
+theatre, and the rest of the happy architectural family reared by Duke
+Stanislas; each with its roof-decoration of carved stone vases, and
+graceful statues miraculously missed so far by German bombs; the
+lace-like filigree of wrought iron and gold on flag-hung balconies or
+gates; the gilded Arch of Triumph leading into the garden of the Place
+Carriere--a gorgeous glitter of decoration which won for Nancy her
+_alias_, "City of Golden Doors," and now has to be "camouflaged" for
+enemy aeroplanes. It was I who made the list of stage properties, but it
+was Brian who filled the stage with actors and actresses, in their
+proper parts.
+
+He called upon the bronze statue of Stanislas to come down from its high
+pedestal, and appear before us in flesh, happy to be Duke of Lorraine,
+after all the dethronings and abdications in Poland; a most
+respectable-looking monarch despite his adventures and disguises of the
+past. We saw him in a powdered perruque, on his way to the ducal palace,
+after some religious ceremony that had attracted crowds of loyal
+Catholic Lorrainers: beside him, his good wife of bourgeoise soul but
+romantic name, Catherine Opalinska, a comfortable woman, too large for
+the fashionable _robe a paniers_; with the pair, their daughter Marie,
+proud of the fate foretold by a fortune-teller, that she should be queen
+of France; the Royal family, and the aristocrats of their northern
+court; the smart Polish officers in uniform; the pretty, coquettish
+women, and dark-faced musicians of Hungary; the Swedish philosophers,
+the long-haired Italian artists; and above all, the beautiful Marquise
+de Boufflers--rival of the Queen--with her little dogs and black pages;
+all these "belonged" to the sunlit picture, where our modern figures
+seemed out of place and time. The noble square, with its vast stretch of
+gray stone pavement--worn satin-smooth--its carved gray facades of
+palaces, picked out with gold, and its vista of copper beeches rose-red
+against a sky of pearl, had been designed as a sober background for the
+colour and fantastic fashion of the eighteenth century, whereas we and
+others like us but added an extra sober note.
+
+I noticed, as Brian sketched us his little picture of the past, that
+Dierdre O'Farrell gazed at him, as if at some legendary knight in whose
+reality she did not believe. It was the first time I had seen any change
+in the sullen face, but it was a change to interest rather than
+sympathy. She had the air of saying in her mind: "You look more like a
+St. George, stepped down from a stained-glass window, than an ordinary
+man of to-day. You seem to think about everyone else before yourself,
+and to see a lot more with your blind eyes than we see. You pretend to
+be happy, too, as if you wanted to set everybody a good example. But
+it's all a pose--a pose! I shall study you till I find you out, a
+trickster like the rest of us."
+
+I felt a sudden stab of dislike for the girl, for daring to put Brian on
+a level with herself--and me. I wanted to punish her somehow, wanted to
+make the little wretch pay for her impertinent suspicions. I pushed past
+her brusquely to stand between her and Brian. "Let's go into the hotel,"
+I said. "It's more important just now to see what our rooms are like
+than to play with the ghosts of dukes."
+
+As if the slighted ghosts protested, there came a loud, reproachful wail
+out of space. Everyone started, and stared in all directions. Then the
+soberly clad, modern inhabitants of Nancy glanced skyward as they
+crossed the square of Stanislas. Nobody hurried, yet nobody stopped.
+Men, women, and children pursued their way at the same leisurely pace as
+before, except that their chins were raised. I realized then that the
+ghostly wail was the warning cry of a siren: "Take cover! Enemy
+aeroplanes sighted!" But there was the monotony of boredom in the
+voice, and in the air with which passers-by received the news.
+
+"Oh, lord, here I go again!" the weary siren sighed.
+
+"Third time to-day, _mon Dieu_!" grumbled a very old man to a very blase
+porter, who dutifully shot out of the hotel to rescue our luggage, if
+not us, from possible though improbable danger. We let him haul in our
+bags, but remained glued to the pavement, utterly absorbed and
+fascinated, waiting for the show to begin.
+
+We had not long to wait! For an instant the pearl-pale zenith shone
+serenely void. Then, heralded by a droning noise as of giant bees, and a
+vicious spitting of shrapnel, high overhead sailed a wide-winged black
+bird, chased by four other birds bigger, because nearer earth. They
+soared, circling closer, closer--two mounting high, two flying low, and
+so passed westward, while the sky was spattered with shrapnel--long,
+white streaks falling slow and straight, like tail-feathers of a shot
+eagle.
+
+There was scant time to speak, or even draw an excited breath after the
+birds had disappeared, because they were back again, hovering so high
+that they were changed to insects.
+
+We ought to have scuttled into the hotel, but somehow we didn't move,
+although people in the square seemed suddenly to realize the wisdom of
+prudence. Some vanished into doorways, others walked faster--though not
+one of those haughty Lorrainers would condescend to run. Forgetful of
+ourselves, I was admiring their pride, when an angry voice made me jump.
+
+"You pretend that everything you do, good or bad, is for your brother's
+sake, yet you let him risk his life--a _blind_ man!--out here in the
+street with bombs and shrapnel dropping every instant!"
+
+It was Dierdre O'Farrell who spoke, and we glared into each other's eyes
+like two Kilkenny cats--or a surprised Kilkenny cat and a spitfire
+Kilkenny kitten.
+
+A moment before, I had been longing to strike at her. Now it was she who
+struck at me; and it was too much, that it should be in defence of my
+own brother! The primitive fishwife within me rose to the surface. "Mind
+your own business!" I rudely flung at her: and slipping my arm under
+Brian's, in a voice of curdled cream begged him to come with me indoors.
+
+The others followed, and about three seconds later a bomb fell in front
+of the hotel. It was a "dud," and did not explode, but it made a hole in
+the pavement and sent a jet of splintered stone into the air.
+
+Perhaps the girl had saved us from death, or at least from disfiguring
+wounds, but I was in no mood to thank her for that. I was _glad_ I had
+been a fishwife, and I thought Brian lacked his usual discernment in
+attributing hidden qualities to such a person as Dierdre O'Farrell.
+
+"Something's bound to break, if we don't part soon!" I told myself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Nancy is one of "Jim's towns," as Mother and Father Beckett say. When,
+with Brian's help, they began mapping out their route, they decided to
+"give something worth while" to the place, and to all the ruined region
+round about, when they had learned what form would be best for their
+donation to take. Some friend in Paris gave them a letter to the Prefet,
+and we had not been in Nancy an hour when he and his wife called.
+
+I'd never met a real, live prefet. The word sounded stiff and official.
+When Mother Beckett tremulously asked me to act as interpreter, I dimly
+expected to meet two polite automata, as little human as creatures of
+flesh and blood can be. Instead, I saw a perfectly delightful pair of
+Parisians, with the warm, kind manner one thinks of as southern. They
+were frankly pleased that a millionaire's purse promised to open for
+Nancy. Monsieur le Prefet offered himself to the Becketts as guide on a
+sightseeing expedition next day, and Madame, the Prefet's wife, proposed
+to exhibit her two thousand children, old and young, refugees housed in
+what once had been barracks. "The Germans pretend to believe they are
+barracks still, full of soldiers, as an excuse for bombs," she said.
+"But you shall see! And if you wish--if you have time--we will take you
+to see also what the Boches have done to some of our other towns--ah,
+but beautiful towns, of an importance! Luneville, and Gerbevillers, and
+more--many more. You should know what they are like before you go on to
+the Grande Couronne, where Nancy was saved in 1914."
+
+Of course the Becketts "wished." Of course they had time. "Molly, tell
+Mr. and Mrs. Prefet we've got more time than anything else!" said the
+old man eagerly. "Oh, and I guess we've got a little money, too, enough
+to spread around among those other places, as well as here. This is
+going to be something like what Jim would want at last!"
+
+When the Prefet and his wife rose to go, they invited not only the
+Becketts but Brian and me to dine at their house that night. Mother
+Beckett, on the point of accepting for us all, hesitated. The hesitation
+had to be explained: and the explanation was--the O'Farrells. I had
+hoped we might be spared them, but it was not to be. Our host and
+hostess, hearing of the travellers of the Red Cross, insisted that they
+must come, too. Mrs. Beckett was sure they would both be charmed, but as
+it turned out, she was only half right. Mr. O'Farrell was charmed. His
+sister had a headache, and intended to spend the evening in her room.
+
+Padre, if I wrote stories, I should like to write one with that prefet
+and his whole family for the heroes and heroines of it!
+
+There is a small son. There are five daughters, each prettier than the
+others, the youngest a tiny _filette_, the eldest twenty at most; and
+the mother in looks an elder sister. When the war broke out they were
+living in Paris, the father in some high political post: but he was by
+ancestry a man of Lorraine, and his first thought was to help defend the
+home of his forbears. The Meurthe-et-Moselle, with Nancy as its centre
+and capital, was a terrible danger zone, with the sword of the enemy
+pointed at its heart, but the lover of Lorraine asked to become prefet
+in place of a man about to leave, and his family rallied round him.
+There at Nancy, they have been ever since those days, through all the
+bombardments by Big Berthas and Taubes. When houses and hotels were
+being blown to bits by naval guns, thirty-five kilometres away, the
+daily life of the family went on as if in peace. As a man, the Prefet
+longed to send his wife and children far away. As a servant of France he
+thought best to let them stop, to "set an example of calmness." And if
+they had been bidden to go, they would still have stayed.
+
+The Prefet's house is one of the eighteenth-century palaces of the Place
+Stanislas; and in the story I'd like to write, I should put a
+description of their drawing room, and the scene after dinner that
+night.
+
+Imagine a background of decorative walls, adorned with magnificent
+portraits (one of the best is Stanislas, and better still is Louis XVI,
+a proud baby in the arms of a handsome mother); imagine beautiful Louis
+XV chairs, tables, and sofas scattered about, with the light of
+prism-hung chandeliers glinting on old brocades and tapestries: flowers
+everywhere, in Chinese bowls and tall vases; against this background a
+group of lovely girls multiplied by many mirrors into a large company;
+be-medalled officers in pale blue uniforms, handing coffee to the
+ladies, or taking from silver dishes carried by children the delicious
+macaroons which are to Nancy what Madeleines are to Commercy. Imagine
+long windows opening into a garden: rosy lamplight streaming out, silver
+moonlight streaming in; music; the wonderful voice of a man (Julian
+O'Farrell) singing the "Marseillaise," the "Star-Spangled Banner," and
+"Tipperary." Then into the midst of this breaking the tiresome whine of
+the siren.
+
+"What? A fourth time to-day?" cries somebody. "These creatures will wear
+out their welcome if they're not careful!"
+
+A laugh follows, to drown the bark of shrapnel, and a general shrugging
+of the shoulders. But suddenly comes a cry that _la petite_--the baby
+daughter of the house, sitting up in our honour--has run into the
+garden.
+
+The elder girls are not afraid for themselves, the great bombardments
+have given them a quiet contempt of mere Taubes. But for the little
+sister!--that is different. Instantly it seems that all the bombs
+Germany has ever made may be falling like iron rain on that curly head
+out there among the autumn lilies. Everybody rushes to the rescue: and
+there is the child, sweet as a cherub and cool as a cucumber, in the
+din. She stands on the lawn, chin in air, baby thumb on baby nose for
+the Taube caught in a silver web of searchlights.
+
+"_Sale oiseau!_" her defiant cry shrills up. "Just like you, to come on
+my grown-up evening! But you shan't spoil it. No, sister, I don't want
+to go in. I came out to say good-night to the chickens and rabbits, and
+tell them not to be afraid."
+
+Behind the lilies and late roses and laurels is quite a menagerie of
+domestic animals, housed among growing potatoes, beans, and tomatoes.
+_C'est la guerre!_ But rabbits and chickens are robbed of their
+consolation; the baby is bundled into the house; and, once she is
+safe--safe as any one can be safe in bombarded Nancy!--nobody thinks
+about the air raid. _Que voulez-vous?_ If one thought about these
+things, smiles a blonde girl in white, they might really get upon one's
+nerves, and that would never do!
+
+"It is this moonlight," she explains. "They will be back again once or
+twice to-night, perhaps. But the streets will be as full as ever of
+_poilus en permission_, walking with their sweethearts, in spite of the
+hateful things!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One makes one's adieux early in war times; but the moonlight was so
+wonderful on that Taube-ridden night that Brian said he felt it like a
+cool silver shower on his eyelids. "I believe I'm developing
+night-eyes!" he laughed to me, as we walked ahead of the Becketts and
+Julian O'Farrell, on our way across the gleaming square to our hotel.
+"Surely there won't be another raid for an hour or two? Let's take a
+walk. Let's go into the old town, and try to see some ghosts."
+
+"Yes, let's!" I echoed.
+
+I said good-night sweetly to the Becketts and stiffly to O'Farrell.
+Brian was equally cordial to all three, and I feared that O'Farrell
+might be encouraged to offer his company. But his self-assurance stopped
+short of that. He went meekly into the darkened hotel with the old
+couple, and I turned away triumphant, with my arm in Brian's.
+
+The clock of the Town Hall struck ten, chimed, waited for the church
+clock to approve and confirm, then repeated all that it had said and
+sung a minute before.
+
+We were going to look for ghosts of kings and dukes and queens; and like
+ghosts ourselves, we stepped from moonlit shores into pools of shadow,
+and back to moonlit shores again; past the golden Arch of Triumph, which
+Stanislas built in honour of his daughter's marriage with Louis XV;
+through the Carriere, where the tops of tall copper-beeches caught the
+light with dull red gleams, like the glow of a carbuncle; past the
+sleeping palace of Stanislas, into the old "nursery garden" of the
+Pepiniere, to the sombre Porte de la Craffe whose two huge, pointed
+towers and great wall guard the old town of Duke Rene II.
+
+There we stopped, because of all places this dark corner was the place
+for Nancy's noblest ghost to walk, Rene the Romantic, friend of Americo
+Vespucius when Americo needed friends; Rene the painter, whose pictures
+still adorn old churches of Provence, where he was once a captive: Rene,
+whose memory never dies in Nancy, though his body died 500 years ago.
+
+What if he should rise from his tomb in the church of the Cordeliers, or
+come down off his little bronze horse in the Place St. Epvre as ghosts
+may by moonlight, to walk with his fair wife Isabella through the
+huddled streets of the old town, gazing at the wreckage made by the
+greatest war of history? What would he think of civilization, he who
+held his dukedom against the star warrior of the century, Charles the
+Bold? War was lawless enough in his day. When avenging a chancellor's
+murder, the Nancians hanged 100 Burgundian officers on a church tower
+for the besiegers outside the city wall to see. But the "noble Gauls"
+whom Julius Caesar called "knights of chivalry," would have drawn the
+line then at showering bombs from the bay on women and children. We
+fancied, Brian and I, that after a walk round Nancy Rene and Isabella
+would retire, sadder and wiser ghosts, content to have finished their
+lives in gentler times than ours. Back into the shadows might they fade,
+to sleep again, and take up their old dream where the noise of
+twentieth-century shrapnel had snapped its thread. Their best dream must
+be, we thought, of their battle of Nancy: Charles the Bold on his black
+war-horse, surrounded by Burgundian barons in armour, shouting, and
+waving their banners with standards of ivory and gold; Charles of the
+dark locks, and brilliant eyes which all men feared and some women
+loved; Charles laughing with joy in the chance of open battle at last,
+utterly confident of its end, because the young duke--once his
+prisoner--had reinforced a small army with mercenaries, Swiss and
+Alsatians. At most Rene had 15,000 soldiers, and Charles believed his
+equal band of Burgundians worth ten times the paid northerners, as man
+to man.
+
+From the church tower where Charles's men had hung--where St. Epvre
+stands now--Rene could see the enemy troops assembling, headed by the
+Duke of Burgundy, in his glittering helmet adorned with its device of an
+open-jawed lion. He could even see the gorgeous tent whose tapestried
+magnificence spies had reported (a magnificence owned by Nancy's museum
+in our day!), and there seemed to his eyes no end to the defile of
+spears, of strange engines for scaling walls, and glittering
+battle-axes. One last prayer, a blessing by the pale priest, and young
+Rene's own turn to lead had come--a slight adversary for great Charles,
+but with a heart as bold! The trumpet blast of La Riviere, sounding the
+charge of Lorraine, went to his head like wine. He laughed when Herter's
+mountain men began to sing "Le taureau d'Uri" and "La vache
+d'Unterwald," to remind the proud Burgundian of his defeats at Granson
+and Morat. Then came the crash of armour against armour, blade against
+blade, and the day ended for Nancy according to Rene's prayers. The
+southerners fled and died; and two days later, Rene was gazing down at
+the drowned body of Charles the Bold, dragged out of a pond. Yes, a good
+dream for ghosts of the chivalrous age to retire into, and shut the
+door! But for us, in our throbbing flesh and blood, this present was
+worth suffering in for the glory of the future.
+
+There were other ghosts to meet in Nancy's old town of narrow streets
+where moonlight trickled in a narrow rill. Old, old ghosts, far older
+than the town as we saw it: Odebric of the eleventh century, who owned
+the strongest castle in France and the most beautiful wife, and fought
+the bishops of Metz and Treves together, because they did not approve of
+the lady; Henri VI of England riding through the walled city with his
+bride, Marguerite, by his side: ghostly funeral processions of dead
+dukes, whose strange, Oriental obsequies were famed throughout the
+world; younger and more splendid ghosts: Louis XIII and Richelieu
+entering in triumph when France had fought and won Lorraine, only to
+give it back by bargaining later; ghosts of stout German generals who,
+in 1871, had "bled the town white"; but greater than all ghosts, the
+noble reality of Foch and Castlenau, who saved Nancy in 1914, on the
+heights of La Grande Couronne.
+
+As we walked back to the new town, dazed a little by our deep plunge
+into the centuries, I heard my name called from across the street. "Miss
+O'Malley--wait, please! It's Julian O'Farrell. Have you seen my sister?"
+
+Brian and I stopped short, and O'Farrell joined us, panting and out of
+breath. "She's not with you?" he exclaimed. "I hoped she would be. I've
+been searching everywhere--she wasn't in the hotel when I got home, and
+it's close to midnight."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+I felt unsympathetic, and wouldn't have cared if Miss Dierdre O'Farrell
+had flown off on a broomstick, or been kidnapped by a German aviator. My
+heart, however, was sure that nothing had happened and I suspected that
+her brother had trumped up an excuse to join us. It vexed me that Brian
+should show concern. If only he knew how the girl had looked at him a
+few hours ago!
+
+"Couldn't they tell you in the hotel at what time she went out?" he
+enquired.
+
+But no! According to O'Farrell, his sister had not been seen. He had
+found her door unlocked, the room empty, and her hat and coat missing.
+"She told me she was going to bed," he added. "But the bed hasn't been
+disturbed."
+
+"Nor need you be, I think," said I. "Perhaps your sister wants to
+frighten you. Children love that sort of thing. It draws attention to
+themselves. And sometimes they don't outgrow the fancy."
+
+"Especially Suffragettes and Sinn Feiners," O'Farrell played up to me,
+unoffended. "Still, as a brother of one, I'm bound to search, if it
+takes all night. A sister's a sister. And mine is quite a valuable
+asset." He tossed me this hint with a Puck-like air of a private
+understanding established between us. Yes, "Puck-like" describes him: a
+Puck at the same time merry and malicious, never to be counted upon!
+
+"I feel that Miss O'Farrell went out to take a walk because she was
+restless, and perhaps not very happy," Brian reproached us both.
+"Something may have happened--remember we're in the war zone."
+
+"No one in Nancy's likely to forget that!" said I, dully resenting his
+defence of the enemy. "Brushing bombs out of their back hair every ten
+minutes or so! And listen--don't you hear big guns booming now, along
+the front? The German lines are only sixteen kilometres from here."
+
+Brian didn't answer. His brain was pursuing Dierdre O'Farrell, groping
+after her through the night. "If she went out before that air raid,
+while we were at the Prefet's," he suggested, "she may have had to take
+refuge somewhere--she may have been hurt----"
+
+"By Jove!" Puck broke in. "It scares me when you say that. You're a--a
+sort--of _prophet_, you know! I must find out what hospitals there
+are----"
+
+"We'll go with you to the hotel," Brian promised. "They'll know there
+about the hospitals. And if the Prefet's still up, he'll phone for us
+officially, I'm sure."
+
+"It's you who are the practical one, after all!" cried O'Farrell. And I
+guessed from a sudden uprush of Irish accent that his anxiety had grown
+sincere.
+
+We hurried home; Brian seeming almost to guide us, for without his
+instinct for the right way we would twice have taken a wrong turning. As
+we came into the Place Stanislas, still a pale oasis of moonlight, I saw
+standing in front of the hotel two figures, black as if cut out of
+velvet. One, that of a man, was singularly tall and thin, as a
+Mephistopheles of the stage. The other was that of a woman in a long
+cloak, small and slight as a child of fourteen. Dierdre O'Farrell, of
+course! It could be no one else. But who was the man? A dim impression
+that the figure was vaguely familiar, or had been familiar long ago,
+teased my brain. But surely I could never have seen it before.
+
+"Hurrah! There she is!" cried O'Farrell, "alive and on her pins!"
+
+At the sound of his voice, the velvet silhouettes stirred. They had
+turned to look at us, and a glint of moonlight made the two faces white
+and blank as masks. O'Farrell waved his hand, and I was obliged to
+quicken my steps to keep pace with Brian: "I suppose she got lost--serve
+her right!--and the beanpole has escorted her home," grumbled Puck; but
+as he spoke, the beanpole in question hurriedly made a gesture of
+salute, and stalked away with enormous strides. In an instant he was
+engulfed by a shadow-wave and his companion was left to meet us alone. I
+thought it would be like her to whisk into the hotel and vanish before
+we could arrive, but she did not. She stood still, with a fierce little
+air of defiance; and as we came near I saw that under the thrown-back
+cloak her left arm was in a white sling.
+
+Her brother saw it also. "Hullo, what have you been up to?" he wanted to
+know. "You've given us the scare of our lives!"
+
+"Thank you," the girl said. "Please speak for yourself!"
+
+"He may speak for us, too," Brian assured her. "We thought of the air
+raid. And even now, I don't feel as if we'd been wrong. Your voice
+sounds as if you were in pain. You've been hurt!"
+
+"It's nothing at all," she answered shortly, but her tone softened
+slightly for Brian. Even _she_ had her human side, it seemed. "A window
+splintered near where I was, and I got a few bits of glass in my arm.
+They're out now--every one. A doctor came, and looked after me. You see,
+Jule!" and she nodded her head at the sling. "Now I'm going in to bed.
+Good-night!"
+
+"Wait, and let my sister help you," Brian proposed. "She's a splendid
+nurse. I know she'll be delighted."
+
+"Sweet of her!" sneered the girl. "But _I'm_ a trained nurse, too, and I
+can take care of myself. It's only my left arm that's hurt, and a
+scratch at that. I don't need any help from any one."
+
+"Was that man we saw the doctor who put you in your sling?" asked
+"Jule," in the blunt way brothers have of catching up their sisters.
+
+"Yes, he was," she grudged.
+
+"Why did he run away? Didn't he want to be thanked?"
+
+"He did not. Besides----"
+
+"Besides--what?"
+
+"He particularly didn't wish to meet--one of our party. Now, I shan't
+say a word more about him. So you needn't ask questions. I'm tired. I
+want to go to bed."
+
+With this ultimatum, she bolted into the hotel, leaving the three of us
+speechless for a few seconds. I suppose each was wondering, "Am _I_ the
+one the doctor didn't want to meet?" Then I remembered my impression of
+having known that tall, thin figure long ago, and I was seized with
+certainty that the mysterious person had fled from me. At all events, I
+was sure Miss O'Farrell wished me to think so by way of being as
+aggravating as she possibly could.
+
+"Well, I'm _blessed_!" Puck exploded.
+
+"Are you?" I doubted. And I couldn't resist adding, "I thought your
+sister always did what you wanted?"
+
+"In the end she does," he upheld his point. "But--just lately--she's
+bewitched! Some saint is needed to remove the ban."
+
+I thought the saint was only too near her hand! Whether that hand would
+scratch or strike I couldn't guess; but one gesture was as dangerous as
+the other.
+
+What with thinking of my own horridness and other people's, wondering
+about the shadow-man, and being roused by the usual early morning air
+raid, bed didn't mother me with its wonted calming influence. Excitement
+was a tonic for the next day, however; and a bath and coffee braced me
+for an expedition with the Prefet's wife and daughters, and the
+Becketts. They took us over the two huge _casernes_, turned into homes
+of refuge for two thousand people from the invaded towns and villages of
+Lorraine: old couples, young women (of course the young men are
+fighting), and children. We saw the skilled embroiderers embroidering,
+and the unskilled making sandbags for the trenches; we saw the schools;
+and the big girls at work upon trousseaux for their future, or happily
+cooking in the kitchens. We saw the gardens where the refugees tended
+their own growing fruit and vegetables. We saw the church--once a
+gymnasium--and an immense cinema theatre, decorated by the ladies of
+Nancy, with the Prefet's wife and daughters at their head. On the way
+home we dropped into the biggest of Nancy's beautiful shops, to behold
+the work of last night's bombs. The whole skylight-roof had been smashed
+at dawn; but the glass had been swept away, and pretty girls were
+selling pretty hats and frocks as if nothing had happened--except that
+the wind of heaven was blowing their hair across their smiling eyes.
+
+After luncheon at which Dierdre O'Farrell didn't appear, the Prefet took
+us to the streets which had suffered most from the big gun
+bombardment--fine old houses destroyed with a completeness of which the
+wickedest aeroplane bombs are incapable. "Any minute they may begin
+again," the Prefet said. "But sufficient for the day! We suffered so
+much in a few hours three years ago, that nothing which has happened to
+us since has counted. Nancy was saved for us, to have and hold. Wounded
+she might be, and we also. But she was saved. We could bear the rest."
+
+We made him tell us about those "few hours" of suffering: and this was
+the story. It was on the 7th of September, 1914, when the fate of Nancy
+hung in the balance. An immense horde of Germans came pouring along the
+Seille, crossing the river by four bridges: Chambley, Moncel, Brin, and
+Bioncourt. Everyone knew that the order was to take Nancy at any price,
+and open the town for the Kaiser to march in, triumphant, as did Louis
+XIII of France centuries ago. William was said to be waiting with 10,000
+men of the Prussian Guard, in the wood of Morel, ready for his moment.
+Furiously the Germans worked to place their huge cannon on the hills of
+Doncourt, Bourthecourt, and Rozebois. Villages burned like card houses.
+Church bells tolled as their towers rocked and fell. Forests blazed, and
+a rain of bombs poured over the country from clouds of flame and smoke.
+Amance was lost, and with it hope also; for beyond, the road lay open
+for a rush on Nancy, seemingly past the power of man to defend. Still,
+man _did_ defend! If the French could hold out against ten times their
+number for a few hours, there was one chance in a thousand that
+reinforcements might arrive. After Velaine fell next day, and the defile
+between the two mountain-hills of Amance swarmed with yelling Uhlans,
+the French still held. They did not hope, but they fought. How they
+fought! And at the breaking point, as if by miracle, appeared the
+reinforcing _tirailleurs_.
+
+"This," said the Prefet, "was only one episode in the greatest battle
+ever fought for Nancy, but it was the episode in which the town was
+saved.
+
+"You know," he went on, "that Lorrainers have been ardent Catholics for
+centuries. In the Church of Bon-Secours there's a virgin which the
+people credit with miraculous power. Many soldiers in the worst of the
+fighting were sure of victory, because the virgin had promised that
+never should Nancy be taken again by any enemy whatever."
+
+It was late when we came back to the hotel, and while I was translating
+the Becketts' gratitude into French for the Prefet, the O'Farrells
+arrived from another direction. The brother looked pleased to see us;
+the sister looked distressed. I fancied that she had been forced or
+persuaded to point out the scene of last night's adventure, and was
+returning chastened from the visit. To introduce her to the Prefet was
+like introducing a dog as it strains at the leash, but Puck performed
+the rite, and explained her sling.
+
+"Hurt in the air raid?" the Prefet echoed. "I hope, Mademoiselle, that
+you went to a good doctor. That he----"
+
+"The doctor came to her on the spot," replied Puck, in his perfect
+French. "It seems you have doctors at Nancy who walk the streets, when
+there's a raid, wandering about to pick up jobs, and refusing payment."
+
+The Prefet laughed. "Can it be," he exclaimed, "that Mademoiselle has
+been treated by the Wandering Jew? Oh, not the original character, but
+an extraordinary fellow who has earned that name in our neighbourhood
+since the war."
+
+"Was that what he called himself?" O'Farrell turned to Dierdre. I
+guessed that Puck's public revelations were vengeance upon her for
+unanswered questions.
+
+"He called himself nothing at all," the girl replied.
+
+"Ah," said the Prefet, "then he _was_ the Wandering Jew! Let me see--I
+think you are planning to go to Gerbeviller and Luneville and Vitrimont
+to-morrow. Most likely you'll meet him at one of those places. And when
+you hear his story, you'll understand why he haunts the neighbourhood
+like a beneficent spirit."
+
+"But must we wait to hear the story? Please tell us now," I pleaded.
+"I'm so curious!"
+
+This was true. I burned with curiosity. Also, fatty degeneration of the
+heart prompted me to annoy Dierdre O'Farrell. To spite _me_, she had
+refused to talk of the doctor. I was determined to hear all about him to
+spite _her_. You see to what a low level I have fallen, dear Padre!
+
+The Prefet said that if we would go home with him and have tea in the
+garden (German aeroplanes permitting) he would tell us the tale of the
+Wandering Jew. We all accepted, save Dierdre, who began to stammer an
+excuse; but a look from her brother nipped it in the bud. He certainly
+has an influence over the girl, against which she struggles only at her
+strongest. To-day she looked pale and weak, and he could do what he
+liked with her.
+
+He liked to make her take tea at the Prefet's, doubtless because he'd
+have felt bound to escort the invalid to her room, had she insisted on
+going there!
+
+The story of the Wandering Jew would be a strange one, anywhere and
+anyhow. But it's more than strange to me, because it is linked with my
+past life. Still, I won't tell it from my point of view. I'll begin with
+the Prefet's version.
+
+The "Wandering Jew" really _is_ a Jew, of the best and most intellectual
+type. His name is Paul Herter. His father was a man of Metz, who had
+brought to German Lorraine a wife from Luneville. Paul is thirty-five
+now, so you see he wasn't born when the Metz part of Lorraine became
+German. His parents--French at heart--taught him secretly to love
+France, and hate German domination. As he grew up, Paul's ambition was
+to be a great surgeon. He wished to study, not in Germany, but in Paris
+and London. These hopes, however, were of the "stuff that dreams are
+made of," for when the father died, the boy had to work at anything he
+could get for a bare livelihood. It wasn't till he was over twenty-five
+that he'd scraped together money for the first step toward his career.
+He went to Paris: studied and starved; then to London. It was there I
+met him, but that bit of the story fits in later. He was thought well
+of at "Bart's," and everybody who knew him was surprised when suddenly
+he married one of the younger nurses, an English girl, and vanished with
+her from London. Presently the pair appeared in Metz, at the mother's
+house. Herter seemed sad and discouraged, uncertain of his future, and
+just at this time, through German Lorraine ran rumours of war "to begin
+when the harvests should be over." Paul and his mother took counsel.
+Both were French at heart. They determined to leave all they had in the
+world at Metz, rather than Paul should be called up to serve Prussia.
+The three contrived to cross the frontier. Paul offered himself to the
+Foreign Legion; his wife volunteered to nurse in a military hospital at
+Nancy; and Madame Herter, mere took refuge in her girlhood's home at
+Luneville, where her old father still lived.
+
+Then came the rush of the Huns across the frontier. Paul's wife was
+killed by a Zeppelin bomb which wrecked her hospital. At Luneville the
+mother and grandfather perished in their own house, burned to the ground
+by order of the Bavarian colonel, Von Fosbender.
+
+Paul Herter had not been in love with his wife. There was a mystery
+about the marriage, but her fate filled him with rage and horror. His
+mother he had adored, and the news of her martyrdom came near to driving
+him insane. In the madness of grief he vowed vengeance against all
+Bavarians who might fall into his hands.
+
+He was fighting then in the Legion; but shortly after he was gravely
+wounded. His left foot had to be amputated; and from serving France as a
+soldier, he began to serve as a surgeon. He developed astonishing skill
+in throat and chest operations, succeeding in some which older and more
+experienced men refused to attempt. Months passed, and into his busy
+life had never come the wished-for chance of vengeance; but all who knew
+him knew that Herter's hatred of Bavarians was an obsession. He was not
+one who would forget; and when a lot of seriously wounded Bavarians came
+into the field-hospital where he was at work, the two young doctors
+under him looked one another in the eyes. Even the stretcher-bearers had
+heard of Herter's vow, but there was nothing to do save to bring in the
+stream of wounded, and trust the calm instinct of the surgeon to control
+the hot blood of the man. Still, the air was electric with suspense, and
+heavy with dread of some vague tragedy: disgrace for the hospital, ruin
+for Herter.
+
+But the Jewish surgeon (he wasn't called "the Wandering Jew" in those
+days) caught the telepathic message of fear, and laughed grimly at what
+men were thinking of him. "You need not be afraid," he said to his
+assistants. "These _canaille_ are sacred for me. They do not count as
+Bavarians."
+
+Nevertheless, the young doctors would have tended the wounded prisoners
+themselves, leaving Herter to care for his countrymen alone. But one of
+the Bavarians was beyond their skill: a young lieutenant. His wound was
+precisely "Herter's specialty"--a bullet lodged in the heart, if he was
+to be saved, Herter alone could save him. Would Herter operate? He had
+only to say the case was hopeless, and refuse to waste upon it time
+needed for others.
+
+Perhaps he knew what suspicion would dog him through life if he gave
+this verdict. At all events, he chose to operate. "Bring me the brute,"
+he growled: and reluctantly the brute was brought--a very youthful
+brute, with a face of such angelic charm that even Herter was struck by
+it. He had steeled himself to get through a hateful job; but for
+him--like most men of his race--beauty held a strong appeal. Suddenly he
+wished to save the boy with the fair curly hair and arched dark brows.
+Here was a German--a Bavarian--who could have no vileness in him yet!
+
+The surgeon got ready his instruments for the operation, which must be
+done quickly, if at all. The boy was unconscious, but every moment or
+two he broke out in convulsive delirium, giving answers to questions
+like a man talking in sleep. "Hilda! Hilda!" he cried again and again.
+"My Hilda, do not ask me that. Thou wouldst not love me if I told thee!
+Thou wouldst hate me forever!"
+
+"What have you done that Hilda should hate you?" Paul enquired, as he
+waited for the anaesthetic. Ether was running short. The wounded had to
+take their turn that day.
+
+"Luneville! Luneville!" shrieked the Bavarian.
+
+Everyone heard the cry. The two young doctors, knowing Herter's history,
+turned sick. This was worse than their worst fears! But they could do
+nothing. To speak, to try to act, would be to insult the surgeon. They
+saw that he was ghastly pale. "What happened at Luneville?" he went on.
+
+"Here is the ether," a voice spoke in haste. But Paul heard only the
+Bavarian.
+
+"Oh, God, the old woman! Her face at the window. I can't forget.
+Hilda--she wouldn't come out. It wasn't my fault. The Colonel's orders.
+An old man, too. We saw them in the fire. We had to pass on. Hilda,
+forgive!"
+
+"Was it a corner house of the Rue Princesse Marie?" asked Herter.
+
+"Yes--yes, a corner house," groaned the boy of the beautiful face.
+
+Herter gave a sign to the man who had brought the ether. A moment more,
+and the ravings of the Bavarian were silenced. The operation began.
+
+The others had their hands full of their own work, yet with a kind of
+agonized clairvoyance they were conscious of all that Herter did. The
+same thought was in the minds of both young doctors. They exchanged
+impressions afterward. "He'll cut the boy's heart out and tread it
+underfoot!"
+
+But never had the Jewish surgeon from Metz performed a major operation
+with more coolness or more perfect skill. Had he chosen to let his wrist
+tremble at the critical second, revenge would easily have been his. But
+awaiting the instant between one beat of the heart and another, he
+seized the shred of shrapnel lodged there, and closed up the throbbing
+breast. The boy would live. He had not only spared, but saved, the life
+of one who was perhaps his mother's murderer.
+
+During the whole day he worked on untiringly and--it seemed--unmoved.
+Then, at the end of the last operation, he dropped as if he had been
+shot through the brain.
+
+This was the beginning of a long, peculiar illness which no doctor who
+attended him could satisfactorily diagnose. He was constantly delirious,
+repeating the words of the Bavarian: "Hilda--Hilda!--the corner
+house--Rue Princesse Marie--Luneville!" and it was feared that, if he
+recovered, he would be insane. After many weeks, however, he came slowly
+back to himself--a changed self, but a sane self. Always odd in his
+appearance--very tall and dark and thin--he had wasted to a walking
+skeleton, and his black hair had turned snow-white. He had lost his
+self-confidence, and dreaded to take up work again lest he should fail
+in some delicate operation. Long leave was granted, and he was advised
+by doctors who were his friends to go south, to sunshine and peace. But
+Herter insisted that the one hope for ultimate cure was to stay in
+Lorraine. He took up his quarters in what was left of a house near the
+ruin of his mother's old home, in Luneville, but he was never there for
+long at a time. He was provided with a pass to go and come as he liked,
+being greatly respected and pitied at headquarters; and wherever there
+was an air raid, there speedily and mysteriously appeared Paul Herter
+among the victims.
+
+His artificial foot did not prevent his riding a motor-bicycle, and on
+this he arrived, no matter at what hour of night or day, at any town
+within fifty miles of Luneville, when enemy airmen had been at work. He
+gave his services unpaid to poor and rich alike; and owing to the dearth
+of doctors not mobilized, the towns concerned welcomed him thankfully.
+All the surgeon's serene confidence in himself returned in these
+emergencies, and he was doing invaluable work. People were grateful, but
+the man's ways and looks were so strange, his restlessness so tragic,
+that they dubbed him "le Juif Errant."
+
+Now, Padre, I have come to the right place to bring in my part of this
+story.
+
+While I was training at "Bart's," I met a doctor named Paul Herter. Some
+of the girls used to call him the "German Jew" but we all knew that his
+Germanness was only an accident of fate, through a war before he was
+born, and that he was passionately French at heart. He was clever--a
+genius--but moody and queer, and striking to look at. He would have been
+ugly but for a pair of beautiful brown eyes, wistful sometimes as a
+dog's. One of our nurses was in love with him, but he used to keep out
+of her way when he could. He was said not to care for women, and I was a
+little flattered that a man so well thought of "at the top" should take
+notice of me. When I look back on myself, I seem to have been very young
+then!
+
+Dr. Herter used to meet me, as if by accident, when I was off duty, and
+we went for long walks, talking French together; I enjoyed that!
+Besides, there was nothing the man didn't know. He was a kind of
+encyclopaedia of all the great musicians and artists of the world since
+the Middle Ages; and was so much older than I, that I didn't think about
+his falling in love. I knew I was pretty, and that beauty of all sorts
+was a cult with him. I supposed that he liked looking at me--and that
+his fancy would end there. But it didn't. There came a dreadful day when
+he accused me of encouraging him purposely, of leading him on to believe
+that I cared. This was a real shock. I was sorry--sorry! But he said
+such horrid things that I was hurt and angry, too. I said horrid things
+in my turn. This scene happened in the street. I asked him to leave me,
+and he did at once, without looking back. I can see him now, striding
+off in the twilight! No wonder the tall black silhouette in the Place
+Stanislas looked familiar. But the man is thinner now, and walks with a
+slight limp.
+
+The next thing I heard of him after our break was that he'd married
+Nurse Norman (the one who was in love with him) and that they'd left
+England. Whether he'd married the girl in a rage against me, or because
+he was sorry for her (she'd just then fallen into deep disgrace, through
+giving a patient the wrong medicine), I didn't know. I can't say I
+didn't care, for I often thought of the man and wondered what had become
+of him, though I don't remember ever writing about him to you. He was
+but indirectly concerned with my life, and maybe it was in the back of
+my mind that I might get a scolding from you if I told you the tale.
+
+The moment the name of "Paul Herter" was mentioned in that pleasant
+garden at Nancy, the whole episode of those old days at "Bart's" came
+back, and I guessed why the tall figure had darted away from Dierdre
+O'Farrell as we came in sight. He must have offered to see the girl
+safely home, after dressing her wound (probably at some chemist's), and
+she had told him about her fellow-travellers. Naturally my name sent him
+flying like a shot from a seventy-five! But I can't help hoping we may
+meet by accident. There's a halo round the man's head for me since I've
+heard that tragic story. Before, he was only a queer genius. Now, he's a
+hero. Will he turn away, I wonder, if I walk up to him and hold out my
+hand?
+
+I am longing, for a double reason, to see Vitrimont and Gerbeviller and
+Luneville, since I've learned that at one of those places Paul Herter
+may appear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+We were three automobiles strong when we went out of Nancy, along what
+they call the "Luneville road." That was yesterday, as I write, and
+already it seems long ago! The third and biggest car belonged to the
+Prefet; gray and military looking, driven by a soldier in uniform; and
+this time Dierdre O'Farrell was with us. I was wondering if she went
+"under orders," or if she wished to see the sights we were to see--among
+them, perhaps, her elusive doctor!
+
+We turned south, leaving town, and presently passed--at
+Dombasle--astonishingly huge salt-works, with rubble-heaps tall as minor
+pyramids. On each apex stood a thing like the form of a giant black
+woman in a waggling gas-mask and a helmet. I could have found out what
+these weird engines were, no doubt, but I preferred to remember them as
+mysterious monsters.
+
+At a great, strange church of St. Nicolas, in the old town of St.
+Nicolas-du-Port, we stopped, because the Prefet's daughters had told us
+of a magic stone in the pavement which gives good fortune to those who
+set foot on it. Only when several of us were huddled together, with a
+foot each on the sacred spot, were we told that it meant marriage before
+the new year. If the spell works, Dierdre O'Farrell, Brian, and I will
+all be married in less than four months. But St. Nicolas is a false
+prophet where we are concerned. Brian and I will never marry. Even if
+poor Brian should fall head over ears in love, he wouldn't ask a girl to
+share his broken life: he has told me this. As for me, I can never love
+any man after Jim Beckett. The least penance I owe is to be faithful
+forever to his memory and my own falsehood!
+
+St. Nicolas is the patron saint of the neighbourhood, so it's right that
+from his little town and his big church all the country round should
+open out to the eye, as if to do him homage.
+
+From the hill of Leomont we could see to the south the far-off, famous
+Forest of Parroy; away to the north, the blue heights of La Grande
+Couronne, where the fate of Nancy was decided in 1914; to the west, a
+purple haze like a mourning wreath of violets hung over the valley of
+the Meurthe, and the tragic little tributary river Mortagne; beyond, we
+could picture with our mind's eyes the Moselle and the Meuse.
+
+But Leomont was not a place where one could stand coldly thinking of
+horizons. It drew all thoughts to itself, and to the drama played out
+upon its miniature mountain. There was fought one of the fiercest and
+most heroic single battles of the war.
+
+We had to desert the cars, and walk up a rough track to the ruined
+farmhouse which crowned the hill; a noble, fortified farmhouse that must
+have had the dignity of a chateau before the great fight which shattered
+its ancient walls. Now it has the dignity of a mausoleum. Long ago, in
+Roman days when Diana, Goddess of the Moon, was patron of Luneville and
+the country round, a temple of stone and marble in her honour and a
+soaring fountain crowned the high summit of Leomont, for all the world
+to see. Her influence is said to reign over the whole of Lorraine, from
+that day to this, St. Nicholas being her sole rival: and a prophecy has
+come down through the centuries that no evil may befall Diana's
+citadels, save in the "dark o' the moon," when the protectress is
+absent. Luneville was overrun in the "dark o' the moon"; and it was then
+also that the battle of Leomont was fought, ending in the vast cellars,
+where no man was left alive.
+
+In these days of ours, it's a wonderful and romantic mountain, sacred as
+a monument forever, to the glory of the French soldiers who did not die
+in vain. The scarred face of the ruined house--its stones pitted by
+shrapnel as if by smallpox--gazes over Lorraine as the Sphinx gazes over
+the desert: calm, majestic, sad, yet triumphant. And under the shattered
+walls, among fallen buttresses and blackened stumps of oaks, are the
+graves of Leomont's heroes; graves everywhere, over the hillside; graves
+in the open; graves in sheltered corners where wild flowers have begun
+to grow; their tricolour cockades and wooden crosses mirrored in the
+blue of water-filled shell-holes; graves in the historic cellars,
+covered with a pall of darkness; graves along the slope of the hill,
+where old trenches have left ruts in the rank grass.
+
+An unseen choir of bird-voices was singing the sweetest requiem ever
+sung for the dead; yet Leomont in its majestic loneliness saddened us,
+even the irrepressible Puck. We were sad and rather silent all the way
+to Vitrimont; and Vitrimont, at first glance, was a sight to make us
+sadder than any we had seen. There had been a Vitrimont, a happy little
+place, built of gray and rose-red stones; now, of those stones hardly
+one lies upon another, except in rubble heaps. And yet, Vitrimont isn't
+sad as others of the ruined towns are sad. It even cheered us, after
+Leomont, because a star of hope shines over the field of desolation--a
+star that has come out of the west. Some wonderful women of San
+Francisco decided to "adopt" Vitrimont, as one of the little places of
+France which had suffered most in the war. Two of them, Miss Polk and
+Miss Crocker--girls rather than women--gave themselves as well as their
+money to the work. In what remains of Vitrimont--what they are making of
+Vitrimont--they live like two fresh roses that have taken root in a pile
+of ashes. With a few books, a few bowls of flowers, pictures, and bits
+of bright chintz they have given charm to their poor rooms in the
+half-ruined house of a peasant. This has been their home for many
+months, from the time when they were the only creatures who shared
+Vitrimont with its ghosts: but now other homes are growing under their
+eyes and through their charity; thanks to them, the people of the
+destroyed village are trooping back, happy and hopeful. The church has
+been repaired (that was done first, "because it is God's house") with
+warm-coloured pink walls and neat decoration; and plans for the
+restoring of the whole village are being carried out, while the waiting
+inhabitants camp in a village of toy-like bungalows given by the French
+Government. I never saw such looks of worshipping love cast upon human
+beings as those of the people of Vitrimont for these two American girls.
+I'm sure they believe that Miss Crocker and Miss Polk are saints
+incarnated for their sakes by "_la Sainte Vierge_." One old man said as
+much!
+
+He was so old that it seemed as if he could never have been young, yet
+he was whistling a toothless but patriotic whistle, over some bit of
+amateur-carpenter work, in front of a one-room bungalow. Inside, visible
+through the open door, was the paralyzed wife he had lately wheeled
+"home" to Vitrimont, in some kind of a cart. "Oh, yes, we are happy!" he
+stopped whistling to say. "We are fortunate, too. We think we have found
+the place where our _street_ used to be, and these Angels--we do not
+call them Demoiselles, but Angels--from America are going to build us a
+new home in it. We have seen the plan. It is more beautiful than the
+old!"
+
+Wherever we passed a house on the road to Luneville, and in town itself,
+as we came in, we saw notices--printed and written--to remind us that we
+were in the war-zone, if we forgot for an instant. "_Logement
+militaire_," or "_Cave voutee, 200 places--400 places_." Those
+hospitable cellars advertising their existence in air raids and
+bombardments must be a comforting sight for passers-by, now and then;
+but no siren wailed us a warning. We drove on in peace; and
+I--disappointed at Vitrimont--quietly kept watch for a tall, thin figure
+of a man with a slight limp. At any moment, I thought, I might see him,
+for at Luneville he lives--if he lives anywhere!
+
+I was so eager and excited that I could hardly turn my mind to other
+things; but Brian, not knowing why I should be absent-minded, constantly
+asked questions about what we passed. Julian O'Farrell had exchanged his
+sister for Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, whom he had persuaded to take the short
+trip in his ramshackle taxi. His excuse was that Mother Beckett would
+deal out more wisely than Dierdre his Red Cross supplies to the returned
+refugees; so we had the girl with us; and I caught reproachful glances
+if I was slow in answering my blind brother. She herself suspects him as
+a _poseur_, yet she judges me careless of his needs--which I should find
+funny, if it didn't make me furious! Just to see what Dierdre would do,
+and perhaps to provoke her, sometimes I didn't answer at all, but left
+her to explain our surroundings to Brian. I hardly thought she would
+respond to the silent challenge, but almost ostentatiously she did.
+
+She cried, "There's a castle!" when we came to the fine and rather staid
+chateau which Duke Stanislas loved, and where he died. She even tried to
+describe it for Brian, with faltering self-consciousness, and the old
+streets which once had been "brilliant as Versailles, full of Queen
+Marie's beautiful ladies." Now, they are gray and sad, even those
+streets which show no scars from the three weeks' martyrdom of German
+rule. Soldiers pass, on foot and in motors, yet it's hard to realize
+that before the war Luneville was one of the gayest, grandest garrison
+towns of France, rich and industrious, under Diana's special protection.
+Just because she was away in her moon-chariot, one dark and dreadful
+night, all has changed since then. But she'll come back, and bless her
+ancient place of Lunae Villa, in good time!
+
+It was here, Brian reminded me, that they drew up the treaty which gave
+the Rhine frontier to France, after Napoleon won the Battle of Marengo.
+I wonder if the Germans remembered this in 1914 when they came?
+
+We lunched at an hotel, in a restaurant crowded with French officers;
+and not a civilian there except ourselves. I was hoping that Paul Herter
+might come in, for the tragic Rue Princesse Marie is not far away--and
+even a Wandering Jew must eat! He did not come; but I almost forgot my
+new disappointment in hearing the French officers talk about Lorraine.
+
+They were in the midst of a discussion when we came in, and when they
+had all bowed politely to us, they took up its thread where it had
+broken off. A colonel--a Lorrainer--was saying that out of the wealth of
+Lorraine (stolen wealth, he called it!) Germany had built up her fortune
+as a united nation, in a few years far exceeding the indemnity received
+in 1871. Germany had known that there were vast stores of iron; but the
+amazing riches in phosphorus ores had come to her as a surprise. If she
+had guessed, never would she have agreed to leave more than half the
+deposit on the French side of the frontier! Well enough for Prussian
+boasters to say that Germany's success was due to her own industry and
+supervirtue, or that her tariff schemes had worked wonders. But take
+away the provinces she tore from France, and she will be a Samson shorn!
+Take away Lorraine and the world will be rid once and for all of the
+German menace!
+
+When we left Luneville there was still hope from Gerbeviller. Herter is
+often there, it seems. Besides, Gerbeviller was the principal end and
+aim of our day's excursion. Once no more than a pleasant town of quiet
+beauty on a pretty river, now it is a _monument historique_, the Pompeii
+of Lorraine.
+
+As we arrived the sun clouded over suddenly, and the effect was almost
+theatrical. From gold the light had dimmed to silver. In the midst of
+the afternoon, we saw Gerbeviller as if by moonlight in the still
+silence of night. On the outskirts we forsook our three cars, and
+walked slowly through the dead town, awestruck and deeply thoughtful as
+if in a church where the body of some great man lay in state.
+
+There was not a sound except, as at Leomont, the unseen choir of
+bird-voices; but their song emphasized the silence. In the pale light
+the shells of wrecked houses glimmered white, like things seen deep down
+under clear water. They were mysterious as daytime ghosts; and already a
+heartbreaking picturesqueness had taken possession of the streets, as an
+artist-decorator comes into an ugly room and mellows all its crudeness
+with his loving touch.
+
+Gerbeviller's tragic little river Mortagne gleamed silver-bright beneath
+a torn lace of delicate white flowers that was like a veil flung off by
+a fugitive bride. It ran sparkling under the motionless wheel of a
+burned mill, and twinkled on--the one living thing the Germans left--to
+flow through the park of a ruined chateau.
+
+When it was alive, that small chateau must have been gay and delightful
+as a castle in a fairy tale, pink and friendly among its pleasant trees;
+but even in its prime, rich with tapestries and splendid old paintings,
+which were its treasures, never could the place have been so beautiful
+as in death!
+
+At a first glance--seen straight in front--the face of the house seems
+to live still, rosy with colour, gazing with immense blue eyes through a
+light green veil. But a second glance brings a shock to the heart. The
+face is a mask held up to hide a skull; the blue of the eyes is the open
+sky framed by glassless windows; the rosy colour is stained with dark
+streaks of smoke and flame; the chateau among its trees, and the chapel
+with its stopped clock and broken saints are skeletons.
+
+Not even O'Farrell could talk. We were a silent procession in the midst
+of silence until we came at last to the one quarter of the town whose
+few houses had been spared to the courage of Gerbeviller's heroine,
+Soeur Julie.
+
+Her street (but for her it would not exist) has perhaps a dozen houses
+intact, looking strangely _bourgeois_, almost out of place, so smugly
+whole where all else has perished. Yet it was a comfort to see them, and
+wonderful to see Soeur Julie.
+
+We knocked at the door of the hospice, the cottage hospital which is
+famous because of her, its head and heart; and she herself let us in,
+for at that instant she had been in the act of starting out. I
+recognized her at once from the photographs which were in every
+illustrated paper at the time when, for her magnificent bravery and
+presence of mind, she was named Chevaliere of the Legion of Honour.
+
+But with her first smile I saw that the pictures had done her crude
+injustice. They made of Soeur Julie an elderly woman in the dress of a
+nun; somewhat stout, rather large of feature. But the figure which met
+us in the narrow corridor had dignity and a noble strength. The smile of
+greeting lit deep eyes whose colour was that of brown topaz, and showed
+the kindly, humorous curves of a generous mouth. The flaring white
+headdress of the Order of Saint-Charles of Nancy framed a face so strong
+that I ceased to wonder how this woman had cowed a German horde; and it
+thrilled me to think that in this very doorway she had stood at bay,
+offering her black-robed body as a shield for the wounded soldiers and
+poor people she meant to save.
+
+Even if we had not come from the Prefet, and with some of his family who
+were her admiring friends, I'm sure Soeur Julie would have welcomed
+the strangers. As it was she beamed with pleasure at the visit, and
+called a young nun to help place chairs for us all in the clean, bare
+reception room. By this time she must know that she is the heroine of
+Lorraine--her own Lorraine!--and that those who came to Gerbeviller come
+to see her; but she talked to us with the unself-consciousness of a
+child. It was only when she was begged to tell the tale of August 23,
+1914, that she showed a faint sign of embarrassment. The blood flushed
+her brown face, and she hesitated how to begin, as if she would rather
+not begin at all, but once launched on the tide, she forgot everything
+except her story: she lived that time over again, and we lived it with
+her.
+
+"What a day it was!" she sighed. "We knew what must happen, unless God
+willed to spare Gerbeviller by some miracle. Our town was in the
+German's way. Yet we prayed--we hoped. We hoped even after our army's
+defeat at Morhange. Then Luneville was taken. Our turn was near. We
+heard how terrible were the Bavarians under their general, Clauss. Our
+soldiers--poor, brave boys!--fought every step of the way to hold them
+back. They fought like lions. But they were so few! The Germans came in
+a gray wave of men. Our wounded were brought here to the hospice, as
+many as we could take--and more! Often there were three hundred. But
+when there was no hope to save the town, quick, with haste at night,
+they got the wounded away--ambulance after ambulance, cart after cart:
+all but a few; nineteen _grands blesses_, who could not be moved. They
+were here in this room where we sit. But ah, if you had seen us--we
+sisters--helping the commandant as best we could! We made ourselves
+carpenters. We took wooden shutters and doors from their hinges for
+stretchers. We split the wood with axes. We did not remember to be
+tired. We tore up our linen, and linen which others brought us. We tied
+the wounded boys on to the shutters. They never groaned. Sometimes they
+smiled. Ah, it was we who wept, to see them jolting off in rough country
+wagons, going we knew not where, or to what fate! All night we worked,
+and at dawn there were none left--except those nineteen I told you of.
+And that was the morning of the 23rd of August, hot and heavy--a weight
+upon our hearts and heads.
+
+"Not only the wounded, but our defenders had gone. The army was in
+retreat. We had fifty-seven chasseurs left, ordered to keep the enemy
+back for five hours. They did it for _eleven_! From dawn till twilight
+they held the bridge outside the town, and fought behind barriers they
+had flung up in haste. Boys they were, but of a courage! They knew they
+were to die to save their comrades. They asked no better than to die
+hard. And they fought so well, the Germans believed there were
+thousands. Not till our boys had nearly all fallen did the enemy break
+through and swarm into the town. That was down at the other end from us,
+below the hill, but soon we heard fearful sounds--screams and shoutings,
+shots and loud explosions. They were burning the place street by street
+with that method of theirs! They fired the houses with pastilles their
+chemists have invented, and with petrol. The air was thick with smoke.
+We shut our windows to save the wounded from coughing. Soon we might all
+die together, but we would keep our boys from new sufferings while we
+could!
+
+"Then at last the hour struck for us. One of our sisters, who had run to
+look at the red sky to see how near the fire came, cried out that
+Germans were pouring up the hill--four officers on horseback heading a
+troop of soldiers. I knew what that meant. I went quickly to the door to
+meet them. My knees felt as if they had broken under my weight. My heart
+was a great, cold, dead thing within me. My mouth was dry as if I had
+lost myself for days in the desert. I am not a small woman, yet it
+seemed that I was no bigger than a mouse under the stare of those big
+men who leaped off their horses, and made as if to pass me at the door.
+But I did not let them pass. I knew I could stop them long enough at
+least to kill me and then the sisters, one by one, before they reached
+our wounded! We backed slowly before them into the hall, the sisters and
+I, to stand guard before this room.
+
+"'You are hiding Frenchmen here--French soldiers!' a giant of a captain
+bawled at me. Beside him was a lieutenant even more tall. They had
+swords in their hands, and they both pointed their weapons at me.
+
+"'We have nineteen soldiers desperately wounded,' I said. 'There are no
+other men here.'
+
+"'You are lying!' shouted the captain. He thought he could frighten me
+with his roar like a lion: but he did not seem to me so noble a beast.
+
+"'You may come in and see for yourselves that I speak the truth,' I
+said. And think what it was for me, a woman of Lorraine, to bid a
+_German_ enter her house! I did not let those two pass by me into this
+room. I came in first. While the lieutenant stood threatening our boys
+in their beds that he would shoot if they moved, the captain went round,
+tearing off the sheets, looking for firearms. In his hand was a strange
+knife, like a dagger which he had worn in his belt. One of our soldiers,
+too weak to open his lips, looked at the German, with a pair of great
+dark eyes that spoke scorn; and that look maddened the man with a sudden
+fury.
+
+"'Coward, of a country of cowards! You and cattle like you have cut off
+the ears and torn out the eyes of our glorious Bavarians. I'll slit your
+throat to pay for that!'
+
+"Ah, but this was too much--more than I could bear! I said 'No!' and I
+put my two hands--so--between the throat of that boy and the German
+knife."
+
+When Soeur Julie came to this part of the tale, she made a beautiful,
+unconscious gesture, re-enacting the part she had played. I knew then
+how she had looked when she faced the Bavarian officer, and why he had
+not hacked those two work-worn but nobly shaped hands of hers, to get at
+the French chasseur's throat. She seemed the incarnate spirit of the
+mother-woman, whose selfless courage no brute who had known a mother
+could resist. And her "No!" rang out deep and clear as a warning tocsin.
+I felt that the wounded boy must have been as safe behind those hands
+and that "No!" as if a thick though transparent wall of glass had
+magically risen to protect him.
+
+"All this time," Soeur Julie went on, gathering herself together after
+a moment. "All this time Germans led by non-commissioned officers were
+searching the hospice. But they found no hiding soldiers, because there
+were none such to find. And somehow that captain and his lieutenant did
+not touch our wounded ones. They had a look of shame and sullenness on
+their faces, as if they were angry with themselves for yielding their
+wicked will to an old woman. Yet they _did_ yield, thank God! And then I
+got the captain's promise to spare the hospice--got it by saying we
+would care for his wounded as faithfully as we tended our own. I said,
+'If you leave this house standing to take in your men, you must leave
+the whole street. If the buildings round us burn, we shall burn,
+too--and with us your German wounded. Will you give me your word that
+this whole quarter shall be safe?'
+
+"The man did not answer. But he looked down at his boots. And I have
+always noticed that, when men of any nation look at their boots, it is
+that they are undecided. It was so with him. A few more arguments from
+me, and he said: 'It shall be as you ask.'
+
+"Soon he must have been glad of his promise, for there were many German
+wounded, and we took them all in. Ah, this room, which you see so clean
+and white now, ran blood. We had to sweep blood into the hall, and so
+out at the front door, where at least it washed away the German
+footprints from our floor! For days we worked and did our best, even
+when we knew of the murders committed: innocent women with their little
+children. And the fifteen old men they shot for hostages. Oh, we did our
+best, though it was like acid eating our hearts. But our reward came the
+day the Germans had to gather up their wounded in wild haste, as the
+French commandant had gathered ours before the retreat. They fled, and
+our Frenchmen marched back--too late to save the town, but not too late
+to redeem its honour. And that is all my story."
+
+As she finished with a smile half sad, half sweet, Soeur Julie looked
+over our heads at some one who had just come in--some one who had stood
+listening in silence, unheard and unseen by us. I turned mechanically,
+and my eyes met the eyes of Paul Herter, the "Wandering Jew."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Dierdre O'Farrell and I were sitting side by side, our backs to the
+door, so it was only as we turned that Herter could have recognized us.
+He had no scruple in showing that I was the last person he wished to
+meet. One look was enough for him! His pale face--changed and aged since
+London--flushed a dark and violent red. Backing out into the hall he
+banged the door.
+
+My ears tingled as if they had been boxed. I suppose I've been rather
+spoiled by men. Anyhow, not one ever before ran away at sight of me, as
+if I were Medusa. I'd been hoping that Doctor Paul and I might meet and
+make friends, so this was a blow: and it hurt a little that Dierdre
+O'Farrell should see me thus snubbed. I glanced at her; and her faint
+smile told that she understood.
+
+Soeur Julie was bewildered for a second, but recovered herself to
+explain that Doctor Herter was eccentric and shy of strangers. He came
+often from Luneville to Gerbeviller to tend the poor, refusing payment,
+and was so good at heart that we must forgive his odd ways.
+
+"_Spurlos versnubt!_" I heard Puck chuckling to himself; so he, too, was
+in the secret of the situation. I half expected him to pretend
+ingenuousness, and spring the tale of Dierdre's adventure with Herter on
+the company. But he preserved a discreet reticence, more for his own
+sake than mine or his sister's, of course. He's as lazy as he is impish,
+except when there's some special object to gain, and probably he wished
+to avoid the bother of explanations. As for Brian, his extreme
+sensitiveness is better than studied tact. I'm sure he felt magnetically
+that Dierdre O'Farrell shrank from a reference to her part in the night
+air raid. But his silence puzzled her, and I saw her studying him--more
+curiously than gratefully, I thought.
+
+We had heard the end of Soeur Julie's story, and had no further excuse
+to keep her tied to the duties of hostess. When the Becketts had left
+something for the poor of the hospice, we bade the heroine of
+Gerbeviller farewell, and started out to regain our automobiles, Julian
+O'Farrell suddenly appearing at my side.
+
+"Don't make an excuse that you must walk with your brother," he said.
+"He's all right with Dierdre; perhaps just as happy as with you! One
+_does_ want a change from the best of sisters now and then."
+
+"Mrs. Beckett----" I began.
+
+"Mrs. Beckett is discussing with Mr. Beckett what they can do for
+Gerbeviller, and they'll ask your advice when they want it. No use
+worrying. They've boodle enough for all their charities, and for the
+shorn lambs, too."
+
+"Do you call yourself a shorn lamb?" I sniffed.
+
+"Certainly. Don't I look it? Good heavens, girl, you needn't basilisk me
+so, to see if I do! You glare as if I were some kind of abnormal beast
+eating with its eyes, or winking with its mouth."
+
+"You do wink with your mouth," I said.
+
+"You mean I lie? All romantic natures embroider truth. I have a romantic
+nature. It's growing more romantic every minute since I met you. I
+started this adventure for what I could get out of it. I'm going on to
+the end, bitter or sweet, for _les beaux yeux_ of Mary O'Malley. I don't
+grudge you the Becketts' blessing, but I don't know why it shouldn't be
+bestowed on us both, with Dierdre and Brian in the background throwing
+flowers. You didn't love Jim Beckett, for the very good reason that you
+never met him: so, if you owe no more debts than those you owe his
+memory, you're luckier than----"
+
+It was not I who cut his words short, though I was on the point of
+breaking in. Perhaps I should have flung at him the truth about Jim
+Beckett if something had not happened to snatch my thoughts from
+O'Farrell and his impudence. We had just passed the quarter of the town
+saved by Soeur Julie, when out from the gaping doorway of a ruined
+house stepped Paul Herter.
+
+He came straight to me, ignoring my companion.
+
+"I was waiting for you," he said. "Will you walk on a little way with
+me? There are things I should like to speak about."
+
+All the hurt anger I had felt was gone like the shadow of a flitting
+cloud. "Oh, yes!" I exclaimed. "I shall be very, very glad."
+
+Whether O'Farrell had the grace to drop behind, or whether I pushed
+ahead I don't know, but next moment Doctor Herter and I were pacing
+along, side by side, keeping well ahead of the others, in spite of his
+limp.
+
+"I thought I never wanted to see you again, Mary O'Malley," he said;
+"but that glimpse I had, in the hospice, showed me my mistake. I
+couldn't stand it to be so near and let you go out of my life without a
+word--not after seeing your face."
+
+"It makes me happy to hear that," I answered. "I was disappointed when
+you avoided me the other night, and--hurt to-day when you slammed the
+door."
+
+"How did you know I avoided you? The girl promised to hold her tongue."
+
+"She kept her promise. She was pleased to keep it, because she dislikes
+me. But I heard your name next day and understood. I--I heard other
+things, too. If you wouldn't be angry, I should like to tell you how
+I----"
+
+"Don't tell me."
+
+"I won't then. But I feel very strongly. And you will let me tell you
+how grieved I should have been, if--if that slammed door had been the
+end between us."
+
+"The end between us was long ago."
+
+"Not in my thoughts, for I never meant to hurt you. I never stopped
+being your friend, in spite of all the unkind, unjust things you said to
+me. I'm proud now that I had your friendship once, even if I haven't it
+now."
+
+"You had everything there was in me--_except_ friendship. Now, of that
+everything, only ashes are left. The fires have burnt out. You've heard
+what I suppose they call my story, so you know why. If those fires
+weren't dead, I shouldn't have dared trust myself to risk this talk with
+you. As it is--I let your eyes call me back. Not that they called
+consciously. It was the past that called----"
+
+"They _would_ have called consciously if you'd given them time!" I
+ventured to smile at him, with a look that asked for kindness. He did
+not smile back, but he did not frown. His deep-set eyes, in their hollow
+sockets, gazed at me as if they were memorizing each feature.
+
+"You're lovelier than ever, Mary," he said. "There's something different
+about your face. You've suffered."
+
+"My brother is blind."
+
+"Ah! There's more than that."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You loved the son of these rich people the girl told me about? She says
+you didn't love him, but she's wrong--isn't she?"
+
+"She's wrong. She knows about things I've done, but nothing about what I
+think or feel. I did love Jim Beckett, Doctor Paul. You don't mind being
+called by the old name? I've learned how it hurts to love."
+
+"That will do you no harm, Mary. I can speak with you about such things
+now, for the spirit of a dead woman stands between us. I didn't love her
+when she was alive. But if I hadn't married her and brought her to
+France she'd be living now. She died through me--and for me. I think of
+her with immense tenderness and--a kind of loyalty; a fierce loyalty. I
+don't know if you understand."
+
+"Indeed I do! I almost envy her that brave death."
+
+"We won't talk of her any more now," Herter said with a sigh. "I've a
+feeling she wouldn't like us to discuss her, together. She used to
+be--jealous of you, poor girl! There are other things I wanted to say.
+The first--but you've guessed it already!--is this: the minute I looked
+into your face, there in the hospice, I forgave you the pain you made me
+suffer. In the first shock of meeting your eyes, I didn't realize that
+I'd forgiven. It wasn't till I'd slammed the door that I knew."
+
+I didn't repeat that I had not purposely done anything which needed
+forgiveness. I only looked at him with all the kindness and pity in my
+heart, and waited until he should go on.
+
+"The second thing I wanted to say is, that just the one look told me you
+weren't happy and gay as you used to be. When I'd shut the door, I could
+still see you clearly, as if I had the power to look through the wood. I
+said to myself, that girl's eyes have got the sadness of the whole world
+in them. They seem as if they were begging for help, and didn't know
+where on earth it was coming from. Was that a true impression? I waited
+to ask you this, even more than to see you again."
+
+"It is true," I confessed. "There's only this difference between my
+feelings and your impression of them. I _know_ there's no help on earth
+for me. Such help as there is, I get from another place. Do you remember
+how I used to talk about the dear Padre who was our guardian--my
+brother's and mine--and how I told him nearly everything good and bad
+that I thought or did? Well, he went to the front as a chaplain and he
+has been killed. But I go on writing him letters, exactly as if he could
+give me advice and comfort, or scold me in the old way."
+
+"What about your brother? The girl--Miss O'Farrell she called herself, I
+think--said he was with you on this journey. And to-day I recognized him
+at Soeur Julie's, from his likeness to you. I shouldn't have guessed
+he was blind. He has a beautiful face. Do you get no comfort from him?"
+
+"Much comfort from his presence and love," I said. "But I try to keep
+him happy. I don't bother him with my troubles. I won't even let him
+talk of them. They're taboo."
+
+"I wish _I_ could help you!" Herter exclaimed.
+
+"Your wish is a help."
+
+"Ah, but I'd like to give more than that! I'm going away--that's the
+third thing I wanted to tell you. A little while ago I was glad to be
+going (so far as it's in me, nowadays, to be glad of anything) because
+I--I've been given a sort of--mission. Since we've had this talk, I'd
+put off going if I could. But I can't. Is your brother's case past
+cure?"
+
+"It's not absolutely hopeless. Doctor Paul, this is a confidence! It's
+to try and cure him that I'm with the Becketts. He doesn't know--and I
+can't explain more to you. But a specialist in Paris ordered Brian a
+life in the open air, and as much pleasure and interest as possible. You
+see, it's the optic nerve that was paralyzed in a strange way by shell
+shock. Some day Brian's sight may--just _possibly_ may--come back all of
+a sudden."
+
+"Ah, that's interesting. I'm not an oculist, but I know one or two of
+the best men, who have made great reputations since this war. Who was
+your specialist in Paris?"
+
+I told him.
+
+"A good man," he pronounced, "but I have a friend who is better. I'll
+write you a letter to him. You can send it if you choose. That's one
+service I can do for you, Mary. It may prove a big one. But I wish there
+were something else--something for _you_, yourself. Maybe there will be
+one day. Who can tell? If that day comes, I shan't be found wanting or
+forgetful."
+
+"It's worth a lot to have met you and had this talk," I said. "It's been
+like a warm fire to cold hands. I do hope, dear Doctor Paul, that you're
+not going on a dangerous mission?"
+
+He laughed--the quaint laugh I remembered, like a crackling of dry
+brushwood. "No more danger for me in it than there is for a bit of
+toasted cheese in a rat-trap."
+
+"What a queer comparison!" I said. "It sounds as if you were going to be
+a bait to deceive a rat."
+
+"Multiply the singular into the plural, and your quick wit has
+deciphered my parable."
+
+"I'm afraid my wit doesn't deserve the compliment. I can't imagine what
+your mission really is. Unless----"
+
+"Unless--what? No! Don't let us go any further. Because I mustn't tell
+you more, even if you should happen to guess. I've told you almost too
+much already. But confidence for confidence. You gave me one. Consider
+that I've confided something to you in return. There's just a millionth
+chance that my mission--whatever it is--may make me of use to you. Give
+me an address that will find you always, and then--I must be going. I
+have to return to the hospice and see some patients. No need to write
+the directions. Better not, in fact. I shall have no difficulty in
+remembering anything that concerns you, even the most complicated
+address."
+
+"It's not complicated," I laughed; and gave him the name of the Paris
+bankers in whose care the Becketts allow Brian and me to have letters
+sent--Morgan Harjes.
+
+He repeated the address after me, and then stopped, holding out his
+hand. "That's all," he said abruptly. "I shall be glad, whatever
+happens, that I waited, and had this talk with you. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye--and good luck in the mission," I echoed.
+
+He pressed my hand so hard that it hurt, and with one last look turned
+away. He did not go far, however, but stopped on his way back to ask
+Dierdre O'Farrell about her arm. She and Brian (Puck had joined the
+Becketts) were only a few paces behind me, and pausing involuntarily I
+heard what was said. It was easy to see that Dierdre wished me to hear
+her part.
+
+"My arm is going on very well," she informed her benefactor. "I thank
+you again for your kindness in attending to it. But I don't think it was
+kind to order me to keep a secret, and then give it away yourself. You
+made me seem an--ungracious pig and a fool. I shouldn't mind that, if it
+did you good, in return for the good you've done me. But since it was
+for nothing----"
+
+"I apologize," Herter broke in. "I meant what I said then. But a power
+outside myself was too strong for me. Maybe it will be the same for you
+some day. Meanwhile, don't make the mistake I made: don't do other
+people an injustice."
+
+Leaving Dierdre at bay between anger and amazement, he stared with
+professional eagerness into Brian's sightless eyes, and stalked off
+toward the hospice.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Since I wrote you last, Padre, I have been in the trenches--real, live
+trenches, not the faded, half-filled-up ghosts of trenches where men
+fought long ago. I had to give my word not to tell or write any one just
+where these trenches are, so I won't put details in black and white,
+even in pages which are only for you and me. I keep this book that you
+gave me in my hand-bag, and no eyes but mine see it--unless, dear Padre,
+you come and look over my shoulder while I scribble, as I often feel you
+do! Still--something might happen: an automobile accident; or the bag
+might be lost or stolen, though it's not a gorgeously attractive one,
+like that in which Mother Beckett carries Jim's letters.
+
+It was the day after Luneville and Gerbeviller. We started out once
+again from Nancy, no matter in which direction, but along a wonderful
+road. Not that the scenery was beautiful. We didn't so much as think of
+scenery. The thrill was in the passing show, and later in the
+"camouflage." We were going to be given a glimpse of the Front which the
+communiques (when they mention it at all nowadays) speak of as calm. Its
+alleged "calmness" gave us non-combatants our chance to pay it a visit;
+but many wires had been pulled to get us there, and we had dwindled to a
+trio, consisting of Father Beckett, Brian, and me. Mother Beckett is not
+made for trenches, even the calmest, and there was no permission for
+the occupants of the Red Cross taxi, who are not officially of our
+party. They have their own police pass for the war-zone, but all special
+plums are for the Becketts, shared by the O'Malleys; and this visit to
+the trenches was an extra-special superplum.
+
+All along the way, coming and going, tearing to meet us, or leaving us
+behind, splashed with gray mud after a night of rain, motor-lorries
+sped. They carried munitions or food to the front, or brought back tired
+soldiers bound for a place of rest, and their roofs were marvellously
+"camouflaged" in a blend of blue and green paint splotched with red. For
+aeroplanes they must have looked, in their processions, like drifting
+mist over meadowland. Shooting in and out among them, like slim gray
+swordfish in a school of porpoise, were military cars crowded with smart
+officers who saluted the lieutenant escorting us, and stared in surprise
+at sight of a woman. A sprinkling of these officers were Americans, and
+they would have astonished us more than we astonished them had we not
+known that we should see Americans. They were to be, indeed, the
+"feature" of the great show; and though Mr. Beckett was calm in manner
+to match the Front, I knew from his face that he was deeply moved by the
+thought of seeing "boys from home" fighting for France as his dead son
+had fought.
+
+At each small village we saw soldiers who had been sent to the "back of
+the Front" for a few days' change from the trenches. They lounged on
+long wooden benches before humble houses where they had _logement_; they
+sat at tables borrowed from kitchens, earnestly engaged at dominoes or
+_manille_, or they played _boules_ in narrow grass alleys beside the
+muddy road. For them we had packed all vacant space in the auto with a
+cargo of cigarettes; and white teeth flashed and blue arms waved in
+gratitude as we went by. I think Father Beckett was happier than he had
+been since we left Paris.
+
+At last we came to a part of the road that was "camouflaged" with a
+screen of branches fixed into wire. There was no great need of it in
+these days, our lieutenant explained, but Heaven knew when it might be
+urgently wanted again: perhaps to-morrow! And this was where we said
+"_au revoir_" to our car. She was wheeled out of the way on to a strip
+of damp grass, under a convenient group of trees where no prowling enemy
+plane might "spot" her; and we set out to walk for a short distance to
+what had once been a farmhouse. Now, what was left of it had another
+use. A board walk (well above the mud), which led to the new, unpainted
+door, was guarded by sentinels, and explanations were given and papers
+shown before a rather elderly French captain appeared to greet us.
+Arrangements had been made for our reception, but we had to be
+identified; and when all was done we were given a good welcome. Also we
+were given helmets, and I was vain enough to fancy I had never worn a
+more becoming hat.
+
+Besides our own escort--the lieutenant who had brought us from Nancy--we
+had a captain and a lieutenant to guide us into the "calmness" of the
+trenches (the captain and a lieutenant for Mr. Beckett and Brian, the
+other lieutenant for me) and one would have thought that they had never
+before seen a woman in or out of a helmet! Down in a deep cellar-like
+hole, which they called "_l'anti-chambre_," all three officers coached
+Father Beckett and me in trench manners. As for Brian, it was clear to
+them that he was no stranger to trench life, and their treatment of him
+was perfect. They made no fuss, as tactless folk do over blind men; but,
+while feigning to regard him as one of themselves, they slily watched
+and protected his movements as a proud mother might the first steps of a
+child.
+
+On we went from the _antichambre_ into a long mouldy passage dug deep
+into the earth. It was the link between trenches; and now and then a
+sentinel popped out from behind a queer barrier built up as a protection
+against "_les eclats d'obus_." "This is the way the wounded come back,"
+said one of the lieutenants, "when there _are_ any wounded. Just now (or
+you would not be here, Mademoiselle) there is"--he finished in
+English--"nothing doing."
+
+I laughed. "Who taught you that?"
+
+"You will see," he replied, making a nice little mystery. "You will see
+who taught it to me--and _then_ some!"
+
+That was a beautiful ending for the sentence, and his American accent
+was perfect, even if the meaning of the poor man's quotation was a
+little uncertain!
+
+We turned several times, and I had begun to think of the Minotaur's
+labyrinth, when the passage knotted itself into a low-roofed room, open
+at both ends, save for bomb screens, with a trench leading dismally off
+from an opposite doorway. "When is a door not a door?" was a conundrum
+of my childhood, and I think the answer was: "When it's ajar." But
+nowadays there is a better _replique_: A door is not a door when it's a
+dug-out. It is then a hole, kept from falling in upon itself by a log
+of wood or anything handy. This time, the "anything handy" seemed to be
+part of an old wheelbarrow, and on top were some sandbags. In the room,
+which was four times as long as it was broad, and twelve times longer
+than high, a few vague soldier-forms crouched over a meal on the floor,
+their tablecloth being a Paris newspaper. They scrambled to their feet,
+but could not stand upright, and to see their stooping salute to
+stooping officers in the smoky twilight, was like a vision in a dark,
+convex mirror.
+
+As we wound our way past the screen at the far end of the cellar
+dining-room, my lieutenant explained the method in placing each
+_pare-eclat_, as he called the screen. "You see, Mademoiselle, if a bomb
+happened to break through and kill us, the screen would save the men
+beyond," he said; then, remembering with a start that he was talking to
+a woman, he hurried to add: "Oh, but we shall not be killed. Have no
+fear. There's nothing of that sort on our programme to-day--at least,
+not where we shall take _you_."
+
+"Do I look as if I were afraid?" I asked.
+
+"No, you look very brave, Mademoiselle," he flattered me. "I'm sure it
+is more than the helmet which gives you that look. I believe, if you
+were allowed you would go on past the safety zone."
+
+"Where does the safety zone end?" I curiously questioned.
+
+"It is different on different days. If you had come yesterday, you could
+have had a good long promenade. Indeed that was what we hoped, when we
+arranged to entertain your party. But unfortunately the gentlemen in
+the opposing trenches discovered that _Les Sammies_ had arrived on our
+_secteur_. They wanted to give them a reception, and so--your walk has
+to be shortened, Mademoiselle."
+
+Suddenly I felt sick. I had the sensation Soeur Julie described
+herself as feeling when she met the giant German officers. But it was
+not fear. "Do you mean--while we're here, safe--like tourists on a
+pleasure jaunt," I stammered, "that American soldiers are being
+_killed_--in the trenches close by? It's horrible! I can't----"
+
+"_Il ne faut pas se faire de la bile_, as our _poilus_ say, when they
+mean 'Don't worry,' Mademoiselle," the lieutenant soothed me. "If there
+were any killing along this _secteur_ you would hear the guns boom,
+_n'est-ce-pas_? You had not stopped to think of that. There was a little
+affair at dawn, I don't conceal it from you. A surprise--a _coup de
+main_ against the Americans the Boches intended. They thought, as all
+has been quiet on our Front for so long, we should expect nothing. But
+the surprise didn't work. They got as good as they sent, and no one on
+our side was killed. That I swear to you, Mademoiselle! There were a few
+wounded, yes, but no fatalities. The trouble is that now things have
+begun to move, they may not sit still for long, and we cannot take risks
+with our visitors. The mountain must come to Mahomet. That is, _les
+Sammies_ must call upon you, instead of you upon them. The reception
+room is _chez nous Francais_. It is ready, and you will see it in a
+moment."
+
+Almost as he spoke we came to a dug-out of far more imposing
+architecture than the hole between trenches which we had seen. We had to
+stoop to go in, but once in we could stand upright, even Brian, who
+towered several inches above the other men. The place was lighted with
+many guttering candles, and tears sprang to my eyes at the pathos of the
+decorations. Needless to explain that the French and American flags
+which draped the dark walls were there in our honour! Also there were a
+Colonel, a table, benches, chairs, some glasses, and one precious bottle
+of champagne, enough for a large company to sip, if not to drink, each
+other's health. Hardly had we been introduced to the decorations,
+including the Colonel, when the Americans began to arrive, three young
+officers and two who had hardened into warlike middle age. It was
+heart-warming to see them meet Mr. Beckett, and their chivalric niceness
+to Brian and me was somehow different from any other niceness I
+remember--except Jim's.
+
+Not that one of the men looked like Jim, or had a voice like his: yet,
+when they spoke, and smiled, and shook hands, I seemed to see Jim
+standing behind them, smiling as he had smiled at me on our one day
+together. I seemed to hear his voice in an undertone, as if it mingled
+with theirs, and I wondered if Jim's father had the same almost
+supernatural impression that his son had come into the dug-out room with
+that little band of his countrymen.
+
+It is strange how a woman can be homesick for a man she has known only
+one day; but she can--she _can_--for a Jim Beckett! He was so vital, so
+central in life, known even for a day, that after his going the world is
+a background from which his figure has been cut out, leaving a blank
+place. These jolly, brave American soldier-men made me want so
+desperately to see Jim that I wished a bomb would drop in--just a
+_small_ bomb, touching only me, and whisking me away to the place where
+he is. In body he could not forgive me, of course, for what I've done;
+but in spirit he might forgive my spirit if it travelled a long way to
+see his!
+
+I am almost sure that the Americans did bring Jim back to Father
+Beckett, as to me, for though he was cheerful, and even made jokes to
+show that he mustn't be treated as a mourner, there was one piteous sign
+of emotion which no self-control could hide. I saw his throat work--the
+throat of an old man--his "Adam's apple" going convulsively up and down
+like a tossed ball in a fountain jet. Then, lest I should sob while his
+eyes were dry, I looked away.
+
+We all had champagne out of the marvellous bottle which had been hoarded
+during long months in case of "a great occasion," and we economized sips
+but not healths. We drank to each one of the Allies in turn, and to a
+victorious peace. Then the officers--French and American--began telling
+us trench tales--no grim stories, only those at which we could laugh.
+One was what an American captain called a "peach"; but it was a
+Frenchman who told it: the American contingent have had no such
+adventures yet.
+
+The thing happened some time ago, before the "liveliness" died down
+along this _secteur_. One spring day, in a rainy fog like a gray
+curtain, a strange pair of legs appeared, prowling alongside a French
+trench. They were not French legs; but instantly two pairs of French
+arms darted out under the stage-drop of fog to jerk them in. Down came a
+_feldwebel_ on top of them, squealing desolately "Kamerad!" He squealed
+many more guttural utterances, but not one of the soldiers in blue
+helmets, who soon swarmed round him, could understand a word he said.
+"Why the crowd?" wondered the Captain of the company, appearing from a
+near-by dug-out. The queer quarry was dragged to the officer's feet, and
+fortunately the Captain, an Alsatian, had enough German for a catechism.
+
+"What were you doing close to our lines?" he demanded.
+
+"Oh, Herr Captain, I did not know they were your lines. I thought they
+were ours. In our trench we are hungry, very hungry. I thought in the
+mist I could safely go a little way and seek for some potatoes. Where we
+are they say there was once a fine potato field. Not long ago, one of
+our men came back with half a dozen beauties. Ah, they were good! I was
+empty enough to risk anything, Herr Captain. But I had no luck. And,
+worse still, the fog led me astray. Spare my life, sir!"
+
+"We will spare you what is worth more than a little thing like your
+life," said the Captain. "We'll spare you some of our good food, to show
+you that we French do not have to gnaw our finger-nails, like you
+miserable Boches. Men, take this animal away and feed it!"
+
+The men obeyed, enjoying the joke. The dazed Kamerad was stuffed with
+sardines, meat, bread, and butter (of which he had forgotten the
+existence), delicious cheese, and chocolates. At last the magic meal was
+topped off with smoking hot black coffee, a thimbleful of brandy, and--a
+_cigar_! Tobacco and cognac may have been cheap, but they made the
+_feldwebel_ feel as if he had died and gone to heaven.
+
+When he had eaten till his belt was tight for the first time in many
+moons, back he was hustled to the Captain.
+
+"Well--you have had something better than potatoes? _Bon!_ Now, out of
+this, quicker than you came! Your mother may admire your face, but we
+others, we have seen enough of it."
+
+"But, Herr Captain," pleaded the poor wretch, loth to be banished from
+Paradise, "I am your prisoner."
+
+"Not at all," coolly replied the officer. "We can't be bothered with a
+single prisoner. What is one flea on a blanket? Another time, if we come
+across you again with enough of your comrades to make the game worth
+while, why then, perhaps we may give ourselves the pain of keeping you.
+You've seen that we have enough food to feed your whole trench, and
+never miss it."
+
+Away flew the German over the top, head over heels, not unassisted: and
+after they had laughed awhile, his hosts and foes forgot him. But not so
+could he forget them. That night, after dark, he came trotting back with
+fifteen friends, all crying "Kamerad!" eager to deliver themselves up to
+captivity for the flesh-pots of Egypt.
+
+"But--we're not to go without a glimpse of the Sammies, are we?" I
+asked, when stories and champagne were finished.
+
+The "Sammies'" officers laughed. "The boys don't love that name, you
+know! But it sticks like a burr. It's harder to get rid of than the
+Boches. As for seeing them--(the boys, not the Boches!) _well_----" And
+a consultation followed.
+
+The trenches beyond our dug-out drawing room could not be guaranteed
+"safe as the Bank of England" for non-combatants that day, and no one
+wanted to be responsible for our venturing farther. Still, if we
+couldn't go to the boys, a "bunch" of the boys could come to us. A
+lieutenant dashed away, and presently returned with six of the tallest,
+brownest, best-looking young men I ever saw. Their khaki and their
+beautiful new helmets were so like British khaki and helmets that I
+shouldn't have been expert enough to recognize them as American. But
+somehow the merest amateur would never have mistaken those boys for
+their British brothers. I can't tell where the difference lay. All I can
+say is that it was there. Were their jaws squarer? No, it couldn't have
+been that, for British jaws are firm enough, and have need to be, Heaven
+knows! Were their chins more prominent? But millions of British chins
+are prominent. My brain collapsed in the strain after comparisons,
+abandoned the effort and drank in a draught of rich, ripe American slang
+as a glorious pick-me-up. No wonder the French officers in _liaison_
+have caught the new "code." The coming of those brown boys with their
+bright and glittering teeth and witty words made up to us for miles of
+trenches we hadn't seen. Gee, but they were bully! Oh, _boy_! Get hep to
+that!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Father Beckett must have suffered dark hours of reaction after seeing
+those soldier-sons of American fathers, if there had been time to think.
+But we flashed back to Nancy in haste, for a late dinner and adieux to
+our friends. Brian and I snatched the story of our day's adventure from
+his mouth for Mother Beckett; and luckily he was too tired to give her a
+new version. I heard in the morning that he had slept through an air
+raid!
+
+I, too, was tired, and for the same reason: but I could not sleep.
+Waking dreams marched through my mind--dreams of Jim as he must have
+looked in khaki, dreams which made an air raid more or less seem
+unimportant. As the clocks of Nancy told the hours, I was in a mood for
+the first time since Gerbeviller to puzzle out the meaning of Paul
+Herter's parable.
+
+What had he meant by saying that his mission would be no more dangerous
+than a rat-trap for a bit of toasted cheese?
+
+I had exclaimed, "That sounds as if you were to bait the trap!" but he
+had not encouraged me to guess. And there had been so much else to think
+of, just then! His offer of introductions to specialists for Brian had
+appealed to me more than a vague suggestion of service to myself "some
+day."
+
+But now, through the darkness of night, a ray like a searchlight struck
+clear upon his cryptic hint.
+
+Somehow, Herter hoped to get across the frontier into Germany! His
+question, whether I had loved Jim Beckett, was not an idle one. He had
+not asked it through mere curiosity, or because he was jealous of the
+dead. His idea was that, if I had deeply cared for Jim, I should be glad
+to know how he had died, and where his body lay. Germany was the one
+place where the mystery could be solved. I realized suddenly that Doctor
+Paul expected "some day" to be in a position to solve it.
+
+"He's going into Germany as a spy," I said to myself. "He's a man of
+German Lorraine. German is his native language. Legally he's a German
+subject. He'll only have to pretend that he was caught by accident in
+France when the war broke out--and that at last he has escaped. All that
+may be easy if there are no spies to give him away--to tell what he's
+been doing in France since 1914. The trouble will be when he wants to
+come back."
+
+I wished that I could have seen the man again, to have bidden him a
+better farewell, to have told him I'd pray for his success. But now it
+was too late. Already he must have set off on his "mission," and we were
+to start in the morning for Verdun.
+
+The thought of Verdun alone was enough to keep me awake for the rest of
+the night, to say nothing of air raids and speculations about Doctor
+Paul. It seemed almost too strange to be true that we were to see
+Verdun--Verdun, where month after month beat the heart of the world.
+
+The O'Farrells had not got permission for Verdun, nor for Rheims, where
+we of the great gray car were going next. Still more than our glimpse
+of the trenches were these two places "extra special." The brother and
+sister were to start with us from Nancy, but we (the Becketts, Brian,
+and I) were to part from them at Bar-le-Duc, where we would be met by an
+officer from Verdun. Two days later, we were to meet again at Paris, and
+continue--as Puck impudently put it--"_our_ role of ministering angels,"
+along the Noyon front and beyond.
+
+This programme was settled when--through influence at Nancy--Father
+Beckett's passes for four had been extended to Verdun and Rheims. I
+breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of two more days without the
+O'Farrells; and all that's Irish in me trusted to luck that "something
+might happen" to part us forever. Why not? The Red Cross taxi might
+break down (it looked ready to shake to pieces any minute!). Dierdre
+might be taken ill (no marble statue could be paler!). Or the pair might
+be arrested by the military police as dangerous spies. (Really, I
+wouldn't "put it past" them!). But my secret hopes were rudely jangled
+with my first sight of Brian on the Verdun morning.
+
+"Molly, I hope you won't mind," he said, "but I've promised O'Farrell to
+go with them and meet you in Paris to-morrow night. I've already spoken
+to Mr. Beckett and he approves."
+
+"This comes of my being ten minutes late!" I almost--not quite--cried
+aloud. I'd hardly closed my eyes all night, but had fallen into a doze
+at dawn and overslept myself. Meanwhile the O'Farrell faction had got in
+its deadly work!
+
+I was angry and disgusted, yet--as usual where that devil of a Puck was
+concerned--I had the impulse to laugh. It was as if he'd put his finger
+to his nose and chuckled in impish glee: "You hope to get rid of us, do
+you, you minx? Well, I'll _show_ you!" But I should be playing his game
+if I lost my temper.
+
+"Why do the O'Farrells want you to go with them?" I "camouflaged" my
+rage.
+
+"It's Julian who wants me," explained the dear boy. (Oh, it had come to
+Christian names!) "It seems Miss O'Farrell has taken it into her head
+that none of us likes her, and that we've arranged this way to get rid
+of them both--letting them down easily and making some excuse not to
+start again together from Paris. O'Farrell thought if I'd offer to go
+with them and sit in the back of the car while he drove I could persuade
+her----"
+
+"Well, I don't envy any one the task of persuading that girl to believe
+a thing she doesn't wish to believe," I exploded. "My private opinion
+is, though, that her brother's sister needs no persuading. The two of
+them want to show me that they have power----"
+
+Brian broke in with a laugh. "My child, you see things through a
+magnifying glass! Is your blind brother a prize worth squabbling over? I
+can be of use to the Becketts, it's true, when we travel without a
+military escort, or with one young officer who knows more about
+seventy-fives than about the romance of history. I can tell them what
+I've read and what I've seen. But at Verdun you'll be in the society of
+generals; and at Rheims of as many dignitaries as haven't been bombarded
+out of town. The Becketts don't need me. Perhaps Miss O'Farrell does."
+
+"Perhaps!" I repeated.
+
+Brian can see twice as much as those who have eyes, but he would not see
+my sarcasm. Just then, however, Mrs. Beckett joined us in the hall of
+the hotel, where we stood ready to start--all having breakfasted in our
+own rooms. She guessed from my face that I was not pleased with Brian's
+plan.
+
+"My dear, I'd go myself with poor little Dierdre O'Farrell instead of
+Brian!" she said. "Verdun isn't one of Jim's towns. Rheims is--but I'd
+have sacrificed it. There can't be much left there to see. Only--_two
+whole days_! Father and I haven't been parted so long in our lives since
+we were married. I thought yesterday, when you were away in those
+trenches, what a coward I'd been not to insist on going, and what if I
+never saw Father again! I hope you don't think I'm too selfish!"
+
+Poor darling, _selfish_ to travel in her own car with her own husband! I
+just gave her a look to show what I felt; but after that I could no
+longer object to parting with Brian. Puck had got his way, and I could
+see by the light in his annoyingly beautiful eyes how exquisitely he
+enjoyed the situation. Brian and Brian's kitbag were transferred to the
+Red Cross taxi, there and then, to save delay for us and the officer who
+would meet us, in case the wretched car should get a _panne_, en route
+to Bar-le-Duc. As a matter of fact, that is what happened; or at all
+events when our big, reliable motor purred with us into Bar-le-Duc, the
+O'Farrells were nowhere to be seen.
+
+Our officer--another lieutenant--had arrived in a little Ford; and as we
+were invited to lunch in the citadel of Verdun we could not wait. I felt
+sure the demon Puck had managed to be late on purpose, so that my
+Verdun day might be spoiled by anxiety for Brian. Thus he would kill two
+birds with one stone: show how little I gained by the enemy's absence,
+and punish me for not letting him make love!
+
+The road to Verdun was a wonderful prelude. After three years' Titanic
+battling, how could there be a road at all? I had had vague visions of
+an earthly turmoil, a wilderness of shell-holes where once had gleamed
+rich meadows and vineyards, with little villages set jewel-like among
+them, and the visions were true. But through the war-worn desert always
+the road unrolled--the brave white road. Heaven alone could tell the
+deeds of valour which had achieved the impossible, making and remaking
+that road! It should have some great poem all to itself, I thought; a
+poem called "The Road to Verdun." And the poem should be set to music. I
+could almost hear the lilt of the verses as our car slipped through the
+tangle of motor _camions_ and gun-carriages on the way thither. As for
+the music, I could really hear that without flight of fancy: a deep,
+rolling undertone of heavy wheels, of jolting guns, of pulsing engines,
+like a million beating hearts; and out of its muffled bass rising the
+lighter music of men's voices: soldiers singing; soldiers going to the
+front, who shouted gaily to soldiers going to repose; soldiers laughing;
+soldier-music that no hardship or suffering could subdue.
+
+We had seen such processions before, but none so endless as this, going
+both ways, as far as the eye could reach. We had seen no such tremendous
+parks of artillery and aviation by the roadside, no such store of shells
+for big guns and little guns, no such pyramids of grenades for trenches
+and aeroplanes. We were engulfed in war, swallowed up in war. It was
+thrilling beyond words.
+
+But all the road flashed bright with thrills. There was a thrill at "le
+Bois de Regrets," forest of dark regret for the Prussians of 1792, where
+the French turned them back--the forest which Goethe saw: a thrill more
+keen for the pointing sign, "Metz, 47 kilometres," which reminded us
+that less than thirty miles separated us from the great German
+stronghold, yet--"_on ne passera pas_!" And the deepest thrill of all at
+the words of our guide: "_Voila la porte de Verdun! Nous y sommes_."
+
+Turning off the road, we stopped our car and the little Ford to look up
+and worship. There it rose before us, ancient pile of gray stones, altar
+of history and triumph, Verodunum of Rome, city of warlike, almost royal
+bishops and rich burghers: town of treaties, sacked by Barbarians; owned
+and given up by Germans; seized by Prussians when the French had spiked
+their guns in 1870; and now forever a monument to the immortal manhood
+of France!
+
+Perhaps it was the mist in my eyes, but at first sight Verdun did not
+look ruined, as I saw it towering up to its citadel in massive strength
+and stern dignity. The old houses on the slope stood shoulder to
+shoulder and back to back, like massed men fighting their last stand. It
+was only when we had started on again, and passing through the gate had
+slipped into the sorrowful intimacy of the streets, that Verdun let us
+see her glorious rags and scars.
+
+You would think that one devastated town would be much like another to
+look at save for size. But no! I am learning that each has some
+arresting claim of its own to sacred remembrance. Nancy has had big
+buildings knocked down like card houses by occasional bombardment of
+great guns. Sermaize, Gerbeviller, Vitrimont and twenty other places we
+have seen were thoroughly looted by the Germans and then burned, street
+by street. But Verdun has been bombarded every day for weeks and months
+and years. The town is a royal skeleton, erect and on its feet, its
+jewelled sceptre damaged, but still grasped in a fleshless hand. The
+Germans have never got near enough to steal!
+
+"You see," said the smart young captain who had come out to meet us at
+the gate and take us to the citadel, "you see, nothing has been touched
+in these houses since the owners had to go. When they return from their
+places of refuge far away, they will find everything as they left
+it--that is, as the Boche guns have left it."
+
+Only too easy was it to see! In some of the streets whole rows of houses
+had had their fronts torn off. The rooms within were like stage-settings
+for some tragic play. Sheets and blankets trailed from beds where
+sleepers had waked in fright. Doors of wardrobes gaped to show dresses
+dangling forlornly, like Bluebeard's murdered brides. Dinner-tables were
+set out for meals never to be finished, save by rats. Family portraits
+of comfortable old faces smiling under broken glass hung awry on pink or
+blue papered walls. Half-made shirts and petticoats were still caught by
+the needle in broken sewing-machines. Dropped books and baskets of
+knitting lay on bright carpets snowed under by fallen plaster. Vases of
+dead flowers stood on mantelpieces, ghostly stems and shrivelled brown
+leaves reflected in gilt-framed mirrors. I could hardly bear to look! It
+was like being shown by a hard-hearted surgeon the beating of a brain
+through the sawed hole in a man's skull. If one could have crawled
+through the crust of lava at Pompeii, a year after the eruption, one
+might have felt somewhat as at Verdun now!
+
+On a broken terrace, once a beloved evening promenade, our two cars
+paused. We got out and gazed down, down over the River Meuse, from a
+high vantage-point where a few months ago, we should have been blown to
+bits, in five minutes. Our two officers pointed out in the misty autumn
+landscape spots where some of the fiercest and most famous fights had
+been. How the names they rattled off brought back anxious nights and
+mornings when our first and only thoughts had been the _communiques_!
+"Desperate battle on the Meuse." "Splendid stand at Douaumont." "New
+attack on Morthomme." But nothing we saw helped out our imaginings.
+There was just a vast stretch of desolation where vinelands once had
+poured their perfume to the sun. The forts protecting Verdun were as
+invisible as fairyland, I said. "As invisible as hell!" one of our
+guides amended. And then to me, in a low voice unheard by pale and
+trembling Mother Beckett, he added, "If Nature did not work to make ugly
+things invisible, we could not let you come here, Mademoiselle. See how
+high the grass has grown in the plain down there! In summer it is full
+of poppies, red as the blood that feeds their roots. And it is only the
+grasses and the poppies that hide the bones of men we've never yet put
+underground. Nature has been one of our chief sextons, here at Verdun. I
+wish you could have seen the poppies a few months ago, mixed with blue
+marguerites and cornflowers--that we call 'bluets.' We used to say that
+our dead were lying in state under the tricolour flag of France. But I
+have made you sad, Mademoiselle. _Je regrette!_ We must take you quickly
+to the citadel. Our general will not let you be sad there."
+
+We turned from the view over the Meuse and walked away in silence. I
+thought I had never heard so loud, so thunderously echoing, a silence in
+my life.
+
+Oh, no, it was not sad in the citadel! It was, on the contrary, very
+gay, of a gaiety so gallant and so pathetic that it brought a lump to
+the throat when there should have been a laugh on the lips. But the lump
+had to be swallowed, or our hosts' feelings would be hurt. They didn't
+want watery-eyed, full-throated guests at a luncheon worthy of bright
+smiles and keen appetites!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The first thing that happened to Mother Beckett and me in the famous
+fortress was to be shown into a room decorated as a ladies' boudoir. All
+had been done, we were told almost timidly, in our honour, even the
+frescoes on the walls, painted in record time by a young lieutenant, who
+was an artist; and the officers hoped that they had forgotten nothing we
+might need. We could both have cried, if we hadn't feared to spoil our
+eyes and redden our noses! But even if we'd not been strong enough to
+stifle our tears, there was everything at hand to repair their ravages.
+And all this in a place where the Revolution had sent fourteen lovely
+ladies to the guillotine for servilely begging the King of Prussia to
+spare Verdun.
+
+The lieutenant who met us at Bar-le-Duc had rushed there in
+advance of us, in order to shop with frantic haste. A long list must
+have been compiled after "mature deliberation"--as they say in
+courts-martial--otherwise any normal young man would have missed out
+something. In the tiny, subterranean room (not much larger than a cell)
+a stick of incense burned. The cot-bed of some hospitable captain or
+major disguised itself as a couch, under a brand-new silk table-cover
+with the price-mark still attached, and several small sofa cushions,
+also ticketed. A deal table had been painted green and spread with a
+lace-edged tea-cloth, on which were proudly displayed a galaxy of
+fittings from a dressing-bag, the best, no doubt, that poor bombarded
+Bar-le-Duc could produce in war time. There were ivory-backed hair and
+clothes brushes; a comb; bottles filled with white face-wash and
+perfume; a manicure-set, with pink salve and nail-powder; a tray decked
+out with every size of hairpin; a cushion bristling with pins of
+many-coloured heads; boxes of rouge, a hare's-foot to put it on with;
+face-powder in several tints; swan's-down puffs; black pencils for the
+eyebrows and blue for the eyelids; sweet-smelling soap--a dazzling and
+heavily fragrant collection.
+
+"Oh, my dear, what _did_ they think of us?" gasped Mother Beckett. "What
+a shame the poor lambs should have wasted all their money and trouble!"
+
+"It _mustn't_ be wasted!" said I. "Think how disappointed they'd be if
+they came in here afterward and found we hadn't touched a thing!"
+
+"But----" she protested.
+
+"You wouldn't hurt the feelings of the saviours of France? I'm going to
+make us both up! And there's no time to waste. They've given us fifteen
+minutes' grace before lunch. For the honour of womanhood we mustn't be
+late!"
+
+I sat her down in the only chair. I dusted her pure little face with
+pearl-powder and the faintest _soupcon_ of rouge. I rubbed on her sweet
+lips just the suspicion of pink, liked by an elderly _grande dame
+francaise_, who has not yet "abdicated." I then made myself up more
+seriously: a blue shadow on the lids, a raven touch on the lashes; a
+flick of the hare's-foot under my eyes and on my ear-tips: an extra coat
+of pink and a brilliant (most injurious!) varnish on the nails. Then,
+with a dash of _Rose Ambree_ for my companion's blouse and _Nuits
+d'Orient_ for mine, we sallied forth scented like a harem, to do honour
+to our hosts.
+
+Luncheon was in a vast cavern of a vaulted banqueting-hall, in the
+deepest heart of that citadel, where for eleven years Napoleon kept his
+weary English prisoners. Electric lights showed us a table adorned with
+fresh flowers (where they'd come from was a miracle, but soon we were to
+see other miracles still more miraculous), French, British, and American
+flags, and pyramids of fruit. The _Rose Ambree_ and _Nuits d'Orient_
+filled the whole vast _salle_, and pleased the officers, I was sure.
+They bowed and smiled and paid us compliments, their many medals
+glittered in the light, and their uniforms were resplendent against the
+cold background of the walls. I wished that, instead of one girl, I had
+been a dozen! But I did my best and so did Mother Beckett, who
+brightened into a charming second youth, the youth of a happy mother
+surrounded by a band of sons.
+
+The lumps that had been in our throats had to be choked sternly down,
+for not to do justice to that meal would be worse than leaving the rouge
+and powder boxes unopened! The menu need not have put a palace to shame.
+In the citadel of Verdun it seemed as if it must have been evolved by
+rubbing Aladdin's lamp, and I said so as I read it over:
+
+    Huitres d'Ostende
+    Bisque d'Ecrevisses
+    Sanglier roti
+    Puree de Pommes de Terre
+    Soufflee de Chocolat
+        Fruits
+        Bonbons
+
+"Oh, we've never been hungry at Verdun, even when things were at their
+liveliest," said the officer sitting next to me. "Providence provided
+for us in a strange way. I will tell you how. Before the civil
+population went away, or expected to go, there was talk of a long siege.
+The shopkeepers thought they would be intelligent and sent to Paris for
+all sorts of food. Oh, not only the grocers and butchers! Everyone. You
+would have laughed to see the jewellers showing hams in their windows
+instead of diamonds and pearls and gold purses, and the piles of
+preserved meat and fruit tins at the perfumers! The confectioners
+ordered stores of sugar and the wine merchants restocked their cellars.
+Then things began to happen. Houses were bombed, and people hustled out
+in a hurry. You have seen some of those houses! The place was getting
+too hot; and the order came for evacuation. Not much could be taken
+away. Transport was difficult in those days! All the good food had to
+be left behind, and we thought it would be a pity to waste it. Our chief
+bought the lot at a reasonable price--merchants were thankful to sell.
+So you see we did not need Aladdin's lamp."
+
+"I don't _quite_ see!" I confessed. "Because, that's a long time ago,
+and these oysters of Ostende----"
+
+"Never saw Ostende!" he laughed. "They are a big bluff! We always have
+them when"--he bowed--"we entertain distinguished guests. The Germans
+used to print in their papers that we at Verdun could not hold out long,
+because we were eating rats. So we took to cutting a dash with our
+menus. We do not go into particulars and say that our oysters have kept
+themselves fresh in tins!"
+
+"But the wild boar?" I persisted. "Does one tin wild boar?"
+
+"One does not! One goes out and shoots it. _Ma foi_, it's a good
+adventure when the German guns are not asleep! The fruit? Ah, that is
+easy! It comes as the air we breathe. And for our bonbons, the famous
+sugared almonds of Verdun were not all destroyed when the factory blew
+up."
+
+With this he handed me a dish of the delicious things. "The story is,"
+he said, "that a certain Abbess brought the secret of making these
+almonds to Verdun. We have to thank Henry of Navarre for her. He had a
+pleasant way, when he wished to be rid of an old love with a compliment,
+of turning her into an Abbess. That time he made a lucky stroke for us."
+
+At the end of luncheon we all drank healths, and nearly everyone made a
+speech except Mrs. Beckett. She only nodded and smiled, looking so ideal
+a little mother that she must have made even the highest officers
+homesick for their _mamans_.
+
+Then we were led through a mysterious network of narrow passages and
+vaulted rooms, all lit with electric lamps, and striking cold and
+cellary. We saw the big hospital, not very busy just then, and the
+clean, empty operating theatre, and gnome-caverns where munitions were
+stored in vast, black pyramids. When there was nothing left to see in
+the citadel, our hosts asked if we would like to pay a visit to the
+trenches--old trenches which had once defended Thiaumont.
+
+"I don't think my wife had better----" Mr. Beckett began; but the little
+old lady cut him short. "Yes, Father, I just _had_ better! To-day, being
+among all these splendid brave soldiers has shown me that I'm weak--a
+spoiled child. I felt yesterday I'd been a coward. Now I _know_ it! And
+I'm _going_ to see those trenches."
+
+I believe it was partly the powder and lip salve that made her so
+desperate!
+
+Her husband yielded, meek as a lamb. Big men like Mr. Beckett always do
+to little women like Mrs. Beckett. But she bore it well. And when at
+last we bade good-bye to our glorious hosts, she said to me, "Molly, you
+tell them in French, that now I've met _them_ I understand why the
+Germans could never pass!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Almost any place on earth would be an anti-climax the day after
+Verdun--but not Rheims!
+
+Just at this moment (it mayn't be much more) Rheims is resting, like a
+brave victim on the rack who has tired his torturers by an obstinate
+silence. Only a few people are allowed to enter the town, save those who
+have lived there all along, and learned to think no more of German bombs
+than German sausages; and those favoured few must slip in and out almost
+between breaths. Any instant the torturing may begin again, when the
+Boches have bombs to spare for what they call "target practice"; for
+think, how near is Laon!--and we'd been warned that, even at the portals
+of the town, we might be turned back.
+
+We had still another new French officer to take us to Rheims. (I am
+getting their faces a little mixed, like a composite picture, but I keep
+sacredly all their dear visiting-cards!) He was a captain, with a
+scarred but handsome face, and he complimented Mother Beckett and me on
+our "courage." This made Father Beckett visibly regret that he had
+brought us, though he had been assured that it was a "safe time."
+However, his was not the kind of regret which tempts a man to turn back:
+it only makes his upper lip look long.
+
+I never saw Rheims in palmy days of peace. Now I wish I had seen it!
+But there was that lithograph of the cathedral by Gustave Simonau, the
+great Belgian artist, hanging above your desk, in the den, Padre. I used
+to study it when I should have been studying my lessons, fascinated by
+the splendid facade, the twin towers, the three "portals of the
+Trinity," the rose-window, the gallery of kings, the angels, the saints,
+the gargoyles and all the carved stone lace-work which the picture so
+wonderfully shows.
+
+On the opposite side of the room was Simonau's Cathedral of Chartres, in
+a dark frame to match, and I remember your saying that Chartres was
+considered by some critics even finer than Rheims. The Cathedral of
+Chartres seemed a romantic monument of history to me, because it was
+built as a shrine for the "tunic of the Virgin"; but the Gothic
+Notre-Dame of Rheims appealed to my--perhaps prophetic--soul. Maybe I
+had a latent presentiment of how I should see the real cathedral, as _la
+grande blessee_ of the greatest war of the world.
+
+Anyhow, I always took a deep interest in Rheims from the day I first
+gaped, an open-mouthed child, at that beautiful drawing, and I was glad
+I'd forgotten none of its details, as we motored toward the martyr town.
+Usually there's Brian, who can tell the dear Becketts all they don't
+know and want to know, but this time they'd only me to depend upon. And
+when I think what a cruel fraud I am at heart, there's some consolation
+in serving them, even in small ways.
+
+There's a wide plain that knows desolately what German bombardment
+means: there are gentle hills rising out of it, south and west (will
+grapes ever be sweet on those sad hillsides again?) and there's the
+little river Vesle that runs into the Aisne. There's the Canal of the
+Aisne and the Marne, too--oh, many wide waters and little streams, to
+breathe out mist, for Rheims is on the pleasant Ile-de-France. There was
+so much mist this autumn day that it hid from our eyes for a long time
+the tall form of the Cathedral which should dominate the plain for many
+miles; a thick, white mist like the sheet with which a sculptor veils
+his masterpiece until it's ready to face the world. As we drove on, and
+still saw no looming bulk, frozen fear pinched my heart, like horrid,
+ice-cold fingers. What if there'd been some new bombardment we hadn't
+had time to hear of, and the Cathedral were _gone_?
+
+But I didn't speak my fear. I tried to cover it up by chattering about
+Rheims. Goodness knows there's a lot to chatter about! All that
+wonderful history, since Clovis was baptized by Saint Remi; and
+Charlemagne crowned, and Charles the VII, with Jeanne d'Arc looking on
+in bright armour, and various Capets, and enough other kings to name
+Notre-Dame of Rheims the "Cathedral of Coronations." I remembered
+something about the Gate of Mars, too--the oldest thing of all--which
+the Remi people put up in praise of Augustus Caesar when Agrippa brought
+his great new roads close to their capital. I think it had been called
+Durocoroturum up to that time--or some equally awful name, which you
+remember only because you expect to forget! I hardly dared tell the
+Becketts about the celebrated archiepiscopal palace where the kings used
+to be entertained by the archbishops (successors of Saint Remi) while
+the coronation ceremonies were going on: and the _Salle du Tau_ with its
+wonderful hangings, its velvet-cushioned stone seats and carved,
+upright furniture, where the royal guests--in robes stiff with jewelled
+embroidery--had their banquets from plates of solid silver and gold. It
+seemed cruel to speak of splendours vanished forever, vanished like the
+holy oil of the sacred phial brought from heaven by a dove for the
+baptism of Clovis, and kept for the anointing of all those dead kings!
+
+But it was just the time and place to talk about Attila--Attila the
+First, I mean, of whom, as I told you, I firmly believe the present
+"incumbent" to be the reincarnation. As Attila I. thought fit to put
+Rheims to the sword, Atilla II. is naturally impelled by the "spiral" to
+do his best from a distance, by destroying the Cathedral which wasn't
+begun in his predecessor's day. But what does he think, I wonder, about
+the prophecy? That in Rheims--scene of the first German defeat on the
+soil of Gaul--Germany's last defeat will be celebrated, with great
+rejoicing in the Cathedral she has tried to ruin?
+
+Those words, "tried to ruin," I uttered rather feebly, holding forth to
+the Becketts, because we had passed a long dark line of trees before
+which--we'd been told--we ought to see the Cathedral rise triumphant
+against an empty background of sky. And still there was nothing!
+
+Of course, I told myself, it must be the mist. But could mist be thick
+enough entirely to hide a great mountain of a cathedral from eyes
+drawing nearer every minute? Then, suddenly, my question was answered by
+the mist itself. I must have hypnotized it! A light wind, which we had
+thought was made by the motor, cut like the shears of Lachesis through
+the woolly white web. A gash of blue appeared and in the midst,
+floating as if it had died and gone to heaven, the Cathedral.
+
+Yes, "died and gone to heaven!" That is just what has happened to
+Notre-Dame of Rheims. The body has been martyred, but the soul is left
+alive--beautiful, brave soul of the old stones of France!
+
+"Oh!" went up from three voices in the motor-car. I think even our
+one-legged soldier-chauffeur emitted a grunt of joy; and Mother Beckett
+clasped her hands on her little thin breast, as if she were praying,
+such a wonderful sight it was, with the golden coronation of the
+noon-day sun on the towers. Our officer-guide, in his car ahead, looked
+back as if to say, "I told you so! They can't kill France, and Rheims is
+the very spirit and youth of France."
+
+Not one of us spoke another word until we drove into the town, and began
+exclaiming with horror and rage at what Attila II has done to the
+streets.
+
+The mist had fallen again, not white in the town, but a pale, sad gray,
+like a mantle of half-mourning. It hung over the spacious avenues and
+the once fine, now desolate, streets, which had been the pride of
+Rheims; it slipped serpent-like through what remained of old arcades: it
+draped the ancient Gate of Mars in the Place de la Republique as if to
+hide the cruel scars of the bombardment; it lay like soiled snow on the
+mountain of tumbled stone which had been the Rue St. Jacques; it
+curtained the "show street" of Rheims, the Rue de la Grue, almost as old
+as the Cathedral itself, which a Sieur de Coucy began in 1212; trickling
+gray as glacier waters over the fallen walls which artists had loved. It
+marbled with pale streaks the burned, black corpse of the once famous
+Maison des Laines; it clouded the marvellous old church of St. Remi, and
+when we came to the Cathedral--kept for the climax--it floated past the
+wounded statues on the great western facade like an army of
+spirits--spirits of all those watching saints whom the statues honoured.
+
+The crowns of the broken towers we could not see, but at that height the
+mist was gilded by the sun which sifted through so that each tower
+seemed to have its own faint golden halo.
+
+"This effect comes often on these foggy autumn days, when the sun is
+high, about noontime," said our guide. "It's rather wonderful, isn't it?
+We have a priest-soldier invalided here now, who used to be of the
+service in the Cathedral, before he volunteered to fight. He has written
+some verses, which it seems came to him in a dream one night. Whether
+the world would think them fine I do not know, but at Rheims we like
+them. The idea is that Jeanne d'Arc has mobilized the souls of the
+saints who protect Rheims, to bless and console the Cathedral, which
+they were not permitted to save from outward ruin. It is she who gilds
+the mist on the towers with a prophecy of hope. As for the mist itself,
+according to the poet, it is no common fog. It is but the cloak worn by
+this army of saints to visit their cathedral, and bathe its wounds with
+their cool white hands, so that at last, when peace dawns, there shall
+be a spiritual beauty found in the old marred stones--a beauty they
+never had in their prime."
+
+"I should like to see that soldier-priest!" said Father Beckett, when I
+had translated for him the officer's description of the poem. "Couldn't
+we meet him? What's his name?"
+
+I passed on the questions to our captain of the scarred face. "The man's
+name is St. Pol," he told us. "You can see from that he comes of an old
+family. If it had been this day last week you could have met him. He
+would have been pleased. But--since then--alas! Mademoiselle, it is
+impossible that he should be seen. It would be too sad for you and your
+friends."
+
+"He has been wounded in some bombardment?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Not wounded--no. We don't think much of wounds. What has happened is
+sadder than wounds. Some day the man may recover. We hope so. But at
+present he--is out of everything, dead in life."
+
+"What happened?" I gasped.
+
+"Oh, it is quite a history!" said the Captain. "But it begins a long
+time ago, when the Germans came to Rheims in 1914. Perhaps it would
+fatigue you? Besides, you have to translate, which takes double the
+time. I might write out the story and send it, Mademoiselle, if you
+like. You and your friends are not as safe here as in your own houses, I
+do not disguise that from you! The Germans have let us rest these last
+few days. Yet who can tell when they may choose to wake us up with a
+bomb or two?"
+
+"I don't think we're afraid," I said, and consulted the Becketts. The
+little old lady answered for both. She was stoutly sure they were not
+afraid! "We shouldn't deserve to be Jim's parents if we were--of a thing
+like _that_! You tell the Captain, Molly, we're getting used to bombs,
+and we want the story right here, on the spot!"
+
+"_C'est tres chic, ca!_" remarked the Captain, eyeing the mite of a
+woman. He stood for a minute, his scarred face pale in the mist, his
+eyes fixed thoughtfully on a headless stone king. Then he began his
+story of the soldier-priest.
+
+Monsieur le Cure de St. Pol was very young when the war began--almost as
+young as a _cure_ can be. He did not think, at first, to become a
+soldier, for he hated war. But, indeed, in those early days he had no
+time to think at all. He only worked--worked, to help care for the
+wounded who were pouring into Rheims, toward the last of August, 1914.
+Many were brought into the Cathedral, where they lay on the floor, on
+beds of straw. The Cure's duty was among these. He had relations in
+Rheims--a family of cousins of the same name as his. They lived in a
+beautiful old house, one of the best in Rheims, with an ancient chapel
+in the garden. There was an invalid father, whose wife devoted her life
+to him, and a daughter--a very beautiful young girl just home from a
+convent-school the spring before the war broke out. There was a son,
+too--but naturally, he was away fighting.
+
+This young girl, Liane de St. Pol, was one of many in Rheims who
+volunteered to help nurse the wounded. All girls brought up in convents
+have some skill in nursing, you know!
+
+While she and the Cure were at work in the Cathedral, among the wounded
+men who came in were her own brother, a lieutenant, and his best friend,
+a captain of his regiment. Both were badly hurt--the St. Pol boy worse
+than his friend. Yet even for him there was hope--if he could have had
+the best of care--if he could have been taken home and lovingly nursed
+there. That was not possible. The surgeons had no time for
+house-to-house visits. He was operated on in the Cathedral, and as he
+lay between life and death, news came that the Germans were close to
+Rheims.
+
+In haste the wounded were sent to Epernay--to save them from being made
+prisoners. But some could not go: Louis de St. Pol and his friend
+Captain Jean de Visgnes. De Visgnes might have been hidden in the St.
+Pol house but he would not leave the boy, who could not be moved so far.
+The Cure vowed to hide both, and he did hide them in a chapel of the
+Cathedral itself. On September 3, at evening, the first Germans rode
+into the town and took up their quarters in the Municipal Palace, where
+they forced the Mayor, a very old man, to live with them. It was a
+changed Rheims since the day before. The troops of the garrison had gone
+in the direction of Epernay, since there was no hope of defence. Many
+rich people had fled, taking what they could carry in automobiles or
+cabs. The poor feared a siege--or worse: they knew not what. The St. Pol
+family received into their house a number of women whose husbands were
+at the Front, and their babies. No one ventured out who could stay
+indoors. The city filled up with German soldiers, with the Kaiser's son,
+Prince August Wilhelm, at their head. They, too, had wounded. The
+Cathedral was put to use for them, and the Cure cared for the Boches as
+he had cared for the French. This gave him a chance, at night, to nurse
+his two friends. So dragged on seven days, which seemed seven years; and
+then rumours drifted in of a great German retreat, a mysterious failure
+in the midst of seeming victory. The Battle of the Marne was making
+itself felt. In rage and bewilderment the Germans poured out of Rheims,
+leaving only their wounded behind. The townspeople praised God, and
+thought their trial was over. But it was only just begun! On the 16th
+the bombardment opened. The Germans knew that their wounded still lay in
+the Cathedral, but they did not seem to care for men out of the fighting
+line. A rain of bombs fell in the town--one of the first wrecked the Red
+Cross ambulance--and many struck the Cathedral. Then came the night when
+the straw bedding blazed, and fire poured through the long naves, rising
+to the roof.
+
+The Cure told afterward how wonderful the sight was with the jewelled
+windows lighting up for the last time, before the old glass burst with
+the shrill tinkle of a million crystal bells. He and Jean de Visgnes
+carried Louis de St. Pol out into the street, but the boy died before
+they reached his father's house, and De Visgnes had a dangerous relapse.
+It was on this night that the Cure made up his mind to volunteer, and
+soon he was at the Front. Nearly three years passed before he and De
+Visgnes met again, both _en permission_, travelling back to Rheims to
+pass their "perm." Jean was now engaged to Liane de St. Pol who, with
+her parents, had remained in the bombarded town, refusing to desert
+their poor protegees. The two planned to marry, after the war; but Liane
+had been struck by a flying fragment of shell, and wounded in the head.
+De Visgnes could bear the separation no longer. He made the girl promise
+to marry him at once--in the chapel of the old house, as she was still
+suffering, and forbidden to go out. His leave had been granted for the
+wedding, and the moment Liane was strong enough she and the old people
+would leave Rheims. Jean was to take them himself to his own home in
+Provence. The Cure was to marry his cousin to the man whose life he had
+saved.
+
+Many children of the poor whom Liane had helped decorated the chapel
+with flowers, and though the wedding-day was one of fierce bombardment,
+no one dreamed of putting off the ceremony. No fine shops for women's
+dress were open in Rheims, but the bride wore her mother's wedding-gown
+and veil of old lace. None save the family were asked to the marriage,
+because it was dangerous to go from house to house; yet all Rheims loved
+Liane, and meant to wish happiness for bride and bridegroom as the
+chapel-bells chimed for their union. But the bells began and never
+finished. At the instant when Liane de St. Pol and Jean de Visgnes
+became man and wife a bomb fell on the chapel roof. The tiles collapsed
+like cards, and all the bridal party was killed as by a lightning
+stroke. Only the soldier-priest was spared. Strangely, he was not even
+touched. But horror had driven him mad. Since then he spoke only to rave
+of Liane and Jean; how beautiful they had looked, lying dead before the
+wrecked altar.
+
+"The doctors say it is like a case of shell-shock," the Captain
+finished. "They think he'll recover. But at present, as I said--it is a
+sad affair. Sad for _him_--not for those who died together, suffering no
+pain. One of the Cure's favourite sayings used to be, they tell me,
+'Death is not an end, but a beginning.'"
+
+"You know him well?" I asked.
+
+"Yes. I was stationed in Rheims before the war. I used to dance with
+Liane when she came home from school."
+
+"Ah, if only her family hadn't stayed here till too late!" I cried.
+
+The captain with the scarred face shrugged his shoulders. "Destiny!" he
+said. "Besides, the best people do not run away easily from the homes
+they love. Perhaps they have the feeling that, in a home which has
+always meant peace, nothing terrible can happen. Yet there's more in it
+than that--something more subtle which keeps them in the place where
+they have always lived: something, I think, that binds the spirits of us
+Frenchmen and women to the spirit of their own hearths--their own soil.
+Haven't you found that already, in other places you have visited in this
+journey of yours?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, thinking of the old people I had seen at Vitrimont
+living in the granaries of their ruined houses, and strangely,
+unbelievably happy because they were "at home." "Yes, we have seen that
+in little villages of Lorraine."
+
+"Then how much more at Rheims, under the shadow of Notre-Dame!" The
+scarred captain still gazed at the headless king, and faintly smiled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Of course nothing did happen in Paris to break up the party. I might
+have known that nothing would. Nothing happened at all, except that I
+received a letter from Doctor Herter with the promised introduction to
+an oculist just now at the Front, and that I realized, after three days'
+absence, how Brian is improving. He has less the air of a beautiful
+soul, whose incarnation in a body is a mere accident, and more the look
+of a happy, handsome young man, with a certain spiritual radiance which
+makes him remarkable and somehow "disturbing," as the French say. If
+anything could stop the rats gnawing my conscience, it would be this
+blessed change. Brian is getting back health and strength. When I think
+what a short time ago it is that his life hung in the balance, this
+seems a miracle. I'm afraid I am glad--glad that I did the thing which
+has given him his chance. Besides, I love the Becketts. So does Brian.
+And they love us. It's difficult to remember that I've stolen their
+love. Surely, they're happier with us than they could have been without
+us? Brian's scheme for their visits to the liberated towns is doing good
+to them and to hundreds--even thousands--of people whom they intend to
+help.
+
+All this is sophistry, no doubt, but oh, it's beguiling sophistry! It's
+so perfectly disguised that I seldom recognize it except at night when
+I lie awake, and it sits on my bed, without its becoming mask.
+
+Being the Becketts' adviser-in-chief, and having his lungs full of ozone
+every day should be enough to account for Brian's improvement.
+Yet--well, I can't help thinking that he takes a lot more trouble than
+he need for Dierdre O'Farrell. Oh, not that he's _in love_! Such an idea
+is ridiculous, but he's interested and sorry for the girl, because she
+goes about with a chip on her shoulder, defying the world to knock it
+off. He won't admit that it's the fault of her outlook on the world, and
+that the poor old world isn't to blame at all.
+
+What if he knew the truth about that brother and sister? Naturally I
+can't tell him, of all people on earth, and they take advantage of my
+handicap. They've used their time well, in my absence, when they had
+Brian to themselves. He had his doubts of Julian, but the creature has
+sung himself into my blind brother's heart. From what I hear, the three
+have spent most of their time at the piano in the private _salon_ which
+the Becketts invited the O'Farrells to engage.
+
+Now, as I write, we are making our headquarters in Compiegne, sleeping
+there, and sightseeing by day on what they call the "Noyon Front."
+
+After Rheims and before Noyon we stopped three days in Paris instead of
+one, as we'd planned, for Mother Beckett was tired. She wouldn't confess
+it, but "Father" thought she looked pale. Strange if she had not, after
+such experiences and emotions! Sometimes, when I study the delicate old
+face, with blue hollows under kind, sweet eyes, I ask myself: "Will she
+be able to get through the task she's set herself?" But she is so
+quietly brave, not only in fatigue, but in danger, that I answer my own
+question: "Yes, she will do it somehow, on the reserve force that kept
+her up when Jim died."
+
+The road from Paris, past Senlis, to Compiegne, was even more thrilling
+than the road to Nancy and beyond, for this was the way the Germans took
+in September, 1914, when they thought the capital was theirs to have and
+hold: "_la route de l'Allemagne_" it used to be called, but never will
+French lips give it that name again.
+
+Just at first, running out of the city in early morning, things looked
+much the same as when starting for Nancy: the unnatural quiet of streets
+once crammed with busy traffic for feeding gay Paris; military motors of
+all sorts and sizes, instead of milk wagons and cartloads of colourful
+fruits; women working instead of men; children on their way to school,
+sedately talking of "_papa au Front_," instead of playing games. But
+outside the suburbs the real thrills began.
+
+There were the toy-like fortifications of which Paris was proud in the
+'fifties; there was the black tangle of barbed wire, and the trace of
+trenches (a mere depression on the earth's surface, as if a serpent had
+laid its heavy length on a great, green velvet cushion) with which Paris
+had hoped to delay the German wave. Only a little way on, we shot
+through the sleepy-looking village of Bourget where Napoleon stopped a
+few hours after Waterloo, rather than enter Paris by daylight; and Brian
+had a story of the place. A French soldier, a friend of his (nearly
+everyone he meets is Brian's friend!) who was born there, told him that
+on each anniversary the ghost of the "Little Corporal" appears,
+travel-stained and worn, on the road leading to Bourget. For many years
+his custom was to show himself for a second to some seeing eye, then
+vanish like a mirage of the desert. But since 1914 his way is different.
+He does not confine his visit to the hamlet of sad memories. He walks
+the country side, his hands behind him, his head bent as of old; or he
+rides a horse that is slightly lame, inspecting with thoughtful gaze the
+frenzied industries of war, war such as he--the war-genius--never saw in
+his visions of the future: the immense aerodromes, the bomb sheds, the
+wireless stations and observation towers, the giant "_saucisses_"
+resting under green canvas, ready to rise at dawn; and all the other
+astounding features of the landscape so peaceful in his day.
+
+Even now parts of it are peaceful, often the very spots marked by
+history, where it seems as if each tree should be decorated by a Croix
+de Guerre. For instance, there was the place--a junction of roads--where
+the Uhlans with a glitter of helmets came proudly galloping toward
+Paris, and to their blank amazement and rage had to turn back. As we
+halted to take in the scene, it was mysterious as dreamland in the
+morning mist. Nothing moved save two teams of cream-coloured oxen, their
+moon-white sides dazzling behind a silver veil. The pale road stretched
+before us so straight and far that it seemed to descend from the sky
+like a waterfall. Only the trees had a martial look, like tall, dark
+soldiers drawn up in line for parade.
+
+It was not till we plunged into forest depths that I said to myself: "We
+must be coming near Senlis!" For the very name "Senlis" fills the mind
+with forest pictures. No wonder, since it lies walled away from the
+outer world--like the Sleeping Beauty--by woods, and woods, and woods:
+the forests of Hallette, Chantilly, and Ermenonville, each as full of
+history as it is now of aromatic scents, and used to be of wild boars
+for kings to kill!
+
+I think the best of the forest pictures has Henri de Navarre for its
+principal figure. Brian and I turned over the pages of our memory for
+the Becketts, who listened like children to fairy tales--or as we
+listened when you used to embroider history for us in those evening
+_causeries_ in the dear old "den," Padre.
+
+I dug up the story about Henri at twenty-one, married more than a year
+to beautiful, lively Marguerite de Valois, and enduring lazily the
+despotism of his mother-in-law. There in the old palace of the Louvre,
+he loitered the time away, practically a prisoner until the only friend
+he had with courage to speak out (Agrippa d'Aubigny) gave him a lecture.
+Agrippa lashed his master with the words "coward" and "sluggard,"
+letting his faithful servants work for his interests while he remained
+the slave of a "wicked old witch." The Bearnais had been biding his
+time--"crouching to spring": but that slap in the face set him on fire.
+He could no longer wait for the right moment. He decided to make the
+_first_ moment the right one. His quick brain mapped out a plan of
+escape in which the sole flaw was that he must leave behind his
+brilliant bride. With eight or ten of his greatest, most loyal
+gentlemen, he arranged to hunt in the forest of Senlis; and he had shown
+himself so biddable, so boyish, that at first even Catherine de Medicis
+did not suspect him. It was only when the party had set forth that the
+plot burst like a bomb, in Catherine's own boudoir, where she sat with
+her favourite son, vile Henri III of France.
+
+Fervacques, one of the plotters, had stopped in Paris, feigning illness.
+The plan had been concocted in his rooms, and he but waited for
+Navarre's back to be turned to betray him. Marguerite laughed when she
+heard (perhaps she was in the secret), but Catherine said evil words, of
+which she knew a great many--especially in Italian. Orders were given
+for the gates of Paris to be shut (gates that in those days barred the
+road along which we now motored), but they were too late. Navarre and
+his hunters had passed through. Agrippa d'Aubigny was not among them.
+His part had been to watch the happenings of the Court, and join Navarre
+later in his own kingdom, but that hope was broken. Disguised as a
+_mignon_ of Henri III, he slipped out of Paris on a fast horse, tore
+after the Bearnais and his equerries, and caught the cavalcade in the
+forest. "Thou art betrayed!" he cried.
+
+"But not captured!" laughed Navarre.
+
+In haste they substituted a new plot for the old. The young king was to
+pretend ignorance of the betrayal. He installed himself accordingly in
+the best lodgings of Senlis, talking loudly about hunting prospects,
+arranged to see a performance by travelling actors, and sent such a
+message back to Catherine and Henri that they believed Fervacques had
+fooled them.
+
+By the time they'd waked to the truth, Navarre had ridden safely out of
+Senlis with his friends, bound for the kingdom on the Spanish border.
+Even then he was a man of big ambitions; so maybe he said to himself,
+looking back at Senlis: "I shall travel this road again, as king of
+France, to enter Paris in triumph." Anyhow, he was grateful to Senlis
+for saving him, and stayed there often, as Henri Quatre, flirting with
+pretty ladies, and inviting them to become abbesses when he tired of
+them.
+
+Lots of things have happened in Senlis, because it's on the road to
+Paris, and for centuries has been getting into someone's way. Why, if it
+hadn't been for Senlis, William the Conqueror might never have
+conquered! You see, before William's day, Count Bernard of Senlis (who
+boasted himself a forty-second grandson or something of Charlemagne)
+quarrelled with King Louis IV of France. To spite him, Bernard adopted
+the baby son of William Longsword, Duke of Normandy, killed in battle;
+for Normandy was a "thorn in the eye" of France. Thanks to Bernard's
+help Normandy gained in riches and importance. By the time William, son
+of Robert the Devil and Arlette of Falaise, appeared on the scene, the
+dukedom was a power in the world, and William was able to dare his great
+enterprise.
+
+But that was only one incident. Senlis was already an old, old town, and
+as much entitled to call itself a capital of France as was Paris. Not
+for nothing had the Gallo-Romans given it walls twenty feet high and
+thirteen feet thick! They could not have builded better had they meant
+to attract posterity's attention, and win for their strong city the
+admiration of kings. Clovis was the first king who fancied it, and
+settled there. But not a king who followed, till after the day of Henri
+Quatre, failed to live in the castle which Clovis began. Henry V of
+England married Bonny Kate in the chateau; Charles VIII of France and
+Maximilian of Austria signed a treaty within its walls; Francis I
+finished Notre-Dame of Senlis. The Duke of Bedford fought Joan of Arc
+there, and she was helped by the Marechal Rais, no other than Bluebeard;
+so "Sister Anne" must have gazed out from some neighbouring tower for
+the "cloud of dust in the distance." Somewhere in the vast encircling
+forests the Babes in the Wood were buried by the birds, while the wicked
+uncle reigned in their father's place at Senlis. In 1814 Prussian,
+Russian, and British soldiers marched through the town on their tramp to
+Paris. Cossacks and Highlanders were the "strangest sight" Senlis had
+ever seen, though it had seen many; but a hundred years later it was to
+see a stranger one yet.
+
+If ever a place looked made for peace, that place is Senlis, on its
+bright little river Nonette--child of the Oise--and in its lovely
+valley. That was what I said as we slowed down on the outskirts: but ah,
+how the thought of peace broke as we drove along the "kings'
+highway"--the broad Rue de la Republique! In an instant the drama of
+September 2nd--eve of the Marne battle--sprang to our eyes and knocked
+at our hearts. We could smell the smoke, and see the flames, and hear
+the shots, the cries of grief and rage, the far-off thunder of bridges
+blown up by the retreating French army. Suddenly we knew how the people
+of Senlis had suffered that day, and--strangely, horribly--how the
+Germans had felt.
+
+Senlis hadn't realized--wouldn't let itself realize--even during
+bombardment, what its fate might be. It had been spared, as an open
+town, in 1870; and since then, through long, prosperous years of peace a
+comfortable conviction had grown that only pleasant things could
+happen. Why, it was the place of pleasure, reaping a harvest of fame and
+money from its adventurous past! Tourists came from all the world over
+to put up at the Hotel du Grand Cerf, once the hunting lodge of kings.
+They came to loiter in narrow old streets whose very names were echoes
+of history; to study the ruins of the Roman arena and the ancient walls;
+to hunt in the forest, as royal men and ladies had hunted when stags and
+wild boar had been plentiful as foxes and rabbits; or to motor from one
+neighbouring chateau to another. Surely even Germans could not doom such
+a town to destruction. To be sure, some people did fly when a rabble of
+refugees from Compiegne poured past, hurrying south; and others fled
+from the bombardment when big guns, fired from Lucien Bonaparte's old
+village of Chamant, struck the cathedral. But many stayed for duty's
+sake, or because they believed obstinately that to _their_ bit of the
+Ile-de-France no tragedy could come.
+
+They didn't know yet that Von Kluck and his men were drunk with victory,
+and that flaming towns were for the German army bonfires of triumph.
+They didn't know that the Kaiser's dinner was ordered in Paris for a
+certain date, and that at all costs Paris must be cowed to a speedy
+peace, lest the dinner be delayed. "Frightfulness" was the word of
+command, and famous old Senlis was to serve as a lesson to Paris.
+
+But somehow the German master of Senlis's heart weakened when the
+crucial moment came. He was at the Hotel du Grand Cerf, where a dinner
+was being prepared by scared servants for thirty German officers. The
+order was about to be signed when suddenly a _cure_, small and pale,
+but lion-brave, entered the room. How he got in no one knew! Surprise
+held the general tongue-tied for three seconds; and a French _cure_ is
+capable of much eloquence in three seconds.
+
+He gambled--if a _cure_ may gamble!--on the chance of his man being
+Catholic--and he won. That is why (so they told us in the same room
+three years later) Senlis was struck with many sore wounds, but not
+exterminated; that is why only the Maire and a few citizens were
+murdered instead of all; that is why in some quarters of Senlis the
+people who have come back can still dream that nothing happened to their
+dear haunt of peace on September 2, 1914.
+
+Even if Senlis had fallen utterly, before the Germans turned in their
+tracks, Paris would not have been "cowed." As it was, Paris and all
+France were roused to a redoubled fury of resistance by the fate of the
+Senlis "hostages." So these men did not die in vain.
+
+The scars of Senlis are still unhealed. Whole streets are blackened
+heaps of ruin, and there are things that "make you see red," as Father
+Beckett growled. But the thing which left the clearest picture in my
+brain was a sight sweet as well as sad: a charming little chateau,
+ruined by fire, yet pathetically lovely in martyrdom; the green trellis
+still ornamenting its stained facade, a few autumn roses peeping with
+child-like curiosity into gaping window-eyes; a silent old gardener
+raking the one patch of lawn buried under blackened tiles and tumbled
+bricks. The man's figure was bent, yet I felt that there was hope as
+well as loyalty in his work. "They will come back home some day," was
+the expression of that faithful back.
+
+In the exquisite beauty of the forest beyond Senlis there was still--for
+me--this note of hope. "Where beauty is, sadness cannot dwell for ever!"
+As we rushed along in the big car, the delicate gray trunks of
+clustering trees seemed to whirl round and round before our eyes, as in
+a votive dance of young priestesses. We saw bands of German prisoners
+toiling gnome-like in dim glades, but they didn't make us sad again. _Au
+contraire!_ We found poetical justice in the thought that they, the
+cruel destroyers of trees, must chop wood and pile faggots from dawn to
+dusk.
+
+So we came to Compiegne, where the French army has its headquarters in
+one of the most famous chateaux in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+It took a mere glance (even if we hadn't known beforehand) to see that
+noble Compiegne craved no Beckett charity, no American adoption.
+
+True, German officers lived for twelve riotous days in the palace, in
+1914, selecting for home use many of its treasures, and German
+"non-coms." filled vans with rare antiques from the richest mansions;
+still, they had no time, or else no inclination, to disfigure the town.
+The most sensational souvenir of those days before the Marne battle is a
+couple of broken bridges across the Oise and Aisne, blown up by the
+French in the hour of their retreat. But that strange sight didn't break
+on our eyes as we entered Compiegne. We seemed to have been transported
+by white magic from mystic forest depths to be plumped down suddenly in
+a city square, in front of a large, classical palace. It's only the
+genie of motoring who can arrange these startling contrasts!
+
+If we took Brian's advice, and "played" that our autos were
+old-fashioned coaches; if we looked through, instead of at, the dozen
+military cars lined up at the palace gates; if we changed a few details
+of the soldiers' uniforms, the gray chateau need not have been Army
+Headquarters in our fancy. For us, the Germans might cease from
+troubling and the war-weary be at rest, while we skipped back to any
+century we fancied.
+
+Of course, Louis XV, son-in-law of our old friend Stanislas of Lorraine,
+built the chateau; and Napoleon the Great added a wing in honour of his
+second bride, Marie Louise. But why be hampered by details like that?
+Charles V built a castle at this old Roman Compendium, on the very spot
+where all those centuries later Louis XV erected his Grecian facades;
+and Henri of Navarre often came there, in his day. One of Henri's best
+romances he owed to Compiegne; and while we were having what was meant
+to be a hurried luncheon, Mother Beckett made Brian tell the story. You
+know Brian came to Compiegne before the war and painted in the palace
+park, where Napoleon I and Napoleon III used to give their
+_fetes-champetres_; and he says that the picture is clear as ever
+"behind his eyes."
+
+Once upon a time, Henri was staying in the chateau, very bored because
+weather had spoiled the hunting. Suddenly appeared the "handsomest young
+man of Prance," the Duc de Bellegarde, Henri's equerry, who had been
+away on an adventure of love. Somehow, he'd contrived to meet Gabrielle
+d'Estrees, almost a child, but of dazzling beauty. She hid him for three
+days, and then, alas, a treacherous maid threatened to tell Gabrielle's
+father. Bellegarde had to be smuggled out of the family castle--a rope
+and a high window. The tale amused Henri; and the girl's portrait fired
+him. He couldn't forget; and later, having finished some business at
+Senlis (part of which concerned a lady) he laid a plan to cut Bellegarde
+out. When the Equerry begged leave from Compiegne to visit Gabrielle
+again, Henri consented, on condition that he might be the duke's
+companion.
+
+Bellegarde had to agree; and Henri fell in love at sight with the golden
+hair, blue eyes, and rose-and-white skin of "Gaby." She preferred
+Bellegarde to the long-nosed king; but the Bearnais was never one to
+take "no" for an answer. He went from Compiegne again and again to the
+forbidden castle, in peril of his life from Guise and the League. After
+a wild adventure, in disguise as a peasant with a bundle of straw on his
+head, his daring captured the girl's fancy. She was his; and he was
+hers, writing sonnets to "Charmante Gabrielle," making Marguerite
+furious by giving to the new love his wife's own Abbey of St. Corneille,
+at Compiegne. (One can still see its ruins!)
+
+I said we meant to eat quickly and go for an afternoon of
+sightseeing--for early to-morrow (I'm writing late at night) we're due
+at Noyon. But Brian remembered so many bits about Compiegne, that by
+tacit consent we lingered and listened. When he was here last, he did a
+sketch of Henri and Gabrielle hunting in the forest; "Gaby" pearl-fair
+in green satin, embroidered with silver; on her head the famous hat of
+velvet-like red taffetas, which cost Henri two hundred crowns. Perhaps
+she carried in her hand one of the handkerchiefs for which she paid what
+other women pay for dresses; but Brian's sketches are too
+"impressionist" to show handkerchiefs! Anyhow, her hand was in the
+king's, for that was her way of riding with her gray-clad lover; though
+when she went alone she rode boldly astride. Poor Henri couldn't say nay
+to the becoming green satin and red hat, though he was hard up in those
+days. After paying a bill of Gaby's, he asked his valet how many shirts
+and handkerchiefs he had. "A dozen shirts, torn," was the answer.
+"Handkerchiefs, five."
+
+On the walls of the room where we ate hung beautiful old engravings of
+Napoleon I in his daily life at the Chateau of Compiegne. Napoleon
+receiving honoured guests in the vast Galerie des Fetes, with its
+polished floor and long line of immense windows; Napoleon and his bride
+in the Salon des Dames d'Honneur, among the ladies of Marie Louise;
+Napoleon listening wistfully--thinking maybe of lost Josephine--to a
+damsel at the harp, in the Salon de Musique; Marie Louise smirking
+against a background of _teinture chinoise_; Napoleon observing a
+tapestry battle of stags in the Salle des Cerfs; Napoleon on the
+magnificent _terrasse_ giving a garden party; Napoleon walking with his
+generals along the Avenue des Beaux Monts, in the park. But these
+pictures rather teased than pleased us, because in war days only the
+army enters palace or park.
+
+Brian was luckier than the rest of us! He had been through the chateau
+and forgotten nothing. Best of all he had liked the bedchamber of Marie
+Antoinette, said to be haunted by her ghost, in hunting dress with a
+large hat and drooping plume. The Empress Eugenie, it seemed, had loved
+this room, and often entered it alone to dream of the past. Little could
+she have guessed then how near she would come to some such end as that
+fatal queen, second in beauty only to herself.
+
+Even if Julian O'Farrell's significant glance hadn't called my attention
+to his sister, I should have noticed how Dierdre lost her sulky look in
+listening to Brian.
+
+"He has something to say to me about those two when he gets a chance,
+and he wants me to know it now," I thought. But I pretended to be
+absorbed in stories of the Second Empire. For we sat on and on at the
+table, putting off our visit to the ancient timbered houses and the
+monument of Jeanne d'Arc, and all the other things which called us away
+from those hotel windows. It seemed as if the heart of Compiegne, past
+and present, were hidden just behind that gray facade of the palace
+across the square!
+
+Of course, Jeanne was the "star" heroine of Compiegne, where she fought
+so bravely and was taken prisoner, and sold to the English by John of
+Luxembourg at a very cheap price. But, you know, she is the heroine of
+such lots of other places we have seen or will see, that we let her
+image fade for us behind the brilliant visions of Compiegne's pleasures.
+
+As a rule, old history has the lure of romance in it, and makes modern
+history seem dull in contrast. But such a gorgeous novel could be
+written about Second Empire days of Compiegne (if only there were a
+Dumas to write it) that I do think this town is an exception.
+
+Even "The Queen's Necklace" couldn't be more exciting than a story of
+Eugenie, with that "divinest beauty of all ages," the Castiglione, as
+her rival! I don't know how Dumas would begin it, but I would have the
+first scene at a house party of Louis Napoleon's, in the palace at
+Compiegne, after he had revived the old custom of the Royal Hunt:
+Napoleon, already falling in love, but hesitating, anxious to see how
+the Spanish girl would bear herself among the aristocratic charmers of
+the Court, whether she could hold her own as a huntress, as in a
+ballroom. I'd show her making a sensation by her horsemanship and
+beauty. Then I'd take her through the years, till the dazzling
+Florentine came to trouble her peace, the adored, yet disappointed
+divinity who cried, "If my mother had brought me to France instead of
+marrying me to Castiglione, an Italian, not a Spaniard, would have
+shared the throne with Napoleon, and there would have been no
+Franco-Prussian War!"
+
+What a brilliant background Compiegne of those days would make for that
+pair, the beautiful young Empress and the more beautiful
+Countess!--Compiegne when the palace was crowded with the flower of
+Europe, when great princes and brave soldiers romped through children's
+games with lovely ladies, if rain spoiled the hunting; when Highland
+nobles brought their pipers, and everyone danced the wildest reels, if
+there were time to spare from private theatricals and _tableaux
+vivants_! I think I would make my story end, though, not there, but far
+away; the Castiglione lying dead, with youth and beauty gone, dressed by
+her last request in a certain gown she had worn on a certain night at
+Compiegne, never to be forgotten.
+
+When at last we did go out to walk and see the wonderful timbered houses
+and the blown-up bridges, what I had expected to happen did happen:
+Julian O'Farrell contrived to separate me from the others.
+
+"Haven't I been clever?" he asked, with his smile of a naughty child.
+
+"So far as I know of you," I answered, "you are always clever."
+
+"That's the first compliment you've ever paid me! Thanks all the same,
+though I'd be the opposite of clever if I thought you wanted me to be
+flattered. You're clever, too, so of course you know what I mean as well
+as I know myself. Perhaps you thought I was being clever on the sly. But
+I'm above that. Haven't I always showed you my cards, trumps and joker
+and all?"
+
+"You've shown me how the knave can take a trick!"
+
+He laughed. "History repeating itself! The Queen of Hearts, you
+remember--and the Knave of--Spades, wasn't it? I wish it were diamonds
+instead: but maybe his spade will dig up a few sparklers in the end.
+I've got a splendid plan brewing. But that isn't what I want to talk
+about just now. In fact, I _don't_ want to talk about it--yet! You're
+not going to admit that you see the results of my cleverness, or that
+you'd understand them if you did see. So I'll just wave them under your
+darling nose."
+
+It would have been absurd to say: "How dare you call my nose a darling?"
+so I said nothing at all.
+
+"You saw it was a plot, getting Brian to go to Paris with us," he went
+on. "I saw that you saw it. But I wasn't sure and I'm not sure now, if
+you realized its design, as the villain of the piece would remark."
+
+"_You_ ought to know what he'd remark."
+
+"I do, dear villainess! I was going to say, '_Sister_ Villainess,' but I
+wouldn't have you for a sister at any price. I've cast you for a
+different part. You may have imagined that Dare and I were just grabbing
+your brother to spite you, and show what we could do with him."
+
+"I did imagine that!"
+
+"Wrong! Guess again. Or no--you needn't. We may be interrupted any
+minute. To save time I'll explain my bag of tricks. Dare wasn't in on
+that hand of mine."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"You don't believe me? That shows you're no judge of character. Dare
+adores her Jule, and what he wants her to do she does; but I told you
+she was no actress. She can't act much better off the stage than on. I
+wouldn't trust her to create the part of the White Cat, let alone that
+of Wily Vivien. She gets along all right if she can just keep still and
+sulk and act the Stormy Petrel. I should have pulled her through on
+those lines if she'd been obliged to play Jim Beckett's broken-hearted
+fiancee. But to do the siren with your brother--no, she wouldn't be
+equal to that, even to please me: couldn't get it across the footlights.
+I had to win her to Brian as well as win Brian to me. I hope you don't
+mind my calling him by his Christian name? He says I may."
+
+"Why did you want to win Miss O'Farrell to my brother?"
+
+"You don't know? You'll have to go down a place lower in this class! She
+couldn't make Brian really like her, unless she liked him. At
+first--though I knew better--she stuck it out that Brian was only a kind
+of decoy duck for you with the Becketts----"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Please don't look at me as if you were biting a lemon. _I_ didn't think
+so. And Dare doesn't now."
+
+"How sweet of her!"
+
+"She's turning sweet. That's partly what I was after. I wormed myself
+into your brother's affections, to entice him to Paris. I wanted Dare to
+learn that her _instinct_ about him was right; her instinct was always
+defending him against what she thought was her reason and common sense.
+Now, she sees that he's genuine, and she's secretly letting herself
+go--admiring him and wondering at him to make up for her injustice."
+
+"Are you telling all this to disarm me?"
+
+"Not exactly. I'm telling you because I was sure you'd find out soon
+what's going on, and because I thought an open policy best. As it is,
+you can't say I haven't played fair from the word go."
+
+"I wish," I cried out, "that the word _was_ 'go'!"
+
+"You're not very kind, my dear."
+
+"Why should I be kind?"
+
+"Because I'm the stick of your rocket. You can't soar without me. And
+because I love you such a lot."
+
+"You!"
+
+"Yes, I, me, Julian O'Farrell: Giulio di Napoli. Haven't I sacrificed my
+prospects and my sister's prospects rather than throw you to the lions?
+Didn't I waste those perfectly good snapshots? Didn't I sit tight,
+protecting you silently, letting you have all I'd expected to have for
+myself and Dare?"
+
+I gasped. To speak was beyond my powers just then.
+
+"I know what you'd like to say," Julian explained me to myself. "You'd
+love to say: 'The d--d cheek of the man! It's _rich_!' Well, it is rich.
+And _I_ mean to be rich to match. That's in my plan. And so are you in
+it. Practically you _are_ the plan. To carry it out calmly, without
+ructions and feathers flying, I put your brother and my sister in the
+way of falling in love. Dare didn't want to join the Beckett party and
+didn't want to stay with it. Now, she does want to stay. Brian
+distrusted me and was intrigued by Dare. Now, he gives me the benefit of
+the doubt. And he has _no_ doubts of her---- That's a beautiful timbered
+house, isn't it, Mr. Beckett? Yes, I was just telling Miss O'Malley that
+this place seems to me the best one we've visited yet. I shall never
+forget it, or the circumstances of seeing it, shall you, Miss O'Malley?
+Don't you think, sir, she might let me call her 'Mary,' now we all know
+each other so well? I'm 'Julian' to her brother and he's 'Brian' to me."
+
+"I certainly do think she might," said Father Beckett, with that slow,
+pleasant smile which Jim inherited from him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+It's late at night again--no, early to-morrow morning, just about the
+hour when to-morrow's war-bread is being baked by to-night's war-bakers.
+But it's good to burn the midnight electricity, because my body and
+brain are feeling electric.
+
+We have had the most astonishing day!
+
+Of course, I expected that, because we were going to Noyon, and I
+evacuated all unneeded thoughts and impressions (for instance, those
+concerning the O'Farrells) to make room for a crowd of new ones, as we
+did at the Hopital des Epidemies with convalescents, for an incoming
+batch of patients. But I didn't count on private, personal
+emotions--unless we blundered into an air raid somewhere!
+
+You remember those authors we met once, who write together--the
+Sandersons--and how they said if they ever dared put a real incident in
+a book, people picked out that one as impossible? Well, this evening
+just past reminded me of the Sandersons. We spent it at the War
+Correspondents' Chateau, not far out of Compiegne: that is, we spent it
+there if it was _real_, and not a dream.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I am the only one in Mother Beckett's confidence--I mean, about her
+health. Even her husband doesn't know how this trip strains her
+endurance, physical and mental. Indeed, he's the very one who _mustn't_
+know. It's agreed between us that, if she feels hopelessly unfit for
+any excursion, _I_ shall put on invalid airs and she will stop at home
+to keep me company. Thus will be avoided all danger of Father Beckett
+suspecting the weakness she hides. But you can imagine, Padre, knowing
+me as you do, how frightened I was to-day--our morning for Noyon--lest
+she should give the signal. I felt I simply couldn't _bear_ to miss
+Noyon. No use telling myself I shall feel exactly the same about
+Soissons to-morrow, and Roye and Ham and Chauny and various others the
+day after. My reason couldn't detach itself at that instant from Noyon.
+
+Our daily programme as now arranged is: Me to knock at Mother Beckett's
+door half an hour before starting-time. If she's fearing a collapse, she
+is to exclaim: "My child, how pale you are!" or some other criticism of
+my complexion. Then I'm to play up, replying: "I do feel under the
+weather." Whereupon it's easy for her to say: "You must stop in the
+hotel and rest. I'll stay with you."
+
+To my joy, the greeting this morning was: "My dear, you look fresh as a
+rose!"
+
+I didn't feel it; for you know I wrote late to you. And at last in bed,
+I disobeyed your advice about never worrying: I worried quite a lot over
+Brian and Dierdre O'Farrell; my having led him into a trap, when above
+all things I wanted his happiness and health. I could well have passed
+as pale: but I was so pleased with the secret signal that I braced up
+and bloomed again.
+
+We had to start early, because there was a good deal to do in the day;
+and we were supposed to return early, too, for a rest, as there's the
+great adventure of Soissons before us to-morrow. The Correspondents'
+Chateau wasn't on our list: that was an accident, though now it seems as
+if the whole trip would have been worth while if only to lead up to that
+"accident!"
+
+There were several ways we could have taken to Noyon, but we took the
+way by Dives and Lassigny. We shall have chances for other roads,
+because, to see various places we mean to visit, we shall go through
+Noyon again.
+
+Once upon a time, before the Germans came, Dives had a lovely chateau,
+part of it very old, with a round turret under a tall pointed hat; the
+other part comparatively young--as young as the Renaissance--and all
+built of that pale, rose-pink colour which most chateaux of this
+forestland, and this Ile-de-France used to wear in happy days before
+they put on smoke-stained mourning.
+
+Now, instead of its proud chateau, Dives has a ruin even more lovely,
+though infinitely sad.
+
+As for Lassigny, it was battered to death: yet I think it was glad to
+die, because the Germans had turned it into a fortress, and they had to
+be shelled out by the French. Poor little Lassigny! It must have had
+what the French call "_une beaute coquette_," and the Germans, it
+seemed, were loth to leave. When they found that they must go, and in
+haste, they boiled with rage. Not only did they blow up all that was
+left in the village, but they blew up the trees of the surrounding
+orchards. They had not the excuse for this that they needed the trees to
+bar the way of the pursuing French army. Such trees as they felled
+across the road were the big trees of the forest. Their destruction of
+the young fruit trees was just a slaughter of innocents; and I've never
+hated war, Padre, as I hated it to-day--above all, German methods of
+making war. Even the countless graves on the battlefields do not look so
+sad as those acres of murdered trees: blown-up trees, chopped-down
+trees, trees gashed to death with axes, trees that strove with all the
+strength of Nature to live, putting forth leaves and blossoms as their
+life blood emptied from their veins.
+
+The graves of dead soldiers do not, somehow, look utterly sad. Their
+little flags stir triumphantly in the breeze, as if waved by unseen
+hands. The caps that mark the mounds seem to be on the heads of men
+invisible, under the earth, standing at the salute, saying to those who
+pass: "There is no death! Keep up your hearts, and follow the example we
+have set." The souls of those who left their bodies on these
+battlefields march on, bearing torches that have lit the courage of the
+world, with a light that can never fail. But the poor trees, so dear to
+France, giving life as a mother gives milk to her child!--they died to
+serve no end save cruelty.
+
+The sight of them made me furious, and I glared like a basilisk at any
+German prisoners we saw working along the good, newly made white road.
+On their green trousers were large letters, "P. G." for "Prisonnier de
+Guerre"; and I snapped out as we passed a group, "It needs only an I
+between the P and the G to make it _perfect!_"
+
+One man must have heard, and understood English, for he glanced up with
+a start. I was sorry then, for it was like hitting a fallen enemy. As he
+had what would have seemed a good face if he'd been British or French,
+perhaps he was one of those who wrote home that the killing of trees in
+France "will be a shame to Germany till the end of time."
+
+Only a few days ago Brian learned by heart a poem I read aloud, a poem
+called "Les Arbres Coupes," by Edmond Rostand. Teaching Brian, I found I
+had learned it myself.
+
+    Chacun de nos soldats eut son cri de souffrance
+    Devant ces arbres morts qui jonchaient les terrains:
+    "Les pechers!" criaient ceux de l'Ile-de-France;
+    "Et les mirabelliers!" crierent les Lorrains.
+
+    Soldats bleus demeures paysans sous vos casques,
+    Quels poings noueux et noirs vers le nord vous tendiez!
+    "Les cerisiers!" criaient avec fureur les Basques;
+    Et ceux du Rousillon criaient: "Les amandiers!"
+
+    Devant les arbres morts de l'Aisne ou de la Somme,
+    Chacun se retrouva Breton ou Limousin.
+    "Les pommiers!" criaient ceux du pays de la pomme;
+    "Les vignes!" criaient ceux du pays raisin.
+
+    Ainsi vous disiez tous le climat dont vous etes,
+    Devant ces arbres morts que vous consideriez,
+    --Et moi, voyant tomber tant de jeunes poetes,
+    Helas, combien de fois j'ai crie: "Les lauriers!"
+
+I love it. Yet I don't quite agree with the beautiful turning at the
+end, because the laurels of the soldier-poets aren't really dead, nor
+can they ever die. Even some of the trees which the Boches meant to kill
+would not be conquered by Germans or death. Many of them, cut almost
+level with the ground, continued to live, spouting leaves close to
+earth as a fountain spouts water when its jet has been turned low. All
+the victims that could be saved have been saved by the French,
+carefully, scientifically bandaged like wounded soldiers: and the
+Becketts talked eagerly of giving money--much money--to American
+societies that, with the British, are aiding France to make her fair
+land bloom again. Mother Beckett became quite inventive and excited,
+planning to start "instruction farms," with a fund in honour of Jim.
+Seeds and slips and tools and teachers should all be imported from
+California. Oh, it would be wonderful! And how thankful she and Father
+were that they had Brian and Molly to help make the plan come true! I
+shouldn't have liked to catch Julian O'Farrell's eye just then.
+
+All the way was haunted by the tragedy of trees, not only the tragedy of
+orchards, and of the roadside giants that once had shaded the straight
+avenues, but the martyrdom of trees in the great dark forests--oaks and
+elms and beeches. At first glance these woods, France's shield against
+her enemies--rose still and beautiful, like mystic abodes of peace,
+against the pale horizon. But a searching gaze showed how they had
+suffered. For every trio of living trees there seemed to be one corpse,
+shattered by bombs, or blasted by evil gas. The sight of them struck at
+the heart: yet they were heroes, as well as martyrs, I said to myself.
+They had truly died for France, to save France. And as I thought this, I
+knew that if I were a poet, beautiful words would come at my call, to
+clothe my fancy about the forests.
+
+I wanted the right words so much that it was pain when they wouldn't
+answer my wish, for I seemed to hear only a faint, far-off echo of some
+fine strain of music, whose real notes I failed to catch.
+
+Always forests have fascinated me; sweet, fairy-peopled groves of my
+native island, and emerald-lit beech woods of England. But I never felt
+the grand meaning of forests as I felt them to-day, in this ravaged and
+tortured land. I could have cried out to them: "Oh, you forests of
+France, what a part you've played in the history of wars! How wise and
+brave of you to stand in unbroken line, a rampart protecting your
+country's frontiers, through the ages. Forests, you are bands of
+soldiers, in armour of wood, and you, too, like your human brothers,
+have hearts that beat and veins that bleed for France! You are soldiers,
+and you are fortresses--Nature's fortresses stronger than all modern
+inventions. You are fortresses to fight in; you are shelters from
+air-pirates, you hide cannon; you give shelter to your fighting
+countrymen from rain and heat. You delay the enemy; you mislead him, you
+drive him back. When you die, deserted by the birds and all your hidden
+furred and feathered children, you give yourselves--give, give to the
+last! Your wood strengthens the trenches, or burns to warm the freezing
+_poilus_. Brave forests, pathetic forests! I hear you defy the enemy in
+your hour of death: Strike us, kill us. Still you shall never pass!"
+
+We had felt that we knew something of the war-zone after Lorraine; but
+there the great battles had all been fought in 1914, when the world was
+young. Here, it seemed as if the earth must still be hot from the feet
+of retreating Germans.
+
+The whole landscape was pitted with shell-holes, and spider-webbed with
+barbed wire. The three lines of French trenches we passed might, from
+their look, have been manned yesterday. Piled along the neat new road
+were bombs for aviators to drop; queer, fish-shaped things, and still
+queerer cages they had been in. There were long, low sheds for fodder.
+At each turn was the warning word, "_Convois_." The poor houses of such
+villages as continued to exist were numbered, for the first time in
+their humble lives, because they were needed for military lodgings.
+Notices in the German language were hardly effaced from walls of
+half-ruined buildings. They had been partly rubbed out, one could see,
+but the ugly German words survived, strong and black as a stain on one's
+past. Huge rounds of barbed wire which had been brought, and never used,
+were stacked by the roadside, and there were long lines of
+trench-furniture the enemy had had to abandon in flight, or leave in
+dug-outs: rough tables, chairs, rusty cooking-stoves, pots, pans, petrol
+tins, and broken dishes: even lamps, torn books, and a few particularly
+ugly blue vases for flowers. _They_ must have been made in Germany, I
+knew!
+
+Wattled screens against enemy fire still protected the road, and here
+and there was a "camouflage" canopy for a big gun. The roofs of
+beautiful old farmhouses were crushed in, as if tons of rock had fallen
+on them: and the moss which once had decked their ancient tiles with
+velvet had withered, turning a curious rust colour, like dried blood.
+Young trees with their throats cut were bandaged up with torn linen and
+bagging on which German printed words were dimly legible. It would have
+been a scene of unmitigated grimness, save for last summer's
+enterprising grass and flowers, which autumn, kinder than war, had not
+killed.
+
+Late roses and early chrysanthemums grew in the gardens of broken,
+deserted cottages, as if the flowers yearned to comfort the wounded
+walls with soft caresses, innocent as the touch of children. On the
+burned facades of houses, trellised fruit-trees clung, some dead--mere
+black pencillings sketched on brick or plaster--but now and then one was
+living still, like a beautiful young Mazeppa, bound to a dead steed.
+
+So we arrived at Noyon, less than two hours by car from Compiegne. The
+nearness of it to the heart of France struck me suddenly. I could hear
+the echo of sad voices curbing the optimists: "The Germans are still at
+Noyon!"
+
+Well--they are not at Noyon now. They've been gone for many moons. Yet
+there's a look on the faces of the people in the town--a look when they
+come to the windows or doors of their houses, or when they hear a sudden
+noise in the street--which makes those moons seem never to have waned.
+
+Washington has adopted Noyon, so the Becketts could not offer any great
+public charity, but they could sprinkle about a few private good deeds,
+in remembrance of Jim, who loved the place, as he loved all the
+Ile-de-France. One of Mother Beckett's most valued letters from
+"Jim-on-his-travels" (as she always says) is from Noyon, and she was so
+bent on reading it aloud to us, as we drove slowly--almost
+reverently--into the town, that she wouldn't look (I believe she even
+grudged our looking!) at the facade of the far-famed Hotel de Ville,
+until she'd come to the end of the last page. She seemed to think that
+to look up prematurely would be like wanting to see the stage before the
+curtain rose on the play!
+
+I loved her for it--we all loved her--and obeyed as far as possible. But
+one couldn't shut one's eyes to the Stars and Stripes that flapped on
+the marvellously ornate front of the old building--flapped like the
+wings of the American Eagle that has flown across the Atlantic to help
+save France.
+
+Jim--a son of the Eagle--who gave his life for this land and for
+liberty, would have felt proud of that flag, I think, if he could have
+seen it to-day: for because she is the adopted child of Washington,
+Noyon "stars" the emblem of her American mother. She hangs out no other
+flag--not even that of France--on the Hotel de Ville. Maybe she'll give
+her own colours a place there later, but at this moment the Star
+Spangled Banner floats alone in its glory.
+
+No nice, normal-minded person could remember, or morbidly want to
+remember, the name unkindly given by Julius Caesar to Noyon, when he had
+besieged it. I can imagine even Charlemagne waving that cumbrous label
+impatiently aside, though Noyon mixed with Laon was his first capital.
+"Noviodunum Belgarum it may have been" (I dare say he said). "But _I'm_
+going to call it Noyon!"
+
+He was crowned king of Austria in Noyon cathedral--an even older one
+than the cathedral of to-day, which the Germans have generously omitted
+to destroy, merely stealing all its treasures! But I feel sure he
+doesn't feel Austrian in these days, if he is looking down over the
+"Blessed Damosel's" shoulder, to see what's going on here below. He
+belonged really to the whole world. Why, didn't that fairy-story king,
+Haroun al Raschid, send him from Bagdad the "keys of the tomb of
+Christ," as Chief of the Christian World? They say his ghost haunts
+Noyon, and was always there whenever a king was crowned, or elected--as
+Hugh Capet was. Perhaps it may have been Charlemagne in the spirit who
+persuaded the Germans to their great retreat from the Noyon front this
+last spring of 1917!
+
+Coming into the _Place_, and stopping in front of the Hotel de Ville,
+gave me the oddest sense of unreality, because, when we were in Paris
+the other day, I saw the scene in a moving picture: the first joyful
+entry of the French soldiers into the town, when the Germans had cleared
+out. I could hardly believe that I wasn't just a figure flickering
+across a screen, and that the film wouldn't hurry me along somewhere
+else, whether I wanted to go or not.
+
+There were the venerable houses with the steep slate roofs, and
+singularly intelligent-looking windows, whose bright panes seemed to
+twinkle with knowledge of what they had seen during these dreadful
+eighteen months of German occupation. There were the odd, unfinished
+towers of the cruciform cathedral--quaint towers, topped with wood and
+pointed spirelets--soaring into the sky above the gray colony of
+clustered roofs. There was the cobbled pavement, glittering like masses
+of broken glass, after a shower of rain just past; and even more
+interesting than any of these was the fantastically carved facade of the
+Hotel de Ville, which has lured thousands of tourists to Noyon in days
+of peace. Who knows but they have been coming ever since 1532, when it
+was finished?
+
+At first sight, we should never have guessed what Noyon had suffered
+from the Germans. It was only after wandering through the splendid old
+cathedral of Notre-Dame, stripped of everything worth stealing, and
+going from street to street (we paused a long time in the one where
+Calvin was born, a disagreeable, but I suppose useful, man!) that we
+began to realize the slow torture inflicted by the Germans. Of course,
+"lessons" had to be taught. Rebellious persons had to be "punished."
+Nothing but justice had been done upon the unjust by their just
+conquerors. And oh, how thorough and painstaking they were in its
+execution!
+
+As they'd destroyed all surrounding cities and villages, they had to put
+the "evacuated" inhabitants somewhere (those they couldn't use as slaves
+to work in Germany), so they herded the people by the thousand into
+Noyon. That place had to be spared for the Germans themselves to live
+in, being bigger and more comfortable than others in the neighbourhood;
+so it was well to have as many of the conquered as possible interned
+under their own sharp eyes. Noyon was "home" to six thousand souls
+before the war. After the Germans marched in, it had to hold ten
+thousand. But a little more room in the houses was thriftily obtained by
+annexing all the furniture, even beds. Tables and chairs they took, too,
+and stoves, and cooking utensils, which left the houses conveniently
+empty, to be shared by families from Roye, and Nesle, and Ham, and
+Chauny--oh, so many other towns and hamlets, that one loses count in
+trying to remember!
+
+How the people lived, they hardly know now, in looking back, some of
+them told us, as we walked about with a French officer who was our
+guide. Eighteen months of it! Summer wasn't quite so bad. One can always
+bear hardships when weather, at least, is kind. But the winters! It is
+those winters that scarcely bear thinking of, even now.
+
+No lights were allowed after dark. All doors must be left open, for the
+German military police to walk in at any hour of the night, to see what
+mischief was brewing in the happy families caged together. There was no
+heating, and often no fire for cooking, consequently such food as there
+was had to be eaten cold. No nose must be shown out of doors unless with
+a special permit, so to speak, displayed on the end of it. Not that
+there was much incentive to go out, as all business was stopped, and all
+shops closed. Without "_le Comite Americain_," thousands would have
+starved, so it was lucky for Noyon that the United States was neutral
+then!
+
+We spent hours seeing things, and talking to people--old people, and
+children, and soldiers--each one with a new side of the great story to
+tell, as if each had been weaving a few inches of some wonderful,
+historic piece of tapestry, small in itself, but essential to the
+pattern. Then we started for home--I mean Compiegne--by a different way;
+the way of Carlepont, named after Charlemagne, because it is supposed
+that he was born there.
+
+The forest was even more lovable than before, a younger forest:
+fairy-like in beauty as a rainbow, in its splashed gold and red, and
+green and violet and orange of autumn. The violet was "atmosphere," but
+it was as much a part of the forest as the leaves, or the delicate
+trunks dim as ghosts in shadow, bright as organ-pipes where sun touched
+them. Out from the depths came sweet, mysterious breaths, and whispers
+like prophecies of peace. But to this region of romance there were sharp
+contrasts. Not even dreams have sharper ones! German trenches, chopped
+into blackened wastes that once were farmlands, and barbed wire
+wriggling like snake-skeletons across dreary fields.
+
+We got out of our cars, and went into the trenches, thinking thoughts
+unspeakable. Long ago as the Germans had vanished, and every corner had
+been searched, our officer warned us not to pick up "souvenirs." Some
+infernal machine might have been missed in the search and nothing was to
+be trusted--no, not even a bit of innocent-looking lead pencil.
+
+They were trenches made to live in, these! They had been walled with
+stones from ruined farmhouses. The "dug-outs" were super-dug-outs. We
+saw concealed cupolas for machine-guns, and "_les officiers boches_" had
+had a neat system of douches.
+
+There was no need to worry that Brian might stumble or fall in the
+slippery labyrinths we travelled, for he had Dierdre O'Farrell as guide.
+I'm afraid I knew what it was to be jealous: and this new gnawing pain
+is perhaps meant to be one of my punishments. Of course it's no more
+than I deserve. But that Brian should be chosen as the instrument, all
+unknowingly, and happily--that _hurts_!
+
+It was just as we were close to Compiegne, not twenty minutes (in motor
+talk) outside the town, that the "accident" happened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+At first it seemed an ordinary, commonplace accident. A loud report like
+a pistol shot: a flat tire down on our car: that was all.
+
+We stopped, and the little taxi-cab, tagging on behind like a small dog
+after a big one, halted in sympathy. Julian O'Farrell jumped out to help
+Morel, our one-legged chauffeur, as he always does if anything happens,
+just to remind the Becketts how kind and indispensable he is. We knew
+that we should be hung up for a good twenty minutes, so the whole party,
+with the exception of Mother Beckett and me, deserted the cars. Brian
+was with Dierdre. He had no need of his sister; so I was free to stop
+with the little old lady, who whispered in my ear that she was tired.
+
+Father Beckett and Julian watched Morel, giving him a word or a hand now
+and then. Dierdre and Brian sauntered away, deep in argument over Irish
+politics (it's come to that between them: and Dierdre actually _listens_
+to Brian!). Mother Beckett drifted into talk of Jim, as she loves to do
+with me, and I wandered, hand in hand with her, back into his childhood.
+Blue dusk was falling like a rain of dead violets--just that peculiar,
+faded blue; and as I was absorbed in the tale of a nursery fire (Jim, at
+six, playing the hero) I had no eyes for scenery. I was but vaguely
+aware that not far off loomed a gateway, adorned with a figure of the
+Virgin. A curving avenue led to shadowy, neglected lawns, dimly
+suggesting some faded romance of history.
+
+Presently, from between the open gates came a man in khaki, accompanied
+by a tall, slim, and graceful dog. It was he, not the man, that caught
+my eye and for an instant snatched my thought from Little Boy Jim
+rescuing a rocking-horse at the risk of his life. He was a police dog
+with the dignity of a prince and the lightness of a plume.
+
+"Lovely creature!" I said to myself, as he and the khaki man swung
+toward us down the road. And I wished that Brian could see him, for the
+dog Brian loved and lost at the Front was a Belgian police dog.
+
+Perhaps, Padre, Brian wrote you about his wonderful pet, that he thought
+worthy to name after the dog-star Sirius. I've forgotten to ask if he
+did write; but I seldom had a letter from him from the trenches that
+didn't mention Sirius. Everyone seemed to adore the dog, which developed
+into a regimental mascot. What his early history was can never be known:
+but Brian rescued him from a burning chateau in Belgium, just as Jim
+rescued the rocking-horse of Mother Beckett's nursery story, though with
+rather more risk! It was a chateau where some hidden tragedy must have
+been enacted, because the Germans took possession of it with the family
+still there--such of the family as wasn't fighting: two young married
+women, sisters, wives of brothers. But when the Germans ran before the
+British, and fired the chateau as they went, not a creature living or
+dead was left in the house--except the dog--and nothing has ever been
+heard of the sisters.
+
+The fire was raging so fiercely when Brian's regiment arrived that no
+one would have ventured into the house if a dog hadn't been heard to
+howl. You know how Brian loves dogs. When he found that the sound came
+from a certain room on the ground floor, he determined to get in
+somehow. Masses of ivy cloaked that side of the chateau. It was
+beginning to crackle with fire that flamed out from other windows, but
+Brian climbed the thick, rope-like stems, hundreds of years old, and
+smashed his way through the window. The room was filling with smoke. The
+dog's voice was choked. Brian's eyes streamed, but he wouldn't give up.
+Only by crawling along the floor under the smoke curtain could he get at
+the dog. Somebody had meant to murder the animal, for he had been
+chained to the leg of a table.
+
+Brian wrote that the dog realized his danger, and was grateful as a
+human being to his rescuer. His worship of Brian was pathetic. He seemed
+to care for no one else, though he was too fine a gentleman not to be
+polite to all--all, that is, except Germans. They never dared let him
+loose when prisoners were about. The sight of a gray-green uniform was
+to that dog what a red rag is to a bull. For him some horror was
+associated with it--a horror which must remain a mystery for us.
+
+The day Brian lost his eyesight he lost Sirius. When he came back to
+consciousness, only to learn that he was blind, his first thought was of
+his friend. No one knew what had happened to the dog. The chances seemed
+to be that the shell which had buried Brian had buried Sirius, too; but
+Brian wouldn't believe this. Somehow the dog would have contrived to
+escape. I had to promise that, whenever I happened to see a dark gray,
+almost black Belgian police dog of beautiful shape, I would call
+"Sirius" to see if he answered.
+
+More than once since this trip began I've called "Sirius!" to police
+dogs, not knowing whether they were Belgian, German, or Dutch, and they
+have answered only with glances of superb scorn. This time I hesitated.
+The mental picture I saw of myself--a vague young woman, seated in an
+automobile stranded by the roadside, trying to lure away the dog of a
+strange man--was disconcerting. While I debated whether to break my
+promise or behave like a wild school girl, the animal paused in his
+listless trot. He stopped, as if he'd been struck by an unseen bullet,
+quivered all over, and shot past us like a torpedo. A minute later I
+heard a tumultuous barking--a barking as if the gates of a dog's heaven
+had suddenly opened.
+
+I sprang up in the car, and turning round, knelt on the seat to see what
+was going on behind us. Far away were Brian and Dierdre. And oh, Padre,
+I can never dislike that girl again! I apologize for everything I ever
+said against her. She saw that great police dog making for blind Brian.
+And you know, a police dog can look formidable as a panther. She took no
+time to think, though the idea might have sprung to her mind that the
+creature was mad. She simply threw herself in front of Brian. It was an
+offer of her life for his.
+
+I could do nothing, of course. I was too far off. I'm not a screaming
+girl, but I'm afraid I did give a shriek, for Mother Beckett started up,
+and cried out: "What's the matter?"
+
+I didn't answer her. I hardly heard. I forgot everyone except Brian and
+that girl. It was only when the thing was over, and we were all talking
+at once, that I realized how the others had shared my fright.
+
+Perhaps Brian recognized the dog's bark at a distance, for he says a
+dog's voice is individual as a man's. Or his instinct--made magically
+keen by his blindness--told him in a flash of inspiration what his eyes
+couldn't see. Anyhow, he knew that Dierdre was in danger, and almost
+flung her behind him. He was just in time to save her from being thrown
+down by the dog, who hurled himself like a young avalanche at Brian. To
+those who had no clue to the truth, it must have seemed that the animal
+was mad. Julian, and Father Beckett, and the khaki man rushed to the
+rescue, only to see the dog and Brian in each other's arms, the creature
+licking Brian's face, laughing and crying at the same time--which you
+know, Padre, a dog frantic with joy at sight of a long-lost master can
+do perfectly well! It seems too melodramatic to be true, but it _is_
+true: the dog was Sirius.
+
+You'll think now that this is the "astonishing thing" which would--I
+said--have made this whole trip worth while. But no: the thing I meant
+has little or nothing to do with the finding of Sirius.
+
+Even Mother Beckett could sit still no longer. She had to be helped out
+of the car by me to join the group round Brian and the dog. She took my
+arm, and I matched my steps to her tiny trot, though I pined to sprint!
+We met Father Beckett coming back with apologies for his one minute of
+forgetfulness. The first time in years, I should think, that he had
+forgotten his wife for sixty whole seconds!
+
+"It's like something in a story or a play," he panted, out of breath.
+"This is Brian's lost dog. You've heard him talk of Sirius, my dear.
+There can be no doubt it's the same animal! The man who thought he was
+its master admits that. And _guess_ who he is--the man, not the dog."
+
+Mother Beckett reminded her husband that never had she succeeded in a
+guess. But she was saved trying by the arrival of the man in khaki who,
+having abandoned his dog--or being abandoned by it--had followed Mr.
+Beckett.
+
+"Why, Jack _Curtis_!" gasped the little old lady. "It can't be you!"
+
+"I guess it's nobody else," laughed a soldierly fellow, with the
+blackest eyes and whitest teeth imaginable. "I'm doing the war for the
+New York _Record_--staying here at the chateau of Royalieu with the
+British correspondents for the French front."
+
+I longed to get to Brian and be introduced to Sirius, but Mother Beckett
+caught my arm. "Mary, dear," she cooed, "I'd like you and Mr. Curtis to
+meet. Jack, this is Miss O'Malley, who would have been our Jim's wife if
+he'd lived. And Mary, this is one of Jim's classmates at college; a very
+good friend."
+
+The khaki young man (American khaki) held out his hand and I put mine
+into it. He stared at me--a pleasant, sympathetic, and not unadmiring
+stare--peering nearsightedly through the twilight.
+
+"So Jim found you again, after all?" he asked, in a quiet, low voice,
+not utterly unlike Jim's own. Men of the same university do speak alike
+all over the world.
+
+"I--don't quite understand," I stammered. When any sudden question about
+Jim is flung at me before his parents, I'm always a little scared!
+
+"Jim and I had a bet," Mr. Curtis explained, "that he couldn't travel
+_incog._, through Europe for a given length of time, in a big auto,
+doing himself well everywhere, without his real name coming out. He won
+the bet, but he told me--after he got over a bad dose of typhoid--that
+he'd lost the only girl he'd ever loved or could love--lost her through
+that da--that stupid bet. He described the girl. I guess there aren't
+two of her on earth!"
+
+"That's a mighty fine compliment, Molly!" said Father Beckett.
+
+Just then Brian called, and I wasn't sorry, for I couldn't find the
+right answer for the man who had separated Jim Beckett from me. It was
+all I could do to get my breath.
+
+"Why, of course, that's your brother! I might have known by the
+likeness. Gee, but it's great about the dog! No wonder it despised the
+name of 'Sherlock.' Rather a come-down from a star! There's a big story
+in this. Your party will have to dine with us correspondents, and talk
+things over. The crowd will be delighted. Say yes, Mrs. Beckett!"
+
+I heard no more, for I was on my way to Brian. But by the time I'd
+thanked Dierdre, been slightly snubbed by her, and successfully
+presented to Sirius, it was settled that we should spend our evening at
+Royalieu with the correspondents. The Beckett auto was ready, but the
+dog's joy was too big for the biggest car, so Brian and I walked to the
+chateau, and Jack Curtis with us, to exchange stories of _le grand chien
+policier_, late "Sherlock."
+
+Matching the new history on to the early mystery was like fitting in the
+lost bits of a jigsaw puzzle--bits which, when missing, left the picture
+void. Between Brian and the war correspondent the pattern came to life:
+but there's one piece in the middle which can never be restored. Only
+one person could supply that: a German officer, and he is no longer in
+this world.
+
+Jack Curtis found the police dog, badly wounded, at a place near
+Paschendaele, where the Germans had temporary headquarters and had been
+driven out after a fierce struggle. One of the dog's legs was broken,
+and blood had dried on his glossy coat, but he "registered delight" (as
+moving picture people say) when he limped out of a half-ruined house to
+welcome the rush of British khaki. The few inhabitants who had lived in
+the village through the German occupation, knew the dog as "Siegfried,"
+to which name he had obstinately refused to answer. His German master, a
+captain, whom he obeyed sullenly, always dragged him about in leash, as
+he never willingly kept at heel. Everyone wondered why the officer, who
+was far from lenient with his men, showed patience with the dog. But his
+orderly explained that Captain von Busche had picked up the starving
+animal weeks before, wandering about No Man's Land. The creature was
+valuable, and his dislike of the gray-green uniform had puzzled Von
+Busche. His failure to win the dog's affection piqued him, and in his
+blundering way he persevered. The people of the village were more
+successful. They made friends with "Siegfried," to Von Busche's
+annoyance; and a day or two before the hurried German retreat under
+bombardment, the dog was beaten for deserting his master to follow a
+little boy. The boy, too, was punished for his "impudence" in calling
+the dog. People were indignant, and there were secret murmurings about
+revenge.
+
+That night, however, Fate took the matter in hand. Precisely what
+happened is the bit that must remain missing in the puzzle. The dog
+slept in the room with his master, in a house where several young
+officers lived close to headquarters. All of them had been out playing
+cards at a tavern. Von Busche returned earlier than the rest. He was
+seen in the street the worse for drink. He went into the house, and must
+have gone to his room, where the police dog had been shut up for hours
+in disgrace. A moment later there was a yell, then a gurgling shriek.
+The neighbours listened--and shrugged their shoulders. The parents of
+the child who had been beaten by Von Busche lived next door. They heard
+sounds of a scuffle; furniture falling; faint groans and deep growls.
+Lips dared not speak, but eyes met and said: "The dog's done what we
+couldn't do."
+
+Silence had fallen long before Von Busche's fellow officers came home;
+such silence as that town knew, where bombardment ceased not by day or
+night. Before dawn, a bomb fell on the roof of the house, which till
+then had never been touched, and the officers all scuttled out to save
+themselves; all but Von Busche. Whether in the confusion he was
+forgotten, or whether it was thought he had not come home, no one could
+tell. He was not seen again till after the Germans had packed up in
+haste and decamped, which they did a few hours later, leaving the
+townsfolk to shelter in cellars. It was only when the British arrived,
+and Siegfried limped out from the battered house, that the dog's
+existence was recalled--and the sounds in the night. Then the house was
+searched, and Von Busche's body found, half buried under fallen tiles
+and plaster. There were wounds in his throat, however, not to be
+accounted for by the accident. The dog's broken leg was also a mystery.
+"I had the poor boy mended up by a jolly good surgeon," Jack Curtis
+finished his story. "He's as sound as ever now. He attached himself to
+me from the first, as if he knew he had to thank me for his cure, but he
+wasn't enthusiastic. I couldn't flatter myself that I was loved! I had
+the idea I wasn't what he wanted--that he'd like to tell me what he
+_did_ want, and politely bid me good-bye forever."
+
+"You don't know where Von Busche got hold of the dog, do you?" Brian
+asked.
+
+"Only what his orderly told people, that it was in Flanders, close to
+some ruined, burnt-up chateau that he could hardly be forced to leave,
+though he was starving."
+
+"I thought he'd get back there!" Brian said. "As for Von Busche--I
+wonder--but no! If it had been he the first time, would the dog have
+waited all those weeks for his revenge?"
+
+"I don't understand," said the war correspondent.
+
+"I don't myself," answered Brian. "But maybe the dog will manage to make
+me, some day. I was thinking--how I found him, tied to a table in a
+burning room. If Von Busche---- But anyhow, Sirius, you're no assassin!
+At worst, you're an avenger."
+
+The dog leaped upon Brian at sound of the remembered name. Odd that
+three of his names, chosen by different men, should begin with "S"!
+
+He's going to be an exciting passenger for the Becketts' car I foresee.
+But Brian can make him do anything, even to keeping quiet. And the trip
+can't go on a step without him now!
+
+I felt that Jack Curtis had been hoping for a chance to speak with me
+alone--about Jim. But there was no such chance then. We were met by two
+of the British correspondents, and a French officer with a very high and
+ancient title, who was playing host (for France) to the newspaper men in
+this old chateau, once a convent. You see, the two cars had shot past as
+we walked; and by the time we reached the door preparations were being
+made for an impromptu party.
+
+Never was a dinner so good, it seemed, and never was talk so absorbing.
+Some of it concerned an arch of honour or a statue to be placed over the
+spot where the first men of the American army fell in France: at
+Bethelmont; some concerned a road whose construction is being planned--a
+sacred road through Belgium and France, from the North Sea to Alsace; a
+road to lead pilgrims past villages and towns destroyed by Germany.
+This, according to the correspondents who were full of the idea, doesn't
+mean that the devastation isn't ultimately to be repaired. The proposal
+is, to leave in each martyred place a memorial for the eyes of coming
+generations: a ruined church; a burned chateau; the skeleton of an
+_hotel de ville_, or a wrecked factory; a mute appeal to all the world:
+"This was war, as the Germans made it. In the midst of peace,
+Remember!"
+
+Beneath my interest in the talk ran an undercurrent of my own private
+thought, which was not of the future, but of the past. I'd begun to
+wonder why I had been afraid of Jack Curtis. Instead of dreading words
+with him alone, I wished for them now.
+
+After dinner I had but a few minutes to wait. When I'd refused coffee,
+he, too, refused, and made an excuse to show me a room of which the
+correspondents were fond--a room full of old trophies of the forest
+hunt.
+
+"Did you notice at dinner how I kept trying to get a good look at your
+left hand?" Curtis asked.
+
+"No," I answered, "I didn't notice that."
+
+"I'm glad. I was scared you'd think me cheeky. Yet I couldn't resist. I
+wanted to see whether Jim had given you _the_ ring."
+
+"The ring?" I echoed.
+
+"The ring of our bet, the year before the war: the bet you knew about,
+that kept you two apart till Jim came over to France this second time."
+
+"Yes--I knew about the bet," I said, "but not the ring. I--I haven't an
+engagement ring."
+
+"Queer!" Jack Curtis puzzled out aloud. "It was a race between Jim and
+me which should get that ring at an antique shop, when we both heard of
+its history. He could afford to bid higher, so he secured it. Not that
+he was selfish! But he said he wanted the ring in case he met his ideal
+and got engaged to her. If he'd lost the bet the ring would have been
+mine. If he didn't give it to you, I wonder what's become of the thing?
+Perhaps his mother knows. Did she ever speak to you about Jim bringing
+home a quaint old ring from France, that time after his fever--a ring
+supposed to have belonged to the most beautiful woman of her day, the
+Italian Countess Castiglione, whom Louis Napoleon loved?"
+
+"No," I said. "He can't have given the ring to his mother, or she would
+have told me about it, I'm sure. She's always talking of him."
+
+"Perhaps it was stolen or lost," Curtis reflected. "Yet I don't feel as
+if that had happened, somehow! I trust my feelings a good
+deal--especially since this war, that's made us all a bit psychic--don't
+you?"
+
+"I have too many feelings to trust half of them!" I tried to laugh.
+
+"Have you ever had one, I wonder, like mine, about Jim? Dare I speak to
+you of this?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Well--I wouldn't dare to his mother. Or even to the old man."
+
+"You _must_ speak now, please, Mr. Curtis, to me!"
+
+"It's this; have you ever had the feeling that Jim may be alive?"
+
+We were standing. I caught at the back of a chair. Things whirled for an
+instant. Then I gathered my wits together. "I haven't let myself feel
+it," I said. "And yet, in a way, I _always_ feel it. I mean, I seem to
+feel--his thoughts round us. But that's because we speak and think of
+him almost every moment of the day, his father and mother and I. There
+can be no doubt--can there?"
+
+"Others have come back from the dead since this war. Why not Jim
+Beckett?"
+
+"They said they had--found his body."
+
+"Oh, they _said_! Germans say a lot of things. But for the Lord's sake,
+Miss O'Malley, don't let's upset those poor old people with any such
+hope. I've only my feeling--and other people's stories of escape--to go
+upon. I spoke to you, because I guess you've got a strong soul, and can
+stand shocks. Besides, you told me I must speak. I had to obey."
+
+"Thank you for obeying," I said. And just then someone came into the
+room.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now, Padre, I have told you the _great thing_. What does it matter what
+happens to me, if only Jack Curtis's "feeling" comes true?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+It is two days since I wrote, Padre; and I have come back to Compiegne
+from a world of unnatural silence and desolation. Day before yesterday
+it was Roye and Nesle; the Chateau of Ham; Jussy, Chauny and Prince
+Eitel Friedrich's pavilion. To-morrow we hope to start for Soissons.
+
+Yesterday we rested, because Mother Beckett had a shocking headache.
+(Oh, it was pathetic and funny, too, what she said when we slipped back
+into Compiegne at night! "Isn't it a comfort, Molly, to see a place
+again where there are _whole_ houses?") After Soissons we shall return
+to Compiegne and then go to Amiens with several of the war
+correspondents, who have their own car. Women aren't allowed, as a rule,
+to see anything of the British front, but it's just possible that Father
+Beckett can get permission for his wife to venture within gazing
+distance. Of course, she can't--or thinks she can't--stir without me!
+
+We took still another road to Noyon (one must pass through Noyon going
+toward the front, if one keeps Compiegne for one's headquarters) and the
+slaughter of trees was the wickedest we'd seen: a long avenue of kind
+giants murdered, and orchards on both sides of it. The Germans, it
+seems, had circular saws, worked by motors, on purpose to destroy the
+large trees in a hurry. They didn't protect their retreat by barring
+the road with the felled trunks. They left most of the martyrs standing,
+their trunks so nearly sawed through that a wind would have blown them
+down. The pursuing armies had to finish the destruction to protect
+themselves. Farms were exterminated all along the way; and little
+hamlets--nameless for us--were heaps of blackened brick and stone,
+mercifully strewn with flowers like old altars to an unforgotten god.
+
+Roye was the first big place on our road. It used to be rich, and its
+4,000 inhabitants traded in grain and sugar. How the very name brought
+back our last spring joy in reading news of the recapture! "Important
+Victory. Roye Retaken." It was grandly impressive in ruin, especially
+the old church of St. Pierre, whose immense, graceful windows used to be
+jewelled with ancient glass that people came from far away to see.
+
+Jim had written his mother about that glass, consequently she _would_
+get out of the car to climb (with my help and her husband's) over a pile
+of fallen stones like a petrified cataract, which leads painfully up to
+the desecrated and pillaged high altar. I nearly sprained my ankle in
+getting to one of the windows, under which my eyes had caught the glint
+of a small, sparkling thing: but I had my reward, for the sparkling
+thing was a lovely bit of sapphire-blue glass from the robe of some
+saint, and the little lady was grateful for the gift as if it had been a
+real jewel--indeed, more grateful. "I'll keep it with my souvenirs of
+Jim," she said, "for his eyes have looked on it: and it's just the
+colour of yours which he loved. He'd be pleased that you found it for
+me." (Ah, if she knew! I can't help praying that she never may know,
+though such prayers from me are almost sacrilege.)
+
+A little farther on--as the motor, not the crow, flies--we came to
+Nesle, or what once was Nesle. The ghost of the twelfth-century church
+looms in skeleton form above one more Pompeii among the many forced by
+the Germans upon France: but save for that towering relic of the past
+there's little left of this brave town of the Somme, which was historic
+before the thirteenth century. It gave its name to a famous fighting
+family of feudal days: and through the last heiress of the line--a
+beauty and a "catch"--a certain Seigneur de Nesle became Regent of
+France, in the second Crusade of Louis XII--"Saint Louis." Later ladies
+of the line became dear friends of another Louis, fifteenth of the name,
+who was never called saint. Not far from Nesle, Henry V of England
+crossed the Somme and won the Battle of Agincourt. But now, the greatest
+dramatic interest is concentrated in the cemetery!
+
+We had heard of it at Compiegne and the wild things that had happened
+there: so after a look at the ruined church, and the once charming
+_Place_, we went straight to the town burial-place, and our unofficial
+guide was the oldest man I ever saw. He had lurked rather than lived,
+through months of German barbarity at Nesle, guarding a bag of money
+he'd hidden underground. An officer from Noyon was with us; but he had
+knowledge of the ancient man--a great character--and bade him tell us
+the tale of the graveyard. He obeyed with unction and with gestures like
+lightning as it flashes across a night sky. The looks his old eyes
+darted forth as he talked might have struck a live German dead.
+
+"The animals! What do you think they did when they were masters here?"
+he snarled. "Ah, you do not know the Boches as we learned to know them,
+so you would never guess. They opened our tombs, the vaults of
+distinguished families of France. They broke the coffins and stole the
+rings from skeleton fingers. They left the bones of our ancestors, and
+of our friends whose living faces we could remember, scattered over the
+ground, as if to feed the dogs. In our empty coffins they placed their
+own dead. On the stone or marble of monuments they cut away the names of
+those whose sacred sleep they had disturbed. Instead, they inscribed the
+disgusting names of their Boche generals and colonels. Where they could
+not change the inscriptions they destroyed the tombstones and set up
+others. You will see them now. But wait--you have not heard all yet. Far
+from that! When the Tommies came to Nesle--your English Tommies--they
+did not like what the Boches had done to our cemetery. They said
+things--strong things! And while they were hot with anger they knocked
+the hideous new monuments about. They could not bear to see them mark
+the stolen graves. The little crosses that showed where simple soldiers
+lay, those they did not touch. It was only the officers' tombs they
+spoiled. I will show you what they did."
+
+We let him hobble ahead of us into the graveyard. He led us past the
+long rows of low wooden crosses with German names on them, the crosses
+with British names--(good, sturdy British names: "Hardy," "Kemp,"
+"Logan," "Wilding," planted among flowers of France)--and paused in the
+aristocratic corner of the city of the dead. Once, this had been the
+last earthly resting-place of old French families, or of the rich whose
+relatives could afford expensive monuments. But the war had changed all
+that. German names had replaced the ancient French ones on the vaults,
+as German corpses had replaced French bodies in the coffins. Stone and
+marble monuments had been recarved, or new ones raised. There were
+roughly cut figures of German colonels and majors and captains. This
+rearrangement was what the "Tommies" had "not liked." They liked it so
+little that they chopped off stone noses and faces; they threw red ink,
+brighter than blood, over carved German uniforms, and neatly chipped
+away the counterfeit presentment of iron crosses. In some cases, also,
+they purified the vaults of German bones and gave back in exchange such
+French ones as they found scattered. They wrote in large letters on
+tombstones, "_Boch no bon_," and other illiterate comments unflattering
+to the dead usurpers; all of which, our old man explained, mightily
+endeared the Atkinses to the returning inhabitants of Nesle.
+
+"Those brave Tommies are gone now," he sighed, "but they left their dead
+in our care. You see those flowers on their graves? It is we who put
+them there, and the children tend them every day. If you come back next
+year, it will be the same. We shall not forget."
+
+"A great statesman paid us a visit not long after Nesle was liberated,"
+our officer guide took up the story. "He had heard what the Tommies did,
+and he was not quite sure if they were justified. 'After all, German or
+not German, a tomb is a tomb, and the dead are dead,' he argued. But
+when he saw the cemetery of another place not far away, where the bodies
+of Frenchmen--yes, and women and little babies!--still lay where Germans
+had thrown them in stealing their graves, the grand old man's blood
+rushed to his head. He was no longer uncertain if the Tommies were
+right. He was certain they had done well; and in his red rage he, with
+his own hands, tore down thirty of the lying tombstones."
+
+Oh, the silence of these dead towns that the Germans have killed with
+bombs and burning! _You_ know what it is like, Padre, because you have
+passed behind the veil and have knowledge beyond our dreaming: but to me
+it is a _triste revelation_. I never realized before what the words
+"dead silence" could mean. It is a silence you _hear_. It cries out as
+the loudest voice could not cry. It makes you listen--listen for the
+pleasant, homely sounds you've always associated with human habitations:
+the laughter of girls, the shouts of schoolboys, the friendly barking of
+dogs. But you listen in vain. You wonder if you are deaf--if other
+people are hearing what you cannot hear: and then you see on each face
+the same blank, listening look that must be on your own. I think a night
+at Chauny, or Jussy, might drive a weak woman mad. But--I haven't come
+to Chauny or Jussy yet! After Nesle we arrived at Ham, with its canal
+and its green, surrounding marshes.
+
+Ham has ceased to be silent. There are some houses left, and to those
+houses people have come back. Shops have reopened, as at Noyon, where
+the French Government has advanced money to the business men. We drove
+into the town of Ham (what is left of it!) just as we were hating
+ourselves for being hungry. It is sordid and dreadful to be hungry in
+the midst of one's rage and grief and pity--to want to eat in a place
+like Ham, where one should wish to absorb nothing but history; yet our
+officer guide, who has helped make a good deal of history since 1914,
+seemed to think lunching quite as important as sightseeing. In a
+somewhat battered square, busy with reopening shops (some of them most
+_quaint_ shops, with false hair as a favourite display!) was a hotel.
+The Germans had lived in it for months. They had bullied the very old,
+very vital landlady who welcomed us. Their boots had worn holes in the
+stair carpet, going up and down in a goose-step. Their elbows had
+polished the long table in the dining room, and--oh, horror!--their
+mouths had drunk beer from glasses in which the good wine of France was
+offered to us!
+
+"Ah, but I have scrubbed the goblets since with a fortune's worth of
+soda," the woman volubly explained. "They are purified. If I could wash
+away as easily the memories behind my eyes and in my ears! Of them I
+cannot get rid. Whenever I see an automobile, yes, even the most
+innocent automobile, I live again through a certain scene! We had here
+at Ham an invalid woman, whose husband the Boches took out and shot.
+When she heard the news, she threw herself under one of their military
+cars and was killed. If a young girl passes my windows (alas, it is
+seldom! the Germans know why) I see once more a procession of girls
+lined up to send into slavery. God knows where they are now, those
+children! All we know is, that in this country there is not a girl left
+of an age between twelve and twenty, unless she was hidden or disguised
+when the Boches took their toll. If I hear a sound of bells, I see our
+people being herded into church--our old, old church, with its proud
+monuments!--so their houses might be burned before the Germans had to
+run. They stayed in the church for days and nights, waiting for the
+chateau to be blown up. What a suspense! No one knew if the great shock,
+when it came, might not kill everyone!"
+
+As she exploded reminiscences, the old lady fed us with ham and omelette
+salted with tears. We had to eat, or hurt her feelings, but it was as if
+we swallowed the poor creature's emotion with our food, and the effect
+within was dynamic. I never had such a volcanic meal! Our French officer
+was the only calm one among us, but--he had been stationed in this
+liberated region for months. It's an old story for him.
+
+After luncheon we staggered away to see the great sight of Ham, the
+fortress-chateau which has given it history and fame for centuries. The
+Germans blew up the citadel out of sheer spite, as the vast pink pile
+long ago ceased to be of military value. They wished to show their power
+by ruining the future of the town, which lived on its _monument
+historique_: but (as often happens with their "frightfulness") that
+object was just the one they failed in. I can't believe that the castle
+of Ham was as striking in its untouched magnificence as now in the
+rose-red splendour of its ruin!
+
+To be sure, the guardians can never again show precisely where Joan of
+Arc was imprisoned, or the rooms where Louis Napoleon lived through his
+six years of captivity, or the little garden he used to cultivate, or
+the way he passed to escape over the drawbridge, dressed as a mason,
+with a plank on his shoulder. But the glorious old tower or donjon still
+stands, one hundred feet high and one hundred feet wide. German
+gunpowder was too weak to bring it down, and so perhaps the prophecy of
+the Comte de St. Pol, builder of the fortress, may be fulfilled--that
+while France stands, the tower of Ham's citadel will stand. Thousands
+more pilgrims will come in a year, after the war, to see what the
+Germans did and what they failed to do, than ever came in the mild,
+prosperous days before 1914, when Ham's best history was old. They will
+come and gaze at the massive bulk--red always as if reflecting sunset
+light--looming against the blue; they will peer down into dusky dungeons
+underground: and the new guardian (a mutilated soldier he'll be,
+perhaps, decorated with the _croix de guerre_) will tell them about the
+girl of Ham who lured a German officer to a death-trap in a secret
+_oubliette_, "where 'tis said his body lies to-day." Then they will
+stand under the celebrated old tree in the courtyard, unhurt by the
+explosion, and take photographs of the chateau the Germans have
+unwittingly made more beautiful than before.
+
+"_Mon mieux_" was the motto St. Pol carved over the gateway; "Our worst"
+is the taunt the Germans have flung. But the combination of that best
+and worst is glorious to the eye.
+
+From Ham we spun on to Jussy, along the new white road which is so
+amazing when one thinks that every yard of it had to be created out of
+chaos a few months ago. (They say that some sort of surface was given
+for the army to pass over in three days' work!) At Jussy we came close
+to the _real_ front--closer than we've been yet, except when we went to
+the American trenches. The first line was only three miles away, and the
+place is under bombardment, but this was what our guide called a "quiet
+day," so there was only an occasional mumble and boom. The town was
+destroyed, wiped almost out of existence, save for heaps of rubble which
+might have been houses or hills. But there were things to be seen which
+would have made Jussy worth a long journey. It had been a prosperous
+place, with one of the biggest sugar refineries in France, and the
+wrecked _usine_ was as terrible and thrilling as the moon seen through
+the biggest telescope in the world.
+
+Not that it looked like the moon. It looked more like a futurist sketch,
+in red and brown, of the heart of a cyclone; or of the inside of a
+submarine that has rammed a skeleton ship on the stocks. But the sight
+gave me the same kind of icy shock I had when I first saw the moon's
+ravaged face through a huge telescope. _You_ took me, Padre, so you'll
+remember.
+
+If you came to Jussy, and didn't know about the war, you'd think you had
+stumbled into hell--or else that you were having a nightmare and
+couldn't wake up. I shall never forget a brobdingnagian boiler as big as
+a battle tank, that had reared itself on its hind-legs to peer through a
+_cheval de frise_ of writhing girders--tortured girders like a vast
+wilderness of immense thorn bushes in a hopeless tangle, or a pit of
+bloodstained snakes. The walls of the _usine_ have simply melted, and
+it's hard to realize that it as a building, put up by human hands for
+human uses, ever existed. There is a new Jussy, though, created since
+the German retreat; and seeing it, you couldn't _help_ knowing that
+there was a war! The whole landscape is full of cannon, big and little
+and middle-sized. Queer mushroom buildings have sprung up, for officers'
+and soldiers' barracks and canteens. Narrow plank walks built high above
+mud-level--"duck boards," I think they're called--lead to the corrugated
+iron, tin, and wooden huts. There are aerodromes and aerodromes like a
+vast circus encampment, where there are not cannon; and the greenish
+canvas roofs give the only bit of colour, as far as the eye can
+see--unless one counts the soldiers' uniforms. All the rest is gray as
+the desert before a dust-storm. Even the sky, which had been blue and
+bright, was gray over Jussy, and the grayest of gray things were the
+immense "_saucisses_"--three or four of them--hanging low under the
+clouds like advertisements of titanic potatoes, haughtiest of war-time
+vegetables.
+
+Dierdre O'Farrell inadvertently called the big bulks "_saucissons_,"
+which amused our officer guide so much that he laughed to tears. The
+rest of us were able to raise only a faint smile, and we felt his
+disappointment at our lack of humour.
+
+"Ah, but it is most _funny!_" he said. "I will tell everyone. In future
+they shall for us be '_saucissons_' forever. I suppose it is not so
+funny for you, because the sight of these dead towns has made you sad. I
+am almost afraid to take you on to Chauny. You will be much sadder
+there. Chauny is the sight most pitiful of all. Would you perhaps wish
+to avoid it?"
+
+"What about you, Mother?" Father Beckett wanted to know.
+
+But Mother had no wish to avoid Chauny. She was not able to believe that
+anything could be sadder than Roye, or Nesle, or Ham, or more grim than
+Jussy.
+
+"He doesn't want to take us to Chauny," Brian whispered to me. We were
+all grouped together near the cars, with Sirius, a quiet, happy dog.
+"He's trying to think up a new excuse to get out of it."
+
+I glanced at our guide. It was _like_ Brian to have guessed what we
+hadn't seen! Now I was on the alert, the clear-cut French face _did_
+look nonplussed; and a nervous brown hand was tugging at a smart black
+moustache.
+
+"Is there any reason why you think it would be better for us not to go
+there?" I decided to ask frankly.
+
+"It's getting rather late," he suggested, in his precise English. "You
+have also the Pavilion of Prince Eitel Fritz before you. If it grows too
+dark, you cannot see St. Quentin well, in the distance, and the glasses
+will be of no use for Soissons."
+
+"But we're _going_ to Soissons day after to-morrow!" said Father
+Beckett.
+
+"And there'll be a moon presently," added Dierdre. She had heard of the
+ruined convent at Chauny and was determined not to miss it.
+
+"Yes, there'll be a moon," reluctantly admitted Monsieur le Lieutenant.
+
+"Is there still another reason?" I tried to help him.
+
+"Well, yes, there is one, Mademoiselle," he blurted out. "I had meant
+not to mention it. But perhaps it is best to tell, and then you may all
+choose whether you go to Chauny or not. There is a certain risk at this
+time of day, or a little later. You know we are close to the front here,
+and enemy aeroplanes fly nearly every afternoon over Chauny toward dusk.
+They hope to catch some important personage, and they come expressly to
+'spot' automobiles. The road through the ruined town is white and new,
+and the gray military cars in which we bring visitors to the front stand
+out clearly, especially as twilight falls. I'm afraid we have lingered
+too long in some of these places. If we were a party of men, I should
+say nothing, but with three ladies----"
+
+"I can answer for all three, Monsieur," said Mother Beckett, with a
+pathetically defiant tilt of her small chin.
+
+"My son, you know, was a soldier. We have come to this part of the world
+to see what we can do for the people in honour of his memory. So we
+mustn't leave Chauny out."
+
+"Madame, there are no people there, for there are no houses. There are
+but a few soldiers with an anti-aircraft gun."
+
+"We must see what can be done about building up some of the houses so
+the people can come back," persisted the old lady, with that gentle
+obstinacy of hers.
+
+The French officer made no more objections; and knowing his wife, I
+suppose Father Beckett felt it useless to offer any. We started at once
+for Chauny: in fact, we flew along the road almost as fast--it
+seemed--as enemy aeroplanes could fly along the sky if they pursued. But
+we had a long respite still before twilight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+Our guide was right. Chauny was sadder than the rest, because there had
+been more of beauty to ruin. And it was ruined cruelly, completely! Even
+Gerbeviller, in Lorraine, had been less sad than this--less sad because
+of Soeur Julie, and the quarter on the hill which her devotion saved;
+less sad, because of the American Red Cross reconstruction centre, for
+the fruit trees. Here there had been no Soeur Julie, no reconstruction
+centre yet. The Germans, when they knew they had to go, gave three weeks
+to their wrecking work. They sent off, neatly packed, all that was worth
+sending to Germany. They measured the cellars to see what quantity of
+explosives would be needed to blow up the houses. Then they blew them
+up, making their quarters meanwhile at a safe distance, in the convent.
+As for that convent--you will see what happened there when the Boches
+had no further use for it!
+
+In happy days before the war, whose joys we took comfortably for
+granted, Chauny had several chateaux of beauty and charm. It had pretty
+houses and lots of fine shops and a park. It was proud of its _mairie_
+and church and great _usine_ (now a sight of horror), and the newer
+parts of the town did honour to their architects. But--Chauny was on the
+direct road between Cologne and Paris. Nobody thought much about this
+fact then, except that it helped travel and so was good for the
+country. It is only now that one knows what a price Chauny paid for the
+advantage. Instead of a beautiful town there remains a heap of cinders,
+with here and there a wrecked facade of pitiful grace or broken dignity
+to tell where stood the proudest buildings.
+
+The sky was empty of enemy 'planes; but our guide hurried us through the
+town, where the new road shone white in contrast with our cars; and
+having hidden the autos under a group of trees outside, led us on foot
+toward the convent. The approach was exquisite: a long, long avenue of
+architectural elms, arbour-like in shade, once the favourite evening
+promenade of Chauny. That tunnel of emerald and gold would have been an
+interlude of peace between two tragedies--tragedy of the town, tragedy
+of the convent--if the ground hadn't been strewn with torn papers, like
+leaves scattered by the wind: official records flung out of strong boxes
+by ruthless German hands, poor remnants no longer of value, and saved
+from destruction only by the kindly trees, friends of happy memories.
+"The Boches didn't take time to spoil this avenue," said our officer.
+"They liked it while they lived in the convent; and they left in a
+hurry."
+
+Just beyond the avenue lies the convent garden; and though it is autumn,
+when we stepped into that garden we stepped into an oasis of
+old-fashioned, fragrant flowers, guarded by delicate trees, gentle as
+the vanished Sisters and their flock of young girl pupils; sweet, small
+trees, bending low as if to shield the garden's breast from harm.
+
+I wish when Chauny is rebuilt this convent might be left as a _monument
+historique_, for, ringed by its perfumed pleasance, it is a glimpse of
+"fairylands forlorn."
+
+One half believes there must have been some fairy charm at work which
+kept the fire-breathing German dragon from laying this garden waste when
+he was forced out of his stolen lair in the convent! Little remains of
+the house, and in the rubbish heap of fallen walls and beams and
+plaster, narrow iron bedsteads, where nuns slept or young girls dreamed,
+perch timidly among stones and blackened bricks. But in the garden all
+is flowery peace: and the chapel, though ruined, is a strange vision of
+beauty framed in horror.
+
+Not that the Germans were merciful there. They burned and blew up all
+that would burn or blow up. The roof fell, and heaped the floor with
+wreckage; but out of that wreckage, as out of a troubled sea, rise two
+figures: St. Joseph, and an almost life-size, painted statue of the
+Virgin. There the two stand firmly on their pedestals, their faces
+raised to God's roof of blue, which never fails. Because their eyes are
+lifted, they do not see the flotsam and jetsam of shattered stained
+glass, burnt woodwork, smashed benches, broken picture-frames and torn,
+rain-blurred portraits of lesser saints. They seem to think only of
+heaven.
+
+Though I'm not a Catholic, the chapel gave me such a sense of sacredness
+and benediction that I felt I must be there alone, if only for a moment.
+So when our officer led the others out I stayed behind. A clear ray of
+late sunshine slanted through a broken window set high in a side wall,
+to stream full upon the face of the Virgin. Someone had crowned her with
+a wreath of fresh flowers, and had thrust a few white roses under the
+folded hands which seemed to clasp them lovingly, with a prayer for the
+peace of the world. The dazzling radiance brought face and figure to
+life; and it was as if a living woman had taken the statue's place on
+the pedestal. The effect was so startling that, if I were a Catholic, I
+might have believed in a miracle. Protestant as I am, I had the impulse
+to pray: but--(I don't know, Padre, if I have ever told you this)--I've
+not dared to pray properly since I first stole the Becketts' love for
+Brian and me. I've not dared, though never in my life have I so needed
+and longed for prayer.
+
+This time I couldn't resist, unworthy as I am. The smile of peace and
+pardon on the statue's illumined face seemed to make all sin forgivable
+in this haunt of holy dreams. "God forgive me, and show me how to
+atone," I sent my plea skyward. Suddenly the conviction came that I
+_should_ be shown a way of atonement, though it might be hard. I felt
+lighter of heart, and went on to pray that Jack Curtis's hope might be
+justified: that, no matter what happened to me, or even to Brian, Jim
+Beckett might be alive, in this world, and come back safely to his
+parents.
+
+While I prayed, a sound disturbed the deep silence. It was a far-away
+sound, but quickly it grew louder and drew nearer: at first a buzzing as
+of all the bees in France mobilized in a bee-barrage. Then the buzzing
+became a roar. I knew directly what it was: enemy aeroplanes.
+
+I could not see them yet, but they must be close. If they were flying
+very low, to search Chauny for visitors, I might be seen if I moved.
+Those in the garden were better off than I, for they were screened by
+the trees, but trying to join them I might attract attention to myself.
+
+As I thought this, I wondered why I didn't decide upon the thing most
+likely to solve all my problems at once. If I were killed, Brian would
+grieve: but he had the Becketts to love and care for him, and--he had
+Dierdre: no use disguising that fact from my intelligence, after the
+episode of the dog! What a chance for me to disappear, having done for
+Brian all I could do! Oh, why didn't I add another prayer to my last,
+and beg God to let me die that minute?
+
+I'll tell you why I did not pray this, Padre, and why, instead of trying
+to expose my life, I wished--almost unconsciously--to save it. I hardly
+realized why then, but I do realize now. It is different in these days
+from that night in Paris, when I wished I might be run over by a
+motor-car. At that time I should have been glad to die. Now I cling to
+life--not just because I'm young and strong, and people call me
+beautiful, but because I feel I _must_ stay in the world to see what
+happens next.
+
+I kept as still as a frightened mouse. I didn't move. I scarcely
+breathed. Presently an aeroplane sailed into sight directly overhead,
+and flying so low that I could make out its iron cross, exactly like
+photographs I'd seen. Whether the men in it could see me or not I can't
+tell; but if they could, perhaps they mistook me for one of the statues
+they knew existed in the ruined chapel, and thought I wasn't worth
+bombing.
+
+In that case it was St. Joseph and the Virgin who protected me!
+
+In a second the big bird of prey had swept on. I was sick with fear for
+a moment lest it should drop an "egg" on to the garden, and kill Brian
+or the Becketts, or the lieutenant who had wished to spare us this
+danger. Even the O'Farrells I didn't want hurt; and I was pleased to
+find out that about myself, because they are a far more constant danger
+for me than all the aeroplanes along the German front; and when I came
+face to face with realities in my own soul, I might have discovered a
+wicked desire for them to be out of the way at any price. But since
+Dierdre proved herself ready to die for Brian, I do admire if I don't
+like her. As for Julian--would it be possible, Padre, to miss a person
+you almost hate? Anyhow, when I tried to imagine how I should feel if I
+went back to the garden and saw him dead, I grew quite giddy and ill.
+How queer we are, we human things!
+
+But no one was hurt. The whole party hid under the trees; and as the
+cars were also hidden at a distance, the German fliers turned tail,
+disappointed; besides, the anti-aircraft gun which we'd been told about,
+and had seen on our way to the convent, was potting away like mad, so it
+wasn't healthful for aeroplanes to linger merely "on spec."
+
+Mother Beckett was pale and trembling a little, but she said that she
+had been too anxious about me, in my absence, to think of herself, which
+was perhaps a good thing. I noticed, when I joined them in the garden,
+after the roar had changed again to a buzz, that Dierdre stood close to
+Brian, and that his hand was on her shoulder, her hand on Sirius's
+beautiful head. Yet I felt too strangely happy to be jealous. I suppose
+it must have been through my prayer--or the answer to it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When all was clear and the danger over (our guide said that the "birds"
+never made more than one tour of inspection in an afternoon) we started
+off again. Father Beckett suggested that his wife had better go home and
+rest, but she wouldn't hear of it. And when we reached a turning of the
+road which would lead us to Coucy-le Chateau, it was she who begged our
+lieutenant to let us run along that way, "just far enough for a glimpse,
+a _tiny_ glimpse."
+
+"My son wrote me it was the most wonderful old chateau in France," she
+pleaded. "I've got in my pocket now a snapshot he sent me."
+
+The Frenchman couldn't resist. You know how charming the French are to
+old ladies. "It isn't as safe as--as the Bank of England!" he laughed.
+"Sometimes they keep this road rather hot. But to-day, I have told you,
+things are quiet all along. We will take what Madame calls a tiny
+glimpse."
+
+Orders were given to our chauffeur. Brian was with the O'Farrells,
+coming on behind, and of course the Red Cross taxi followed at our heels
+like a faithful dachshund. Our big car flew swiftly, and the little one
+did its jolting best to keep up the pace, for time wouldn't wait for
+us--and these autumn days are cutting themselves short.
+
+Presently we saw a thing which proved that the road was indeed "hot"
+sometimes: a neat, round shell-hole, which looked ominously new! We
+swung past it with a bump, and flashed into sight of a ruin which
+dwarfed all others we had seen--yes, dwarfed even cathedrals! A long
+line of ramparts rising from a high headland of gray-white
+chalk-ramparts crowned with broken, round towers, which the sun was
+painting with heraldic gold: the stump of a tremendous keep that reared
+its bulk like a giant in his death struggle, for a last look over his
+shield of shattered walls. This was what German malice had made of
+Coucy, pride of France, architectural masterpiece of feudal times!
+
+"This is as far as I dare go!" our lieutenant said, with a brusque
+gesture which bade the chauffeur stop. But before the car turned, he
+gave us a moment to take in the picture of grandeur and unforgivable
+cruelty. Yes, unforgivable! for you know, Padre, there was no military
+motive in the destruction. The only object was to deprive France forever
+of the noblest of her castles, which has helped in the making of her
+history since a bishop of Rheims began to build it in 920.
+
+    "Roi ne suis
+    Ne prince, ne duc, ne comte aussy.
+    Je suys le Sire de Coucy."
+
+The beautiful old boast in beautiful old French sang in my head as I
+gazed through tears at the new ruin of ancient grandeur.
+
+Some of those haughty Sires de Coucy may have deserved to have their
+stronghold destroyed, for they seem--most of them--to have been as bad
+as they were vain. I remember there was one, in the days of Louis XII,
+who punished three little boys for killing a few rabbits in his park, by
+ordering the children to be hanged on the spot; and St. Louis was so
+angry on hearing of the crime that he wished to hang the Sire de Coucy
+on the same tree. There were others I've read of, just as wicked and
+high-handed: but their castle was not to blame for its master's crimes!
+Besides, the last of the proud Enguerrands and Thomases and Raouls,
+Seigneurs of the line, was son-in-law to Edward III of England; so all
+their sins were expiated long ago.
+
+"The Boches were jealous of our Coucy," said the Frenchman, with a sigh.
+"They have nothing to compare with it on their side of the Rhine. If
+they could have packed up the chateau and carted it across the frontier
+they would--if it had taken three years. As they couldn't do that, they
+did what Cardinal Mazarin wasn't able to do with his picked engineers;
+they blew it up with high explosives. But all they could steal they
+stole: carvings and historic furniture. You know there was a room the
+guardian used to show before the war--the room where Cesar de Bourbon
+was born, the son of Henri Quatre of Navarre and Gabrielle d'Estrees?
+That room the Boches emptied when they first came in August, 1914. Not a
+piece of rich tapestry, not a suit of armour, not even a chair, or a
+table, or lamp did they leave. Everything was sent to Germany. But we
+believe we shall get it all again some day. And now we must go, for the
+Boches shell this road whenever they think of it, or have nothing better
+to do!"
+
+The signal was given. We turned and tore along the road by which we'd
+come, our backs feeling rather sensitive and exposed to chance German
+bombs, until we'd got round the corner to a "safe section." Our way led
+through a pitiful country of crippled trees to a curious round hill. A
+little castle or miniature fortress must have crowned it once, for the
+height was entirely circled by an ancient moat. On top of this green
+mound Prince Eitel Fritz built for himself the imitation shooting-lodge
+which was our goal and viewpoint. And, Padre, there can't be another
+such German-looking spot in martyred France as he has made of the
+insulted hillock!
+
+I don't know how many fair young birch trees he sacrificed to build a
+summer-house for himself and his staff to drink beer in, and gaze over
+the country, at St. Quentin, at Soissons and a hundred conquered towns
+and villages! Now he's obliged to look from St. Quentin at the
+summer-house--and how we pray that it may not be for long!
+
+Over one door of the building a pair of crossed swords carved heavily in
+wood form a stolid German decoration; and still more maddeningly German
+are the seats outside the house, made of cement and shaped like
+toadstools. In the sitting room are rough chairs, and a big table so
+stained with wine and beer that I could almost see the fat figures of
+the prince and his friends grouped round it, with cheers for "_Wein,
+Weib, und Gesang_."
+
+Close down below us, in sloping green meadows, a lot of war-worn horses
+_en permission_ were grazing peacefully. Our guide said that some were
+"Americans," and I fancied them dreaming of Kentucky grasslands, or the
+desert herbs of the Far West, which they will never taste again. Also I
+yearned sorrowfully over the weary creatures that had done their "bit"
+without any incentive, without much praise or glory, and that would
+presently go back to do it all over again, until they died or were
+finally disabled. I remembered a cavalry-man I nursed in our _Hopital
+des Epidemies_ telling me how brave horses are. "The only trouble with
+them in battle," he said, "is when their riders are killed, to make
+them fall out of line. They _will_ keep their places!"
+
+Both Father Beckett and the French officer had field-glasses, but we
+hardly needed them for St. Quentin. Far away across a plain slowly
+turning from bright blue-green to dim green-blue in the twilight, we saw
+a dream town built of violet shadows--Marie Stuart's dowry town. Its
+purple roofs and the dominating towers of its great collegiate church
+were ethereal as a mirage, yet delicately clear, and so beautiful,
+rising from the river-bank, that I shuddered to think of the French
+guns, forced to break the heart of Faidherbe's brave city.
+
+It was a time of day to call back the past, for in the falling dusk
+modern things and old things blended lovingly together. For all one
+could see of detail, nothing had changed much since the plain of Picardy
+was the great Merovingian centre of France, the gateway through which
+the English marched, and went away never to return until they came as
+friends. Still less had the scene changed since the brave days when
+Marguerite de Valois rode through Picardy with her band of lovely ladies
+and gallant gentlemen. It was summer when she travelled; but on just
+such an evening of blue twilight and silver moonshine might she have had
+her pretended carriage accident at Catelet, as an excuse to disappoint
+the Bishop of Cambrai, and meet the man best loved of all her lovers,
+Duc Henri de Guise. It was just then he had got the wound which gave him
+his scar and his nickname of "_Le Balafre_"; and she would have been all
+the more anxious not to miss her hero.
+
+I thought of that adventure, because of the picture Brian painted of the
+Queen on her journey, the only one of his which has been hung in the
+Academy, you know, Padre; and _I_ sat for Marguerite. Not that I'm her
+type at all, judging from portraits! However, I fancied myself intensely
+in the finished picture, and used to hope I should be recognized when I
+strolled into the Academy. But I never was.
+
+Looking down over the plain of Picardy, I pretended to myself that I
+could see the Queen's procession: Marguerite (looking as much as
+possible like me!) in her gold and crystal coach, lined with
+rose-coloured Spanish velvet, jewel-broidered: the gentlemen outriders
+trying to stare through the thick panes obscured with designs and
+mottoes concerning the sun and its influence upon human fate; the
+high-born girls chattering to each other from their embroidered Spanish
+saddles, as they rode on white palfreys, trailing after the glittering
+coach; and the dust rising like smoke from wheels of jolting chariots
+which held the elder women of the Court.
+
+Oh, those were great days, the days of Henry of Navarre and his naughty
+wife! But, after all, there wasn't as much chivalry and real romance in
+Picardy then, or in the time of St. Quentin himself, as war has brought
+back to it now. No deeds we can find in history equal the deeds of
+to-day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We got lost going home, somehow taking the wrong road, straying into a
+wood, plunging and bumping down and down over fearful roads, and
+landing--by what might have been a bad accident--in a deep ravine almost
+too strange to be true.
+
+Even our French officer couldn't make out what had happened to us, or
+whither we'd wandered, until we'd stopped, and our blaze of acetylene
+had lighted up a series of fantastic caverns in the rock (caverns
+improved up to date by German cement) and in front of that honeycombed
+gray wall a flat, grassy lawn that was a graveyard.
+
+"_Mon Dieu, c'est le Ravin de Bitry!_" he cried. "Let us get out of it!
+I would never have brought you here of my own free will."
+
+"But why--why?" I insisted. "It isn't the only graveyard we have seen,
+alas! and there are only French names on the little crosses."
+
+"I know," he said. "After we chased the Germans out of this hole, we
+lived here ourselves, in their caves--and died here, as you see,
+Mademoiselle. But the place is haunted, and not by spirits of the
+dead--worse! Put on your hats again, Messieurs! The dead will forgive
+you. And, ladies, wrap veils over your faces. If it were not so late,
+you would already know why. But the noise of our autos, and the lights
+may stir up those ghosts!"
+
+Then, in an instant, before the cars could turn, we _did_ know why.
+Flies!... such flies as I had never seen ...nightmare flies. They rose
+from everywhere, in a thick black cloud, like the plague of Egypt. They
+were in thousands. They were big as bees. They dropped on us like a
+black jelly falling out of a mould. They sat all over us. It was only
+when our cars had swayed and stumbled up again, over that awful road,
+out of the haunted hole in the deep woods, and risen into fresh, moving
+air, that the horde deserted us. Julian O'Farrell had his hands bitten,
+and dear Mother Beckett was badly stung on the throat. Horrible!... I
+don't think I could have slept at night for thinking of the Ravin de
+Bitry, if we hadn't had such a refreshing run home that the impression
+of the lost, dark place was purified away.
+
+Forest fragrance sprayed into our faces like perfume from a vaporizer.
+We seemed to pass through endless halls supported by white marble
+pillars, which were really spaces between trees, magically transformed
+by our blazing headlight. Always in front of us hovered an archway of
+frosted silver, moving as we moved, like a pale, elusive rainbow; and
+when we put on extra speed for a long, straight stretch, poplars
+carelessly spared by the Boches spouted up on either side of us like
+geysers. Then, suddenly, across a stretch of blackness palely shone
+Compiegne, as Venice shines across the dark lagoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+Little did I think, Padre, to write you from Soissons! When last I spoke
+to you about it, we were gazing through field-glasses at the single
+tower of the cathedral, pointing out of purple shadows toward the
+evening star of hope. Then we lost ourselves in the Ravin de Bitry, and
+arrived thankfully at Compiegne two hours later than we had planned. We
+expected to have part of a day at Soissons, but--I told you of the
+dreadful flies in that ravine of death, and how Mother Beckett was stung
+on the throat. The next day she had a headache, but took aspirin, and
+pronounced herself well enough for the trip to Soissons. Father Beckett
+let her go, because he's in the habit of letting her do whatever she
+wants to do, fancying (and she fancies it, too) that he is master. You
+see, we thought it was only a fatigue-headache. Foolishly, we didn't
+connect it with the sting, for Julian O'Farrell was bitten, too, and
+didn't complain at all.
+
+Well, we set out for Soissons yesterday morning (I write again at night)
+leaving all our luggage at the hotel in Compiegne. It was quite a safe
+and uneventful run, for the Germans stopped shelling Soissons
+temporarily some time ago, when they were obliged to devote their whole
+attention to other places. The road was good, and the day a dream of
+Indian summer, when war seemed more than ever out of place in such a
+world. If Mother Beckett looked ill, we didn't notice, because she wore
+her dust-veil. The same officer was with us who'd been our guide last
+time, and we felt like friends, as he explained, with those vivid
+gestures Frenchmen have, just how the Germans in September, 1914,
+marched from Laon upon Soissons--marched fast, singing, yelling, wild to
+take a city so important that the world would be impressed. Why, it
+would be--they thought--as if the whole Ile-de-France were in their
+grasp! The next step would be to Paris, goal of all Germanic invasions
+since Attila.
+
+It's an engaging habit of Mother Beckett's to punctuate exciting stories
+like this with little soft sighs of sympathy: but the graphic war
+descriptions given by our lieutenant left her cold. Even when we came
+into the town, and began to go round it in the car, she was heavily
+silent, not an exclamation! And we ought to have realized that this was
+strange, because Soissons nowadays is a sight to strike the heart a
+hammer-blow.
+
+Of course the place isn't older than Rheims. It's of the same time and
+the same significance. But its face looks older in ruin--such features
+as haven't been battered out of shape. There's the wonderful St.
+Jean-des-Vignes, which should have interested the little lady, because
+the great namesake of her family St. Thomas a Beckett, lived there, when
+it was one of Soissons' four famous abbeys. There's the church of St.
+Leger, and the grand old gates of St. Medard, to say nothing of the
+cathedral itself. And then there's the history, which goes back to the
+Suessiones who owned twelve towns, and had a king whose power carried
+across the sea, all the way to Britain. If Mother Beckett doesn't know
+much about history, she loves being in the midst of it, and hearing talk
+of it. But when our Frenchman told us a story of her latest favourite,
+King Clovis, she had the air of being asleep behind her thick blue veil.
+It was quite a good story, too, about a gold vase and a bishop. The gold
+vase had been stolen in the sack of the churches, after the battle of
+Soissons, when Roman rule was ended in France. St. Remi begged Clovis to
+give the vase back. But the booty was being divided, and the soldier who
+had the vase refused to surrender it to a mere monarch. "You'll get what
+your luck brings you, like the rest of us!" said he, striking the vase
+so hard with his battle-axe that it was dented, and its beauty spoiled.
+Clovis swallowed the insult, that being the day of soldiers, not of
+kings: but he didn't forget; and he kept watch upon the man. A year
+later, to the day, the excuse he'd waited for came. The soldier's armour
+was dirty, on review; Clovis had the right as a general to reproach and
+punish him, so snatching the man's battle-axe, the king crushed in the
+soldier's head. "I do to you with the same weapon what you did to the
+gold vase at Soissons!" he said.
+
+It wasn't until we had seen everything, and had spent over an hour
+looking at the martyred cathedral, from every point of view, inside and
+out, that Mother Beckett confessed her suffering. "Oh, Molly!" she
+gasped, leaning on my arm, "I'm so glad there's only _one_ tower, and
+not two! That is, I'm glad, as it was always like that."
+
+"Why," I exclaimed, "how odd of you, dearest! I know it's considered one
+of the best cathedrals in France, though it isn't a museum of sculpture,
+like Rheims. But the single tower worries me, it looks so unfinished.
+_I'm_ not glad there's only one!"
+
+"You would be if you felt like I do," she moaned. "If there was another
+tower, we'd have to spend double time looking at it, and in five minutes
+more I should have to faint! Oh no, I've stood everything so far, not to
+disappoint any one, but I _couldn't_ see another tower!"
+
+With that, she did faint, or nearly, then came to herself, and
+apologized for bothering us! Father Beckett hardly spoke, but his face
+was gray-white with fear, and he held the fragile creature in his arms
+as if she were his last link with the life of this world.
+
+We got her back into the car; and the man who had shown us the cathedral
+said that there was an hotel within five minutes' motoring distance. It
+was not first rate, he explained, but officers messed there and
+occasionally wives and mothers of officers stayed there. He thought we
+might be taken in and made fairly comfortable; and to be sure we didn't
+miss the house, he rode on the step of the car, to show us the way.
+
+It was a sad way, for we had to pass hillocks of plaster and stone which
+had once been streets, but we had eyes only for Mother Beckett's face,
+Father Beckett and I: and even Brian seemed to look at her. Sirius, too,
+for he would not go into the Red Cross taxi with the others! Brian, whom
+in most things the dog obeys with a pathetic eagerness, couldn't get him
+to do that: and when I said, "Oh, his eyes are tragic. He thinks you're
+going to send him away, never to see you again!" Brian didn't insist. So
+the dog sat squeezed in among us, knowing perfectly well that we were
+anxious about the little lady who patted him so often, and
+unpatriotically saved him lumps of sugar. He licked her small fingers,
+clasped by her husband, and attracting Mother Beckett's attention
+perhaps kept her from fainting again.
+
+Well, we got to the hotel, which was really more of a _pension_ than an
+hotel, and Madame Bornier, the elderly woman in deep mourning who was
+_la patronne_, was kind and helpful. Her best room had been made ready
+for the wife of an officer just coming out of hospital, but there would
+be time to prepare another. Our dear invalid was carried upstairs in her
+husband's arms, and I put her to bed while a doctor was sent for. Of
+course, we had no permission to spend a night at Soissons, but I began
+to foresee that we should have to stay unless we were turned out by the
+military authorities.
+
+When the doctor came--a _medecin major_ fetched from a hospital by our
+officer-guide--he said that Madame was suffering from malarial symptoms;
+she must have been poisoned. So then of course we remembered the sting
+on her throat. He examined it, looked rather grave, and warned Father
+Beckett that _Madame sa femme_ would not be able to travel that day. She
+had a high temperature, and at best must have a day or two of repose,
+with no food save a little boiled milk.
+
+Soissons seemed the last place in France to hope for milk of any
+description, but the doctor promised it from the hospital if it couldn't
+be got elsewhere, and added with pride that Soissons was not without
+resources. "When the Germans came three years ago," he said, "most of
+the inhabitants had fled, taking what they could carry. Only seven
+hundred souls were left, out of fifteen thousand, but many have come
+back: we have more than two thousand now, and some of them behaved like
+heroes and heroines. Oh yes, we may almost say that life goes on
+normally! You shall have all the milk you need for Madame."
+
+When she had taken some medicine, and smiled at him, Father Beckett left
+his wife in my care, and rushed off to arrange about permission to stop.
+The _medecin major_ and our officer-guide were useful. After telephoning
+from the military hospital to headquarters, everything was arranged; and
+we were authorized to remain in Soissons, at our own risk and peril.
+Madame Bornier prepared rooms for us all; but there weren't enough to go
+round, so Brian and Julian O'Farrell were put together, and Dierdre and
+I! She, by the way, is in bed at this moment, whether asleep or not I
+don't know; but if not she is pretending. Her lashes are very long, and
+she looks prettier than I ever saw her look before. But that may be
+because I like her better. I told you, that after what she did for Brian
+I could never dislike that girl again: but there has been another
+incident since then, about which I will tell you to-morrow. You know,
+I'm not easily tired, but this is our second night at Soissons. I sat up
+all last night with Mother Beckett, and oh, how glad I was, Padre, that
+Fate had forced me to train as a nurse! I've been glad--thankful--ever
+since the war: but this is the first time my gladness has been so
+personal. Brian's illness was in hospital. I could do nothing for him.
+But you can hardly think what it has meant to me, to know that I've been
+of real use to this dear woman, that I've been able to spare her
+suffering. Before, I had no right to her love. I'd stolen it. Now,
+maybe I am beginning to earn a little of the affection which she and
+Father Beckett give me.
+
+I was all "keyed up" when I began to write to you to-night, Padre; but I
+was supposed to spend my three hours "off" in sleep. One hour is gone.
+Even if I can't sleep, I shall pass the other two trying to rest, in my
+narrow bed, which is close to Dierdre's.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+
+This is the next day. Mother Beckett is better, and I've been praised by
+the _medecin major_ for my nursing. We've got our luggage from
+Compiegne, and may be here for days. We shall miss the pleasure of
+travelling to Amiens with the war correspondents, who must go without
+us, and we women will get no glimpse of the British front!
+
+Now I'm going to tell you about the incident which has made me almost
+love Dierdre O'Farrell--a miracle, it would have seemed two weeks ago,
+when my best mental pet name for her was "little cat!"
+
+When I wrote last night, I mentioned that the room Mother Beckett has in
+this little hotel had been intended for the wife of a French officer
+coming out of hospital. Another room was prepared for that lady, and it
+happened to be the one next door to Mother Beckett's. Through the thin
+partition wall I heard voices, a man's and a woman's, talking in French.
+I couldn't make out the words--in fact, I tried not to!--but the woman's
+tones were soft and sweet as the coo of a dove. I pictured her beautiful
+and young, and I was sure from her way of speaking that she adored her
+husband. The two come into my story presently, but I think it should
+begin with a walk that Brian and Dierdre (and Sirius, of course) took
+together.
+
+With me shut up in Mother Beckett's room, my blind brother and Julian
+O'Farrell's sister were thrown more closely together even than before.
+I'm sure Julian saw to that, eliminating himself as he couldn't do when
+travelling all three in the Red Cross taxi! Perhaps Dierdre and Brian
+had never been alone in each other's company so long; and Brian found
+the chance he'd wished for, to get at the _real_ girl, behind her sulky
+"camouflage."
+
+He has repeated the whole conversation to me, because he wanted me to
+know Dierdre as he has learned to know her; and I shall write everything
+down as I remember it, though the words mayn't be precisely right. Never
+was there any one like Brian for drawing out confidences from shut-up
+souls (except _you_, Padre!) if he chooses to open his own soul, for
+that end; and apparently he thought it worth while in the case of
+Dierdre. He began by telling her things about himself--his old hopes and
+ambitions and the change in them since his blindness. He confessed to
+the girl (as he confessed to me long ago) how at first he wished
+desperately to die, because life without eyesight wasn't life. He has so
+loved colour, and beauty, and success in his work had been so close,
+that he felt he couldn't endure blindness.
+
+"I came near being a coward," he said. "A man who puts an end to his
+life because he's afraid to face it is a coward. So I tried to see if I
+could readjust the balance. I fell back on my imagination--and it saved
+me. Imagination was always my best friend! It took me by the hand and
+led me into a garden--a secret sort of garden that belongs to the blind,
+and to no one else. It's the place where the spirits of colour and the
+spirits of flowers live--the spirit of music, too--and all sorts of
+beautiful strange things which people who've never been blind can't
+see--or even hear. They're not '_things_,' exactly. They're more like
+the reality behind the things: God's thoughts of things as they should
+be, before He created them; artists' thoughts of their pictures;
+musicians' thoughts of their compositions--all better than the things
+resulting from the thoughts. Nothing in the outside world is as
+wonderful as what grows in that garden! I couldn't go on being unhappy
+there. Nobody could--once he'd found the way in."
+
+"It must be hard finding the way in!" Dierdre said.
+
+"It is at first--alone, without help. That's why, if I can, I want to
+help my fellow blind men to get there."
+
+"Only men? Not women, too?"
+
+"I've never met a blind woman. Probably I never shall."
+
+"You're talking to one this minute! When I'm with you, I always feel as
+if I were blind, and you could see."
+
+"You're unjust to yourself."
+
+"No, but I'm unjust to you--I mean, I have been. I must tell you before
+we go on, because you're too kind, too generous. I'm blind about lots of
+things, but I do see that, now. I see how good you are. I used to think
+you were too good to be true--that you must be a _poseur_. I was always
+waiting for the time when you'd give yourself away--when you'd show
+yourself on the same level with my brother and me."
+
+"But I am on the same level."
+
+"Don't say it! I don't feel that horrid, bitter wish now. I'm glad
+you're higher than we are. It makes me better to look up to the place
+where you are. But I wish I could get nearer."
+
+"You are very near. We're friends, aren't we? You don't really mind
+because I'm from the North and you from the South, and because we don't
+quite agree about politics?"
+
+"I'd forgotten about politics between you and me! But there are other
+distances. Do take me into your garden. You say it belongs only to blind
+people; but if I am blind--with a different kind of blindness, and
+worse--can't I get there with you? I need such a garden, dreadfully. I'm
+so disappointed in life."
+
+"Tell me how you're unhappy, and how you've been disappointed," said
+Brian. "Then perhaps we can find the right flowers to cure you, in the
+garden."
+
+So she told him what Julian had told me: about trying to get on the
+stage, and not succeeding, and realizing that she couldn't act; feeling
+that there was no vocation, no place for her anywhere. To comfort the
+girl, Brian opened the gate of his garden of the blind, and gave her its
+secrets, as he has given them to me. He explained to her his trick of
+"seeing across far spaces," with the eyes of his mind, and heart: saying
+aloud, to himself, names of glorious places--"Athens--Rome--Venice," and
+going there in the airship of imagination; calling up visions of
+rose-sunset light on the yellowing marble of the Acropolis, or moonlight
+in the Pincian gardens, with great umbrella-pines like blots of ink on
+steel, or the opal colours shimmering deep down, under the surface of
+the Grand Canal. He made Dierdre understand his way of "listening to a
+landscape," knowing by the voice of the wind what trees it touched; the
+buzz of olive leaves bunched like hives of silver bees against the blue;
+the sea-murmur of pines; the skeleton swish of palms; the gay, dancing
+rustle of poplars. And he showed her how he gathered beauty and colour
+from words, which made pictures in his brain.
+
+"I never thought of all these things when I could see pictures with my
+_eyes_--and paint them with my hands," he said. And perhaps he gave a
+sigh for the past, which touched Dierdre's heart as the wind, in his
+fancy, touched the trees. "Couldn't you use your old knowledge, and
+learn to paint without seeing?" she asked. "You might have a line for
+the horizon, and with someone to mix your colours under your
+directions--someone who'd tell you where to find the reds, where the
+greens, and so on, someone to warn you if you went wrong. You might make
+wonderful effects."
+
+"I've thought of that," said Brian. "I've hoped--it might be. Sometime,
+when this trip is over, I may ask my sister's help----"
+
+"Oh, your sister's!" Dierdre broke in. "But she may marry. Or she may go
+back to nursing again. I wish I could help you. It would make me happy.
+It would be helping myself, more than you! And we could begin soon. I
+could buy you paints from a list you'd give me. If we succeeded, you
+could surprise your sister and the Becketts. It would be splendid."
+
+Brian agreed that it would be splendid, but he said that his sister must
+be "in" it, too. He wouldn't have secrets from her, even for the
+pleasure of a surprise.
+
+"She won't let me help you," Dierdre said. "She'll want to do everything
+for you herself."
+
+Brian assured the girl that she was mistaken about his sister. "She's
+mistaken about you, too," he added. "You'll see! Molly'll be grateful
+to you for inventing such a plan for me. She'll want you to be the one
+to carry it out."
+
+No argument of his could convince the girl, however. They came back to
+the hotel at last, after a walk by the river, closer friends than
+before, but Dierdre depressed, if no longer sulky. She seemed in a
+strange, tense mood, as though there were more she wished to say--if she
+dared.
+
+Dusk was falling (this was evening of the day we arrived, you must
+realize, Padre) and Brian admitted that he was tired. He'd taken no such
+walk since he came out of hospital, weeks and weeks ago.
+
+"Let's go and sit in the _salon_, to rest a few minutes and finish our
+talk," he proposed. "We're almost sure to have the room to ourselves."
+
+But for once Brian's intuition was at fault. There were two persons in
+the little _salon_, a lady writing letters at a desk by the window, and
+a French officer who had drawn the one easy chair in the room in front
+of a small wood fire. This fire had evidently not existed long, as the
+room was cold, with the grim, damp chill of a place seldom occupied or
+opened to the air.
+
+As Dierdre led Brian in, the lady at the desk glanced up at the
+newcomers, and the officer in the big chair turned his head. The woman
+was young and very remarkable looking, with the pearl-pale skin of a
+true Parisian, large dark eyes under clearly sketched black brows, and
+masses of prematurely white hair.
+
+For a second, Dierdre thought this beautiful hair must be blonde, as the
+woman could not be more than twenty-eight; but the light from the
+window fell full upon the silver ripples, blanching them to dazzling
+whiteness.
+
+"What a lovely creature," the girl thought. "What can have happened to
+turn her hair white?"
+
+As for the man, Dierdre took an instant dislike to him, for his
+selfishness. His face was burned a deep, ruddy brown, and his eyes, lit
+by the red glow of the fire, were bright with a black, bead-like
+brightness. They stared so directly, so unblinkingly at Brian, that
+Dierdre was vexed. She was his chosen friend, his confidante, his
+champion now! Not even Sirius could be more fiercely devoted than she,
+who had to atone for her past injustice. She was angry that blind Brian
+should be thus coldly stared at, and that a man in better health than he
+should calmly sprawl in the best chair, screening the fire.
+
+By this time, Padre, you will have learned enough about Dierdre
+O'Farrell to know what her temper is! She forgot that a stranger might
+not realize Brian's blindness at first sight in a room where the dusk
+was creeping in, and she spoke sharply, in her almost perfect French.
+
+"There's quite a nice fire," she said, "and I should have thought there
+was room for everybody to enjoy it, but it seems there's only enough for
+_one_! We'd better try the _salle a manger_, instead, I suppose."
+
+Brian, puzzled, paused at the door, his hand on Sirius's head, Dierdre
+standing in front of them both like a ruffled sparrow.
+
+The French officer straightened up in his chair with an astonished look,
+but did not rise. It was the woman by the window (Dierdre had not
+connected her with the man by the fire) who sprang to her feet.
+"Mademoiselle," she said quietly, in a voice of exquisite sweetness,
+"my husband would be the first one in the world to move, and give his
+place to others, if he had known that he was monopolizing the fire. But
+he did not know. It was I who placed him there. Those eyes of his which
+look so bright are made of crystal. He lost his sight at the Chemin des
+Dames."
+
+As she spoke, choking on the last words, the woman with white hair
+crossed the room swiftly, and caught the hand of her husband, which was
+stretched out as if groping for hers. He stumbled to his feet, and she
+stood defending him like a gentle creature of the woods at bay.
+
+Perhaps at no other moment of her life would Dierdre O'Farrell have been
+struck with such poignant repentance. That she, who had just been shown
+the secret, inner heart of one blind man, should deliberately wound
+another, seemed more than she could bear, and live.
+
+Brian remained silent, partly because he was still confused, and partly
+to give Dierdre the chance to speak, which he felt instinctively she
+would wish to seize.
+
+She took a step forward, then stopped, with a sob, shamed tears stinging
+her eyes. "Will you forgive me?" she begged. "I would rather have died
+than hurt a blind man, or--or any one who loves a blind man. Lately I've
+been finding out how sacred blindness is. I ought to have guessed,
+Madame, that you were with him--that you were his wife. I ought to have
+known that only a great grief could have turned your wonderful hair
+white--you, so young----"
+
+"Her hair white!" cried the blind officer. "No, I'll not believe it.
+Suzanne, tell this lady she's mistaken. I remember, in some lights, it
+was the palest gold, almost silver--your beautiful hair that I fell in
+love with----"
+
+His voice broke. No one answered. There fell a dead silence, and Dierdre
+had time to realize what she had done. She had been cruel as the grave!
+She had accused a helpless blind man of selfishness; and not content
+with that, on top of all she had given away the secret that a brave
+woman's love had hidden.
+
+"Suzanne--you don't speak!"
+
+"Oh!" the trembling woman tried to laugh. "Of course, Mademoiselle is
+mistaken. That goes without saying."
+
+"Yes--I--of _course_," Dierdre echoed. "It was the light--deceived me."
+
+"And now," said the blind man slowly, "you are trying to deceive
+_me_--you are both trying! Suzanne, why did you keep it from me that
+your hair had turned white with grief? Didn't you know I'd love you
+more, for such a proof of love for me?"
+
+"Indeed, I--oh, you mustn't think----" she began to stammer. "I loved
+your dear eyes as you loved my hair. But I love it twice as much now.
+I----"
+
+He cut her short. "I don't think. I _know_. _Cherie_, you need have had
+no fear. I shall worship you after this."
+
+"She could never have been so lovely before. Her hair is like spun
+glass," Dierdre tried to atone. "People would turn to look at her in the
+street. Monsieur le Capitaine, you should be proud of such a beautiful
+wife."
+
+"I am," the man answered, "proud of her beauty, more proud of her
+heart."
+
+"But it is I who am proud!" the woman caught him up. "He has lost his
+dear eyes that all women admired, yet he has won honours such as few men
+have. What does it matter about my poor hair? You can see by the ribbons
+on his breast, Mademoiselle, what he is--what he has done for his
+country. You also, Monsieur, you see----"
+
+"I don't see, Madame, because I, too, am blind," said Brian. "But I
+feel--I feel that your husband has won something which means more than
+his eyes, more than all his honours and decorations: a great love."
+
+"You are _blind_!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman. "I should never have
+guessed. Ah, Madame, it is I who must now ask your pardon! I called you
+'Mademoiselle.' Already I had forgiven you what you said in error. But I
+did not understand, or the forgiveness would have been easier. Your
+first thought was for your husband--your blind husband--just as my
+thought always is and will be for mine! You wanted him to have a place
+by the fire. Your temper was in arms, not for yourself, but for him--his
+comfort. How well I understand now! Madame, you and I have the same
+cross laid upon us. But it's a cross of honour. It is _le croix de
+guerre_!"
+
+"I wish I had a right to it!" Dierdre broke out. "I haven't, because he
+is not my husband. He doesn't care for me--except maybe, as a friend.
+But to atone to him for injustice, to punish myself for hurting _you_,
+I'll confess something. I'd marry him to-morrow, blind as he is--perhaps
+_because_ he is blind!--and be happy and proud all my life--if he would
+have me. Only,--_I know he won't_."
+
+"My child! I care too much for you," Brian answered, after an instant of
+astonished silence, "far too much to take you at your word. Some men
+might--but not I! Monsieur le Capitaine here, and Madame, were husband
+and wife before their trouble came. That is different----"
+
+"No!" cried the woman whose name was Suzanne. "It is not different. My
+husband's the one man on earth for me. If we were not married--if he had
+lost his legs and arms as well as his eyes, I'd still want to be his
+wife--want it more than a kingdom."
+
+"You hear, Monsieur," her husband said, laughing a little, and holding
+her close, with that perfect independence of onlookers which the French
+have when they're thoroughly in love.
+
+"I hear, Madame," said Brian. "But you, Monsieur le Capitaine--you would
+not have accepted the sacrifice----"
+
+"I'm not sure I could have resisted," the Frenchman smiled.
+
+"You love her!--that is why," Dierdre said. "My friend--doesn't love me.
+He never could. I'm not worthy. No one good could love me. If he knew
+the worst of me, he'd not even be my friend. And I suppose, after this,
+he won't be. If, by and by, I'm not ashamed of myself for what I've
+said, he'll be ashamed for me, because----"
+
+"Don't!" Brian stopped her. "You know I mustn't let myself love you,
+Dierdre. And you don't really love me. It's only pity and some kind of
+repentance--for nothing at all--that you feel. But we'll be greater
+friends than ever. I understand just why you spoke, and it's going to
+help me a lot--like a strong tonic. You must have known it would. And if
+Monsieur and Madame have forgiven us----"
+
+"Us? What have _you_ done? If they've forgiven me----"
+
+"They have, indeed, forgiven," said the blind Frenchman. "They even
+thank you. If possible you've drawn them closer together than before."
+
+Brian searched for Dierdre's hand, and found it. "Let us go now, and
+leave them," he whispered.
+
+So they went away, and Brian softly shut the door of the little _salon_.
+
+"I _did_ mean every word I said!" the girl blurted out, turning upon him
+in the hall. "But--I shouldn't have dared say it if I hadn't been sure
+you didn't care. And even if you did care--or could--your sister
+wouldn't let you. She knows me exactly as I am."
+
+"She _shall_ know you as you are--my true and brave little friend!"
+Brian said.
+
+He can find his way about wonderfully, even in a house with which he is
+merely making acquaintance: besides, Sirius was with him. But he felt an
+immense tenderness for Dierdre after that desperate confession. He
+didn't wish the girl to fancy that he could get on without her just
+then, or that he thought she had any reason for running away from him.
+He asked if she would take him to his room, so that he might rest there,
+alone, remembering an exquisite moment of his life.
+
+"It's wonderful to feel that for a beautiful girl like you--blind as I
+am, I am a _man_!" he said. "Thank you with all my heart--for
+everything."
+
+"Who told you I was beautiful?" Dierdre flung the question at him.
+
+"My sister Mary told me," Brian answered. "Besides--I felt it. A man
+does feel such things--perhaps all the more if he is blind."
+
+"Your sister Mary?" the girl echoed. "She doesn't think I'm beautiful.
+Or if she does, it's against her will."
+
+"It won't be, after this."
+
+"Why not? You won't tell her----"
+
+"I'll tell her to love you, and--to help me not to!"
+
+It was just then they came to Brian's door, and Dierdre fled, Sirius
+staring after her in dignified surprise.
+
+But Dierdre herself came to me at once, and told me everything, with a
+kind of proud defiance.
+
+"I _do_ love your brother," she boasted. "I _would_ marry him if he'd
+have me. I don't care what you think of me, or what you say!"
+
+"Why, I love you for loving him," I threw back at her. "That's what I
+think of you--and that's what I say."
+
+I was sincere, Padre. Yet I don't see how they can ever marry, even if
+Brian should learn to love the girl enough. Neither one has a
+penny--and--_Brian is blind_. Who can tell if he will ever get his sight
+again? I wish Dierdre hadn't come into our lives in just the way she did
+come! I wish she weren't Julian O'Farrell's sister! I hope she won't be
+pricked by that queer conscience of hers to tell Brian any secrets which
+concern me as well as Julian and herself. And I hope--whatever
+happens!--that I shan't be mean enough to be jealous. But--with such a
+new, exciting "friendship" for Brian's prop, it seems as if, for
+me--Othello's occupation would be gone!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+
+We're at Amiens, where we came by way of Montdidier and Moreuil; and
+nearly two weeks have dragged or slipped away since I wrote last.
+Meanwhile a thousand things have happened. But I'll begin at the
+beginning and write on till I am called by Mother Beckett.
+
+We stopped at Soissons three more days after I told you about Dierdre
+and Brian, and Captain Devot and his wife. Not only did they forgive
+Dierdre--those two--but they took her to their hearts, perhaps more for
+Brian's sake than her own. I was introduced to them, and they were kind
+to me, too. Of the blind man I have a beautiful souvenir. I must tell
+you about it, Padre!
+
+The evening before we left Soissons (when the doctor had pronounced
+Mother Beckett well enough for a short journey) I had an hour in the
+stuffy little _salon_ with Dierdre and Brian and the Devots. We sat
+round the fire--plenty of room for us all, in a close circle--and
+Captain Devot began to talk about his last battle on the Chemin des
+Dames. Suddenly he realized that the story was more than his wife could
+bear--for it was in that battle he lost his eyes! How he realized what
+she was enduring, I don't know, for she didn't speak, or even sigh, and
+Brian sat between them; so he couldn't have known she was trembling. It
+must have been some electric current of sympathy between the husband
+and wife, I suppose--a magnetic flash to which a blind man would be more
+sensitive than others. Anyhow, he suddenly stopped speaking of the
+fight, and told us instead about a dream he had the night before the
+battle--a dream where he saw the ladies for whom "The Ladies' Way" was
+made, go riding by, along the "Chemin des Dames."
+
+    "In silks and satins the ladies went
+    Where the breezes sighed and the poplars bent,
+    Taking the air of a Sunday morn
+    Midst the red of poppies and gold of corn--
+    Flowery ladies in gold brocades,
+    With negro pages and serving maids,
+    In scarlet coach or in gilt sedan,
+    With brooch and buckle and flounce and fan,
+    Patch and powder and trailing scent,
+    Under the trees the ladies went,
+    Lovely ladies that gleamed and glowed,
+    As they took the air of the Ladies' Road."
+
+That verse came from _Punch_, not from Captain Devot. I happen to
+remember it because it struck my fancy when I read it, and added to the
+romance of the road made for Louis XV's daughters--daughters of France,
+where now so many sons of France have died for France! But the ladies of
+Captain Devot's dream were like that, travelling with a gorgeous
+cavalcade, and as they rode, they were listening to a song about the old
+Abbey of Vauclair on the plateau of the Craonne. When they came to a
+place where the poppies clustered thickest, the three princesses
+insisted on stopping--Princess Adelaide, Princess Sophia, Princess
+Victoire. They wished to gather the flowers to take with them to the
+Chateau de Bove, where they were going to visit their _dame d'honneur_,
+Madame de Narbonne, but their guards argued that already it was growing
+late: they had better hurry on. At this the girls laughed silvery
+laughter. What did time matter to them? This was _their_ road, made and
+paved for their pleasure! They would not be hurried along it. No indeed;
+to show that time as well as the road was theirs, to do with as they
+liked, they would get down and make a chain of poppies long enough to
+stretch across the whole plateau before it dipped to the valley of the
+Aillette!
+
+So, in Captain Devot's dream, the princesses descended, and they and all
+their pretty ladies began weaving a chain of poppies. As they wove, the
+flower-chain fell from their little white fingers and trailed along the
+ground in a crimson line. The sun dropped toward the west, and thunder
+began to roll: still they worked on! Their gentlemen-in-charge begged
+them to start again, and at last they rose up petulantly to go; but they
+had stayed too late. The storm burst. Lightning flashed; thunder roared;
+rain fell in torrents; and--strange to see--the poppy petals melted, so
+that the long chain of flowers turned to a liquid stream, red as a river
+of blood. The princesses were frightened and began to cry. Their tears
+fell into the crimson flood. Captain Devot, who seemed in his dream to
+be one of the ladies' attendants, jumped from his horse to pick up the
+princesses' tears, which turned into little, rattling stones as they
+fell. With that, he waked. The princesses were gone--"all but
+_Victoire_," he said, smiling, "she shall stay with us! The thunder was
+the thunder of German guns. The poppies were there--and the blood was
+there. So also were the stones that had been the princesses' tears. They
+lie all along the Chemin des Dames to this day. I gathered some for my
+wife, and if you like she will give a few to you, ladies--souvenirs of
+the Ladies' Way!"
+
+Of course we did like; so Dierdre and I each have a small, glistening
+gray stone, with a faint splash of red upon it. I would not sell mine
+for a pearl!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Father Beckett proposed to take his wife back to Paris; but while she
+rested after the fever, industriously she built up another plan. You
+remember, Padre, my telling you that the Becketts were negotiating for a
+chateau, before they arrived in France to visit their son? When they
+heard that Jim had fallen, they no longer cared to live in this chateau
+(which was to let, furnished), nevertheless, they felt bound in honour
+to stick to their bargain. Well, at Soissons, Mother Beckett had it
+"borne in upon her" that Jim would wish his father and mother to stay at
+the old house he had loved and coveted for himself.
+
+"I can't go back across the sea and settle down at home while this war
+goes on!" she said. "Home just wouldn't be _home_. It's too far away
+from Jim. I don't mean from his _body_," she went on. "His body isn't
+_Jim_, I know! I've thought that out, and made myself realize the truth
+of it. But it's Jim's spirit I'm talking about, Father. I guess his
+soul--Jim himself--won't care to be flitting back and forth, crossing
+the ocean to visit us, while his friends are fighting in France and
+Belgium, to save the world. I know my boy well enough to be sure he's
+too strong to change much just because he is what some folks call
+'dead'; and he'd like us to be near. Paris won't do for me. No city
+would. I'd be too restless there. Do, _do_ let's go and live till the
+end of the war in Jim's chateau! That's what he's wanting. I feel it
+every minute."
+
+I was in the room when she made this appeal to her husband, and I longed
+to put into their hearts the thought Jack Curtis had put into mine. But,
+of course, I dared not. It would have been cruel. Jack Curtis had
+nothing to go upon except his impression--the same impression I myself
+have at times, of Jim's vital presence in the midst of life. I have it
+often, though never quite so strongly as that night in Paris, when he
+would not let me kill myself.
+
+It wasn't difficult to make Father Beckett consent to the new plan. He
+told me afterward that his own great wish was to find Jim's grave, when
+the end of the war would make search possible. Beckett interests were
+being safeguarded in America. They would not suffer much from his
+absence. Besides, business no longer seemed vitally important to him as
+of old. Money mattered little now that Jim was gone.
+
+He would have abandoned his visit to the British front, since Mother
+Beckett could not have the glimpse half promised by the authorities. But
+she would not let him give it up. "Molly" would take good care of her.
+When she could move, we would all go to Amiens. There she and I could be
+safely left for a few days, while Brian and Father Beckett were at the
+front. As for Julian O'Farrell and Dierdre, at first it appeared as if
+the little lady had left them out of her calculations. But I might have
+known--knowing her--that she wouldn't do that for long.
+
+She believed implicitly in their Red Cross mission, which, ever since
+the little car joined the big one, has been constantly aided with
+Beckett money and Beckett influence. Julian would, she supposed, wish to
+"carry on his good work," when our trip came to an end. But as he had no
+permission for the British front (he hadn't cared to make himself
+conspicuous to the British authorities by asking for it!) he and Dierdre
+might like to keep us two women company at Amiens. By the time we wanted
+to leave, Mother Beckett confidently expected "Jim's chateau" to be
+ready for occupation, and Dierdre must visit "us" there indefinitely,
+while her brother dutifully continued distributing supplies to hospitals
+and refugees. ("Us," according to Mother Beckett, meant Brian and me,
+Father Beckett and herself, for we now constituted the "family"!)
+Telegrams had given the Paris house-letting agency _carte blanche_ for
+hasty preparations at the Chateau d'Andelle, where several old servants
+had been kept on as caretakers: and being a spoiled American
+millionairess, the little lady was confident that a week would see the
+house aired, warmed, staffed, and altogether habitable.
+
+"You wouldn't object to having that poor little girl stay with us, would
+you, dear?" Mother Beckett asked me, patting my hand when she had
+revealed her ideas concerning the O'Farrells.
+
+"Oh, no," I answered, looking straight into her inquiring eyes, and
+trying not to change colour. "But you shouldn't speak as if I had any
+right----"
+
+"You have every right!" she cut me short. "Aren't you our daughter?"
+
+"I love you and Father Beckett enough to be your daughter," I said. "But
+that gives me no right----"
+
+"It does. Your love for us, and ours for you. I don't believe we could
+have lived through our sorrow if it hadn't been for you and Brian. He
+saved our reason by showing us what Jim would want us to do for the good
+of others. And he taught us what we couldn't seem to realize fully,
+through religion, that death doesn't count. Now, since I've been ill, I
+guess you've saved my life. And much as I want to see Jim, I want even
+more to live for Father. He needs me--and we both need you and Brian.
+You two belong to us, just as if you'd been given to us by Jim. We want
+to do what's best for you both. I thought, for Brian, it would be good
+perhaps to have Dierdre----"
+
+"Perhaps," I murmured, when she paused.
+
+"You're not sure? I wasn't at first. I mean, I wasn't sure she was good
+enough. But since the night when she threw herself in front of him to
+keep off the dog, I saw she cared. Maybe she didn't know it herself till
+then. But she's known ever since. You've only to see the way she looks
+at him. And she's growing more and more of a woman--Brian's influence,
+and the influence of her love--such a great influence, dear! It might be
+for his happiness, if----"
+
+"I don't think Brian would marry Dierdre or any girl, unless his sight
+came back," I said. "He's often told me he wouldn't marry."
+
+"Was that before he went to Paris with the O'Farrells? Things have been
+rather different since then--and a good _deal_ different since the
+night we met Jack Curtis with Sirius."
+
+"I know," I admitted. "But if Brian wanted to change his mind about
+marrying, he couldn't. Neither he nor Dierdre O'Farrell have a
+penny----"
+
+"Brian's got as much as we have," the dear woman assured me.
+
+"Do you think he'd take your money to marry on? No, dearest! Brian's
+very unworldly. So far, he hasn't worried about finances for the
+present. The future is different. If he doesn't get back his sight----"
+
+"But he will--he must!" she urged. "That great specialist you saw in
+Paris gave him hope. And then there's the other one that your doctor
+friend recommended----."
+
+"He's somewhere at the front. We can't get at him now."
+
+"We'll get at him later," Mother Beckett persisted. "In the
+meantime--let's give those two hearts the chance to draw together, if
+it's best for them."
+
+I could not go on objecting. One can't, for long, when that little angel
+of a woman wants a thing--she who never wants anything for herself, only
+for others! But I thought Fate might step between Brian and
+Dierdre--Fate, in the shape of Puck. I wasn't at all sure that Julian
+O'Farrell could be contented to leave his sister and continue his own
+wanderings. The Red Cross taxi had in truth been only a means to an end.
+I didn't fancy that his devotion to duty would carry him far from the
+Chateau d'Andelle while Dierdre was comfortably installed in it. Unless
+he were invited to _embusquer_ himself there, in our society, I
+expected a crash. Which shows how little I knew my Julian!
+
+When the plan was officially suggested to him, he agreed as if with
+enthusiasm. It was only when he'd consented to Dierdre's visit at the
+chateau on the other side of the Somme, and promised to drop in now and
+then himself on his way somewhere else, that he allowed himself a second
+thought. To attract attention to it, he started, ran his hand through
+his hair, and stopped in the middle of a sentence. "I am heaven's own
+fool!" he exclaimed.
+
+Of course Father Beckett wanted to know why. (This was two days before
+we started for Amiens.) Julian "registered reluctance." Father Beckett
+persisted, and drew forth the information that Julian _might_ have to
+cut short his career as a ministering Red Cross angel. "If it hadn't
+been for you," he said, "my funds and my supplies would have run short
+before this. You've helped me carry on. But I'm getting pretty close to
+the bone again now, I'm afraid. A bit closer and I shall have to settle
+down and give music lessons. That's all I'm fit for in future! And
+Dierdre wouldn't want me to set up housekeeping alone. While I'm on this
+Red Cross job it's all right, but----"
+
+Of course Father Beckett broke in to say that there was no question of
+not carrying on. Money should be forthcoming for supplies as long as
+Julian felt inclined to drive the Red Cross taxi from one scene of
+desolation and distress to another. Holidays must be frequent, and all
+spent at the Chateau d'Andelle. Let the future decide itself!
+
+So matters were settled--on the surface. Julian was ready to pose
+before an admiring audience as the self-sacrificing hero, giving all his
+time and energy to a noble cause. Only his sister and I knew that he was
+the villain of the piece, and for different reasons neither of us could
+explain the mistake about his role. He was sure of us both; impudently,
+aggravatingly, yet (I can't _help_ it, Padre!) amusingly sure of me. He
+tried to "isolate" me, as if I'd been a microbe while we were still at
+Soissons, and again just after Father Beckett and Brian went away from
+Amiens in the big gray car. There was something, something very special
+that he wished to say to me, I could tell by his eyes. But I contrived
+to thwart him. I never left Mother Beckett for a moment!
+
+The first day at Amiens it was easy to keep out of his way altogether,
+for I was nurse as well as friend, and my dear little invalid was worn
+out after the journey from Soissons. She asked nothing better than to
+stop in her room. The next day, however, exciting news acted upon her
+like a tonic. The Amiens address had been wired to Paris, and in
+addition to a mass of letters (mostly for Father Beckett) there was a
+telegram from the Chateau d'Andelle, despatched by an agency messenger,
+who had been sent to Normandy. All was going well. The house would be
+ready on the date named. Two large boxes from the Ritz had safely
+arrived by _grande vitesse_.
+
+"Darling Jimmy's own things!" Mother Beckett explained to me. "Do you
+remember my telling you we'd brought over to France the treasures out of
+his den at home?"
+
+I did remember. (Do I ever forget anything she says about Jim?)
+
+"They were to be a surprise for him when he came to see us," his mother
+went on, tears misting the blueness of her eyes. "Not furniture, you
+know, but just the little things he loved best in his rooms: some he had
+when he was a child, and others when he was growing up--and the picture
+your brother painted. When we heard--the news--and knew we shouldn't see
+our boy again in this world, I couldn't bear to open the boxes--though I
+was longing to cry over his dear treasures. They've been stored at the
+Ritz ever since. But the first thing I asked Father to do when we
+decided the other day to live in Jim's chateau, after all--was to wire
+for the boxes to be sent there. I didn't suppose they'd arrive so
+soon--in war time. Dear me, I can hardly wait to start, now! I feel as
+strong as a girl."
+
+To prove this--or because she was restless--she begged to be taken out
+in a cab to see the town, especially the cathedral, which Brian had told
+her was the largest in Europe except St. Peter's in Rome, St. Sophia in
+Constantinople, and something in Cologne which she didn't _want_ to
+remember! Julian O'Farrell and his sister must go with us, of course. It
+wouldn't be kind to leave them to do their sightseeing alone. Besides,
+Julian was so good-natured, and said such funny things it would be
+pleasant to have his society.
+
+This arrangement made it difficult for me to glue myself to Mother
+Beckett's side. Now and then she insisted upon getting out of the cab to
+try her strength, and Dierdre would obediently have taken her in tow, in
+order to hand me over to "Jule," if I hadn't been mulishly obstinate. I
+quite enjoyed manoeuvring to use my dear little invalid as a sort of
+standing barrage against enemy attacks, and even though Brian and I were
+parted for the first time since his blindness, I felt almost absurdly
+cheerful. It was so good to know that Mother Beckett was out of danger,
+and that it was I who had helped to drag her out! Besides, after all the
+stricken towns that have saddened our eyes, it was enlivening to be in
+one (as Mother Beckett said at Compiegne) with "whole houses." In
+contrast, good St. Firmin's ancient city looks almost as gay as Paris.
+Our hotel with its pleasant garden and the fine shops--(where it seems
+you can still buy every fascinating thing from newest jewellery and
+oldest curiosities, to Amiens' special "_roc_" chocolates)--the long,
+arboured boulevards, the cobbled streets, the quaint blue and pink
+houses of the suburbs, and the poplar-lined walk by the Somme, all, all
+have the friendliest air! Despite the crowds of soldiers in khaki and
+horizon blue who fill the streets and cafes, the place seems outside
+war. Even the stacked sandbags walling the west front and the side
+portals of the grandest cathedral in France suggest comfortable security
+rather than fear. The jackdaws and pigeons that used to be at home in
+the carvings, camp contentedly among the bags, or walk in the neglected
+grass where sleep the dead of long ago. I didn't want to remember just
+then, or let any one else remember, that twenty miles away were the
+trenches and thousands of the dead of to-day!
+
+Never can Amiens have been such a kaleidoscope of colourful animation
+since Henri II of France and Edward VI of England signed the treaty of
+peace here, with trains of diplomatists and soldiers of church and state
+and dignified rejoicings!
+
+It wasn't until we were inside the cathedral that I forgot my
+manoeuverings. The soft, rich light gave such a bizarre effect to the
+sandbags protecting the famous choir carvings, that I was all eyes for a
+moment: and during that moment Julian must have signed to his sister to
+decoy Mother Beckett away from me. When I hauled my soul down from the
+soaring arches as one strikes a flag, there was Puck at my side and
+there were Mother Beckett and Dierdre disappearing behind
+sandbag-hillocks, in the direction of the celebrated Cherub.
+
+"I suppose you want me jolly well to understand," said Puck, smiling,
+"that even if your brother Brian and my sister Dare are fools over each
+other, you won't be fooled into forgiving a poor, broken-voiced
+Pierrot?"
+
+"I've nothing to forgive you for, personally," I said. "Only----"
+
+"Only, you don't want to be friends?"
+
+"No, I don't want to be friends," I echoed. "Why can't you be content
+with being treated decently before people, instead of following me
+about, trying always to bring upon yourself----"
+
+"A lamp might ask that question of a moth."
+
+I laughed. "You're less like a moth than any creature I ever met!"
+
+"You don't believe I'm sincere."
+
+"Do moths specialize in sincerity in the insect world?"
+
+"Yes," Puck said, more gravely than usual. "Come to think of it, that's
+just what they _do_. They risk their lives for the light they love. I
+'follow you about,' as you put it, because I love you and want to
+persuade you that we're birds of a feather, made for each other by
+nature and fate and our mutual behaviour. We belong together in life."
+
+"Do you really believe you can blackmail me into a partnership?" I
+turned at bay. "You must have seen that I wanted to keep out of your
+way----"
+
+"Oh, I saw all right. _You_ thought that I thought Amiens would be my
+great chance, and you made up your mind it shouldn't be if you could
+help it. Well, you won't be able to help it much longer, because I've
+got something you want, and you can't get it except through me."
+
+"I doubt very much that I could want anything you have," I said.
+
+"Give your imagination wings."
+
+"You are always teasing me to guess things I don't care to guess!"
+
+"Here comes Dierdre back with Mrs. Beckett so I won't worry you to
+guess. I've got a message from the Wandering Jew. Do you want it, or
+don't you?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+
+If Julian had suddenly popped down an apple on the top of my head, _a
+la_ Gessler and the son of William Tell, and thereupon proceeded to
+shoot it off, I could have been no more amazed. For once he outflanked
+me, caught me completely off my guard! I saw by the impish gleam in his
+eye how delighted he was with himself.
+
+"Yes or no, please; quick!" he fired the next volley as I stood
+speechless.
+
+"Yes!" I gasped. "I do want the message--if it's for me. But why should
+he send word through you?"
+
+"He didn't. I caught it as I might catch a homing carrier-pigeon. You
+know, my motto is 'All's fair in love and war.' In my case, both
+exist--your fault! Besides, what I did was for your good."
+
+"What did you do--what did you _dare_ to do?"
+
+"Dare!" Puck mimicked my foolish fury. "'Dare' is such a melodramatic
+word from you to me. I can't tell you now what I did, or the message--no
+time. But I'm in as much of a hurry as you are. When can I see you
+alone?"
+
+I hesitated, because it would be like him to cheat me with some trick,
+and chuckle at my rage. I couldn't see how a message from Paul Herter
+for me had reached Julian O'Farrell, unless he'd intercepted a letter.
+It seemed far more likely that Puck was romancing, yet I felt in my
+bones and heart and solar plexus that he wasn't! I simply _had_ to
+know--and in a flurry, before Mother Beckett and Dierdre were upon us, I
+said, "This afternoon, at three, when Mrs. Beckett is having her nap.
+I'll meet you in the garden of the hotel."
+
+Though I dash along with this story of mine, Padre, as if I went
+straight on describing the scene between Julian and me from beginning to
+end, without a break, it isn't really so. I've been interrupted more
+than once, and may be again; but I shall tell you everything that's
+happened since we came to Amiens, as if I wrote consecutively. You can
+understand better in that way, and help me with your strength and love,
+through your understanding, as I feel you do help, whenever I make you
+my confessions. Since I've begun to write you, as in old days when you
+were in the flesh, I've felt your advice come to me in electric flashes.
+I'm sure I don't just imagine this. It's real, dear Padre, and makes all
+the difference to me that a rope flung out over dark waters would make
+to a drowning man.
+
+At three o'clock I was in the garden. It was cold, but I didn't care.
+Besides, I was too excited to feel the chill. I wanted to be out of
+doors because there would be people about, and no chance for Julian to
+try and kiss my hand--no vulgar temptation for me to box his ears!
+
+He was already waiting, strolling up and down, smoking a cigarette which
+he threw away at sight of me. Evidently he'd decided on this occasion
+not to be frivolous!
+
+I selected a seat safely commanded by many windows. "Now!" I said,
+sitting down close to one end of the bench.
+
+Julian took the other end, but sat gazing straight at me without a word.
+There was an odd expression on his face. I didn't know how to read it,
+or to guess what was to come. But there was nothing Puckish about the
+enemy at that moment. He looked nervous--almost as if he were afraid. I
+thought of something you told me when I was quite small, Padre: how the
+Romans of old used to send packets of good news bound with laurel, or of
+bad news, tied with the plumes of ravens. I stared into Julian
+O'Farrell's stare, and wished that he'd stuck a green leaf or a black
+feather in his buttonhole to prepare my mind.
+
+"Yes--now!" he echoed at last, as if he'd suddenly waked up to my
+challenge. "Well, a man blew into this hotel last night--a lame
+Frenchman with a face like a boiled ghost. I was writing an important
+telegram (I'll tell you about that later), when I heard this person ask
+the concierge if a Miss Mary O'Malley was staying in the house. That
+made me open my eyes--because he was of the lower _bourgeois_ class, and
+hadn't the air of being--so to speak--in your set. It seemed as if 'twas
+up to me to tackle him; so I did. I introduced myself as a friend of
+Miss O'Malley's, travelling with her party. I explained that Miss
+O'Malley was taking care of an old lady who'd been ill and was tired
+after a long journey. I asked if he'd like to give a message. He said he
+would. But first he began to explain who he was: an Alsatian by birth,
+named Muller, corporal in an infantry regiment; been a prisoner in
+Germany, I forget how long--taken wounded; leg amputated; and fitted
+with artificial limb in a Boche hospital; just exchanged for a _grand
+blesse_ Boche, and repatriated; been in Paris on important business,
+apparently with the War Office--sounded more exciting than he looked!
+After I'd prodded the chap tactfully, he came back to the subject of
+the message: asked me if I knew Doctor Paul Herter. I said I did know
+him. Herter mended up my sister after an air raid. I inquired politely
+where Herter was, but Muller evaded that question. He led me to suppose
+he'd seen Herter in Paris; but putting two and two together, I got a
+different idea--_altogether_ different."
+
+Julian paused on those words, and tried piercingly to read my thoughts.
+But I made my face expressionless as the front of a shut-up house, with
+"to let unfurnished" over the door.
+
+"I expect you've guessed what my idea was, and I bet you know for a fact
+whether I was on the right track," he ventured.
+
+"The only thing so far which I know for a fact," I said, "is that you
+had no right to talk to the man at all. You should have sent for me at
+once."
+
+"You couldn't have come if I had. Dierdre had told me about five minutes
+before that you were putting Mrs. Beckett to bed, and giving her a
+massage treatment with a rub-down of alcohol."
+
+"Why didn't you ask the man to wait?"
+
+"I did ask him if he _could_ wait, and he said he couldn't. He'd stopped
+at Amiens on purpose to deliver his message, and he had to catch a train
+on to Allonville, to where it seems his people have migrated."
+
+"You asked him that because you hoped he couldn't wait--and if he could,
+you'd have found some reason for not letting me meet him. You thought
+you saw a way of getting a new hold over me!"
+
+"Some such dramatic idea may have flitted through my head. I've often
+warned you, I _am_ dramatic! I enjoy dramatizing life for myself and
+others! But honestly, he couldn't wait for you to finish with Mrs.
+Beckett. I know too well how devoted you are to think you'd have left
+the old lady before you'd soothed her off to sleep."
+
+"Where is the message?" I snatched Julian back to the point.
+
+"In my brain at present."
+
+"You destroyed the letter?"
+
+"There wasn't a letter. Oh, make grappling hooks of your lovely eyes if
+you like! You can't drag anything out of me that doesn't exist. Herter's
+message to you was verbal for safety. That was one thing set me thinking
+the men hadn't met in Paris. Muller admitted going to a bank to get your
+address. The people there didn't want to give it, but when he explained
+that it was important, and mentioned where he was going, they saw that
+he might have time to meet you at Amiens on his way home. So they told
+him where you were. Now, there's no good your being cross with _me_.
+What's done is done, and can't be undone. I acted for the best--_my_
+best; and in my opinion for your best. Listen! Here's the message, word
+for word. You'll see that a few hours' delay for me to think it over
+could make no difference to any one concerned. Paul Herter, from
+somewhere--but maybe not 'somewhere in France'--sends you a verbal
+greeting, because it was more sure of reaching you--not coming to grief
+_en route_. He reminds you that he asked for an address in case he had
+something of interest to communicate. He hoped to find the grave of a
+man you loved. Instead, he thinks he has found that there is no
+grave--that the man is above ground and well. He isn't sure yet whether
+he may be deceived by a likeness of names. But he's sure enough to say:
+'Hope.' If he's right about the man, you may get further news almost any
+minute by way of Switzerland or somewhere neutral. That's all. Yet it's
+enough to show you what danger you're in. If Herter hadn't been
+practically certain, he wouldn't have sent any message. He'd have
+waited. Evidently you made him believe that you loved Jim Beckett, so he
+wanted to prepare your mind by degrees. I suppose he imagined a shock of
+joy might be dangerous. Well, you ought to thank Herter just the same
+for sparing you a worse sort of shock. And I thank him, too, for it
+gives me a great chance--the chance to save you. Mary, the time's come
+for you and me to fade off the Beckett scene--together."
+
+I listened without interrupting him once: at first, because I was
+stunned, and a thousand thoughts beat dully against my brain without
+finding their way in, as gulls beat their wings against the lamp of a
+lighthouse; at last, because I wished to hear Julian O'Farrell to the
+very end before I answered. I fancied that in answering I could better
+marshal my own thoughts.
+
+He misunderstood my silence--I expected him to do that, but I cared not
+at all--so, when he had paused and still I said nothing, he went on: "Of
+course I--for the best of reasons--know you didn't love Jim Beckett, and
+couldn't love him."
+
+Hearing those words of his, suddenly I knew just what I wanted to say.
+I'd been like an amateur actress wild with stage fright, who'd forgotten
+her part till the right cue came. "There you're mistaken," I
+contradicted him. "I did love Jim Beckett."
+
+Julian gave an excited, brutal laugh. "Tell that to the Marines, my
+child, not to yours truly! You never set eyes on Jim Beckett. He never
+went near your hospital. You never came near the training-camp. You seem
+to have forgotten that I was on the spot."
+
+"I met him before the war," I said.
+
+"What's that?" Julian didn't know whether to believe me or not, but his
+forehead flushed to the black line of his low-growing hair.
+
+"I never told you, because there was no need to tell," I went on. "But
+it's true. I fell in love with Jim Beckett then, and--_he cared for
+me_."
+
+For the first time I realized that Julian O'Farrell's "love" wasn't all
+pretence. His flush died, and left him pale with that sick,
+greenish-olive pallor which men of Latin blood have when they're near
+fainting. He opened his lips, but did not speak, because, I think, he
+could not. If I'd wanted revenge for what he made me suffer when he
+first thrust himself into my life, I had it then; but to my own surprise
+I felt no pleasure in striking him. Instead I felt vaguely sorry, though
+very distant from his plans and interests.
+
+"You--you weren't engaged to Beckett, anyhow. I'm sure you weren't, or
+you'd have had nothing to worry about when Dierdre and I turned up," he
+faced me down.
+
+"No, we weren't engaged," I admitted. "I--was just as much of a fraud as
+you meant Dierdre to be with Father and Mother Beckett. I've no
+excuse--except that it was for Brian's sake. But that's no excuse
+really, and Brian would despise me if he knew."
+
+"There you are!" Julian burst out, with a relieved sigh, a more natural
+colour creeping back to his face. "If Jim Beckett let you go before the
+war without asking you to marry him, I'm afraid his love couldn't have
+been very deep--not deep enough to make him forgive you after all this
+time for deceiving his old father and mother the way you have. My God,
+no! In spite of your beauty, he'd have no mercy on you!"
+
+"That's what I think," I said. "My having met him, and his loving me a
+little, makes what I've done more shameful than if I'd never met him at
+all."
+
+"Then you see why you must get away as quick as you can!" urged Julian,
+his eyes lighting as he drew nearer to me on the garden bench. "Oh,
+wait, don't speak yet! Let me explain my plan. There's time still.
+You're thinking of Brian before yourself, maybe. But he's safe. The
+Becketts adore him. They say he 'saved their reason.' He makes the
+mysticism they're always groping for seem real as their daily bread. He
+puts local colour into the fourth dimension for them! They can never do
+without Brian again. All that's needed is for him to propose to Dierdre.
+I know--you think he won't, no matter how he feels. But he'll have
+missed her while he's away. She's a missable little thing to any one who
+likes her, and she can tempt him to speak out in spite of himself when
+he gets back. I'll see to it that she does. The Becketts will be
+enchanted. The old lady's a born match-maker. We can announce our
+engagement at the same time. While they think Jim's dead, they won't
+grudge your being happy with another man, especially with me. They're
+fond of me! And you're young. Your life's before you. They're too
+generous to stand in your way. They look on you as a daughter, and Brian
+as a son. They'll give each of you a handsome wedding present, and I
+don't doubt they'll ask Brian to live with them, or near them, if he's
+to be blind all his life. He'll have everything you wanted to win for
+him. Even when they get into communication with Jim, and find out the
+truth about you, why I bet anything they'll hide it from Brian to keep
+him happy! Meanwhile you and I will be in Paris, safely married. An
+offer came to me yesterday from Jean De Letzski--forwarded on. He's
+getting old. He wants me to take on some of his pupils, under his
+direction. I telegraphed back my acceptance. That's the wire I was
+sending when Herter's man turned up last night. There was a question
+last summer of my getting this chance with De Letzski, but I hardly
+dared hope. It's a great stroke of luck! In the end I shall stand in De
+Letzski's shoes, and be a rich man--almost as rich as if I'd kept my
+place as star tenor in opera. Even at the beginning you and I won't be
+poor. I count on a wedding gift from the Becketts to you of ten thousand
+dollars at least. The one way to save our reputations is to marry or die
+brilliantly. We choose the former. We can take a fine apartment. We'll
+entertain the most interesting set in Paris. With your looks and charm,
+and what's left of my voice, we----"
+
+"Oh, _stop_!" I plunged into the torrent of his talk. "You are making
+me--_sick_. Do you really believe I'd accept money from Jim Beckett's
+parents, and--marry you?"
+
+He stared, round-eyed and hurt, like a misunderstood child. "But," he
+blundered on, "don't you see it's the only thing you can do--anyhow, to
+marry me? If you won't accept money, why it's a pity and a waste, but I
+want you enough to snap you up without a franc. You must marry me, dear.
+Think what I gave up for you!"
+
+I burst out laughing. "What you gave up for me!"
+
+"Yes. Have you forgotten already? If I hadn't fallen in love with you at
+first sight, and sacrificed myself and Dierdre for your good, wouldn't
+my sister have been in your place now, and you and your brother Lord
+knows where--in prison as impostors, perhaps?"
+
+"According to you, my place isn't a very enviable one at present," I
+said. "But I'd rather be in prison for life than married to you. What a
+vision--what a couple!"
+
+"Oh, I know having you for my wife would be a good deal like going to
+heaven in a strong mustard plaster; but I'd stand the smart for the sake
+of the bliss. If you won't marry me and if you won't take money from the
+Becketts, what will become of you? That's what I want to know! You can't
+stay on with them. You daren't risk going to their Chateau d'Andelle, as
+things are turning out. Herter's certainly in Germany--ideal man for a
+spy! If he runs across Jim Beckett, as he's trying to do, he'll move
+heaven and earth to help him escape. He must have influence, and secret
+ways of working things. He may have got at Jim before this for all we
+can tell. Muller let it leak out that he left Herter--somewhere--a week
+ago. A lot can happen in a week--to a Wandering Jew. The ground's
+trembling under your feet. You'll have to skip without Brian, without
+money, without----"
+
+"I shall not stir," I said. "I can't leave Mrs. Beckett, I won't leave
+her! The only way I can atone even a little bit, is to stop and take
+care of her while she needs me, no matter what happens. When she finds
+out, she won't want me any longer. Then I'll go. But not before."
+
+We glared at each other like two fencers through the veil of falling
+dusk. Suddenly I sprang up from the bench, remembering that, at least, I
+could escape from Julian, if not from the sword of Damocles. But he
+caught my dress, and held me fast.
+
+"What if I tell the old birds the whole story up to date?" he blustered.
+"I can, you know."
+
+"You can. Please give me fair warning if you're going to--that's all I
+ask. I'll try to prepare Mrs. Beckett's mind to bear the shock. She's
+not very strong, but----"
+
+"If I don't tell, it won't be because of her. It will be for
+you--always, everything, for you! But I haven't decided yet. I don't
+know what I shall do yet. I must think. You'll have to make the best of
+that compromise unless you change your mind."
+
+"I shall not change my mind," I said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+
+Later, Padre, when I'd broken away from Julian, I wondered if he had
+made up the whole story. The cruel trick would be impishly
+characteristic! But I went straight to the concierge to ask about
+Muller. He said that a man of that name had called the night before,
+inquiring for me, and had talked with "the Monsieur who looked like an
+Italian." This practically convinced me that Julian hadn't lied.
+
+If only I could get direct advice from you! Do try to send me an
+inspiration of what to do for the best.
+
+My first impulse was to give Mother Beckett a faint hint of hope. But I
+dared not run the risk. If Paul Herter proved to be mistaken, it would
+be for her like losing her son a second time, and the dear one's
+strength might not be equal to the strain. After thinking and unthinking
+all night, I decided to keep silent until our two men returned from the
+British front. Then, perhaps, I might tell Brian of the message from
+Doctor Paul, and ask his opinion about speaking to Father Beckett. As
+for myself, I resolved not to make any confession, unless it were
+certain that Jim lived. And I'm not sure, Padre, whether that decision
+was based on sheer, selfish cowardice, or whether I founded it partly on
+the arguments I presented to myself. I said in my mind: "If it's true
+that everything you did in the beginning was for Brian's good, why undo
+it all at the most critical hour of his life, when perhaps there may
+never be any reason to speak?" Also I said: "Why make it impossible for
+yourself to give Mother Beckett the care she needs, and can hardly do
+without yet? Every day counts with her now. Why not wait unless you hear
+again more definitely?"
+
+The annoying part of a specious argument is that there's always some
+truth in it, and it seems like kind advice from wise friends!
+
+Anyhow, I _did_ wait. Julian made no further appeal to me, and I felt
+sure that he said nothing to Dierdre. If he had taken her into his
+confidence, I should have known by her manner; because, from the
+shut-up, night-flower of a girl that she was, she has rather
+pathetically opened out for me into a daylight flower. All this since
+she came of her own free will and told me of the scene in the chill
+boarding house _salon_ at Soissons. I used to think her as secret as the
+grave--and deeper. She used to make me "creep" as if a mouse ran over
+_mine_, by the way her eyes watched me: still as a cat's looking into
+the fire. If we had to shake hands, she used to present me with a limp
+little bunch of cold fingers, which made me long to ask what the deuce
+she wanted me to do with them? Now, because I'm Brian's sister, and
+because I'm human enough to love her love of him, the flower-part of her
+nature sheds perfume and distils honey for me: the cat-part purrs; the
+girl-part warms. The creature actually deigns to like me! It could not
+now conceal its anxiety for Brian and Brian's kith and kin, if it knew
+what Julian knows.
+
+I waited until our last day at Amiens, and Father Beckett, Brian, and
+Sirius are back from the British front. Perhaps I forgot to tell you
+that Sirius went. He wasn't on the programme, but he knew somehow that
+his master was planning a separation, and refused to fall in with the
+scheme. He was discovered in the motor-car when it was ready to start,
+looking his best, his dear face parted in the middle with an
+irresistible, ingratiating smile. When Brian tried to put him out he
+flattened himself, and clung like a limpet. By Father Beckett's
+intercession, he was eventually taken, trusting to luck for toleration
+by the British Army. Of course he continued to smile upon all possible
+arbiters of his fate; and the drama of his history, combined with the
+pathos of his blind master who fought on these battlefields of Flanders,
+which now he cannot see, made Brian's Sirius and Sirius's Brian _personae
+gratae_ everywhere.
+
+"I should have been nobody and nothing without them!" modestly insisted
+the millionaire philanthropist for whom all the privileges of the trip
+had been granted.
+
+To me, with the one thought, the one word "Jim--Jim--_Jim_!" repeating
+in my head it was strange, even irrelevant to hear Jim's unsuspecting
+father and my blind brother discoursing of their adventures.
+
+We all assembled in Mother Beckett's sitting room to listen to the
+recital, she on a sofa, a rug over her feet, and on her transparent face
+an utterly absorbed, tense expression rather like a French spaniel
+trying to learn an English trick.
+
+Father Beckett appointed Brian as spokesman, and then in his excitement
+broke in every instant with: "Don't forget this! Be sure to remember
+that! But so-and-so was the best!" Or he jumped up from his chair by
+the sofa, and dropped his wife's hand to point out something on the
+map, spread like a cloth over the whole top of a bridge-table.
+
+It was his finger that sketched for our eyes the sharp triangle which
+the road-journey had formed: Amiens to Albert: Albert to Peronne:
+Peronne to Bapaume: Bapaume to Arras: Arras to Bethune, and so on to
+Ypres: his finger that reminded Brian of the first forest on the road--a
+forest full of working German prisoners.
+
+At Pont-Noyelles, between Amiens and Albert, they were met by an officer
+who was to be their guide for that part of the British front which they
+were to visit. He was sent from headquarters, but hadn't been able to
+afford time for Amiens. However, Pont-Noyelles was the most interesting
+place between there and Albert. A tremendous battle was fought on that
+spot in '70, between the French under famous General Faidherbe and the
+Germans under Manteuffel--a _perfect_ name for a German general of these
+days, if not of those! There were two monuments to commemorate the
+battle--one high on a hill above the village; and the officer guide
+(with the face of a boy and the grim experience of an Old Contemptible)
+was well up in their history. He turned out to be a friend of friends of
+Brian and knew the history of Sirius as well as that of all the
+war-wasted land. He and Brian, though they'd never met, had fought near
+each other it seemed, and he could describe for the blind eyes all the
+changes that had come upon the Somme country since Brian's "day." The
+roads which had been remade by the British over the shell-scarred and
+honeycombed surface of the land; the aerodromes; the training-camps; the
+tanks; the wonderful new railways for troops and ammunition: the bands
+of German prisoners docilely at work.
+
+When the great gray car stopped, throbbing, at special view-points here
+and there, it was Brian who could listen for a lark's message of hope
+among the billowing downs, or draw in the tea-rose scent of earth from
+some brown field tilled by a woman. It was Father Beckett who saw the
+horrors of desolation--desolation more hideous even than on the French
+front; because, since the beginning, here had burned the hottest furnace
+of war: here had fallen a black, never-ceasing rain of bombardment,
+night and day, day and night, year after year.
+
+It was the cherubic Old Contemptible who could tell each detail of
+war-history, when the car reached Albert. It was Brian who knew the
+ancient legend of the place, and the modern story of the spy, which,
+together, double the dramatic interest of the Bending Virgin. In the
+eleventh century a shepherd boy discovered, in a miraculous way, a
+statue of the Virgin. There was a far-off sound of music at night, when
+he was out in search of strayed sheep, and being young he forgot his
+errand in curiosity to learn whence came the mysterious chanting,
+accompanied by the silver notes of a flute. The boy wandered in the
+direction of the delicate sounds, and to his amazement found all the
+lost flock grazing round a statue which appeared to have risen from the
+earth. On that spot was built the basilica of Notre-Dame de Brebieres,
+which became a place of pilgrimage. The Virgin of the Shepherds was
+supposed to send her blessings far, far over the countryside, and her
+gilded image, with the baby Christ in her arms, was a flaming beacon at
+sunrise and sunset. Thus on her high tower the golden Lady stood when
+the war began. Albert was pitilessly bombarded, and with a startling
+accuracy which none could understand: yet the church itself, with its
+temptingly high tower, remained intact. Through October, 1914, the
+shining figure blazed against the sky, while houses fell in all quarters
+of the town: but on November 1st, three bombs struck the church. They
+were the first heavy drops of rain in a thunderstorm. The roof crashed
+in: and presently the pedestal of the Virgin received a shattering blow.
+This was on the very day when Albert discovered why for so long the
+church had been immune. A spy had been safely signalling from the tower,
+telling German gunners how and where to strike with the most damage to
+the town. When all the factories which gave wealth to Albert, and the
+best houses, had been methodically destroyed, the spy silently stole
+away: and the Virgin of the Shepherds then bent over, face down, to
+search for this black sheep of the fold. Ever since she with the sacred
+Child in her arms has hung thus suspended in pity and blessing over
+mountainous piles of wreckage which once composed the market-place. She
+will not crash to earth, Albert believes, till the war is over. But so
+loved is she in her posture of protection that the citizens propose to
+keep her in it for ever to commemorate the war-history of Albert, when
+Albert is rebuilt for future generations.
+
+From there the gray car ran on almost due east to Peronne, out of the
+country of Surrey-like, Chiltern-like downs, into a strange marshy
+waste, where the river Somme expands into vast meres, swarming with many
+fish. It looked, Father Beckett said, "Like a bit of the world when God
+had just begun to create life out of chaos."
+
+Poor Peronne! In its glorious days of feudal youth its fortress-castle
+was invincible. The walls were so thick that in days before gunpowder no
+assaults could hope to break through them. Down in its underground
+depths was a dungeon, where trapped enemy princes lay rotting and
+starving through weary years, never released save by death, unless
+tortured into signing shameful treaties. The very sound of the name,
+"Peronne," is an echo of history, as Brian says. Hardly a year-date in
+the Middle Ages could be pricked by a pin without touching some
+sensational event going on at that time at Peronne. I remember this from
+my schooldays; and more clearly still from "Quentin Durward," which I
+have promised to read aloud to Mother Beckett. I remember the Scottish
+monks who were established at Peronne in the reign of Clovis. I remember
+how Charles the Bold of Burgundy (who died outside Nancy's gates)
+imprisoned wicked Louis XI in a strong tower of the chateau, one of the
+four towers with conical roofs, like extinguishers of giant candles and
+kingly reputations! I remember best of all the heroine of Peronne,
+Catherine de Poix, "la belle Peronnaise," who broke with her own hand
+the standard of Charles's royal flag, in the siege of 1536, threw the
+bearer into the fosse, and saved the city.
+
+When Wellington took the fortress in 1814, he did not desecrate or
+despoil the place: it was left for the Germans to do that, just a
+century later in the progress of civilization! My blood grew hot as I
+heard from our two men the story of what the new Vandals had done. Just
+for a moment I almost forgot the secret burning in my heart. The proud
+pile of historic stone brought to earth at last, like a soldier-king,
+felled by an axe in his old age: the statue of Catherine thrown from its
+pedestal, and replaced in mockery by a foolish manikin--this as a mean
+revenge for what she did to the standard-bearer, most of Charles's men
+in the siege being Germans, under Henry of Nassau.
+
+    "Toujours Francs-Peronnais
+    Auront bon jour,
+    Toujours et en tout temps
+    Francs-Peronnais auront bon temps,"
+
+the girls used to sing in old days as they wove the wonderful linens and
+tissues of Peronne, or embroidered banners of gorgeous colours to
+commemorate the saving of the Picard city by Catherine: as Brian
+repeated to Father Beckett wandering through the ruins redeemed last
+spring for France by the British. And though Brian's eyes could not see
+the rubbish-heap where once had soared the citadel he saw through the
+mystic veil of his blindness many things which others did not see.
+
+It seems that above these marshy flats of the Somme, where the river has
+wandered away from the hills and disguised itself in shining lakes,
+gauzy mists always hover. Brian had seen them with bodily eyes, while he
+was a soldier. Now, with the eyes of his spirit he saw them again,
+gleaming with the delicate, indescribable colours which only blind eyes
+can call up to lighten darkness. He saw the fleecy clouds streaming over
+Peronne like a vast, transparent ghost-banner. He saw on their filmy
+folds, as if traced in blue and gold and royal purple, the ever famous
+scene on the walls when Catherine and her following beat back Nassau's
+men from the one breach where they might have captured the town. And
+this mystic banner of the spirit Germans can never capture or desecrate.
+It will wave over Peronne--what was Peronne, and what will again be
+Peronne--while the world goes on making history for free men.
+
+After Peronne, Bapaume: the battered corpse of Bapaume, murdered in
+flame that reddened all the skies of Picardy before the British came to
+chase the Germans out!
+
+In old times, when a place was destroyed the saying was, "Not one stone
+is left upon another." But in this war, destruction means an avalanche
+of stones upon each other. Bapaume as Father Beckett saw it, is a
+Herculaneum unexcavated. Beneath lie buried countless precious things,
+and still more precious memories; the feudal grandeur of the old chateau
+where Philippe-Auguste married proud Isabelle de Hainaut, with splendid
+ceremony as long ago as 1180: the broken glory of ancient ramparts,
+where modern lovers walked till the bugles of August 2, 1914, parted
+them for ever; the arcaded Town Hall, old as the domination of the
+Spaniards in Picardy; the sixteenth-century church of St. Nicolas with
+its quaint Byzantine Virgin of miracles: the statue of Faidherbe who
+beat back the German wave from Bapaume in 1871: all, all burned and
+battered, and mingled inextricably with debris of pitiful little homes,
+nobles' houses, rich shops and tiny _boutiques_, so that, when Bapaume
+rises from the dead, she will rise as one--even as France has risen.
+
+Of the halting places on this pilgrimage along the British front, I
+should best have liked to be with Brian and Father Beckett at Arras.
+Brian and I were there together you know, Padre, on that happy-go-lucky
+tramping tour of ours--not long before I met Jim. We both loved Arras,
+Brian and I, and spent a week there in the most fascinating of ancient
+hotels. It had been a palace; and I had a huge room, big enough for the
+bedchamber of a princess (princesses should always have bedchambers,
+never mere bedrooms!) with long windows draped like the walls and stiff
+old furniture, in yellow satin. I was frightened when an aged servant
+with the air of a pontiff ushered me in; for Brian and I were travelling
+"on the cheap." But Arras, though delicious in its quaint charm, never
+attracted hordes of ordinary tourists. Consequently one could have
+yellow satin hangings without being beggared.
+
+Oh, how happy we were in that hotel, and in the adorable old town! While
+Brian painted in the Grande Place and the Petite Place, and sketched the
+Abbey of St. Waast (who brought Christianity to that part of the world)
+I wandered alone. I used to stand every evening till my neck ached,
+staring up at the beautiful belfry, to watch the swallows chase each
+other back and forth among the bells, whose peal was music of fairyland.
+And I never tired of wandering through the arcades under the tall old
+Flemish houses with their overhanging upper storeys, or peeping into the
+arcades' cool shadows, from the middle of the sunlit squares.
+
+There were some delightful shops in those arcades, where they sold
+antique Flemish furniture, queer old pictures showing Arras in her
+proud, treaty-making days (you know what a great place she was for
+treaty-making!) and lovely faded tapestries said to be "genuinely" of
+the time when no one mentioned a piece of tapestry save as an "arras."
+But the shop I haunted was a cake-shop. It was called "_Au Coeur
+d'Arras_," because the famous speciality of Arras was a heart-shaped
+cake; but I wasn't lured there so much by the charm of _les coeurs_ as
+by that of the person who sold them.
+
+I dare say I described her to you in letters, or when I got back to
+England after that trip. The most wonderful old lady who ever lived! She
+didn't welcome her customers at all. She just sat and knitted. She had
+an architectural sort of face, framed with a crust of snow--I mean, a
+frilled cap! And if one furtively stared, she looked at one down her
+nose, and made one feel cheap and small as if one had snored, or
+hiccupped out aloud in a cathedral! But it seems I won her esteem by
+enquiring if "_les coeurs d'Arras_" had a history. Nobody else had
+ever shown enough intelligence to care! So she gave me the history of
+the cakes, and of everything else in Arras; also, before we went away,
+she escorted Brian and me into a marvellous cellar beneath her shop. It
+went down three storeys and had fireplaces and a well! The earth under
+La Grande Place was honeycombed with such _souterrains_, she said.
+They'd once been quarries, in days so old as to be forgotten--quarries
+of "tender stone" (what a nice expression!), and the people of Arras had
+cemented and made them habitable in case of bombardment. They must have
+been useful in 1914!
+
+As for the cakes, they were invented by an abbess who was sent to Spain.
+Before reluctantly departing, she gave the recipe to her successor,
+saying she "left her heart in Arras." According to the legend (the old
+shop-lady assured me) a girl who had never loved was certain to fall in
+love within a month after first eating a Heart of Arras. Well, Padre, I
+ate almost a hundred hearts, and less than a month after I met Jim!
+
+You may believe that I asked Brian and Father Beckett a dozen questions
+at once about dear Arras. But alas, alas! all the answers were sad.
+
+The beautiful belfry? Only a phantom remaining. The Hotel de Ville?
+Smashed. La Grande Place--La Petite Place? Stone quarries above ground
+as well as below, the old Flemish facades crumbled like sheets of barley
+sugar. The arcades? Ruined. The charming old shops? Vanished. The seller
+of Hearts? Dead. But the Hearts--_they_ still existed! The children of
+Arras who have come back "since the worst was over" (that is their way
+of putting it!) would not feel that life was life without the Arras
+Hearts. Besides, Arras without the Hearts would be like the Altar of the
+Vestal Virgins without the ever-burning lamp. So they are still baked,
+and still eaten, those brave little Hearts of Arras--and Brian asked
+Father Beckett to bring me a box.
+
+They bought it of a cousin of my old woman, an ancient man who had
+lurked in a cellar during the whole of the bombardment. He said that all
+Arras knew, in September, 1914, how the Kaiser had vowed to march into
+the town in triumph, and how, when he found the place as hard to take
+"as quicksilver is to grasp," he revenged himself by destroying its
+best-beloved treasures. He must have rejoiced that July day of 1915,
+when Wolff's Agency was able to announce at last, that the Abbey of St.
+Waast and its museum were in flames!
+
+As the gray car bumped on to Bethune, Vimy Ridge floated blue in the far
+distance, to the right of the road, and Father Beckett and Brian took
+off their hats to it. Still farther away, and out of sight lay Lens, in
+German possession, but practically encircled by the British. The Old
+Contemptible had been there, and described the town as having scarcely a
+roof left, but being an "ant heap" of Boches, who swarm in underground
+shelters bristling with machine guns. Between Lens and the road stood
+the celebrated Colonne de Conde, showing where the prince won his great
+victory over Spain; and farther on, within gun-sound distance though out
+of sight, lay Loos, on the Canal de l'Haute Deule. Who thinks nowadays
+of its powerful Cistercian Abbey, that dominated the country round? Who
+thinks twice, when travelling this Appian Way which Germany has given
+France, of any history which began or ended before the year 1914?
+
+Bethune they found still existing as a town. It has been bombarded often
+but not utterly destroyed, and from there they ran out four miles to
+Festubert, because the little that the Germans have left of the
+thirteenth-century church and village, burns with an eternal flame of
+interest.
+
+Bethune itself was a famous fortress once, full of history and legend:
+but isn't the whole country in its waste and ruin, like a torn historic
+banner, crusted with jewels--magic jewels, which cannot be stolen by
+enemy hands?
+
+On the way to Ypres--crown and climax of the tour--the car passed
+Lillers and Hazebrouck, places never to be forgotten by hearts that beat
+in the battles of Flanders. Then came the frontier at Steenwoorde; and
+they were actually in Belgium, passing Poperinghe to Ypres, the most
+famous British battleground of the war.
+
+When Brian was fighting, and when you were on earth, Padre, everyone
+talked about the "Ypres Salient." Now, though for soldiers Ypres will
+always be the "salient" since the battle of Wytschaete Ridge, the
+_material_ salient has vanished. Yet the same trenches exist, in the
+same gray waste which Brian used to paint in those haunting,
+impressionist war sketches of his that all London talked about, after
+the Regent Street exhibition that he didn't even try for leave to see!
+The critics spoke of the mysterious, spiritual quality of his work,
+which gave "without sentimentality" picturesqueness to the shell-holes
+and mud, the shattered trees and wooden crosses, under eternally
+dreaming skies.
+
+Well, Brian tells me that going back as a blind man to the old scenes,
+he had a strange, thrilling sense of _seeing_ them--seeing more clearly
+than before those effects of mysterious beauty, hovering with prophecy
+above the squalor of mud and blood, hovering and mingling as the faint
+light of dawn mingles, at a certain hour, with the shadows of night.
+People used to call his talent a "blend of vision with reality." Now,
+all that is left him is "vision"--vision of the spirit. But with help--I
+used to think it would be _my_ help: now I realize it will be
+Dierdre's--who knows what extraordinary things my blind Brian may
+accomplish? His hope is so beautiful, and so strong, that it has lit an
+answering flame of hope in me.
+
+He and I were in Ypres for a few days, just about the time I was
+wondering why "Jim Wyndham" didn't keep his promise to find me again.
+It was in Ypres, I remember, that I came across the box of "_Coeurs
+d'Arras_" I'd brought with me. Opening it, I recalled the legend about a
+girl who has never loved, falling in love within a month after first
+eating an Arras Heart. It was then I said to myself, "Why, it has _come
+true_! I have fallen in love with Jim Wyndham--and _he has forgotten
+me_!"
+
+Oh, Padre, how that pain comes back to me now, in the midst of the new
+pain, like the "core of the brilliance within the brilliance!" Which
+hurt is worse, to love a man, and believe oneself forgotten, or to love
+and know one has been loved, and then become unworthy? I can't be sure.
+I can't even be sure that, if I could, I would go back to being the old
+self before I committed the one big sin of my life, which gave me Jim's
+father and mother, and the assurance that _he had cared_. For a while,
+after Mother Beckett told me about Jim's love for "The Girl," in spite
+of my wickedness I glowed with a kind of happiness. I felt that, through
+all the years of my life--even when I grew old--Jim would be _mine_,
+young, handsome, gay, just as I had seen him on the Wonderful Day: that
+I could always run away from outside things and shut the gate of the
+garden on myself and Jim--that rose-garden on the border of Belgium.
+Now, when I know--or almost know--that he will come back in the flesh to
+despise me, and that the gate of the garden will be forever shut--why, I
+shall be punished as perhaps no woman has ever been punished before.
+Still--_still_ I can't be sure that I would escape, if I could, by going
+back to my old self!
+
+It is writing of Belgium, and my days there with Brian while I still
+hoped to see Jim, that brings all these thoughts crowding so thickly to
+my mind, they seem to drip off my pen!
+
+But what a different Ypres Father Beckett has now seen, and Brian
+_felt_, from that dear, pleasant Ypres into which we two drove in a
+cart, along a cobbled causeway as straight as a tight-drawn string!
+Tourists who loved the blue, and yellow, and red bath-houses on the
+golden beach of Ostend, didn't worry to motor over the bumpy road,
+through the Flemish plain to Ypres. The war was needed to bring its sad
+fame to "Wipers!" But Brian and I interrupted our walking tour with that
+cart, because we knew that the interminable causeway would take us deep
+into the inner quaintness of Flanders. We adored it all: and at every
+stopping-place on the twenty-mile road, I had the secret joy of
+whispering; "Perhaps it is _here_ that He will suddenly appear, and meet
+us!"
+
+There was one farmhouse on the way, where I longed to have him come. I
+wanted him so much that I almost _created_ him! I was listening every
+moment, and through every sound, for his car. It never came. But because
+I so wished the place to be a background for our meeting I can see the
+two large living-rooms of the old house, with the black-beamed ceilings,
+the Flemish stoves, the tall, carved sideboards and chests with armorial
+bearings, the deep window-seats that were flower-stands and work-tables
+combined, and the shelves of ancient pottery and gleaming, antique
+brass. There was a comfortable fragrance of new-baked bread, mingling
+with the spicy scent of grass-pinks, in that house: and the hostess who
+gave us luncheon--a young married woman--had a mild, sweet face,
+strongly resembling that of St. Genevieve of Brabant, as pictured in a
+coloured lithograph on the wall.
+
+St. Genevieve's story is surely the most romantic, the most pathetic of
+any saint who ever deigned to tread on earth!--and her life and death
+might serve as an allegory of Belgium's martyrdom, poor Belgium, the
+little country whose patron she is. Since that day at the farmhouse on
+the road to Ypres, I've thought often of the gentle face with its
+forget-me-not eyes and golden hair; and of Golo the dark persecutor
+who--they say now--was a _real_ person and an ancestor of the
+Hohenzollerns through the first Duc de Baviere.
+
+At Ypres, Brian painted for me a funny "imagination picture" imitating
+earliest Flemish work. It showed Ypres when there was no town save a few
+tiny houses and a triangular stronghold, with a turret at each corner,
+built on a little island in the river Yperlee. He named the picture "The
+Castle of the Three Strong Towers," and dated it in the year 900. A
+thousand years have passed since then. Slowly, after much fighting (the
+British fought as hard to take Ypres once, as they fight to save it
+now), the town grew great and powerful, and became the capital of
+Flanders. The days of the rough earthen stockades and sharp thorn-bush
+defences of "Our Lady of the Enclosures" passed on to the days of
+casemates and moats; and still on, to the days when the old
+fortifications could be turned into ornamental walks--days of quaintly
+beautiful architecture, such as Brian and I saw before the war, when we
+spent hours in the Grand' Place, admiring the wonderful Cloth Hall and
+the Spanish-looking Nieuwerck. The people of Ypres told us proudly that
+nothing in Bruges itself, or anywhere in Flanders, could compare with
+those noble buildings massed together at the west end of the Grand'
+Place, each stone of which represented so much wealth of the richest
+merchant kings of Europe.
+
+And now, the work of those thousand busy years has crumbled in a few
+monstrous months, like the sand-houses of children when the tide comes
+in! What Father Beckett saw of Ypres after three years' bombardment, was
+not much more than that shown in Brian's picture, dated 900! A blackened
+wall or two and a heap of rubble where stood the _Halle des
+Drapiers_--pride of Ypres since the thirteenth century--its belfry, its
+statues, its carvings, its paintings, all vanished like the contours and
+colours of a sunset cloud. The cathedral is a skeleton. Hardly a pointed
+gable is left to tell where the quaint and prosperous houses once
+grouped cosily together. Ypres the town is a mourner draped in black
+with the stains of fire which killed its beauty and joy. But there is a
+glory that can never be killed, a glory above mere beauty, as a living
+soul is above the dead body whence it has risen. That glory is Ypres.
+She is a ghost, but she is an inspiration, a name of names, a jewel
+worth dying for--"worth giving a man's eyes for," Brian says!
+
+"Has your brother told you about the man we met at the Visitors'
+Chateau?" asked Father Beckett, when between the two men--and my
+reminiscences--the story of the tour was finished with those last words
+of Brian's.
+
+"No, I haven't told her yet," Brian answered for me.
+
+My nerves jumped. I scarcely knew what I expected to hear. "Not Doctor
+Paul Herter?" I exclaimed--and was surprised to hear on my own lips the
+name so constantly in my mind.
+
+"Well, that's queer she should speak of _him_, isn't it, Brian? How did
+you come to think of Herter?" Father Beckett wanted to know.
+
+"_Was_ it he?" I insisted.
+
+"No. But--you'd better tell her, Brian. I guess you'll have to."
+
+"There isn't much to tell, really," Brian said. "It was only that
+oculist chap Herter told you about--Dr. Henri Chrevreuil. He's been
+working at the front, as you know: lately it's been the British front;
+and they'd taken him in at the chateau for a few days' rest. We met him
+there and talked of his friend--your friend, Molly--Doctor Paul."
+
+"What did he say about your eyes?" Dierdre almost gasped. (I should not
+have ventured to put the question suddenly, and before people. I should
+have been too afraid of the answer. But her nickname is "_Dare!_") "He
+must have said something, or Mr. Beckett wouldn't have spoken so. He
+_did_ look at your eyes--didn't he? He would, for Herter's sake."
+
+"Yes, he did look at them," Brian admitted. "He didn't say much."
+
+"But what--_what_?"
+
+"He said: 'Wait, and--see.'"
+
+"And see!" Dierdre echoed.
+
+The same thought was in all our minds. As I gazed mutely at Brian, he
+gave me the most beautiful smile of his life. He must have felt that I
+was looking at him, or he would not so have smiled. Let Jim hate
+and--punish me when he comes back, and drive me out of Paradise!
+Wherever I may go, there will be the reflection of that smile and the
+thought behind it. How can I be unhappy, if Brian need only wait, to
+see?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+
+Padre, my mind is like a thermometer exposed every minute to a different
+temperature, but always high or low--never normal.
+
+To tell, or not to tell, Father Beckett what the man I didn't see said
+about Jim--or rather, what Julian O'Farrell said that he said! This has
+been the constant question; but the thermometer invariably flies up or
+down, far from the answer-point.
+
+When our men came back to Amiens, I almost hoped that Puck would do his
+worst--carry out his threat and "give me away" to Father Beckett. In
+that case I should at least have been relieved from responsibility. But
+Puck didn't. In my heart I had known all along that he would not.
+
+If I could have felt for a whole minute at a time that it would be fair
+to wake hopes which mightn't be fulfilled, out would have burst the
+secret. But whenever I'd screwed up my courage to speak, Something would
+remind me: "Herter sent word that there might be a message from
+Switzerland. Better wait till it comes, for he wasn't sure of his facts.
+He may have been misled." Or, when I'd decided _not_ to speak, another
+Something would say: "Jim is alive. You _know_ he is alive! Herter is
+helping him to escape. Don't let these dear old people suffer a minute
+longer than they need."
+
+But--well--so far I have waited. A week has passed since I wrote at
+Amiens. We have arrived at Jim's chateau--the little, quaint, old
+Chateau d'Andelle, with thick stone walls, black-beamed ceilings, and
+amusing towers, set in the midst of an enchanted forest of Normandy. No
+wonder he fell in love with the place before the war, and wanted to live
+there! It must have seemed an impossible dream at the time, for the
+owners (the chateau has been in the same family for generations) had
+money in those days, and wouldn't have let their home to strangers. The
+war has made all the difference. They couldn't afford to keep up the
+place, and were eager to let. Beckett money is a boon to them, so
+everyone is satisfied. The agents in Paris secured two or three extra
+servants to help the old pair left in the house as caretakers; and there
+is a jewel of a maid for Mother Beckett--a Belgian refugette. I shall
+give her some training as a nurse, and by and by I shall be able to fade
+away in peace. Already I'm beginning to prepare my dear lady's mind for
+a parting. I talk of my hospital work, and drop hints that I'm only on
+leave--that Brian's hopes and Father Beckett's splendid new-born plan
+for him, will permit me to take up duty again soon.
+
+The plan developed on the trip: but I'm sure the first inspiration came
+from Mother Beckett. While she was ill, she did nothing but lie and
+think of things to do for other people. And she was determined to make
+it possible for Brian to have a love story of his own, provided he
+wanted one. It only needed Father Beckett's practical brain and
+unlimited purse to turn her vague suggestion into a full-grown plan. A
+whole block of buildings on the outskirts of Paris, let as apartment
+houses, is to be bought by Mr. Beckett, for the use of blinded soldiers.
+Already his agents have got the refusal of the property for him; and
+with a few changes such as knocking down inner walls and putting in
+doors where doors don't exist, the houses will become one big mansion,
+to accommodate five or six hundred men. Each will have his own bedroom
+or cubicle. There'll be a gymnasium, with a Swedish instructor, and
+every trade or profession in which a blind man could possibly engage
+will be taught by experts. There will be a big dining hall with a
+musicians' gallery, and a theatre. The library will be supplied with
+quantities of books for the blind. There'll be a garden where the men
+will be taught to grow flowers and vegetables. They will have a resident
+doctor, and two superintendents. One of these two will himself be a
+blind man taught by his own experience how to teach others. Of course,
+Padre, you know that this blind teacher is already chosen, and that the
+whole scheme centers round him!
+
+In a way Brian realizes that, if it were not for him, it would never
+have been thought of. In a way. But--it is _his_ way. He doesn't torture
+himself, as I probably should in his place, by thinking: "All these
+immense sums of money being spent as an excuse to provide for me in
+life! Ought I to let it be done? Ought I to accept?"
+
+Brian's way is not that. He says: "Now I understand why I lost my
+eyesight, and it's worth it a thousand times. This wonderful chance is
+to be given me to help others, as I never could have helped if I hadn't
+been blind. If sight comes back, I shall know what it is to be blind,
+and I can give counsel and courage to others. I am glad, glad to be
+blind. It's a privilege and a mission. Even if I never see again, except
+with my spirit's eyes, I shall still be glad!"
+
+He doesn't worry at all because carrying out the plan will cost Father
+Beckett one or more of his millions. What is money for, except to be
+spent? What pleasure is like spending to do good? He finds it quite
+natural that Father Beckett wants to do this thing; and though he's
+immensely grateful, he takes it blithely for granted that the benefactor
+should be happy and proud.
+
+Travelling back from Ypres to Amiens they seem to have settled all the
+details between them, though they told us their adventures before even
+mentioning the Plan. Brian is to be guide, philosopher, and friend to
+the inmates and students of the James Wyndham Beckett College for the
+Blind. Also he is to give lectures on art and various other subjects. If
+he can learn to paint his blind impressions (as he believes he can, with
+Dierdre's promised help) he will be able to teach other blind artists to
+follow his example. And he is to have a salary for his services--not the
+big one Father Beckett wished: Brian wouldn't hear of that--but enough
+to live on. And Dierdre and Julian are offered official positions and
+salaries too. It's suggested that they should take a flat near by the
+College, within easy walking distance. Dierdre is to entertain the blind
+men with recitations, and teach the art of reciting to those who wish to
+learn. Julian is to sing and play for the men in the house-theatre, once
+or twice a week, as he can spare time from his work with De Letzski.
+Also he will give one lesson a week in singing and voice production.
+
+Both the O'Farrells are to be well paid (no trouble in persuading
+Julian to accept generous proposals for himself and his sister; for him
+the labourer is indeed worthy of his hire): and with American dash and
+money the scheme is expected to be in working order by next June. It's
+now well into November. But after seeing how other schemes have worked,
+and how this Chateau d'Andelle business has been rushed through, I have
+the most sublime faith in Beckett miracles.
+
+They are astonishing, these Becketts! Father, the simplest, kindest man,
+with the air of liking his fireside better than any adventure: Mother, a
+slip of a creature--"a flower in a vase to be kept by her menfolk on a
+high shelf," as I told myself when I first saw her. Yet what adventures
+they have had, and what they have accomplished since the day Brian
+proposed this pilgrimage, two months ago! Not a town on our route that,
+after the war won't have cause to bless them and the son in whose name
+their good works have been done--cause to bless Beckett kindness,
+Beckett money for generations in the future! Yet now they have added
+this most ambitious plan of all to the list, and I know it will be
+carried out to perfection.
+
+You see now, Padre, from what I've told you, how easy it is being made
+for me to slip out of this circle. Brian, beaming with happiness, and on
+the point of opening his heart to Dierdre's almost worshipping love:
+Mother Beckett slowly getting back a measure of frail, flower-like
+health, in this lovely place which she calls Jim's: Father Beckett more
+at ease about her, and intensely interested in his scheme: the small,
+neat Belgian refugette likely to prove at least a ministering mouse if
+not a ministering angel: above all, hope if not certainty that Jim will
+one day return--not only in spirit but in body--to his chateau and his
+family. If I am needed anywhere on earth, it isn't here, but down in the
+south at my poor Hopital des Epidemies. Would it be cowardly in me to
+fly, as soon as I've persuaded the Becketts to spare me, and throw the
+responsibility I haven't dared decide to take, upon my brave, blind
+Brian?
+
+Ah, I don't mean telling him about myself and my sins. I shouldn't have
+the courage for that, I fear! I mean, shall I tell him about Doctor
+Paul's message--or _supposed_ message? It has just occurred to me that I
+might do this, and let Brian decide whether Father Beckett ought to
+know, even if no further news comes through Switzerland. You see, if I
+were gone, and Jim came, I could trust the new Dierdre to do her best
+for me with Brian. He could never respect me, never love me in the old
+way--but he might forgive, because of Dierdre herself--and because of
+the great Plan. Hasn't my wickedness given them both to him?
+
+Writing all this to you has done me good, Padre. I see more clearly
+ahead. I shall decide before morning what to do. I feel I _shall_ this
+time! And I think it a good idea to speak to Brian. He will agree,
+though he doesn't know my secret need to escape, that it's right for me
+to take up hospital work again. But, Padre, I can't go--I _won't_
+go--until I've helped Mother Beckett arrange Jim's treasures in the room
+to be called his "den." She has been living for that, striving to grow
+strong enough for that. And I--oh, Padre!--I want to be the one to
+unpack his things and to touch each one with my hands. I want to leave
+something of myself in that room where, if he's dead, his spirit will
+surely come: where, if he lives, his body will come. If I leave behind
+me thoughts of love, won't they linger between those walls like the
+scent of roses in a vase? Mayn't those thoughts influence Jim Beckett
+not to detest me as I deserve?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+
+Five days later.
+
+I did talk to Brian, Padre, and he said, better wait and give the letter
+from Switzerland a fair chance to arrive, before telling Father Beckett
+about Doctor Paul's messenger at Amiens.
+
+Now I have had a letter, but not from Switzerland. I shall fold it up
+between the pages of this book of my confessions. I believe you will
+read it, Padre.
+
+It came to-day. It explains itself. The envelope, postmarked Paris, was
+addressed to me in typewriting. If Mother Beckett had not had a slight
+relapse from working too hard in the den, I might perhaps have been gone
+before the letter came. Then it would have had to be forwarded. It's
+better that I stayed. You will see why. But--oh, Padre, Padre!
+
+  THE LETTER
+
+
+  "MISS O'MALLEY,
+
+  "Once I met a lady whose name, as I understood it, was not
+  unlike yours now, given me by Doctor Paul Herter. I cannot
+  think that you and she are one. That lady, I'd swear, would be
+  incapable of--let me say, placing herself in a false position.
+
+  "Though you will not recognize my handwriting, I've said
+  enough for you to guess that James Wyndham Beckett is your
+  correspondent. I have had the address typed because, for my
+  parents' sake and to spare them distress, it seems that you and I
+  must reach some understanding before I venture to let them
+  know that I'm alive.
+
+  "If you are worthy to be called 'friend' by such a man as Paul
+  Herter, you will wish to atone for certain conduct, by carrying
+  out the request I make now. I must trust you to do so. But
+  first let me relieve my mind of any fear for yourself. I have not
+  contradicted the story you told Herter about our engagement.
+  What I shall say to my parents when I meet them, as I hope soon
+  to do, depends upon circumstances. Till you and I have had a
+  private conversation, you will oblige me by letting things remain
+  as they are. I have strong reasons for this wish. One of
+  them--the only one I need explain now, is that it will seem
+  natural to them I should write to my fiancee--a young, strong
+  girl able to bear the shock of a great surprise--asking her to break
+  the news gently and tactfully to my father and mother. I do
+  ask you to do this. How to do it I must leave to you. But
+  when you've told my parents that I'm alive, that I've escaped,
+  that I'm in Paris with Herter, that as soon as my official business
+  of reporting myself is finished, I'll get leave, you may put into
+  their hands the following pages of this letter. They will not
+  think it strange that the girl I am engaged to should keep the
+  first part for her own eyes. Thus, without your being compromised,
+  they will learn my adventures without having to
+  wait until I come. But there's just room enough left on this
+  first sheet to reiterate that, when Herter found me, and gave
+  me the somewhat disconcerting news of my engagement to
+  his friend, a Miss O'Malley travelling with my parents, I--simply
+  listened. Rather than excite his suspicions I did not even
+  yield to curiosity, and try to draw out a description. I could
+  not be sure then that I should ever see you, or my people, for
+  escape was difficult and there were more chances against than
+  for my getting out of Germany alive. Now, in all human certainty
+  I shall arrive at the Chateau d'Andelle (I got the address
+  at the bank), and you owe it to me to remain on the spot till we
+  can thrash out our affair together. I will begin on a _new_ sheet
+  the story of the last few months since my capture. You must
+  forgive me if it bores you. In reality it is for my parents, when
+  you have prepared their minds, and I don't think it will bore
+  them....
+
+  "We came a bad cropper. I was thrown clear of the machine,
+  but knew nothing until I waked up, feeling like a bag of broken
+  bones. It was night, and I saw a huge fountain of red flame and
+  a lot of dark figures like silhouettes moving between it and me.
+  That brought me out of my stupor. I knew my plane must have
+  taken fire as it crashed down, and I was pretty sure the silhouettes
+  were Germans. I looked around for my observer, and
+  called to him in a low voice, hoping the Bosch wouldn't hear,
+  over the noise of the fire. Nobody answered. Later I found out
+  that the poor chap had been caught under the car. I pray he
+  died before the flames reached him!
+
+  "As I got my wits back, I planned to try and hide myself under
+  some bushes I could see not far off, till the coast was clear; but I
+  couldn't move. I seemed to be thoroughly smashed up, and
+  began to think it was the end of things _ici-bas_ for me. After
+  a while I must have fainted. By and by I had a dream of jolting
+  along through a blazing desert, on the back of a lame camel. It
+  was rather fierce, that jolting! It shook me out of my faint, and
+  when I opened my eyes it was to find myself on a stretcher
+  carried by fellows in German gray. They took me to a field
+  hospital, and I guessed by the look of things that it was close to
+  the first lines. It made me sick to think how near I must be to
+  our own front--yet so far!
+
+  "Well, I won't be long-winded about what happened next.
+  I can go into details when we meet. It turned out that I had
+  a leg, an arm, and some ribs smashed. The Bosch surgeon
+  wasn't half bad, as Bosches go, but he was a bit brusque. I
+  heard him say right out to the anaesthetist, it seemed a pity
+  to waste good ether on me, as there wasn't one chance in five
+  to save my life. Still, I'd be an experiment! Before I went
+  off under the stuff I told them who I was, for I'd heard they were
+  sometimes fairly decent to enemy aviators, and I hoped to get a
+  message through to my people. I was feeling as stupid as an
+  owl, but I did think I saw a change come over the men's faces
+  when they heard my name. Later, putting two and two together,
+  I concluded that Germany was just the kind of business
+  nation to know all about the dear old Governor. I might have
+  realized that, out of sheer spite against the United States for
+  bursting into the war, they'd enjoy letting a man of James Beckett
+  Senior's importance go on believing his son was dead. I bet
+  they put my name over the grave of my poor, burned pal, Hank
+  Lee! It would be the thoroughgoing sort of thing they do, when
+  they make up their minds to create an impression.
+
+  "I didn't die, though! Spite for spite, I got well. But it
+  took some time. One of my lungs had been damaged a bit
+  by a broken rib, and the doctors prescribed an open-air cure,
+  after I'd begun to crawl again. I was put with a lot of T. B.'s,
+  if you know what that means, in a camp hospital. Not far
+  off was a huge 'camouflaged' aerodrome and a village of hangars.
+  I heard that flying men were being trained there. I used to think
+  I'd give my head to get to the place, but I never hoped to do it--till
+  Herter came.
+
+  "Now I will tell you how he came--which I can freely do,
+  as we are both safe in Paris, having come from somewhere
+  near Compiegne. One of the first things Herter said about you
+  was that you must have guessed where he was going, and more
+  or less for what purpose. For that purpose he was the ideal
+  man: a Lorrainer of Germanized Lorraine; German his native
+  tongue--(though he hates it)--and clever as Machiavelli. He
+  "escaped" from France into Germany, told a tale about killing
+  a French sentry and creeping across No Man's Land at night, in
+  order to get to the German lines. It was a big risk, but Herter
+  is as brave and resourceful a man as I ever met. He got the
+  Bosches to believe that he was badly ill in Paris when the war
+  broke out and couldn't slip away, otherwise he'd have sprung to
+  do his loyal duty to the Fatherland. He persuaded them that
+  his lot being cast in France for the time, he'd resolved to serve
+  Germany by spying, until he could somehow bolt across the
+  frontier. He spun a specious tale about pretending to the French
+  to have French sympathies, and winning the confidence of
+  high-up men, by serving as a surgeon on several fronts. To
+  prove his German patriotism he had notes to show, realistically
+  made on thin silk paper, and hidden inside the lining of his
+  coat.
+
+  "Herter's mission in Boschland isn't my business or yours;
+  but I'm allowed to say that it was concerned with aeroplanes.
+  There was something he had to find out, and he _has_ found it
+  out, or he wouldn't be back on this side of the lines. Because he
+  hoped to be among German flying-men, he hinted to you that
+  he might be able to do you some service. It occurred to him
+  that he might learn where my grave was and let you know.
+  Nothing further was in his thoughts then--or until he happened
+  to draw out a piece of unexpected information in a roundabout
+  way.
+
+  "His trick of getting across to the flying-men was smart, like
+  all his tricks. The valuable (?) notes he'd brought into Germany
+  mostly concerned new French and American inventions in that
+  line. That was his 'speciality.' And when he had handed the
+  notes over with explanations, he continued his programme by
+  asking for a job as surgeon in a field hospital. (You see, he hoped
+  to get back to France before the worthlessness of his notes was
+  discovered.) When he'd proved his qualifications, he got his
+  job like a shot. They were only too glad of his services. Pretending
+  to have been in American training-camps, it was easy
+  to bring up my name in a casual way. Laughing that rather
+  sinister laugh of his, which you will remember, Herter told a
+  couple of flying chaps he had promised a girl to find Jim Beckett's
+  grave. One of the fellows laughed too, and made a remark
+  which set Herter thinking. Later, he was able to refer to
+  the subject again, and learned enough to suspect that there was
+  something fishy about the Bosch announcement of my death and
+  burial. He tells me that, at this point, he was able to send you a
+  verbal message by a consumptive prisoner about to be repatriated.
+  Whether you got that message or not who knows?
+
+  "His idea was to send another (in a way he won't explain
+  even to me) when he'd picked up further news. But as things
+  turned out, there was no time. Besides, it wasn't necessary.
+  It looked hopeful that we might be our own carrier pigeons, or
+  else--cease to exist.
+
+  "What happened was that Herter heard I was alive and in a
+  hospital not far behind the lines. Just at this time he had got
+  hold of the very secret he'd come to seek. The sooner he could
+  make a dash for home the better: but if possible, he wished to
+  take me with him. He had the impression that to do so would
+  please his friend Miss O'Malley! How it was to be worked he
+  didn't see until an odd sort of American bombing machine fell,
+  between an aerodrome it had attempted to destroy, and Herter's
+  hospital. They knew it was American, only because of its two
+  occupants, both killed. The machine was considerably smashed
+  up, but experts found traces of something amazingly novel, which
+  they couldn't understand. Herter was called to the scene, because
+  he had pretended to be up in the latest American flying
+  'stunts.' The minute he saw the wreckage an inspiration
+  jumped into his head.
+
+  "He confessed himself puzzled by the mysterious details,
+  thought them important, and said: 'It seems to me this
+  resembles the engine and wings of the James Beckett invention
+  I heard so much about. But I didn't know it was far enough
+  ahead yet to be in use. A pity the inventor was killed. He
+  might have come in handy.
+
+  "Well, they put those words in their pipes and smoked them--knowing,
+  of course, that I was very much alive and almost
+  within a stone's throw.
+
+  "I had always pretended not to understand German: thought
+  ignorance of the language might serve my plans some day or
+  other. The chap they sent to fetch me dropped a few words to a
+  doctor in my hearing. And so, though I wasn't told where I was
+  being taken or why I was to go, I'd about caught on to the fact
+  that I was supposed to have invented the plans for a new bombing
+  biplane. That made me wonder if a friend was at work under
+  the rose: and I was ready for anything when I got to the scene
+  of the smash.
+
+  "Fortunately, none of the Bosches on the spot could speak
+  English fluently, and I appeared more of a fool at French than
+  German. Herter--entirely trusted by his German pals--was
+  told off to talk English with me; and a flash of his eye said, _here_
+  was the friend! It was only a flash, and I couldn't be sure, but
+  it put me on the _qui vive_. I noticed that in asking me the
+  question he was told to ask, he emphasized certain words which
+  needed no emphasis, and spoke them slowly, with a look that
+  made me determine to fix each one in my mind. This I did, and
+  putting them together when I got the chance, I made out, 'I
+  want to get you home. Say you invented this model, and could
+  put the thing in working trim.'
+
+  "That was a big order! If I said it and could keep my word,
+  would it be a patriotic job to present the enemy with a
+  perfectly good machine, of a new make, in the place of a wreck they
+  didn't understand? This was my first thought. But the
+  second reminded me of a sentence I'd constructed with some of
+  the emphasized words; '_I want to get you home_.' How did he
+  expect to get me home--if not by air?
+
+  "With that I caught a glimpse of the plan, as one sometimes
+  catches sight of the earth through a break in massed
+  clouds when flying. If the man meant to help me, I would help
+  him. If he turned out a fraud, the Germans shouldn't profit
+  by his treachery I'd stop that game at the last moment, if I died
+  for it!
+
+  "You will know nothing about the new and curious bombing
+  biplane of super-speed invented by Leroy Harman of Galbraith,
+  Texas. But Father knows as much as any one not an expert in
+  aeronautics can know. When the Government wouldn't believe
+  in Harman, Father financed him by my advice. I left home for
+  France before the trial machine that was to convince officialdom
+  had come into being; and I didn't even know whether it had
+  made good. But the minute I saw what lay on the ground,
+  surrounded by a ring of Germans, I said to myself; 'Good old
+  Leroy!'
+
+  "I'd seen so much of his plans that they remained printed on
+  my brain, and I could--if I would--set that biplane on its wings
+  again almost as easily as if I _had_ invented it.
+
+  "Odd that the Bosches and I both trusted Herter, seeing he
+  must be false to one side or other! But he's that sort of man.
+  And I always take a tip from my own instinct before listening to
+  my reason. Maybe that's why I didn't do badly in my brief
+  career as a flier. Anyhow, I played up to Herter; and I got the
+  job of superintending the reconstruction of poor Harman's
+  damaged machine. It was a lovely job for a prisoner, though
+  they watched me as a German cat would watch an Allied mouse.
+  Herter was nearly always on the spot, however, for he'd made
+  himself responsible for me. Also, he'd offered to pump me about
+  what was best in the air world on my side of the water: how
+  many aeroplanes of different sorts America could turn out in
+  six months, etc. We contrived a cypher on diagrams I made.
+  It was a clever one, but the credit was Herter's.
+
+  "The Bosches were waiting impatiently for my work to be
+  done, in order to try out the machine, and if satisfactory, spawn
+  a brood of their own on the same model. I was equally impatient.
+  I hoped to fly off with the biplane before they had time
+  to copy it!
+
+  "A wounded Ace of theirs, Anton Hupfer, was for ever hanging
+  round. He was to take up the 'plane when it was ready.
+  But Herter industriously chummed with him, and not for nothing.
+  To Herter was due the 'discovery' of the inventor;
+  and as he boasted experience in flying, he asked the privilege
+  of being Hupfer's companion on the trial trip.
+
+  "The success of this trip would depend even more on the
+  machine's worth as a bomber than on her speed and climbing
+  qualities. It was, therefore, to be undertaken at night, with a
+  full complement of real bombs to drop upon headquarters at
+  Compiegne. Herter had suggested this. Daylight wouldn't
+  have suited for a start.
+
+  "An hour before the appointed time he dashed in upon Hupfer
+  to confide that a sudden suspicion concerning me was troubling
+  him. He had noticed a queer expression on my face as I gave
+  the engine a last look over! If I had done some obscure damage
+  to this so new type of machine, the mechanics might not detect
+  its nature. Herter didn't wish to harm me, if his suspicion
+  was unfounded, he explained, but he proposed a drastic proof
+  of my good faith. I was to be hauled out of bed, and hurried
+  without warning to look at the biplane in her hangar. The
+  mechanics were to be sent outside, there to wait for a signal to
+  open the doors: this to avoid gossip if I was honest after all.
+  Hupfer was to spring it on me that he'd decided to take me up
+  instead of Herter. My face was to be watched as this news was
+  flung at me. If I showed the slightest trace of uneasiness, it
+  would be a sign that I had played a trick and feared to fall its
+  victim. In that case the 'third degree' was to be applied until I
+  owned up, and could be haled away for punishment.
+
+  "There was just time to carry out this programme, and
+  Hupfer fell for it. Herter had put me wise beforehand, and
+  I knew what to expect. His real plan was to stand behind
+  Hupfer, the Bosch Ace, and bash him on the head with a
+  spanner, while his (Hupfer's) whole attention was fixed on
+  me. We would then undress the fellow. I would take his
+  clothes, and we'd put him into mine. Hupfer's body (stunned,
+  not dead, we hoped) we would lay behind a pile of petrol tins. I
+  acting as pilot, would trust to my disguise and the darkness of
+  night not to be spotted when the two mechanics threw open the
+  hangar doors.
+
+  "Everything happened as we'd arranged, without a hitch--again,
+  all credit to Herter! When we'd hidden the limp Ace,
+  trussed up in my prison rig, Herter yelled to the waiting men, in a
+  good imitation of Hupfer's voice. We ran smoothly out of the
+  hangar, and were given a fine send off. How soon the Bosches
+  found out how they'd been spoofed, I don't know. It couldn't
+  have been long though, as my prison guard was in attendance.
+  The great thing was, we went up in grand style. Otherwise--but
+  we needn't now think of the 'otherwise'!
+
+  "Our next danger lay in taking the wrong direction, getting
+  farther back in Boschland instead of over the frontier. I kept
+  my wits, fortunately, so that turned out all right. Still, there
+  remained the chance of being shot down by the French, and
+  blown with our own bombs into kingdom come. But, by good
+  luck it was a clear night. No excuse for getting lost! And
+  when I was sure we were well over the French lines, I planed
+  down to alight in a field.
+
+  "The alert was out for us, of course, and a fierce barrage put
+  up, but I flew high till I was ready for a dive. We'd hardly landed,
+  when the _poilus_ swarmed like bees, but that was what we
+  wanted. You must imagine the scene that followed, till I
+  can tell you by word of mouth!
+
+  "I shall have made my report, and have been given leave
+  to start for a visit to my family by to-morrow I hope.
+
+    "Yours till the end,
+
+               "JIM."
+
+"Yours till the end!" Rather a smart, cynical way of winding up those
+"exhibition pages" was it not, Padre? The secret translation of that
+signature is: "Yours, you brute, till I can get rid of you with least
+damage to my parents' susceptibilities!"
+
+I shall obey, and wait for the interview. It's like waiting to be shot
+at dawn!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+
+I persuaded Brian to tell Father Beckett. I wasn't worthy. But the dear
+old man came straight to me, transfigured, to make me go with him to his
+wife, even before he had finished reading the letter.
+
+"You must come," he said--and when Father Beckett says "must," in a
+certain tone, one does. It's then that the resemblance, more in
+expression than feature, between him and his son shines out like a
+light. "It will save mother the trouble of asking for you," he went on,
+dragging me joyously with him, his arm round my waist. "She'd do that,
+first thing, sure! Why, do you suppose we forget Jim's as much to you as
+to us? Haven't you shown us that, every day since we met?"
+
+What answer could I give? I gave none.
+
+Mother Beckett had been lying down for the afternoon nap which by my
+orders she takes every day. She'd just waked, and was sitting up on the
+lounge, when her husband softly opened the door to peep in. The only
+light was firelight, leaping in an open grate.
+
+"Come in, come in!" she greeted us in her silver tinkle of a voice. "Oh,
+you didn't disturb me. I was awake. I thought I'd ring for tea. But I
+didn't after all. I'd had such a beautiful dream, I hated to come out of
+it."
+
+"I bet it was a dream about Jim!" said Father Beckett. He drew me into
+the room, and the little lady pulled me down beside her on the wide,
+cushiony lounge. Her husband's special arm-chair was close by, but he
+didn't subside into it as usual at this cosy hour of the afternoon.
+Instead, he knelt stiffly down on one knee, and took the tiny, ringed
+hand held out to him. "You wouldn't think a dream beautiful, unless Jim
+was in it!"
+
+"Yes I would, if _you_ were in it, dear," she reproached him. "Or Molly.
+But Jim was in this dream. I saw him as plainly as I see you both. He
+walked in at the door, the way he used to do at home, saying: 'Hello,
+Mother, I've been looking for you everywhere!' You know, Father how you
+and Jimmy used to feel injured if you called me and I couldn't be found
+in a minute. In this dream though, we didn't seem to be back home. I
+wasn't sure where we were: only--I was sure----" She stopped, with a
+catch in her voice. But Father Beckett took up the sentence where she
+let it drop. "Sure of Jim?"
+
+"Yes. He was so real!"
+
+"Well then, Mother darling, I guess the dream ought not to have been
+back home, but here, in this very house. For here's where Jim will
+come."
+
+"Oh, I do feel that!" she agreed, trying to "camouflage" a tear with a
+smile. "Jim's with me all the time."
+
+"Not yet," said Father Beckett, with a stolid gentleness. "Not yet. Not
+the real Jim. But he'll come."
+
+"You mean, when Molly and I've finished putting out all his treasures in
+the den, just as he'd like to see them?"
+
+"He might come before you get the den ready. He might come--any day
+now--even to-morrow." The gnarled brown hand smoothed the small,
+shrivelled white one with nervous strokes and passes.
+
+"Father!" she sat up suddenly, straight and rigid among her cushions.
+"You've heard--you're trying to break something to me. Tell me right
+out. Jim's alive!"
+
+She snatched her hand free, and bending forward, flung both arms round
+the old man's neck before he could answer. I sprang up to give them
+room. I thought they had forgotten me. But no. Out came Father Beckett's
+big hand to snatch my dress.
+
+"This child got the news--a letter," he explained. "The boy was afraid
+of the shock for us. He thought she----"
+
+"A shock of joy--why, _that_ gives life--not death!" sobbed and laughed
+Mother Beckett. "But it was right to let Molly know first. She's more to
+him than we are now. Oh, Father--Father--our Jim's alive--_alive_! I
+think in my soul I knew it all the time. I never felt he was gone. He
+must have sent me thoughts. Dear ones, I want to pray. I want to thank
+God--now, this instant, before I hear more--before I read the letter. We
+three together--on our knees!"
+
+Padre, when I was on my knees, with the thin little arm of Jim's mother
+thrilling my shoulder, my face hidden in the cushions, I could only say:
+"God, forgive!" and echo the thanksgiving of those two loving hearts. I
+didn't pray not to be punished. I almost want to be punished--since
+Brian is safe, and my punishment can't spoil his future.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The patriotic Becketts have given up the big gray car, now they've
+settled down at the Chateau d'Andelle: and our one-legged
+soldier-chauffeur has departed, to conduct a military motor. For the
+moment there's only the O'Farrell Red Cross taxi, not yet gone about its
+legitimate business; so it was Julian who took Father Beckett to the
+far-off railway station, to meet Jim Beckett the next day but
+one--Julian--of all people on earth!
+
+Father Beckett begged me to be of the party, and Mother Beckett--too
+frail still for so long and cold a drive--piled up her persuasions. But
+I was firm. I didn't like going to meet trains, I said. It was prosaic.
+I was allowed to stop at home, therefore, with my dear little lady: the
+last time, I told myself, that she would ever love and "mother" me. Once
+Jim and I had settled our affairs in that "interview" I was ordered to
+wait for, I should be the black sheep, turned out of the fold.
+
+There was just one reason why I'd have liked to be in the car to bring
+Jim back from the station. Knowing Julian-Puck, I was convinced that
+despite Father Beckett's presence he'd contrive a chance to thrust some
+entering wedge of mischief into Jim Beckett's head. Not that it was
+needed! If he'd read the first pages of Jim's letter--the secret
+pages--he would have known that. But the night the great news came to
+the chateau, he whispered into my ear: "You seem to be taking things
+easy. Sure you won't change your mind and bolt with me?--or do you count
+on your invincible charm, "_ueber alles_"?"
+
+I didn't even answer. I merely looked. Perhaps he took it for a defiant
+look, though Heaven knows it wasn't. I was past defiance. In any case,
+such as the look was, it shut him up. And after that the brooding storm
+behind his eyes made me wonder (when I'd time to think of it) what
+_coup_ he was meditating. There would never be a chance like the chance
+at the station before Jim had met me. Julian was sharp enough, dramatic
+enough to see that. I pictured him somehow corralling Jim for an
+instant, while Father Beckett carried on a conversation of signs with a
+worried _porteuse_. Julian would be able to do in an instant as much
+damage to a character as most men could do in an hour!
+
+A little added disgust for me on Jim's part, however, what could it
+matter? I tried to argue. When a thing is already black, can it be
+painted blacker?
+
+Still, I was foolish enough to wish that our good old one-legged soldier
+might have stayed to bring Jim home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mother Beckett would have compelled me to be with her at the open door
+to meet "our darling boy," but that I could not bear. It would be as
+trying for him as for me, and I had to spare him the ordeal at any
+price.
+
+"Don't make me do that," I begged, with real tears in my voice. "I--I've
+set my heart on seeing Jim for the first time alone. He wants it too--I
+know he does."
+
+She gazed at me for some long seconds, with the clear blue eyes which
+seemed--though only seemed!--to read my soul. In reality she saw quite
+another soul than mine. The darling crystallizes to radiant beauty all
+souls of those she loves, as objects are crystallized by frost, or by
+sparkling salt in a salt mine.
+
+"Well, you must have a good and loving reason, I'm sure. And probably
+your love has taught you to know better than I can, what Jim would want
+you to do," she said. "It shall be just as you wish, dear. Only you must
+grant one little favour in return to please me. You are to wait for Jim
+in the _den_. When his Father and I have hugged and kissed him a few
+times, and made certain he's not one of my dreams, we'll lead him up to
+that door, and leave him outside. It shall be my hand that shuts the
+door when he's gone in. And I shan't tell him one word about the den. It
+shall be a surprise. But he won't notice a thing until--until you and he
+have been together for a while, I guess--not even the hobby-horse! He'll
+see nothing except you, Molly--_you_!"
+
+I implored--I argued--in vain. The making of the den had been her
+inspiration. It was monstrous that I should have to greet her son there.
+The pleasure of the den-surprise would be for ever spoilt for Jim. But I
+couldn't explain that to his mother. I had to yield at last, tongue-tied
+and miserable beyond words.
+
+I haven't described the den to you, Padre. I will do it now, in the
+pause, the hush, before the storm.
+
+It's a quaint room, with a little round tower in each of the two front
+corners. One of these Mother Beckett has turned into a refuge for
+broken-down toys, all Jim's early favourites, which he'd never let her
+throw away: the famous spotted hobby-horse starred in the centre of the
+stage: oh, but a noble, red-nostrilled beast, whose eternal prance has
+something of the endless dignity of the Laocooen! The second tower is a
+miniature library, whose shelves are crowded with the pet books of Jim's
+boyhood--queer books, some of them, for a child to choose: "Byron,"
+"Letters of Pliny," Plutarch's "Lives," Gibbon's "Rome," "Morte
+d'Arthur," Maeterlinck's "Life of the Bee," Kingsland's "Scientific
+Idealism," with several quite learned volumes of astronomy and geology,
+side by side with Gulliver and all kinds of travel and story-books
+which we have most of us adored. It was I who had the task of sorting
+and arranging this motley collection, and I can hardly tell you, Padre,
+how I loved doing it!
+
+The room isn't large, so the ten or twelve pictures on the walls are not
+lost in a desert of bare spaces. These pictures, the toys, the books,
+tennis-rackets, golf-clubs and two lovely old Persian prayer-rugs are
+all of Jim's treasures brought to France. He must have been a boy of
+individual, independent nature, for it seems he disliked the idea of
+killing things for pleasure, and was never a hunter or even a fisherman.
+Consequently, there are no monster fish under glass, or rare birds or
+butterflies, or stuffed animals. He must have loved wild creatures
+though, for five of the beloved pictures are masterly oil-paintings by
+well-known artists, of lions and tigers and stags, _chez eux_, happy and
+at home, not being hunted, or standing agonized at bay. Oh, getting this
+den in order has taught me more about the real Jim than a girl can learn
+about a man in ordinary acquaintance in a year! But then I had a
+wonderful foundation to begin building upon: that day in the
+rose-arbour--the red-rose day of my life.
+
+Well, when the car was expected back from the station, bringing Jim home
+to his mother, I went by her command to the den. Even that was better
+than having to meet him in the presence of those two dear souls who
+trusted and loved me only second to him. And yet everything in the den
+which had meant something in Jim's life, seemed to cry out at me, as I
+shut the door and stood alone with them--and my pounding heart--to wait.
+
+I didn't know how to make the time pass. I was too restless to sit
+down. I wouldn't let myself look out of the window to see the car come
+along the drive. I dared not walk up and down like the caged thing I
+was, lest the floor should creak, for the tower-room--the den--is over
+the entrance-hall. I felt like a hunted animal--I, the one creature to
+whom Jim Beckett deliberately meant to be cruel! I, in this room which
+was a tribute to his kindness of heart, his faithfulness, his loyalty!
+But why should it not be so? I had no right to call upon these qualities
+of his.
+
+The horn of the little Red Cross taxi! It must be turning in at the
+gate. How well I knew its gay, conceited tootle! An eighth of a mile,
+and the car would reach the house. Even the poor worn-out taxi couldn't
+be five minutes doing that!...
+
+If I ran to the window between the towers I could see! No, I wouldn't; I
+_couldn't_. I should scream--or faint--or do something else idiotic, if
+I saw Jim Beckett getting out of the car, and his mother flying to meet
+him. I had never felt like this in my whole life--not in any suspense,
+not in any danger.
+
+Instinctively I walked as far from the window as I could. I sought
+sanctuary under Brian's cathedral picture--the picture that had
+introduced me to Jim. Yes, sanctuary I sought, for in that room my
+brother's work was my one excuse to intrude!
+
+By this time the car must have arrived. The front door must have flown
+open in welcome. Now Mother Beckett must be crying tears of joy in the
+arms of her son, Father Beckett gazing at the blessed sight, speechless
+with ecstasy!
+
+What should I be doing at this moment, if I had yielded to their wish
+and stopped downstairs with them? Just how far would Jim have gone in
+keeping up the tragic farce? Would he have kissed me? Would he----?
+
+The vision was so blazing bright that I covered my eyes to shut it out.
+Not that I hated it. Oh no, I loved it too well!
+
+So, for a while, I stood, my hands pressed over my eyes, my ears
+strained to catch distant sounds--yet wishing not to hear. Suddenly,
+close by, there came the click of a latch. My hands dropped like broken
+clock weights. I opened my eyes. Jim Beckett was in the room, and the
+door was shut.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+
+I stared, fascinated. Here was Jim-of-the-rose-arbour, and a new
+Jim-of-the-war--a browner, thinner, sterner Jim, a Jim that looked at me
+with a look I could not read. It may have been cruel, but it was not
+cold, and it pierced like a hot sword-blade through my flesh into my
+soul.
+
+"_You_--after all!" he said. The remembered voice I had so often heard
+in dreams, struck on my nerves like a hand on the strings of a harp. I
+felt the vibration thrill through me.
+
+"Yes--it's I." The answer came in a whisper from dry lips. "I'm sorry!"
+
+"What are you sorry for? Because you are you?"
+
+"It wouldn't be--_quite_ so horrible if--I'd been a stranger."
+
+"You think not?"
+
+"I--it seems as if I took advantage of--oh, that's just what I did! I'm
+not asking you to forgive me----"
+
+"It isn't so much a question of forgiving, as putting things straight.
+We _must_ put them straight----"
+
+"I'll do whatever you wish," I promised. "Only--let me go soon."
+
+"Are you afraid of me?" There was sharpness in his tone.
+
+"Not afraid. I am--utterly humiliated."
+
+"Why did you do this--thing? Let's have that out first."
+
+"The thought came into my head when I was at my wits' end--for my
+brother. Not that that's an excuse!"
+
+"I'm not worrying about excuses. It's explanations I need, I had my own
+theories--thinking it all over--and wondering--whether it would be you
+or a stranger I should find. The name was the one thing I had to go on:
+'O'Malley' and its likeness to Ommalee. That was the way I heard your
+name pronounced, you know, when we met. I was coming back to see you and
+make sure. But I was laid up in Paris with an attack of typhoid. Perhaps
+Mother told you?"
+
+"Yes. But please, let us not talk of that! There isn't much time. You'll
+have to go back to Fath--to Mr. and Mrs. Beckett. Tell me quickly what
+you want me to do."
+
+"I was forgetting for a minute. You look very pale, Miss O'Malley.
+Hadn't you better sit down?"
+
+"No, thank you. I like standing--where I am."
+
+"Ah!" he gave a sudden exclamation. At last he had seen Brian's sketch.
+He had not noticed it, or any of the "den treasures," before. He had
+looked only at me.
+
+"Why--it's _the_ picture! And--Gee!"--his eyes travelled round the
+room--"all my dear old things! What a mother I've got!" He gazed about
+during a full minute of silence, then turned abruptly back to me. "You
+love her--don't you?"
+
+"Who could help loving her?"
+
+"And the dear old Governor--you're fond of him?"
+
+"I should be even worse than I am, if I didn't adore them both. They
+have been--angels to me and my brother."
+
+"I'm told that you and he have been something of the same sort to them."
+
+"Oh, they would speak kindly of us, of course!--They're so noble,
+themselves, they judge----"
+
+"It was another person who told me the particular thing I'm thinking of
+now."
+
+"Another person? Doctor Paul, I suppose."
+
+"You must guess again, Miss O'Malley."
+
+"I can't think of any one else who would----"
+
+"What about your friend, Mr. O'Farrell?"
+
+"He's not my friend!" I cried. "Oh, I _knew_ he'd somehow contrive a
+chance to talk to you alone, about me!"
+
+"He certainly did. And what he said impressed me a good deal."
+
+"Most likely it's untrue."
+
+"_Too_ likely! I'm very anxious to find out from headquarters if it's
+true or not."
+
+"If you ask me, I'll answer honestly. I can't and won't lie to you."
+
+"I'll take you at your word and ask you--in a minute. You may be angry
+when I do. But--it will save time. It'll clear up all my difficulties at
+one fell swoop."
+
+"Why wait a minute, then?" I ventured, with faint bitterness, because
+_his_ "difficulties" seemed so small compared with mine. He was in the
+right in everything. This was his home. The dear Becketts were his
+people. All the world was his.
+
+"I wait a minute, because something has to be told you before I can ask
+you to answer any more questions. When I didn't know who or what
+my--er--official fiancee would turn out to be, this was the plan I made,
+to save my parents' feelings--and yours. I thought that, when we'd had
+the interview I asked you to give me, we could manage to quarrel, or
+discover that we didn't like each other as well as before. We could
+break off our engagement, and Father and Mother need never know--how it
+began."
+
+"A very generous idea of yours!" I cried, the blood so hot in my cheeks
+that it forced tears to my eyes. "It had occurred to me, too, that for
+_their_ sakes we might manage that way. Thank you, Mr. Beckett, for
+sparing me the pain--I deserve. I couldn't have dared hope for such a
+happy solution----"
+
+"Couldn't you?"
+
+"No. I----"
+
+"Well, I'm hoping for an even happier one--a lot happier. But of course
+it depends on what you say to Mr. O'Farrell's--accusation."
+
+"He--made an accusation?"
+
+"Listen, and tell me what you'd call it. He said you told him at Amiens,
+when he asked you to marry him, that--_you loved me_."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Is it true?"
+
+"Yes, I did tell him that----"
+
+"I mean, is it true that you've loved me?"
+
+"Mr. Beckett, after all, you are cruel! You're punishing me very hard."
+
+"I don't wish to 'punish you hard'--or at all. Why am I 'cruel,' simply
+asking if it's true that you've loved me? Of course, when Mother told
+you of my fever, and what I'd said of this cathedral picture, she told
+you that I was dead in love with 'the Girl,' as I called you, and just
+about crazy because I'd lost her. Why shouldn't you have loved me a
+little bit--say, the hundredth part as much as I loved you? I'm not a
+monster, am I? And we both had exactly the same length of time to fall
+in love--whole hours on end. Cruel or not cruel, I've got to know. Was
+it the truth you told the O'Farrell man?"
+
+I could not speak. I didn't try to speak. I looked up at him. It must
+have been some such look as the Princess gave St. George when he
+appeared at the last minute, to rescue her from the dragon. The tears
+I'd been holding back splashed over my cheeks. Jim gave a low cry of
+pity--or love (it sounded like love) as he saw them; and the next thing,
+he was kissing them away. I was in his arms so closely held that my
+breath was crushed out of my lungs. I wanted to sob. But how can you sob
+without breath? I could only let him kiss me on cheeks, and eyes, and
+mouth, and kiss him back again, with eager haste, lest I should wake up
+to find he had loved me for a fleeting instant, in a divine dream.
+
+When he let me breathe for a second, I gasped that, of course, it
+_couldn't_ be true, this wonderful thing that was happening?
+
+"I've dreamed of you--a hundred times," I stammered. "Waking
+dreams--sleeping dreams. They've seemed as real--almost as real--as
+this."
+
+"Did I kiss you like this, in the dreams?"
+
+"Sometimes. But not in the realest ones. It never seemed real that you
+could care, in spite of all--that you'd forgive me, if you should come
+back----"
+
+"Did you want me to come?"
+
+"Oh, 'want' isn't the word to express it!"
+
+"Even though you dreaded--being found out!"
+
+"That didn't count, against having you alive, and knowing you were in
+the world--if only for your parents' sake. I wanted them to be happy,
+more than I wanted anything for myself except Brian's good. I had you
+for my own, in my dreams, while you were dead, and I expected to lose
+you if you were alive. But----"
+
+"You really expected that?"
+
+"Oh, indeed, yes!"
+
+"Although you knew from Mother how I'd loved you, and searched for you?"
+
+"You thought I was _good_--then."
+
+"I think so now."
+
+"But you can't! You know what a wicked, wicked wretch I was! Why, when
+you came into this room and looked at me, I _saw_ how you felt! And your
+letter----"
+
+"Don't you understand, I was testing you? If you hadn't cared for me,
+what you did might have been--(only 'might', mind you, for what man can
+judge a girl's heart?) what you did to my people _might_ have been cruel
+and calculating. I had to find out the truth of things, before letting
+myself go. The letter was written to let a stranger see--if you turned
+out to be a stranger--what to expect. But O'Farrell made me sure in a
+minute, that the girl here must be _my_ Girl. After that, I'd only to
+see you--to ask if he told the truth--to watch your face--your precious,
+beautiful face! I thought of it and pictured it. But I never thought of
+those tears! Forgive me, my darling, for making them come. If you'll let
+me love you all your life, they shall be the last I'll ever cause."
+
+I laughed, and cried a little more, at the same time. "What a word from
+you to me--'Forgive'!"
+
+"Well, it's more suitable than from you to me, because there's nothing
+you could do that I wouldn't forgive before you did it, or even be sure
+it was just the one right thing to do. My Girl--my lost, found love--do
+you suppose it was of your own accord you came to my people and said you
+belonged to me? No. It was the Great Power that's in us all, which made
+you do what you did--the Power they call Providence. You understand now
+what I meant, when I said that one question from me and an answer from
+you, would smooth away all my difficulties at once? Bless that O'Farrell
+fellow!"
+
+I'd never thought to bless Julian O'Farrell, but now I willingly agreed.
+Sometimes, dimly, I had divined latent goodness in him, as one divines
+vague, lovely shapes floating under dark depths of water. And he had
+said once that love for me was bringing out qualities he hadn't credited
+himself with possessing. I had taken that as one of Puck's pleasantries!
+But I knew the true inwardness of him now, as I had learned to know the
+true inwardness of Dierdre. Julian had had his chance to hurt me with
+his rival. He had used it instead to do me good. He had laughed the
+other day, "Well, I'll always be _something_ to you anyhow, if only a
+brother-in-law." But now, he would be more than that, even if he went
+out of my life, and I never saw him again.
+
+"Bless O'Farrell. Bless Providence. Bless you. Bless me. Bless
+everybody and everything!" Jim was going on, joyfully exploding, still
+clasping me in his arms; for we clung as if to let each other go might
+be to lose one another forever! "How happy Mother dear--and the good old
+Governor are going to be! They absolutely adore you!"
+
+"Did they say so?"
+
+"They did. And almost hustled me into this room to meet you. I'm glad
+the best thing in my life has come to me here, among all the odds and
+ends of my childhood and youth, that I call my treasures! Of course
+Mother planned it specially that you should welcome me here."
+
+"Yes, the darling! But it seemed to me a terrible plan. I thought you'd
+hate me so, I'd spoil the surprise of the room for you."
+
+Those words were uttered with the last breath he let me draw for some
+time. But oh, Padre, if it had been my last on earth, how well worth
+while it would have been to live just till that minute, and no longer! I
+am _so_ happy! I don't know how I am going to deserve this forgiveness,
+this deliverance, this joy!
+
+"Even if I'd found a strange girl looking after my parents and saving
+their lives and winning their love, it would have been pretty difficult
+to chuck her," Jim was laughing. "You, on this side of the door, waiting
+to face the ogre Me, couldn't have felt much worse than I felt on my
+side, not knowing what I should see--or do. Darling, one more kiss for
+my people's sake, one more for myself, and then I must take you to them.
+It's not fair to keep them waiting any longer. But no--first I must put
+a ring on the Girl's finger--as I hoped to do long ago. You
+remember--the ring of my bet, that almost made me lose you? I told you
+about it, didn't I, on our day together, when I thought I should come
+back in two weeks?"
+
+"You told me you hoped not to lose a thing you wanted. You didn't say it
+was a ring. But at Royalieu--the newspaper correspondents' chateau near
+Compiegne--we came across a friend of yours, the one you made the bet
+with----"
+
+"Jack Curtis!"
+
+"Yes. He told me about the ring. And he was sure you were alive."
+
+"Good old Jack! Well, now I'm going to slip that magic ring on your
+darling finger--the 'engaged' finger."
+
+"But where is it?"
+
+"The finger? Just now on the back of my neck, which it's making
+throb--like a star!... Oh, the _ring_? That's in the hobby-horse which I
+see over there, as large as life. At least, it's in him unless, unlike a
+leopard, he's changed his spots."
+
+Jim wouldn't let me go, but drew me with him, our arms interlaced, to
+the tower end of the room where the hobby-horse he had once rescued from
+fire endlessly pranced. "This used to be my bank, when I was a little
+chap," he said. "Like a magpie, I always hid the things I valued most in
+a hole I made under the third smudge to the left, on Spot Cash's breast.
+'Spot Cash' is the old boy's name, you know! When I won the bet and took
+the ring home, I had a fancy to keep it in this hidie hole, for luck,
+till I could find the Girl. Mother knew. She was with me at the time.
+But I was half ashamed of myself for my childishness, and asked her not
+to tell--not even the Governor. I shouldn't wonder if that was why it
+occurred to her to pack up my treasures for France. Maybe she had a
+prophetic soul, and thought, if I found the Girl, I should want to lay
+my hand on the ring. Here it is, safe and sound."
+
+As he spoke, he had somehow contrived to extract a particularly black
+smudge from the region of the hobby-horse's heart. It came out with a
+block of wood underneath, and left a gap which gave Spot Cash the effect
+of having suffered an operation. At the back of the cavity a second
+hole, leading downward, had been burrowed in the softish wood; and in
+this reposed a screwed-up wad of tissue paper. Jim hooked the tiny
+packet out with a finger, opened the paper as casually as though it
+enclosed a pebble, and brought to the light (which found and flashed to
+the depths of a large blue diamond) a quaintly fashioned ring of
+greenish gold.
+
+"This belonged to the most beautiful woman of a day that's past," Jim
+said. "Now, it's for the most beautiful woman of a better day and a
+still grander to-morrow. May I wish it on your finger--with the greatest
+wish in the world?"
+
+I gave him my hand--for the ring, and for all time.
+
+One more moment in his arms, and he opened the door, to take "his Girl"
+to Father and Mother Beckett.
+
+Somewhere in the distance Julian O'Farrell was singing, as he had sung
+on the first night we met, Mario's heartbreaking song in "La Tosca"--the
+song on the roof, at dawn. Always in remembering Julian I must remember
+Mario's love and sacrifice! I knew that he meant it should be so with
+me.
+
+The voice was the voice of love itself, such love as mine for Jim, as
+Jim's for me, which can never die. It made me sad and happy at the same
+time. But, as Jim and I paused at the door to listen, hand in hand, the
+music changed. Julian began to sing something new and strangely
+beautiful--a song he has composed, and dedicated to Brian. I was sad no
+longer, for this is a song of courage and triumph. He calls it:
+"Everyman's Land."
+
+THE END
+
+
+THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Everyman's Land, by
+C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERYMAN'S LAND ***
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