GOOD OLD ANNA

 By MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

 Author of "The Chink in the Armour, " "The Lodger, " "The End of Her Honeymoon, " etc. , etc. 

 NEW YORK

 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

GOOD OLD ANNA

CHAPTER I

"And now, " asked Miss Forsyth thoughtfully, "and now, my dear Mary, what, may I ask, are you going to do about your good old Anna?"

"Do about Anna?" repeated the other. "I don't quite understand what youmean. "

In her heart Mrs. Otway thought she understood very well what her oldfriend, Miss Forsyth, meant by the question. For it was Wednesday, the5th of August, 1914. England had just declared war on Germany, and Annawas Mrs. Otway's faithful, highly valued German servant. 

Miss Forsyth was one of those rare people who always require an answerto a question, and who also (which is rarer still) seldom speak withouthaving first thought out what they are about to say. It was this qualityof mind, far more than the fact that she had been born, sixty years ago, in the Palace at Witanbury, which gave her the position she held in thesociety of the cathedral town. 

But this time she herself went on speaking: "In your place I shouldthink very seriously of sending Anna back to Germany. " There was anunusual note of hesitation and of doubt in her voice. As a rule MissForsyth knew exactly what she thought about everything, and what sheherself would be minded to do in any particular case. 

But the other lady, incensed at what she considered uncalled-for, evenrather impertinent advice, replied sharply, "I shouldn't think of doinganything so unkind and so unjust! Why, because the powers of evil haveconquered--I mean by that the dreadful German military party--should Ibehave unjustly to a faithful old German woman who has been with me--letme see--why, who has been with me exactly eighteen years? With theexception of a married niece with whom she went and stayed in Berlinthree autumns ago, my poor old Anna hasn't a relation left in Germany. Her whole life is centred in me--or perhaps I ought to say in Rose. Shewas the only nurse Rose ever had. "

"And yet she has remained typically German, " observed Miss Forsythirrelevantly. 

"Of course she has!" cried Mrs. Otway quickly. "And that is why we areboth so much attached to her. Anna has all the virtues of the Germanwoman; she is faithful, kindly, industrious, and thrifty. "

"But, Mary, has it not occurred to you that you will find it veryawkward sometimes?" Again without waiting for an answer, Miss Forsythwent on: "Our working people have long felt it very hard that thereshould be so many Germans in England, taking away their jobs. "

"They have only themselves to thank for that, " said Mrs. Otway, withmore sharpness than was usual with an exceptionally kindly and amiablenature. "Germans are much more industrious than our people are, andthey are content with less wages. Also you must forgive me if I say, dear Miss Forsyth, that I don't quite see what the jealousy of theaverage working-man, or, for the matter of that, of the averagemechanic, has to do with my good old Anna, especially at such a time asthis. "

"Don't you really?" Miss Forsyth looked curiously into the other'sflushed and still fair, delicately tinted face. She had always thoughtMary Otway a rather foolish, if also a lovable, generous-hearted woman. But this was one of the few opinions Miss Forsyth always managed to keepto herself. 

"I suppose you mean, " said the other reluctantly, "that if I had not hadAnna as a servant all these years I should have been compelled to havean Englishwoman?"

"Yes, Mary, that is exactly what I do mean! But of course I should neverhave spoken to you about the matter were it not for to-day's news. Mymaid, Pusey, you know, spoke to me about it this morning, and said thatif you should be thinking of parting with her--if your good old Annashould be thinking, for instance, of going back to Germany--she knewsome one who she thought would suit you admirably. It's a woman who wascook in a very good London place, and whose health has rather givenway. "

Miss Forsyth spoke with what was for her unusual animation. 

As is always the way with your active, intelligent philanthropist, shewas much given to vicarious deeds of charity. At the same time she neverspared herself. Her own comfortable house always contained one or moreof the odd-come-shorts whom she had not managed to place out in goodsituations. 

Again a wave of resentment swept over Mrs. Otway. This was really toomuch!

"How would such a woman as you describe--a cook who has been in a goodLondon place, and who has lost her health--work into our--mine andRose's--ways? Why, we should both be afraid of such a woman! She wouldimpose on us at every turn. If you only knew, dear Miss Forsyth, howoften, in the last twenty years, I have thanked God--I say it in allreverence--for having sent me my good old Anna! Think what it has beento me"--she spoke with a good deal of emotion--"to have in my tinyhousehold a woman so absolutely trustworthy that I could always go awayand leave my child with her, happy in the knowledge that Rose was assafe with Anna as she was with me----"

Her voice broke, a lump came into her throat, but she hurried on: "Don'tthink that it has all been perfect--that I have lain entirely on a bedof roses! Anna has been very tiresome sometimes; and, as you know, herdaughter, to whom I was really attached, and whom I regarded more orless as Rose's foster-sister, made that unfortunate marriage to aworthless London tradesman. That's the black spot in Anna's life--Idon't mind telling you that it's been a blacker spot in mine than I'veever cared to admit, even to myself. The man's always getting intoscrapes, and having to be got out of them! Why, _you_ once helped meabout him, didn't you? and since then James Hayley actually had to go tothe police about the man. "

"Mr. Hayley will be busier than ever now. "

"Yes, I suppose he will. "

And then the two ladies, looking at one another, smiled one of thosefunny little smiles which may mean a great deal, or nothing at all. 

James Hayley, the son of one of Mrs. Otway's first cousins, was in theForeign Office; and if he had an inordinate opinion of himself and ofhis value to his country, he was still a very good, steady fellow. Lately he had fallen into the way of coming down to Witanburyexceedingly often; but when doing so he did not stay with the Otways, intheir pretty house in the Close, as would have been natural and as wouldalso naturally have made his visits rather less frequent; instead, hestayed in lodgings close to the gateway which divided the Close from thetown, and thus was able to be at the Trellis House as much or as littleas he liked. It was generally much. Mrs. Otway wondered whether the warwould so far affect his work as to keep him away from Witanbury thissummer. She rather hoped it would. 

"I'm even more sorry than usual for Jervis Blake to-day!" and this timethere was a note of real kindness in Miss Forsyth's voice. "I shouldn'tbe surprised if he enlisted. "

"Oh, I hope he won't do _that_!" Mrs. Otway was shocked at thesuggestion. Jervis Blake was a person for whom she had a good deal oftolerant affection. He was quite an ordinary young man, and he had hadthe quite ordinary bad luck of failing to pass successive Armyexaminations. The news that he had failed again had just become known tohis friends, and unluckily it was his last chance, as he was now pastthe age limit. The exceptional feature in his very common case was thathe happened to be the only son of a distinguished soldier. 

"_I_ should certainly enlist if I were he, " continued Miss Forsyththoughtfully. "He wouldn't have long to wait for promotion from theranks. "

"His father would never forgive him!"

"The England of to-day is a different England from the England ofyesterday, " observed Miss Forsyth drily; and as the other stared at her, genuinely astonished by the strange words, "Don't you agree that that isso, Mary?"

"No, I can't say that I do. " Mrs. Otway spoke with greater decision thanwas her wont. Miss Forsyth was far too fond of setting the world torights. 

"Ah! well, I think it is. And I only wish I was a young man instead ofan old woman! I'm sorry for every Englishman who is too old to take uparms in this just cause. What must be Major Guthrie's feelings to-day!How he must regret having left the Army to please his selfish oldmother! It's the more hard on him as he always believed this war wouldcome. He really _knows_ Germany. "

"Major Guthrie only knows _military_ Germany, " said Mrs. Otway slowly. 

"It's only what you call military Germany which counts to-day, " observedMiss Forsyth quickly; and then, seeing that her friend looked hurt, andeven, what she so very seldom was, angry too, she held out her hand withthe words: "And now I must be moving on, for before going to thecathedral I have to see Mrs. Haworth for a minute. By the way, I hearthat the Dean intends to give a little address about the war. " Sheadded, in a different and a kindlier tone: "You must forgive me, Mary, for saying what I did about your good old Anna! But you know I'm reallyfond of you, and I'm even fonder of your sweet Rose than I am of you. Ialways feel that there is a great deal in Rose--more than in any othergirl I know. And then--well, Mary, she is so very pretty! prettier thanyou even were, though you had a way of making every one think youlovely!"

Mrs. Otway laughed. She was quite mollified. "I know how fond you are ofRose, " she said gratefully, "and, of course, I don't mind your havingspoken to me about Anna. But as to parting with her--that would mean theend of the world to us, to your young friend Rose even more than to me. Why, it would be worse--far worse--than the war!"

CHAPTER II

As Mrs. Otway walked slowly on, she could not help telling herself thatdear old Miss Forsyth had been more interfering and tiresome than sheusually was this morning. 

She felt ruffled by the little talk they two had just had--so ruffledand upset that, instead of turning into the gate of the house where shehad been bound--for she, too, had meant to pay a call in the Close onher way to the cathedral--she walked slowly on the now deserted stretchof road running through and under the avenue of elm trees which are sobeautiful and distinctive a feature of Witanbury Close. 

Again a lump rose to her throat, and this time the tears started intoher eyes and rolled down her cheeks. In sheer astonishment at her ownemotion, she stopped short, and taking out her handkerchief dabbed hereyes hurriedly. How strange that this interchange of words with onewhose peculiarities she had known, and, yes, suffered under and smiledat for so many years, should make her feel so--so--so upset!

Mrs. Otway was a typical Englishwoman of her age, which was forty-three, and of her class, which was that from which are drawn most of the womenfrom whom the clergy of the Established Church choose their wives. Thereare thousands such, living in serene girlhood, wifehood, or widowhood, to be found in the villages and country towns of dear old England. Withbut very few exceptions, they are kindly-natured, unimaginative, imbuedwith a shrinking dislike of any exaggerated display of emotion; in someways amazingly broad-minded, in others curiously limited in theiroutlook on life. Such women, as a rule, present few points of interestto students of human nature, for they are almost invariably true totype, their virtues and their defects being cast in the same moulds. 

But Mrs. Otway was much more original and more impulsive, thus far less"groovy, " than the people among whom her lot was cast. There were evencensorious folk in Witanbury who called her eccentric. She wasgenerous-hearted, easily moved to enthusiasm, tenacious of her opinionsand prejudices. She had remained young of heart, and her fair, curlinghair, her slight, active figure, and delicately-tinted skin, gave hersometimes an almost girlish look. Those who met her for the first timewere always surprised to find that Mrs. Otway had a grown-up daughter. 

As a girl she had spent two very happy years in Germany, at Weimar, andshe had kept from those far-off days a very warm and affectionatefeeling towards the Fatherland, as also a rather exceptionally goodknowledge both of the German language and of old-fashioned Germanliterature. Then had come a short engagement, followed by five years ofplacid, happy marriage with a minor canon of Witanbury Cathedral. Andthen, at the end of those five years, which had slipped by so easily andso quickly, she had found herself alone, with one little daughter, andwoefully restricted means. It had seemed, and indeed it had been, agodsend to come across, in Anna Bauer, a German widow who, for amiraculously low wage, had settled down into her little household, tobecome and to remain, not only an almost perfect servant, but as timewent on a most valued and trusted friend. 

The fact that Mrs. Otway had been left a legacy by a distant relation, while making her far more comfortable, had not caused her to alter verymaterially her way of life. She had raised Anna's modest wage, and shewas no longer compelled to look quite so closely after every penny. Also, mother and daughter were now able to take delightful holidaystogether. They had planned one such for this very autumn toGermany--Germany, the country still so dear to Mrs. Otway, which she hadalways longed to show her daughter. 

It was natural that the news which had burst upon England to-day shouldhave unsealed the fountain of deep emotion in her nature. Mrs. Otway, like almost every one she knew, had not believed that there would orcould be a great Continental war, and when that had become, withstunning suddenness, an accomplished fact, she had felt sure that hercountry would remain out of the awful maelstrom. 

Send their good old Anna back to Germany? Why, the idea was unthinkable!What would she, Mary Otway, what would her daughter, Rose, do withoutAnna? Anna had become--Mrs. Otway realised it to-day as she had neverrealised it before--the corner-stone of their modest, happy House ofLife. 

 * * * * *

Miss Forsyth had, however, said one thing which was unfortunately true. It is strange how often these positive, rather managing people hit theright nail on the head! The fact that England and Germany were now atwar _would_ sometimes make things a little awkward with regard to poorold Anna. Something of the kind had, indeed, happened on this verymorning, less than two hours ago. And at the time it had been verypainful, very disagreeable. .. . 

Mrs. Otway and her daughter, each opening a newspaper before beginningbreakfast, had looked up, and in awe-struck tones simultaneouslyexclaimed, "Why, we are at war!" and "War has been declared!" And thenMrs. Otway, as was her wont, had fallen into eager, impulsive talk. Butshe had to stop abruptly when the dining-room door opened--for itrevealed the short, stumpy figure of Anna, smiling, indeed beaming evenmore than usual, as she brought in the coffee she made so well. Motherand daughter had looked at one another across the table, an unspokenquestion in each pair of kind eyes. That question was: _Did poor oldAnna know?_

The answer came with dramatic swiftness, and in the negative. Annaapproached her mistress, still with that curious look of beaminghappiness in her round, fat, plain face, and after she had put down thecoffee-jug she held out her work-worn hand. On it was a pink card, andin her excitement she broke into eager German. 

"The child has come!" she exclaimed. "Look! This is what I havereceived, gracious lady, " and she put the card on her mistress's plate. 

What was written, or rather printed, on that fancy-looking card, ran, when Englished, as follows:

 THE JOYOUS BIRTH OF A LARGE-EYED SUNDAY MAIDEN IS ANNOUNCED, ULTRA-JUBILANTLY, BY WILHELM WARSHAUER, SUB-INSPECTOR OF POLICE IN BERLIN, AND WIFE MINNA, BORN BROCKMANN. 

Of course they both congratulated their good old Anna very heartily onthe birth of the little great-niece in Berlin--indeed Rose, jumping upfrom the table, had surprised her mother by giving her old nurse a hug. "I'm so glad, dear Anna! How happy they seem to be!"

But when Anna had returned to her kitchen the two ladies had gone onsilently and rather sadly with their breakfasts and their papers; andafter she had finished, Mrs. Otway, with a heavy heart, had walkedacross the hall, to her pretty kitchen, to tell Anna the great andtragic news. 

The kitchen of the Trellis House was oddly situated just opposite Mrs. Otway's sitting-room and at right angles to the dining-room. Thus thetwo long Georgian windows of Anna's domain commanded the wide green ofthe Cathedral Close, and the kitchen door was immediately on your rightas you walked through the front door into the arched hall of the house. 

On this momentous morning Anna's mistress found the old German womansitting at her large wooden table writing a letter. When Mrs. Otway camein, Anna looked up and smiled; but she did not rise, as an Englishservant would have done. 

Mrs. Otway walked across to her, and very kindly she laid her hand onthe older woman's shoulder. 

"I have something sad to tell you, " she said gently. "England, my poorAnna, is at war! England has declared war on Germany! But I have come totell you, also, that the fact that our countries are at war will make nodifference to you and to me, Anna--will it?"

Anna had looked up, and for a moment she had seemed bewildered, stunnedby the news. Then all the colour had receded from her round face; itbecame discomposed, covered with red streaks. She broke into convulsivesobs as, shaking her head violently, she exclaimed, "Nein! Nein!"

If only poor old Anna had left it there! But she had gone on, amid hersobs, to speak wildly, disconnectedly, and yes--yes, rather arrogantlytoo, of the old war with France in 1870--of her father, and of herlong-dead brother; how both of them had fought, how gloriously they hadconquered!

Mrs. Otway had begun by listening in silence to this uncalled-foroutburst. But at last, with a touch of impatience, she broke acrossthese ill-timed reminiscences with the words, "But now, Anna? _Now_there is surely no one belonging to your family likely to fight? No one, I mean, likely to fight against England?"

The old woman stared at her stupidly, as if scarcely understanding thesense of what was being said to her; and Mrs. Otway, with a touch ofdecision in her voice, had gone on--"How fortunate it is that yourLouisa married an Englishman!"

But on that Anna had again shaken her head violently. "No, no!" shecried. "Would that a German married she had--an honest, heart-goodGerman, not a man like that bad, worthless George!"

To this surely unnecessary remark Mrs. Otway had made no answer. It wasunluckily true that Anna's English son-in-law lacked every virtue dearto a German heart. He was lazy, pleasure-loving, dishonest in smallpetty ways, and contemptuous of his thrifty wife's anxious efforts tosave money. Still, though it was not perhaps wise to say so just now, itwould certainly have been a terrible complication if "little Louisa, " asthey called her in that household, had married a German--a German whowould have had to go back to the Fatherland to take up arms, perhaps, against his adopted country! Anna ought surely to see the truth of thatto-day, however unpalatable that truth might be. 

But, sad to say, good old Anna had been strangely lacking in her usualgood sense, and sturdy good-humour, this morning. Not content with thatuncalled-for remark concerning her English son-in-law, she had wailedout something about "Willi"--for so she always called WilhelmWarshauer--the nephew by marriage to whom she had become devotedlyattached during the pleasant holiday she had spent in Germany threeyears ago. 

"I do not think Willi is in the least likely to go to the war and bekilled, " said Mrs. Otway at last, a little sharply. "Why, he is in thepolice--a sub-inspector! They would never dream of sending him away. Andthen---- Anna? I wish you would listen to me quietly for a moment----"

Anna fixed her glazed, china-blue eyes anxiously on her mistress. 

"If you go on in this way you will make yourself quite ill; and thatwouldn't do at all! I am quite sure that you will soon hear from yourniece that Willi is quite safe, that he is remaining on in Berlin. England and Germany are civilised nations after all! There need not beany unreasonable bitterness between them. Only the soldiers and sailors, not our two nations, will be at war, Anna. "

 * * * * *

Yes, the recollection of what had happened this morning left anaftermath of bitterness in Mrs. Otway's kind heart. It was only too truethat it would sometimes be awkward; in saying so downright Miss Forsythhad been right! She told herself, however, that after a few days theysurely would all get accustomed to this strange, unpleasant, new stateof things. Why, during the long Napoleonic wars Witanbury had alwaysbeen on the _qui vive_, expecting a French landing on the coast--thatbeautiful coast which was as lonely now as it had been then, and which, thanks to motors and splendid roads, seemed much nearer now than then. England had gone on much as usual a hundred years ago. Mrs. Otway evenreminded herself that Jane Austen, during those years of stress anddanger, had been writing her delightful, her humorous, her placidstudies of life as though there were no war!

And then, perhaps because of her invocation of that dear, shrewdmistress of the average British human heart, Mrs. Otway, feeling farmore comfortable than she had yet felt since her talk with Miss Forsyth, began retracing her steps towards the cathedral. 

She was glad to know that the Dean was going to give a little addressthis morning. It was sure to be kindly, wise, benignant--for he washimself all these three things. Many delightful German thinkers, theologians and professors, came and went to the Deanery, and Mrs. Otwaywas always asked to meet these distinguished folk, partly because of herexcellent knowledge of German, and also because the Dean knew that, likehimself, she loved Germany. 

And now she turned sick at heart, as she suddenly realised that for atime, at any rate, these pleasant meetings would take place no more. Butsoon--or so she hoped with all her soul--this strange unnatural warwould be over. Even now the bubble of Prussian militarism was pricked, for the German Army was not doing well at Liége. During the last two orthree days she had read the news with increasing amazement and--but shehardly admitted it to herself--with dismay. She did not like to think ofGermans breaking and running away! It had hurt her, made her angry, tohear the exultation with which some of her neighbours had spoken of thenews. It was all very well to praise the gallant little Belgians, butwhy should that be done at the expense of the Germans?

Mrs. Otway suddenly told herself that she hoped Major Guthrie would notbe at the cathedral this morning. Considering that they disagreed aboutalmost everything, it was odd what friends he and she were! But aboutGermany they had never agreed, and that was the more strange inasmuch asMajor Guthrie had spent quite a long time in Stuttgart. He thought theGermans of to-day entirely unlike the Germans of the past. He honestlybelieved them to be unprincipled, untrustworthy, and unscrupulous; and, strangest thing of all--or so Mrs. Otway had thought till within thelast few days--he had long been convinced that they intended to conquerEurope by force of arms! So strong was this conviction of his that hehad given time, and yes, money too, to the propaganda carried on by LordRoberts in favour of National Service. 

It was odd that a man whose suspicions of the country which was to herso dear almost amounted to a monomania, should have become her friend. But so it was. In fact, Major Guthrie was her only man friend. Headvised her about all the things concerning which men are supposed toknow more than women--such as investments, for instance. Of course shedid not always take his advice, but it was often a comfort to talkthings out with him, and she had come instinctively to turn to him whenin any little trouble. Few days passed without Major Guthrie's calling, either by chance or in response to a special invitation, at the TrellisHouse. 

Unfortunately, or was it fortunately? the handsome old mother, for whosesake Major Guthrie had left the Army three years ago, didn't care forclerical society. She only liked country people and Londoners. As far asMrs. Otway could dislike any one, she disliked Mrs. Guthrie; but the twoladies seldom had occasion to meet--the Guthries lived in a pretty oldhouse in Dorycote, a village two miles from Witanbury. Also Mrs. Guthriewas more or less chair-ridden, and Mrs. Otway had no carriage. 

 * * * * *

The bells of the cathedral suddenly broke across her troublesome, disconnected thoughts. Mrs. Otway never heard those chimes without awave of remembrance, sometimes very slight, sometimes like to-day quitestrong and insistent, of past joys and sorrows. Those bells wereinterwoven with the whole of her wifehood, motherhood, and widowhood;they had rung for her wedding, they had mustered the tiny congregationwho had been present at Rose's christening; the great bell had tolledthe day her husband had died, and again to bid the kindly folk ofWitanbury to his simple funeral. Some day, perhaps, the bells would ringa joyful peal in honour of Rose's wedding. 

As she walked up the path which leads from the road encircling the Closeto the cathedral, she tried to compose and attune her mind to solemn, peaceful thoughts. 

There was a small congregation, perhaps thirty in all, gathered togetherin the choir, but the atmosphere of that tiny gathering of people wasslightly electric and charged with emotion. The wife of the Dean, ashort, bustling lady, who had never been so popular in Witanbury and itsneighbourhood as was her husband, came forward and beckoned to Mrs. Otway. "If no one else comes in, " she whispered, "I think we might allcome up a little nearer. The Dean is going to say a few words about thewar. "

And though a few more people did come in during the five minutes thatfollowed, the whole of the little congregation finally collected in thestalls nearest the altar. And it was not from the ornate white stonepulpit, but from the steps of the altar, that the Dean, after the shortservice was over, delivered his address. 

For what seemed a long time--it was really only a very few moments--Dr. Haworth stood there, looking thoughtfully at this little gathering ofhis fellow-countrymen and countrywomen. Then he began speaking. Withgreat simplicity and directness he alluded to the awesome news whichthis morning had brought to them, to England. England's declaration ofwar against their great neighbour, Germany--their great neighbour, andthey should never forget, the only other great European nation whichshared with them the blessings, he was willing to admit the perhaps insome ways doubtful blessings, brought about by the Reformation. 

On hearing these words, three or four of his hearers moved a littlerestlessly in their seats, but soon even they settled themselves down totake in, and to approve, what he had to say. 

England was going to war, however, in a just cause, to make good herpromise to a small and weak nation. She had often drawn her sword onbehalf of the oppressed, and never more rightly than now. But it wouldbe wrong indeed for England to allow her heart to be filled withbitterness. It was probable that even at this moment a large number ofGermans were ashamed of what had happened last Monday--he alluded to theInvasion of Belgium. Frederick the Great had once said that God wasalways on the side of the big battalions; in so saying he had beenwrong. Even in the last two or three days they had seen how wrong. Belgium was putting up a splendid defence, and the time might come--he, the speaker, hoped it would be very soon--when Germany would realisethat Might is not Right, when she would confess, with the large-heartedchivalry possible to a great and powerful nation, that she had beenwrong. 

Meanwhile the Dean wished to impress on his hearers the need for agenerous broad-mindedness in their attitude towards the foe. Englandwas a great civilised nation, and so was Germany. The war would befought in an honourable, straightforward manner, as between high-souledenemies. Christian charity enjoined on us to be especially kind andconsiderate to those Germans who happened to be caught by this sad stateof things, in our midst. He had heard these people spoken of thatmorning as "alien enemies. " For his part he would not care to describeby any such offensive terms those Germans who were settled in England inpeaceful avocations. The war was not of their making, and those poorforeigners were caught up in a terrible web of tragic circumstance. Hehimself had many dear and valued friends in Germany, professors whoseonly aim in life was the spread of "Kultur, " not perhaps quite the samething as we meant by the word culture, for the German "Kultur" meantsomething with a wider, more universal significance. He hoped the timewould come, sooner perhaps than many pessimists thought possible, whenthose friends would acknowledge that England had drawn her sword in arighteous cause and that Germany had been wrong to provoke her. 

CHAPTER III

While Mrs. Otway had been thinking over the now rather painful problemof her good old Anna, the subject of her meditations, that is Annaherself, from behind the pretty muslin curtain which hid her kitchenfrom the passers-by, was peeping out anxiously on the lawn-like stretchof green grass, bordered on two sides by high elms, which is so pleasanta feature of Witanbury Close. 

Her knitting was in her hands, for Anna's fingers were never idle, butjust now the needles were still. 

When your kitchen happens to be one of the best rooms on the groundfloor, and one commanding not only the gate of your domain but the roadbeyond, it becomes important that it should not be quite like otherpeople's kitchens. It was Mrs. Otway's pride, as well as Anna's, that atany moment of the day a visitor who, after walking into the hall, openedby mistake the kitchen door, would have found everything there inexquisite order. The shelves, indeed, were worth going some way to see, for each shelf was edged with a beautiful "Kante" or border ofcrochet-work almost as fine as point lace. In fact, the kitchen of theTrellis House was more like a stage kitchen than a kitchen in anordinary house, and the way in which it was kept was the moremeritorious inasmuch as Anna, even now, when she had become an oldwoman, would have nothing of what is in England called "help. " She hadno wish to see a charwoman in _her_ kitchen. Fortunately for her, therelay, just off and behind the kitchen, a roomy scullery, where most ofthe dirty, and what may be called the smelly, work connected withcooking was done. 

To the left of the low-ceilinged, spacious, rather dark scullery wasAnna's own bedroom. Both the scullery and the servant's room were mucholder than the rest of the house, for the picturesque gabled bit ofbrown and red brick building which projected into the garden, at theback of the Trellis House, belonged to Tudor days, to those spacioustimes when the great cathedral just across the green was a new pride andjoy to the good folk of Witanbury. 

As Anna stood at one of the kitchen windows, peeping out at the quietscene outside, but not drawing aside the curtain--for that she knew wasforbidden to her, and Anna very seldom consciously did anything she knewto be forbidden--she felt far more unhappy and far more disturbed thandid Mrs. Otway herself. 

This morning's news had stirred poor old Anna--stirred her moreprofoundly than even her kind mistress guessed. Mrs. Otway would havebeen surprised indeed had it been revealed to her that ever sincebreakfast Anna had spent a very anxious time thinking over her ownimmediate future, wondering with painful indecision as to whether itwere not her duty to go back to Germany. But whereas Mrs. Otway had theinestimable advantage of being quite sure that she knew what it was bestfor Anna to do, the old German woman herself was cruelly torn betweenwhat was due to her mistress, to her married daughter, and, yes, toherself. 

How unutterably amazed Mrs. Otway would have been this morning had sheknown that more than a month ago Anna had received a word of warningfrom Berlin. But so it was: her niece had written to her, "It isbelieved that war this summer there is to be. Willi has been warned thatsomething shortly will happen. "

And now, as Anna stood there anxiously peeping out at the figure of hermistress pacing up and down under the avenue of high elms across thegreen, she did not give more than a glancing thought to England's partin the conflict, for her whole heart was absorbed in the dread knowledgethat Germany was at war with terrible, barbarous Russia, and withprosperous, perfidious France. 

England, so Anna firmly believed, had no army to speak of--no _real_army. She remembered the day when France had declared war on Germany in1870. How at once every street of the little town in which she had livedhad become full of soldiers--splendid, lion-hearted soldiers going offto fight for their beloved Fatherland. Nothing of the sort had takenplace here, though Witanbury was a garrison town. The usual tradesmen, strong, lusty young men, had called for orders that morning. They hadlaughed and joked as usual. Not one of them seemed aware his country wasat war. The old German woman's lip curled disdainfully. 

For the British, as a people, Anna Bauer cherished a tolerant affectionand kindly contempt. It was true that, all unknowing to herself, shealso had a great belief in British generosity and British justice. Theidea that this war, or rather the joining in of England with Franceagainst Germany, could affect her own position or condition in Englandwould have seemed to her absurd. 

Germany and England? A contrast indeed! In Germany her son-in-law, thatidle scamp George Pollit, would by now be marching on his way to theFrench or Russian frontier. But George, being English, was quitesafe--unfortunately. The only difference the war would make to him wouldbe that it would provide him with an excuse for trying to get at some ofAnna's carefully-hoarded savings. 

If good old Anna had a fault--and curiously enough it was one of whichher mistress was quite unaware, though Rose had sometimes uncomfortablysuspected the fact--it was a love of money. 

Anna, in spite of her low wages, had saved far more than an Englishservant earning twice as much would have done. Her low wage? Yes, stilllow, though she had been raised four pounds a year when her mistress hadcome into a better income. Before then Anna had been content withsixteen pounds a year. She now received twenty pounds, but she wasruefully aware that she was worth half as much again. In fact thirtypounds a year had actually been offered to her, in a roundabout way, bya lady who had come as a visitor to a house in the Close. But the lady, like Anna herself, was a German; and, apart altogether from every otherconsideration, including Anna's passionate love of Miss Rose, nothingwould have made her take service with a mistress of her own nationality. 

"This Mrs. Hirsch me to save her money wants. Her kind I know, " sheobserved to the emissary who had been sent to sound her. "You can saythat Anna Bauer a good mistress has, and knows when she well suited is. "

She had said nothing of the matter to Mrs. Otway, but even so shesometimes thought of that offer, and she often felt a little sore whenshe reflected on the wages some of the easy-going servants who formedpart of the larger households in the Close received from theiremployers. 

Yet, in this all-important matter of money a stroke of extraordinarygood luck had befallen Anna--one of those things that very seldom cometo pass in our work-a-day world. It had happened, or perhaps it would betruer to say it had begun--for, unlike most pieces of good fortune, itwas continuous--just three years ago, in the autumn of 1911, shortlyafter her return from that glorious holiday at Berlin. This secretstroke of luck, for she kept it jealously to herself, though there wasnothing about it at all to her discredit, had now lasted for over thirtymonths, and it had had the agreeable effect of greatly increasing herpowers of saving. Of saving, that is, against the day when she would goback to Germany, and live with her niece. 

Mrs. Otway would have been surprised indeed had she known that Anna notonly meant to leave the Trellis House, but that, in a quiet, reflectivekind of way, she actually looked forward to doing so. Miss Rose wouldsurely marry, for a good many pleasant-mannered gentlemen came and wentto the Trellis House (though none of them were as rich as Anna wouldhave liked one of them to be), and she herself would get past her work. When that had come to pass she would go and live with her niece inBerlin. She had not told her daughter of this arrangement, and it hadbeen spoken of by Willi and her niece more as a joke than anything else;still, Anna generally managed to carry through what she had made up hermind to accomplish. 

But on this August morning, standing there by the kitchen window of theTrellis House, the future was far from good old Anna's mind. Her mindwas fixed on the present. How tiresome, how foolish of England to havemixed up with a quarrel which did not concern her! How strange that she, Anna Bauer, in spite of that word of warning from Berlin, had suspectednothing!

As a matter of fact Mrs. Otway had said something to her about Serviaand Austria--something, too, more in sorrow than in anger, of Germany"rattling her sword. " But she, Anna, had only heard with half an ear. Politics were out of woman's province. But there! English ladies werelike that. 

Many a time had Anna laughed aloud over the antics of the Suffragettes. About a month ago the boy who brought the meat had given her a longaccount of a riot--it had been a very little one--provoked by one suchlady madwoman in the market-place of Witanbury itself. In wise masculineGermany the lady's relatives (for, strange to say, the Suffragette inquestion had been a high-born lady) would have put her in the onlyproper place for her, an idiot asylum. 

Anna had been genuinely shocked and distressed on learning that herbeloved nursling, Miss Rose, secretly rather sympathised with this madfemale wish for a vote. Why, in Germany only some of the _men_ hadvotes, and yet Germany was the most glorious, prosperous, andmuch-to-be-feared nation in the world. "Church, Kitchen, andChildren"--that should be, and in the Fatherland still was, every truewoman's motto and province. 

Anna's mind came back with a sudden jerk to this morning's surprising, almost incredible news. Since her two ladies had gone out, she hadopened the newspapers on her kitchen table and read the words forherself--"England Declares War on Germany. " But how could England dosuch a thing, when England had no Army? True, she had ships--but then sonow had Germany!

During that blissful holiday in Berlin, Anna had been persuaded to jointhe German Navy League. She had not meant to keep up her subscription, small though it was, after her return to England, but rather to herdisgust she had found that one of the few Germans she knew in Witanburyrepresented the League, and that her name had been sent to him as thatof a new member. Twice he had called at the tradesmen's entrance to theTrellis House, and had demanded the sum of one shilling from her. 

To-day Anna remembered with satisfaction those payments she had grudged. Thanks to her patriotism, and that of millions like her, Germany had nowa splendid fleet with which to withstand her enemies. She wondered ifthat fleet (for which she had helped to pay) would ensure the safedelivery of parcels and letters. Probably yes. 

With a relieved look on her face, the old woman dropped the curtains, and went back to the table and to her knitting. 

 * * * * *

Suddenly, with what seemed uncanny suddenness, the telephone bell rangin the hall. 

Now Anna had never got used to the telephone. She had not opposed itsintroduction into the Trellis House, because it had been done by MissRose's wish, but once it was installed, Anna had bitterly regretted itsbeing there. It was the one part of her work that she carried out badly, and she knew that this was so. Not only did she find it most difficultto understand what was said through the horrible instrument, but hermistress's friends found even more difficulty in hearing her, Anna. Sometimes--but she was very much ashamed of this--she actually allowedthe telephone bell to go on ringing, and never answered it at all! Sheonly did this, however, when her two ladies were away from Witanbury, and when, therefore, the message, whatever it might happen to be, couldnot possibly be delivered. 

She waited now, hoping that the instrument would grow weary, and leaveoff ringing. But no; on it went, ping, ping, ping, ping--so at last veryreluctantly Anna opened the kitchen door and went out into the hall. 

Taking up the receiver, she said in a grumpy tone, "Ach! What is it?Yes?" And then her face cleared, and she even smiled into the telephonereceiver. 

To her great surprise--but the things that had happened to-day were soextraordinary that there was no real reason why she should be surprisedat anything now--she had heard the voice of the one German inWitanbury--and there were a good many Germans in Witanbury--with whomshe was on really friendly terms. 

This was a certain Fritz Fröhling, a pleasant elderly man who, likeherself, had been in England a long time--in fact in his case nearerforty than twenty years. He was a barber and hairdresser, and did a veryflourishing business with the military gentlemen of the garrison. SoAnglicised had he and his wife become that their son was in the BritishArmy, where he had got on very well, and had been promoted to sergeant. Even among themselves, when Anna spent an evening with them, theFröhlings generally talked English. Still, Fröhling was a German of thegood old sort; that is, he had never become naturalised. But he was aSocialist; he did not share Anna's enthusiasm for the Kaiser, theKaiserine, and their stalwart sons. 

This was the first time he had ever telephoned to her. "Is it Frau Bauerthat I am addressing?"

And Anna, slightly thrilled by the unusual appellation, answered, "Yes, yes--it is, Herr Fröhling. "

"With you a talk I should like to have, " said the friendly familiarvoice. "Could I this afternoon you see?"

"Not this afternoon, " answered Anna, "but this evening, I think yes. Mymistress will I ask if I an evening free have can. "

"Is it necessary her to ask?" The question was put doubtfully. 

"Yes, yes! But mind she will not. To me she is goodness itself--nevermore good than this morning she was, " shouted back Anna loyally. 

"Fortunate you are, " the voice became rather sharp and dry. "I noticealready have to quit--told I must skip. "

"Never!" cried Anna indignantly. "Who has that you told?"

"The police. "

"A bad business, " wailed Anna. She was shocked at what her oldacquaintance told her. "I will Mrs. Otway ask you to help, " she shoutedback. 

He muttered a word or two and then, "Unless before eight youcommunicate, Jane and I expect you this evening. "

"Certainly, Herr Fröhling. "

CHAPTER IV

As Mrs. Otway left the cathedral, certain remarks made to her by membersof the little congregation jarred on her, and made her feel, almost forthe first time in her life, thoroughly out of touch with her friends andneighbours. 

Some one whom Mrs. Otway really liked and respected came up to her andexclaimed, "I couldn't help feeling sorry the Dean did not mentionFrance and the French! Any one listening to him just now would havethought that only Germany and ourselves and Belgium were involved inthis awful business. " And then the speaker, seeing that her words werenot very acceptable, added quietly, "But of course the Dean, with somany German friends, is in a difficult position just now. " In fact, almost every one said something that hurt and annoyed her, and thatthough it was often only a word of satisfaction that at last England hadgone in, as more than one of them put it, "on the right side. "

Passing through the arch of the square gateway which separates the townfrom the Close, Mrs. Otway hurried down the pretty, quiet street whichleads in a rather roundabout way, and past one of the most beautifulgrey stone crosses in England, into the great market square which is oneof the glories of the famous cathedral city. Once there, she crossed thewide space, part cobbled, part paved, and made her way into a largebuilding of stucco and red brick which bore above its plate-glasswindows the inscription in huge gilt letters, "THE WITANBURY STORES. "

The Monday Bank Holiday had been prolonged, and so the Stores were only, so to speak, half open. But as Mrs. Otway stepped through into theshadowed shop, the owner of the Stores, Manfred Hegner by name, cameforward to take her orders himself. 

Manfred Hegner was quite a considerable person in Witanbury. Not onlywas he the biggest retail tradesman in the place, and an active memberof the Witanbury City Council, but he was known to have all sorts ofprofitable irons in the fire. A man to keep in with, obviously, and onewho was always willing to meet one half-way. Because of his Germanbirth--he had been naturalised some years ago--and even more because ofcertain facial and hirsute peculiarities, he went by the nickname of"The Kaiser. "

Mrs. Otway took out of her bag a piece of paper on which she had writtendown, at her old Anna's dictation, a list of groceries and other thingsneeded at the Trellis House. And then she looked round, instinctively, towards the corner of the large shop where all that remained of what hadonce been the mainstay of Manfred Hegner's business was alwaystemptingly set forth. This was a counter of _Delicatessen_. Glancing atthe familiar corner, Mr. Hegner's customer told herself that her eyesmust be playing her false. In the place of the familiar sausages, herrings, the pretty coloured basins of sauerkraut, and other savourydainties, there now stood nothing but a row of large uninteresting Dutchcheeses!

The man who was waiting attentively by her side, a pencil and block ofpaper in his hand, saw the surprised, regretful look on his valuedcustomer's face. 

"I have had to put away all my nice, fresh _Delicatessen_, " he said in alow voice. "It seemed wiser to do so, gracious lady. " He spoke inGerman, and it was in German that she answered. 

"Did you really think it necessary to do such a thing? I think you areunfair on your adopted country, Mr. Hegner! English people are not sounreasonable as that. "

He was about to answer, when an odd-looking man, rather like a sailor, came in, and Mr. Hegner, with a hurried "Please excuse me one minute, ma'am, " in English, went off to attend to the new comer. 

As Mr. Hegner went across his shop, Mrs. Otway was struck by his curiousresemblance to the German Emperor; in spite of the fact that he waswearing a long white apron, he had quite a martial air. He certainlydeserved his nickname. There were the same piercing, rather prominenteyes, the same look of energy and decision in his face; also the samepeculiar turned-up moustache. But whereas the resemblance last weekwould have brought a smile, now it brought a furrow of pain to theEnglish lady's kindly face. 

Poor Manfred Hegner! What must he and thousands of others likehim--excellent, industrious, civil-spoken Germans--feel all throughEngland to-day? Mrs. Otway, who had always liked the man, and whoenjoyed her little chats with him, knew perhaps rather more about thisprosperous tradesman than most of the Witanbury people knew. She wasaware that he had been something of a rolling stone; he had, forinstance, been for quite a long time in America, and it was there thathe had shed most of his Germanisms of language. He was older than helooked, and his son by a first marriage lived in Germany--where, however, the young man was buyer for a group of English firms who did agreat deal of business in cheap German-made goods. 

His conversation with the odd-looking stranger over, Mr. Hegner hurriedback to where his valued customer was standing. "Every one on the CityCouncil is being most kind, " he said suavely. "And last night I had thehonour of meeting the Dean. At his suggestion I am calling a littlemeeting this evening, here in my Stores, of the non-naturalised Germansof this town. There are a good many in Witanbury. "

And then Mrs. Otway suddenly remembered that the man now standingopposite to her was a member of the City Council. She remembered thatsome time ago, three or four years back at least, some disagreeableperson had expressed indignation that an ex-German, one only justnaturalised, should be elected to such a body. She had thought thespeaker narrow-minded and ill-natured. An infusion of Germanthoroughness and thrift would do the City Council good, and perhaps keepdown the rates!

"But you, Mr. Hegner, have been naturalised quite a long time, " she saidsympathetically. 

"Yes, indeed, gracious lady!" Mr. Hegner seemed surprised, perhaps athought disturbed, by her natural remark. "I took out my certificatebefore I built the Stores, and just after I had married my excellentlittle English wife. Glad indeed am I now that I did so!"

"I am very glad too, " said Mrs. Otway. And yet--and yet she felt aslight quiver of discomfort. The man standing there was so _very_ Germanafter all--German not only in his appearance, but in all his littleways! If nothing else had proved it, his rather absurd nickname wasclear proof that so he was even now regarded in Witanbury. 

"And how about your son, Mr. Hegner?" she asked. "I suppose he is inGermany now? You must feel rather anxious about him. "

He hesitated oddly, and looked round him before he spoke. Then, vanquished, maybe, by the obvious sincerity and kindness of the speaker, he answered, in German, and almost in a whisper. "He is, I fear, by nowon his way to the frontier. But may I ask a favour of the gracious lady?Do not speak of my son to the people of Witanbury. "

"Then _he_ was never naturalised?" Mrs. Otway also spoke in a lowvoice--a voice full of pity and concern. 

"No, no, " said Mr. Hegner hastily. "There was no necessity for him tobe. His work was mostly, you see, over there. "

"Still he was educated here, surely?"

"That is so, gracious lady. He talks English better even than I do. Heand I did consider the question of his taking out a certificate. Then wedecided that, as he would be so much in Germany, it was better he shouldremain German. But his wife is an English girl. "

"How sorry you must be now that he did not naturalise!" she exclaimed. 

An odd look came over Manfred Hegner's face. "Yes, it is veryregretful--the more so that it would do me harm if it were known in thetown that I had a son in the German Army. But he will not fight againstthe English, " he added hastily. "No one will do that but the Germansailors--is not that so, madam?"

"I really don't know. "

"If at any time the gracious lady should hear anything of the sort, Ishould be grateful--nay, far more than grateful if she will let me knowit!" He had lapsed back into German, and Mrs. Otway smiled very kindlyat him. 

"Yes, I will certainly let you know anything I hear. I know how veryanxious you must be about this sad state of things. "

Mrs. Otway had left the shop, and she was already some way back acrossthe Market Place, when there came the rather raucous sound of an urgentvoice in her ear. Startled, she turned round. The owner of the WitanburyStores stood by her side. 

"Pardon, pardon!" he said breathlessly. "But would you, gracious lady, ask your servant" (he used the German word "Stütze") "if she could makeit convenient to join our gathering this evening at nine o'clock? FrauAnna Bauer is so very highly respected among the Germans here that weshould like her to be present. "

"Certainly I will arrange for Anna to come, " answered Mrs. Otway. "Butyou may not be aware, Mr. Hegner, that my cook has become to all intentsand purposes quite English--without, of course, " she hastily correctedherself, "giving up her love for the Fatherland. She has only onerelation left in Germany, a married niece in Berlin. Her own daughter isthe wife of an Englishman, a tradesman in London. "

"That makes no difference, " said Manfred Hegner; "she will be welcome, most heartily welcome, to-night! This is the moment, as the Reverend Mr. Dean so well put it to me, when all Germans should stick together, andconsult as to the wisest and best thing to do in their own interests. "

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Hegner. I quite agree with the Dean. But do not doanything to upset my poor old Anna. She really is not involved in thequestion at all. She has lived with me nearly twenty years, and mydaughter and I regard her far more as a friend than as a servant. Thefact that she is German is an accident--the merest accident! Nothing inher life, thank God, will be changed for the worse. And, Mr. Hegner? Ishould like to say one more thing. " She looked earnestly into his face, but even she could see that his eyes were wandering, and that there wasa slight look of apprehension in the prominent eyes now fixed on a groupof farmers who stood a few yards off staring at him and at Mrs. Otway. 

"Yes, gracious lady, " he said mechanically, "I am attending. "

"Do not think that English people bear any ill-feeling to you and yourgreat country! We feel that Germany, by breaking her word to Belgium, has put herself in the wrong. It is England's duty to fight, not herpleasure, Mr. Hegner. And we hope with all our hearts that the war willsoon be over. "

He murmured a word of respectful assent. And then, choosing a ratherdevious route, skirting the fine old Council House, which is the mostdistinctive feature of Witanbury Market Place, he hurried back to hisbig stores. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Otway opened the wrought-iron gate of the Trellis House with afeeling of restful satisfaction; but there, in her own pretty, peacefulhome, a not very pleasant surprise awaited her. Good old Anna, hurryingout into the black and white hall to meet her gracious lady, did notreceive Mr. Hegner's kind invitation as her mistress had supposed shewould do. A look of indecision and annoyance crossed her pink face. 

"Ach, but to go to Mr. Fröhling promised have I, " she muttered. 

And then Mrs. Otway exclaimed, "But the Fröhlings are Germans! They willcertainly be there themselves. Mr. Fröhling cannot have known of thismeeting when he and his wife asked you to supper. I think, Anna, that itis your duty to attend this gathering. The Dean not only approves of it, but, from what I could make out, he actually suggested that it shouldtake place. Of course I know it makes no real difference to you; butstill, Anna, " she spoke reprovingly, "you should not forget at such atime as this that you are German-born. "

The old woman looked up quickly at her mistress. Forget she wasGerman-born! Mrs. Otway was a most good lady, a most kind employer, butshe was sometimes foolish, very very foolish, in what she said! She, Anna Bauer, had often noticed it. Still, averse as she was from thethought, the old German woman was ruefully aware that she would have toaccept Mr. Hegner's invitation. When it came to a tussle of will betweenthe two, herself and her mistress, Mrs. Otway generally won, partlybecause she was, after all, Anna's employer, and also because she alwaysknew exactly what it was she wanted Anna to do. Anna was emotional, easily touched, highly excitable; she also generally knew what shewanted, but she did not find it easy to force her will on others, leastof all on her beloved if not exactly admired mistress. 

Grumbling under her breath, she retreated into her kitchen; while Mrs. Otway, feeling tired and rather dispirited, went upstairs. 

The back-door bell rang, and Anna went and opened it. A boy stood there, bearing on a tray not only the various little things Mrs. Otway hadordered at the Witanbury Stores half an hour before, but also anenvelope addressed to "Frau Bauer. " Anna brought the things into thekitchen, then she opened with interest the envelope addressed toherself. It contained a card, elegantly headed:

 "THE WITANBURY STORES. Proprietor: MANFRED HEGNER. "

Across it were written in German the words: "You are bidden to a meetingat the above address to-night at nine o'clock. There will be cakes andcoffee served before the meeting begins. Entrance by Market Row. "

Anna read the words again and again. This was treating her at last asshe ought always to have been treated! Anna did not like her erstfellow-country-man, and she considered that she had good reason for herdislike. Resentment against ingratitude is not confined to any onenationality. 

When Manfred Hegner had first come to Witanbury, Anna had been delightedto make his acquaintance, and she had spent many happy half-hourschatting with him in the little _Delicatessen_ shop he had establishedin Bridge Street, close to the Market Place. 

Starting with only the good-will of a bankrupt confectioner, he had verysoon built up a wonderfully prosperous business. But his early successhad been in a measure undoubtedly owing to Mrs. Otway and her Germancook. Mrs. Otway had told all her friends of this amusing little Germanshop, and of the good things which were to be bought there. _Delicatessen_ had become quite the fashion, not only among the goodpeople of Witanbury itself, but among the county gentry who made thecathedral town their shopping headquarters, and who enjoyed motoring inthere to spend an idly busy morning. 

Then had come the erection of the big Stores. Over that matter quite astorm had arisen, and local feeling had been very mixed. A petitionoriginated by those who called themselves the Art Society of Witanbury, pointed out that a large modern building of the kind proposed would ruinthe old-world, picturesque appearance of the Market Place. But the biglocal builder, the man who later promoted the election of Manfred Hegneron to the City Council, bore down all opposition, and a group ofcharming old gabled houses--houses that were little more than cottages, and therefore perhaps hardly in keeping with the Market Place of soprosperous a town as was Witanbury--had been pulled down, and the largeStores had risen on their site. 

And then one day--which happened to be a day when Mrs. Otway and herdaughter were away on a visit--Manfred Hegner himself walked along intothe Close, and so to the Trellis House, in order to make Anna aproposal. It was a simple thing that he asked Anna to do--namely thatshe should persuade her mistress to remove her custom from thelong-established tradesmen where she had always dealt, and transfer itentirely to his Stores. His things, so he said, were better as well ascheaper than those sold by the smaller people, also he would be pleasedto pay Anna a handsome commission on every bill paid by her mistress. 

Anna had willingly fallen in with this plan. It had taken some time andsome trouble, but in the end Mrs. Otway found it very convenient to geteverything at the same place. For a while all had gone well for ManfredHegner--well for him and well for Anna. At the end of a year, however, he had arbitrarily halved Anna's commission, and that she felt to be (asindeed it was) most unfair, and not in the bond. She had no longer thepower to retaliate, for her mistress had fallen into the way of goinginto the Stores herself. Mrs. Otway enjoyed rubbing up her German withMr. Hegner, and the really intelligent zeal with which he always treatedher, and her comparatively small orders, was very pleasant. Twice hehad taken great trouble to procure for her a local Weimar delicacy whichshe remembered enjoying as a girl. 

But when Anna, following her mistress's example, walked along to theStores to enjoy a little chat in her native language, Mr. Hegner wouldbe short with her, very short indeed! In fact it was now a long timesince the old woman had cared to set foot there. For another thing shedid not like Mrs. Hegner, the pretty English girl Manfred Hegner hadmarried five years before; she thought her a very frivolous, sillylittle woman, not at all what the wife of a big commercial man shouldbe. Anna's Louisa would have been a perfect helpmate for Manfred Hegner, and there had been a time, a certain three months, when Anna had thoughtthe already prosperous widower was considering Louisa. His marriage topretty Polly Brown had been a disappointment. 

But now this politely-worded card of invitation certainly made adifference. Old Anna, who was not lacking in a certain simpleshrewdness, had not expected Manfred Hegner to show any kindness to hisex-compatriots. She was touched to find him a better man than sheexpected. Most certainly would she attend this meeting!

As soon as her mistress had gone out to lunch, Anna telephoned to Mr. Fröhling and explained why she could not come to him that evening. 

"We too asked to Hegner's have been. As you are going, we your examplewill follow, " shouted the barber. 

CHAPTER V

Rose Otway sat in the garden of the Trellis House, under thewide-branched cedar of Lebanon which was, to the thinking of most peoplein the Close, that garden's only beauty. For it was just a wide lawn, surrounded on three sides by a very high old brick wall, under which ranan herbaceous border to which Rose devoted some thought and a good dealof time. 

The great cedar rose majestically far above its surroundings; and whenyou stood at one of the windows of the Trellis House, and saw how widethe branches of the tree spread, you realised that the garden was a gooddeal bigger than it appeared at first sight. 

Rose sat near a low wicker table on which in an hour or so Anna wouldcome out and place the tea-tray. Spread out across the girl's knee was asquare of canvas, a section of a bed-spread, on which was traced anintricate and beautiful Jacobean design. Rose had already been workingat it for six months, and she hoped to have finished it by the 14th ofDecember, her mother's birthday. She enjoyed doing this beautiful work, of which the pattern had been lent to her by a country neighbour whocollected such things. 

How surprised Rose would have been on this early August afternoon couldshe have foreseen that this cherished piece of work, on which she hadalready lavished so many hours of close and pleasant toil, would soonbe put away for an indefinite stretch of time; and that knitting, whichshe had always disliked doing, would take its place!

But no such thought, no such vision of the future, came into her mind asshe bent her pretty head over her work. 

She felt rather excited, a thought more restless than usual. England atwar, and with Germany! Dear old Anna's Fatherland--the great country towhich Rose had always been taught by her mother to look with peculiaraffection, as well as respect and admiration. 

Rose and Mrs. Otway had hoped to go to Germany this very autumn. Theyhad saved up their pennies--as Mrs. Otway would have put it--for aconsiderable time, in order that they might enjoy in comfort, and evenin luxury, what promised to be a delightful tour. Rose could hardlyrealise even yet that their journey, so carefully planned out, so oftendiscussed, would now have to be postponed. They were first to have goneto Weimar, where Mrs. Otway had spent such a happy year in her girlhood, and then to Munich, to Dresden, to Nuremberg--to all those dear oldtowns with whose names Rose had always been familiar. It seemed such apity that now they would have to wait till after the war to go toGermany. 

After the war? Fortunately the people she had seen that day--and therehad been a good deal of coming and going in the Close--all seemed tothink that the war would be over very soon, and this pleasant view hadbeen confirmed in a rather odd way. 

Rose's cousin, James Hayley, had rung her up on the telephone fromLondon. She had been very much surprised, for a telephone message fromLondon to Witanbury costs one-and-threepence, and James was carefulabout such things. When he did telephone, which was very seldom, healways waited to do so till the evening, when the fee was halved. Butto-day James had rung up just before luncheon, and she had heard hisvoice almost as though he were standing by her side. 

"Who's there? Oh, it's you, is it, Rose? I just wanted to say that Ishall probably be down Saturday night. I shan't be able to be away morethan one night, worse luck. I suppose you've heard what's happened?"

And then, as she had laughed--she had really not been able to help it(how very odd James was! He evidently thought Witanbury _quite_ out ofthe world), he had gone on, "It's a great bore, for it upsets everythinghorribly. The one good point about it is that it won't last long. "

"How long?" she had called out. 

And he had answered rather quickly, "You needn't speak so loud. I hearyou perfectly. How long? Oh, I think it'll be over by October--may be alittle before, but I should say October. "

"Mother thinks there'll be a sort of Trafalgar!"

And then he had answered, speaking a little impatiently for he was veryoverworked just then, "Nothing of the sort! The people who will win thiswar, and will win it quickly, are the Russians. We have information thatthey will mobilise quickly--much more quickly than most people think. You see, my dear Rose, "--he was generally rather old-fashioned in hisphraseology--"the Russians are like a steam roller"; she alwaysremembered that she had heard that phrase from him first. "We havereason to believe that they can put ten million men into their fightingline every year for fifty years!"

Rose, in answer, said the first silly thing she had said that day: "Oh, I do _hope_ the war won't last as long as that!"

And then she had heard, uttered in a strange voice, the words, "Anotherthree minutes, sir?" and the hasty answer at the other end, "No, certainly not! I've quite done. " And she had hung up the receiver with asmile. 

And yet Rose, if well aware of his little foibles, liked her cousin wellenough to be generally glad of his company. During the last three monthshe had spent almost every week-end at Witanbury. And though it was true, as her mother often observed, that James was both narrow-minded andself-opinionated, yet even so he brought with him a breath of largerair, and he often told the ladies at the Trellis House interestingthings. 

 * * * * *

While Rose Otway sat musing over her beautiful work in the garden, goodold Anna came and went in her kitchen. She too still felt restless andanxious, she too wondered how long this unexpected war would last. Butwhereas Rose couldn't have told why she was restless and anxious, herone-time nurse knew quite well what ailed herself this afternoon. 

Anna had a very good reason for feeling worried and depressed, but itwas one she preferred to keep to herself. For the last two days she hadbeen expecting some money from Germany, and since this morning she hadbeen wondering, with keen anxiety, whether that money would be stoppedin the post. 

What made this possibility very real to her was the fact that an uncleof Anna's, just forty-four years ago, that is, in the August of 1870, had been ruined owing to the very simple fact that a sum of money owinghim from France had not been able to get through! It was true that she, Anna, would not be ruined if the sum due to her, which in English moneycame to fifty shillings exactly, were not to arrive. Still, it would bevery disagreeable, and the more disagreeable because she had foolishlygiven her son-in-law five pounds a month ago. She knew it would have tobe a gift, though he had pretended at the time that it was only a loan. 

Anna wondered how she could find out whether money orders were stilllikely to come through from Germany. She did not like to ask at the PostOffice, for her Berlin nephew, who transmitted the money to herhalf-yearly, always had the order made out to some neighbouring town orvillage, not to Witanbury. In vain Anna had pointed out that this wasquite unnecessary, and indeed very inconvenient; and that when she hadsaid she did not wish her mistress to know, she had not meant _that_. Inspite of her protests Willi had persisted in so sending it. 

Suddenly her face brightened. How easy it would be to find out all thatsort of thing at the meeting to-night! Such a man as Manfred Hegnerwould be sure to know. 

There came a ring at the front door of the Trellis House, and Anna gotup reluctantly from her easy chair and laid down her crochet. She wasbeginning to feel old, so she often told herself regretfully--older thanthe Englishwomen of her own age seemed to be. But none of them hadworked as hard as she had always worked. Englishwomen, especiallyEnglish servants, were lazy good-for-nothings!

Poor old Anna; she did not feel happy or placid to-day, and she hatedthe thought of opening the door to some one who, maybe, would condolewith her on to-day's news. All Mrs. Otway's friends knew Anna, andtreated her as a highly respected institution. Those who knew a littleGerman were fond of trying it on her. 

It was rather curious, considering how long Anna had been in England, that she still kept certain little habits acquired in the far-off dayswhen she had been the young cook of a Herr Privy Councillor. Thus neverdid she open the front door with a cheerful, pleasant manner. Also, unless they were very intimately known to her and to her mistress, shealways kept visitors waiting in the hall. She would forget, that is, toshow them straight into the pretty sitting-room which lay just oppositeher kitchen. She often found herself regretting that the heavy oldmahogany door of the Trellis House lacked the tiny aperture which inBerlin is so well named a "stare-hole, " and which enables the personinside the front door to command, as it were, the position outside. 

But to-day, when she saw who it was who stood on the threshold, her facecleared a little, for she was well acquainted with the tall young manwho was looking at her with so pleasant a smile. His name was JervisBlake, and he came very often to the Trellis House. For two years hehad been at "Robey's, " the Army coaching establishment which was, in aminor degree, one of the glories of Witanbury, and which consisted of agroup of beautiful old Georgian houses spreading across the whole of oneof the wide corners of the Close. 

Some of the inhabitants of the Close resented the fact of "Robey's. " ButMr. Robey was the son of a former Bishop of Witanbury, the Bishop whohad followed Miss Forsyth's father. 

Bishop Robey had had twin sons, who, unlike most twins, were verydifferent. The elder, whom some of the oldest inhabitants remembered asan ugly, eccentric little boy, with a taste for cutting up dead animals, had insisted on becoming a surgeon. To the surprise of his father's oldfriends, he had made a considerable reputation, which had been, so tospeak, officially certified with a knighthood. The professional life ofa great surgeon is limited, and Sir Jacques Robey, though not much overfifty and still a bachelor, had now retired. 

The younger twin, Orlando, was the Army coach. He had been, even as alittle boy, a great contrast to his brother, being both good looking andanything but eccentric. The brothers were only alike in the success theyhad achieved in their several professions, but they had for one anotherin full measure that curiously understanding sympathy and affectionwhich seem to be the special privilege of twins. 

Mr. Robey was popular and respected, and those dwellers in the Close whohad daughters were pleased with the life and animation which thepresence of so many young men gave to the place. The more thoughtfulwere also glad to think that the shadow of their beloved cathedralrested benignantly over the temporary home of those future officers andadministrators of the Empire. And of all those who had been coached at"Robey's" during the last two years, there was none better liked, thoughthere had been many more popular, than the young man who now stoodsmiling at old Anna. 

During the first three months of his sojourn in the Close, Jervis Blakehad counted very little, for it had naturally been supposed that hewould soon go off to Sandhurst or Woolwich. Then he had failed to passthe Army Entrance Examination, not once, as so many did, but again andagain, and the good folk of Witanbury, both gentle and simple, had grownaccustomed to see him coming and going in their midst. 

Unfortunately for Jervis Blake, his father, though a distinguishedsoldier, was a very peculiar man, one who had owed nothing in his hardlaborious youth to influence; and he had early determined that his onlyson should tread the path he had himself trod. 

And now poor young Blake had reached the age limit, and failed for thelast time. Every one had been sorry, but no one had been surprised inWitanbury Close, when the result of the May Army Exam. Had beenpublished in July. 

One person, Mr. Robey himself, had been deeply concerned. Indeed, thefamous coach muttered to one or two of his old friends, "It's a pity, you know! Although I make my living by it, I often think there's a gooddeal to be said against a system which passes in--well, some boys whosenames I could give you, and which keeps out of the Army a lad likeJervis Blake! He'd make a splendid company officer--conscientious, honest, unselfish, keen about his work, and brave--well, brave as only aman----"

And one of those to whom he said it, seeing him hesitate, had broken in, with a slight smile, "Brave as only a man totally lacking in imaginationcan be, eh, Robey?"

"No, no, I won't have you say that! Even an idiot has enough imaginationto be afraid of danger! There's something fine about poor Jervis. "

They'd gradually all got to call young Blake "Jervis" in that household. Perhaps Mrs. Robey alone of them all knew how much they would miss him. He was such a thoroughly good fellow, he was so useful to her husband inkeeping order among the wilder spirits, and that without having abouthim a touch of the prig!

 * * * * *

Rose looked up and smiled as the tall young man came forward and shookhands with her, saying as he did so, "I hope I'm not too early? Thetruth is, I've a good many calls to pay this afternoon. I've come to saygood-bye. "

"I'm sorry. I thought you weren't going away till Saturday. " Rose reallydid feel sorry--in fact, she was herself surprised at her rather keensensation of regret. She had always liked Jervis Blake very much--likedhim from the first day she had seen him. He had a certain claim on thekindness of the ladies of the Trellis House, for his mother had been agirl friend of Mrs. Otway's. 

Most people, as Rose was well aware, found his conversation boring. Butit always interested her. In fact Rose Otway was the one person inWitanbury who listened with real pleasure to what Jervis Blake had tosay. Oddly enough, his talk almost always ran on military matters. Mostsoldiers--and Rose knew a good many officers, for Witanbury is agarrison town--would discuss, before the Great War, every kind of topicexcept those connected with what they would have described as "shop. "But Jervis Blake, who, owing to his bad luck, seemed fated never to be asoldier, thought and talked of nothing else. It was thanks to him thatRose knew so much about the great Napoleonic campaigns, and was so well"up" in the Indian Mutiny. 

And now, on this 4th of August, 1914, Jervis Blake sat down by RoseOtway, and began tracing imaginary patterns on the grass with his stick. 

"I'm not going to tell any one else, but there's something I want totell you. " He spoke in a rather hard, set voice, and he did not look up, as he spoke, at the girl by his side. 

"Yes, " she said. "Yes, Jervis? What is it?" There was something verykind, truly sympathetic, in her accents. 

"I'm going to enlist. "

Rose Otway was startled--startled and sorry. 

"Oh, no, you mustn't do that!"

"I've always thought I should _like_ to do it, if--if I failed this lasttime. But of course I knew it was out of the question--because of myfather. But now--everything's different! Even father will see that Ihave no other course open to me. "

"I--I don't understand what you mean, " she answered, and to hersurprise there came a queer lump in her throat. "Why is everythingdifferent now?"

He looked round at her with an air of genuine surprise, and, yes, ofindignation, in his steady grey eyes. And under that surprised andindignant look, so unlike anything there had ever been before from himto her, the colour flushed all over her face. 

"You mean, " she faltered, "you mean because--because England is at war?"

He nodded. 

"But I thought--of course I don't know anything about it, Jervis, and Idaresay you'll think me very ignorant--but from what the Dean said thismorning I thought that only our fleet is to fight the Germans. "

"The Dean is an old----" and then they both laughed. Jervis Blake wenton: "If we don't go to the help of the French and the Belgians, thenEngland's disgraced. But of course we're going to fight!"

Rose Otway was thinking--thinking hard. She knew a good deal aboutJervis, and his relations with the father he both loved and feared. 

"Look here, " she said earnestly. "We've always been friends, you and I, haven't we, Jervis?"

And again he simply nodded in answer to the question. 

"Well, I want you to promise me something!"

"I can't promise you I won't enlist. "

"I don't want you to promise me that. I only want you to promise me towait just a few days--say a week. Of course I don't know anything abouthow one becomes a soldier, but you'd be rather sold, wouldn't you, ifyou enlisted and then if your regiment took no part in the fighting--ifthere's really going to be fighting?"

Rose Otway stopped short. She felt a most curious sensation of fatigue;it was as though she had been speaking an hour instead of a few moments. But she had put her whole heart, her whole soul, into those few simplewords. 

There was a long, long pause, and her eyes filled with tears. Those whoknew her would have told you that Rose Otway was quite singularlyself-possessed and unemotional. In fact she could not remember when shehad cried last, it was so long ago. But now there came over her achildish, irresistible desire to have her way--to save poor, poor Jervisfrom himself. And suddenly the face of the young man looking at herbecame transfigured. 

"Rose, " he cried--"Rose, do you really care, a little, what happens tome? Oh, if you only knew what a difference that would make!"

And then she pulled herself together. Jervis mustn't become what she inher own mind called "silly. " Young men, ay, and older men too, had a wayof becoming "silly" about Rose Otway. And up to now she had disliked itvery much. But this afternoon she was touched rather than displeased. 

"I care very much, " she said quietly. She knew the battle was won, andit was very collectedly that she added the words, "Now, I have yourpromise, Jervis? You're not to do anything foolish----" Then she saw shehad made a mistake. "No, no!" she cried hastily; "I don't mean that--Idon't mean that a man who becomes a soldier in time of war is doinganything foolish! But I do think that you ought to wait just a fewdays. Everything is different now. " For the first time she felt thateverything was indeed different in England--in this new strange Englandwhich was at war. It was odd that Jervis Blake should have brought thatknowledge home to her. 

"Very well, " he said slowly. "I'll wait. I can't wait a whole week, butI'll wait till after Sunday. "

"The Robeys are going to the seaside on Monday, aren't they?" She wasspeaking now quite composedly, quite like herself. 

"Yes, and they kindly asked me to stay on till then. "

He got up. "Well, " he said, looking down at her--and she couldn't helptelling herself what a big, manly fellow he looked, and what a finesoldier he would make--"well, Rose, so it isn't good-bye, after all?"

"No, I'm glad to say it isn't. " She gave him a frank, kindly smile. "Surely you'll stay and have some tea?"

"No, thank you. Jack Robey is feeling a little above himself to-day. Yousee it's the fourth day of the holidays. I think I'll just go straightback, and take him out for a walk. I rather want to think over things. "

As he made his way across the lawn and through the house, feelingsomehow that the whole world had changed for the better, though he couldnot have told you exactly why, Jervis Blake met Mrs. Otway. 

"Won't you stay and have some tea?" she asked, but she said it in a verydifferent voice from that Rose had used--Rose had meant what she said. 

"Thanks very much, but I've got to get back. I promised Mrs. Robey I'dbe in to tea; the boys are back from school, you know. "

"Oh, yes, of course! I suppose they are. Well, you must come in someother day before you leave Witanbury. "

She hurried through into the garden. 

"I hope Jervis Blake hasn't been here very long, darling, " she saidfondly. "Of course I know he's your friend, and that you've always likedhim. But I'm afraid he would rather jar on one to-day. He's always _so_disliked the Germans! Poor fellow, how he must feel out of it, now thatthe war he's always been talking about has actually come!"

"Well, mother, Jervis was right after all. The Germans _were_ preparingfor war. "

But Mrs. Otway went on as if she had not heard the interruption. It wasa way she had, and sometimes both Rose and old Anna found it rathertrying. "This morning Miss Forsyth was saying she thought young Blakewould enlist--that she'd enlist if she were in his place! It's odd whatnonsense she sometimes talks. "

Rose remained silent and her mother continued. "I've so many things totell you I hardly know where to begin. It was a very interestingcommittee, more lively than usual. There seemed a notion among some ofthe people there that there will be war work of some kind for us to do. Lady Bethune thought so--though I can't see how the war can affect anyof _us_, here, in Witanbury. But just as we were breaking up, LadyBethune told us some interesting things. There are, she says, twoparties in the Government--one party wants us to send out troops to helpBelgium, the other party thinks we ought to be content with letting thefleet help the French. I must say I agree with the Blue Water school. "

"I don't, " said Rose rather decidedly. "If we really owe so much toBelgium that we have gone to war for her sake, then it seems to me weought to send soldiers to help her. "

"But then we have such a small army, " objected Mrs. Otway. 

"It may grow bigger, " observed her daughter quietly, "especially ifpeople like Jervis Blake think of enlisting. "

"But it wasn't Jervis Blake, darling child--it was Miss Forsyth who saidthat to me. "

"So it was! How stupid I am!" Rose turned a little pink. She did notwish to deceive her mother. But Mrs. Otway was so confiding, so surethat every one was as honourable as herself, that she could not alwaysbe trusted to keep secrets. 

CHAPTER VI

Mr. And Mrs. Hegner stood together in their brilliantly lighted but nowempty front shop. In a few minutes their guests would begin to arrive. Mrs. Hegner looked tired, and rather cross, for the shop had not beentransformed into its present state without a good deal of hard work onthe part of all of them, her husband, their German assistants, andherself--their English shopman had been told that to-night his serviceswould not be required. But Mrs. Hegner, though her pretty face was tiredand peevish-looking, yet looked far pleasanter than she had done half anhour ago, for her husband had just presented her with a long gold chain. 

In a very, very quiet way, quite under the rose, so to speak, Mr. Hegnersometimes went in for small money-lending transactions. He would giveloans on jewellery, and even on "curios" and good furniture; always, however, in connection with an account which had, maybe, run a littletoo long--never as a separate transaction. The old-fashioned chain of18-carat gold, which he had just hung with a joking word round hispretty wife's slender neck, had been the outcome of one of these minoractivities. 

It was now a quarter to nine; and suddenly there came the sound of loud, rather impatient knocking on the locked and barred front door of theshop. A frown gathered over Mr. Hegner's face; it transformed hisgood-looking, generally genial, countenance into something which was, for the moment, very disagreeable. 

"What can that be?" he said to his wife. "Did you not put plainly onevery card 'Entrance by Market Row, ' Polly?"

"Yes, " she said, a little frightened by his look. "It was most carefullyput in every case, Manfred. "

The knocking had stopped now, as if the person outside expected the doorto open. Husband and wife went forward. 

"Who can it be?" said Mrs. Hegner uneasily. 

And then her question was answered. 

The voice was clear and silvery. "It's Miss Haworth! Can I come in andspeak to you a moment, Mr. Hegner, or has the meeting already begun?"

"Why, it's the young lady from the Deanery!" exclaimed Manfred Hegner ina relieved voice; and both he and his wife began hastily unlocking andunbarring the great plate-glass doors. 

The unbidden, unexpected visitor stepped forward into the shop, and Mrs. Hegner eagerly noted the cut and shape of the prettily draped pale bluesilk evening coat, and tried to gain some notion of the evening gownbeneath. 

"I'm so glad to be in time--I mean before your meeting has begun. Howvery nice it all looks!" The speaker cast an approving glance on therout chairs, on the table at the top of the room, on the counter wheresteamed, even now, the fragrant coffee. "The Dean has asked me to bringa message--of course quite an informal message, Mr. Hegner. He wantsyou to tell everybody that he is quite at their service if they wantanything done. "

"That is very, very good of Mr. Dean. Polly, d'you hear that? Is not theReverend gentleman truly good?"

"Yes, indeed, " said Mrs. Hegner, a trifle mechanically. 

She felt a touch of sharp envy as she looked at the beautiful girlstanding there. Though Edith Haworth knew very little of Mrs. Hegner, except that Mrs. Hegner's sister was her maid, Mrs. Hegner knew a greatdeal about Miss Haworth. How she had gone up to London just for onemonth of the season, and how during that one month she had becomeengaged to a rich young gentleman, a baronet. He was in the Army, too, but he couldn't be much of a soldier, for he seemed to be a great dealin Witanbury--at least he had been here a great deal during the lastthree weeks. The two often walked about the town together; once they hadstood for quite a long time just opposite the open doors of the Stores, and Mrs. Hegner on that occasion had looked at the handsome couple withsympathetic interest and excitement. 

But now, to-night, nothing but sharp envy filled her soul. It was herfate, poor, pretty Polly's fate, to sit behind that horrid glasspartition over there, taking money, paying out endless small change, compelled always to look pleasant, or Manfred, if he caught her lookinganything else, even when giving a farthing change out of a penny, wouldsoon know the reason why! The young lady who stood smiling just withinthe door was not half as "fetching" as she, Polly, had been in hermaiden days--and yet she was going to have everything the heart of womancould desire, a rich, handsome, young husband, and plenty of money!

As her eyes strayed out to the moonlit space outside where stoodwaiting, under the quaint little leafy mall which gives the MarketSquare of Witanbury such a foreign look, a gentleman in evening dress, Mrs. Hegner repeated mechanically, "Very kind, I'm sure, miss. They'llappreciate it--that they will. "

"Well, that was all I came to say--only that my father will be very gladindeed to do anything he can. Oh, I did forget one more thing----" Shelowered her voice a little. "The Dean thinks it probable, Mr. Hegner, that after to-day no German of military age will be allowed to leaveEngland. You ought to tell everybody that this evening, otherwise someof them, without knowing it, might get into trouble. "

And then Mrs. Hegner, perhaps because she had become nervously awarethat her husband had looked at her rather crossly a moment ago, blurtedout, "There's no fear of that, miss. We sent off a lot this morning toHarwich. I expect they'll have been able to get a boat there allright----" She stopped suddenly, for her husband had just made aterrible face at her--a face full of indignation and wrath. 

But Miss Haworth did not seem to have noticed anything. 

"Oh, well, " she said, "perhaps it was a mistake to do that, but I don'tsuppose it matters much, one way or the other. I must go now. Themeeting is due to begin, isn't it? And--and Sir Hugh is leavingto-night. He expects to find his marching orders when he gets back totown. " A little colour came into her charming face; she sighed, but notvery heavily. "War is an awful thing!" she said; "but every soldier, ofcourse, wants to see _something_ of the fighting. I expect the feelingis just as strong in France and Germany as it is here. "

She shook hands warmly with Mr. And Mrs. Hegner, then she turned andtripped out into the dimly lighted and solitary Market Square. Theywatched her cross the road and take her lover's arm. 

"Fool!" said Mr. Hegner harshly. "Pretty, silly fool!" He mimicked whathe thought to be her mincing accents. "Wants to see something of war, does he? I can tell him he will be satisfied before he has done!" Therewas a scowl on his face. "And you"--he turned on his wifefuriously--"what business had you to say that about those young Germanmen? I was waiting--yes, with curiosity--to hear what else you weregoing to tell her--whether you would tell her that I had paid theirfares!"

"Oh, no, Manfred. You know I would never have done that after what yousaid to me yesterday. "

"Take it from me now, once for all, " he said fiercely, "that you saynothing--_nothing_, mark you--about this cursed, blasted war--this warwhich, if we are not very careful, is going to make us poor, to bring usto the gutter, to the workhouse, you and I!"

And then Hegner's brow cleared as if by enchantment, for the first oftheir visitors were coming through from the back of the shop. 

It was the manager of a big boot factory and his wife. They were bothGerman-born, and the man had obtained his present excellent positionowing to the good offices of Mr. Hegner. Taking his friend's wiseadvice, he had become naturalised a year ago. But a nephew, who hadjoined him in business, had not followed his example, and he had beenone of the young men who had been speeded off to Harwich, through Mr. Hegner's exertions, early that morning. 

While Mrs. Hegner tried to make herself pleasant to Mrs. Liebert, Mr. Hegner took Mr. Liebert aside. 

"I have just learnt, " he said, in a quick whisper, "that the militarygentlemen here _are_ expecting marching orders to the Continent--Ipresume to Belgium. "

"That is bad, " muttered the other. 

But Mr. Hegner smiled. "No, no, " he said, "not bad! It might have beendisagreeable if they could have been got there last week. But by thetime the fifty thousand, even the hundred thousand, English soldiers arein Belgium, there will be a million of our fellows there to meet them. "

"What are you going to say at this meeting?" asked the other curiously;he used the English word, though they still spoke German. 

Mr. Hegner shrugged his shoulders. "This is not going to be a meeting, "he said laughingly. "It's going to be a Kaffeeklatch! Those people towhom I have to say a word I shall see by myself, in our little parlour. I trust to you, friend Max, to make everything go well and lively. As tomeasures, it is far too early to think of any measures. So far all goesvery well with me. I have had many tokens of sympathy and of friendshipthis morning. Just two or three, perhaps, would have liked to bedisagreeable, but they did not dare. "

He hurried away, for his guests were arriving thick and fast. 

 * * * * *

It was a strange and, or so Mrs. Otway would have thought, a ratherpathetic little company of men and women, who gathered together atManfred Hegner's Stores at nine o'clock on that fine August night. Theblinds had been drawn down, and behind the blinds the shutters had beenput up. 

As to the people there, they all looked prosperous and respectable, buteach one wore a slight air of apprehension and discomfort. Strange tosay, not one of the Germans present really liked or trusted their host, and that was odd, for Manfred Hegner, apart from certain outstandingexceptions, had managed to make himself quite popular among the Englishinhabitants of Witanbury. 

The men and the women had instinctively parted into two companies, butMrs. Hegner went to and fro among both sets, pressing hospitably on allher guests the coffee, the creamy milk, and the many cakes, to saynothing of the large sandwiches she had been ordered to make thatafternoon. 

She felt oppressed and rather bewildered, for the people about her wereall talking German, and she had never taken the trouble to learn evenhalf a dozen words of her husband's difficult nasal language. She keptwondering when the meeting would begin. Time was going on. They alwaysgot up very early in the morning, and already she was tired, very, verytired in fact, for it had been a long and rather an exciting day. 

She had never before seen her husband quite so pleasant and jovial, andas she moved about she heard continually his loud, hearty laugh. He wascheering up the people round him--so much was clear. All of them hadlooked gloomy, preoccupied, and troubled when they came in, but now theyseemed quite merry and bright. 

There was one exception. Poor Mr. Fröhling looked very miserable. Mrs. Hegner felt very sorry for Mr. And Mrs. Fröhling. When her husband hadheard of what had befallen the unfortunate barber, and how he had beenordered to pack up and leave his shop within a few hours, he had saidroughly: "Fröhling is a fool! I told him to take out his certificate. Herefused to do it, so now of course he will have to go. Witanbury has nouse for that man!"

And now Mr. And Mrs. Fröhling, alone of the company there, sat togetherapart, with lowering brows. 

Mrs. Hegner went up to them, rather timidly. "I want to tell you howsorry I am, Mr. Fröhling, " she said conciliatingly. Polly had a kindheart, if a pettish manner. "What a pity you didn't take out yourcertificate when Manfred advised you to do so!"

Mr. Fröhling remained silent. But his wife said wistfully, "Ach, yes, Mrs. Hegner. It is a pity now; but still, the officers they have beenkind to us, really very kind. One of them even said it would not havemade much difference----"

Her husband interrupted her. "He nothing, Jane, said of the kind! Thatit _ought_ not any difference to have made was what say he did. I, whohave in England lived since the year 1874; I, who England love; I, whoseson will soon for England be fighting!"

"My husband said, " began Mrs. Hegner---- And again Mr. Fröhlinginterrupted rather rudely: "You need not tell me what your husband say, "he remarked. "I know for myself exactly what Mr. Hegner say. Ifeverything could be foreseen in this life we should all be very wise. Mr. Hegner, he does foresee more than most people, and wise he is. "

Mrs. Fröhling drew her hostess a little aside. "Don't mind him, " shewhispered. "He is so unhappy. And yet we should be thankful, for thegentlemen officers are getting up a little testimonial fund for poorFröhling. "

"I suppose you've saved a good bit, too?" said Mrs. Hegner withcuriosity. 

"Not much--not much! Only lately have we turned the corner----" Mrs. Fröhling sighed. Then her face brightened, and Mrs. Hegner looking roundsaw that Anna Bauer, Mrs. Otway's servant, was pushing her way throughthe crowd towards them. 

Now pretty Polly disliked the old woman. Frau Bauer was not a person ofany account, yet Manfred had ordered that she should be treated thisevening with special consideration, and so Mrs. Hegner walked forwardand stiffly shook hands with her latest guest. 

CHAPTER VII

"Sit down, Fröhling, sit down!"

The old barber, rather to his surprise, had been invited to follow hishost into the Hegners' private parlour, a little square room situatedbehind the big front shop. 

The floor of the parlour was covered with a large-patterned oilcloth. There was a round mahogany pedestal table, too large for the room, andfour substantial cane-backed armchairs. Till to-day there had alwayshung over the piano a large engraving of the German Emperor, and on theopposite wall a smaller oleograph picture of Queen Victoria with herlittle great-grandson, the Prince of Wales, at her knee. The GermanEmperor had now been taken down, and there was a patch of clean papermarking where the frame had hung. 

As answer to Mr. Hegner's invitation, the older man sat down heavily ina chair near the table. 

Both men remained silent for a moment, and a student of Germany, one whoreally knew and understood that amazing country, might well, had he seenthe two sitting there, have regarded the one as epitomising the oldGermany, and the other--naturalised Englishman though he nowwas--epitomising the new. Manfred Hegner was slim, active, andprosperous-looking; he appeared years younger than his age. LudwigFröhling was stout and rather stumpy; he seemed older than he reallywas, and although he was a barber, his hair was long and untidy. Helooked intelligent and thoughtful, but it was the intelligence and thethoughtfulness of the student and of the dreamer, not of the man ofaction. 

"Well, Mr. Fröhling, the International haven't done much the last fewdays, eh? I'm afraid you must have been disappointed. " He of coursespoke in German. 

"Yes, I _have_ been disappointed, " said the other stoutly, "very muchdisappointed indeed! But still, from this great crime good may come, even now. It has occurred to me that, owing to this war made by thegreat rulers, the people in Russia, as well as in my beloved Fatherland, may arise and cut their bonds. "

A light came into the speaker's eyes, and Manfred Hegner looked at himin mingled pity and contempt. It was not his intention, however, towaste much time this evening listening to a foolish old man. In fact, hehad hesitated as to whether he should include the Fröhlings in hisinvitations--then he had thought that if he omitted to do so the factmight possibly come to the ears of the Dean. Fröhling and the Dean hadlong been pleasantly acquainted. Then, again, it was just possible--notlikely, but possible--that he might be able to get out of the ex-barberof the Witanbury garrison some interesting and just now valuableinformation. 

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "Have you made any plans yet?"

"We are thinking of going to London, and of making a fresh start there. We have friends in Red Lion Square. " Fröhling spoke as if the wordswere being dragged out of him. He longed to tell the other man to mindhis own business. 

"You haven't a chance of being allowed to do that! Why, already, on thevery first day, every German barber is suspected. " The speaker gave ashort, unpleasant laugh. 

"I am not suspected. So!" exclaimed Fröhling heatedly. "Not one singleperson has spoken as if he suspected me in this town! On the contrary, England is not harsh, Mr. Hegner. English people are too sensible andbroad-minded to suspect harm where there is none. Indeed, they are notsuspecting enough. "

Strange to say, old Fröhling's last sentence found an agreeable, even acomforting, echo in Mr. Hegner's heart. He looked up, and for the firsttime the expression on his face was really cordial. "Maybe you areright, Mr. Fröhling. Most heartily do I desire it may be so! Andyet--well, one cannot say people would be altogether wrong in suspectingbarbers, for barbers hear a great deal of interesting conversation, isit not so?"

"That depends on their customers, " said the other coldly. "I cannot saythat I ever found the conversation of the young English officers here inWitanbury very illuminating. "

"Not exactly illuminating, " said the other cautiously. "But take thelast few days? You must have heard a good deal of information as tocoming plans. "

"Not one word did I hear, " said the other man quickly--"not one word, Mr. Hegner! Far more from my own intelligent, level-headed Germanassistant. He knew and guessed what none of these young gentlemendid--to what all the wicked intrigues of Berlin, Petersburg and Vienna, of the last ten days were tending. "

"I have heard to-night--in fact it was the daughter of the Dean whomentioned it--that the British Army is going to Belgium, " said Mr. Hegner casually. "Is your son going to Belgium, Mr. Fröhling?"

"Not that I know of, " said the other. But a troubled look came over hisface. He opened his mouth as if to add something, and then tightly shutit again. 

Mr. Hegner had the immediate impression that old Fröhling could havetold him something worth hearing had he been willing to do so. 

"Well, that is all, " said the host with a dismissory air, as he got upfrom his seat. "I have many to see, many to advise to-night. One thing I_do_ tell you, Mr. Fröhling. You may take it from me that if you wish toleave this place you should clear out quickly. They will be making verytiresome regulations soon--but not now, not for a few days. Fortunatelyfor you, and for all those who have not taken out their certificates, there is no organisation in this country. As for thoroughness, they donot know the meaning of the word. "

"I have sometimes wondered, " observed Mr. Fröhling mildly, "why you, whodislike England so much, should have taken out your certificate, Mr. Hegner. In your place I should have gone back to America. "

"You have no right, no business, to say that I dislike England!" criedhis host vehemently. "It is a wicked thing to say to me on such a dayas this! It is a thing that might do me great harm in this city of whichI am a Councillor. "

"It is not a thing that I should say to any one but you, " returned theold man. "But nevertheless it is true. We have not very often met--butevery time we have met you have spoken in a disagreeable, a derogatory, a jeering way of what is now your country. "

"And you, " said Mr. Hegner, his eyes flashing, "have often spoken to mein a derogatory, a jeering, a disagreeable way of Germany--of thecountry where we were each born, of our _real_ Fatherland. "

"It is not of Germany that I speak ill, " said the older man wearily; "itis of what a few people have made of my beloved country. To-day we seethe outcome of their evil doings. But all that is transitory. I am anold man, and yet I hope to see a free Germany rise up. "

He walked through into the shop, and beckoned to his wife. Then theyboth turned towards the door through which they had gained admittanceearlier in the evening. 

Mr. Hegner smoothed out his brow, and a mechanical smile came to hislips. He was glad the old Socialist had cleared out early. It is not toomuch to say that Manfred Hegner hated Fröhling. He wondered who wouldget the German barber's job. He knew a man, a sharp, clever fellow, wholike himself had lived for a long time in America--who was, in fact, anAmerican citizen, though he had been born in Hamburg--who would be thevery man for it. Perhaps now was scarcely the moment to try and get yetanother foreigner, even if only this time an American, into theneighbourhood of the barracks. 

 * * * * *

The owner of the Witanbury Stores went over to the place where AnnaBauer was sitting talking to the mother of one of Mr. Hegner's Germanemployés. To call that young man German is, however, wrong, for some sixweeks ago he had become naturalised. Well for him that he had done so, otherwise he would have had now to go back to the Fatherland and fight. His mother was the one really happy person in the gathering to-night, for the poor woman kept thanking God and Mr. Hegner in her heart forhaving saved her son from an awful fate. Treating the mother of hisshopman as if she had not been there, Mr. Hegner bent towards the otherwoman. 

"Frau Bauer, " he said graciously, "come into our parlour for a fewmoments. I should like a little chat with you. "

Anna got up and followed him through the crowd. What was it Mr. Hegnerwanted to say to her? She felt slightly apprehensive. Surely he wasgoing to tell her that now, owing to the war, he would have to stop thehalf-commission he was still giving her on Mrs. Otway's modest orders?Her heart rose in revolt. An Englishman belonging to the type and classof Anna Bauer would have determined "to have it out" with him, but sheknew well that she would not have the courage to say anything at all ifhe did this mean thing. 

To her great surprise, after she had followed him into the parlour, Mr. Hegner turned the key in the lock. 

"I have but a very little to say, " he exclaimed jovially, "but, while Isay it, I do not care to be interrupted! It is more cosy so. Sit down, Frau Bauer, sit down!"

Still surprised, and still believing that her host was going to "best"her in some way, Anna did sit down. She fixed her light-blue, short-sighted eyes watchfully on his face. What a pity it was that he sogreatly resembled her adored Kaiser!

"You are very kind, " she said mechanically. 

"I believe that last Sunday, August 1st, there was owing to you thissum. " So saying, he pushed towards her across the table fivehalf-sovereigns. 

Anna Bauer uttered an exclamation of profound astonishment. She stareddown at the money lying now close to her fat red hand. 

"Is not that so?" he said, looking at her fixedly. 

And at last she stammered out, "Yes, that is so. But--but----do you thenknow Willi, Mr. Hegner?"

The man sitting opposite to her remained silent for a moment. He hadn'tthe slightest idea who "Willi" was. "Ach, yes! It is from him that yougenerally receive this money every six months--I had forgotten that!Willi is a good fellow. Have you known him long?" He wisely waited for areply, for on his tongue had been the words, "I suppose he lives inLondon?"

"I have only known him three years, " said Anna, "and that though hemarried my niece seven years ago. Yes, Willi is indeed an excellentfellow!"

And then she suddenly bethought herself of what Mrs. Otway had saidthat very morning. Mr. Hegner would certainly be able to tell her thetruth--he was the sort of man who knew everything of a practical, business nature. "Perhaps you will be able to tell me, " she askedeagerly, "if my nephew will have to fight--to go to the frontier. Mrs. Otway, she says that the police are always the last to be called out--isthat true, Mr. Hegner?"

"Yes, I think I may assure you, Frau Bauer, that it is a fact. " Helooked at her curiously. "You are very fond, then, of your niece'shusband, of the excellent Willi?"

"I am indeed, " she said eagerly, "and grateful to him too, for thismoney he sends me is very welcome, Mr. Hegner. I was so afraid it mightnot come this time. "

"And you were right to be afraid! It will become more and more difficultto get money from Germany to England, " said her host, and there was atouch of grimness in his voice. "Still, there are ways of getting overevery difficulty. Should the war last as long, I will certainly see thatyou, Frau Bauer, receive what is your due on the 1st of next January. But many strange things may happen before then. Long before Christmasyou may no longer be earning this money. "

"Oh! I hope that will not be the case!" She looked very much disturbed. £5 a year was about a fifth of good old Anna's total income. 

"Well, we shall see. I will do my best for you, Frau Bauer. "

"Thank you, thank you! I am very grateful to you, Mr. Hegner. "

Indeed old Anna's feelings towards the man who sat there, playing with apen in his hand, had undergone an extraordinary transformation. She hadcome into the room disliking him, fearing him, feeling sure that he wasgoing to take some advantage of her. Now she stared at his moody, ratherflushed face, full of wondering gratitude. 

How strange that he had never taken the trouble to tell her that he knewWilli! She was sorry to remember how often she had dissuaded hermistress from getting something at the Stores that could be gotelsewhere, some little thing on which the tiny commission she receivedwould have been practically nil, or, worse still, overlooked. Hercommission had been often overlooked of late unless she kept a verysharp look-out on the bills, which Mrs. Otway had a tiresome habit oflocking away when receipted. 

She took the five precious gold pieces off the table, and moved, as ifto rise from her chair. 

But Mr. Hegner waved his hand. "Sit down, sit down, Frau Bauer, " hesaid. "There is no hurry. I enjoy the thought of a little chat withyou. " He waited a moment. "And are you thinking of staying on in yourpresent position? You are--let me see--with Mrs. Otway?"

"Oh yes, " she said, brightening. "I shall certainly stay where I am. Iam very happy there. They are very kind to me, Mr. Hegner. I love myyoung lady as much as I do my own child. "

"It is a quiet house, " he went on, "a quiet house, with very littlecoming and going, Frau Bauer. Is not that so?"

"There is a good deal of visiting, " she said quickly. "It is ahospitable house. "

"Not often gentlemen of the garrison, I suppose?"

"Indeed, yes, " cried Anna eagerly. "You know how it is in England? It isnot like in our country. Here everybody is much more associated. In someways it is pleasanter. "

"Very true. And had any of these officers who came and called on yourtwo ladies reason to suppose that the war was coming?"

Anna stared at him, surprised. "No, indeed!" she cried. "Englishofficers never talk of warlike subjects. I have never even seen one ofthem wearing his uniform. "

"It looks to me as if I shall have to add a new line of officers' kit tothe Stores, " said Mr. Hegner thoughtfully. "And any information you giveme about officers just now might be very useful in my business. I know, Frau Bauer, that you were annoyed, disappointed about that little matterof the commission being halved. "

"Oh no, " murmured Anna, rather confusedly. 

"Yes, and I understand your point of view. Well, from to-day, FrauBauer, I restore the old scale! And if at any time you can say anythingabout the Stores to the visitors who come to see your ladies--anything, you understand, that may lead to an order--I will be generous, I willrecognise your help in the widest sense. "

Anna got up again, and so did her host. "Well, we have had a pleasantgossip, " he said. "And one word more, Frau Bauer. You have not told _anyone_, not even your daughter, of--of----" he hesitated, for he did notwish to put in plain words the question he wished to convey--"of thatother matter--of that in which your nephew is concerned?"

"I gave my solemn promise to Willi to say nothing, " said Anna, "and I amnot one who ever breaks my word, Mr. Hegner. "

"That I am sure you are not! And Frau Bauer? Do not attempt to write tothe Fatherland henceforth. Your letters would be opened, your businessall spied out, and then the letters destroyed! I am at your disposal forany information you require. Come in and see us sometimes, " he saidcordially. "Let me see--to-day is Wednesday. How about Sunday? Come inon Sunday night, if you can do so, and have a little supper. You mayhave news of interest to my business to give me, and in any case it ispleasant to chat among friends. "

CHAPTER VIII

It was now the morning of Friday, the third day of war, and Mrs. Otwayallowed the newspaper she had been holding in her hands to slip on tothe floor at her feet with an impatient sigh. 

From where she sat, close to the window in her charming sitting-room, her eyes straying down to the ground read in huge characters at the topof one of the newspaper columns the words:

 "THE FLEET MOBILISED. "

 "MOTOR RUSH FOR VOLUNTEERS. "

 "HOW THE NAVAL RESERVE RECEIVED THEIR NOTICES. "

 "OUR SAILORS' GOOD-BYE. "

Then, at the top of another column, in rather smaller characters, asthough that news was after all not really so important as the home news:

 "DEFEAT OF THE GERMANS AT LIÉGE. "

 "COMPLETE ROUT. "

 "GERMANS REPULSED AT ALL POINTS. "

Finally, in considerably smaller characters:

 "ALLEGED GERMAN CRUELTIES IN BELGIUM. "

She raised her eyes and looked out, over the Close, to where theCathedral rose like a diamond set in emeralds. What a beautiful day--andhow quiet, how much more quiet than usual, was the dear, familiar, peaceful scene! All this week, thanks in a great measure to theprolonged Bank Holiday, Witanbury had been bathed in a sabbatical calm. 

Oddly enough, this had not been as pleasant as it ought to have been. Infact, it had been rather unpleasant to find nearly all the shops shutday after day, and it had become really awkward and annoying not to beable to get money as one required it. At this very moment Rose was outin the town, trying to cash a cheque, for they were quite out of pettycash. 

During the last three days Major Guthrie, who so seldom allowed morethan a day and a half to slip by without coming to the Trellis House, had not called, neither had he written. Mrs. Otway was surprised, andrather annoyed with herself, to find how much she missed him. Sherealised that it was the more unreasonable of her, as at first, say alllast Wednesday, she had shrunk from the thought of seeing him, the oneperson among her acquaintances, with the insignificant exception ofyoung Jervis Blake, who had believed in the possibility of anAnglo-German conflict. But when the whole of that long day, the firstday of war, had gone by, and the next day also, without bringing with iteven the note which, during his infrequent absences, she had grownaccustomed to receive from Major Guthrie, she felt hurt and injured. 

Major Guthrie was one of those rather inarticulate Englishmen who canexpress themselves better in writing than in speech. When he and Mrs. Otway were together, she could always, and generally did, out-talk him;but often, after some discussion of theirs, he would go home and writeher quite a good letter. And then, after reading it, and perhaps smilingover it a little, she would tear it up and put the pieces in thewaste-paper basket. 

Yes, her rather odd, unconventional friendship with Major Guthrie was apleasant feature of her placid, agreeably busy life, and it was strangethat he had neither come, nor written and explained what kept him away. 

And while Mrs. Otway sat there, waiting she knew not quite for what, oldAnna sat knitting in her kitchen on the other side of the hall, alsorestlessly longing for something, anything, to happen, which would giveher news of what was really going on in the Fatherland. All her heart, during these last three days, had been with Minna and Willi in far-offBerlin. 

A few moments ago a picture paper had been spread out on the tablebefore Anna. She always enjoyed herself over that paper. It was MissRose's daily gift to her old nurse, and was paid for out of her smallallowance. The two morning papers read by her ladies were in due courseused to light the fires; but Anna kept her own _Daily Pictorials_ mostcarefully, and there was an ever-growing neat pile of them in a cornerof the scullery. 

But to-day's _Daily Pictorial_ lay in a crumpled heap, tossed to oneside on the floor of the kitchen, for poor old Anna had just read outthe words:

 "FRENCH FRONTIER SUCCESSES. "

 "GERMAN DRAGOON REGIMENT ANNIHILATED. "

 "ONE THOUSAND GERMAN PRISONERS IN ALSACE. "

Up to this strange, sinister week, Anna had contented herself withlooking at the pictures. She had hardly ever glanced at the rest of thepaper. She did not like the look of English print, and she read Englishwith difficulty. But this morning the boy who had brought the fish hadsaid, not disagreeably, but as if he was giving her a rather amusing bitof information, "Your friends have been catching it hot, Mrs. Bauer; andfrom what I can make out, they deserves it!" She had not quiteunderstood what he meant, but it had made her uneasy; and after she hadcleared away breakfast, and washed up, she had sat down with her paperspread before her. 

She had looked long at a touching picture of a big sailor sayinggood-bye to the tiny baby in his arms. He was kissing the child, andAnna had contemplated him with a good deal of sympathy. That big beardedBritish sailor would soon be face to face with the German Navy. Thus hewas surely doomed. His babe would soon be fatherless. Kind old Annawiped her eyes at the thought. 

And then? And then she had slowly spelled out the incredible, thedreadful news about the German Dragoon Regiment. Her father, forty-fouryears ago, had been a non-commissioned officer in a Dragoon Regiment. 

Yes, both mistress and maid felt wretched on this, the third day of thewar, which no one, in England at least, yet thought of as the Great War. 

Mrs. Otway was restless, quite unlike herself. She wondered, uneasily, why she felt so depressed. Friday was the day when she always paid herfew household books, but to-day, as it was still Bank Holiday, the bookshad not come in. Instead, she had had three letters, marked in each case"Private, " from humble folk in the town, asking her most urgently to payat once the small sum she owed to each of them. In every case the writerexpressed the intention of calling in person for the money. It waspartly to try and get the cash with which to pay these accounts thatRose had gone out with a cheque. It was so odd, so disagreeable, to findoneself without the power of getting any ready money. Such a thing hadnever happened to Mrs. Otway before! It would be really verydisagreeable if Rose, after all, failed to cash that cheque. 

Then it suddenly occurred to her that James Hayley might bring her downsome money to-morrow. Nothing would be easier, or so she supposed, thanfor _him_ to get it. She went over to her writing-table by the windowand hurriedly wrote a note. Then she made out a cheque for twentypounds. 

Oh yes, it would be quite easy for James, who was in a Governmentoffice, to get her the money!

Mrs. Otway, like most English people, had a limitless belief in thepowers of any one connected with the Government. Twenty pounds? It was agood deal of money. She had never had so much cash in the house before. But what was happening now had taught her a lesson. The Dean had saidthat all the banks would be open again on Monday. But the Dean was notquite infallible. How often had he and she agreed that Germany wouldnever, _never_ dream of going to war with any of her peacefulneighbours!

She read over the letter she had written:

 "DEAR JAMES, --I enclose a cheque for twenty pounds. Would you kindly get it cashed for me, and would you bring down the money to-morrow when you come? Of course I should like the money, if possible, in gold, but still it will do if you can get me two five-pound notes and the rest in gold and silver. I find that several people to whom I owe small amounts are anxious to be paid, and they do not seem to care about taking cheques. What strange times we live in! Both Rose and I long to see you and hear all the news. 

 "Your affectionate aunt, "MARY OTWAY. "

James Hayley always called her "Aunt Mary, " though as a matter of facthe was the child of a first cousin. 

She got up from her table, and began folding up the sheets of newspaperlying on the floor. She did not want poor old Anna to see the greatstaring headlines telling of the defeat of the Germans. Having foldedthe paper, and put it away in an unobtrusive corner, she went upstairsfor her hat. She felt that it would do her good to go out into the air, and post the letter herself. 

And then, as she came downstairs, she heard the gate of the TrellisHouse open and swing to. Rose coming back, no doubt. But no, it was notRose, for instead of the handle of the door turning, there was a ringand a knock. 

It was a ring and a knock which sounded pleasantly familiar. Mrs. Otwaysmiled as she turned into her sitting-room. It was the first time shehad smiled that day. 

Major Guthrie at last! It was half-past eleven now; they could have agood long, comfortable talk, and perhaps he would stop to lunch. Ofcourse she would have to eat humble pie about the war, but he was thelast man to say "I told you so!"

There were so many things she wanted to know, which now she could askhim, secure of a sensible, true answer. Major Guthrie, whatever hisprejudices, was a professional soldier. He really did know something ofmilitary matters. He was not like the people who lived in the Close, andwho were already talking such nonsense about the war. Mrs. Otway was toointelligent not to realise the fact that they, whatever their boasts, knew nothing which could throw real light on the great adventure whichwas beginning, only beginning, to fill all her thoughts. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Anna announced, in a grumpy tone, "MajorGuthrie. "

"I thought I was never going to see you again!"

There was an eagerness, a warmth of welcome in Mrs. Otway's manner ofwhich she was unconscious, but which gave a sudden shock of pleasure, aye, and perhaps even more than pleasure, to her visitor. He hadexpected to find her anxious, depressed, troubled--above all, deeplysaddened by the dreadful thing having come to pass which she had sooften vehemently declared would never, never happen. 

They shook hands, but before she could go on to utter one of the manyquestions which were on her lips, Major Guthrie spoke. "I've come to saygood-bye, " he said abruptly. "I've had my marching orders!" There was astrange light in the dark blue eyes which were the one beautiful featurehe had acquired from his very handsome mother. 

"I--I don't understand----" And she really didn't. 

What could he mean? His marching orders? But he had left the Army fouror five years ago. Besides, the Dean had told her only that morning thatno portion of the British Army was going to the Continent--that onEngland's part this was only going to be a naval war. The Dean had heardthis fact from a friend in London, a distinguished German professor ofNatural Theology, who was a very frequent visitor to the Deanery. 

Major Guthrie slightly lowered his voice: "I had the telegram an hourago, " he explained. "I thought you knew that I was in the Reserve, thatI form part of what is called the Expeditionary Force. "

"The Expeditionary Force?" she repeated in a bewildered tone. "I didn'tknow there was such a thing! You never told me about it. "

"Well, you've never been interested in such matters. " Major Guthriesmiled at her indulgently, and suddenly she realised that when they weretogether she generally talked of her own concerns, very, very seldom ofhis. 

But what was this he was now saying? "Besides, it's by way of being asecret. That's the real reason I haven't been out the last few days. Ididn't feel I could leave home for even five minutes. I've been ontenterhooks--in fact it will take me two or three days to get fit again. You see, I couldn't say anything to anybody! And one heard such absurdrumours--rumours that the Government didn't mean to send any troops tothe Continent--that they had been caught napping--that the transportarrangements had broken down, and so on. However, it's all right now! Ireport myself to-night; rejoin my old regiment to-morrow; and--well, inthree or four days, please God, I shall be in France, and in a week atlatest in Belgium. "

Mrs. Otway looked at him silently. She was too much surprised to speak. She felt moved, oppressed, excited. A British Army going to France--toBelgium? It seemed incredible!

And Major Guthrie also felt moved and excited, but _he_ was notoppressed--he was triumphant, overjoyed. "I thought you'd understand, "he said, and there was a little break in his voice. "It's made me feel ayoung man again--that's what it's done!"

"How does your mother take it?" asked Mrs. Otway slowly. 

And then for the first time a troubled look came over his kind, honestface. "I haven't told my mother, " he answered. "I've thought a good dealabout it; and I don't mean to say good-bye to her--I shall simply writeher a note saying I've had to go up to town on business. She'll have itwhen I'm gone. Then, when the news is allowed to be made public, I'llwrite and tell her the truth. She felt my going to South Africa so much. You see, the man to whom she was engaged as a girl was killed in theCrimea. "

There was a moment's silence between them, and then he asked, "And MissRose?--I should like to say good-bye to her. Is she at home?"

"No, she's out in the town, doing some business for me--or rather tryingto do it! Have _you_ found any difficulty in getting cheques changed thelast few days, Major Guthrie?"

"No; for I've always kept money in the house, " he said quickly. "Andglad I am now that I did. It used to annoy my mother--it used to makeher afraid that we should be burgled. But of course I never told any oneelse. " He looked at her rather oddly. "I've quite a lot of money here, with me now. "

"I wonder if you would be so kind as to cash me a cheque?" She grew alittle pink. She was not used to asking even small favours from herfriends. Impulsive, easy-going as she seemed, there was yet a very proudand reticent streak in Mary Otway's nature. 

"Of course I will. In fact----" and then he stopped abruptly, for shehad gone up to her table, and was opening the letter she had justwritten to James Hayley. 

"Could you really conveniently let me have as much as twenty pounds?"and she held him out the cheque. 

"Certainly. Then you're not expecting Miss Rose back for a minute ortwo?"

"Oh, no! She only went out twenty minutes ago. "

He was still standing, and Mrs. Otway suddenly felt herself to beinhospitable. 

"Do sit down, " she said hurriedly. Somehow in the last few minutes herpoint of view, her attitude to her friend, her kind, considerate, courteous friend, had altered. She no longer looked at him withindulgent half-contempt as an idle man, a man who, though he was verygood to his mother, and sometimes very useful to herself, had alwaysled, excepting during the South African War (and that was a long timeago), an idle, useless kind of life. He was going now to face realdanger, perchance--but her mind shrank from _that_ thought, from thatdread possibility--death itself. Somehow the fact that Major Guthrie wasgoing with his regiment to France brought the War perceptibly nearer toMrs. Otway, and made it for the first time real. 

He quietly took the easy chair she had motioned him to take, and she satdown too. 

"Well, I have to confess that you were right and I wrong! You alwaysthought we should fight the Germans. " She tried to speak playfully, butthere was a certain pain in the admission, for she had always scornedhis quiet prophecies and declared him to be, in this one matter, prejudiced and unfair. 

"Yes, " he said, "that's quite true! But, Mrs. Otway? I'm very, verysorry to have been proved right. And I fear that you must feel it verymuch, as you have so many German friends. "

"I haven't many German friends now, " she said quickly. "I had as a girl, and of course I've kept up with two or three of them, as you know. Butit's true that the whole thing is a great shock and--and a great pain tome. Unlike you, I've always thought very well of Germans. "

He said quietly, "So have I. "

"Ah, but not in my sense!" She could not help smiling a little ruefully. "You know I never thought of them in your sense at all--I mean not assoldiers. "

There was a pause, a long and rather painful pause, between them. 

CHAPTER IX

Major Guthrie looked at Mrs. Otway meditatively. 

Apart from his instinctive attraction for her--an attraction which hadsprung into being the very first time they had met, at a dinner party atthe Deanery--he had always regarded her as an exceptionally cleverwoman. She was able to do so much more than most of the ladies he hadknown. To his simple soldier mind there was something interesting and, well, yes, rather extraordinary, in a woman who sat on committees, whocould hold her own so well in argument, and who yet remained veryfeminine, sometimes--so he secretly thought--quite delightfully absurdand inconsequent, with it all. 

Major Guthrie had always been sorry that Mrs. Otway and his motherdidn't exactly hit it off. His mother had once been a beauty, and wasnow a rather shrewish, sharp-tongued old lady, who had outlived most ofthe people and most of the things she had cared for in life. Mrs. Otwayirritated Mrs. Guthrie. The old lady despised the still pretty widow'seager, interested, enthusiastic outlook on life. 

Suddenly Major Guthrie took a large pocket-book out of his right breastpocket. He opened it, and Mrs. Otway saw that it contained a packet ofbank-notes held together by an india-rubber band. There was also anempty white envelope in the pocket-book. Slipping off the band, he begancounting the notes. When he had counted four, she called out, "Stop!Stop! I am only giving you a twenty-pound cheque. " And then she saw thatthey were not five-pound notes, as she had supposed, but ten-poundnotes. 

He went on counting, and mechanically, hardly knowing that she was doingso, she counted with him up to ten. He then took the envelope he hadbrought with him, put the ten notes inside, and getting up from hischair he laid the envelope on Mrs. Otway's writing-table by the window. 

"I want you to keep this by you in case of need. I know you will forgiveme if I say that I shall go away feeling much happier if you will obligeme by doing what I ask in this matter. " Under the tan his face had gotvery red, and there was a deprecating expression in his dark blue eyes. 

"I don't understand, " she said, and the colour also rushed into herface. 

"I beg of you not to be angry with me----" Major Guthrie stood up andlooked down at her so humbly, so wistfully, that she felt touchedinstead of angry. "You see, I don't like the thought of your beingcaught, as you've been caught this week apparently, without any money inthe house. "

But if Mrs. Otway felt touched by the kind thought which had promptedthe offer of this uncalled-for loan, she also felt just a little vexed. Major Guthrie was treating her just like a child!

"I'm not in the least likely to be short of money, " she cried, "once thebanks are open again. The Dean says that everything will be as usual byMonday, and I have quite a lot of money coming in towards the end ofthis month. In fact, as we can't now go abroad, I shall be even richerthan usual. Still, please don't think I'm not grateful!"

She got up too, and looked at him frankly. The colour had now gone fromhis face, and he looked tired and grey. She told herself that it _had_been very kind of him to have thought of this--the act of a true friend. And so, a little shyly, she put out her hand for a moment, naturallysupposing that he would grasp it in friendship. But he did nothing ofthe sort, so she quietly let her hand fall again by her side, andfeeling rather foolish sat down again by her writing-table. 

"With regard to the money you are expecting at the end of this month--doyou mean the dividends due on the amount you put in that Six Per Cent. Hamburg Loan?" he asked, quietly going back to his armchair. 

"Yes, it is six per cent. On four thousand pounds--quite a lot ofmoney!" She spoke in a playful tone, but she was beginning to feelembarrassed and awkward. It was, after all, an odd thing for MajorGuthrie to have done--to bring her the considerable sum of a hundredpounds in bank-notes without even first asking her permission to do so. 

The envelope containing the notes was still lying there, close to herelbow. 

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Otway, that you're not likely to have those dividendspaid you this August. All money payments from Germany to England, orfrom England to Germany, have of course stopped since Wednesday. "

And then, when he saw the look of utter dismay deepening into horrifiedsurprise come over her face, he added hastily, "Of course we must hopethat these moneys will be kept intact till the end of the war. Still, Idoubt very much whether your bankers would allow you to draw on thatprobability, even if you were willing to pay a high rate of interest. German credit is likely to suffer greatly before this war is over. "

"But Major Guthrie? I don't suppose you know what this means to me andto Rose. Why, more than half of everything we have in the world isinvested in Germany!"

"I know that, " he said feelingly. "In fact, that was among the firstthings, Mrs. Otway, which occurred to me when I learnt that war had beendeclared. I expected to find you very much upset about it. "

"I never gave it a thought; I didn't know a war could affect that sortof thing. What a fool I've been! Oh, if only I'd followed your advice--Imean two years ago!" She spoke with a great deal of painful agitation, and Major Guthrie felt very much distressed indeed. It was hard that heshould have had to be the bearer of such ill tidings. 

"I blame myself very, very much, " he said sombrely, "for not havinginsisted on your putting that money into English or Colonialsecurities. "

"Oh, but you did insist!" Even now, in the midst of her keen distress, the woman's native honesty and generosity of nature asserted itself. "You couldn't have said more! Don't you remember that we nearlyquarrelled over it? Short of forging my name and stealing my money andinvesting it properly for me, you couldn't have done anything more thanyou did do, Major Guthrie. "

"That you should say that is a great comfort to me, " he said in a lowvoice. "But even so, I don't feel as if I'd really done enough. You see, I was as sure--as sure as ever man was of anything--that this war wasgoing to come either this year or next! As a matter of fact I thought itwould be next year--I thought the Germans would wish to be even moreready than they are. "

"But do you really think they are ready?" she said doubtfully. "Look howbadly they've been doing at Liége. " It was strange how Mrs. Otway's mindhad veered round in the last few minutes. She now wanted the Germans tobe beaten, and beaten quickly. 

He shook his head impatiently. "Wait till they get into their stride!"And then, in a different, a more diffident voice, "Then you'll consentto relieve my mind by keeping the contents of that envelope--I mean ofcourse by spending them? As a matter of fact I've a confession to maketo you. " He looked at her deprecatingly. "I've just arranged with myLondon banker to make up those Hamburg dividends. He'll send you themoney in notes. He understands----" and then he got rather red. "Heunderstands that I'm practically your trustee, Mrs. Otway. "

"But, Major Guthrie--it isn't _true_! How could you say such a thing?"

She felt confused, unhappy, surprised, awkward, grateful. Of course shecouldn't take this man's money! He was a friend, in some ways a veryclose friend of hers, but she hadn't known him more than four years. Ifshe _should_ run short of money, why there must be a dozen people ormore on whose friendship she had a greater claim, and who could, andwould, help her. 

And then Mary Otway suddenly ran over in secret review her large circleof old friends and acquaintances, and she realised, with a shock of painand astonishment, that there was not one of them to whom she would wishto go for help in that kind of trouble. Of her wide circle--and likemost people of her class she had a very wide circle--there was only oneperson, and that was the man who was now sitting looking at her with somuch concern in his eyes, to whom it would even have occurred to her toconfess that her income had failed through her foolish belief in thestability, and the peaceful intentions, of Germany. 

Far, far quicker than it would have taken for her to utter her thoughtsaloud, these painful thoughts and realisations flashed through herbrain. If she had been content to put into this Hamburg Loan only theamount of the legacy she had inherited three years ago! But she had donemore than that--she had sold out sound English railway stock after thatinterview she had had with a pleasant-speaking German business man inthe big London Hamburg Loan office. He had said to her, "Madam, this isthe opportunity of a lifetime!" And she had believed him. The kindGerman friend who had written to her about the matter had certainlyacted in good faith. Of that she could rest assured. But this was verysmall consolation now. 

"So you see, Mrs. Otway, that it's all settled--been settled over yourhead, as it were. And you'll oblige me, you'll make me feel that you'rereally treating me as a friend, if you say nothing more about it. "

And then, as she still remained silent, and as Major Guthrie could seeby the expression of her face that she meant to refuse what he sogenerously and delicately offered her, he went on:

"I feel now that I ought to tell you something which I had meant to keepto myself. " He cleared his throat--and hum'd and hum'd a little. "I'msure you'll understand that every sensible man, when going on activeservice, makes a fresh will. I've already written out my instructions tomy solicitor, and he will prepare a will for me to sign to-morrow. " Hewaited a moment, and then added, as lightly as he could: "I've left youa thousand pounds, which I've arranged you should receive immediately onmy death. You see, I'm a lonely man, and all my relations are well off. I think you know, without my telling out, that I've become very muchattached to you--to you and to Miss Rose. "

And still Mrs. Otway was too much surprised, and yes, too much moved, tospeak. Major Guthrie was indeed proving himself a true friend. 

"Under ordinary circumstances, " he went on slowly, "this clause in mywill would be of very little practical interest to you, for I am ahealthy man. But we're up against a very big thing, Mrs. Otway----" Hedid not like to add that it was quite possible she would receive hislegacy before she had had time to dip very far into the money he wasleaving with her. 

She looked at him with a troubled look. And yet? And yet, though it wasnot perhaps very reasonable that it should be so, somehow she did feelthat the fact that Major Guthrie was leaving her--and Rose--the legacyof which he spoke, made a difference. It would make it easier, that is, to accept the money that lay there on her table. Though Major Guthriewas not, in the technical sense, a clever man, he had a far moreintimate knowledge of human character than had his friend. 

"I don't know how to thank you, " she said at last. 

He answered rather sharply, "I don't want you to thank me. And Mrs. Otway? I can say now what I've never had the opportunity of saying, thatis, how much I've felt honoured by your friendship--what a lot it'smeant to me. "

He said the words in a rather hard, formal voice, and she answered, withfar more emotion than he had betrayed, "And it's been a very, very greatthing for me, too, Major Guthrie. Do please believe that!"

He bowed his head gravely. "Well, I must be going now, " he said, alittle heavily and sadly. "Oh, and one thing more--I should be verygrateful if you'd go and see my mother sometimes. During the last fewdays hardly a soul's been near her. Of course I know how different youare the one from the other, but all the same----" he hesitated a moment. "My mother has fine qualities, once you get under that--well, shall Icall it that London veneer? She saw a great deal of the world after shebecame a widow, while she was keeping house for a brother--when I was inIndia. She'd like to see Rose, too"--unconsciously he dropped the"Miss. " "She likes young people, especially pretty girls. "

"Of course I'll go and see her, and so will Rose! You know I've alwaysliked Mrs. Guthrie better than she liked me. I'm not 'smart' enough forher. " Mrs. Otway laughed without a trace of bitterness. And then withsudden seriousness she asked him a curious question: "How long d'youthink you'll be away?"

"D'you mean how long do I think the War will last?"

Somehow she had not thought of her question quite in that sense. "Yes: Isuppose that is what I do mean. "

"I think it will be a long war. It will certainly last a year--perhaps agood deal longer. "

He walked over to the window nearest the door. Standing there, he toldhimself that he was looking perhaps for the last time on the dear, familiar scene before him: on the green across which high elms now flungtheir short morning shadows; on the encompassing houses, some ofexceeding stateliness and beauty, others of a simpler, lessdistinguished character, yet each instinct with a dignity and seemlinesswhich exquisitely harmonised it with its finer fellows; and finally onthe slender Gothic loveliness of the Cathedral. 

"I'm trying to learn this view by heart, " said Major Guthrie, in aqueer, muffled voice. "I've always thought it the most beautiful view inEngland--the one that stands for all a man cares for, all he would fightfor. "

Mrs. Otway was touched--touched and pleased too. She knew that herfriend was baring to her a very secret chamber of his heart. 

"It _is_ a beautiful, peaceful outlook, " she said quietly. "I wasthinking so not long before you came in--when I was sitting here, reading the strange, dreadful news in to-day's paper. "

He turned away from the window and looked at her. She saw in the shadowthat his face looked grey and strained. "Major Guthrie?" she began, alittle shyly. 

"Yes?" he said rather quickly. "Yes, Mrs. Otway?"

"I only want to ask if you would like me to write to you regularly withnews of Mrs. Guthrie?"

"Will you really? How good of you; I didn't like to ask you to do that!I know how busy you always are. " But he still lingered, as if loth to goaway. Perhaps he was waiting on in the hope that Rose would come in. 

"Do you know where you will land in France?" she asked, more to saysomething than for any real reason, for she knew very little of France. 

"I am not sure, " he answered hesitatingly. And then, "Still, I have avery shrewd idea of where they are going to fix the British base. Ithink it will be Boulogne. But, Mrs. Otway? Perhaps I ought to tell youagain that all I've told you to-day is private. I may count on yourdiscretion, may I not?" He looked at her a little anxiously. 

"Of course I won't tell any one, " she said quickly. "You really do meannot any one--not even the Dean?"

"Yes, " he said. "I really do mean not any one. In fact I should preferyour not telling even Miss Rose. "

"Oh, let me tell Rose, " she said eagerly. "I always tell her everything. She is far more discreet than I am!" And this was true. 

"Well, tell Miss Rose and no one else, " he said. "I don't even knowmyself when I am going, where I am going, or how I am going. "

They were now standing in the hall. 

"Then you don't expect to be long in London?" she said. 

"No. I should think I shall only be there two or three days. Of courseI've got to get my kit, and to see people at the War Office, and so on. "He added in a low voice, "There's not going to be any repetition of thethings that went on at the time of the Boer War--no leave-takings, noregiments marching through the streets. It's our object, so Iunderstand, to take the Germans by surprise. Everything is going to bedone to keep the fact that the Expeditionary Force is going to France asecret for the present. I had that news by the second post; an oldfriend of mine at the War Office wrote to me. "

He gripped her hand in so tight a clasp that it hurt. Then he turned thehandle of the front door, opened it, and was gone. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Otway felt a sudden longing for sympathy. She went straight intothe kitchen. "Anna!" she exclaimed, "Major Guthrie is going back intothe Army! England is sending troops over to the Continent to help theBelgians!"

"Ach!" exclaimed Anna. "To Ostend?" She had once spent a summer atOstend in a boarding-house, where she had been hard-worked and starved. Since then she had always hated the Belgians. 

"No, no, " said Mrs. Otway quickly. "Not to Ostend. To Boulogne, inFrance. "

CHAPTER X

In the early morning sunshine--for it was only a quarter-pastseven--Rose Otway stood just within the wrought-iron gate of the TrellisHouse. 

It was Saturday in the first week of war. She had got up very early, almost as early as old Anna herself, for, waking at five, she had foundit impossible to go to sleep again. 

For the first time almost in her life, Rose felt heavy-hearted. Thesudden, mysterious departure of Major Guthrie had brought the War verynear; and so, in quite another way, had done Lord Kitchener's sudden, trumpet-like call, for a hundred thousand men. She knew that, inresponse to that call, Jervis Blake would certainly enlist, if not withthe approval, at any rate with the reluctant consent, of his father; andRose believed that this would mean the passing of Jervis out of herlife. 

To Rose Otway's mind there was something slightly disgraceful in anyyoung man's enlistment in the British Army. The poorer mothers ofWitanbury, those among whom the girl and her kind mother did a good dealof visiting and helping during the winter months, were apt to remainsilent concerning the son who was a soldier. She could not help knowingthat it was too often the bad boy of the family, the ne'er-do-weel, whoenlisted. There were, of course, certain exceptions--such, for instance, as when a lad came of a fighting family, with father, uncles, andbrothers all in the Army. As for the gentleman ranker, he was _always_a scapegrace. 

Lord Kitchener's Hundred Thousand would probably be drawn from adifferent class, for they were being directly asked to defend theircountry. But even so, at the thought of Jervis Blake becoming a private, Rose Otway's heart contracted with pain, and, yes, with vicarious shame. Still, she made up her mind, there and then, that she would not give himup, that she would write to him regularly, and that as far as waspossible they would remain friends. 

How comforted she would have been could an angel have come and told herwith what eyes England was henceforth to regard her "common soldiers. "

Rose Otway was very young, and, like most young things, very ignorant oflife. But there was, as Miss Forsyth had shrewdly said, a great deal inthe girl. Even now she faced life steadily, unhelped by the manypleasant illusions cherished by her mother. Rose was as naturallyreserved as her mother was naturally confiding, and Mrs. Otway wastherefore far more popular in their little world than her daughter. 

Rose, however, was very pretty, with a finished, delicately fresh andaloof type of beauty which was singularly attractive to the intelligentand fastidious. And so there had already appeared, striking across thecurrent of their placid lives, more than one acute observer who, divining certain hidden depths of feeling in the girl's nature, longedto probe and rouse them. But so far such attempts, generally undertakenby men who were a good deal older than Rose Otway, had failed to inspireanything but shrinking repugnance in their object. 

But Jervis Blake was different. Jervis she had known more or lessalways, owing to that early girlish friendship between his mother andher mother. When he had come to "Robey's" to be coached, Mrs. Otway hadmade him free of her house, and though she herself, not unnaturally, didnot find him an interesting companion, he soon had become part of thewarp and woof of Rose's young life. Like most only children, she hadalways longed for a brother or a sister; and Jervis was the nearestpossession of the kind to which she had ever attained. 

Yes, the War was coming very near to Rose Otway, and for more than onereason. As soon as she got up she sat down and wrote a long letter to agirl friend who was engaged to a naval officer. She had suddenlyrealised with a pang that this girl, of whom she was really fond, mustnow be feeling very miserable and very anxious. Every one seemed tothink there would soon be a tremendous battle between the British andthe German fleets. And the Dean, who had been to Kiel last year, believed that the German sailors would give a very good account ofthemselves. 

The daily papers were delivered very early in Witanbury Close. And aftershe had helped old Anna as far as Anna would allow herself to be helpedin the light housework with which she began each day, Rose went out andstood by the gate. She longed to know what news, if any, there was. 

But the moments went slowly by, and with the exception of a milk cartwhich clattered gaily along, the Close remained deserted. Half-pastseven in the morning, even on a fine August day, saw a good many peoplestill in bed in an English country town. To-day Rose Otway, havingherself risen so early, was inclined to agree with Anna that Englishpeople are very lazy, and lose some of the best part of each morning. 

And then, as she stood out there in the sunshine, her mind reverted toMajor Guthrie and to his sudden disappearance. Rose liked Major Guthrie, and she was sorry she had missed him yesterday morning, when out on herfruitless quest for money. 

Rose had been surprised at the way her mother had spoken of MajorGuthrie's departure. Mrs. Otway had declared the fact to be a secret--asecret that must at all costs be kept. As a matter of fact the girl hadalready heard the news from Anna, and she had observed, smiling, "But, mother, you seem to have told Anna all about it?" And Mrs. Otway, hergentle temper for once ruffled, had answered sharply, "I don't countAnna! Major Guthrie particularly mentioned the Dean. He did not wish theDean to know. He said his going was to be kept secret. So I beg you, Rose, to do as I ask. "

Anna came out of the front door, and began polishing the brass knob. "Ach!" she exclaimed. "Come in, child--do! You a chill will take. If itis the postman you want, he gone by already has. "

Rose smiled. Dear old Anna had never acquired the British love of freshair. "I'm waiting for the papers, " she said. "I can't think why the mandoesn't begin with us, instead of going all round the other way first!But I'm going to catch him this morning. "

And Anna, grumbling, went back into the house again. 

All at once Rose heard the sound of quick footsteps to her right, on thepath outside. She moved back into the paved court in front of theTrellis House, and stood, a charming vision of youth and freshness, inher pale mauve cotton frock, by a huge stone jar filled with pinkgeraniums. 

And then, a moment later, the tall figure of Jervis Blake suddenly swunginto view. He was very pale, and there was an eager, absorbed, strainedlook on his face. In his hand was a white telegraph form. 

Rose ran forward, and once more opened the gate. "Jervis!" she cried. "What is it? What's the matter? Have you had bad news from home?"

He shook his head, and she saw that he was trying to smile. But therewas still that on his face which she had never seen before--a rapt, transfigured look which made her feel--and she both disliked andresented the feeling--as if he were, for the moment, remote fromherself. But he stayed his steps, and came through the gate. 

For a moment he stood opposite to her without speaking. Then he took outof his breast pocket a large sheet of notepaper folded in four. Heopened it, and held it out to her. It was headed "War Office, Whitehall, London, " and in it Jervis Blake, Esquire, was curtly informed that, ifhe still desired to enter the Army, he was at liberty to apply for acommission. But in that case he was asked to report himself as soon aspossible. 

Rose read the cold, formal sentences again and again, and a lump rose toher throat. How glad she was! How very, very glad! Indeed, her gladness, her joy in Jervis's joy, surprised herself. 

"And it's all owing to you, " he exclaimed in a low voice, "that I didn'tgo and make an ass of myself on Wednesday. If it hadn't been for you, Rose, I should have enlisted. This would have come too late. It _is_luck to have seen you now, like this. You're the very first I've told. "He was wringing her hand, his face now as flushed as it had been pale. 

And as they stood there together, Rose suddenly became aware that Anna, at the kitchen window, was looking out at them both with a ratherpeculiar expression on her emotional German face. 

A feeling of annoyance swept over the girl; she knew that to her oldnurse every young man who ever came to the Trellis House was a potentiallover. But even Anna might have left Jervis Blake out of the category. There was nothing silly or--or sentimental, in the real, deep friendshipthey two felt for one another. 

And then Rose did something which surprised herself. Withdrawing herhand from his, she exclaimed, "I'll walk with you to the corner"--andled the way out, through the gate, and so along the empty roadway. 

They walked along in silence for a few moments. The Close was stilldeserted. Across the green, to their right, rose the noble grey mass ofthe Cathedral. In many of the houses the blinds were even now onlybeginning to be pulled up. 

"I rather expected yesterday that you would come in and tell me that youwere going off to be one of the hundred thousand men Lord Kitchener hasasked for, " she said at last. 

"Of course I meant to be, but Mr. Robey thought I ought to communicatewith my father before actually joining, " he answered. "In fact, I hadalready written home. That's one reason why I'm going to get this wireoff so early. "

"I suppose you'll be at Sandhurst this time next week?"

And he frowned, for the first time that morning. 

"Oh no, I hope not! Mr. Robey heard last night from one of ourfellows--one of those who passed last time--and he said he was beingdrafted at once into a regiment! You mustn't forget how long I was inthe O. T. C. It seems they're sending all those who were in the O. T. C. Straight into regiments. "

"Then by next week you'll be second lieutenant in the Wessex LightInfantry!" she exclaimed. She knew that it was in that famous regimentthat General Blake had won his early spurs, and that it had beensettled, in the days when no one had doubted Jervis Blake's ability topass the Army Exam. , that he would join his father's old regiment, nowcommanded by one of that father's very few intimates. 

"Yes, I suppose I shall, " he said, flushing. "Oh, Rose, I can't believein my luck. It's so much--much too good to be true!"

They had come to the corner, to the parting of their ways. To the left, through the grey stone gateway, was the street leading into the town; onthe right, within a few moments' walk, the Cathedral. 

Rose suddenly felt very much moved, carried out of her reserved self. Alump rose to her throat. She knew that this was their real parting, andthat she was not likely to see him again, save in the presence of hermother for a few minutes. 

"I wonder, " said Jervis Blake hoarsely, "I wonder, Rose, if you would dome a great kindness? Would you go on into the Cathedral with me, justfor three or four minutes? I should like to go there for the last timewith you. "

"Yes, " she said; "of course I will. " Rose had inherited something of hermother's generosity of nature. If she gave at all, she gave freely andgladly. "I do hope the door will be open, " she said, trying to regainher usual staid composure. She was surprised and disturbed by the painwhich seemed to be rising, brimming over, in her heart. 

They walked on in silence. Jervis Blake was looking straight before him, his face set and grim. He was telling himself that a fellow would be acur to take advantage of such a moment to say anything, and thatespecially was that the case with one who might so soon be exposed tosomething much worse than death--such as the being blinded, the beingmaimed, for life. War was a very real thing to Jervis, more realcertainly than to any other one of the young men who had been hiscomrades at Robey's during the last two years. 

But the most insidious of all tempters, Nature herself, whispered in hisear, "Why not simply tell her that you love her? No woman minds beingtold that she is loved! It can do no harm, and it will make her think ofyou kindly when you are far away. This strange, secret meeting is yetanother piece of good fortune to-day--this glorious day--has broughtyou! Do not throw away your chance. Look again down into her face. Seeher dear eyes full of tears. She has never been moved as she is movedto-day, and it is you who have moved her. "

And then another, sterner voice spoke: "_You_ have not movedher--presumptuous fool! Nay, it is the thought of England, of hercountry, of all you stand for to-day, that has moved her. And the nextfew minutes will show the stuff of which you are made--if you have thediscipline, the self-restraint, essential to the man who has to leadothers, or if--if you only have the other thing. You are being given nowwhat you could never have hoped for, a quiet, intimate time with heralone; you might have had to say good-bye to her in her mother'spresence--that mother who has never really liked you, and whom you havenever really liked. "

He held open the little wicket gate for her to pass through. They walkedup the stone path to the wide, hospitable-looking porch which is theonly part of Witanbury Cathedral that has remained much as it was inpre-Reformation days. 

To Jervis Blake, suffused with poignant emotion, every perceptionsharpened by mingling triumph and pain, the "faire Doore" of WitanburyCathedral had never seemed so lovely as on this still August morning. Asthey stepped through the exquisite outer doorway, with its deepmouldings, both dog-toothed and foliated, marking the transition fromNorman to Gothic, a deep, intense joy in their dual solitude suddenlyrose up in his heart like a white flame. 

The interior of the porch was little larger than an ordinary room, butit was wonderfully perfect in the harmony of its proportions; and evenRose, less perceptive than her companion, and troubled and disturbed, rather than uplifted, by an emotion to which she had no clue, was movedby the delicate, shadowed beauty of the grey walls and vaulted roof nowencompassing her. 

For a moment they both lingered there, irresolute; and then Jervis, stepping forward, lifted the great iron handle of the black oak, nail-studded door. But the door remained shut, and he turned round withthe words, "It's still closed. We shan't be able to get in. I'm sorry. "He looked indeed so disappointed that there came over Rose the eagerdetermination that he should not go away baulked of his wish. 

"I'm sure it opens at eight, " she exclaimed; "and it can't be very farfrom eight now. Let's wait here the few minutes! I'm in no hurry, if youcan spare the time?" Rose spoke rather quickly and breathlessly. She wastrying hard to behave as if this little adventure of theirs was a veryconventional, commonplace happening. 

He said something--she was not sure whether it was "All right" or "Verywell. "

On each side of the porch ran a low and deep stone bench, from whichsprang the slender columns which seemed to climb eagerly upwards to thecarved ribs of the vaulted roof. But they both went on standing close toone another, companioned only by the strange sculptured creatures whichgrinned down from the spandrels of the arches above. 

And then, after waiting for what seemed an eternity--it was reallyhardly more than a minute--in the deep, brooding silence which seemed toenwrap the Close, the Cathedral, and their own two selves in a mantle ofstillness, Rose Otway, bursting into sobs, made a little swayingmovement. A moment later she found herself in Jervis Blake's arms, listening with a strange mingling of joy, surprise, shame, and, yes, triumph, to his broken, hoarsely-whispered words of love. 

He, being a man, could only feel--she, being a woman, could also think, aye, and even question her own heart as to this amazing thing which washappening, and which had suddenly made her free of the wonderful kingdomof romance of which she had so often heard, but the existence of whichshe had always secretly doubted. Whence came her instinctive response tohis pleading: "Oh, Rose, let me kiss you! Oh, Rose, my darling littlelove, this may be the last time I shall see you!"

 * * * * *

Was it at the end of a moment, or of an æon of time, that there fellathwart their beating hearts a dull, rasping sound, that of the twogreat inner bolts of the huge oak door being pushed back into theirrusty sockets?

They parted, reluctantly, lingeringly, the one from the other; butwhoever had drawn back the bolts did not open the door, and soon theyheard the sounds of heavy, shuffling feet moving slowly away. 

"I expect it's Mrs. Bent, the verger's wife, " said Rose, in a low, trembling voice. 

Jervis looked at her. There was a mute, and at once imperious andimploring demand in his eyes. But Rose had stepped across the magicbarrier, she was half-way back to the work-a-day world--not very far, but still far enough to know how she would feel if Bent or Mrs. Bentsurprised her in Jervis's arms. A few moments ago she would hardly havecared. 

"Let's go into the Cathedral now, " she said, and, to break the crueltyof her silent refusal of what he asked, she held out her hand. To hersurprise, and yes, her disappointment, he did not seem to see it. Instead, he stepped forward to the door, and turning the weighty ironhandle, pushed it widely open. 

Together, side by side, they passed through into the great, still, peaceful place, and with a delicious feeling of joy they saw that theywere alone--that Mrs. Bent, having done her duty in unbolting the greatdoor, had slipt out of a side door, and gone back to her cottage, behindthe Cathedral. 

Rose led the way into the nave; there she knelt down, and Jervis Blakeknelt down by her, and this time, when she put out her hand, he took itin his and clasped it closely. 

Rose tried to collect her thoughts. She even tried to pray. But shecould only feel, --she could not utter the supplications which filled hertroubled heart. And yet she felt as though they two were encompassed byholy presences, by happy spirits, who understood and sympathised in hermingled joy and grief. 

If Jervis came back, if he and she both lived till the end of the War, it was here that their marriage would take place. But the girl had astrange presentiment that they two would never stand over there, whereso many brides and bridegrooms had stood together, even within her shortmemory. It was not that she felt Jervis was going to be killed--she wasmercifully spared those dread imaginings which were to come on herlater. But just now, for these few moments only perhaps, Rose Otway was"fey"; she seemed to know that to-day was her cathedral marriage day, and that an invisible choir was singing her epithalamium. 

The quarter past the hour chimed. She released her hand from his, andtouched him on the arm with a lingering, caressing touch. He was so bigand strong, so gentle too--all hers. And now, just as they had found oneanother, she was going to lose him. It seemed so unnatural and so cruel. "Jervis, " she whispered, and the tears ran down her face, "I think youhad better go now. I'd rather we said good-bye here. "

He got up at once. "Do you mean to tell your mother?" he asked. Andthen, as he thought she was hesitating: "I only want to know because, ifso, I will tell them at home. "

She shook her head. "No, " she said brokenly. "I'd rather we said nothingnow--if you don't mind. "

She lifted up her face to him as a child might have done; and, puttinghis arm round her, he bent down and kissed her, very simply and gravely. Suddenly, he took her two hands and kissed their soft palms; and then hestooped very low, and lifting the hem of her cotton frock kissed thattoo. 

"Rose?" he cried out suddenly. "Oh, Rose, I do love you so!" And then, before she could speak he had turned and was gone. 

CHAPTER XI

Rather more than an hour and a half later, Rose Otway, with burstingheart, but with dry, gleaming eyes--for she had a nervous fear of hermother's affectionate questioning, and she had already endured Anna'swell-meant, fussy, though still unspoken sympathy--stood at thespare-room window of the Trellis House. From there she could watch, undisturbed, the signs of departure now going busily on before the biggates of the group of three Georgian houses known as "Robey's. "

Piles of luggage, bags, suit-cases, golf sticks, and so on, were beingput outside and inside the mid-Victorian fly, which was still patronisedby the young gentlemen of "Robey's, " in their goings and comings fromthe station. And then, even before the old cab-horse had started hisambling trot townwards, Mr. And Mrs. Robey, their two little girls, andtheir three boys not long back from school, all appeared together at thegate. 

In their midst stood Jervis Blake, his tall figure towering above themall. 

Most young men would have felt, and perhaps a little resented the fact, that the whole party looked slightly ridiculous. Not so this young man. There had never been much of the schoolboy in Jervis Blake. Now he feltvery much a man, and he was grateful for the affectionate kindness whichmade these good people anxious to give him what one of the little girlshad called "a grand send-off. "

Rose saw that there was a moment of confusion, of hesitation at thegate, and she divined that it was Jervis who suggested that they shouldtake the rather longer way round, that which led under the elm trees andpast the Cathedral. He did not wish to pass close by the Trellis House. 

The girl standing by the window felt a sudden rush of understandingtenderness. How strangely, how wonderfully their minds worked the one inwith the other! It would have been as intolerable to her as to him, tohave seen her mother run out and stop the little party--to have beenperchance summoned from upstairs "to wish good luck to Jervis Blake. "

From where she stood Rose Otway commanded the whole Close, and duringthe minutes which followed she saw the group of people walking withquick, steady steps, stopped by passers-by three or four times, beforethey disappeared out of her sight. 

It had seemed to her, but that might have been only her fancy, that thepace, obviously set by Jervis, quickened rather as they swept past thelittle gate through which he and she had gone on their way to the porch, on their way to--to Paradise. 

 * * * * *

Half-way through the morning there came an uncertain knock at the frontdoor of the Trellis House. It presaged a note brought by one of theyoung Robeys for Mrs. Otway--a note written by Jervis Blake, telling herof his good fortune, and explaining that he had not time to come andthank her in person for all her many kindnesses to him. One sentenceran: "The War Office order is that I come and report myself as soon aspossible--so of course I had to take the ten-twenty-five train. " And hesigned himself, as he had never done before, "Your affectionate JERVISBLAKE. "

Mrs. Otway felt mildly excited, and really pleased. "Rose will be veryglad to hear this!" she said to herself, and at once sought out herdaughter. 

Rose was still upstairs, in the roomy, rather dark old linen cupboardwhich was the pride of Anna's German heart. 

"A most extraordinary thing has happened. Jervis Blake is to have acommission after all, darling! He had a letter from the War Office thismorning. I suppose it's due to his father's influence. " And as Roseanswered, in what seemed an indifferent voice, "I should think, mother, that it's due to the War, " Mrs. Otway exclaimed, "Oh no. I don't thinkso! What could the War have to do with it? But whatever it's due to, I'mvery, very pleased that the poor boy has attained the wish of his heart. He's written me such a very nice note, apologising for not coming to saygood-bye to us. He doesn't mention you in his letter, but I expectyou'll hear from him in a day or two. He generally does write during theholidays, doesn't he, Rose?"

"Yes, " said Rose quietly. "Jervis has always written to me during theholidays, up to now. "

As she spoke, the girl turned again to the shelves laden with the linen, much of which had been beautifully embroidered and trimmed with crochetlace by good old Anna's clever hands. Mrs. Otway had a curioussensation, one she very, very seldom had--that of being dismissed. Somehow it was clear that Rose was not as interested in the piece ofgood news as her mother had thought she would be. And so Mrs. Otway wentdownstairs again, grieving a little at her child's curious, coldindifference to the lot of one who had been so much in and out of theirhouse during the last two years. 

Eager for sympathy, she went into the kitchen. "Oh, Anna, " sheexclaimed, "Mr. Blake is going into the Army after all! I'm so pleased. He is so happy!"

"Far more than Major Guthrie young Mr. Blake the figure of a goodofficer has, " observed Anna thoughtfully. Anna had always liked JervisBlake. In the old days that now seemed so long ago he would sometimescome with Miss Rose into her kitchen, and talk his poor, indifferentGerman. Then they all three used to laugh heartily at the absurdmistakes he made. 

And now, to her mistress's astonishment, old Anna suddenly burst intoloud, noisy sobs. 

"Anna, what _is_ the matter?"

"Afflicted I am----" sobbed the old woman. And then she stopped, andbegan again: "Afflicted I am to think, gracious lady, of that younggentleman, who to me kind has been, killing the soldiers of my country. "

"I don't suppose he will have the chance of killing any of them, " saidMrs. Otway hastily. "You really mustn't be so silly, Anna! Why, the Warwill be over long before Mr. Blake is ready to go out. They always keepthe young men two years at Sandhurst. That's the name of the officers'training college, you know. "

Anna wiped her eyes with her apron. She was now ashamed of having cried. But it had come over her "all of a heap, " as an English person wouldhave said. 

She had had a sort of vision of that nice young gentleman, Mr. JervisBlake, in the thick of battle, cutting down German men and youths with asword. He was so big and strong--it made her turn sick to think of it. But her good mistress, Mrs. Otway, had of course told the truth. The Warwould be over long before Mr. Jervis Blake and his kind would be fit tofight. 

Fighting, as old Anna knew well, though most of the people about herwere ignorant of the fact, requires a certain apprenticeship, anapprenticeship of which these pleasant-spoken, strong, straight-limbedyoung Englishmen knew nothing. The splendidly trained soldiers of theFatherland would have fought and conquered long before peaceful, sleepyEngland knew what war really meant. There was great comfort in thatthought. 

 * * * * *

As that second Saturday of August wore itself away, it is not too muchto say that the most interesting thing connected with the War which hadhappened in Witanbury Close was the fact that Jervis Blake was now goingto be a soldier. When people met that day, coming and going about theirbusiness, across the lawn-like green, and along the well-kept road whichran round it, they did not discuss the little news there was in thatmorning's papers. Instead they at once informed one another, and with amost congratulatory air, "Jervis Blake has heard from the War Office!He is going into the Army after all. Mr. And Mrs. Robey are _so_pleased. The whole family went to the station with him this morning!"

And it was quite true that the Robeys were pleased. Mr. Robey waspositively triumphant. "I can't tell you how glad I am!" he said, firstto one, and then to the other, of his neighbours. "Young Blake will makea splendid company officer. It's for the sake of the country, quite asmuch as for his sake, and for that of his unpleasant father, that I'mglad. What sort of book-learning had Napoleon's marshals? Or, for thematter of that, Wellington's officers in the Peninsula, and atWaterloo?"

As the day went on, and he began receiving telegrams from those of hisyoung men--they were not so very many after all--who had failed to pass, containing the joyful news that now they were accepted, his wife, instead of rejoicing, began to look grave. "It seems to me, my dear, that our occupation in life will now be gone, " she said soberly. And heanswered lightly enough, "Sufficient unto the day is the good thereof!"And being the high-minded, sensible fellow that he was, he would allowno selfish fear of the future to cloud his satisfaction in the present. 

 * * * * *

The only jarring note that day came from James Hayley. He had had totake a later train than he had thought to do, and he only arrived at theTrellis House, duly dressed for dinner, just before eight. 

"Witanbury is certainly a most amusing place, " he observed, as he shookhands with his pretty cousin. "I met two of your neighbours as I camealong. Each of them informed me, with an air of extreme delight, thatyoung Jervis Blake had heard from the War Office that, in spite of hismany failures, his services will now be welcomed by a grateful country. I didn't like to make the obvious answer----"

"And what is the obvious answer?" asked Rose, wrenching her hand awayfrom his. She told herself that she hated the feel of James's cold, hardhand. 

"That we must be jolly short of officers if they're already writinground to those boys! But then, of course"--he lowered his voice, thoughthere was no one there to hear, "we are short--short of everything, worse luck!"

But that was the only thing Cousin James said of any interest, and itdid not specially interest Rose. She did not connect this sinisterlittle piece of information with the matter that filled her heart forthe moment to the exclusion of everything else. It was not Jervis whowas short of anything--only Jervis's (and her) country. 

After Mrs. Otway had come down and joined them, though James talked agreat deal, he yet said very little, and as the evening went on, hiskind hostess could not help feeling that the War had not improved JamesHayley. He seemed more supercilious, more dogmatic than usual, and atone moment he threatened to offend her gravely by an unfortunateallusion to her good old Anna's nationality. 

By that time they were sitting out in the garden, enjoying the excellentcoffee Anna made so well, and as it was rather chilly, Rose had run intothe house to get her mother a shawl. 

"I never realised how very German your maid is, " he observed suddenly. "It made me feel quite uncomfortable while we were talking at dinner! Doyou intend to keep her?"

"Yes, of course I do. " Mrs. Otway felt hurt and angry. "I shouldn'tdream of sending her away! Anna has lived in England over twenty years, and her only child is married to an Englishman. " She waited a moment, and as he said nothing, she went on: "My good old Anna is devoted toEngland, though of course she loves her Fatherland too. "

"I should have thought the two loves quite incompatible at the presenttime, " he objected drily. 

Mrs. Otway flushed in the half darkness. "_I_ find them quitecompatible, James, " she exclaimed. "Of course I'm sorry that themilitary party should triumph in Germany--that, we all must feel, andprobably many Germans do too. But, after all, you may hate the sin andlove the sinner!"

"Will you feel the same when Germans have killed Englishmen?" he askedidly. He was watching the door through which Rose had vanished a fewmoments ago, longing with a restrained, controlled longing for herreturn. 

As a matter of fact he himself had never had any feeling of dislike ofthe Germans; on the contrary, he had struck up an acquaintance which hadalmost become friendship with one of the younger members of the GermanEmbassy. And suddenly Mrs. Otway remembered it. 

"Why, you yourself, " she cried, "you yourself, James, have a Germanfriend--I mean that young Von Lissing. I liked him so much thatweek-end you brought him down. What's happened to him? I suppose he'sgone?"

"Gone?" He turned and looked at her in the twilight. Really, Aunt Marywas sometimes very silly. "Of course, he's gone! As a matter of fact heleft London ten days before his chief. " And then he added reflectively, perhaps with more a wish to tease her than anything else, "I've ratherwondered this last week whether Von Lissing's friendship with me wasregarded by him as a business matter. He sometimes asked me such oddquestions. Of course one has always known that Germans are singularlyinquisitive--that they are always wanting to find out things. I confessit never struck me at the time that his questions meant anything morethan that sort of insatiable wish _to know_ that all Germans have. "

"What sort of things did he ask you, James?" asked Mrs. Otway curiously. 

"Well, I'll tell you one thing he said, and it astonished me very muchindeed. He asked me what attitude I thought our colonies would take ifwe became embroiled in a European war! I reminded him of what they'ddone in South Africa fourteen years ago, and he said he thought theworld had altered a good deal since then, and that people had becomemore selfish. But he never asked me any question concerning my ownspecial department. In those ways he quite played the game--not that itwould have been of any use, because of course I shouldn't have told himanything. But he was certainly oddly inquiring about otherdepartments. "

Then Rose came out again, and James Hayley tried to make himselfpleasant. Fortunately for himself he did not know how little hesucceeded. Rose found his patronising, tutor-like manner intolerable. 

CHAPTER XII

Mrs. Hegner leant her woe-begone, tear-stained little face against thecentre window-pane of one of the two windows in her bedroom. 

The room was a very large room. But she had never liked it, large, spacious, and airy though it was. You see, it was furnished entirelylike a German bedroom, not like a nice cosy English room. Thus the placewhere a fireplace would naturally have been was taken up by a largechina stove; and instead of a big brass double bed there were two lownarrow box beds. On her husband's bed was a huge eiderdown, and underthat only a sheet--no blankets at all! Polly hoped that this horrid factwould never be known in Witanbury. It would make quite a talk. 

There was linoleum on the floor instead of a carpet, and there was verylittle ease about the one armchair which her husband had grudginglyallowed her to have up here. 

Close to his bed, at right angles to it, was a huge black and greensafe. That safe, as Polly well knew, had cost a very great deal ofmoney, enough money to have furnished this room in really first-classstyle, with good Wilton pile carpet all complete. 

But Manfred had chosen to furnish the room in his own style, and it wasa style to which Polly could never grow accustomed. It outraged all theinstinctive prejudices and conventions inherited from her respectable, lower middle-class forbears. Instead of being good substantial mahoganyor walnut, it was some queerly veined light-coloured wood, and decoratedwith the strangest coloured rectangular designs, and painted--well, withnightmare oddities, that's what she called them! And she was not farwrong, for all down one side of the wardrobe waddled a procession ofbright green ducks. 

Polly could never make her husband out. He was so careful, so--somiserly in some ways, so wildly extravagant in others. All thisfurniture had come from Germany, and must have cost a pretty penny. Itwas true that he had got it, or so he assured her, with very heavydiscount off--and that no doubt was correct. 

The only ornaments in the room, if ornaments they could be called, werefaded photographs and two oleographs in gilt frames. One of thephotographs was the portrait of Manfred's first wife, a very plain, fatwoman. Then there were tiny cartes of Manfred's father andmother--regular horrors they must have been, so Polly thoughtresentfully. The oleographs were views of Heidelberg and of the KielCanal. 

Poor Polly! She had been sent up here, just as if she was a little girlin disgrace, about half an hour ago--simply for having told her ownsister Jenny, who was useful maid to Miss Haworth at the Deanery, thatManfred had spent yesterday at Southampton. He had gone on smiling quiteaffably as long as Jenny was there, but the door had hardly closed onher before he had turned round on _her_, Polly, in furious anger. 

"Blab! Blab! Blab!" he had snapped out. "You'll end by hanging me beforeyou've done! It won't be any good then saying 'Oh, I didn't know, ' 'Oh, I didn't mean to!'" He mimicked with savage irony her frightenedaccents. And then, as she had burst into tears, he had ordered her uphere, out of his sight. 

Yes, Manfred had an awful temper, and since Wednesday evening he hadn'tgiven her one kind word or look. In fact, during the last few days Pollyhad felt as if she must run away from him. Not to do anything wicked, you understand--good gracious, no! She had had enough of men. 

And now, resentfully, she asked herself why Manfred bothered so muchabout this war. After all, he had taken out his certificate; he was anEnglishman now. She told herself that it was all the Dean's fault. Stupid, interfering old gentleman--that's what the Dean was! Manfred hadgone up to the Deanery last Wednesday, and the Dean told him it was hisduty to look after the Germans in Witanbury--as if Germans couldn't lookafter themselves. Of course they could! They were far cleverer at thatsort of thing than English people were. Polly could have told the Deanthat. 

As to business--business had been just as brisk, or very nearly asbrisk, during the last few days as ever before, and that though they hadonly been able to keep the shop, so to speak, half open. It was clearthis silly war wasn't going to make any difference to _them_. 

At first she had tried to make allowances; no doubt Manfred did feelunhappy about his son, Fritz, who was now on his way to fight theRussians. But he had hardly mentioned Fritz after the first minute. Instead of that, he had only exclaimed, at frequent intervals, thatthis war would ruin them. He really did believe it, too, for he had evensaid it in his sleep. 

Why, they were made of money. Polly had the best of reasons for knowing_that_. They didn't owe a penny to anybody, excepting to the builder. And no one could have acted better than that builder had done. He hadhurried round the very first thing on Wednesday to tell them not toworry. In fact, even Manfred, who seldom had a good word for anybody, agreed that Mr. Smith had behaved very handsomely. 

People were now beginning to walk across the Market Place, and rathermore were going to evening service in the Cathedral than usual. 

Polly didn't want any one to look up and see she had been crying. So sheretreated a little way into the room. Then she went over and poured somewater from the queer-shaped jug into the narrow, deep basin, which wasso unlike a nice big wide English basin. After that she washed her face, and dabbed her eyes with eau-de-Cologne. 

Manfred, who was so economical about most things, and who even grudgedher spending more than a certain sum on necessary household cleaningimplements, was very fond of scent, and he had quite a row ofscent-bottles and pomades on his side of the washhand-stand. .. . 

While Polly was dabbing her eyes and face she looked meditatively at thebig safe in the corner. 

With that safe was connected her one real bit of deceit. Manfred thoughtshe didn't know what was in the safe, but as a matter of fact she knewwhat was safely put away there as well as he did. Amazing to relate, she actually had a key to the safe of which he, her husband, knewnothing. 

It had fallen out in this wise. The gentleman who had come from Londonto superintend the fixing of the safe had left an envelope for Manfred, or rather he had asked for an envelope, then he had popped inside it apiece of paper and something else. 

"Look here, Mrs. Hegner!" he had exclaimed. "I can't wait to see yourhusband, for I've got to get my train back to town. Will you just givehim this? Many people only provide two keys to a safe, but our firmalways provides three. "

She had waited till the man had gone, and then she had at once goneupstairs and locked herself into her bedroom with the new safe and theopen envelope containing the receipted bill and the three keys. One ofthese keys she had put in her purse, and then she had placed the bill, and the two remaining keys, in a fresh envelope. 

Polly didn't consider husbands and wives ought to have any secrets fromone another. But from the very first, even when Manfred was still verymuch in love with her--aye, and very jealous of her too, for the matterof that--he had never told her anything. 

For a long time she hadn't known just where to keep her key of the safe, and it had lain on her mind like a great big load of worry; she had feltobliged to be always changing the place where she hid it. 

Then, suddenly, Manfred had presented her with an old-fashioned rosewooddressing-case he had taken from some one in part payment of a smalldebt. And in this dressing-case, so a friend had shown her, there was asecret place for letters. You pushed back an innocent-looking littlebrass inlaid knob, and the blue velvet back fell forward, leaving aspace behind. 

From the day she had been shown this dear little secret space, the keyof the safe had lain there, excepting on the very rare occasions whenshe was able to take it out and use it. Of course she never did thisunless she knew that Manfred was to be away for the whole day fromWitanbury, and even then she trembled and shook with fright lest heshould suddenly come in and surprise her. But what she had learnt madeher tremors worth while. 

It was pleasant, indeed, to know that a lot of money--nice goldensovereigns and crisp five-pound notes--was lying there, and that Manfredmust be always adding to the store. Last time she had looked into thesafe there was eight hundred pounds! Two-thirds in gold, one-third infive-pound notes. She had sometimes thought it odd that Manfred keptsuch a lot of gold, but that was his business, not hers. 

It was very unkind of him not to have told her of all this money. Afterall, she helped to earn it! But she knew he believed her to beextravagant. 

What sillies men were! As if the fact that he had this money put away, no doubt accumulating in order that they might pay off the mortgagequicker, would make her spend more. Why, it had actually had the effectof making her more careful. 

In addition to the money in the safe, there were one or two deedsconnected with little bits of house property Manfred had acquired inWitanbury during the last six years. And then, on the top shelf of thesafe, there were a lot of letters--letters written in German, of whichof course she could make neither head nor tail. Once a month aregistered letter arrived, sometimes from Holland, sometimes fromBrussels, for Manfred; and it had gradually become clear to her that itwas these letters which he kept in the safe. 

 * * * * *

There came a loud impatient knock at the door. She started guiltily. 

"Open!" cried her husband imperiously. "Open, Polly, at once! I havealready forbidden you to lock the door. "

But she knew by the tone of his voice that he was no longer really angrywith her. So, walking rather slowly, she went across and unlocked thedoor. 

She stepped back quickly--the door opened, and a moment later she was inher husband's arms, and he was kissing her. 

"Well, little one! You're good now, eh? Does my little sugar lamb want atreat?"

Polly knew that when he called her his little sugar lamb it meant thathe was in high good-humour. 

"It won't be much of a treat to stay at home and do the civil to thatold Mrs. Bauer, " she said, and looked up at him coquettishly. 

There were good points about Manfred. When he was good-tempered, as heseemed to be just now, it generally meant that there would be a presentfor her coming along. And sure enough he pulled a little box out of oneof his bulging pockets. 

"Here's a present for my little lollipop, " he said. 

Eagerly she opened the box; but though she exclaimed "It's very pretty!"she really felt a good deal disappointed. For it was only a queer, old-fashioned light gold locket. In tiny diamonds--they were realdiamonds, but Polly did not know that--were set the words "_RuleBritannia_, " and below the words was a funny little enamel picture of asailing-ship. Not the sort of thing she would care to wear, exceptingjust to please Manfred. 

"You can put that on the chain I gave you, " he said. "It looks nice andpatriotic. And about this evening--well, I've changed my mind. You neednot stop in for Mrs. Bauer. Just say how-d'ye-do to her, and then goout--to the Deanery if you like. You see that I trust you, Polly;" hisface stiffened, a frown came over it. "I have written a letter to theDean for you to take; you may read it if you like. "

She drew the bit of paper out of the envelope with a good deal ofcuriosity. Whatever could Manfred have to write to the Dean about? True, he was fond of writing letters, and he expressed himself far better thanmost Englishmen of his station. Polly had quite a nice packet of hislove-letters, which, at the time she had received them, had delightedher by their flowery appropriateness of language, and quaint, out-of-the-way expressions. 

 "MOST REVEREND SIR"--so ran Manfred Hegner's letter to the Dean. "I wish to thank you for your kindness to me during the last few eventful days. I have endeavoured to deserve it in every way possible. I trust you will approve of a step I propose taking on Monday. That is, to change my name to Alfred Head. As you impressed upon me, Reverend Sir, in the interview you were good enough to grant me, I am now an Englishman, with all the duties as well as the privileges of this great nation. So it is best I have a British name. I am taking steps to have my new name painted up outside the Stores, and I am informing by circular all those whom it may concern. Your interest in me, Reverend Sir, has made me venture to tell you, before any one else, of the proposed alteration. I therefore sign myself, most Reverend Sir, "Yours very faithfully, "ALFRED HEAD. "

"I think Head is a horrid name!" said his wife imprudently. "I don'tthink 'Polly Head' is half as nice as 'Polly Hegner. ' Why, mother usedto know a horrid old man called Head. He was a scavenger, and he onlycleaned himself once a year--on Christmas Day!"

Then, as she saw the thunderclouds gathering, she exclaimed in a ratherfrightened tone, "But don't mind what _I_ say, Manfred. You know best. Idaresay I'll get used to it soon!"

As they went downstairs Polly had been thinking. 

"I fancy you've had this in your mind for some time. "

"What makes you fancy that?" he asked. 

"Because we've so near got to the end of our stock of cards andbill-heads, " she said, "and you wouldn't let me order any more lastweek. "

"You're a sharp girl"--he laughed. "Well, yes! I have been thinking ofit some time. And what's happened now has just tipped the bucket--see?"

"Yes, I see that. "

"I've already written out the order for new bill-heads and new cards!and I've sent round the order about Monday, " he went on. "But if thisdratted Bank Holiday goes on, there won't be much work done in Witanburyon Monday! Hush! Here she comes. "

There had come a ring at the back door. Polly went out, and a momentlater brought back the old German woman. 

Anna was surprised to find the husband and wife alone. She had thoughtthat the Fröhlings at least would be there. 

"Well, Mrs. Bauer"--her host spoke in German--"a friend or two who werecoming have failed, and you will have to put up with me, for my wife hasto go up to the Deanery to see her sister. But you and I will haveplenty to talk about at such a time as this. And I have got some papersfrom Berlin for you. I do not know how much longer they will be comingto England. "

The old woman's face lighted up. Yes, it would be very nice to see oneor two of the grand German picture papers which had been lately startedin the Fatherland in imitation of those which were so popular inEngland. 

"Do not trouble to look at them now, " he added hastily. "You can takethem home with you. Mrs. Otway, she is too broad-minded a lady to mind, is she not?"

"Ach! Yes indeed, " said Anna. "Mrs. Otway, she loves the Fatherland. This foolish trouble makes not the slightest difference to her. "

Polly had been standing by rather impatiently. "Sometimes I'm quitesorry I haven't taken the trouble to learn German, " she said. 

Her husband chucked her under the chin. "How would Frau Bauer and Iever be able to talk our secrets together if you understood what wesaid, little woman?"

And Anna joined in the laugh with which this sally was greeted. 

"So long!" said Polly brightly. "I expect I'll be back before you'vegone, Mrs. Bauer. "

CHAPTER XIII

"There is good news!" exclaimed Anna's host, as soon as the door wasshut behind his wife. "The British have sunk one of our little steamers, but we have blown up one of theirs--a very big, important war-vessel, Frau Bauer!"

Good old Anna's face beamed. It was not that she dislikedEngland--indeed, she was very fond of England. But she naturally feltthat in this great game of war it was only right and fair that theFatherland should win. It did not occur to her, and well he knew itwould not occur to her, that the man who had just spoken was at any ratenominally an Englishman. She, quite as much as he did himself, regardedthe naturalisation certificate as a mere matter of business. It hadnever made any difference to any of the Germans Anna had known inEngland--in fact the only German-Englishman she knew was old Fröhling, who had never taken out his certificate at all. Fröhling really didadore England, and this had sometimes made old Anna feel very impatient. To Fröhling everything English was perfect, and he had been quitepleased, instead of sorry, when his son had joined the British Army. 

"So? That is good!" she exclaimed. "Very good! But we must not seem toopleased, must we, Herr Hegner?"

And he shook his head. "No, to be _too_ pleased would not be grateful, "he said, "to good old England!" And he spoke with no sarcasm, he reallymeant what he said. 

"It makes me sad to think of all the deaths, whether they are German orEnglish, " went on Anna sadly. "I do not feel the same about the Russiansor the French naturally. "

"Ach! How much I agree with you, " he said feelingly. "The poor English!Truly do I pity them. I am quite of your mind, Frau Bauer; though everyRussian and most Frenchmen are a good riddance, I do not rejoice tothink of any Englishman, however lazy, tiresome, and pigheaded, beingkilled. "

They both ate steadily for a few minutes, then Manfred Hegner beganagain. "But very few Englishmen will be killed by our brave fellows. Youwill have to shed no tears for any one you know in Witanbury, FrauBauer. The English are not a fighting people. Most of their sailors willbe drowned, no doubt, but at that one must not after all repine. "

"Yet the English are sending an army to Belgium, " observed Anna, thoughtfully. 

"What makes you think that?" He stopped in the work on which he wasengaged, that of cutting a large sausage into slices. "Have you learntit on good authority, Frau Bauer? Has this news been told you by theyoung gentleman official from London who is connected with theGovernment--I mean he who is courting your young lady?"

Anna drew back stiffly. "How they do gossip in this town!" sheexclaimed, frowning. "Courting my young lady, indeed! No, Mr. Hegner, itwas not Mr. Hayley who told this. Mr. Hayley is one of those who talk agreat deal without saying anything. "

"Then on whose authority do you speak?" He spoke with a certain roughdirectness. 

"I know because Major Guthrie started for Belgium on Friday last, at twoo'clock. By now he must be there, fighting our folk. "

"Major Guthrie?" He looked puzzled. "Is he a gentleman of thegarrison?--surely not?"

"No, no. He has nothing to do with the garrison!" exclaimed Anna. "Butyou must have very often seen him, for he is constantly in the town. Andhe speaks German, Mr. Hegner. I should have thought he would have beenin to see you. "

"You mean the son of the old lady who lives at Dorycote? They have neverdealt at my Stores"--there was a tone of disappointment, of contempt, inMr. Hegner's voice. "But that gentleman has retired from the Army, FrauBauer; it is not he, surely, whom they would call out to fight?"

"Still, all the same, he is going to Belgium. To France first, and thento Belgium. " She spoke very positively, annoyed at being doubted. 

Mr. Hegner hesitated for a moment. He stroked his moustache. "I daresaythis Major has gone back to his old regiment, for the English havemobilised their army--such as it is. But that does not mean that theyare sending troops to the Continent. "

"But I even know where the Major is going to land in France. "

Mr. Hegner drew in his breath. "Ach!" he said. "That is _really_interesting! Do you indeed? And what is the name of the place?"

"Boulogne, " she said readily. 

"But how do you know all this?" he asked slowly. 

"Mrs. Otway told me. This Major is a great friend of my ladies. Butthough it was she who told me about Boulogne, I heard the good-byes saidin the hall. Everything can be heard from my kitchen, you see. "

"Try and remember exactly what it was that this Major said. It may be ofspecial interest to me. "

"He said"--she hesitated a moment, and then, in English, quoted thewords: "He said, 'I shall be very busy seeing about my kit before Ileave England. '"

_"Before I leave England?"_ he repeated meditatively. "Yes, if you didindeed hear him say those words they are proof positive, Frau Bauer. "

"Of course they are!" she said triumphantly. 

They had a long and pleasant meal, and old Anna enjoyed every moment ofit. Not since she had spent that delightful holiday in Berlin had shedrunk so much beer at one sitting. And it was such nice light beer, too!Mrs. Otway, so understanding as to most things connected with Germany, had sometimes expressed her astonishment at the Germans' love of beer;she thought it, strange to say, unhealthy, as well as unpalatable. 

To this day Anna could remember the resentful pain with which she hadlearnt, some time after she had arrived at the Trellis House, that manyEnglish ladies allowed their servants "beer money. " Had she made a standat the first, she too might have had "beer money. " But, alas! Mrs. Otway, when engaging her, had observed that in her household coffee andmilk took the place of alcohol. Poor Anna, at that time in deep trouble, finding her eight-year-old child an almost insuperable bar toemployment, would have accepted any conditions, however hard, to find arespectable roof once more over her head and that of her little Louisa. 

But, as time had gone on, she had naturally resented Mrs. Otway'speculiar rule concerning beer, and she had so far broken it as to enjoya jug of beer--of course at her own expense--once a week. But she hadonly begun doing that after Mrs. Otway had raised her wages. 

Host and guest talked on and on. Mr. Hegner confided to Anna his comingchange of name, and he seemed pleased to know that she thought it quitea good plan. 

Then suddenly he began to cross-question her about Mr. James Hayley. Butunluckily she could tell him very little beyond at last admitting thathe was, without doubt, in love with her young lady. There was, however, nothing very interesting in that. 

Yes, Mr. Hayley was fond of talking, but, as Anna had said just now, hetalked without saying anything, and she was too busy to pay much heed towhat he did say. He had come to dinner yesterday, that is, Saturday, buthe had had to leave Witanbury early this morning. The one thing Anna_did_ remember having heard him remark, for he said it more than once, was that up to the last moment they had all thought, in _his_ office, that there would be no war. 

"He is not the only one. I, too, believed that the war would only comenext year, " observed Anna's host ruefully. 

The old woman thought these questions quite natural, for all Germanshave an insatiable curiosity concerning what may be called the gossipside of life. 

At last Manfred Hegner pushed back his chair. 

"Will you look at the pictures in these papers, Frau Bauer? I have to goupstairs for something. I shall not be gone for more than two or threeminutes. " He opened wide a sheet showing the Kaiser presiding at firedrill on board his yacht. 

Then, leaving his visitor quite happy, he hurried upstairs, and goinginto his bedroom, locked the door and turned on the electric light. Withone of the twin tiny keys he always carried on his watch-chain he openedhis safe, and in a very few moments had found what he wanted. Pollywould indeed have been surprised had she seen what it was. From the backof the pile of letters she had never disturbed, he drew out a shabbylittle black book. It was a book of addresses written in alphabeticalorder, and there were the names of people, and of places, all over theContinent. This little book had been forwarded, registered, by one ofits present possessor's business friends in Holland some ten days ago, together with a covering letter explaining the value, in a grocerybusiness, of these addresses. Mr. Hegner was not yet familiar with itscontents, but he found fairly quickly the address he wanted--that of aSpanish merchant at Seville. 

Taking out the block, which he always carried about with him, from hispocket, he carefully copied on it the address in question. Then heturned over the thin pages of the little black book till he came toanother address. This time it was the name of a Frenchman, Jules Boutet, who lived in the Haute Ville, Boulogne. He put this name down, too, buthe did not trouble about Boutet's address. Finally he placed the bookback in the safe, among the private papers which Polly never disturbed. Then, tearing off the top sheet of the block, he wrote the Spanishaddress out, and under it, "Father can come back on or about August 19. Boutet is expecting him. "

He hesitated for some time over the signature. And then, at last, he putthe English Christian name of "Emily. "

He pushed the book back, well out of sight, then shutting the safehastened downstairs again. 

At any moment Polly might return home; they were early folk at theDeanery. 

Anna had already got up. "I think I must be going home, " she observed. "My ladies will soon be back. I do not like them to find the houseempty--though Mrs. Otway knows that I am here. "

"Do you ever have occasion to go to the Post Office?" he saidthoughtfully. 

And she answered, "Yes; I have a Savings Bank account. Do you advise me, Mr. Hegner, to take my money out of the Savings Bank just now? Will theynot be taking all the money for the war?"

"I think I should take it out. Have you much in?" As he spoke, he wasfilling up a foreign telegraph form, printing the words in. 

"Not very much, " she said cautiously. "But a little sum--yes. "

"How much?"

She hesitated uncomfortably. "I have forty pounds in the English SavingsBank, " she said. 

"If I were you"--he looked at her fixedly--"I should take it all out. Make them give it you in sovereigns. And then, if you will bring it tome here, I shall be able to give you for that--let me see----" he waiteda moment. "Yes, if you do not mind taking bank-notes and silver, I willgive you for that gold of yours forty pounds and five shillings. Gold isuseful to me in my business. Oh--and, Frau Bauer? When you do go to thePost Office I should be glad if you would send off this telegram for me. It is a business telegram, as you can see, in fact a code telegram. "

She took the piece of paper in her hand, then looked at it and at him, uncomprehendingly. 

"It concerns a consignment of bitter oranges. I do not want theWitanbury Post Office to know my business. "

"Yes, I understand what you mean. "

"It is, as you see, a Spanish telegram, and it will cost"--hemade a rapid calculation, then went to the sideboard and tookout some silver. "It will cost five-and-sixpence. I therefore give youseven-and-sixpence, Frau Bauer. That is two shillings for your trouble. If possible, I should prefer that no one sees this telegram beingdespatched. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, yes. I quite understand. "

"And if you are asked who gave it you to despatch, say it is a Mrs. Smith, slightly known to you, whom you just met, and who was in toogreat a hurry to catch her train to come into the Post Office. "

Anna took a large purse out of her capacious pocket. In it she put thetelegram and the money. "I will send it off to-morrow morning, " sheexclaimed. "You may count on me. "

"Frau Bauer?"

She turned back. 

"Only to wish you again a cordial good-night, and to say I hope you willcome again soon!"

"Indeed, that I will, " she called out gratefully. 

As he was shutting the back door, he saw his wife hurrying along acrossthe quiet little back street. 

"Hullo, Polly!" he cried, and she came quickly across. "They are ingreat trouble at the Deanery, " she observed, "at least, Miss Edith is ingreat trouble. She has been crying all to-day. They say her face is allswelled out--that she looks an awful sight! Her lover is going away tofight, and some one has told her that Lord Kitchener says none of thelot now going out will ever come back! There is even talk of their beingmarried before he starts. But as her trousseau is not ready, my sisterthinks it would be a very stupid thing to do. "

"Did the Dean get my letter?" he asked abruptly. 

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you that. I gave it to Mr. Dunstan, thebutler. He says that the Dean opened it and read it. And then what d'youthink the silly old thing said, Manfred?"

"You will have to get into the way of calling me Alfred, " he saidcalmly. 

"Oh, bother!"

"Well, what did the reverend gentleman say?"

"Mr. Dunstan says that he just exclaimed, 'I'm sorry the good fellowthinks it necessary to do that. ' So you needn't have troubled after all. All the way to the Deanery I was saying to myself, 'Mrs. Head--PollyHead. Polly Head--Mrs. Head. ' And no, it's no good pretending that Ilike it, for I just don't!"

"Then you'll just have to do the other thing, " he said roughly. Still, though he spoke so disagreeably, he was yet in high good-humour. Twohours ago this information concerning Miss Haworth's lover would havebeen of the utmost interest to him, and even now it was of value, ascorroborating what Anna had already told him. Frau Bauer was going to bevery useful to him. Alfred Head, for already he was thinking of himselfby that name, felt that he had had a well-spent, as well as a pleasant, evening. 

CHAPTER XIV

Had it not been for the contents of the envelope which she kept in theright-hand drawer of her writing-table, and which she sometimes took outsurreptitiously, when neither her daughter nor old Anna were about, Mrs. Otway, as those early August days slipped by, might well have thoughther farewell interview with Major Guthrie a dream. 

For one thing there was nothing, positively nothing, in any of the dailypapers over which she wasted so much time each morning, concerning thedespatch of an Expeditionary Force to the Continent! Could Major Guthriehave been mistaken?

Once, when with the Dean, she got very near the subject. In fact, sheventured to say a word expressive of her belief that British troops_were_ to be sent to France. But he snubbed her with a sharpness veryunlike his urbane self. "Nonsense!" he cried. "There isn't the slightestthought of such a thing. Any small force we could send to the Continentwould be useless--in fact, only in the way!"

"Then why does Lord Kitchener ask for a hundred thousand men?"

"For home defence, " said the Dean quickly, "only for home defence, Mrs. Otway. The War Office is said to regard it as within the bounds ofpossibility that England may be invaded. But I fancy the Kaiser is fartoo truly attached to his mother's country to think of doing anything_really_ to injure us! I am sure that so intelligent and enlightened asovereign understands our point of view--I mean about Belgium. TheKaiser, without doubt, was overruled by the military party. As to oursending our Army abroad--why, millions are already being engaged in thiswar! So where would be the good of our small army?"

That had been on Sunday, only two days after Major Guthrie had gone. Andnow, it being Wednesday, Mrs. Otway bethought herself that she ought tofulfil her promise with regard to his mother. Somehow she had a curiousfeeling that she now owed a duty to the old lady, and also--though thatperhaps was rather absurd--that she would be quite glad to see any onewho would remind her of her kind friend--the friend whom she missed morethan she was willing to admit to herself. 

But of course her friend's surprising kindness and thought for her hadmade a difference to her point of view, and had brought them, in asense, very much nearer the one to the other. In fact Mrs. Otway wassurprised, and even a little hurt, that Major Guthrie had not written toher once since he went away. It was the more odd as he very often _had_written to her during former visits of his to London. Sometimes they hadbeen quite amusing letters. 

She put on a cool, dark-grey linen coat and skirt, and a shady hat, andthen she started off for the mile walk to Dorycote. 

 * * * * *

It was a very warm afternoon. Old Mrs. Guthrie, after she had had herpleasant little after-luncheon nap, established herself, with the helpof her maid, under a great beech tree in the beautiful garden which hadbeen one of the principal reasons why Major Guthrie had chosen thishouse at Dorycote for his mother. The old lady was wearing a palelavender satin gown, with a lace scarf wound about her white hair andframing her still pretty pink and white face. 

During the last few days the people who composed Mrs. Guthrie's littlecircle had been too busy and too excited to come and see her. But shethought it likely that to-day some one would drop in to tea. Any onewould be welcome, for she was feeling a little mopish. 

No, it was not this surprising, utterly unexpected, War that troubledher. Mrs. Guthrie belonged by birth to the fighting caste; her fatherhad been a soldier in his time, and so had her husband. 

As for her only son, he had made the Army his profession, and she knewthat he had hoped to live and die in it. He had been through the BoerWar, and was wounded at Spion Kop, so he had done his duty by hiscountry; this being so, she could not help being glad now that Alick hadretired when he had. But she had wisely kept that gladness to herself aslong as he was with her. To Mrs. Guthrie's thinking, this War wasFrance's war, and Russia's war; only in an incidental sense England'squarrel too. 

Russia? Mrs. Guthrie had always been taught to mistrust Russia, and tobelieve that the Tsar had his eye on India. She could remember, too, andthat with even now painful vividness, the Crimean War, for a man whomshe had cared for as a girl, whom indeed she had hoped to marry, hadbeen killed at the storming of the Redan. To her it seemed strange thatEngland and Russia were now allies. 

As a matter of fact, the one moment of excitement the War had broughther was in connection with Russia. An old gentleman she knew, a tiresomeneighbour whose calls usually bored rather than pleased her, had hobbledin yesterday and told her, as a tremendous secret, that Russia wassending a big army to Flanders _via_ England, through a place calledArchangel of which she had vaguely heard. He had had the news fromScotland, where a nephew of his had actually seen and spoken to someRussian officers, the advance guard, as it were, of these legions!

Mrs. Guthrie was glad this war had come after the London season wasover. Her great pleasure each day was reading the _Morning Post_, andduring this last week that paper had been a great deal too full of warnews. It had annoyed her, too, to learn that the Cowes Week had beengiven up. Of course no German yachts could have competed, but apart fromthat, why should not the regatta have gone on just the same? It lookedas if the King (God bless him!) was taking this war too seriously. QueenVictoria and King Edward would have had a better sense of proportion. The old lady kept these thoughts to herself, but they were there, allthe same. 

Yes, it was a great pity Cowes had been given up. Mrs. Guthrie missedthe lists of names--names which in the majority of cases, unless ofcourse they were those of Americans and of uninteresting _nouveauxriches_, recalled pleasant associations, and that even if the peopleactually mentioned were only the children or the grandchildren of thosewhom she had known in the delightful days when she had kept house forher widower brother in Mayfair. 

As she turned her old head stiffly round, and saw how charming herwell-kept lawn and belt of high trees beyond looked to-day, she feltsorry that she had not written one or two little notes and bidden someof her Witanbury Close acquaintances come out and have tea. The Dean, for instance, might have come. Even Mrs. Otway, Alick's friend, wouldhave been better than nobody!

Considering that she did not like her, it was curious that Mrs. Guthriewas one of the very few women in that neighbourhood who realised thatthe mistress of the Trellis House was an exceptionally attractiveperson. More than once--in fact almost always after chance had broughtthe two ladies in contact, Mrs. Guthrie would observe briskly to herson, "It's rather odd that your Mrs. Otway has never married again!" Andit always amused her to notice that it irritated Alick to hear her saythis. It was the Scotch bit of him which made Alick at once so shy andso sentimental where women were concerned. 

Mrs. Guthrie had no idea how very often her son went to the TrellisHouse, but even had she known it she would only have smiled satirically. She had but little sympathy with platonic friendships, and sherecognised, with that shrewd mother-sense so many women acquire late inlife, that Mrs. Otway was a most undesigning widow. 

Not that it would have _really_ mattered if she had been the other sort. Major Guthrie's own private means were small. It was true that after hismother's death he would be quite well off, but Mrs. Guthrie, even if shehad a weak heart, did not think herself likely to die for a long, longtime. .. . And yet, as time went on, and as the old lady became, perhaps, a thought less selfish, she began to wish that her son would fancy somegirl with money, and marrying, settle down. If that could come to pass, then she, Mrs. Guthrie, would be content to live on by herself, in thehouse which she had made so pretty, and where she had gathered about herquite a pleasant circle of admiring and appreciative, if rather dull, country friends. 

But when she had said a word in that sense to Alick, he had tried toturn the suggestion off as a joke. And as she had persisted in talkingabout it, he had shown annoyance, even anger. At last, one day, he hadexclaimed, "I'm too old to marry a girl, mother! Somehow--I don't knowhow it is--I don't seem to care very much for girls. "

"There are plenty of widows you could marry, " she said quickly. "A widowis more likely to have money than a girl. " He had answered, "But you seeI don't care for money. " And then she had observed, "I don't see how youcould marry without money, Alick. " And he had said quietly, "I quiteagree. I don't think I could. " And it may be doubted if in his loyalheart there had even followed the unspoken thought, "So long as you arealive, mother. "

Yes, Alick was a very good son, and Mrs. Guthrie did not grudge him hiscurious friendship with Mrs. Otway. 

And then, just as she was saying this to herself, not for the firsttime, she heard the sound of doors opening and closing, and she saw, advancing towards her over the bright green lawn, the woman of whom shehad just been thinking with condescending good-nature. 

Mrs. Otway looked hot and a little tired--not quite as attractive asusual. This perhaps made Mrs. Guthrie all the more glad to see her. 

"How kind of you to come!" exclaimed the old lady. "But I'm sorry youfind me alone. I rather hoped my son might be back to-day. He had to goup to London unexpectedly last Friday. He has an old friend in the WarOffice, and I think it very likely that this man may have wanted toconsult him. I don't know if you are aware that Alick once spent a longleave in Germany. Although I miss him, I should be glad to think he isdoing something useful just now. But of course I shouldn't at all haveliked the thought of his beginning again to fight--and at his time oflife!"

"I suppose a soldier is never too old to want to fight, "--but even whileshe spoke, Mrs. Otway felt as if she were saying something rather triteand foolish. She was a little bit afraid of the old lady, and as she satdown her cheeks grew even hotter than the walking had made them, for shesuddenly remembered Major Guthrie's legacy. 

"Yes, that's true, of course! And for the first two or three days oflast week I could see that Alick was very much upset, in fact horriblydepressed, by this War. But I pretended to take no notice of it--it'salways better to do that with a man! It's never the slightest use beingsympathetic--it only makes people more miserable. However, last Friday, after getting a telegram, he became quite cheerful and like his old selfagain. He wouldn't admit, even to me, that he had heard from the WarOffice. But I put two and two together! Of course, as he is in theReserve, he may find himself employed on some form of home defence. Icould see that Alick thinks that the Germans will probably try and landin England--invade it, in fact, as the Normans did. " The old ladysmiled. "It's an amusing idea, isn't it?"

"But surely the fleet's there to prevent that!" said Mrs. Otway. She wassurprised that so sensible a man as Major Guthrie--her opinion of himhad gone up very much this last week--should imagine such a thing asthat a landing by the Germans on the English coast was possible. 

"Oh, but he says there are at least a dozen schemes of English invasionpigeonholed in the German War Office, and by now they've doubtless hadthem all out and examined them. He has always said there is a very goodlanding-place within twenty miles of here--a place Napoleon selected!"

A pleasant interlude was provided by tea, and as Mrs. Guthrie, her oldhand shaking a little, poured out a delicious cup for her visitor, andpressed on her a specially nice home-made cake, Mrs. Otway began tothink that in the past she had perhaps misjudged Major Guthrie'sagreeable, lively mother. 

Suddenly Mrs. Guthrie fixed on her visitor the penetrating blue eyeswhich were so like those of her son, and which were indeed the onlyfeature of her very handsome face she had transmitted to her only child. 

"I think you know my son very well?" she observed suavely. 

Rather to her own surprise, Mrs. Otway grew a little pink. "Yes, " shesaid. "Major Guthrie and I are very good friends. He has sometimes beenmost kind in giving me advice about my money matters. "

"Ah, well, he does that to a good many people. You'd be amused to knowhow often he's asked to be trustee to a marriage settlement, and so on. But I've lately supposed, Mrs. Otway, that Alick has made a kindof--well, what shall I say?--a kind of sister of you. He seems so fondof your girl, too; he always _has_ liked young people. "

"Yes, that's very true, " said Mrs. Otway eagerly. "Major Guthrie hasalways been most kind to Rose. " And then she smiled happily, and added, as if to herself, "Most people are. "

Somehow this irritated the old lady. "I don't want to pry into anybody'ssecrets, " she said--"least of all, my son's. But I _should_ like to beso far frank with you as to ask you if Alick has ever talked to you ofthe Trepells?"

"The Trepells?" repeated Mrs. Otway slowly. "No, I don't think so. Butwait a moment--are they the people with whom he sometimes goes and staysin Sussex?"

"Yes; he stayed with them just after Christmas. Then he _has_ talked toyou of them?"

"I don't think he's ever exactly talked of them, " answered Mrs. Otway. She was trying to remember what it was that Major Guthrie had said. Wasn't it something implying that he was going there to please hismother--that he would far rather stay at home? But she naturally did notput into words this vague recollection of what he had said aboutthese--yes, these Trepells. "It's an odd name, and yet it seems familiarto me, " she said hesitatingly. 

"It's familiar to you because they are the owners of the celebrated'Trepell's Polish, '" said the old lady rather sharply. "But they'reexceedingly nice people. And it's my impression that Alick is thinkingvery seriously of the elder daughter. There are only twodaughters--nice, old-fashioned girls, brought up by a nice, old-fashioned mother. The mother was the younger daughter of LordDunsmuir, and the Dunsmuirs were friends of the Guthries--I mean of myhusband's people--since the year one. Their London house is in GrosvenorSquare. When I call Maisie Trepell a girl, I do not mean that she is sovery much younger than my son as to make the thought of such a marriageabsurd. She is nearer thirty than twenty, and he is forty-six. "

"Is she the young lady who came to stay with you some time ago?" askedMrs. Otway. 

She was so much surprised, in a sense so much disturbed, by thisunexpected confidence that she really hardly knew what she was saying. She had never thought of Major Guthrie as a marrying man. For one thing, she had frequently had occasion to see him, not only with her owndaughter, but with other girls, and he had certainly never paid them anyspecial attention. But now she did remember vividly the fact that ayoung lady had come and paid quite a long visit here before Easter. Butshe remembered also that Major Guthrie had been away at the time. 

"Yes, Maisie came for ten days. Unfortunately, Alick had to go awaybefore she left, for he had taken an early spring fishing with a friend. But I thought--in fact, I rather hoped at the time--that he was verymuch disappointed. "

"Yes, he naturally must have been, if what you say is----" and then shestopped short, for she did not like to say "if what you say is true, " so"if what you say is likely to come to pass, " she ended vaguely. 

"I hope it will come to pass. " Mrs. Guthrie spoke very seriously, andonce more she fixed her deep blue eyes on her visitor's face. "I'mseventy-one, not very old as people count age nowadays, but still I'venever been a strong woman, and I have a weak heart. I should not like toleave my son to a lonely life and to a lonely old age. He's veryreserved--he hasn't made many friends in his long life. And I thought itpossible he might have confided to you rather than to me. "

"No, he never spoke of the matter to me at all; in fact, we have nevereven discussed the idea of his marrying, " said Mrs. Otway slowly. 

"Well, forget what I've said!"

But Mrs. Guthrie's visitor went on, a little breathlessly andimpulsively: "I quite understand how you feel about Major Guthrie, and Idaresay he would be happier married. Most people are, I think. "

She got up; it was nearly six--time for her to be starting on her walkback to Witanbury. 

Obeying a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed the old ladygood-bye. There was no guile, no taint of suspiciousness, in MaryOtway's nature. 

Mrs. Guthrie had the grace to feel a little ashamed. 

"I hope you'll come again soon, my dear. " She was surprised to feel howsmooth and how young was the texture of Mrs. Otway's soft, generously-lipped mouth and rounded cheek. 

There rose a feeling of real regret in her cynical old heart. "She likeshim better than she knows, and far better than I thought she did!" shesaid to herself, as she watched the still light, still singularlygraceful-looking figure hurrying away towards the house. 

As for Mrs. Otway, she felt oppressed, and yes, a little pained, by theold lady's confidence. That what she had just been told might not betrue did not occur to her. What more natural than that Major Guthrieshould like a nice girl--one, too, who was, it seemed, half Scotch? TheTrepells were probably in London even now--she had seen it mentioned ina paper that every one was still staying on in town. If so, MajorGuthrie was doubtless constantly in their company; and the letter shehad so--well, not exactly longed for, but certainly expected, might evennow be lying on the table in the hall of the Trellis House, informingher of his engagement!

She remembered now what she had heard of the Trepells. It concerned thegreat, the almost limitless, wealth brought in by their wonderfulpolish. She found it difficult to think of Major Guthrie as a very richman. Of course, he would always remain, what he was now, a quiet, unassuming gentleman; but all the same, she, Mary Otway, did feel thatsomehow this piece of news made it impossible for her to accept the loanhe had so kindly and so delicately forced on her. 

Mrs. Otway had a lively, a too lively, imagination, and it seemed to heras if it was Miss Trepell's money which lay in the envelope now lockedaway in her writing-table drawer. Indeed, had she known exactly whereMajor Guthrie was just now, she would have returned it to him. Butsupposing he had already started for France, and the registered lettercame back and was opened by his mother--how dreadful that would be!

When she reached home, and walked through into her cool, quiet house, Mrs. Otway was quite surprised to find that there was no letter fromMajor Guthrie lying for her on the hall table. 

CHAPTER XV

Rose Otway ran up to her room and locked the door. She had fled there toread her first love-letter. 

 "MY DARLING ROSE, --This is only to tell you that I love you. I have been writing letters to you in my heart ever since I went away. But this is the first moment I have been able to put one down on paper. Father and mother never leave me--that sounds absurd, but it's true. If father isn't there, then mother is. Mother comes into my room after I am in bed, and tucks me up, just as she used to do when I was a little boy. 

 "It's a great rush, for what I have so longed for is going to happen, so you must not be surprised if you do not have another letter from me for some time. But you will know, my darling love, that I am thinking of you all the time. I am so happy, Rose--I feel as if God has given me everything I ever wanted all at once. 

 "Your own devoted

 "JERVIS. "

And then there was a funny little postscript, which made her smilethrough her tears: "You will think this letter all my--'I. ' But thatdoesn't really matter now, as you and I are one!"

Rose soon learnt her first love-letter by heart. She made a little silkenvelope for it, and wore it on her heart. It was like a bit of Jervishimself--direct, simple, telling her all she wanted to know, yet leavingmuch unsaid. Rose had once been shown a love-letter in which the word"kiss" occurred thirty-four times. She was glad that there was nothingof that sort in Jervis's letter, and yet she longed with a piteous, aching longing to feel once more his arms clasping her close, his lipstrembling on hers. .. . 

At last her mother asked her casually, "Has Jervis Blake written to you, my darling?" And she said, "Yes, mother; once. I think he's busy, getting his outfit. "

"Ah, well, they won't think of sending out a boy as young as that, evenif Major Guthrie was right in thinking our Army is going to France. " AndRose to that had made no answer. She was convinced that Jervis was goingon active service. There was one sentence in his letter which could meannothing else. 

 * * * * *

Life in Witanbury, after that first week of war, settled down much asbefore. There was a general impression that everything was going verywell. The brave little Belgians were defending their country with skilland tenacity, and the German Army was being "held up. "

The Close was full of mild amateur strategists, headed by the Deanhimself. Great as had been, and was still, his admiration for Germany, Dr. Haworth was of course an Englishman first; and every day, whenopening his morning paper, he expected to learn that there had beenanother Trafalgar. He felt certain that the German Fleet was sure tomake, as he expressed it, "a dash for it. " Germany was too gallant anation, and the Germans were too proud of their fleet, to keep theirfighting ships in harbour. The Dean of Witanbury, like the vast majorityof his countrymen and countrywomen, still regarded War as a great gamegoverned by certain well-known rules which both sides, as a matter ofcourse, would follow and abide by. 

The famous cathedral city was doing "quite nicely" in the matter ofrecruiting. And the largest local employer of labour, a man who owned agroup of ladies' high-grade boot and shoe factories, generously decidedthat he would permit ten per cent. Of those of his men who were ofmilitary age to enlist; he actually promised as well to keep theirplaces open, and to give their wives, or their mothers, as the casemight be, half wages for the first six months of war. 

A good many people felt aggrieved when it became known that Lady Bethunewas not going to give her usual August garden party. She evidently didnot hold with the excellent suggestion that England should now take asher motto "Business as Usual. " True, a garden-party is not exactlybusiness--still, it is one of those pleasures which the great ladies ofa country neighbourhood find it hard to distinguish from duties. 

Yes, life went on quite curiously as usual during the second week of theGreat War, and to many of the more well-to-do people of Witanbury, onlybrought in its wake a series of agreeable "thrills" and mildexcitements. 

Of course this was not quite the case with the inmates of the TrellisHouse. Poor old Anna, for instance, very much disliked the process ofRegistration. Still, it was made as easy and pleasant to her aspossible, and Mrs. Otway and Rose both accompanied her to the policestation. There, nothing could have been more kindly than the manner ofthe police inspector who handed Anna Bauer her "permit. " He went to sometrouble in order to explain to her exactly what it was she might andmight not do. 

As Anna seldom had any occasion to travel as far as five miles fromWitanbury Close, her registration brought with it no hardship at all. Still, she was surprised and hurt to find herself described as "an enemyalien. " She could assure herself, even now, that she had no bad feelingsagainst England--no, none at all!

Though neither her good faithful servant nor her daughter guessed thefact, Mrs. Otway was the one inmate of the Trellis House to whom theWar, so far, brought real unease. She felt jarred and upset--anxious, too, as she had never yet been, about her money matters. 

More and more she missed Major Guthrie, and yet the thought of himbrought discomfort, almost pain, in its train. With every allowancemade, he was surely treating her in a very cavalier manner. How odd ofhim not to have written! Whenever he had been away before, he had alwayswritten to her, generally more than once; and now, when she felt thattheir friendship had suddenly come closer, he left her without a line. 

Her only comfort, during those strange days of restless waiting for newswhich never came, were her daily talks with the Dean. Their mutual loveand knowledge of Germany had always been a strong link between them, andit was stronger now than ever. 

Alone of all the people she saw, Dr. Haworth managed to make her feel atcharity with Germany while yet quite confident with regard to hercountry's part in the War. He did not say so in so many words, but itbecame increasingly clear to his old friend and neighbour, that the Deanbelieved that the Germans would soon be conquered, on land by Russia andby France, while the British, following their good old rule, woulddefeat them at sea. 

Many a time, during those early days of war, Mrs. Otway felt a thrill ofgenuine pity for Germany. True, the Militarist Party there deserved theswift defeat that was coming on them; they deserved it now, just as theFrench Empire had deserved it in 1870, though Mrs. Otway could notbelieve that modern Germany was as arrogant and confident as had beenthe France of the Second Empire. 

Much as she missed Major Guthrie, she was sometimes glad that he was notthere to--no, not to crow over her, he was incapable of doing that, butto be proved right. 

There was a great deal of talk of the mysterious passage of Russiansthrough the country. Some said there were twenty thousand, some ahundred thousand, and the stories concerning this secret army ofavengers grew more and more circumstantial. They reached Witanbury Closefrom every quarter. And though for a long time the Dean held out, he atlast had to admit that, yes, he did believe that a Russian army wasbeing swiftly, secretly transferred, _via_ Archangel and Scotland, tothe Continent! More than one person declared that they had actually_seen_ Cossacks peeping out of the windows of the trains which, withblinds down, were certainly rushing through Witanbury station, one everyten minutes, through each short summer night. 

All the people the Otways knew took great glory and comfort in theserumours, but Mrs. Otway heard the news with very mixed feelings. Itseemed to her scarcely fair that a Russian army should come, as it were, on the sly, to attack the Germans in France--and she did not like tofeel that England would for ever and for aye have to be grateful toRussia for having sent an army to her help. 

 * * * * *

It was the morning of the 18th of August--exactly a fortnight, that is, since England's declaration of war on Germany. Coming down to breakfast, Mrs. Otway suddenly realised what a very, very long fortnight this hadbeen--the longest fortnight in her life as a grown-up woman. She feltwhat she very seldom was, depressed, and as she went into thedining-room she was sorry to see that there was a sullen look on oldAnna's face. 

"Good morning!" she said genially in German. And in reply the oldservant, after a muttered "Good morning, gracious lady, " went on, in atone of suppressed anger, "Did you not tell me that the English were notgoing to fight my people? That it was all a mistake?"

Mrs. Otway looked surprised. "Yes, I feel sure that no soldiers aregoing abroad, " she said quietly. "The Dean says that our Army is to bekept at home, to defend our shores, Anna. "

She spoke rather coldly; there was a growing impression in Witanburythat the Germans might try to invade England, and behave here as theywere behaving in Belgium. Though Mrs. Otway and Rose tried to believethat the horrible stories of burning and murder then taking place inFlanders were exaggerated, still some of them were very circumstantialand, in fact, obviously true. 

Languidly, for there never seemed any real news nowadays, she openedwide her newspaper. And then her heart gave a leap! Printed right acrossthe page, in huge black letters, ran the words:

 "BRITISH EXPEDITIONARY FORCE IN FRANCE. "

And underneath, in smaller type:

 "LANDED AT BOULOGNE WITHOUT A SINGLE CASUALTY. "

Then Major Guthrie had been right and the Dean wrong? And this was whyAnna had spoken as she had done just now, in that rather rude andinjured tone?

Later in the morning, when she met the Dean, he showed himself, as mighthave been expected, very frank and genial about the matter. 

"I have to admit that I was wrong, " he observed; "quite wrong. Icertainly thought it impossible that any British troops could cross theChannel till a decisive fleet action had been fought. And, well--I don'tmind saying to _you_, Mrs. Otway, I still think it a pity that we havesent our Army abroad. "

 * * * * *

Three days later Rose and her mother each received a quaint-lookingpostcard from "Somewhere in France. " There was neither postmark nordate. The first four words were printed, but what was really _very_strange was the fact that the sentences written in were almost similarin each case. But whereas Jervis Blake wrote his few words in English, Major Guthrie's few words were written in French. 

Jervis Blake's postcard ran:

"I AM QUITE WELL and very happy. This is a glorious country. I willwrite a letter soon. " And then "J. B. "

That of Major Guthrie:

"I AM QUITE WELL. " Then, in queer archaic French, "and all goes wellwith me. I trust it is the same with thee. Will write soon. "

But he, mindful of the fact that it was an open postcard, with yourScotchman's true caution, had not even added his initials. 

Mrs. Otway's only comment on hearing that Jervis Blake had written Rosea postcard from France, had been the words, said feelingly, and with asigh, "Ah, well! So he has gone out too? He is very young to seesomething of real war. But I expect that it will make a man of him, poorboy. "

For a moment Rose had longed to throw herself in her mother's arms andtell her the truth; then she had reminded herself that to do so wouldnot be fair to Jervis. Jervis would have told his people of theirengagement if she had allowed him to do so. It was she who had preventedit. And then--and then--Rose also knew, deep in her heart, that ifanything happened to Jervis, she would far rather bear the agony alone. She loved her mother dearly, but she told herself, with the curiousegoism of youth, that her mother would not understand. 

Rose had been four years old when her father died; she thought she couldremember him, but it was a very dim, shadowy memory. She did notrealise, even now, that her mother had once loved, once lost, oncesuffered. She did not believe that her mother knew anything of love--ofreal love, of true love, of such love as now bound herself to JervisBlake. 

Her mother no doubt supposed Rose's friendship with Jervis Blake to belike her own friendship with Major Guthrie--a cold, sensible, placidaffair. In fact, she had said, with a smile, "It's rather amusing, isn'tit, that Jervis should write to you, and Major Guthrie to me, by thesame post?"

But neither mother nor daughter had offered to show her postcard to theother. There was so little on them that it had not seemed necessary. Ofthe two, it was Mrs. Otway who felt a little shy. The wording of MajorGuthrie's postcard was so peculiar! Of course he did not know Frenchwell, or he would have put what he wanted to say differently. He wouldhave said "you" instead of "thee. " She was rather glad that her dearlittle Rose had not asked to see it. Still, its arrival mollified hersore, hurt feeling that he might have written before. Instead of tearingit up, as she had always done the letters Major Guthrie had written toher in the old days that now seemed so very long ago, she slipped thatcurious war postcard inside the envelope in which were placed hisbank-notes. 

CHAPTER XVI

August 23, 1914! A date which will be imprinted on the heart, and on thetablets of memory, of every Englishman and Englishwoman of ourgeneration. To the majority of thinking folk, that was the last Sundaywe any of us spent in the old, prosperous, happy, confiding England--theEngland who considered that might as a matter of course followsright--the England whose grand old motto was "Victory as Usual, " and towhom the word defeat was without significance. 

Almost the whole population of Witanbury seemed to have felt a commonimpulse to attend the evening service in the cathedral. They streamed inuntil the stately black-gowned vergers were quite worried to find seatsfor the late comers. In that great congregation there was already acertain leaven of anxious hearts--not over-anxious, you understand, butnaturally uneasy because those near and dear to them had gone away to aforeign country, to fight an unknown foe. 

It was known that the minor canon who was on the rota to preach thisevening had gracefully yielded the privilege to the Dean, and thisaccounted, in part at least, for the crowds who filled the greatbuilding. 

When Dr. Haworth mounted the pulpit and prepared to begin his sermon, which he had striven to make worthy of the occasion, he felt a thrill ofsatisfaction as his eyes suddenly lighted on the man whom he stillinstinctively thought of by his old name of "Manfred Hegner. "

Yes, there they were, Hegner and his wife, at the end of a row ofchairs, a long way down; she looking very pretty and graceful, instinctively well-dressed in her grey muslin Sunday gown and widefloppy hat--looking, indeed, "quite the lady, " as more than one of herenvious neighbours had said to themselves when seeing her go by on herhusband's arm. 

Because of the presence of this man who, though German-born, had electedto become an Englishman, and devote his very considerableintelligence--the Dean prided himself on his knowledge of human nature, and on his quickness in detecting humble talent--to the service of hisadopted country, the sermon was perhaps a thought more fair, evencordial, to Britain's formidable enemy, than it would otherwise havebeen. 

The messages of the King and of Lord Kitchener to the ExpeditionaryForce gave the Dean a fine text for his discourse, and he paid a verymoving and eloquent tribute to the Silence of the People. He remindedhis hearers that even if they, in quiet Witanbury, knew nothing of thegreat and stirring things which were happening elsewhere, there musthave been thousands--it might truly be said tens of thousands--of menand women who had known that our soldiers were leaving their country forFrance. And yet not a word had been said, not a hint conveyed, eitherprivately or in the press. He himself had one who was very dear and nearto his own dearest and nearest, in that Expeditionary Force, and yet nota word had been breathed, even to him. 

Then he went on to a sadder and yet in its way an even more glorioustheme--the loss of His Majesty's good ship _Amphion_. He described thesplendid discipline of the men, the magnificent courage of the captain, who, when recovering from a shock which had stretched him insensible, had rushed to stop the engines. He told with what composure the men hadfallen in, and how everything had been done, without hurry or confusion, in the good old British sea way; and how, thanks to that, twenty minutesafter the _Amphion_ had struck a mine, men, officers, and captain hadleft the ship. 

And after he had finished his address--he kept it quite short, for Dr. Haworth was one of those rare and wise men who never preach a longsermon--the whole congregation rose to their feet and sang "God Save theKing. "

 * * * * *

This golden feeling of security, of happy belief that all was, and mustbe, well, lasted till the following afternoon. And the first of thedwellers in Witanbury Close to have that comfortable feelingshattered--shattered for ever--was Mrs. Otway. 

She was about to pay a late call on Mrs. Robey, who, after all, had nottaken her children to the seaside. Rather to the amusement of hisneighbours, Mr. Robey, who was moving heaven and earth to get some kindof War Office job, had bluntly declared that, however much people mightbelieve in "business as usual, " he was not going to practice "pleasureas usual" while his country was at war. 

Mrs. Otway stepped out of her gate, and before turning to the right shelooked to the left, as people will. The Dean was at the corner, apparently on his way back from the town. He held an open paper in hishand, and though that was not in itself a strange thing, there suddenlycame over the woman who stood looking at him a curious feeling ofunreasoning fear, a queer prevision of evil. She began walking towardshim, and he, after hesitating for a moment, came forward to meet her. 

"There's serious news!" he cried. "Namur has fallen!"

Now, only that morning Mrs. Otway had read in a leading article thewords, "Namur is impregnable, or, if not impregnable, will certainlyhold out for months. That this is so is fortunate, for we cannotdisguise from ourselves that Namur is the key to France. "

"Are you sure that the news is true?" she asked quietly, and, disturbedas he was himself, the Dean was surprised to see the change which hadcome over his neighbour's face; it suddenly looked aged and grey. 

"Yes, I'm afraid it's true--in fact, it's official. Still, I don't knowthat the falling of a fortress should really affect our ExpeditionaryForce. "

Mary Otway did not pay her proposed call on Mrs. Robey. Instead, sheretraced her steps into the Trellis House, and looked eagerly throughthe papers of the last few days. She no longer trusted the Dean and hiseasy-going optimism. The fall of Namur without effect on theExpeditionary Force? As she read on, even she saw that it was bound tohave--perhaps it had already had--an overwhelming effect on the fortunesof the little British Army. 

From that hour onwards a heavy cloud of suspense and of fear hung overWitanbury Close: over the Deanery, where the cherished youngestdaughter tried in vain to be "brave, " and to conceal her miserable stateof suspense from her father and mother; over "Robey's, " all of whoseyoung men were in the Expeditionary Force; and very loweringly over theTrellis House. 

What was now happening over there, in France, or in Flanders? Peopleasked each other the question with growing uneasiness. 

The next day, that is, on the Tuesday, sinister rumours swept overWitanbury--rumours that the British had suffered a terrible defeat at aplace called Mons. 

In her restlessness and eager longing for news, Mrs. Otway after teawent into the town. She had an excuse, an order to give in at theStores, and there the newly-named Alfred Head came forward, and attendedon her, as usual, himself. 

"There seems to be serious news, " he said respectfully. "I am told thatthe English Army has been encircled, much as was the French Army atSedan in 1870. "

As he spoke, fixing his prominent eyes on her face, Mr. Head's customernow suddenly felt an inexplicable shrinking from this smooth-tonguedGerman-born man. 

"Oh, we must hope it is not as bad as that, " she exclaimed hastily. "Have you any real reason for believing such a thing to be true, Mr. Heg--I mean, Mr. Head?"

And he answered regretfully, "One of my customers has just told me so, ma'am. He said the news had come from London--that is my only reasonfor believing it. We will hope it is a mistake. "

 * * * * *

After leaving the Stores, Mrs. Otway, following a sudden impulse, beganwalking rather quickly down the long street which led out of Witanburytowards the village where the Guthries lived. Why should she not go outand pay a late call on the old lady? If any of these dreadful rumourshad reached Dorycote House, Mrs. Guthrie must surely be very much upset. 

Her kind thought was rewarded by a sight of the letter Major Guthrie hadleft to be posted to his mother on the 18th of August, that is, on theday when was to be published the news that the Expeditionary Force hadlanded safely in France. 

The letter was, like its writer, kind, thoughtful, considerate; and asshe read it Mrs. Otway felt a little pang of jealous pain. She wishedthat he had written _her_ a letter like that, instead of a ratherridiculous postcard. Still, as she read the measured, reassuringsentences, she felt soothed and comforted. She knew that she was notreasonable, yet--yet it seemed impossible that the man who had writtenthat letter, and the many like him who were out there, could allowthemselves to be surrounded and captured--by Germans!

"He has also sent me a rather absurd postcard, " observed the old ladycasually. "I say absurd because it is not dated, and because he alsoforgot to put the name of the place where he wrote it. It simply saysthat he is quite well, and that I shall hear from him as soon as he canfind time to write a proper letter. "

She waited a few moments, and then went on: "Of course I felt a littleupset when I realised that Alick had really gone on active service. ButI know how he would have felt being left behind. "

Then, rather to her visitor's discomfiture, Mrs. Guthrie turned thesubject away from her son, and from what was going on in France. Shetalked determinedly of quite other things--though even then she couldnot help going very near the subject. 

"I understand, " she exclaimed, "that Lady Bethune is giving up hergarden-party to-morrow! I'm told she feels that it would be wrong to bemerrymaking while some of our men and officers may be fighting anddying. But I quite disagree, and I'm sure, my dear, that you do too. Ofcourse it is the duty of the women of England, at such a time as this, to carry on their social duties exactly as usual. "

"I can't quite make up my mind about that, " replied her visitor slowly. 

When Mrs. Otway rose to go, the old lady suddenly softened. "You'll comeagain soon, won't you?" she said eagerly. "Though I never saw two peoplemore unlike, still, in a curious kind of way, you remind me of Alick!That must be because you and he are such friends. I suppose he wrote toyou before leaving England?" She looked rather sharply out of her stillbright blue eyes at the woman now standing before her. 

Mrs. Otway shook her head. "No, Major Guthrie did not write to me beforeleaving England. "

"Ah, well, he was very busy, and my son's the sort of man who alwayschooses to do his duty before he takes his pleasure. He can write quitea good letter when he takes the trouble. "

"Yes, indeed he can, " said Mrs. Otway simply, and Mrs. Guthrie smiled. 

As she walked home, Mary Otway pondered a little over the last words ofher talk with Mrs. Guthrie. It was true, truer than Mrs. Guthrie knew, that she and Major Guthrie were friends. A man does not press anunsolicited loan of a hundred pounds on a woman unless he has a kindlyfeeling for her; still less does he leave her a legacy in his will. 

And then there swept a feeling of pain over her burdened heart. Thatlegacy, which she had only considered as a token of the testator'spresent friendly feeling, had become in the last few hours an ominouspossibility. She suddenly realised that Major Guthrie, before leavingEngland, had made what Jervis Blake had once called "a steeplechasewill. "

 * * * * *

Rumours soon grew into certainties. It was only too true that theBritish Army was now falling back, back, back, fighting a series of whatwere called by the unfamiliar name of rearguard actions; and at lastthere came the official statement, "Our casualties have been very heavy, but the exact numbers are not yet known. "

After that, as the days went on, Rose Otway began to wear a mostungirlish look of strain and of suspense; but no one, to her secretrelief, perceived that she looked any different--all the sympathy of theClose was concentrated on Edith Haworth, for it was known that thecavalry had been terribly cut up. Still, towards the end of thatdreadful week, Rose's mother suddenly woke up to the fact that Rose hadfallen into the way of walking to the station in order to get theevening paper from London half an hour before it could reach the Close. 

It was their good old Anna who consoled and sustained the girl duringthose first days of strain and of suspense. Anna was never tired ofrepeating in her comfortable, cosy, easy-going way, that after all veryfew soldiers _really_ get killed in battle. She, Anna, had had abrother, and many of her relations, fighting in 1870, and only one ofthem all had been killed. 

The old woman kept her own personal feelings entirely to herself--andindeed those feelings were very mixed. Of course she did not share thenow universal suspense, surprise, and grief, for to her mind it wasquite right and natural that the Germans should beat the English. Whatwould have been really most disturbing and unnatural would have been ifthe English had beaten the Germans!

But even so she was taken aback by the secret, fierce exultation whichManfred Hegner--she could not yet bring herself to call him AlfredHead--displayed, when he and she were left for three or four minutesalone by his wife, Polly. 

Since that pleasant evening they had spent together--it now seemed along time ago, yet it was barely a fortnight--Anna had fallen into theway of going to the Stores twice, and even three times, a week, tosupper. Her host flattered her greatly by pointing out that theinformation she had given him concerning Major Guthrie and theExpeditionary Force, as it was oddly called, had been sound. Frankly hehad exclaimed, "As the days went on and nothing was known, I thought youmust have been mistaken, Frau Bauer. But you did me a good turn, and oneI shall not forget! I have already sold some of the goods ordered witha view to soldier customers, for they were goods which can be usefulabroad, and I hear a great many parcels will soon be sent out. For thatI shall open a special department!"

To her pleased surprise, he had pressed half a crown on her; and after alittle persuasion she had accepted it. After all, she had a right, undertheir old agreement, to a percentage on any profit she brought him! Thatnews about Major Guthrie had thus procured a very easily earnedhalf-crown, even more easily earned than the money she had received forsending off the telegram to Spain. Anna hoped that similar opportunitiesof doing Mr. Hegner a good turn would often come her way. But still, shehated this war, and with the whole of her warm, sentimental German heartshe hoped that Mr. Jervis Blake would soon be back home safe and sound. He was a rich, generous young gentleman, the very bridegroom for herbeloved Miss Rose. 

CHAPTER XVII

Sunday, the 30th of August. But oh, what a different Sunday from that ofa week ago! The morning congregation in Witanbury Cathedral was largerthan it had ever been before, and over every man and woman there hung anawful pall of suspense, and yes, of fear, as to what the morrow mightbring forth. 

Both the post and the Sunday papers were late. They had not even beendelivered by church time, and that added greatly, with some of those whowere gathered there, to the general feeling of anxiety and unease. 

In the sermon that he preached that day the Dean struck a stern andfeeling note. He told his hearers that now not only their belovedcountry, but each man and woman before him, must have a heart for everyfate. He, the speaker, would not claim any special knowledge, but theyall knew that the situation was very serious. Even so, it would be agreat mistake, and a great wrong, to give way to despair. He would gofurther, and say that even despondency was out of place. 

Only a day or two ago he had been offered, and he had purchased, thediary of a citizen of Witanbury written over a hundred years ago, andfrom a feeling of natural curiosity he had looked up the entries in theAugust of that year. Moved and interested indeed had he been to findthat Witanbury just then had been expecting a descent on the town bythe French, and on one night it was rumoured that a strong force hadactually landed, and was marching on the city! Yet the writer of thatdiary--he was only a humble blacksmith--had put in simple and yet verynoble language his conviction that old England would never go down, _ifonly she remained true to herself_. 

It was this fine message from the past which the Dean brought to thepeople of Witanbury that day. What had been true when we had beenfighting a far greater man than any of those we were fighting to-day--hemeant of course Napoleon--was even truer now than then. All would be, must be, ultimately well, if England to herself would stay but true. 

A few of those who listened with uplifted hearts to the reallyinspiriting discourse, noted with satisfaction that, for the first timesince the declaration of war, Dr. Haworth paid no tribute to the enemy. The word "Germany" did not even pass his lips. 

And then, when at the end of the service Mrs. Otway and Rose werepassing through the porch, Mrs. Otway felt herself touched on the arm. She turned round quickly to find Mrs. Haworth close to her. 

"I've been wondering if Rose would come back with me and see Edith? I'msorry to say the poor child isn't at all well to-day. And so wepersuaded her to stay in bed. You see"--she lowered her voice, and thatthough there was no one listening to them--"you see, we hear privatelythat the cavalry were very heavily engaged last Wednesday, and that thecasualties have been terribly heavy. My poor child says very little, butit's evident that she's so miserably anxious that she can think ofnothing else. Her father thinks she's fretting because we would notallow--or perhaps I ought to say we discouraged the idea of--a hastymarriage. I feel sure it would do Edith good to see some one, especiallya dear little friend like Rose, who has no connection with the Army, andwho can look at things in a sensible, normal manner. "

And so mother and daughter, for an hour, went their different ways, andMrs. Otway, as she walked home alone, told herself that anxiety becameMrs. Haworth, that it rendered the Dean's wife less brusque, and madeher pleasanter and kindlier in manner. Poor Edith was her ewe lamb, theprettiest of the daughters whom she had started so successfully out intothe world, and the one who was going to make, from a worldly point ofview, the best marriage. Yes, it would indeed be a dreadful thing ifanything happened to Sir Hugh Severn. 

Casualties? What an odd, sinister word! One with which it was difficultto become familiar. But it was evidently the official word. Not for thefirst time she reminded herself of the exact words the Prime Minister inthe House of Commons had used. They had been "Our casualties are veryheavy, though the exact numbers are not yet known. " Mrs. Otway wondereduneasily when they would become known--how soon, that is, a mother, asister, a lover, and yes, a friend, would learn that the man who wasbeloved, cherished, or close and dear as a friend may be, hadbecome--what was the horrible word?--a casualty. 

She walked through into her peaceful, pretty house. Unless the householdwere all out, the front door was never locked, for there was nothing tosteal, and no secrets to pry out, in the Trellis House. And then, onthe hall table, she saw the belated evening paper which she had missedthis morning, and two or three letters. Taking up the paper and theletters, she went straight through into the garden. It would bepleasanter to read out there than indoors. 

With a restful feeling that no one was likely to come in and disturb heryet awhile, she sat down in the basket-chair which had already been putout by her thoughtful old Anna. And then, quite suddenly, she caughtsight of the middle letter of the three she had gathered up in suchcareless haste. It was an odd-looking envelope, of thin, common papercovered with pale blue lines; but it bore her address written in MajorGuthrie's clear, small, familiar handwriting, and on the right-handcorner was the usual familiar penny stamp. That stamp was, of course, apositive proof that he was home again. 

For quite a minute she simply held the envelope in her hand. She felt sorelieved, and yes, so ridiculously happy, that after the first moment ofheartfelt joy there came a pang of compunction. It was wrong, it wasunnatural, that the safety of _one_ human being should so affect her. She was glad that this curious revulsion of feeling, this passing fromgloom and despondency to unreasoning peace and joy, should have takenplace when she was by herself. She would have been ashamed that Roseshould have witnessed it. 

And then, with a certain deliberation, she opened the envelope, and drewout the oddly-shaped piece of paper it contained. 

This is what she read:

 "FRANCE, "_Wednesday morning. _

 "Every letter sent by the usual channel is read and, very properly, censored. I do not choose that this letter should be seen by any eyes but mine and yours. I have therefore asked, and received, permission to send this by an old friend who is leaving for England with despatches. 

 "The work has been rather heavy. I have had very little sleep since Sunday, so you must forgive any confusion of thought or unsuitable expressions used by me to you. Unfortunately I have lost my kit, but the old woman in whose cottage I am resting for an hour has good-naturedly provided me with paper and envelopes. Luckily I managed to keep my fountain-pen. 

 "I wish to tell you now what I have long desired to tell you--that I love you--that it has long been my greatest, nay, my only wish, that you should become my wife. Sometimes, lately, I have thought that I might persuade you to let me love you. 

 "In so thinking I may have been a presumptuous fool. Be that as it may, I want to tell you that our friendship has meant a very great deal to me; that without it I should have been, during the last four years, a most unhappy man. 

 "And now I must close this hurriedly written and poorly expressed letter. It does not say a tenth--nay, it does not say a thousandth part of what I would fain say. But let me, for the first, and perhaps for the last time, call you my dearest. "

Then followed his initials "A. G. , " and a postscript: "As to what hasbeen happening here, I will only quote to you Napier's grand words:'Then was seen with what majesty the British soldier fights. '"

Mrs. Otway read the letter right through twice. Then, slowly, deliberately, she folded it up and put it back in its envelope. Uncertainly she looked at her little silk handbag. No, she could not putit there, where she kept her purse, her engagement book, herhandkerchief. For the moment, at any rate, it would be safest elsewhere. With a quick furtive movement she thrust it into her bodice, close toher beating heart. 

Mrs. Otway looked up to a sudden sight of Rose--of Rose unusuallyagitated. 

"Oh, mother, " she cried, "such a strange, dreadful, extraordinary thinghas happened! Old Mrs. Guthrie is dead. The butler telephoned to theDeanery, and he seems in a dreadful state of mind. Mrs. Haworth says shecan't possibly go out there this morning, and they were wonderingwhether you would mind going. The Dean says he was out there onlyyesterday, and that Mrs. Guthrie spoke as if you were one of her dearestfriends. Wasn't that strange?"

Rose looked very much shocked and distressed--curiously so, consideringhow little she had known Mrs. Guthrie. But there is somethingawe-inspiring to a young girl in the sudden death of even an old person. Only three days ago Mrs. Guthrie had entertained Rose with an amusingaccount of her first ball--a ball given at the Irish Viceregal Court inthe days when, as the speaker had significantly put it, it really _was_a Court in Dublin. And when Rose and her mother had said good-bye, shehad pressed them to come again soon; while to the girl: "I don't oftensee anything so fresh and pretty as you are, my dear!" she hadexclaimed. 

Mrs. Otway heard Rose's news with no sense of surprise. She felt as ifshe were living in a dream--a dream which was at once poignantly sad andyet exquisitely, unbelievably happy. "I have been there several timeslately, " she said, in a low voice, "and I had grown quite fond of her. Of course I'll go. Will you telephone for a fly? I'd rather be alonethere, my dear. "

Rose lingered on in the garden for a moment. Then she said slowly, reluctantly: "And mother? I'm afraid there's rather bad news of MajorGuthrie. It came last night, before Mrs. Guthrie went to bed. The butlersays she took it very bravely and quietly, but I suppose it was thatwhich--which brought about her death. "

"What _is_ the news?"

Mrs. Otway's dream-impression vanished. She got up from the basket-chairin which she had been sitting, and her voice to herself soundedstrangely loud and unregulated. 

"What is it, Rose? Why don't you tell me? Has he been killed?"

"Oh, no--it's not as bad as that! Oh! mother, don't look sounhappy--it's only that he's 'wounded and missing. '"

CHAPTER XVIII

"No, ma'am, there was nothing, ma'am, to act, so to speak, in the natureof a warning. Mrs. Guthrie had much enjoyed your visit, and, if I maysay so, ma'am, the visit of your young lady, last Thursday. Yesterdayshe was more cheerful-like than usual, talking a good bit about theRussians. She said that their coming to our help just now in the waythey had done had quite reconciled her to them. "

Howse, Major Guthrie's butler, his one-time soldier-servant, wasspeaking. By his side was Mrs. Guthrie's elderly maid, Ponting. Mrs. Otway was standing opposite to them, and they were all three in themiddle of the pretty, cheerful morning-room, where it seemed but a fewhours ago since she and her daughter had sat with the old lady. 

With the mingled pomp, enjoyment, and grief which the presence of deathcreates in a certain type of mind, Howse went on speaking: "She madequite a hearty tea for her--two bits of bread and butter, and a littlepiece of tea-cake. And then for her supper she had a sweetbread--asweetbread and bacon. It's a comfort to Cook now, ma'am, to remember ashow Mrs. Guthrie sent her a message, saying how nicely she thought thebacon had been done. Mrs. Guthrie always liked the bacon to be very dryand curly, ma'am. "

He stopped for a moment, and Mrs. Otway's eyes filled with tears for thefirst time. 

On entering the house, she had at once been shown the War Officetelegram stating that Major Guthrie was wounded and missing, and she hadglanced over it with shuddering distress and pain, while her brain keptrepeating "wounded and missing--wounded and missing. " What exactly didthose sinister words signify? How, if he was missing, could they know hewas wounded? How, if he had been wounded, could he be missing?

But soon she had been forced to command her thoughts, and to listen, with an outward air of calmness and interest, to this detailed accountof the poor old lady's last hours. 

With unconscious gusto, Howse again took up the sad tale, while the maidstood by, with reddened eyelids, ready to echo and to supplement hisnarrative. 

"Perhaps Mrs. Guthrie was not quite as well as she seemed to be, ma'am, for she wouldn't take any dessert, and after she had finished her dinnershe didn't seem to want to sit up for a while, as she sometimes did. When she became so infirm, a matter of two years ago, the Major arrangedthat his study should be turned into a bedroom for her, ma'am, so wewheeled her in there after dinner. "

After a pause, he went on with an added touch of gloom: "She gazed herlast upon the dining-room, and on this 'ere little room, which was, soto speak, ma'am, her favourite sitting-room. Isn't that so, Ponting?"The maid nodded, and Howse said sadly: "Ponting will now tell you whathappened after that, ma'am. "

Ponting waited a moment, and then began: "My mistress didn't seeminclined to go to bed at once, so I settled her down nicely andcomfortably with her reading-lamp and a copy of _The World_ newspaper. She found the papers very dull lately, poor old lady, for you see, ma'am, there was nothing in them but things about the war, and shedidn't much care for that. But she can't have been reading more thanfive minutes when there came the telegram. "

Howse held up his hand, for it was here that he again came on the scene. 

"The minute the messenger boy handed me the envelope, " he exclaimed, "Isays to myself, 'That's bad news--bad news of the Major!' I sorely felttempted to open it. But there! I knew if I did so it would anger Mrs. Guthrie. She was a lady, ma'am, who always knew her own mind. It wasn'teven addressed 'Guthrie, ' you see, but 'Mrs. Guthrie, ' as plain as plaincould be. The boy 'ad brought it to the front door, and as we was havingour supper I didn't want to disturb Ponting. So I just walked along toMrs. Guthrie's bedroom, and knocked. She calls out, 'Come in!' And Ianswers, 'There's a telegram for you, ma'am. Would you like me to sendPonting in with it?' And she calls out, 'No, Howse. Bring it inyourself. '

"I shall never forget seeing her open it, poor old lady. She did itquite deliberate-like; then, after just reading it over, she looked upstraight at me. 'I know you'll be sorry to hear, Howse, as how MajorGuthrie is wounded and missing, ' she said, and then, 'I need not tellyou, who are an old soldier, Howse, that such are the fortunes of war. 'Those, ma'am, were her exact words. Of course I explained how sorry Iwas, and I did my very best to hide from her how bad I took the news tobe. 'I think I would like to be alone now, Howse, ' she says, 'just for alittle while. ' And then, 'We must hope for better news in the morning. 'I asked her, 'Would you like me to send Ponting up to you, ma'am?' Butshe shook her head: 'No, Howse, I would rather be by myself. I will ringwhen I require Ponting. I do not feel as if I should care to go to bedjust yet, ' she says quite firmly. 

"Well, ma'am, we had of course to obey her orders, but we all felt veryuncomfortable. And as a matter of fact in about half an hour Ponting didmake an excuse to go into the room"--he looked at the woman by his side. "You just tell Mrs. Otway what happened, " he said, in a tone of command. 

Ponting meekly obeyed. 

"I just opened the door very quietly, and Mrs. Guthrie did not turnround. Without being at all deaf, my mistress had got a little hard ofhearing, lately. I went a step forward, and then I saw that she wasreading the Bible. I was very much surprised, madam, for it was thefirst time I had ever seen her do such a thing--though of course therewas always a Bible and a Prayer Book close to her hand. She was wheeledinto church each Sunday--when it was fine, that is. The Major saw tothat. .. . I couldn't help feeling sorry she hadn't rung and asked me tomove the Book for her, for it is a big Bible, with very clear print. Shewas following the words with her finger, and that was a thing I hadnever seen her do before with any book. As she did not turn round, Isaid to myself that it was better not to disturb her. So I just backedvery quietly out of the door again. I shall always be glad, " she said, in a lower tone, "that I saw her like that. "

"And then, " interposed Howse, "quite a long time went on, ma'am, and weall got to feel very uneasy. We none of us liked to go up--not one ofus. But at last three of us went up together--Cook, me, and Ponting--andlistened at the door. But try our hardest, as we did, we could hearnothing. It was the stillness of death!"

"Yes, " said Ponting, her voice sinking to a whisper, "that's what itwas. For when at last I opened the door, there lay my poor mistress allhuddled up in the chair, just as she had fallen back. We sent for thedoctor at once, but he said there was nothing to be done--that her hearthad just stopped. He said it might have happened any time in the lasttwo years, or she might have lived on for quite a long time, if all hadgone on quiet and serene. "

"We've left the Bible just as it was, " said Howse slowly. "It's justcovered over, so that the Major, if ever he _should_ come home again, though I fear that's very unlikely"--he dolefully shook his head--"maysee what it was her eyes last rested on. Major Guthrie, if you wouldexcuse me for saying so, ma'am, has always been a far more religiousgentleman than his mother was a religious lady. I feel sure it wouldcomfort him to know that just before her end she was reading the Book. "

"It was open at the twenty-second Psalm, " added Ponting, "and when Icame in that time and saw her without her seeing me, she must have beenjust reading the verse about the dog. "

"The dog?" said Mrs. Otway, surprised. 

"Yes, madam. 'Deliver my soul from the sword: my darling from the powerof the dog. '"

Howse here chimed in, "Her darling, that's the Major, and the dog is theenemy, ma'am. "

He paused, and then went on, in a brisker, more cheerful tone:

"I telegraphed the very first thing to Mr. Allen--that's Major Guthrie'slawyer, ma'am. The Major told me I was to do that, if anything awkwardhappened. Then it just occurred to me that I would telephone to theDeanery. The Dean was out here yesterday afternoon, ma'am, and Mrs. Guthrie liked him very much. Long ago, when she lived in London, sheused to know the parents of the young gentleman to whom Miss Haworth isengaged to be married. They had quite a long pleasant talk about it all. I had meant, ma'am, if you'll excuse my telling you, to telephone to younext, and then I heard as how you were coming here. The Major did tellme the morning he went away that if Mrs. Guthrie seemed really ailing, Iwas to ask you to be kind enough to come and see her. Of course I knewwhere he was going, and that he'd be away for a long time, though hedidn't say anything to me about it. But he knew that I knew, rightenough!"

"Had Mrs. Guthrie no near relation at all--no sister, no nieces?" askedMrs. Otway, in a low voice. Again she felt she was living in a dreamlandof secret, poignant emotions shadowed by a great suspense and fear. 

"No. Nothing of the kind, " said Howse confidently. "And on MajorGuthrie's side there was only distant cousins. It's a peculiar kind ofsituation altogether, ma'am, if I may say so. Quite a long time may passbefore we know whether the Major is alive or dead. 'Wounded andmissing'? We all knows as how there is only one thing worse that couldbe than that--don't we, ma'am?"

"I don't quite know what you mean, Howse. "

"Why, the finding and identifying of the Major's body, ma'am. "

 * * * * *

Through the still, silent house there came a loud, long, insistentringing--that produced by an old-fashioned front door bell. 

"I expect it's Mr. Allen, " exclaimed Howse. "He wired as how he'd bedown by two o'clock. " And a few moments later a tall, dark, clean-shavenman was shaking hands, with the words, "I think you must be Mrs. Otway?"

There was little business doing just then among London solicitors, andso Mr. Allen had come down himself. He had a very friendly regard forhis wounded and missing client, and his recollection of the interviewwhich had taken place on the day before Major Guthrie had sailed withthe First Division of the Expeditionary Force was still very vivid inhis mind. 

His client had surprised him very much. He had thought he kneweverything about Major Guthrie and Major Guthrie's business, but beforereceiving the latter's instructions about his new will he had neverheard of Mrs. Otway and her daughter. Yet, if Major Guthrie outlived hismother, as it was of course reasonable, even under the circumstances, tosuppose that he would do, a considerable sum of money was to pass underhis will to Mrs. Otway, and, failing her, to her only child, Rose Otway. 

Strange confidences are very often made to lawyers, quite as often as todoctors. But Major Guthrie, when he came to sign his will, the will forwhich he had sent such precise and detailed instructions a few daysbefore, made no confidences at all. 

Even so, the solicitor, putting two and two together, had very littledoubt as to the relations of his client and of the lady whom he had madehis residuary legatee. He felt sure that there was an understandingbetween them that either after the war, or after Mrs. Guthrie'sdeath--he could not of course tell which--they intended to make one ofthose middle-aged marriages which often, strange to say, turn out morehappily than earlier marriages are sometimes apt to do. 

The lawyer naturally kept his views to himself during the afternoon hespent at Dorycote House, and he simply treated Mrs. Otway as though shehad been a near relation of the deceased lady. What, however, increasedhis belief that his original theory was correct, was the fact that therewas no mention of Mrs. Otway's name in Mrs. Guthrie's will. The oldlady, like so many women, had preferred to keep her will in her ownpossession. It had been made many years before, and in it she had lefteverything to her son, with the exception of a few trinkets which wereto be distributed among certain old friends and acquaintances, fullyhalf of whom, it was found on reference to Ponting, had predeceased thetestator. 

As the hours went on, Mr. Allen could not help wondering if Mrs. Otwaywas aware of the contents of Major Guthrie's will. He watched her withconsiderable curiosity. She was certainly attractive, and yes, quiteintelligent; but she hardly spoke at all, and there was a kind ofnumbness in her manner which he found rather trying. She did not oncemention Major Guthrie of her own accord. She always left such mentionto him. He told himself that doubtless it was this quietude of mannerwhich had attracted his reserved client. 

"I suppose, " he said at last, "that we must presume that Major Guthrieis alive till we have an official statement to the contrary?" And thenhe was startled to see the vivid expression of pain, almost of anguish, which quivered over her eyes and mouth. Then she did care, after all. 

"Howse tells me, " she said slowly, "that Major Guthrie is probably aprisoner. He says, he says----" and then she stopped abruptly--it was asif she could not go on with her sentence, and Mr. Allen exclaimed, "Iheard what he said, Mrs. Otway. Of course he is right in stating that aneffort is always made to find and bring in the bodies of dead officers. But I fear that this war is not at all like the only war of which Howsehas had any first-hand knowledge. This last week has been a very badbusiness. Still, I quite agree that we must not give up hope. I havebeen wondering whether you would like me to make inquiries at the WarOffice, or whether you have any better and quicker--I mean of course bythat any private--means of procuring information?"

"No, " she said hopelessly; "I have no way of finding out anything. And Ishould be very grateful indeed, Mr. Allen, if you would do what youcan. " For the first time she spoke as if she had a direct interest inMajor Guthrie's fate. "Perhaps"--she fixed her eyes on him appealingly, and he saw them slowly fill up and brim over with tears--"Perhaps if you_should_ hear anything, you would not mind telegraphing to me direct? Ithink you have my address. "

And then, bursting into bitter sobs, she suddenly got up and ran out ofthe room. 

So she did know about Major Guthrie's will. In what other way could he, the man to whom she was speaking, know her address? Mr. Allen also toldhimself, with some surprise, that he had been mistaken--that Mrs. Otway, after all, was not the quiet, passionless woman he had supposed her tobe. 

 * * * * *

When she reached the Trellis House late that Sunday afternoon, Mrs. Otway was met at the door by Rose, and the girl, with face full ofmingled awe and pain, told her that the blow on the Deanery had fallen. Edith Haworth had received the news that Sir Hugh Severn wasdead--killed at the head of his men in a great cavalry charge. 

CHAPTER XIX

There are times in life when everything is out of focus, when eventstake on the measure, not of what they really are, but of the mentalstate of the people affected by them. Such a time had now come to themistress of the Trellis House. For a while Mrs. Otway saw everything, heard everything, read everything, through a mist of aching pain and ofthat worst misery of all--the misery of suspense. 

The passion of love, so hedged about with curious and unrealconventions, is a strangely protean thing. The dear old proverb, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, " is far truer than those whobelieve its many cynical counterparts would have us think, andespecially is this true of an impulsive and imaginative nature. 

It was the sudden, dramatic withdrawal of Major Guthrie from her lifewhich first made the woman he had dumbly loved realise all that hisconstant, helpful presence had meant to her. And then his worldly oldmother's confidences had added just that touch of jealousy which oftensharpens love. Lastly, his letter, so simple, so direct, and yet, to onewho knew his quiet, reserved nature, so deeply charged with feeling, hadbrought the first small seed to a blossoming which quickened every pulseof her nature into ardent, sentient life. This woman, who had alwaysbeen singularly selfless, far more interested in the lives of thoseabout her than in her own, suddenly became self-absorbed. 

She looked back with a kind of wonder to her old happy, satisfied, andyes, unawakened life. She had believed herself to be a woman of manyfriends, and yet there was now not one human being to whom she felt eventempted to tell her wonderful secret. 

Busily occupied with the hundred and one trifles, and the eager, generally successful little excursions into philanthropy--for she was anexceptionally kind, warm-hearted woman--which had filled her placidwidowhood, she had yet never made any real intimate. The only exceptionhad been Major Guthrie; it was he who had drawn her into what had seemedfor so long their pleasant, quiet garden of friendship. 

And now she realised that were she to tell any of the people about herof the marvellous change which had taken place in her heart, they wouldregard her with great surprise, and yes, even with amusement. All theworld loves a young lover, but there is not much sympathy to spare inthe kind of world to which Mary Otway belonged by birth, position, andlong association, for the love which appears, and sometimes only attainsfull fruition, later in life. 

As the days went on, each bringing its tale of exciting and momentousevents, there came over Mrs. Otway a curious apathy with regard to thewar, for to her the one figure which had counted in the awful drama nowbeing enacted in France and Flanders had disappeared from the vast stagewhere, as she now recognised, she had seen only him. True, she glancedover a paper each day, but she only sufficiently mastered its contentsto be able to reply intelligently to those with whom her daily roundbrought her in contact. 

And soon, to her surprise, and ever-growing discomfort, Anna Bauer--hergood, faithful old Anna, for whom she had always had such feelings ofaffection, and yes, of gratitude--began to get on her nerves. It was notthat she associated Anna with the War, and with all that the War hadbrought to her personally of joy and of grief. Rather was it the suddenperception that her own secret ideals of life and those of the womannear whom she had lived for close on eighteen years, were utterlydifferent, and, in a deep sense, irreconcilable. 

Mrs. Otway grew to dislike, with a nervous, sharp distaste, the verysight of Anna's favourite motto, "_Arbeit macht das Leben süss, und dieWelt zum Paradies_" ("Work makes life sweet and the world a paradise"). Was it possible that in the old days she had admired that lyingsentiment? Lying? Yes, indeed! Work did _not_ make life sweet, or she, Mary Otway, would now be happier than ever, for she had never worked ashard as she was now working--working to destroy thought--working to dullthe dreadful aching at her heart, throwing herself, with a feverisheagerness which surprised those about her, into the various waractivities which were now, largely owing to the intelligence andthoroughness of Miss Forsyth, being organised in Witanbury. 

Mrs. Otway also began to hate the other German mottoes which Anna hadput all about the Trellis House, especially in those rooms which mightbe regarded as her own domain--the kitchen, the old nursery, and Rose'sbedroom. There was something of the kind embroidered on every singlearticle which would take a _Spruch_, and Anna's mistress sometimes feltas if she would like to make a bonfire of them all!

Every time she went into her kitchen she also longed to tear down, withviolent hands, the borders of fine crochet work, the _Kante_, with whicheach wooden shelf was edged, and of which she had been almost as proudas had been Anna. This crochet work seemed to haunt her, for wherever itcould be utilised, Anna, during those long years of willing service, hadsewn it proudly on, in narrow edgings and in broad bands. 

Not only were all Mrs. Otway's and Rose's under-clothing trimmed withit, but it served as insertion for curtains, ran along the valance ofeach bed, and edged each pillow and cushion. Anna had worked miles of itsince she first came to the Trellis House, for there were balls ofcrochet work rolled up in all her drawers, and when she was not occupiedin doing some form of housework she was either knitting or crocheting. The old German woman never stirred without her little bag, itself gailyembroidered, to hold her _Hand Arbeit_; and very heartily, as Mrs. Otwayknew well, did she despise the average Englishwoman for being able totalk without a crochet-hook or a pair of knitting-needles in her hands. 

Something--not much, but just a little--of what her mistress was feelingwith regard to Major Guthrie gradually reached Anna's perceptions, andmade her feel at once uncomfortable, scornful, and angry. 

Anna felt the deepest sympathy for her darling nursling, Miss Rose; forit was natural, warming-to-the-heart, that a young girl should feelmiserable about a young man. In fact, Rose's lack of interest inmarriage and in the domesticities had disturbed and puzzled good oldAnna, and to her mind had been a woeful lack in the girl. 

So she had welcomed, with great sympathy, the sudden and surprisingchange. Anna shrewdly suspected the truth, namely, that Rose was JervisBlake's secret betrothed. She felt sure that something had happened onthe morning young Mr. Blake had gone away, during the long half-hour thetwo young people had spent together. On that morning, immediately afterher return home, Rose had gone up to her room, declaring that she hadhad breakfast--though she, Anna, knew well that the child had only hadan early cup of tea. .. . 

But if Anna sympathised with and understood the feelings of the youngerof her two ladies, she had but scant toleration for Mrs. Otway'srestless, ill-concealed unhappiness. Even in the old days Anna haddisapproved of Major Guthrie, and she had thought it very strange indeedthat he came so often to the Trellis House. To her mind such conduct wasunfitting. What on earth could a middle-aged man have to say to themother of a grown-up daughter?

Of course Anna knew that marriages between such people are sometimesarranged; but to her mind they are always marriages of convenience, andin this case such a marriage would be very inconvenient to everybody, and would thoroughly upset all her, Anna's, pleasant, easy way of life. A widower with children has naturally to find a woman to look after hishouse; and a poor widow is as a rule only too pleased to meet with someone who will marry her, especially if the some one be better off thanherself. But on any betrayal of sentiment between two people past earlyyouth Anna had very scant mercy. 

She had also noticed lately, with mingled regret and contempt, that Mrs. Otway now had a few grey threads in her fair, curling hair. If thegracious lady were not careful, she would look quite old and ugly by thetime Major Guthrie came back!

 * * * * *

At intervals, indeed every few days, Rose received a short, and ofcourse read-by-the-censor letter from Jervis Blake. He had missed thefirst onrush of the German Army and the Great Retreat, for he had beenwhat they called "in reserve, " kept for nearly three full weeks close tothe French port where he had landed. Then there came a long, tryingsilence, till a letter written by his mother to Mrs. Otway revealed thefact that he was at last in the fighting-line, on the river Aisne. 

"You have always been so kind to my dear boy that I know you will beinterested to learn that lately he has been in one or two very dangerous'scraps, ' as they seem to be called. They are not supposed to tell oneanything in their letters, and Jervis as a matter of fact no longer evenwrites postcards. But my husband knows exactly where he is, and we canbut hope and pray, from day to day, that he is safe. "

It was on the very day that Mrs. Otway read to Rose this letter fromLady Blake that there arrived at the Trellis House a telegram signedRobert Allen: "Have ascertained that Major Guthrie is alive and prisonerin Germany. Letter follows. "

But when the letter came it told tantalisingly little, for it merelyconveyed the fact that the name of Major Guthrie had come through in alist of wounded prisoners supplied to the Geneva Red Cross. There was noclue as to where he was, or as to his condition, and Mr. Allen endedwith the words: "I am trying to get in touch with the American Embassyin Berlin. I am told that it is the best, in fact the only, medium forgetting authentic news of wounded prisoners. "

"The gracious lady sees that I was right. Never did I believe the Majorto be dead! Officers are always behind their soldiers. They are in thesafe place. " Such were the words, uttered of course in German, withwhich Anna greeted the great news. 

As Mrs. Otway turned away, and silently left the kitchen, the old womanshook her head with an impatient gesture. Why make all that fuss overthe fact that Major Guthrie was a prisoner in Germany? Anna couldimagine no happier fate just now than that of being in theFatherland--even as a prisoner. She could remember the generous way inwhich the French prisoners, or at least some of them, had been treatedin 1870. Why, the then Crown Princess--she who was later known as "theEnglishwoman"--had always visited those wards containing the Frenchprisoners first, before she went and saw the German wounded. Anna couldremember very clearly the angry remarks which had been provoked by thatroyal lady's action, as also by her strange notion that the woundedrequired plenty of fresh air. 

Some time ago Anna had seen in an English paper, in fact it had beenpointed out to her by Mrs. Otway herself, that the German Government hadhad to restrain the daughters and wives of the Fatherland fromover-kindness to the French. 

Still, when all was said and done, good old Anna was genuinely glad thatMajor Guthrie was safe. It would make her gracious lady more cheerful, and it also provided herself with a little bit of gossip wherewith tosecure a warmer welcome from Alfred Head when she went along to supperwith him and his Polly this very evening. 

 * * * * *

"That sort of letter may be very valuable in our business--I know bestits worth to me. "

The owner of the Witanbury Stores was speaking English, and addressinghis pretty wife. 

Anna, just arrived, had at once become aware that the atmosphere waselectric, that something very like a quarrel was going on between AlfredHead and Polly. Mrs. Head looked very angry, and there was a red spot oneach of her delicately tinted cheeks. 

Only half the table had been laid for supper under the bright pendantlamp; on the other half were spread out some dirty-looking letters. Ineach letter a number of lines had been heavily blacked out--on oneindeed there was very little left of the original writing. 

"It's such rubbish!" Polly said crossly. "Why, by spending a penny eachSunday on _The News of the World_ or on _Reynolds's_, you'd see a lotmore letters than you've got there, and all nicely printed, too!"

She turned to the visitor: "Alfred can't spare me half a sovereign forsomething I want really badly, but he can give seven-and-sixpence to adirty old woman for a sight of all that muck!" Snatching one of theletters off the table, she began reading aloud: "My dear Mum, I hopethat this finds you as well as it does me. We are giving it to theAllemans, as they call them out here, right in the neck. " She waved thesheet she was reading and exclaimed, "And then comes four lines soscrubbed about that even the Old Gentleman himself couldn't read them!Still, it's for that Alfred here is willing to pay----"

Her husband interrupted her furiously: "Put that down at once! D'youhear, Polly? I'm the best judge of what a thing's worth to me in mybusiness. If I give Mrs. Tippins seven-and-sixpence for her letters, they're worth seven-and-sixpence to me and a bit over. See? I shouldn't'a thought it was necessary to tell _you_ that!"

He turned to Anna, and said rapidly in German: "The man who wrote theseletters is a sergeant. He's a very intelligent fellow. As you see, hewrites quite long letters, and there are a lot of little things that Ifind it well worth my while to make a note of. In fact, as I told youbefore, Frau Bauer, I am willing to pay for the sight of any good longletter from the British Front. I should much like to see some fromofficers, and I prefer those that are censored--I mean blacked out likethese. The military censors so far are simple folk. " He laughed, andAnna laughed too, without quite knowing why. "I should have expectedthat Major whose mother died just after the war broke out, to be writingto your ladies. Has he not done so yet?"

"The news has just come this very day, that he is a prisoner; but theydo not yet know where he is imprisoned, " said Anna eagerly. 

"That is good news, " observed her host genially. "In spite of all myefforts, I could never obtain that dratted Major's custom. But do notany of the younger officers write to your young lady, in that strangeEnglish way?" and he fixed his prominent eyes on her face, as if hewould fain look Anna through and through. "I had hoped that we should beable to do so much business together, " he said. 

"I have told you of the postcards----" She spoke in an embarrassed tone. 

"Ach! Yes. And I did pay you a trifle for a sight of them. But that wasreally politeness, for, as you know, there was nothing in the postcardsof the slightest use to me. "

Anna remained silent. She was of course well aware that her young ladyoften received letters, short, censored letters, from Mr. Jervis Blake. But Rose kept them in some secret place; also nothing would have temptedgood old Anna to show one of her darling nursling's love-letters tounsympathetic eyes. 

Alfred Head turned to his wife. "Now, Polly, " he said conciliatingly, "you asked me for what I am paying. " He took up the longest of theletters off the table. "See here, my dear. This man gives a list of whathe would like his mother to send him every ten days. As a matter of factthat is how I first knew Mrs. Tippins had these letters. She brought onealong to show me, to see if I could get her something special. Part ofthe letter has been blacked out, but of course I found it very easy totake that blacking out, " he chuckled. "And what had been blacked out wasas a matter of fact very useful to me!"

Seeing that his wife still looked very angry and lowering, he took a bigfive-shilling piece out of his pocket and threw it across at her. "There!" he cried good-naturedly--"catch! Perhaps I will make it up tothe ten shillings in a day or two--if, thanks to these letters, I amable to do a good stroke of business!"

Anna looked at him with fascinated eyes. The man seemed made of money. He was always jingling silver in his pocket. Gold was rather scarce justthen in Witanbury, but whenever Anna saw a half-sovereign, she alwaysmanaged somehow to get hold of it. In fact she kept a store of silverand of paper money for that purpose, for she knew that Mr. Head, as hewas now universally called, would give her threepence over its facevalue if it was ten shillings, and fivepence if it was a sovereign. Shehad already made several shillings in this very easy way. 

As she walked home, after having enjoyed a frugal supper, she toldherself that it was indeed unfortunate that Major Guthrie was woundedand missing. Had he still been with his regiment, he would certainlyhave written to Mrs. Otway frequently. Anna, in the past, hadoccasionally found long letters from him torn up in the waste-paperbasket, and she had also seen, in the days that now seemed so long ago, letters in the same hand lying about on Mrs. Otway's writing-table. 

CHAPTER XX

October and November wore themselves away, and the days went by, the onevery like the other. Mrs. Otway, after her long hours of work, or ofofficial visiting among the soldiers' and sailors' wives and mothers, fell into the way of going out late in the afternoon for a walk byherself. She had grown to dread with a nervous dislike the constantmeeting with acquaintances and neighbours, the usual rather futileexchange of remarks about the War, or about the local forms of war andcharitable work in which she and they were now all engaged. Thestillness and the solitariness of the evening walk soothed her sore andburdened heart. 

Often she would walk to Dorycote and back, feeling that the darkenedstreets--for Witanbury had followed the example of London--and, evenmore, the country roads beyond, were haunted, in a peaceful sense, bythe presence of the man who had so often taken that same way from hishouse to hers. 

It was during one of these evening walks that there came to her a gleamof hope and light, and from a source from which she would never haveexpected it to come. 

She was walking swiftly along on her way home, going across the edge ofthe Market Square, when she heard herself eagerly hailed with "Is itMrs. Otway?" She stopped, and answered, not very graciously, "Yes, I'mMrs. Otway--who is it?"

There came a bubble of laughter, and she knew that this was a very oldacquaintance indeed, a Mrs. Riddick, whom she had not seen for sometime. 

"I don't wonder you didn't know me! It's impossible to see anything bythis light. I've been having such an adventure! I only came back fromHolland yesterday. I went to meet a young niece of mine there--you know, the girl who was in Germany so long. "

"In Germany?" Mrs. Otway turned round eagerly. "Is she with you now? HowI should like to see her!"

"I'm afraid you can't do that. She's gone to Scotland. I sent her offthere last night. Her parents have been nearly frantic about her!"

"Did she see--did she hear anything of the English prisoners while shewas in Germany?" Mrs. Otway's voice sounded strangely pleading in thedarkness, and the other felt a little surprised. 

"Oh, no! She was virtually a prisoner herself. But I hear a good deal ofinformation is coming through--I mean unofficial information about ourprisoners. My sister--you know, Mrs. Vereker--is working at that placethey've opened in London to help people whose friends are prisoners inGermany. She says they sometimes obtain wonderful results. They work inwith the Geneva Red Cross, and from what I can make out, it's reallybetter to go there than to write to the Foreign Office. I went and sawmy sister yesterday, when I was coming through London. I was really mostinterested in all she told me--such pathetic, strange stories, suchheart-breaking episodes, and then now and again something so splendidand happy! A girl came to them a fortnight ago in dreadful trouble, every one round her saying her lover had been killed at Mons, though sheherself hoped against hope. Well, only yesterday morning they were ableto wire to her that he was safe and well, being kindly treated too, in afortress, far away, close to the borders of Prussia and Poland! Wasn'tthat splendid?"

"What is the address of the place, " asked Mrs. Otway in a low tone, "where Mrs. Vereker works?"

"It's in Arlington Street--No. 20, I think. "

 * * * * *

Mrs. Otway hastened on, her heart filled with a new, eager hope. Oh, ifshe could only go up now, this evening, to London! Then she might be at20, Arlington Street, the first thing in the morning. 

Alas, she knew that this was not possible; every hour of the nextmorning was filled up. 

There was no one to whom she could delegate her morning round amongthose soldiers' mothers and wives with whom she now felt in such closetouch and sympathy. But she might possibly escape the afternooncommittee meeting, at which she was due, if Miss Forsyth would only lether off. The ladies of Witanbury were very much under the bondage ofMiss Forsyth, and subject to her will; none more so than thegood-tempered, yielding Mary Otway. 

Unluckily one of those absurd little difficulties which are alwayscropping up at committees was on the agenda for to-morrow afternoon, andMiss Forsyth was counting on her help to quell a certain troublesomeperson. Still, she might go now, on her way home, and see if MissForsyth would relent. 

Miss Forsyth lived in a beautiful old house which, though its approachwas in a narrow street, yet directly overlooked at the back the greatgreen lawns surrounding the cathedral. 

The house had been left to her many years ago, but she had never doneanything to it. Unaffected by the many artistic and other crazes whichhad swept over the country since then, it remained a strange mixture ofbeauty and ugliness. Miss Forsyth loved the beauty of her house, and sheput up with what ugliness there was because of the major part of herincome, which was not very large, had to be spent, according to hertheory of life, on those less fortunate than herself. 

At the present moment all her best rooms, those rooms which overlookedher beloved cathedral, had been given up by her to a ratherfretful-natured and very dissatisfied Belgian family, and so she hadtaken up her quarters on the darker and colder side of her house, thatwhich overlooked the street. 

It was there, in a severe-looking study on the ground floor, that Mrs. Otway found her this evening. 

As her visitor was ushered in by the cross-looking old servant who waspopularly supposed to be the only person of whom Miss Forsyth stood infear, she got up and came forward, a very kindly, welcoming look on herplain face. 

"Well, Mary, " she said, "what's the matter now? Mrs. Purlock drunkagain, eh?"

"Well, yes--as a matter of fact the poor woman was quite drunk thismorning! But I've really come to know if you can spare me to-morrowafternoon. I want to go to London on business. I was also wondering ifyou know of any nice quiet hotel or lodging near Piccadilly--I shouldprefer a lodging--where I could spent two nights?"

"Near Piccadilly? Yes, of course I do--in Half-Moon Street. I'll engagetwo rooms for you. And as for to-morrow, I can spare you quite well. Infact I shall probably manage better alone. Can't you go up by that niceearly morning train, my dear?"

Mrs. Otway shook her head. "No, I can't possibly get away before theafternoon. You see I must look after Mrs. Purlock. She got into ratherbad trouble this morning. And oh, Miss Forsyth, I'm so _sorry_ for her!She believes her two boys are being starved to death in Germany. Unfortunately she knows that woman whose husband signed his letter 'Yourloving Jack Starving. ' It's thoroughly upset Mrs. Purlock, and if, asthey all say, drink drowns thought and makes one feel happy, can wewonder at all the drinking that goes on just now? But I'm going to tryto-morrow morning to arrange for her to go away to a sister--a verysensible, nice woman she seems, who certainly won't let her do anythingof the sort. "

"Surely you're rather inconsistent?" said Miss Forsyth briskly. "Youspoke only a minute ago as if you almost approved of drunkenness, " butthere was an intelligent twinkle in her eye. 

Mrs. Otway smiled, but it was a very sad smile. "You know quite well, dear Miss Forsyth, that I didn't mean _that_! Of course I don't approve, I only meant that--that I understand. " She waited a moment, and thenadded, quietly, and with a little sigh, "So you see I can't go up totown to-morrow morning. What I want to do there will wait quite welltill the afternoon. "

Miss Forsyth accompanied her visitor into the hall--the oldeighteenth-century hall which was so exquisitely proportioned, but thewalls of which were covered with the monstrously ugly mid-Victorianmarble paper she much disliked, but never felt she could afford tochange as long as it still looked so irritatingly "good" and clean. Sheopened the front door on to the empty, darkened street; and then, toMrs. Otway's great surprise, she suddenly bent forward and kissed herwarmly. 

"Well, my dear, " she exclaimed, "I'm glad to have seen you even for amoment, and I hope your business, whatever it be, will be successful. Iwant to tell you something, here and now, which I've never said to youyet, long as we've known one another!"

"Yes, Miss Forsyth?" Mrs. Otway looked up surprised--perhaps a littleapprehensive as to what was coming. 

"I want to tell you, Mary, that to my mind you belong to the very smallnumber of people, of my acquaintance at any rate, who shall see God. "

Mrs. Otway was startled and touched by the other's words, and yet, "Idon't quite know what you mean?" she faltered--and she really didn't. 

"Don't you?" said Miss Forsyth drily. "Well, I think Mrs. Purlock, and agood many other unhappy women in Witanbury, could tell you. "

 * * * * *

Late in the next afternoon, after leaving the little luggage she hadbrought with her at the old-fashioned lodgings where she found that MissForsyth had made careful arrangements for her comfort, even to orderingwhat she should have for dinner, Mrs. Otway made her way, on foot, intoPiccadilly, and thence into quiet Arlington Street. 

There it was very dark--too dark to see the numbers on the doors of thegreat houses which loomed up to her right. 

Bewildered and oppressed, she touched a passer-by on the arm. "Could youtell me, " she said, "which is No. 20?" And he, with the curiousinability of the average Londoner to tell the truth or to acknowledgeignorance in such a case, at once promptly answered, "Yes, miss. It'sthat big house standing back here, in the courtyard. "

She walked through the gate nearest to her, and so up to a portico. Then, after waiting for a moment, she rang the bell. 

The moments slipped by. She waited full five minutes, and then rangagain. At last the door opened. 

"Is this the place, " she said falteringly, "where one can make inquiriesas to the prisoners of war in Germany?" And the person who opened thedoor replied curtly, "No, it's next door to the right. A lot of peoplemakes that mistake. Luckily the family are away just now--or it would beeven a greater botheration than it is!"

Sick at heart, she turned and walked around the paved courtyard till shereached the street. Then she turned to her right. A door flush on thestreet was hospitably open, throwing out bright shafts of light into thedarkness. Could it be--she hoped it was--here?

For a moment she stood hesitating in the threshold. The large hall wasbrilliantly lit up, and at a table there sat a happy-faced, busy-lookinglittle Boy Scout. He, surely, would not repulse her? Gathering courageshe walked up to him. 

"Is this the place, " she asked, "where one makes inquiries aboutprisoners of war?"

He jumped up and saluted. "Yes, madam, " he said civilly. "You've onlygot to go up those stairs and then round the top, straight along. Thereare plenty of ladies up there to show you the way. "

As she walked towards the great staircase, and as her eyes fell on alarge panoramic oil painting of a review held in a historic English parka hundred years before, she remembered that it was here, in this veryhouse, that she had come to a great political reception more than twentyyears ago--in fact just after her return from Germany. She had beentaken to it by James Hayley's parents, and she, the happy, eager girl, had enjoyed every moment of what she had heard with indignant surprisesome one describe as a boring function. 

As she began walking up the staircase, there rose before her a vision ofwhat had been to her so delightful and brilliant a scene--the women inevening dress and splendid jewels; the men, many of them in uniform orcourt dress; all talking and smiling to one another as they slowly madetheir way up the wide, easy steps. 

She remembered with what curiosity and admiration she had looked at thefigure of her host. There he had stood, a commanding, powerful, slightlystooping figure, welcoming his guests. For a moment she had looked upinto his bearded face, and met his heavy-lidded eyes resting on herbright young face, with a half-smile of indulgent amusement at her lookof radiant interest and happiness. 

This vivid recollection of that long-forgotten Victorian "crush" had agood effect on Mary Otway. It calmed her nervous tremor, and made herfeel, in a curious sense, at home in that great London house. 

Running round the top of the staircase was a narrow way where girlssitting at typewriters were busily working. But they had all kind, intelligent faces, and they all seemed anxious to help and speed her onher way. 

"Mrs. Vereker? Oh yes, you'll find her at once if you go along thatgallery and open the door at the end. "

She walked through into a vast room where a domed and painted ceilingnow looked down on a very curious scene. With the exception of somelarge straight settees, all the furniture which had once been in thisgreat reception-room had been cleared away. In its place were largeoffice tables, plain wooden chairs, and wire baskets piled high withletters and memoranda. The dozen or so people there were all intent onwork of some sort, and though now and again some one got up and walkedacross to ask a question of a colleague, there was very little coming orgoing. Personal inquirers generally came early in the day. 

As she stood just inside the door, Mary Otway knew that it was here, twenty years ago, that she had seen the principal guests gatheredtogether. She recalled the intense interest, the awe, the sympathy withwhich she had looked at one figure in that vanished throng. It had beenthe figure of a woman dressed in the deep mourning of a German widow, the severity of the costume lightened only by the beautiful Orderspinned on the breast. 

At the time she, the girl of that far-off day, had only just come backfrom Germany, and the Imperial tragedy, which had as central figure oneso noble and so selfless, had moved her eager young heart very deeply. She remembered how hurt she had felt at hearing her cousin mutter to hiswife, "I'm sorry she is here. She oughtn't to have come to this kind ofthing. Royalties, especially foreign Royalties, should have nopolitics. " And with what satisfaction she had heard Mrs. Hayley'sspirited rejoinder: "What nonsense! She hasn't come because it'spolitical, but because it's English. She loves England, and everythingto do with England!"

The vision faded, and she walked forward into the strangely changedroom. 

"Can I speak to Mrs. Vereker?" she asked, timidly addressing one of theladies nearest the door. Yet it was with unacknowledged relief that shereceived the answer: "I'm so sorry, but Mrs. Vereker isn't here. Sheleft early this afternoon. Is there anything I can do for you? Do youwant to make inquiries about a prisoner?"

And then, as Mrs. Otway said, "Yes, " the speaker went on quickly, "Ithink I shall do just as well if you will kindly give me theparticulars. Let us come over here and sit down; then we shan't bedisturbed. "

Mrs. Otway looked up gratefully into the kind face of the woman speakingto her. It was a comfort to know that she was going to tell her privateconcerns to a stranger, and not to the sister of an acquaintance livingat Witanbury. 

The few meagre facts were soon told, and then she gave her own name andaddress as the person to whom the particulars, if any came through, wereto be forwarded. 

"I'll see that the inquiries are sent on to Geneva to-night. But youmustn't be disappointed if you get no news for a while. Sometimes newsis a very long time coming through, especially if the prisoner waswounded, and is still in hospital. " The stranger added, with realsympathy in her voice, "I'm afraid you're very anxious, Mrs. Otway. Isuppose Major Guthrie is your brother?"

And then the other answered quietly, "No, he's not my brother. MajorGuthrie and I are engaged to be married. "

The kind, sweet face, itself a sad and anxious face, changed alittle--it became even fuller of sympathy than it had been before. "Youmust try and keep up courage, " she exclaimed. "And remember onething--if Major Guthrie was really severely wounded, he's probably beingvery well looked after. " She waited a moment, and then went on, "In anycase, you haven't the anguish of knowing that he's in perpetual danger;my boy is out there, so I know what it feels like to realize that. "

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I wonder, " said Mrs. Otway, "if you would mind having the inquiries telegraphed to-night?" Sheopened her bag. "I brought a five-pound note----"

But the other shook her head. "Oh, no. You needn't pay anything, " shesaid. "We're always quite willing to telegraph if there's any goodreason for doing so. But you know it's very important that the nameshould be correctly spelt, and the particulars rightly transmitted. That's why it's really better to write. But of course I'll ask them totelegraph to you at once if they get any news here on a day or at a timeI happen to be away. "

Together they walked to the door of the great room, and the woman whosename she was not to know for a long time, and who was the first humanbeing to whom she had told her secret, pressed her hand warmly. 

Quietly Mrs. Otway walked through into the gallery, and then she burstout crying like a child. It was with her handkerchief pressed to herface that she walked down the gallery, and so round to the greatstaircase. No one looked at her as she passed so woefully by; they wereall only too well used to such sights. But before she reached the frontdoor she managed to pull herself together, and was able to give thejolly little Boy Scout a friendly farewell nod. 

CHAPTER XXI

Early that afternoon, after her mother had left the Trellis House, Rosewent upstairs to her own room. She had been working very hard all thatmorning, helping to give some last touches of prettiness and comfort tothe fine, airy rooms at "Robey's, " which had now been transformed intoSir Jacques Robey's Red Cross Hospital. As a matter of fact, everythinghad been ready for the wounded who, after having been awaited withanxious impatience for weeks, were now announced as being due to arriveto-morrow. 

Meanwhile Anna, her hands idle for once, sat at her kitchen table. Shewas wearing her best black silk apron, and open in front of her was her_Gesangbuch_, or hymnbook. 

Thus was Anna celebrating the anniversary of her husband's death. GustavBauer had been a very unsatisfactory helpmeet, but his widow only choseto remember now the little in him that had been good. 

Calmly she began reading the contents of her hymnbook to herself. Allthe verses were printed as if in prose, which of course made it easieras well as pleasanter to read. 

As she spoke the words to herself, her eyes filled with tears, and shelonged, with an intense, wordless longing, to be in the Fatherland, especially now, during this strange and terrible time. She keenlyresented not being able to write to her niece, Minna, in Berlin. Sinceher happy visit there three years before, that little household had beenvery near her heart, nearer far than that of her own daughter, Louisa. But Louisa was now to all intents and purposes an Englishwoman. 

It was too true that the many years she had been in England had not madegood old Anna think better of English people, and, as was natural, herprejudices had lately become much intensified. She lived in a chronicstate of wonder over the laziness, the thriftlessness, and the dirt ofEnglishwomen. She had described those among whom she dwelt to her nieceMinna in the following words: "They wash themselves from head to footeach day, but more never. Their houses are dreadful, and linen have theynot!"

Those words had represented her exact opinion three years ago, and shehad had no reason to change it since. 

On this dull, sad, November afternoon she suddenly remembered thedelightful _Ausflug_, or "fly out, " as it is so happily called, when shehad accompanied Willi and his Minna to Wannsee, on the blue Havel. 

How happy they had all been that day! The little party had brought theirown coffee and sugar, but they had had many a delicious glass of beer aswell. All had been joy and merriment. 

It was bitter to know that some people heard from Germany even now. There was little doubt in her mind that Manfred Hegner, or rather AlfredHead, as she was learning to call him at his very particular request, was in communication with the Fatherland. He had as good as said so thelast time she had seen him; adding the unnecessary warning that shemust be careful not to tell any one so in Witanbury, as it might do himharm. 

Anna was naturally a prudent woman, and she had become quite proud ofAlfred Head's friendship and confidence. She much enjoyed the eveningsshe now so often spent in the stuffy little parlour behind the large, airy shop. Somehow she always left there feeling happy and cheerful. Thenews that he gave her of the Fatherland, and of what was happening onthe various fighting fronts, was invariably glorious and comforting. Hesmiled with good-natured contempt at the "Kitcheners" who were beginningto flood the old cathedral city with an ever-growing tide of khaki, andwho brought him and all his fellow-tradesmen in Witanbury such increasedprosperity. 

"Fine cannon-fodder!" Mr. Head would exclaim, of course in German. "Butno good without the rifles, the ammunition, and above all the guns, which I hear they have not!"

Every one was still very kind to Anna, and her ladies' friends made nodifference in their manner--in fact they were perhaps a shade morecordial and kindly. Nevertheless the old woman realised that feelingtowards Germany and the Germans had undergone a surprising change duringthe last few weeks. No, it was not the War--not even the fact that somany Englishmen had already been killed by German guns and shells. Thechange was owing--amazing and almost incredible fact--to the behaviourof the German Army in Belgium!

Anna hated Belgium and the Belgians. She could not forget how unhappyand ill-used she had been in Ostend; and yet now English people of allclasses hailed the Belgians as heroes, and were treating them ashonoured guests! She, Anna, knew that the women of Belgium had put outthe eyes of wounded German soldiers; she had read the fact in one of theGerman newspapers Mr. Head had managed to smuggle through. The paper hadsaid, very truly, as she thought, that no punishment for such conductcould be too severe. 

And as she sat there, on this melancholy anniversary afternoon, thinkingsad, bitter thoughts, her dear young lady opened the door. 

"I had a letter from Mr. Blake this morning, and I think you'll like toread it, Anna! He speaks in it so kindly of some German soldiers whogave themselves up. I haven't time to stop and read it to you now. But Ithink you can read it, for he writes very, very clearly. This is whereit begins----" she pointed half-way down the first sheet. "I shan't beback till eight o'clock. There's a great deal to do if, as Sir Jacquesbelieves, some wounded are really likely to arrive to-morrow. " Her faceshadowed, and that of the old woman looking fondly up at her, softened. 

"There's a little piece of beautiful cold mutton, " exclaimed Anna inGerman. "Would my darling child like that for her supper--with a nicelittle potato salad as well?"

But Rose shook her head. "No, I don't feel as if I want any meat. I'llhave anything else there is, and some fruit. "

A moment later she was gone, and Anna turned to the closely-writtensheets of paper with great interest. She read English writing withdifficulty, but, as her beloved young lady had said truly, Mr. Blake'shandwriting was very clear. And this is what she spelled out:

 "A great big motor lorry came up, full of prisoners, and our fellows soon crowded round it. They were fine, upstanding, fair men, and looked very tired and depressed--as well they might, for we hear they've had hardly anything to eat this last week! I offered one of them, who had his arm bound up, a cigarette. He took it rather eagerly. I thought I'd smoke one too, to put him at his ease, but I had no matches, so the poor chap hooked out some from his pocket and offered me one. This is a funny world, Rose! Fancy those thirteen German prisoners in that motor lorry, and that they were once--in fact only an hour or so ago--doing their best to kill us, while now we are doing our best to cheer them up. Then to-morrow we shall go out and have a good try at killing their comrades. Mind you, they look quite ordinary people. Not one of them has a terrible or a brutal face. They look just like our men--in fact rather less soldierly than our men; the sort of chaps you might see walking along a street in Witanbury any day. One of them looked so rosy and sunburnt, so _English_, that we mentioned it to the interpreter. He translated it to the man, and I couldn't help being amused to see that he looked rather sick at being told he looked like an Englishman. Another man, who I'm bound to say did not look English at all, had actually lived sixteen years in London, and he talked in quite a Cockney way. "

Anna read on:

 "I have at last got into a very comfortable billet. As a matter of fact it's a pill factory belonging to an eccentric old man called Puteau. All over the house, inside and out, he has had painted two huge P's, signifying _Pilules Puteau_. For a long time no use was made of the building, as it was thought too good a mark. But for some reason or other the Boches have left it alone. Be that as it may, one of our fellows discovered a very easy way of reaching it from the back, and now no one could tell the place is occupied, in fact packed, with our fellows. The best point about it is that there is a huge sink, as large as a bath. You can imagine what a comfort----"

And then the letter broke off. Rose had only left that part of it shethought would interest her old nurse. The beginning and the end were notthere. 

Anna looked at the sheets of closely-written paper in front of herconsideringly. There was not a word about food or kit--not a word, thatis, which by any stretch of the imagination could be of any use to a manlike Mr. Head in his business. On the other hand, there was not a wordin the letter which Miss Rose could dislike any one reading. The oldwoman was shrewd enough to know that. She would like Mr. Head to seethat letter, for it would prove to him that her ladies did receiveletters from officers. And the next one might after all containsomething useful. 

She looked up at the kitchen clock. It was now four o'clock. And then asudden thought made up good old Anna's mind for her. 

Miss Rose had said she did not want any meat for her supper; but shewas fond of macaroni cheese. Anna would never have thought of makingthat dish with any cheese but Parmesan, and she had no Parmesan left inthe house. That fact gave her an excellent excuse for going off now tothe Stores, and taking Mr. Blake's letter with her. If she got anopportunity of showing it, it would make clear to Mr. Head what a goodfellow was Miss Rose's betrothed, and what a kind heart he had. 

And so, but for Rose's remark as to her distaste for meat, JervisBlake's letter would not have been taken by old Anna out of the TrellisHouse, for it was the lack of Parmesan cheese in the store cupboardwhich finally decided the matter. 

After putting on her green velvet bonnet and her thick, warm brownjacket, she folded up the sheets of French notepaper and put them in aninside pocket. 

The fact that it was early closing day did not disturb Anna, for thoughmost of the Witanbury tradespeople were so ungracious that when theirshops were shut they would never put themselves out to oblige an oldcustomer, the owner of the Stores, if he was in--and he nearly alwaysdid stay indoors on early closing day--was always willing to go into theclosed shop and get anything that was wanted. He was not one to turngood custom away. 

The back door was opened by Alfred Head himself. "Ah, Frau Bauer! Comeinto the passage. " He spoke in German, but in spite of his cordial wordsshe felt the lack of welcome in his voice. "Is there anything I can dofor you?"

"Yes, " she said. "I want half a pound of Parmesan cheese, and you mightalso give me a pound of butter. "

"Oh, certainly. Come through into the shop. " He turned on the light. "Ido not ask you into the parlour, for the simple reason that I have someone there who has come to see me on business--it is business about oneof my little mortgages. Polly is out, up at the Deanery. Her sister isnot going to stay on there; she has found some excuse to go away. Itmakes her so sad and mopish to be always with Miss Haworth. Even now, after all this time, the young lady will hardly speak at all. She doesnot glory in her loss, as a German betrothed would do!"

"Poor thing!" said old Anna feelingly. "Women are not like men, HerrHegner. They have tender hearts. She thinks of her dead lover as herbeloved one--not as a hero. For my part, my heart aches for the dearyoung lady, when I see her walking about, all dressed in black. "

They were now standing in the big empty shop. Alfred Head turned to theright and took off a generous half-pound from the Parmesan cheese which, as Anna knew well, was of a very much better quality, if of ratherhigher price, than were any of the other Parmesan cheeses sold inWitanbury. But she was rather shocked to note that the butter had notbeen put away in the refrigerator. That, of course, was Mrs. Head'sfault. A German housewife would have seen to that. There the butter lay, ready for the next morning's sale, put up in half-pounds and pounds. Mr. Head took up one of the pounds, and deftly began making a neat parcel ofthe cheese and of the butter. She felt that he was in a hurry to get ridof her, and yet she was burning to show him young Mr. Blake's letter. 

She coughed, and then, a little nervously, she observed: "You weresaying some days ago that you would like to see some officers' lettersfrom the Front. That being so, I have brought part of a letter from Mr. Jervis Blake to show you. There is nothing in it concerning food or kit, but still it is very long, and shows that the young man is a goodfellow. If you are busy, however, it may not be worth your while to lookat it now. "

Alfred Head stopped in what he was doing. "Could you leave it with me?"he asked. 

Anna shook her head. "No, that I cannot do. My young lady left it for meto read, and though she said she would not be back till eight, she mightrun in any moment, for she is only over at Robey's, helping with thehospital. They are expecting some wounded to-morrow. They have waitedlong enough, poor ladies!"

The old woman was standing just under the electric light; there was ananxious, embarrassed look on her face. 

The man opposite to her hesitated a moment, then he said quickly, "Verywell, show it me! It will not take a moment. I will tell you at once ifit is of any use. Perhaps it will be. "

She fumbled a moment in her inside pocket, and brought out JervisBlake's letter. 

He took up the sheets, and put them close to his prominent eyes. Quicklyhe glanced through the account of the German prisoners, and then hebegan to read more slowly. "Wait you here one moment, " he said at last. "I will go and tell my visitor that I am engaged for another minute ortwo. Then I will come back to you, and read the letter through properly, though the writer is but a silly fellow!"

Still holding the letter in his hand, he hurried away. 

Anna was in no hurry. But even so, she began to grow a little fidgetywhen the moment of which he had spoken grew into something like fiveminutes. She felt sorry she had brought her dear child'sletter. --_"Dummer Kerl"_ indeed! Mr. Jervis Blake was nothing of thesort--he was a very kind, sensible young fellow! She was glad when atlast she heard Mr. Head's quick, active steps coming down the shortpassage. 

"Here!" he exclaimed, coming towards her. "Here is the letter, FrauBauer! And though it is true that there is nothing in it of any value tome, yet I recognise your good intention. The next time there may besomething excellent. I therefore give you a florin, with best thanks forhaving brought it. Instead of all that gossip concerning our poorprisoners, it would have been better if he had said what it was that heliked to eat as a relish to the bully beef on which, it seems, theBritish are universally fed. "

Anna's point of view changed with lightning quickness. What a good thingshe had brought the letter! Two shillings was two shillings, after all. 

"Thanks many, " she said gratefully, as he hurried her along the passageand unlocked the back door. But, as so often happens, it was a case ofmore haste less speed--the door slammed-to before the visitor could slipout, and at the same moment that of the parlour opened, and Anna, to hergreat surprise, heard the words, uttered in German, "Look here, Hegner!I really can't stay any longer. You forget that I've a long way to go. "She could not see the speaker, though she did her best to do so, as herhost thrust her, with small ceremony, out of the now reopened door. 

Anna felt consumed with curiosity. She crossed over the little street, and hid herself in the shadow of a passage leading to a mews. There shewaited, determined to see Alfred Head's mysterious visitor. 

She had not time to feel cold before the door through which she hadlately been pushed so quickly opened again, letting out a short, thinman, dressed in a comfortable motoring coat. She heard very plainly thegood-nights exchanged in a low voice. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, the prosperous-looking strangerbegan walking quickly along. Anna, at a safe distance, followed him. Heturned down a side street, where, drawn up before a house inscribed "tolet, " stood a small, low motor-car. In it sat a Boy Scout. She knew hewas a Boy Scout by his hat, for the lad's uniform was covered by a bigcape. 

She walked quietly on, and so passed the car. As she went by, she heardHegner's friend say in a kindly voice, and in excellent English, albeitthere was a twang in it, "I hope you've not been cold, my boy. Mybusiness took a little longer than I thought it would. " And the shrill, piping answer, "Oh no, sir! I have been quite all right, sir!" And thenthe motor gave a kind of snort, and off they went, at a sharp pace, towards the Southampton road. 

Anna smiled to herself. Manfred Hegner was a very secretive person--shehad always known that. But why tell her such a silly lie? Hegner wasgetting quite a big business man; he had many irons in the fire--someone had once observed to Anna that he would probably end by becoming amillionaire. It is always well to be in with such lucky folk. 

As she opened the gate of the Trellis House, she saw that her mistress'ssitting-room was lit up, and before she could put the key in the lock ofthe front door, it opened, and Rose exclaimed in an anxious tone, "Oh, Anna! Where have you been? Where is my letter? I looked all over thekitchen, but I couldn't find it. "

Old Anna smilingly drew it out from the inside pocket of her jacket. "There, there!" she said soothingly. "Here it is, dearest child. Ithought it safer to take it along with me than to leave it in thehouse. "

"Oh, thank you--yes, that was quite right!" the girl looked greatlyrelieved. "Mr. Robey said he would very much like to read it, so I cameback for it. And Anna?"

"Yes, my gracious miss. "

"I am going to stay there to supper after all. Mr. And Mrs. Robey, andeven Sir Jacques, seem anxious that I should do so. "

"And I have gone out and got you such a nice supper, " said the old womanregretfully. 

"I'll have it for lunch to-morrow!" Rose looked very happy and excited. There was a bright colour in her cheeks. "Mr. Robey thinks that Mr. Blake will soon be getting ninety hours' leave. " Her heart was so fullof joy she felt she must tell the delightful news. 

"That is good--very good!" said Anna cordially. "And then, my darlinglittle one, there will be a proper betrothal, will there not?"

Rose nodded. "Yes, I suppose there will, " she said in German. 

"And perhaps a war wedding, " went on Anna, her face beaming. "There aremany such just now in Witanbury. In my country they began the first dayof the War. "

"I know. " Rose smiled. "One of the Kaiser's sons was married in thatway. Don't you remember my bringing you an account of it, Anna?" She didnot wait for an answer. "Well, I must hurry back now. "

The old woman went off into her kitchen, and so through the sculleryinto her cosy bedroom. 

The walls of that quaint, low-roofed apartment were gay with oleographs, several being scenes from _Faust_, and one, which Anna had had given toher nearly forty years ago, showed the immortal Charlotte, still cuttingbread and butter. 

On the dressing-table, one at each end, were a pair of white china bustsof Bismarck and von Moltke. Anna had brought these back from Berlinthree years before. Of late she had sometimes wondered whether it wouldbe well to put them away in one of the three large, roomy cupboardsbuilt into the wall behind her bed. One of these cupboards alreadycontained several securely packed parcels which, as had beenparticularly impressed on Anna, must on no account be disturbed, butthere was plenty of room in the two others. Still, no one ever came intoher oddly situated bedroom, and so she left her heroes where they were. 

After taking off her things, she extracted the two-shilling piece out ofthe pocket where it had lain loosely, and added it to the growing storeof silver in the old-fashioned tin box where she kept her money. Thenshe put on her apron and hurried out, with the cheese and the butter inher hands, to the beautifully arranged, exquisitely clean meat safe, which had been cleverly fixed to one of the windows of the scullery soonafter her arrival at the Trellis House. 

The next morning Mrs. Otway came home, and within an hour of her arrivalthe mother and daughter had told one another their respective secrets. The revelation came about as such things have a way of coming about whentwo people, while caring deeply for one another, are yet for the momentout of touch with each other's deepest feelings. It came about, that isto say, by a chance word uttered in entire ignorance of the real stateof the case. 

Rose, on hearing of her mother's expedition to Arlington Street, hadshown surprise, even a little vexation: "You've gone and tired yourselfout for nothing--a letter would have done quite as well!"

And, as her mother made no answer, the girl, seeing as if for the firsttime how sad, how worn, that same dear mother's face now looked, cameclose up to her and whispered, "I think, mother--forgive me if I'mwrong--that you care for Major Guthrie as I care for Jervis Blake. "

CHAPTER XXII

The days that followed Mrs. Otway's journey to London, the easy earningby good old Anna of a florin for Alfred Head's brief sight of JervisBlake's letter, and the exchange of confidences between the mother anddaughter, were comparatively happy, peaceful days at the Trellis House. 

Her visit to 20, Arlington Street, had greatly soothed and comfortedMrs. Otway. She felt sure somehow that those kind, capable people, andespecially the unknown woman who had been so very good and--and so veryunderstanding, would soon send her the tidings for which she longed. Forthe first time, too, since she had received Major Guthrie's letter sheforgot herself, and in a measure even the man she loved, in thought foranother. Rose's confession had moved her greatly, stirred all that wasmaternal in her heart. But she was far more surprised than she wouldhave cared to admit, for she had always thought that Rose, if shemarried at all, would marry a man considerably older than herself. Witha smile and a sigh, she told herself that the child must be in love withlove!

Jervis and the girl were both still so very young--though Rose was in asense much the older of the two, or so the mother thought. She wassecretly glad that there could be no talk of marriage till the end ofthe War. Even then they would probably have to wait two or three years. True, General Blake was a wealthy man, but Jervis was entirelydependent on his father, and his father might not like him to marry yet. 

The fact that Rose had told her mother of her engagement had had anotherhappy effect. It had restored, in a measure, the good relations betweenMrs. Otway and her faithful old servant, Anna Bauer. Anna kept toherself the fact that she had guessed the great news long before it hadbecome known to the mother, and so she and her mistress rejoicedtogether in the beloved child's happiness. 

And Rose was happy too--far happier than she had yet been since thebeginning of the War. Twice in recent letters to her Jervis had written, "I wish you would allow me to tell my people--you know what!" and nowshe was very, very glad to release him from secrecy. She was too modestto suppose that General and Lady Blake would be pleased with the news oftheir only son's engagement. But she felt it their due that they shouldknow how matters stood betwixt her and Jervis. If they did not wish himto marry soon, she and Jervis, so she assured herself, would be quitecontent to wait. 

Towards the end of that peaceful week there came quite an affectionatetelegram from Lady Blake, explaining that the great news had been sentto her and to her husband by their son. The telegram was followed by along loving letter from the mother, inviting Rose to stay with them. 

Mrs. Otway would not acknowledge even to herself how relieved she felt. She had been afraid that General Blake would regard his son's engagementas absurd, and she was surprised, knowing him slightly and not muchliking what little she knew of him, at the kindness and warmth withwhich he wrote to her. 

"Under ordinary circumstances I should not have approved of my son'smaking so early a marriage, but everything is now changed. And though Isuppose it would not be reasonable to expect such a thing, I should be, for my part, quite content were they to be married during the leave towhich I understand he will shortly be entitled. "

But on reading these words, Mrs. Otway had shaken her head verydecidedly. What an odd, _very_ odd, man General Blake must be! She feltsure that neither Jervis nor Rose would think of doing such a thing. Itwas, however, quite natural that Jervis's parents should wish to haveRose on a visit; and of course Rose must go soon, and try to make goodfriends with them both--not an over-easy matter, for they were verydifferent and, as Mrs. Otway knew, not on really happy terms the onewith the other. 

There was some little discussion as to who in Witanbury should be toldof Rose's engagement. It seemed hopeless to keep the affair a secret. For one thing, the officials at the Post Office knew--they had almostshown it by their funny, smiling manner when Rose had gone in to sendher answer to Lady Blake's telegram. But the first to be informedofficially, so to speak, must of course be the Dean and the Robeys. 

Dr. Haworth had aged sadly during the last few weeks. Edith was going tonurse in a French hospital, and she and her mother had gone away for alittle change first. And so, as was natural, the Dean came very often tothe Trellis House; and though, when he was told of Rose's engagement, hesighed wearily, still he was most kind and sympathetic--though he couldnot help saying, in an aside to Mrs. Otway, "I should never have thoughtRose would become the heroine of a Romeo and Juliet affair! They bothseem to me so very young. Luckily there's no hurry. It looks as if thiswar was going to be a long, long war----" and he had shaken his headvery mournfully. 

Poor Dr. Haworth! An imprudent passage uttered in the first sermon hehad delivered after the declaration of war had been dragged out of itscontext, and had figured, weeks later, in the London papers. As a resulthe had had many cruel anonymous letters, and, what had been harder tobear, reproaches from old and tried friends. 

But what was far, far worse to the Dean than these mosquito bites wasthe fact that his own darling child, Edith, could not forgive him forhaving had so many German friends in the old days. Her great loss, whichin theory should have softened her, had had just the opposite effect. Ithad made her bitter, bitter; and during the weeks which had followed thereceipt of the fatal news she had hardly spoken to her father. This wasthe more unreasonable--nay, the more cruel--of her inasmuch as it hadbeen her mother, to whom she now clung, who had so decidedly set herface against the hasty marriage which poor Edith was now alwaysregretting had not taken place. 

But if the Dean's congratulations were saddened by his own melancholysituation, those of the Robeys were clear and sunshiny. They knew JervisBlake, and they regarded Rose as a very lucky girl. They also knewRose, and they regarded Jervis Blake as a very lucky man. 

True, Mrs. Robey, when alone with her husband after first hearing thenews, had said, rather nervously, "I hope more than ever _now_ thatnothing will happen to dear Jervis!" And he had turned on her almostwith ferocity: "Happen to Jervis? Of course nothing will happen toJervis! As I've often told you, it's the impulsive, reckless boys whoget killed--not born soldiers, like Jervis. He knows that his life isnow valuable to his country, and you may be sure that he takes allreasonable precautions to preserve it. "

And as she did not answer at once, he had gone on hurriedly: "Of courseone can't tell; we may see his name in the list of casualties to-morrowmorning! But if I were you, my dear, I should not build a bridge to meettrouble!"

As a matter of fact Mrs. Robey had no time to waste on such anunprofitable occupation. Her brother-in-law, the great surgeon, SirJacques Robey, and all his best nurses had been now waiting for quite along time for wounded who never came; and it required a good deal ofdiplomacy and tact on Mrs. Robey's part to keep them all in a goodhumour, and on fairly pleasant terms with her own original household. 

 * * * * *

Rose's engagement was now ten days old, and she was about to start forher visit to her future parents-in-law, when early one afternoon theDean, who had been lunching with Mr. And Mrs. Robey, rang the bell ofthe Trellis House. 

_"Die Herrschaft ist nicht zu Hause"_ ("The family are not at home. "). Anna was smiling in the friendliest way at the Dean. He had always beenin a very special sense kind to her, and never kinder than during thelast fourteen weeks. 

"Do you expect them back soon? It is very urgent, " he exclaimed, ofcourse speaking German; and the smile on Anna's face faded, so sad didhe look, and so concerned. 

"Oh, most reverend Doctor!" she cried, joining her hands together, "donot say that anything has happened to the Betrothed of my young lady?"

"Yes, " he said sadly. "Something has happened, Anna, but it might bemuch worse. The Betrothed of your young lady has been severely wounded. But reflect on the wonderful organisation of our Red Cross! Mr. Blakewas wounded, I believe, yesterday afternoon, and it is expected that hewill be here, in Sir Jacques Robey's care, in a few hours from now!"

Even as he was speaking, a telegraph boy hurried up to the door. 

"This is evidently to tell your ladies that which I had hoped to be ableto break to them. So I will not stop now. " And as Anna stared at himwith woe-begone eyes, he said kindly:

"It might have been, as I said just now, infinitely worse. I am toldthat there is a great difference between the words _severely_ and_dangerously_. Had he been dangerously wounded, he could not possiblyhave been moved to England. And consider what a comfort it will be tothe poor girl to have him here, within a stone's throw. Why, she will beable to be with him all the time. Yes, yes, it might be worse--a greatdeal worse!" He added feelingly, "It is a very sad time that we are_all_ living through. "

He held out his hand and grasped the old woman's hard, work-worn fingersvery warmly in his. Dr. Haworth, as the good people of Witanbury werefond of reminding one another--generally in a commendatory, thoughsometimes in a complaining, tone--was a real gentleman. 

 * * * * *

There followed hours of that merciful rush and bustle which at suchmoments go a long way to deaden suspense and pain. General and LadyBlake were arriving this evening, and the spare room of the TrellisHouse had to be got ready for them, and Rose's room--a lengthier matterthis--transformed into a dressing-room. 

But at last everything was ready, and then Rose went off, alone, to thestation, to meet the London express. 

The train was very late, and as she paced up and down the long platformshe began wondering, with a kind of weary, confused wonder, whetherthere had been an accident, for now everything startling and dreadfulseemed within the bounds of possibility. Yesterday with what eagernesswould she have bought two or three evening papers--but now the thoughtof doing so did not even occur to her. 

Yesterday--nay, to-day, up to three hours ago--she had been so happy, lacking even that latent anxiety which had been with her for so long, for she had supposed Jervis to be out of the trenches, resting. In fact, for the first time she had not been thinking much of Jervis, for hermind had been filled with her coming visit to London. 

She was but very slightly acquainted with Sir John Blake, and she feltrather frightened of him--of the father whom Jervis loved and feared. True, he had written her a very kind, if a very short, note; but she hadbeen afraid that she would not please him--that he would not approve ofJervis's choice. .. . 

At last the train came in. There was a great crowd of people, and hereyes sought in vain for the tall, still active figure she vaguelyremembered. Then suddenly she saw Lady Blake--Lady Blake looking abouther with an anxious, bewildered face, which changed to eager relief whenthe girl grasped her hand. 

"Is this Rose? Dear little Rose! I am alone, dear child. I have notbrought a maid. My husband went down to Southampton early this morningto wait for the hospital ship. I was so grateful for your mother's kindtelegram. It will be an infinite comfort to stay with you both. But Ithink Sir John may find it more convenient to stay at an hotel. " Shegrew a little pink, and Rose Otway, whose perceptions as to a great dealthat is sad or strange in human nature, had grown of late, felt a littlerush of anger against Sir John Blake. 

As they left the station, Rose was able to ask the questions she waslonging to ask. But Lady Blake knew nothing. "No, we have had no detailsat all. Only just the telegram telling us that he has been severelywounded--severely, you know, is much less serious than dangerously--andthat he was being sent to Sir Jacques Robey's hospital at Witanbury. Itseems so strange that Jervis should be coming _here_--so strange, but, my dear, so very happy too! My husband says that they probably show thewounded officers a list of hospitals, and perhaps give them a certainmeasure of choice. "

They did not say much during the short drive to the Close; they simplyheld each other's hands. And Rose's feeling of indignation againstJervis's father grew and grew. How could he be impatient, still lessunkind, to this sweet, gentle woman?

There followed a time of anxious waiting at the Trellis House, and, reluctantly, Rose began to understand why Sir John Blake was impatientwith his wife. Lady Blake could not sit still; and she made no effort tocommand her nerves. In her gentle voice she suggested every painfulpossibility, from the torpedoing of the hospital ship in the Channel toa bad break down, or even a worse accident, to the motor ambulanceswhich were to convey Jervis and four other wounded officers toWitanbury. 

But at last, when even Sir Jacques himself had quite given them up forthat night, three motor ambulances drove into the Close, and round tothe temporary hospital. 

And then such a curious, pathetic scene took place in the courtyard of"Robey's. " Improvised flares and two electric reading-lamps, broughthurriedly through the windows of the drawing-room, shone on the group ofwaiting people--nurses ready to step forward when wanted; Sir JacquesRobey and a young surgeon who had come up from the Witanbury CottageHospital; Lady Blake trembling with cold and excitement close to Mrs. Otway and Rose; and a number of others who had less reason and excusefor being there. 

From a seat by one of the drivers there jumped down Sir John Blake. Helooked round him with a keen glance, and then made his way straight towhere his wife was standing. Taking no notice of her, he addressed thegirl standing by her side. "Is this Rose, " he said--"Rose Otway?" andtaking her hand gripped it hard. "He's borne the journey very well, " hesaid quickly, reassuringly; and then, at last, he looked at his wife. She was gazing at him with imploring, anxious eyes. "Well, " he saidimpatiently, "well, my dear, what is it you want to say to me?"

She murmured something nervously, and Rose hurriedly said, "Lady Blakewants to know where Jervis was wounded. "

"A fragment of shell struck his left arm--but the real mischief was doneto his right leg. When the building in which he and his company wereresting was shelled, a beam fell on it. I should have thought myselfthat it would have been better to have kept him, for at any rate awhile, at Boulogne. But they now think it wiser, if it be in any waypossible, to bring them straight back. "

Rose hardly heard what he said. She was absorbed in wondering which ofthe stretchers now being brought out of the ambulances bore the form ofJervis Blake; but she accepted, with a quiet submission which increasedthe great surgeon's already good opinion of her, his decree that no oneexcepting himself and his nurses was to see or speak to any of thewounded that night. 

CHAPTER XXIII

"Time and the weather run through the roughest day. " It may be doubtedif Rose Otway knew that consoling old proverb, but with her time, evenin the shape of a very few days, and perhaps, too, the weather, whichwas remarkably fine and mild for the time of year, soon wrought awonderful change. 

And as she sat by Jervis Blake's bedside, on a bright, sunny day in lateNovember, it seemed to her as if she had nothing left to wish for. Thetwo nurses who attended on him so kindly and so skilfully told her thathe was going on well--far better, in fact, than they could haveexpected. And though Sir Jacques Robey did not say much, she had noreason to suppose him other than satisfied. True, Jervis's face lookedstrained and thin, and there was a cradle over his right foot, showingwhere the worst injury had been. But the wound in his shoulder washealing nicely, and once or twice he had spoken of when he would be ableto go back; but now he had left off doing that, for he saw that ittroubled her. 

Yesterday something very pleasant had happened, and something which, toJervis Blake himself, was quite unexpected. He had been Mentioned inDespatches, in connection with a little affair, as he described it, which had happened weeks ago, on the Aisne! One of the other two menconcerned in it had received the Victoria Cross, and Rose was secretlyrather hurt, as was also Lady Blake, that Jervis had not been equallyhonoured. But that thought did not occur to either his father orhimself. 

Just now Rose was enjoying half an hour of pleasant solitude with herlover, after what had been a trying morning for him. Sir Jacques Robeyhad asked down an old friend of his own, a surgeon too, to see Jervis, and they had spent quite a long time pulling the injured foot about. 

Sir John Blake had also come down to spend the day at Witanbury. He hadbeen able to get away for a few hours from his work at the War Office totell his boy how very, very pleased he was at that mention in Sir JohnFrench's Despatches. Indeed, all the morning telegraph boys had beenbringing to "Robey's" the congratulations of friends and evenacquaintances. 

Jervis was very tired now--tired because the two surgeons, skilful andcareful though they were, had not been able to help hurting him quite agood bit. It was fortunate that Rose Otway, dearly as she loved him, knew little or nothing of pain. She had been sent away during that hour, right out of the house, to take a walk with Mr. Robey. She had been toldquite plainly by Sir Jacques that they would rather she were not therewhile the examination was taking place. It was important that the houseshould be kept as far as possible absolutely quiet. 

Jervis did not talk very much, but there was no need for him to do so. He and Rose would have plenty of time to say everything they wanted toone another, for Sir Jacques had told her, only yesterday night, that avery long time must go by before Jervis would be fit to go back. "Anyinjury to the foot, " he had said casually, "is bound to be a long and aticklish business. " The words had given her a rush of joy of which shefelt ashamed. 

There came a knock at the door, and then the younger of Jervis's nursescame quietly into the room. "They're asking for you downstairs, MissOtway, " she said quietly. "And I think that perhaps Mr. Blake might nowget a little sleep. He's had a rather tiring, exciting morning, youknow. Perhaps you could come up and have tea with him about fiveo'clock? He's sure to be awake by then. "

And then the young nurse did a rather odd thing. Instead of going oninto the room and up to the bedside, she went out of the door for amoment, and Rose, during that moment, bent down and laid her soft cheekagainst Jervis's face. "Good-bye, my darling Jervis. I shan't be awaylong. " And then she straightened herself, and went out of the room. 

Of course she was happy--happy, and with a heart at rest as it had notbeen for months and months. But still it would be a great comfort whenJervis was up. She hated to see him lying there, helpless, given over toministrations other than her own. 

As she went through the door, the nurse stopped her and said, "Would yougo into Mr. Robey's study, Miss Otway? I think Sir John Blake wants tosee you before he goes back to town. Mr. Jenkinson has already gone; hehad to be there for a consultation at six. "

Rose looked at her, a little surprised. It was as if the kind littlenurse was speaking for the sake of speaking. 

She went down the quiet house, past the door of the large ward wherethe four other wounded officers now lay, all going on, she was glad toknow, very well, and all having had a visit from Mr. Jenkinson, theLondon specialist. 

She hurried on, smiling a little as she did so. She was no longer afraidof Sir John Blake. In fact she was becoming very fond of him, though ithurt her always to hear how sharply and irritably he spoke to hisgentle, yielding wife. Of course Lady Blake was very unreasonablesometimes--but she was so helpless, so clinging, and so fond of Jervis. 

And then, as she turned a corner--for "Robey's" consisted of threehouses, through each of which an intercommunication had been made--therefell on Rose Otway's ear a very dreadful sound, that of some one cryingin wild, unbridled grief. The sound came from Mrs. Robey's littlesitting-room, and suddenly Rose heard her own mother's voice raised inexpostulation. She was evidently trying to comfort and calm the poorstranger--doubtless the mother or wife of one of the four officersupstairs. Two days ago one of these visitors had had something very likea fit of hysterics after seeing her wounded husband. Rose shrank fromthe memory. But this was worse--far worse. She hurried on into Mr. Robey's study. 

The study, which was a very agreeable room, overlooked the Close. It waspanelled with dark old oak, and lined on one side with books, andopposite the centre window hung Mr. Robey's greatest treasure, awatercolour by Turner of Witanbury Cathedral, painted from the meadowsbehind the town. 

To-day Mr. Robey himself was not there, but his brother and Sir JohnBlake were both waiting for her. Eagerly she walked forward into theroom, and as she did so she made a delightful picture--or so those twomen, so very different the one from the other, thought--of youth, ofhappiness, and yes, of young love satisfied. 

Sir Jacques took a step forward. The General did not move at all. He wasstanding with his back to the further window, his face in shadow. 

"Now, Miss Rose, I want you to listen very carefully to me for a fewminutes. "

She looked at him gravely. "Yes?" she said questioningly. 

"I have asked you to come, " went on the great surgeon, "because I wantto impress upon your mind the fact that how you behave at this junctureof his life may make a very great, I might almost say all thedifference, to your future husband, to Mr. Jervis Blake. "

Rose's senses started up, like sentinels, to attention. 

"You will have need of all your courage, and also of all your goodsense, to help him along a very rough bit of road, " he went onfeelingly. 

Rose felt a thrill of sudden, unreasonable terror. "What is it?" sheexclaimed. "What is going to happen to him? Is he going to die? I don'tmind what it is, if only you will tell me!" She instinctively moved overto Sir John Blake's side, and he, as instinctively, put his arm roundher shoulder. 

"Mr. Jenkinson agrees with me, " said Sir Jacques, slowly anddeliberately, "that his foot, the foot that was crushed, will have tocome off. There is no danger--no reasonable danger, that is--of theoperation costing him his life. " He waited a moment, and as she saidnothing, he went on: "But though there is no danger of his losing hislife, there is a very great danger, Miss Otway, of his losing what tosuch a man as Jervis Blake counts, I think, for more than life--hiscourage. By that of course I do not mean physical bravery, but thatcourage, or strength of mind, which enables many men far more afflictedthan he will ever be, to retain their normal outlook on life. " Speakingmore to himself, he added, "I have formed a very good opinion of thisyoung man, and personally I think he will accept this great misfortunewith resignation and fortitude. But one can never tell, and it is alwaysbest to prepare for the worst. "

And then, for the first time, Rose spoke. "I understand what you mean, "she said quietly. "And I thank you very much, Sir Jacques, for havingspoken to me as you have done. "

"And now, " he said, "one word more. Sir John Blake does not know what Iam going to say, and perhaps my suggestion will not meet with hisapproval. It had been settled during the last few days, had it not, thatyou and Jervis were to be married before he went back to the Front?Well, I suggest that you be married now, before the operation takesplace. I am of course thinking of the matter solely from his point ofview--and from my point of view as his surgeon. "

Her heartfelt "Thank you" had hardly reached his ear before Sir JohnBlake spoke with a kind of harsh directness. 

"I don't think anything of the sort can be thought of now. In fact Iwould not give my consent to an immediate marriage. I feel certain thatmy son, too, would refuse to take advantage of his position to suggestit. "

"I think, " said Sir Jacques quietly, "that the suggestion in any casewould have to come from Miss Rose. "

And then, for the first time, Rose lost control of herself. She becameagitated, tearful--in her eagerness she put her hand on Sir John'sbreast, and looking piteously up into his face, "Of course I want tomarry him at once!" she said brokenly. "Every time I have had to leavehim in the last few days I have felt miserable. You see, I _feel_married to him already, and if you feel married, it's so very strangenot to _be_ married. "

She began to laugh helplessly, and the more, shocked at what she wasdoing, she tried to stop, the more she laughed. 

Sir Jacques came quickly forward. "Come, come!" he said sharply, andtaking her by the arm he shook her violently. "This won't do at all----"he gave a warning look at the other man. "Of course Miss Rose will doexactly what she wishes to do! She's quite right in saying that she's asgood as married to him already, Sir John. And it's our business--yours, hers, and mine--to think of Jervis, and of Jervis only just now. But shewon't be able to do that if she allows herself to be upset!"

"I'm so sorry--please forgive me!" Rose, to her own measureless relief, had stopped laughing, but she felt oddly faint and queer. Sir Jacquespoured out a very small wineglassful of brandy, and made her drink it. How odd to have a bottle of brandy here, in Mr. Robey's study! Mr. Robeywas a teetotaller. 

"Would you like me to go up to Jervis now?" asked Sir John slowly. 

Sir Jacques looked into the speaker's face. It was generally a clear, healthy tan colour; now it had gone quite grey. "No, " he said. "Not now. If you will forgive me for making a suggestion, I should advise that youand Miss Rose take Lady Blake out somewhere for an hour's walk. There'snothing like open air and a high road for calming the nerves. "

"I would rather not see my wife just now, " muttered Sir John frowning. 

But Sir Jacques answered sternly, "I'm afraid I must ask you to do so;and once you've got her out of doors for an hour, I'll give her asleeping draught. She'll be all right to-morrow morning. I don't wantany tears round my patient. "

It was Rose Otway who led Sir John Blake by the hand down the passage. The dreadful sounds coming from Mrs. Robey's sitting-room had died downa little, but they still pierced one listener's heart. 

"Do be kind to her, " whispered the girl. "Think what she must be goingthrough. She was so happy about him this morning----"

"Yes, yes! You're quite right, " he said hastily. "I've been a brute--Iknow that. I promise you to do my best. And Rose?"

"Yes, " she said. 

"What that man said is right--quite right. What we've got to do now isto start the boy on the right way--nothing else matters. "

She nodded. 

"You and I can do it. "

"Yes, I know we can--and will, " said Rose; and then she opened the doorof Mrs. Robey's sitting-room. 

At the sight of her husband, Lady Blake's sobs died down in long, convulsive sighs. 

"Come, my dear, " he said, in rather cold, measured tones. "This will notdo. You must try for our boy's sake to pull yourself together. Afterall, it might have been much worse. He might have been killed. "

"I would much rather he had been killed, " she exclaimed vehemently. "Oh, John, you don't know, you don't understand, what this will mean to him!"

"Don't I?" he asked. He set his teeth. And then, "You're acting verywrongly!" he said sternly. "We've got to face this thing out. Rememberwhat Sir Jacques said to you. " He waited a moment, then, in a gentler, kinder tone, "Rose and I are going out for a walk, and we want you tocome too. "

"Oh, I don't think I could do that. " She spoke uncertainly, and yet evenhe could see that she was startled, surprised, and yes, pleased. 

"Oh, yes, you can!" Rose came forward with the poor lady's hat and blacklace cloak. Very gently, but with the husband's strong arm gripping thewife's rather tightly, they between them led her out of the front doorinto the Close. 

"I think, " said Sir John mildly, "that you had better run back and getyour hat, Rose. "

She left them, and Sir John Blake, letting go of his wife's arm lookeddown into her poor blurred face for a moment. "That girl, " he saidhoarsely, "sets us both an example, Janey. "

"That's true, " she whispered, "But John?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you sometimes feel dreadfully _jealous_ of her?"

"I? God bless my soul, _no_!" But a very sweet smile, a smile she hadnot seen shed on her for many, many years, lit up his face. "We'll haveto think more of one another, and less of the boy--eh, my dear?"

Lady Blake was too surprised to speak--and so, for once doing the wisething, she remained silent. 

Rose, hurrying out a moment later, saw that the open air had alreadydone them both good. 

CHAPTER XXIV

"You've got to make him believe that you wish for the marriage to takeplace now, for your own sake, not for his. "

It was with those words, uttered by Sir Jacques Robey, still sounding inher ears, that Rose Otway walked up to the door of the room where JervisBlake, having just seen his father, was now waiting to see her. 

Sir John Blake's brief "He has taken it very well. He has a far greatersense of discipline than I had at his age, " had been belied, discounted, by the speaker's own look of suffering and of revolt. 

Rose waited outside the door for a few moments. She was torn withconflicting fears and emotions. A strange feeling of oppression andshyness had come over her. It had seemed so easy to say that she wouldbe married at once, to-morrow, to Jervis. But she had not known that shewould have to ask Jervis's consent. She had supposed, foolishly, that itwould all be settled for her by Sir Jacques. .. . 

At last she turned the handle of the door, and walked through into theroom. And then, to her unutterable relief, she saw that Jervis lookedexactly as usual, except that his face, instead of being pale, as it hadbeen the last few days, was rather flushed. 

Words which had been spoken to him less than five minutes ago were alsoechoing in Jervis's brain, pushing everything else into the background. He had said, "I suppose you think that I ought to offer to releaseRose?" and his father had answered slowly: "All I can say is that Ishould do so--if I were in your place. "

But now, when he saw her coming towards him, looking as she alwayslooked, save that something of the light and brightness which had alwaysbeen in her dear face had faded out of it, he knew that he could saynothing of the sort. This great trouble which had come on him was hertrouble as well as his, and he knew she was going to take it and to bearit, as he meant to take it and to bear it. 

But Jervis Blake did make up his mind to one thing. There should be nohurrying of Rose into a hasty marriage--the kind of marriage they hadplanned--the marriage which was to have taken place a week before hewent back to the Front. It must be his business to battle through thisgrim thing alone. It would be time enough to think of marriage when hewas up and about again, and when he had taught himself, as much as mightbe possible, to hide or triumph over his infirmity. 

As she came and sat down quietly by the side of his bed, on the chairwhich his father had just left, he put out his hand and took hers. 

"I want to tell you, " he said slowly, "that what my father has just toldme was not altogether a surprise. I've felt rather--well, rather afraidof it, since Sir Jacques first examined me. There was something in thenurses' manner too--but of course I knew I might be wrong. I'm sorry nowthat I didn't tell you. "

She still said nothing--only gripped his hand more and more tightly. 

"And Rose? One thing father said is being such a comfort to me. Fatherthinks that I shall still be able to be of use--I mean in the way Ishould like to be, especially if the war goes on a long time. I wonderif he showed you this?" He picked up off his bed a little piece of paperand held it out to her. 

Through her bitter tears she read the words: "German thoroughness"--andthen a paragraph which explained how the German military authoritieswere using their disabled officers in the training of recruits. 

"Father thinks that in time they'll do something of the sort here--notyet, perhaps, but in some months from now. "

And then, as she still did not speak, he grew uneasy. "Come a littlenearer, " he whispered. "I feel as if you were so far away. We needn't beafraid of any one coming in. Father has promised that no one shalldisturb us till you ring. "

She did as he asked, and putting his uninjured arm right round her, heheld her closely to him. 

It was the first time since that strange home-coming of his that Jervishad felt secure against the sudden irruption into the room of somewell-meaning person. Of the two it was Jervis who had been silentlydetermined to give the talkative, sentimental nurses no excuse for eventhe mildest, the kindliest comment. 

But now everything was merged in this great ordeal of love and griefthey were battling through together--secure from the unwanted presenceof others as they had not been since he had last felt her heartfluttering beneath his, in the porch of the cathedral. 

"Oh, Rose, " he whispered at last, "you don't know what a differencehaving you makes to me! If it wasn't for you, I don't know how I couldface it. "

For a moment she clung a little closer to him. He felt her tremblingwith a wave of emotion to which he had no present clue. "Oh, Jervis--dear Jervis, is that true?" she asked piteously. 

"Do you doubt it?" he whispered. 

"Then there's something I want you to do for me. "

"You know that there isn't anything in the world you could ask me to dothat I wouldn't do, Rose. "

"I want you to marry me to-morrow, " she said. And then, as for a momenthe remained silent, she began to cry. "Oh, Jervis, do say yes--unlessyou very, very much want to say no!"

 * * * * *

During the next forty-eight hours Sir Jacques Robey settled what was tobe done, when it should be done, and how it was to be done. 

Of the people concerned, it was perhaps Lady Blake who seemed the mostunder his influence. She submitted without a word to his accompanyingher into her son's bedroom, and it was in response to his insistentcommand--for it was no less--that instead of alluding to the tragicthing which filled all her thoughts, she only spoke of the morrow'swedding, and of her happiness in the daughter her son was giving her. 

It was Sir Jacques, too, who persuaded Mrs. Otway to agree that animmediate marriage was the best of all possible solutions for Rose aswell as for Jervis; and it was he, also, who suggested that Sir JohnBlake should go over to the Deanery and make all the necessaryarrangements with Dr. Haworth. But perhaps the most striking example ofSir Jacques's good sense and thoroughness occurred after Sir John hadbeen to the Deanery. 

Dr. Haworth had fallen in with every suggestion with the most eager, ready sympathy; and Sir John, who before coming to Witanbury hadregarded him as a pacifist and pro-German, had come really to like andrespect him. So it was that now, as he came back from the Deanery, andup to the gate of the Trellis House, he was in a softer, more yieldingmood than usual. 

Sir Jacques hurried out to meet him. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes--everything's settled. But it's your responsibility, not mine!"

"I've been wondering, Sir John, whether the Dean reminded you that weshall require a wedding ring?"

"No, he did not. " Sir John Blake looked rather taken aback. "I wonderwhat I'd better do?" he muttered helplessly. 

"You and Lady Blake had better go into the town and buy one, " said SirJacques. "I don't feel that we can put _that_ job on poor little Rose. She's had quite enough to do as it is--and gallantly she's done it!"

And as Sir John began to look cross and undecided, the other said with atouch of sharpness, "Of course if you'd rather not do it, I'll buy thering myself. But I've been neglecting my work this morning. "

Ashamed of his ungraciousness, as the other had meant him to be, SirJohn said hastily, "Of course I'll get it! I was only wondering whetherI hadn't better go alone. "

"Lady Blake would be of great use in choosing it, and for the matter ofthat, in trying it on. If you wait here a moment I'll go and fetch her. She's got her hat on, I know. "

So it happened that, in three or four minutes, just long enough for SirJohn to begin to feel impatient, Jervis's mother came out of the TrellisHouse. She was smiling up into the great surgeon's face, and her husbandtold himself that it was an extraordinary thing how this wedding hadturned their minds--all their minds--away from Jervis's coming ordeal. 

"I wonder if Rose would like a broad or narrow wedding ring?" said LadyBlake thoughtfully. "I'm afraid there won't be very much choice in aplace like Witanbury. "

Sir Jacques looked after the couple for a few moments, then he turnedand went into the Trellis House, and so into the drawing-room. 

"Bachelors, " he said meditatively, "sometimes have a way of playing thevery mischief between married couples--eh, Mrs. Otway? So it's only fairthat now and again a bachelor should do something towards bringing acouple together again. "

She looked at him, surprised. What odd--and yes, rather improperthings--Sir Jacques sometimes said! But--but he was a _very_ kind man. Mrs. Otway was a simple woman, though she would have felt a good dealnettled had anyone told her so. 

"I rather wonder, " she said impulsively, "why _you_ never married. Youseem to approve of marriage, Sir Jacques?" She was looking into his facewith an eager, kindly look. 

"If you look at me long enough, " he said slowly, "I think you'll beable to answer that question for yourself. The women I wanted--therewere three of them----" and then, as he saw that she again lookedslightly shocked, he added, "Not altogether, but consecutively, youunderstand--well, not one of them would have me! The women who mighthave put up with me--well, I didn't seem to want them! But I should liketo say one thing to you, Mrs. Otway. This particular affair in which youand I are interested does seem to me, if you'll allow me to say so, 'amarriage of true minds----'" He stopped abruptly, and to her greatsurprise left the room without finishing his sentence. 

 * * * * *

Such trifling, and at the time such seemingly unimportant, littlehappenings are often those which long afterwards leap out from the past, bringing with them poignant memories of joy, of sorrow, of pain, and ofhappiness. 

Rose Blake will always remember that it was her poor old German nurse, Anna Bauer, who, on her wedding day, made her wear a white dress and aveil. She had meant to be married, in so far as she had given anythought to the matter at all, in her ordinary blue serge skirt and aclean blouse. 

Those about her might be able to forget, for a few merciful hours, whatlay before Jervis; but she, Rose Otway, could not forget it. She knewthat she was marrying him now, not in order that she might be evencloser to him than she felt herself to be--that seemed to herimpossible--but in order that others might think so. She would havepreferred the ceremony to take place only in the presence of hisparents and of her mother. But as to that she had been given no say;Sir Jacques and Mr. And Mrs. Robey had announced as a matter of coursethat they would be present, and so she had assented to her mother'ssuggestion that Miss Forsyth should be asked. If Mr. And Mrs. Robey andSir Jacques were to be there, then she did not mind Miss Forsyth, herkind old friend, being there too. 

Anna had protested with tearful vehemence against the blue serge skirtand the pretty blouse--nay, more, she had already taken the white gownshe intended that her beloved nursling should wear, out of the bag whichshe, Anna, had made for it last year. It was a very charming frock, afine exquisitely embroidered India muslin, the only really beautifulday-dress Rose had ever had in her young life. And oddly enough it hadbeen a present from Miss Forsyth. 

Miss Forsyth--it was nearly eighteen months ago--had invited Rose tocome up to London with her for a day's shopping, and then she hadsuddenly presented her young friend with this attractive, and yes, expensive gown. There had been a blue sash, but this had now been takenoff by Anna, and a bluey-white satin band substituted. As to that Rosenow rebelled. "If I _am_ to wear this dress to-day, I should like theblue sash put back, " she said quickly. "Blue is supposed to bring luckto brides, Anna. "

What had really turned the scale in Rose's mind had been Anna's tears, and the fact that Miss Forsyth would be pleased to see her married inthat gown. 

But over the lace veil there had been something like a tug of war. Andthis time it was Mrs. Otway who had won the day. "If you wear thatmuslin dress, then I cannot see why you should not wear yourgrandmother's wedding veil, " she had exclaimed--and again Rose had givenin. 

Poor old Anna! It was a day of days for her--far more a day of days thanhad been the marriage of her own daughter. Yet Louisa Bauer's weddinghad been a great festival. And the old woman remembered what pains Mrs. Otway had taken to make that marriage of five years ago, as far as waspossible in such a very English place as Witanbury, a German bridal. Inthose days they had none of them guessed what an unsatisfactory fellowGeorge Pollit was going to turn out; and Louisa had gone to her new homewith quite a German trousseau--that is, with what would have appeared toEnglish eyes stacks of under-clothing, each article beautifullyembroidered with a monogram and lavishly trimmed with fine crochet; eachset tied up with a washing band or _Waschebander_, a strip of canvaselaborately embroidered in cross-stitch. 

It seemed strangely sad and unnatural that Anna's gracious young ladyshould have no trousseau at all! But that doubtless would comeafterwards, and she, Anna, felt sure that she would be allowed to have ahand in choosing it. This thought was full of consolation, as was alsoher secret supposition that the future trousseau would be paid for bythe bridegroom. 

There was certainly cause for satisfaction in that thought, for Anna hadbecome conscious of late that her dear mistress felt anxious aboutmoney. Prices were going up, but thanks to her, Anna's, zealous care, the housekeeping bills at the Trellis House were still kept wonderfullylow. It was unfortunate that Mrs. Otway, being the kind of graciouslady she was, scarcely gave Anna sufficient credit for this. It was notthat she was ungrateful, it was simply that she did not think anythingabout it--she only remembered that she was short of money when thehousehold books were there, open in front of her. 

CHAPTER XXV

And now the small group of men and women who were to be present at themarriage of Rose Otway and Jervis Blake were gathered together in Mrs. Robey's large drawing-room. Seven people in all, for the Dean had notyet arrived. 

In addition to the master and mistress of the hospitable house in whichthey now all found themselves, there were there Sir John and Lady Blake;Miss Forsyth--who, alone of the company, had dressed herself with acertain old-fashioned magnificence; Sir Jacques, who had just come intothe room after taking Rose and her mother up to Jervis's room; andlastly good old Anna Bauer, who sat a little apart by herself, staringwith a strange, rather wild look at the group of people standing beforeher. 

To Anna's excited mind, they did not look like a wedding party; theylooked, with the exception of Miss Forsyth, who wore a light grey silkdress trimmed with white lace, like people waiting to start for afuneral. 

No one spoke, with the exception of Lady Blake, who occasionallyaddressed a nervous question, in an undertone, to Mrs. Robey. 

At last there came the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Mr. Robey went out, rather hurriedly, and his wife exclaimed, "I think thatmust be the Dean. My husband is taking him upstairs----" And then shewaited a moment, and glanced anxiously at her brother-in-law, SirJacques. It was strange how even she, who had never particularly likedSir Jacques, looked to him for guidance to-day. 

In answer to that look he moved forward a little, and made a queerlittle sound, as if clearing his throat. Then, very deliberately, headdressed the people before him. 

"Before we go upstairs, " he began, "I want to say something to you all. I cannot help noticing that you all look very sad. Now of course I don'task you to try and look gay during the coming half-hour, but I doearnestly beg of you to try and feel happy. Above all--" and he lookeddirectly at Lady Blake as he spoke--"above all, " he repeated, "I mustbeg of you very earnestly indeed to allow yourselves no show of emotion. We not only hope, but we confidently expect, that our young friends arebeginning to-day what will be an exceptionally happy, and--and----" hewaited for a moment, then apparently found the word he wanted--"anexceptionally harmonious married life. I base that view of what we allbelieve, not on any exaggerated notion of what life generally brings tothe average married couple, but on the knowledge we possess of boththese young people's characters. Nothing can take away from Jervis Blakehis splendid past, and we may reasonably believe that he is going tohave with this sweet, brave young woman, who loves him so well, acontented future. "

Again Sir Jacques paused, and then not less earnestly he continued: "Iwant Jervis Blake to look back on to-day as on a happy and hallowed day. If anyone here feels that they will not be able to command themselves, then I beg him or her most strongly to stay away. "

He turned and opened the door behind him, and as he did so, hissister-in-law heard him mutter to himself: "Of course at the greatmajority of weddings if the people present knew what was going to comeafterwards, they would do nothing but cry. But this is not that sort ofwedding, thank God!"

Sir Jacques and old Anna came last up the staircase leading to JervisBlake's room. He and the old German woman were on very friendly terms. Before the War Sir Jacques had been in constant correspondence with twoeminent German surgeons, and as a young man he had spent a year of studyin Vienna. He now addressed a few cheerful, heartening remarks in Germanto Rose's old nurse, winding up rather peremptorily with the words:"There must be no tears. There is here only matter for rejoicing. " AndAnna, in a submissive whisper, had answered, "Ja! Ja!"

And then, as she walked last into the room, Anna uttered a gutturalexpression of delighted surprise, for it was as if every hothouse flowerin Witanbury had been gathered to do honour to the white-clad, veiledfigure who now stood, with downcast eyes, by the bridegroom's bedside. 

The flowers were Mr. Robey's gift. He had gone out quite early thatmorning and had pressed all those of his acquaintances who hadgreenhouses, as well as the flower shops in Witanbury, undercontribution; and the delicate, bright colouring with which the room wasnow filled gave a festive, welcoming air to this bridal chamber. 

Rose looked up, and as her eyes met the loving, agitated glance of hernurse, she felt a sudden thrill of warm gratitude to good old Anna, forJervis had whispered, "How lovely you look, darling! Somehow I thoughtyou would wear an everyday dress--but this is much, much nicer!"

Those present followed the order of the marriage service with veryvarying emotions, and never had the Dean delivered the familiar, awesomewords with more feeling and more grace of diction. 

But the only two people in that room whose breasts were stirred toreally happy memories were Mr. And Mrs. Robey. They, standing together alittle in the background, almost unconsciously clasped each other'shands. 

Across the mind of Sir John Blake there flashed a vivid memory of hisown wedding day. The marriage had been celebrated in the cantonmentchurch of an up-country station, where, after a long, wearyingengagement, and a good deal of what he had even then called"shilly-shallying, " his betrothed had come out from England to marryhim. He remembered, in a queer jumble of retrospective gratitude andimpatience, how certain of the wives of his brother officers haddecorated the little plain church; and the mingled scents of the flowersnow massed about him recalled that of the orange blossoms and thetuberoses at his own wedding. 

But real as that long-vanished scene still was to Jervis's father, whathe now remembered best of all the emotions which had filled his heart ashe had stood waiting at the chancel steps for his pretty, nervous bridewere the good resolutions he had made--made and so soon broken. .. . 

As for Sir Jacques, he had never been to a wedding since he had beenlast forced to do so as a boy by his determined mother. The refusal ofall marriage invitations was an eccentricity which friends and patientseasily pardoned to the successful and popular surgeon, and so thepresent ceremony had the curious interest of complete novelty. He hadmeant to read over the service to see what part he himself had to play, but the morning had slipped away and he had not had time. 

Jervis, in answer to perhaps the most solemn and awful question ever putto man, had just answered fervently "I will, " and Rose's response hadalso been uttered very clearly, when suddenly someone gave Sir Jacques alittle prod, and the Dean, with the words, "Who giveth this woman to bemarried to this man?" made him a quiet sign. 

Sir Jacques came forward, and in answer, said "_I_ do, " in a loud tone. And then he saw the Dean take Jervis's right hand and place it in Rose'sleft, and utter the solemn words with which even he was acquainted. 

"I, Jervis, take thee, Rose, to be my wedded wife, to have and to holdfrom this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, insickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth. "

A series of tremendous promises to make and to keep! But for the momentcynicism had fallen away from Sir Jacques's heart, and somehow he feltsure that, at any rate in this case, those tremendous promises would bekept. 

He had been afraid that the Dean would make an address, or at the leastwould say a few words that would reduce some of the tiny congregation totears. But Dr. Haworth was too wise for that, and perhaps he knew thatnothing he could say could improve on the _Beati omnes_. 

And it was then, towards the close of that wedding ceremony, that SirJacques suddenly made up his mind what should be the words graven insidewhat he intended should be his wedding gift to Rose Blake--that gift wasa fine old-fashioned ruby ring, the only one of his mother's jewels hepossessed, and the words he then chose in his own mind were those of thePsalmist, "O well is thee, and happy shalt thou be. "

CHAPTER XXVI

 "DEAR MRS. OTWAY, "I am so very glad to be able to send you the enclosed. Of course I have not read it. In fact I do not know German. But I gather that it contains news of Major Guthrie, and that it is written with a kindly intention. It was probably intended to arrive for Christmas. 

 "Yours very truly, "ANNABEL GAUNT. 

 "P. S. --Any letters you write in answer must be left open. "

The envelope enclosed by Mrs. Gaunt, which bore the Censor's stamp, hadcome from Switzerland, and had been forwarded by favour of the GenevaRed Cross. 

With an indescribable feeling of suspense, of longing, and of relief, Mrs. Otway drew out the sheet of paper. It was closely covered with thecramped German characters with which she was, of course, familiar. 

 "MINDEN, "_15 December, 1914. _

 "DEAR MADAM, "As Medical Superintendent of the Field Lazarette at Minden, I write on behalf of a British prisoner of war, Major Guthrie, who has now been under my care for fourteen weeks. 

 "I wish to assure you that he has had the very highest medical skill bestowed on him since he came here. Owing to the exceptional exigencies and strain put on our Medical Service at the Front, he did not perhaps obtain the care to which he was entitled by our merciful and humane usages of war, as soon as would have been well. He received a most serious wound in the shoulder. That wound, I am pleased to tell you, is in as good a state as possible, and will leave no ill-effects. 

 "But I regret to tell you, Madam, that Major Guthrie has lost his eyesight. He bears this misfortune with remarkable fortitude. As a young man I myself spent a happy year in Edinburgh, and so we have agreeable subjects of conversation. He tells me you are quite familiar with my language, or I should of course have written to you in English. 

 "Believe me, Madam, "To remain with the utmost respect, "Yours faithfully, "KARL BRECHT. "

Underneath the signature of the doctor was written in hesitating, strange characters the words in English, "God bless you. --ALEXANDERGUTHRIE. "

And then, under these five words, came another sentence in German:

"I may tell you for your consolation that it is extremely probable thatMajor Guthrie will be exchanged in the course of the next few weeks. ButI have said nothing of that to him, for it will depend on the good-willof the British Government, and it is a good-will which we Germans havenow learnt to distrust. "

She read the letter through again. There came over her a feeling ofagony such as she never imagined any human being could suffer. 

During the past weeks of suspense, she had faced in her own mind manyawful possibilities, but of this possibility she had not thought. 

Now she remembered, with piteous vividness, the straight, kindly gaze inhis bright blue eyes--eyes which had had a pleasant play of humour inthem. Sight does not mean the same to all men, but she knew that itmeant a very great deal to the man she loved. He had always been anout-door man, a man who cared for everything that concerned open-airlife--for birds, for trees, for flowers, for shooting, fishing, andgardening. 

Ever since she had known that Major Guthrie was alive and wounded, aprisoner in Germany, she had allowed her thoughts to dwell on theletters she would write to him when she received his address. She hadcomposed so many letters in her mind--alternative letters--letters whichshould somehow make clear to him all that was in her heart, while yetconcealing it first from the British Censors and then from his Germanjailers. 

But now she did not give these Censors and jailers a thought. She satdown and wrote quite simply and easily the words which welled up out ofher heart:

 "MY DEAREST, "To-day is New Year's Day, and I have had the great joy of receiving news of you. Also your blessing, which has already done me good. I wish you to get this letter quickly, so I will not make it long. 

 "I am forbidden to give you any news, so I will only say that Rose and I are well. That I love you and think of you all the time, and look forward to being always with you in God's good time. "

She hesitated a moment as to how she would sign herself, and then shewrote:

 "Your own

 "MARY. "

She looked over the letter, wondering if she could say any more, andthen a sudden inspiration came to her. She added a postscript:

"I am spending the money you left with me. It is a great comfort. "

This was not strictly true, but she made up her mind that it shouldbecome true before the day was out. 

Far longer did she take over her letter to the German doctor--indeed, she made three drafts of it, being so pitifully anxious to say just theright thing, neither too much nor too little, which might favourablyincline him to his prisoner patient. 

All the time she was writing this second letter she felt as if theCensors were standing by her, frowning, picking out a sentence here, asentence there. She would have liked to say something of the time shehad spent at Weimar, but she dared not do so; perhaps if she saidanything of the kind her letter might not get through. 

There was nothing Mrs. Otway desired to say which the sternest Censorcould have found fault with in either country, but the poor soul did notknow that. Still, even so, she wrote a very charming letter ofgratitude--so charming, indeed, and so admirably expressed, that whenthe Medical Superintendent at last received it, he said to himself, "Thegracious lady writer of this letter must be partly German. NoEnglishwoman could have written like this!"

There was one more letter to write, but Mrs. Otway found no difficultyin expressing in few sentences her warm gratitude to her new friend atArlington Street. 

She put the three letters in a large envelope--the one for the Germanhospital carefully addressed according to the direction at the top ofthe Medical Superintendent's letter, but open as she had been told toleave it. On chance, for she was quite ignorant whether the postageshould be prepaid, she put a twopenny-halfpenny stamp on the letter, andthen, having done that, fastened down the big envelope and addressed itto Mrs. Gaunt, at 20, Arlington Street. 

Then she took another envelope out of her drawer--that containing MajorGuthrie's bank-notes. There, in with them, was still the postcard he hadwritten to her from France, immediately after the landing of theExpeditionary Force. She looked at the clearly-written Frenchsentence--the sentence in which the writer maybe had tried to conveysomething of his yearning for her. Taking the india-rubber band off thenotes, she put one into her purse. She was very sorry now that shehadn't done as he had asked her--spent this money when, as had happenedmore than once during the last few weeks, she had been disagreeablyshort. 

And then she went out, walking very quietly through the hall. She didnot feel as if she wanted old Anna to know that she had heard fromGermany. It would be hard enough to have to tell Rose the dreadful thingwhich, bringing such anguish to herself, could only give the girl, absorbed in her own painful ordeal, a passing pang of sympathy andregret. 

 * * * * *

Poor old Anna! Mrs. Otway was well aware that as the days went on Annabecame less and less pleasant to live with. 

Not for the first time of late, she wondered uneasily if Miss Forsythhad been right, on that August day which now seemed so very long ago. Would it not have been better, even from Anna's point of view, to havesent her back to her own country, to Berlin, to that young couple whoseemed to have so high an opinion of her, and with whom she had spent sosuccessful a holiday three years ago? At the time it had seemedunthinkable, a preposterous notion, but now--Mrs. Otway sighed--now itwas only too clear that old Anna was not happy, and that she bitterlyresented the very slight changes the War had made in her own position. 

Anna was even more discontented and unhappy than her mistress knew. True, both Mrs. Otway and Rose had given her their usual Christmasgifts, and one of these gifts had been far more costly than ever before. But there had been no heart for the pretty Tree which, as long as Rosecould remember anything, had been the outstanding feature of eachtwenty-fifth of December in her young life. 

Yes, it had indeed been a dull and dreary Christmas for Anna! Last yearshe had received a number of delightful presents from Berlin. These hadincluded a marzipan sausage, a marzipan turnip, and a wonderful toyZeppelin made of sausage--a real sausage fitted with a real screw, arudder, and at each end a flag. 

But this autumn, as the weeks had gone by without bringing any answer toher affectionate letters, she had told herself that Minna, or if notMinna then Willi, would surely write for Christmas. And most bitterlydisappointed had Anna felt when the Christmas week went by bringing noletter. 

In vain Mrs. Otway told her that perhaps Willi and Minna felt, as somany Germans were said to do, such hatred of England that they did notcare even to send a letter to someone living there. To Anna this seemedquite impossible. It was far more likely that the cruel English PostOffice had kept back the letter because it came from Germany. 

Now it was New Year's Day, and after having heard her mistress go out, Anna, sore at heart, reminded herself that were she now in service inGermany she would have already received this morning a really handsomemoney gift, more a right than a perquisite, from her mistress. She didnot remind herself that this yearly benefaction is always demanded backby a German employer of his servant, if that servant is discharged, owing to her own fault, within a year. 

Yes, England was indeed an ill-organized country! How often had shelonged in the last eighteen years to possess the privilege of awish-ticket--that delightful _Wunschzettel_ which enables so many happypeople in the Fatherland to make it quite plain what it is they reallywant to have given them for a birthday or a Christmas present. Strangeto say--but Anna did not stop to think of that now--this wonderful bitof organisation does not always work out quite well. Evil has been knownto come from a wish-ticket, for a modest person is apt to ask toolittle, and then is bitterly disappointed at not getting more than heasks for, while the grasping ask too much, and are angered at gettingless!

It would be doing Anna a great injustice to suppose that her sadthoughts were all of herself on this mournful New Year's Day of 1915. Her sentimental heart was pierced with pain every time she looked intothe face of her beloved nursling. Not that she often had an opportunityof looking into Rose's face, for Mrs. Jervis Blake (never would Anna getused to that name!) only came home to sleep. She almost always stayedand had supper with the Robeys, then she would rush home for the night, and after an early breakfast--during which, to Anna's thinking, she didnot eat nearly enough--be off again to spend with her bridegroomwhatever time she was not devoting to war work under Miss Forsyth. 

Anna had been curious to know how soon Mr. Blake would be able to walk, but in answer to a very simple, affectionate question, the bride, whohad just then been looking so happy--as radiant, indeed, as a Germanbride looks within a month of her marriage day--had burst into tears, and said hurriedly, "Oh, it won't be very long now, dear Anna, but I'drather not talk about it, if you don't mind. "

Yet another thing added to Anna's deep depression. It seemed to her thatAlfred Head no longer enjoyed her company as he used to do. He hadordained that they must always speak English, even when alone; and toher mingled anger and surprise he had told her plainly that, in spite ofhis solemn assurance, he neither could nor would pay her the fiftyshillings which was now owing to her in connection with that littlesecret matter arranged between herself and Willi three years ago. 

About this question of the fifty shillings Mr. Head had behaved verystrangely and rudely indeed. He had actually tried to persuade her _thathe knew nothing of it_--that it was not he but someone else who hadgiven her the five half-sovereigns on that evening of the 4th of August!Then when she, righteously indignant, had forced the reluctant memoryupon him, he had explained that everything was now different, and thatthe passing of this money from him to her might involve them both inserious trouble. 

Anna had never heard so flimsy an excuse. She felt sure that he waskeeping her out of the money due to her because business was not quiteso flourishing now as it had been. 

CHAPTER XXVII

The days went on, and to Mrs. Otway's surprise and bitterdisappointment, there came no answer to the letter she had written tothe German surgeon. She had felt so sure that he would write again verysoon--if not exactly by return, then within a week or ten days. 

The only people she told were Major Guthrie's solicitor, Robert Allen, and her daughter. But though both, in their different ways, sympathisedwith her deeply, neither of them could do anything to help her. Ratheragainst her will, Mr. Allen wrote and informed his client of Mrs. Guthrie's death, asking for instructions concerning certain urgentbusiness matters. But even that letter did not draw any answer from theField Lazarette. 

As for Rose, she soon gave up asking if another letter had come, and toMrs. Otway's sore heart it was as if the girl, increasingly absorbed inher own not always easy problem of keeping Jervis happy under thepainful handicap of his present invalid condition, had no time to sparefor that of anyone else. Poor Rose often felt that she would give, asruns the old saying, anything in the world to have her man to herself, as a cottage wife would have had hers by now--with no nurses, nofriends, no doctor even, save perhaps for a very occasional visit. 

But Mrs. Otway was not fair to Rose; in never mentioning Major Guthrieand the terrible misfortune which had befallen him, she was treatingher mother as she herself would have wished to be treated in a likecase. 

A great trouble overshadows all little troubles. One disagreeableincident which, had life been normal with her then, would have muchirritated and annoyed the mistress of the Trellis House, was the arrivalof a curt notice stating that her telephone was to be disconnected, owing to the fact that there resided in her house an enemy alien in theperson of one Anna Bauer. 

Now the telephone had never been as necessary to Mrs. Otway as it was tomany of her acquaintances, but lately, since her life had become solonely, she had fallen into the way of talking over it each morning withMiss Forsyth. 

Miss Forsyth, whom the people of Witanbury thought so absurdlyold-fashioned, had been one of the very first telephone subscribers inWitanbury. But she had sternly set her face against its frivolous andextravagant use. This being so, it was a little strange that she sowillingly spent five minutes or more of her morning work-time in talkingover it to Mrs. Otway. But Miss Forsyth had become aware that all wasnot well with her friend, and this seemed the only way she was able tohelp in a trouble or state of mental distress to which she had noclue--though sometimes a suspicion which touched on the fringe of thetruth came into her mind. 

During these morning talks they would sometimes discuss the War. Mrs. Otway never spoke of the War to anyone else, for even now she could notbring herself to share the growing horror and, yes, contempt, all thoseabout her felt for Germany. Miss Forsyth was an intelligent woman, and, as her friend knew, had sources of information denied to the amateurstrategists and gossips of Witanbury Close. So it was that the forceddiscontinuance of the little morning talk, which so often broughtcomfort to Mrs. Otway's sore heart, was a real pain and loss. 

She had made a spirited protest, pointing out that all her neighbourshad the telephone, and that by merely asking any of them to allow herservant to send a message, she could circumvent this, to her, absurd andunnecessary rule. But her protest had only brought a formalacknowledgment, and that very day her telephone had been disconnected. 

She would have been astonished, even now, had she known with whatever-swelling suspicion some of her neighbours and acquaintancesregarded her. 

The great rolling uplands round the city were now covered with vastcamps, and Witanbury every day was full of soldiers; there was not afamily in the Close, and scarce a family in the town, but had more thanone near and dear son, husband, brother, lover, in the New Armies, ifnot yet--as in very many cases--already out at the Front. 

In spite of what was still described as Rose Otway's "romanticmarriage, " Mrs. Otway was regarded as having no connection with theArmy, and her old affection for Germany and the Germans was resented, asalso the outstanding fact that she still retained in her service anenemy alien. 

And, as is almost always the case, there was some ground for thisfeeling, for it was true that the mistress of the Trellis House tookvery little interest in the course of the great struggle which wasgoing on in France and in Flanders. She glanced over the paper eachmorning, and often a name seen in the casualty lists brought her thepainful task of writing a letter of condolence to some old friend oracquaintance. But she did not care, as did all the people around her, totalk about the War. It had brought to her, personally, too much hiddenpain. How surprised her critics would have been had an angel, or someequally credible witness informed them that of all the women of theiracquaintance there was no one whose life had been more altered oraffected by the War than Mary Otway's!

She was too unhappy to care much what those about her thought of her. Even so, it did hurt her when she came, slowly, to realise that theRobeys and Mrs. Haworth, who were after all the most intimate of herneighbours in the Close, regarded with surprise, and yes, indignation, what they imagined to be an unpatriotic disinclination on her part tofollow intelligently the march of events. 

It took her longer to find out that the continued presence of her goodold Anna at the Trellis House was rousing a certain amount ofdisagreeable comment. At first no one had thought it in the leaststrange that Anna stayed on with her, but now, occasionally, someonesaid a word indicative of surprise that there should be a German womanliving in Witanbury Close. 

But what were these foolish, ignorant criticisms but tiny pin-prickscompared with the hidden wound in her heart? The news for which shecraved was not news of victory from the Front, but news that at lastthe negotiations now in progress for the exchange of disabled prisonersof war had been successful. That news, however, seemed as if it wouldnever come. 

In one thing Mrs. Otway was fortunate. There was plenty of hard work todo that winter in Witanbury, and, in spite of her supposed lack ofinterest in the War, Mrs. Otway had a wonderful way with soldiers' wivesand mothers, so much so that in time all the more difficult cases werehanded over to her. 

 * * * * *

"This is to warn you that you are being watched. A friend of England iskeeping an eye on you, not ostentatiously, but none the less veryclosely. Dismiss the German woman who has already been too long in youremployment. England can take no risks. "

Mrs. Otway had come home, after a long afternoon of visiting, and foundthis anonymous letter waiting for her. On the envelope her name andaddress were inscribed in large capitals. 

She stared down at the dictatorial message--written of course in adisguised hand--with mingled disgust and amusement. Then, suddenly, shemade up her mind to show it to Miss Forsyth before burning it. 

Tired though she was, she left the house again, and slowly walked roundto see her old friend. 

Miss Forsyth smiled over it, but she also frowned, and she frowned morethan she smiled when Mrs. Otway exclaimed, "Did you ever see such anextraordinary thing?"

"It is not so extraordinary as you think, Mary! I must honestly tell youthat in my opinion the writer of this anonymous letter is right inbelieving that there is a good deal of spying and of conveying valuableinformation to the enemy. "

She waited a moment, and then went on, deliberately: "I suppose you arequite sure of your old Anna, my dear? Used she not to be in very closetouch with Berlin? Has she broken all that off since the War began?"

"Indeed she has!" cried Mrs. Otway eagerly. She was surprised at theturn the conversation had taken. Was it conceivable that Miss Forsythmust be numbered henceforth among the spy maniacs of whom she knew therewere a good many in Witanbury? "She made every kind of effort early inthe War--for the matter of that I did what I could to help her--to getinto touch with her relations there, for she was very anxious andmiserable about them. But she failed--absolutely failed!"

"And how about her German friends in England? I suppose she has Germanfriends?"

"To the best of my belief, she hasn't a single German acquaintance!"exclaimed Anna's mistress confidently. "She used to know thoseunfortunate Fröhlings rather well, but, as I daresay you know, they leftWitanbury quite early in the War--in fact during the first week of war. And she certainly hasn't heard from them. I asked her if she had, sometime ago. Dear Miss Forsyth, do believe me when I say that, apart fromher very German appearance, and her funny way of talking, my poor oldAnna is to all intents and purposes an Englishwoman. Why, she has livedin England twenty-two years!"

There came a very curious, dubious, hesitating expression on MissForsyth's face. "I daresay that what you say is true, " she said at last. "But even so, if I were you, Mary, I should show her that letter. Shemay be in touch with some of her own people--I mean in all innocence. Itwould be very disagreeable for you if such turned out to be the case. Ihappen to know that Witanbury is believed to be--well, what shall I callit?--a spy centre for this part of England. I don't know that it's somuch the city, as the neighbourhood. You see, we're not so very far awayfrom one of the beaches which it is thought the Germans, if they did trya landing, would choose as a good place. "

Mrs. Otway's extreme astonishment showed in her face. 

"You know I never gossip, Mary, so you may take what I say as beingtrue. But I beg you to keep it to yourself. Don't even tell Rose, or theDean. My information does not come from anyone here, in Witanbury. Itcomes from London. "

 * * * * *

Straws show the way the wind is blowing. The anonymous letter sent tothe Trellis House was one straw; another was the revelation made to Mrs. Otway by Miss Forsyth. 

The wind indicated by these two small straws suddenly developed, on the25th of March, into a hurricane. Luckily it was not a hurricane whichaffected Mrs. Otway or her good old Anna at all directly, but it upsetthem both, in their several ways, very much indeed, for it took theextraordinary shape of a violent attack by a mob armed with pickaxes andcrowbars on certain so-called Germans--for they were allnaturalised--and their property. 

A very successful recruiting meeting had been held in the Market Place. At this meeting the local worthies had been present in force. Thus, onthe platform which had been erected in front of the Council House, theLord Lieutenant of the County, supported by many religious dignitaries, headed by the Dean, had made an excellent speech, followed by othershort, stirring addresses, each a trumpet call to the patriotism ofWitanbury. Not one of these speeches incited to violence in any form, but reference had naturally been made to some of the terrible thingsthat the Germans had done in Belgium, and one speaker had made it veryplain that should a German invasion take place on the British coast, thecivilian population must expect that the fate of Belgium would betheirs. 

The meeting had come to a peaceful end, and then, an hour later, as soonas the great personages had all gone and night had begun to fall, rioting had suddenly broken out, the rioters being led by two women, both Irish-women, whose husbands were believed to have been cruellyill-treated when on their way to a prison camp in Germany. 

The story had been published in the local paper, on the testimony of amedical orderly who had come back to England after many strangeadventures. True, an allusion had been made to the matter in one of therecruiting speeches, but the speaker had not made very much of it; andthough what he had said had drawn groans from his large audience, andthough the words he had used undoubtedly made it more easy for themagistrate, when he came to deal with the case of these two women, todismiss them with only a caution, yet no one could reasonably supposethat it was this which led to the riot. 

For a few minutes things had looked very ugly. A good deal of damage wasdone, for instance, to the boot factory, which was still being managed(and very well managed too) by a naturalised German and his son. Thenthe rioters had turned their attention to the Witanbury Stores. "TheKaiser, " as Alfred Head was still called by his less kindly neighbours, had always been disliked in the poorer quarters of the town, and thatlong before the War. Now was the time for paying off old scores. So theplate-glass windows were shivered with a will, as well as with pickaxes;and all the goods, mostly consisting of bacon, butter, and cheese, whichhad dressed those windows, had been taken out, thrown among the rioters, and borne off in triumph. It was fortunate that no damage had been donethere to life or limb. 

Alfred Head had fled at once to the highest room in the building. Therehe had stayed, locked in, cowering and shivering, till the police, strongly reinforced by soldiers, had driven the rioters off. 

Polly at first had stood her ground. "Cowards! Cowards!" she had cried, bravely rushing into the shop; and it was no thanks to the rioters thatshe had not been very roughly handled indeed. Luckily the police justthen had got in by the back of the building, and had dragged her away. 

Even into the quiet Close there had penetrated certain ominous soundsindicative of what was going on in the Market Place. And poor old Annahad gone quite white, or rather yellow, with fright. 

By the next morning the cold fit had succeeded the hot fit, and allWitanbury was properly ashamed of what had happened. The cells under theCouncil Chamber were fuller than they had ever been, and no one could befound to say a good word for the rioters. 

As for Dr. Haworth, he was cut to the heart by what had occurred, and itbecame known that he had actually offered the hospitality of the Deaneryto Mr. And Mrs. Alfred Head, even to sending his own carriage forthem--or so it was averred. Gratefully had they accepted his kindness;and though Alfred Head was now back in his place of business, trying toestimate the damage and to arrange for its being made good, Polly wasremaining on at the Deanery for a few hours. 

 * * * * *

But those two days, which will be always remembered by the people of thecathedral city as having witnessed the one War riot of Witanbury, wereto have very different associations for Mrs. Otway and her daughter, Rose Blake. For on the morning of the 26th a telegram arrived at theTrellis House containing the news that at last the exchange of disabledprisoners had been arranged, and that Major Guthrie's name was in thelist of those British officers who might be expected back from Germany, _via_ Holland, within the next forty-eight hours. 

And, as if this was not joy enough, Sir Jacques, on the same day, toldhis young friends that now at last the time had come when they might gooff, alone together, to the little house, within sound of the sea, whichan old friend of Lady Blake had offered to lend them for Jervis'sconvalescence--and honeymoon. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Anna was hurrying through the quiet streets of Witanbury on her way toMr. Head's Stores. 

As she walked along, looking neither to the right nor to the left, forshe had of late become unpleasantly conscious of her alien nationality, she pondered with astonishment and resentment the events of the last twodays--the receipt of a telegram by Mrs. Otway, and its destruction, orat any rate its disappearance, before she, Anna, could learn itscontents; and, evidently in consequence of the telegram, her mistress'shurried packing and departure for London. 

Then had followed a long, empty day, the old woman's feelings ofuneasiness and curiosity being but little relieved by Rose's eagerwords, uttered late on the same evening: "Oh, Anna, didn't mother tellyou the great news? Major Guthrie is coming home. She has gone up tomeet him!" The next morning Mrs. Jervis Blake herself had gone toLondon, this being the first time she had left her husband since theirmarriage. 

There had come another day of trying silence for Anna, and then a letterfrom Rose to her old nurse. It was a letter which contained astoundingnews. Mrs. Otway was coming back late to-night, and was to bemarried--_married_, to-morrow morning in the Cathedral, to MajorGuthrie!

The bride-elect sent good old Anna her love, and bade her not worry. 

Of all the injunctions people are apt to give one another, perhaps themost cruel and the most futile is that of not to worry. Mrs. Otway hadreally meant to be kind, but her message gave Anna Bauer a most unhappyday. The old German woman had long ago made up her mind that when itsuited herself she would leave the Trellis House, but never, never hadit occurred to her that anything could happen which might compel her todo so. 

At last, when evening fell, she felt she could no longer bear herloneliness and depression. Also she longed to tell her surprising newsto sympathetic ears. 

All through that long day Anna Bauer had been making up her mind to goback to Germany. She knew that there would be no difficulty about it, for something Mrs. Otway had told her a few weeks ago showed that manyGerman women were going home, helped thereto by the British Government. As for Willi and Minna, however bitterly they might feel towardsEngland, they would certainly welcome her when they realised how muchmoney, all her savings, she was bringing with her. 

As she walked quickly along--getting very puffy, for she was stout andshort of breath--it seemed to her as if the kindly old city, where shehad lived in happiness and amity for so many years, had changed incharacter. She felt as if the windows of the houses were frowning downat her, and as if cruel pitfalls yawned in her way. 

Her depression was increased by her first sight of the building forwhich she was bound, for, as she walked across the Market Place, she sawthe boarded up shop-front of the Stores. "Mr. Head hoped to get theplate-glass to-morrow"--so the boy who had brought the butter and eggsthat morning had exclaimed--"but just now there was a great shortage ofthat particular kind of shop-front glass, as it was mostly made inBelgium. "

Meanwhile the Witanbury Stores presented a very sorry appearance--themore so that some evilly disposed person had gone in the dark, after theboarding had been put up, and splashed across the boards a quantity ofhorrid black stuff!

Anna hurried round to the back door. In answer to her ring, the door wasopened at last a little way, and Polly's pretty, anxious face looked outcautiously. But when she saw who it was, she smiled pleasantly. 

"Oh, come in, Mrs. Bauer! I'm glad to see you. You'll help me cheer poorAlfred up a bit. Not but what he ought to be happy now--for what d'youthink happened at three o'clock to-day? Why, the Dean himself came alongand left a beautiful letter with us--an Address, _he_ called it. " Shewas walking down the passage as she spoke, and when she opened theparlour door she called out cheerfully, "Here's Mrs. Bauer come to seeus! I tell her she'll have to help cheer you up a bit. "

And truth to tell Alfred Head did look both ill and haggard--but no, notunhappy. Even Anna noticed that there was a gleam of triumph in hiseyes. "Very pleased to see you, I'm sure!" he exclaimed cordially. "Yes, it is as Polly says--out of evil good has come to us. See here, my dearfriend!"

Anna came forward. She already felt better, less despondent, but it wasto Polly she addressed her condolences. "What wicked folk in this citythere are!" she exclaimed. "Even Mr. Robey to me says, 'Dastardlyconduct!'"

"Yes, yes, " said Polly hastily. "It was _dreadful_! But look at this, Mrs. Bauer----" She held towards Anna a large sheet of thick, finecream-laid paper. Across the top was typed--

 "TO ALFRED HEAD, CITY COUNCILLOR OF WITANBURY. "

Then underneath, also in typewriting, the following words:

 "We the undersigned, your fellow-countrymen and fellow-citizens of Witanbury, wish to express to you our utter abhorrence and sense of personal shame in the dastardly attack which was made on your house and property on March 25, 1915. As a small token of regard we desire to inform you that we have started a fund for compensating you for any material loss you may have incurred which is not covered by your plate-glass insurance. "

There followed, written in ink, a considerable number of signatures. These were headed by the Dean, and included the names of most of thecanons and minor canons, four Dissenting ministers, and about a hundredothers belonging to all classes in and near the cathedral city. 

True, there were certain regrettable omissions, but fortunately neitherMr. And Mrs. Head nor Anna seemed aware of it. One such omission wasthat of the Catholic priest. Great pressure had been brought to bear onhim, but perhaps because there was little doubt that members of hiscongregation had been concerned in the outrage, he had obstinatelyrefused to sign the Address. More strange and regrettable was the factthat Miss Forsyth's name was also omitted from the list. In answer to apersonal appeal made to her by the Dean, who had himself gone to thetrouble of calling in order to obtain her signature, she had explainedthat she never did give her signature. She had made the rule thirtyyears ago, and she saw no reason for breaking it to-day. 

 * * * * *

Anna looked up from the paper, and her pale blue, now red-rimmed, eyessparkled with congratulation. "This is good!" she exclaimed in German. "Very, very good!"

Her host answered in English, "Truly I am gratified. It is acompensation to me for all I have gone through these last few days. "

"Yes, " said Polly quickly. "And as you see, Mrs. Bauer, we are to bereally compensated. We were thinking only yesterday that the damagedone--I mean the damage by which we should be out of pocket--was atleast £15. But, as Alfred says, that was putting it very low. He thinks, and I quite agree--don't you, Mrs. Bauer?--that it would be fair to putthe damage down at--let me see, what did you say, Alfred?"

"According to my calculation, " he said cautiously, "I think we may trulycall it twenty-seven pounds ten shillings and ninepence. "

"That, " said Polly, "is allowing for the profit we should certainly havemade on the articles those wretches stole out of the windows. I thinkit's fair to do that, don't you, Mrs. Bauer?"

"Indeed yes--that thoroughly to agree I do!" exclaimed Anna. 

And then rather sharply, perhaps a trifle anxiously, Alfred Head leantover to his visitor, and looking at her very straight, he said, "And doyou bring any news to-night? Not that there ever seems any good newsnow--and the other sort we can do without. "

She understood that this was Mr. Head's polite way of asking why she hadcome this evening, without an invitation. Hurriedly she answered, "Nonews of any special kind I have--though much that me concerns. Along toask your advice I came. Supper require I do not. "

"Oh, but you must stop and have supper with us--with me I mean, " saidPolly eagerly, "for Alfred is going out--aren't you, Alfred?"

He hesitated a moment. "I shall see about doing that. There is no hurry. Well, what is it you want to ask me, Mrs. Bauer?"

At once Anna plunged into her woes, disappointment, and fears. Now thatthe excitement and pride induced by the Address had gone from his face, Alfred Head looked anxious and uneasy; but on hearing Anna's great pieceof news he looked up eagerly. 

"Mrs. Otway and this Major Guthrie to be married at the Cathedralto-morrow? But this is very exciting news!" he exclaimed. "D'you hearthat, Polly? I think we must go to this ceremony. It will be veryinteresting----" his eyes gleamed; there was a rather wolfish light inthem. "The poor gentleman is blind, is he? It is lucky he will not seehow old his bride looks----" he added a word or two in German. 

Anna shrank back, and, speaking German too, she answered, "Mrs. Otwayhas a very young face, and when not unhappy, she is very bright andlively. For my part, I think this Major a very-much-to-be-envied man!"Her loyalty to the woman who had been kind and good to her over so manyyears awakened, tardily. 

"No doubt, no doubt, " said Alfred Head carelessly. "But now I supposeyou are thinking of yourself, Frau Bauer?"

Polly broke in: "Do talk in English, " she said pettishly. "You can'tthink how tiresome it is to hear that rook's language going on all thetime!"

Her husband laughed. "Well, I suppose this marriage will make adifference to you?" he said in English. 

"A difference?" exclaimed Anna ruefully. "Why, my good situation me itloses. Home to the Fatherland my present idea is----" her eyes filledwith big tears. 

Her host looked at her thoughtfully. What an old fool she was! But that, from his point of view, was certainly not to be regretted. She hadserved his purpose well--and more than once. 

"Mrs. Otway she a friend has who a German maid had. The maid last weekto Holland was sent, so no trouble can there be. However, one thingthere is----" she looked dubiously at Polly. "Mrs. Head here knows, doesshe, about my----?"

And then at once between Alfred Head's teeth came the angry command, inher own language, to speak German. 

She went on eagerly, fluently now: "You will understand, Mr. Head, thatI cannot behave wrongly to my dear nephew Willi's superior. I have beenwondering to-night whether I could hand the affair over to you. Afterall, a hundred marks a year are not to be despised in these times. Youyourself say that after the War the money will be made up----" shelooked at him expectantly. 

He said rather quickly to his wife, "Look here, Polly! Never mindthis--it's business you wouldn't understand!" And his wife shrugged hershoulders. She didn't care what the old woman was saying to Alfred. Shesupposed it was something about the War--the War of which she was soheartily sick, and which had brought them, personally, such bad luck. 

"It is difficult to decide such a thing in a hurry, " said Alfred Headslowly. 

"But it will have to be decided in a hurry, " said Anna firmly. "What isto happen if to-morrow Mrs. Otway comes and tells me that I am to goaway to London, to Louisa? English people are very funny, as you knowwell, Herr Hegner!" In her excitement she forgot his new name, and hewinced a little when he heard the old appellation, but he did not rebukeher, and she went on: "Willi told me, and so did the gentleman, that on_no_ account must I move that which was confided to me. "

"Attend to me, Frau Bauer!" he said imperiously. "This matter is perhapsmore important than even you know, especially at such a time as this. "

"Ach, yes!" she said. "I have often said that to myself. Willi's friendmay be interned by now in one of those horrible camps--it is indeed adifficult question!"

"I do not say I shall be able to do it, but I will make a big effort tohave the whole business settled for you to-morrow morning. What do yousay to that?"

"Splendid!" she exclaimed. "You are in truth a good friend to poor oldAnna Bauer!"

"I wish to be, " he said. "And you understand, do you not, Frau Bauer, that under no conceivable circumstances are you to bring me into theaffair? Have I your word--your oath--on that?"

"Certainly, " she said soberly. "You have my word, my oath, on it. "

"You see it does not do for me to be mixed up with any Germans, " he wenton quickly. "I am an Englishman now--as this gratifying Address trulysays----" he waited a moment. "What would be the best time for theperson who will come to call?"

Anna hesitated. "I don't know, " she said helplessly. "The marriage is tobe at twelve, and before then there will be a great deal of coming andgoing at the Trellis House. "

"Is it necessary for you to attend the bridal?" he asked. 

Anna shook her head. "No, " she said, "I do not think so; I shall not bemissed. " There was a tone of bitterness in her voice. 

"Then the best thing will be for your visitor to come during themarriage ceremony. That marriage will draw away all the busybodies. Andit is not as if your visitor need stay long----"

"Not more than a very few minutes, " she said eagerly, and then, "Will itbe the same gentleman who came three years ago?"

"Oh, no; it will be someone quite different. He will come in a motor, and I expect a Boy Scout will be with him. "

A gleam of light shot across Anna's mind. But she made no remark, andher host went on:

"You realise that great care must be taken of those things. In fact, youhad better leave it all to him. "

"Oh, yes, " she nodded understandingly. "I know they are fragile. I wastold so. "

It was extraordinary the relief she felt--more than relief, positivejoy. 

"As to the other matter--the matter of your returning to Germany, " hesaid musingly, still speaking in his and her native language, "I think, yes, on the whole your idea is a good one, Frau Bauer. It is shamefulthat it should be so, but England is no place at present for an honestGerman woman who has not taken out her certificate. I wonder if you areaware that you will only be allowed to take away a very little money?You had better perhaps confide the rest of your savings to me. I willtake care of them for you till the end of the War. "

"Very little money?" repeated Anna, in a horrified, bewildered tone. "What do you mean, Herr Hegner? I do not understand. "

"And yet it is clear enough, " he said calmly. "The British Governmentwill not allow anyone going to the Fatherland to take more than a veryfew pounds--just enough to get them where they want to go, and a mark ortwo over. But that need not distress you, Frau Bauer. "

"But it does distress me very much!" exclaimed Anna. "In fact, I do notsee now how I can go----" She began to cry. "Are you sure--quitesure--of what you say?"

"Yes, I am quite sure, " he spoke rather grimly. "Well, if you feel inthat way, there is nothing more to be said. You will either stay withyour present lady, or you will have to go to the Pollits. "

She looked up at him quickly; she was surprised that he remembered herdaughter's married name, but it had slipped off his tongue quite easily. 

"Never will I do that!" she exclaimed. 

"Then you had better arrange to stop here. There are plenty of people inWitanbury who would be only too glad to have such an excellent help asyou are, Frau Bauer. "

"I shall not be compelled to look out for a new situation, " she saidquickly. "My young lady would never allow that--neither would Mrs. Otway!"

But even so, poor Anna felt disturbed--disturbed and terriblydisheartened. The money she had saved was her own money! She could notunderstand by what right the British Government could prevent her takingit with her. It was this money alone that would ensure a welcome fromthe Warshauers. Willi and Minna could not be expected to want her unlessshe brought with her enough, not only to feed herself, but to give thema little help in these hard times. But soon she began to feel morecheerful. Mrs. Otway and the Dean would surely obtain permission for herto take her money back to Germany. It was a great deal of money--overthree hundred pounds altogether. 

 * * * * *

Within an hour of her return to the Trellis House Anna heard the flywhich had been ordered to meet Mrs. Otway at the station drive into theClose. For the first time, the very first time in over eighteen years, Anna did not long to welcome her two ladies home. Indeed, her heart nowfelt so hurt and sore that when she heard the familiar rumble she wouldhave liked to run away and hide herself, instead of going to the frontdoor. 

And yet, when the two came through into the hall, Rose with something ofher old happy look back again, and Mrs. Otway's face radiant as Anna hadnever seen it during all the peaceful years they two had dwelt so nearto one another, the poor old woman's heart softened. "Welcome!" shesaid, in German. "Welcome, my dear mistress, and all happiness beyours!"

And then, after Rose had hurried off to Robey's, Mrs. Otway, whiletaking off her things, and watching Anna unpack her bag, told of MajorGuthrie's home-coming. 

In simple words she described the little group of people--of mothers, ofwives, of sweethearts and of friends--who had waited at the London Docksfor that precious argosy, the ship from Holland, to come in. And Annafurtively wiped away her tears as she heard of the piteous case of allthose who thus returned home, and of the glowing joy of certain of thereunions which had then taken place. "Even those who had no friendsthere to greet them--only kind strangers--seemed happier than anyone Ihad ever seen. "

Anna nodded understandingly. So she herself would feel, even if maimedand blind, to be once more in her own dear Fatherland. But she kept herthoughts to herself. .. . 

At last, after she had a little supper, Mrs. Otway came into thekitchen, and motioning to Anna to do likewise, she sat down. 

"Anna?" she asked rather nervously, "do you know what is going to happento-morrow?"

Anna nodded, and Mrs. Otway went on, almost as if speaking to herselfrather than to the woman who was now watching her with strangelyconflicting feelings: "It seems the only thing to do. I could not bearfor him to go and live alone--even for only a short time--in that bighouse where he left his mother. But it was all settled very hurriedly, partly by telephone to the Deanery. " She paused, for what she felt to bethe hardest part of her task lay before her, and before she could go on, Anna spoke. 

"I think, " she said slowly, "I think, dear honoured lady, that it willbe best for me to go to Germany, to stay with Minna and Willi till theWar is over. "

Mrs. Otway's eyes filled with tears, yet she felt as if a load of realanxiety had suddenly been lifted from her heart. 

"Perhaps that will be best, " she said. "But of course there is no hurryabout it. There will be certain formalities to go through, andmeanwhile----" Again she stopped speaking for a moment, then went onsteadily: "A friend of Major Guthrie's--one of his brother officers whohas just come home from the Front--is also to be married to-morrow. Hisname is Captain Pechell, and the lady also is known to Major Guthrie;her name is Miss Trepell. I have arranged to let the Trellis House tothem for six weeks, and I have to tell you, Anna, that they will bringtheir own servants. Before I knew of this new plan of yours, I arrangedfor you to go to Miss Forsyth while this house is let. However, thematter will now be very much simpler to arrange, and you will only staywith Miss Forsyth till arrangements have been made for your comfortablereturn to Germany. "

The colour rushed to Anna's face. Then she was being turned out--afterall these years of devoted service!

Perhaps something of what Anna was feeling betrayed itself, for Mrs. Otway went on, nervously and conciliatingly: "I did try to arrange foryou to go and spend the time with your daughter, but apparently theywill not allow Germans to be transferred from one town to anotherwithout a great deal of fuss, and I knew, Anna, that you would notreally want to go to the Pollits. I felt sure you would rather stay inWitanbury. But if you dislike the idea of going to Miss Forsyth, then Ithink I can arrange for you to come out to Dorycote----" But even as shesaid the words she knew that such an arrangement would never work. 

"No, no, " said Anna, in German. "It does not matter where I go for a fewdays. If I am in Miss Forsyth's house I can see my gracious young ladyfrom time to time. She will ever be kind to her poor old nurse. " AndMrs. Otway could not find it in her heart to tell Anna that Rose wasalso going away. 

CHAPTER XXIX

Anna stood peeping behind the pretty muslin curtain of her kitchenwindow. She was standing in exactly the same place and attitude she hadstood in eight months before, on the first day of war. But oh, howdifferent were the sensations and the thoughts with which she now lookedout on the familiar scene! She had then been anxious and disturbed, butnot as she was disturbed and anxious to-day. 

The Trellis House had become so entirely her home that she resentedbitterly being forced to leave it against her will. Also, she dreadedthe thought of the days she would have to spend under Miss Forsyth'sroof. 

Anna had never liked Miss Forsyth. Miss Forsyth had a rather short, sharp way with her, or so the old German woman considered--and her housewas always full of such queer folk below and above stairs. Just nowthere was the Belgian family, and also, as Anna had managed to discover, three odd-come-shorts in the kitchen. 

Anna's general unease had not been lessened by a mysterious letter whichshe had received from her daughter this morning. In it the writer hintedthat her husband was getting into some fresh trouble. Louisa had endedwith a very disturbing sentence: "I feel as if I can't bear mylife!"--that was what Louisa had written. 

The minutes dragged by, and Anna, staring out into the now desertedClose--deserted, save for a number of carriages and motors which werewaiting by the little gate leading into the Cathedral enclosure--becamevery worried and impatient. 

From her point of view it was much to be wished that the visitor she wasexpecting should be come and gone before the marriage party came out ofthe Cathedral; yet when she had seen how surprised, and even hurt, bothher dear ladies had been on learning of her intention to stay at homethis morning, she had nearly told them the truth! Everything wasdifferent now--Willi would not, could not, mind!

What had restrained her was the memory of how strongly Alfred Head hadimpressed on her the importance of secrecy--of secrecy as concernedhimself. If she began telling anything, she might find herself tellingeverything. Also, Mrs. Otway might think it very strange, what Englishpeople call "sly, " that Anna had not told her before. 

And yet this matter she had kept so closely hidden within herself forthree years was a very simple thing, after all! Only the taking chargeof a number of parcels--four, as a matter of fact--for a gentleman whowas incidentally one of Willi Warshauer's chiefs. 

The person who had brought them to the Trellis House had come in theMarch of 1912, and she remembered him very distinctly. He had arrived ina motor, and had only stayed a very few minutes. Anna would have likedto have given him a little supper, but he had been in a great hurry, andin fact had hardly spoken to her at all. 

From something which he had said when himself carefully bringing theparcels through the kitchen into her bedroom, and also from a wordWilli had let fall, she knew that what had been left with her wasconnected with some new, secret process in the chemical business. Inthat special branch of trade, as Anna was aware, the Germans were far, far ahead of the British. 

And as she stood there by the window, waiting, staring across the nowdeserted green, at the group of carriages which stood over near the gateleading to the Cathedral, she began to wonder uneasily if she had madeit quite clear to Mr. Head that the man who was coming on this stillsecret business must be sure to come to-day! The lady and gentleman towhom the house had been let were arriving at six, and their maids twohours before. 

 * * * * *

Suddenly the bells rang out a joyous peal, and Anna felt a thrill ofexasperation and sharp regret. If she had known that her visitor wouldbe late, then she, too, could have been present in the Cathedral. It hadbeen a bitter disappointment to her not to see her gracious lady marriedto Major Guthrie. 

Letting the curtain fall, she went quickly upstairs into what had beenMiss Rose's bedroom. From there she knew she could get a better view. 

Yes, there they all were--streaming out of the great porch. She couldnow see the bride and bridegroom, arm-in-arm, walking down the path. They were walking more slowly than most newly married couples walkedafter a wedding. As a rule, wedding parties hurried rather quicklyacross the open space leading from the porch to the gate. 

She lost sight of them while they were getting into the motor which hadbeen lent to them for the occasion, but she did catch a glimpse of Mrs. Otway's flushed face as the car sped along to the left, towards the gatehouse. 

The path round the green was gradually filling up with people, for thecongregation had been far larger than anyone had thought it would be. News in such a place as Witanbury spreads quickly, and though the numberof invited guests had been very, very few, the number of uninvitedsympathisers and interested spectators had been many. 

Suddenly Anna caught sight of her young lady and of Mr. Jervis Blake. Asshe did so the tears welled up into her eyes, and rolled down hercheeks. She could never get used to the sight of this young bridegroomwith his crutch, and that though he managed it very cleverly, and wouldsoon--so Rose had declared--be able to do with only a stick. 

Anna hoped that the two would come in and see her for a minute, butinstead they joined Mr. And Mrs. Robey, and were now walking round theother side of the Close. 

Anna went downstairs again. In a moment, Mr. Hayley, whom she had neverliked, and who she felt sure did not like her, would be coming in tohave his luncheon, with another gentleman from London. 

Yes, there was the ring. She went to the front door and opened it withan unsmiling face. The two young men walked through into the hall. Itwould have been very easy for James Hayley to have said a kind word tothe old German woman he had known so long, but it did not occur to himto do so; had anyone suggested it, he would certainly have done it. 

"We've plenty of time, " she heard him say to the other gentleman. "Yourtrain doesn't go till two o'clock. As for me, I'm very hungry! I made avery early start, you know!" and he led his guest into the dining-room, calling out as he did so: "It's all right, Anna! We can wait onourselves. "

Anna went back into her kitchen. She reminded herself that Mr. Hayleywas one of those gentlemen who give a great deal of trouble and never atip--unless, that is, they are absolutely forced to do so by commoncustom. 

In Germany a gentleman who was always lunching and dining at a housewould, by that common custom, have been compelled to tip theservants--not so in this hospitable but foolish, ill-regulated England. Here people only tip when they sleep. Anna had always thought it anextremely unfair arrangement. Now Major Guthrie, though he was anEnglishman, had lived enough in Germany to know what was right andusual, and several times, in the last few years, he had presented Annawith half a sovereign. This had naturally made her like him more thanshe would otherwise have done. 

 * * * * *

There came another ring at the door. This time it was Miss Forsyth, andthere was quite a kindly smile on her face. "Well, " she said, "well, Mrs. Bauer?" (she had never been as familiar with Anna as were most ofMrs. Otway's friends). "I have come to find something for Mrs. Ot---- Imean Mrs. Guthrie. She has given me the key of her desk. " And she wentthrough into the drawing-room. 

Anna began moving about restlessly. Her tin trunk was packed, and allready to be moved to Miss Forsyth's. And Mrs. Otway, busy as she hadbeen and absorbed in her own affairs while in town, had yet rememberedto stipulate that one of the large cupboards in Anna's bedroom shouldremain locked, and full of Anna's things. 

It was now nearly one o'clock. What could have happened to her businessvisitor? And then, just as she was thinking this for the hundredth time, she heard the unmistakable sound of a motor coming slowly down the roadoutside. Quickly she went out to the back door. 

The motor was a small, low, open car, and without surprise she saw thatthe man who now was getting out of it was the same person whom she hadseen in the autumn leaving Alfred Head's house. But this time there wasno Boy Scout--the stranger was alone. 

He hurried towards her. "Am I speaking to Mrs. Bauer?" he asked, in asharp, quick tone. And then, as she said "Yes, " and dropped a littlecurtsey, he went on: "I had a breakdown--a most tiresome thing! But Isuppose it makes no difference? You have the house to yourself?"

She hesitated--was she bound to tell him of the two gentlemen who werehaving their luncheon in the dining-room which overlooked the garden, and of Miss Forsyth in the drawing-room? She decided that no--she wasnot obliged to tell him anything of the sort. If she did, he might wantto go away and come back another time. Then everything would have to bebegun over again. 

"The parcels all ready are, " she said. "Shall I them bring?"

"No, no! I will come with you. We will make two journeys, each takingone. That will make the business less long. "

He followed her through the kitchen, the scullery, and so into herbedroom. 

There were two corded tin boxes, as well as a number of other packages, standing ready for removal. 

"Surely I have not to take all this away?" he exclaimed. "I thoughtthere were only four small parcels!"

Anna smiled. "Most of it my luggage is, " she said. "These yours are----"she pointed to four peculiar-shaped packages, which might have beenold-fashioned bandboxes. They were done up in grey paper, the kindgrocers use, and stoutly corded. Through each cord was fixed a smallstrong, iron handle. "They very heavy are, " observed Anna thoughtfully. 

And the man muttered something--it sounded like an oath. "I think youhad better leave the moving of them to me, " he said. "Stand aside, willyou?"

He took up two of them; then once more uttered an exclamation, and letthem gently down again. "I shall have to take one at a time, " he said. "I'm not an over-strong man, Mrs. Bauer, and as you seem to have managedto move them, no doubt you can help me with this one. "

Anna, perhaps because her nerves were somewhat on edge to-day, resentedthe stranger's manner. It was so short, so rude, and he had such a funnyaccent. Yet she felt sure, in spite of the excellent German she hadoverheard him speak to Mr. Head, that he was not a fellow-countryman ofhers. Then, suddenly, looking at his queerly trimmed beard, she toldherself that he might be an American. Alfred Head had lived for a longtime in America, and this probably was one of his American friends. 

After they had taken out two of the parcels and placed them at the backof the motor, Anna suddenly bethought herself of what Alfred Head hadsaid to her. "Give me, please, " she said, "the money which to me sinceJanuary 1st owing has been. Fifty shillings--two pound ten it is. "

"I know nothing of that, " said the man curtly. "I have had noinstructions to pay you any money, Mrs. Bauer. "

Anna felt a rush of anger come over her. She was not afraid of thisweasel-faced little man. "Then the other two parcels take away you willnot, " she exclaimed. "To that money a right I have!"

They were facing each other in the low-ceilinged, dim, badly-litbedroom. The stranger grew very red. 

"Look here!" he said conciliatingly; he was really in a great hurry toget away. "I promise to send you this money to-night, Mrs. Bauer. Youcan trust me. I have not got it on me, truly. You may search me if youlike. " He smiled a little nervously, and advancing towards her openedhis big motor coat. 

Anna shrank back. "You truly send it will?" she asked doubtfully. 

"I will send it to Hegner for you. Nay, more---- I will give you a pieceof paper, and then Hegner will pay you at once. " He tore a page out ofhis pocket-book, and scribbled on it a few words. 

She took the bit of paper, folded it, and put it in her purse. 

As they were conveying the third oddly-shaped parcel through thekitchen, she said conciliatingly, "Curious it is to have charge ofluggage so long and not exactly what it is to know!"

He made no answer to this remark. But suddenly, in a startled, suppressed whisper, he exclaimed, "_Who's that?_"

Anna looked round. "Eh?" she said. 

"You told me there was no one in the house, but someone has just comeout of the gate, and is standing by my motor!" He added sternly, "Washeisst das?" (What does this mean?)

Anna hurried to the window and looked through the muslin curtain hangingin front of it. Yes, the stranger had spoken truly. There was Mr. Hayley, standing between the little motor-car and the back door. 

"Do not yourself worry, " she said quickly. "It is only a gentleman wholuncheon here has eaten. Go out and explain to him everything I will. "

But the man had turned a greenish-white colour. "How d'you mean'explain'?" he said roughly, in English. 

"Explain that they are things of mine--luggage--that taking away youare, " said Anna. 

The old woman could not imagine why the stranger showed such agitation. Mr. Hayley had no kind of right to interfere with her and her concerns, and she had no fear that he would do so. 

"If you are so sure you can make it all right, " the man whispered low inGerman, "I will leave the house by some other way--there is surely someback way of leaving the house? I will walk away, and stop at Hegner'still I know the coast is clear. "

"There is no back way out, " whispered Anna, also in German. She wasbeginning to feel vaguely alarmed. "But no one can stop you. Walkstraight out, while I stay and explain. I can make it all right. "

In a gingerly way he moved to one side the heavy object he had beencarrying, and then, as if taking shelter behind her, he followed the oldwoman out through the door. 

"What's this you're taking out of the house, Anna?" Mr. Hayley's tonewas not very pleasant. "You mustn't mind my asking you. My aunt, as youknow, told me to remain here to-day to look after things. "

"Only my luggage it is, " stammered Anna. "I had hoped to have clearedout my room while the wedding in progress was. "

"Your luggage?" repeated James Hayley uncomfortably. He was now feelingrather foolish, and it was to him a very disturbing because an unusualsensation. 

"Yes, my luggage, " repeated Anna. "And this"--she hesitated amoment--"this person here is going to look for a man to help carry outmy heavy boxes. There are two. He cannot manage them himself. "

James Hayley looked surprised, but to her great relief, he allowed thestranger to slip by, and Anna for a moment watched the little manwalking off at a smart pace towards the gate house. She wondered how shecould manage to send him a message when the tiresome, inquisitive Mr. Hayley had gone. 

"But whose motor is that?" Mr. Hayley went on, in a puzzled tone. "Youmust forgive me for asking you, Anna, but you know we live in oddtimes. " He had followed her into the kitchen, and was now standing therewith her. As she made no answer, he suddenly espied the odd-lookingparcel which stood close to his feet, where the stranger had put itdown. 

Mr. Hayley stooped, really with the innocent intention of moving theparcel out of the way. "Good gracious!" he cried. "This is a tremendousweight, Anna. What on earth have you got in there?" He was now draggingit along the floor. 

"Don't do that, sir, " she exclaimed involuntarily. "It's fragile. "

"Fragile?" he repeated. "Nonsense! It must be iron or copper. What isit, Anna?"

She shook her head helplessly. "I do not know. It is something I havebeen keeping for a friend. "

His face changed. He took a penknife out of his pocket, and ripped offthe stout paper covering. 

Then, before the astonished Anna could make a movement, he very quietlypinioned her elbows and walked her towards the door giving into thehall. 

"Captain Joddrell?" he called out. And with a bewildered feeling ofabject fear, Anna heard the quick steps of the soldier echoing down thehall. 

"Yes; what is it?"

"I want your help over something. "

They were now in the hall, and Miss Forsyth, standing in the doorway ofthe drawing-room, called out suddenly, "Oh, Mr. Hayley, you are hurtingher!"

"No, I'm not. Will you please lock the front door?"

Then he let go of Anna's arms. He came round and gazed for a moment intoher terrified face. There was a dreadful look of contempt and loathingin his eyes. "You'd better say nothing, " he muttered. "Anything you saynow may be used in evidence against you!"

He drew the other man aside and whispered something; then they came backto where Anna stood, and she felt herself pushed--not exactly roughly, but certainly very firmly--by the two gentlemen into the room where werethe remains of the good cold luncheon which she had set out there sometwo hours before. 

She heard the key turned on her, and then a quick colloquy outside. Sheheard Mr. Hayley exclaim, "Now we'd better telephone to the police. " Andthen, a moment later: "But the telephone's gone! What an extraordinarything! This becomes, as in 'Alice in Wonderland, ' curiouser andcuriouser----" There was a tone of rising excitement in his quiet, rather mincing voice. Then came the words, "Look here! You'd better gooutside and see that no one comes near that motor-car, while I hurryalong to the place they call 'Robey's. ' There's sure to be a telephonethere. "

Anna felt her legs giving way, and a sensation of most horrible fearcame over her. She bitterly repented now that she had not told Mr. Hayley the truth--that these parcels which she had now kept for threeyears were only harmless chemicals, connected with an invention whichwas going to make the fortune of a great many people, including hernephew, Willi Warshauer, once this terrible war was over. 

The police? Anna had a great fear of the police, and that though sheknew herself to be absolutely innocent of any wrong-doing. She felt surethat the fact that she was German would cause suspicion. The worst wouldbe believed of her. She remembered with dismay the letter some wicked, spiteful person had written to her mistress--and then, with infinitecomfort, she suddenly remembered that this same dear mistress was onlya little over two miles off. She, Anna, would not wish to disturb her onher wedding day, but if very hard pressed she could always do so. AndMiss Rose--Miss Rose and Mr. Blake--they too were close by; theycertainly would take her part!

She sat down, still sadly frightened, but reassured by the comfortableknowledge that her dear, gracious ladies would see her through anytrouble, however much the fact that her country was at war with Englandmight prejudice the police against her. 

CHAPTER XXX

It was late afternoon in the same day, a bright, sunny golden afternoon, more like a warm May day than a day in March. 

The bride and bridegroom, each feeling more than a little shy, hadenjoyed their late luncheon, the first they had ever taken alonetogether. And Major Guthrie had been perhaps rather absurdly touched tolearn, from a word dropped by Howse, that the new mistress had herselfcarefully arranged that this first meal should consist of dishes whichHowse had told her his master particularly liked. And as they sat there, side by side, in their pleasant dining-room--for he had not cared totake the head of the table--the bridegroom hoped his bride would neverknow that since his blindness he had retained very little sense oftaste. 

After luncheon they had gone out into the garden, and she had guided hisfootsteps along every once familiar path. Considering how long he hadbeen away, everything was in very fair order, and she was surprised tofind how keen he was about everything. He seemed to know every shrub andplant there, and she felt as if in that hour he taught her more ofpractical gardening than she had ever known. 

And then, at last, they made their way to the avenue which was the chiefglory of the domain, and which had certainly been there in the days whenthe house had stood in a park, before the village of which it was theManor had grown to be something like a suburb of Witanbury. 

There they had paced up and down, talking of many things; and it was hewho, suggesting that she must be tired, at last made her sit down on thebroad wooden bench, from where she could see without being seen thelong, low house and wide lawn. 

They both, in their very different ways, felt exquisitely at peace. Tohis proud, reticent nature, the last few days had proveddisagreeable--sometimes acutely unpleasant. He had felt grateful for, but he had not enjoyed, the marks of sympathy which had been so freelylavished on him and on his companions in Holland, on the boat, and sincehis landing in England. 

In those old days which now seemed to have belonged to anotherexistence, Major Guthrie had thought his friend, Mrs. Otway, ifwonderfully kind, not always very tactful. It is a mistake to think thatlove is blind as to those matters. But of all the kind women he had seensince he had left Germany, she was the only one who had not spoken tohim of his blindness, who had made no allusion to it, and who had notpressed on him painful, unsought sympathy. From the moment they had beenleft alone for a little while in that unknown London house, where he hadfirst been taken, she had made him feel that he was indeed the naturalprotector and helper of the woman he loved; and of the things she hadsaid to him, in those first moments of emotion, what had touched andpleased him most was her artless cry, "Oh, you don't know how I havemissed you! Even quite at first I felt so miserable without you!"

It was Rose who had suggested an immediate marriage; Rose whohad--well, yes, there was no other word for it--coaxed them both intorealizing that it was the only thing to do. 

Even now, on this their wedding day, they felt awkward, and yes, veryshy the one with the other. And as he sat there by her side, wearing arough grey suit he had often worn last winter when calling on her in theTrellis House, her cheeks grew hot when she remembered the letter shehad written to him. Perhaps he had thought it an absurdly sentimentalletter for a woman of her age to write. 

The only thing that reassured her was the fact that once, at luncheon, he had clasped her hand under the table; but the door had opened, andquickly he had taken his hand away, and even moved his chair a littlefarther off. It was true that Howse had put the chairs very closetogether. 

 * * * * *

Now she was telling him of all that had happened since he had gone away, and he was listening with the eager sympathy and interest he had alwaysshown her, that no one else had ever shown her in the same degree, inthose days that now seemed so long ago, before the War. 

So she went on, pouring it all out to him, till she came to the amazingstory of her daughter Rose, and of Jervis Blake. She described thestrange, moving little marriage ceremony; and the man sitting by herside sought and found the soft hand which was very close to his, andsaid feelingly, "That must have been very trying for _you_. "

Yes, it had been trying for her, though no one had seemed to think so atthe time. But he, the speaker of these kind understanding words, hadalways known how she felt, and sympathised with her. 

She wished he would call her "Mary"--if only he would begin, she wouldsoon find it quite easy to call him "Alick. .. . "

Suddenly there came on his sightless face a slight change. He had heardsomething which her duller ears had failed to hear. 

"What's that?" he asked uneasily. 

"It's only a motor-car coming round to the front door. I hope they willsend whoever it is away, " the colour rushed into her face. 

"Oh, surely Howse will do that to-day----"

And then she saw the man-servant come out of the house and advancetowards them. There was a salver in his hand, and on the salver a note. 

"The gentleman who brought this is waiting, ma'am, to see you. "

She took up the envelope and glanced down at it. Her new name looked soodd in Dr. Haworth's familiar writing--it evoked a woman who had been sovery different from herself, and yet for whom she now felt a curiouskind of retrospective tenderness. 

She opened the note with curiosity. 

 "DEAR MRS. GUTHRIE, "The bearer of this, Mr. Reynolds of the Home Office, will explain to you why we are anxious that you should come into Witanbury for an hour this afternoon. I am sure Major Guthrie would willingly spare you if he knew how very important and how delicate is the business in question. Please tell him that we will keep you as short a time as possible. In fact, it is quite probable that you will be back within an hour. 

 "Very truly yours, "EDMUND HAWORTH. "

She looked down at the letter with feelings of surprise and ofannoyance. Uncaring of Howse's discreet presence, she read it aloud. "It's very mysterious and queer, isn't it? But I'm afraid I shall haveto go. "

"Yes, of course you will. It would have been better under thecircumstances for the Dean to have told you what they want to see youabout. "

In the old days, Major Guthrie had never shared Mrs. Otway's admirationfor Dr. Haworth, and now he felt rather sharply disturbed. The HomeOffice? The words bore a more ominous sound to him than they did, fortunately, to her. Was it possible that she had been communicating, insecret, with some of her German friends? He rose from the bench on whichthey had been sitting: "Is the gentleman in the motor, Howse?"

"Yes, sir. He wouldn't come in. "

"Go and tell him that we are coming at once. "

And then, after a moment, he said quietly, "I'm coming, too. "

"Oh, but----" she exclaimed. 

"I don't choose to have my wife's presence commanded by the Dean ofWitanbury, or even, if it comes to that, by the Home Office. "

She seized his arm, and pressed close to him. "I do believe, " she cried, "that you suspect me of having got into a scrape! Indeed, indeed I havedone nothing!" She was smiling, though moved almost to tears by the wayhe had just spoken. It was a new thing to her to be taken care of, tofeel that there was someone ready, aye, determined, to protect her, andtake her part. Also, it was the first time he had called her his wife. 

 * * * * *

A few minutes later they were sitting side by side in a large, openmotor-car. Mr. Reynolds was a pleasant, good-looking man of aboutthirty, and he had insisted on giving up his seat to Major Guthrie. There would have been plenty of room for the three of them leaning back, but he had preferred to sit opposite to them, and now he was looking, with a good deal of sympathy, interest, and respect at the blindsoldier, and with equal interest, but with less liking and respect, atMajor Guthrie's wife. 

Mr. Reynolds disliked pro-Germans and spy-maniacs with almost equalfervour; his work brought him in contact with both. From what he hadbeen able to learn, the lady sitting opposite to him was to be numberedamong the first category. 

"And now, " said Major Guthrie, leaning his sightless face forward, "willyou kindly inform me for what reason my wife has been summoned toWitanbury this afternoon? The Dean's letter--I do not know if you haveread it--is expressed in rather mysterious and alarming language. "

The man he addressed waited for a moment. He knew that the two peoplebefore him had only been married that morning. 

"Yes, that is so, " he said frankly. "I suppose the Dean thought it bestthat I should inform Mrs. Guthrie of the business which brought me toWitanbury three hours ago. It chanced that I was in the neighbourhood, so when the Witanbury police telephoned to London, I, being known to beclose here, was asked to go over. "

"The police?" repeated both his hearers together. 

"Yes, for I'm sorry to tell you"--he looked searchingly at the lady ashe spoke--"I'm sorry to tell you, Mrs. Guthrie, that a considerablenumber of bombs have been found in your house. I believe it to be thefact that you hold the lease of the Trellis House in Witanbury Close?"

She looked at him too much surprised and too much bewildered to speak. Then, "Bombs?" she echoed incredulously. "There must be some mistake!There has never been any gunpowder in my possession. I might almost goso far as to say that I have never seen a gun or a pistol at closequarters----"

She felt a hand groping towards her, and at last find and cover in atight grip her fingers. "You do not fire bombs from a gun or from apistol, my dearest. " There was a great tenderness in Major Guthrie'svoice. 

Even in the midst of her surprise and disarray at the extraordinarything she had just heard, Mrs. Guthrie blushed so deeply that Mr. Reynolds noticed it, and felt rather puzzled. He told himself that shewas a younger woman than he had at first taken her to be. 

In a very different tone Major Guthrie next addressed the man he knew tobe sitting opposite to him: "May I ask how and where and when bombs werefound in the Trellis House?" To himself he was saying, with anguishediteration, "Oh, God, if only I could see! Oh, God, if only I could see!"But he spoke, if sternly, yet in a quiet, courteous tone, his hand stillclasping closely that of his wife. 

"They were found this morning within half an hour, I understand, of yourwedding. And it was only owing to the quickness of a lady named MissForsyth--assisted, I am bound to say, by Mr. Hayley of the ForeignOffice, who is, I believe, a relation of Mrs. Guthrie--that they werefound at all. The man who came to fetch them away did get off scotfree--luckily leaving them, and his motor, behind him. "

"The man who came to fetch them away?" The woman sitting opposite to thespeaker repeated the words in a wondering tone--then, very decidedly, "There has been some extraordinary mistake!" she exclaimed. "I knowevery inch of my house, and so I can assure you"--she bent forward alittle in her earnestness and excitement--"I can assure you that it'squite _impossible_ that there was anything of the sort in the TrellisHouse without my knowing it!"

"Did you ever go into your servant's bedroom?" asked Mr. Reynoldsquietly. 

Major Guthrie felt the hand he was holding in his suddenly tremble, andhis wife made a nervous movement, as if she wanted to draw it away fromhis protecting grasp. 

A feeling of terror--of sheer, unreasoning terror--had swept over her. _Anna?_

"No, " she faltered, but her voice was woefully changed. "No, I never hadoccasion to go into my old servant's bedroom. But oh, I cannotbelieve----" and then she stopped. She had remembered Anna's curiousunwillingness to leave the Trellis House this morning, even to attendher beloved mistress's wedding. She, and Rose too, had been hurt, andhad shown that they were hurt, at old Anna's obstinacy. 

"We have reason to suppose, " said Mr. Reynolds slowly, "that theexplosives in question have been stored for some considerable time in alarge roomy cupboard which is situated behind your servant's bed. As amatter of fact, the man who had come to fetch them away was alreadyunder observation by the police. He has spent all the winter in avillage not far from Southampton, and he is registered as a Spaniard, though he came to England from America just before the War broke out. Ofcourse, these facts have only just come to my knowledge. But both thisMiss Forsyth and your cousin, Mr. Hayley, declare that they have longsuspected your servant of being a spy. "

"Suspected my servant? Suspected Anna Bauer?" repeated Mrs. Guthrie, ina bewildered tone. 

"Then you, " went on Mr. Reynolds, "have never suspected her at all, Mrs. Guthrie? I understand that but for the accidental fact that Witanbury isjust, so to speak, over the border of the prohibited area for aliens, she would have _had_ to leave you?"

"Yes, I know that. But she has been with me nearly twenty years, and Iregarded her as being to all intents and purposes an Englishwoman. "

"Did you really?" he observed drily. 

"Her daughter is married to an Englishman. "

Mr. Reynolds, in answer to that statement, remained silent, but a verypeculiar expression came over his face. It was an expression which wouldperchance have given a clue to Major Guthrie had Major Guthrie been ableto see. 

Mrs. Guthrie's face had gone grey with pain and fear; her eyes hadfilled with tears, which were now rolling down her cheeks. She lookedindeed different from the still pretty, happy, charming-looking womanwho had stepped into the car a few minutes ago. 

"I should not have ventured to disturb you to-day--to-morrow would havebeen quite time enough----" said Mr. Reynolds, speaking this time reallykindly, "were it not that we attach the very greatest importance todiscovering whether this woman, your ex-servant, forms part of awidespread conspiracy. We suspect that she does. But she is in such astate of pretended or real agitation--in fact, she seems almostdistraught--that none of us can get anything out of her. I myself havequestioned her both in English and in German. All she keeps repeating isthat she is innocent, quite innocent, and that she was unaware of thenature of the goods--she describes them always as goods, when she speaksin English--that she was harbouring in your house. She declares sheknows nothing about the man who came for them, though that is false onthe face of it, for she was evidently expecting him. We think that hehas terrorised her. She even refuses to say where she obtained these'goods' of hers, or how long she has had them. You see, we have reasonto believe"--he slightly lowered his voice in the rushing wind--"we havereason to believe, " he repeated, "that the Germans may be going to trytheir famous plan of invasion within the next few days. If so, it isclear that these bombs were meant to play a certain part in thebusiness, and thus it is extremely important that we should know ifthere are any further stores of them in or about Witanbury. "

CHAPTER XXXI

They were now in the streets of the cathedral city, and Mrs. Guthrie, agitated though she was, could see that there was a curious air ofanimation and bustle. A great many people were out of doors on this lateMarch afternoon. 

As a matter of fact something of the facts, greatly exaggerated as isalways the way, had leaked out, and the whole city was in a ferment. 

Slowly the motor made its way round the Market Place to the CouncilHouse, and as it drew up at the bottom of the steps, a crowd of idlerssurged forward. 

There was a minute or two of waiting, then a man whom Mrs. Guthrie knewto be the head inspector of the local police came forward, with a verygrave face, and helped her out of the car. He wished to hurry her up thesteps out of the way of the people there, but she heard her husband'svoice, "Mary, where are you?" and obediently she turned with an eager, "Here I am, waiting for you!" She took his arm, and he pressed itreassuringly. She was glad he could not see the inquisitive faces of thenow swelling crowd which were being but ill kept back by the few localpolice. 

But her ordeal did not last long; in a very few moments they were safein the Council House, and Mr. Reynolds, who already knew his way aboutthere, had shown them into a stately room where hung the portraits ofcertain long dead Witanbury worthies. 

"Am I going to see Anna now?" asked Mrs. Guthrie nervously. 

"Yes, I must ask you to do that as soon as possible. And, Mrs. Guthrie?Please remember that all we want to know now are two definite facts. Thefirst of these is how long she has had these bombs in her possession, and how she procured them? She may possibly be willing to tell you howlong she has had them, even if she still remains obstinately silent asto where she got them. The second question, and of course much the moreimportant from our point of view, is whether she knows of any othersimilar stores in Witanbury or elsewhere? That, I need hardly tell you, is of very vital moment to us, and I appeal to you as an Englishwoman tohelp us in the matter. "

"I will do as you wish, " said Mrs. Guthrie in a low voice. "But, Mr. Reynolds? Please forgive me for asking you one thing. What will be doneto my poor old Anna? Will the fact that she is a German make it betterfor her--or worse? Of course I realise that she has been wicked--very, very wicked if what you say is true----"

"And most treacherous to you!" interposed the young man quickly. "Youdon't seem to realise, Mrs. Guthrie, the danger in which she put you;"and as she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he went on, "Puttingeverything else aside, she ran the most appalling danger of killingyou--you and every member of your household. Of course I don't know whatyou mean to say to her----" he hesitated. "I understand that yourrelations with her have been much closer and more kindly than are oftenthose between a servant and her employer, " and as she nodded, he wenton: "The Dean was afraid that it would give you a terrible shock--infact, he himself seems extremely surprised and distressed; he hadevidently quite a personal feeling of affection and respect for this oldGerman woman, Anna Bauer!"

"And I am sure that if you had known her you would have had it too, Mr. Reynolds, " she answered naïvely. Somehow the fact that the Dean hadtaken this strange and dreadful thing as he had done, made her feel lessmiserable. 

"Ah! One thing more before I take you to her. Anything incriminating shemay say to you will _not_ be brought as evidence against her. The pointyou have to remember is that it is vitally important to us to obtaininformation as to this local spy conspiracy or system, to which webelieve we already hold certain clues. "

 * * * * *

The police cell into which Mrs. Guthrie was introduced was in thehalf-basement of the ancient Council House. The walls of the cell werewhitewashed with a peculiar, dusty whitewash that came off upon theoccupant's clothes at the slightest touch. There was a bench fixed tothe wall, and in a corner a bed, also fixed to the ground. A littlelight came in from the window high out of reach, and in the middle ofthe ceiling hung a disused gas bracket. 

Those of Anna Bauer's personal possessions she had been allowed to bringwith her were lying on the bed. 

The old woman was sitting on the bench, her head bowed in an abandonmentof stupor, and of misery. She did not even move as the door opened. Butwhen she heard the kind, familiar voice exclaim, "Anna? My poor oldAnna!--it is terrible to find you here, like this!" she drew aconvulsive breath of relief, and lifted her tear-stained, swollen face. 

"I am innocent!" she cried wildly, in German. "Oh, gracious lady, I aminnocent! I have done no wrong. I can accuse myself of no sin. "

Mr. Reynolds brought in a chair. Then he went out, and quietly closedthe door. 

Anna's mistress came and sat on the bench close to her servant. It wasalmost as if an unconscious woman, spent with the extremity of physicalsuffering, crouched beside her. 

"Anna, listen to me!" she said at last, and there was a touch ofsalutary command in her voice--a touch of command that poor Anna knew, and always responded to, though it was very seldom used towards her. "Ihave left Major Guthrie on our marriage day in order to try and help youin this awful disgrace and trouble you have brought, not only onyourself, but on me. All I ask you to do is to tell me the truth. Anna?"--she touched the fat arm close to her--"look up, and talk to melike a reasonable woman. If you are innocent, if you can accuse yourselfof no sin--then why are you in such a state?"

Anna looked up eagerly. She was feeling much better now. 

"Every reason have I in a state to be! A respectable woman to such aplace brought! Roughly by two policemen treated. I nothing did thatashamed of I am!"

"What is it you _did_ do?" said Mrs. Guthrie patiently. "Try and collectyour thoughts, Anna. Explain to me where you got"--she hesitatedpainfully--"where you got the bombs. "

"No bombs there were, " exclaimed Anna confidently. "Chemicals, yes--bombs, no. "

"You are mistaken, Anna, " said Mrs. Guthrie quietly. She rose from thebench on which she had been sitting, and drew up the chair opposite toAnna. "There were certainly bombs found in your room. It is a mercy theydid not explode; if they had done, we should all have been killed!"

Anna stared at her in dumb astonishment. "Herr Gott!" she exclaimed. "Noone has told me that, gracious lady. Again and again they have asked mequestions they should not--questions I to answer promised not. To you, speak I will----"

Anna looked round, as if to satisfy herself that they were indeed alone, and Mrs. Guthrie suddenly grew afraid. Was poor old Anna going to revealsomething of a very serious self-incriminating kind?

"It was Willi!" exclaimed the old woman at last. She now spoke in awhisper, and in German. "It was to Willi that I gave my promise to saynothing. You see, gracious lady, it was a friend of Willi's who wasmaking a chemical invention. It was he who left these goods with me. Iwill now confess"--she began to sob bitterly--"I will now confess that Idid keep it a secret from the gracious lady that these parcels had beenconfided to me. But the bedroom was mine. You know, gracious lady, howoften you said to me, 'I should have liked you to have a nicer bedroom, Anna--but still, it is your room, so I hope you make it as comfortableas you can. ' As it was my room, gracious lady, it concerned no one whatI kept there. "

"A friend of Willi's?" repeated Mrs. Guthrie incredulously. "But I don'tunderstand--Willi is in Berlin. Surely you have not seen Willi sinceyou went to Germany three years ago?"

"No, indeed not. But he told me about this matter when he took me to thestation. He said that a friend would call on me some time after myreturn here, and that to keep these goods would be to my advantage----"she stopped awkwardly. 

"You mean, " said Mrs. Guthrie slowly, "that you were paid for keepingthese things, Anna?" Somehow she felt a strange sinking of the heart. 

"Yes, " Anna spoke in a shamed, embarrassed tone. "Yes, that is quitetrue. I was given a little present each year. But it was no one'sbusiness but mine. "

"And how long did you have them?" Mrs. Guthrie had remembered suddenlythat that was an important point. 

Anna waited a moment, but she was only counting. "Exactly three years, "she answered. "Three years this month. "

Mrs. Guthrie also made a rapid calculation. "You mean that they werebrought to the Trellis House in the March of 1912?"

Anna nodded. "Yes, gracious lady. When you and Miss Rose were in London. Do you remember?"

The other shook her head. 

Anna felt almost cheerful now. She had told the whole truth, and hergracious lady did not seem so very angry after all. 

"They were brought, " she went on eagerly, "by a very nice gentleman. Heasked me for a safe place to keep them, and I showed him the cupboardbehind my bed. He helped me to bring them in. "

"Was that the man who came for them this morning?" asked Mrs. Guthrie. 

Anna shook her head. "Oh no!" she exclaimed. "The other gentleman was agentleman. He wrote me a letter first, but when he came he asked me togive it him back. So of course I did so. "

"Did he give you any idea of what he had brought you to keep?" askedMrs. Guthrie. "Now, Anna, I beg--I implore you to tell me the truth!"

"The truth will I willingly tell!" Yes, Anna was feeling really betternow. She had confessed the one thing which had always been on herconscience--her deceit towards her kind mistress. "He said they werechemicals, a new wonderful invention, which I must take great care of asthey were fragile. "

"I suppose he was a German?" said Mrs. Guthrie slowly. 

"Yes, he was a German, naturally, being the superior of Willi. But theman who came to-day was no German. "

"And during all that time--three years is a long time, Anna--did younever hear from him?" asked Mrs. Guthrie slowly. 

It had suddenly come over her with a feeling of repugnance and pain, that old Anna had kept her secret very closely. 

"I never heard--no, never, till last night, " cried the old womaneagerly. 

"But even now, " said Mrs. Guthrie, "I can't understand, Anna, what madeyou do it. Was it to please Willi?"

"Yes, " said Anna in an embarrassed tone. "It was to please my goodnephew, gracious lady. "

CHAPTER XXXII

"And now, " said Mrs. Guthrie, looking at the little group of people whosat round her in the Council Chamber, "and now I have told you, almost Ithink word for word, everything my poor old Anna told me. "

As Mr. Reynolds remained silent, she added, with a touch of defiance, "And I am quite, quite sure that she told me the truth!"

Her eyes instinctively sought the Dean's face. Yes, there she foundsympathy, --sympathy and belief. It was impossible to tell what herhusband was thinking. His face was not altered--it was set in sternlines of discomfort and endurance. The Government official lookedsceptical. 

"I have no doubt that the woman has told you a good deal of the truth, Mrs. Guthrie, but I do not think she has told you _all_ the truth, orthe most important part of it. According to your belief, she acceptedthis very strange deposit without the smallest suspicion of the truth. Now, is it conceivable that an intelligent, sensible, elderly woman ofthe kind she has been described to me, could be such a fool?"

And then, for the first time since his wife had returned there from herinterview with Anna, Major Guthrie intervened. 

"I think you forget, Mr. Reynolds, that this took place long before thewar. In fact, if I may recall certain dates to your memory, this musthave been a little tiny cog in the machine which Germany beganfashioning after the Agadir crisis. It was that very autumn that AnnaBauer went to visit her nephew and niece in Berlin, and it was soonafter she came back that, according to her story, a stranger, with somekind of introduction from her nephew, who is, I believe, connected withthe German police----"

"Is he indeed?" exclaimed Mr. Reynolds. "You never told me that!" helooked at Mrs. Guthrie. 

"Didn't I?" she said. "Yes, it's quite true, Wilhelm Warshauer is asub-inspector of police in Berlin. But I feel sure he is a perfectlyrespectable man. "

She fortunately did not see the expression which flashed across herquestioner's face. Not so the Dean. Mr. Reynolds' look stirred Dr. Haworth to a certain indignation. He had known Anna Bauer as long as hermistress had, and he had become quite fond of the poor old woman withwhom he had so often exchanged pleasant greetings in German. 

"Look here!" he began, in a pleasant, persuasive voice. "I have asuggestion to make, Mr. Reynolds. We have here in Witanbury a mostexcellent fellow, one of our city councillors. He is of German birth, but was naturalised long ago. As I expect you know, there was a littleriot here last week, and this man--Alfred Head is his name--had all hiswindows broken. He refused to prosecute, and behaved with the greatestsense and dignity. Now I suggest that we set Alfred Head on to old AnnaBauer! I believe she would tell him things that she would not even tellher very kind and considerate mistress. I feel sure that he would findout the real truth. As a matter of fact I met him just now when I wascoming down here. He was full of regret and concern, and he spoke verykindly and very sensibly of this poor old woman. He said he knewher--that she was a friend of his wife's, and he asked me if he could beof any assistance to her. "

Thinking he saw a trace of hesitation on the London official's face, headded, "After all, such an interview could do no harm, and might dogood. Yes, I strongly do advise that we take Alfred Head into ourcounsels, and explain to him exactly what it is we wish to know. "

"I am quite sure, " exclaimed Mrs. Guthrie impulsively, "that Anna wouldnot tell him any more than she told me. I am convinced, not only thatshe told me the truth, but that she told me nothing but the truth--Idon't believe she kept _anything_ back!"

Mr. Reynolds looked straight at the speaker of these impetuous words. Hesmiled. It was a kindly, albeit a satiric smile. He was getting quitefond of Mrs. Guthrie! And though his duties often brought him in contactwith strange and unusual little groups of people, this was the firsttime he had ever had to bring into his official work a bride on herwedding day. This was the first time also that a dean had ever beenmixed up in any of the difficult and dangerous affairs with which he wasnow concerned. It was, too, the first time that he had been brought intopersonal contact with one of his own countrymen "broken in the war. "

"I hope that you are right, " he said soothingly. "Still, as Mr. Deankindly suggests, it may be worth while allowing this man--Head is hisname, is it?--to see the woman. It generally happens that a person ofthe class to which Anna Bauer belongs will talk much more freely tosome one of their own sort than to an employer, however kind. In fact, it often happens that after having remained quite silent and refused tosay anything to, say, a solicitor, such a person will come out with thewhole truth to an old friend, or to a relation. We will hope that thiswill be the case this time. And now I don't think that we need detainyou and Major Guthrie any longer. Of course you shall be kept fullyinformed of any developments. "

"If there is any question, as I suppose there will be, of Anna Bauerbeing sent for trial, " said Major Guthrie, "then I should wish, Mr. Reynolds, that my own solicitor undertakes her defence. My wife feelsthat she is under a great debt of gratitude to this German woman. Annahas not only been her servant for over eighteen years, but she was nurseto Mrs. Guthrie's only child. We neither of us feel in the leastinclined to abandon Anna Bauer because of what has happened. I also wishto associate myself very strongly with what Mrs. Guthrie said just now. I believe the woman to be substantially innocent, and I think she hasalmost certainly told my wife the truth, as far as she knows it. "

He held out his hand, and the other man grasped it warmly. Then Mr. Reynolds shook hands with Mrs. Guthrie. She looked happy now--happy if alittle tearful. "I hope, " he said eagerly, "that you will make use of mycar to take you home. "

Somehow he felt interested in, and drawn to, this middle-aged couple. Hewas quite sorry to know that, after to-day, he would probably never seethem again. The type of man who is engaged in the sort of work whichMr. Reynolds was now doing for his country has to be very humanunderneath his cloak of official reserve, or he would not be able tocarry out his often delicate, as well as difficult, duties. 

He followed them outside the Council House. Clouds had gathered, and itwas beginning to rain, so he ordered his car to be closed. 

"Mr. Reynolds, " cried Mrs. Guthrie suddenly, "you won't let them be_too_ unkind to my poor old Anna, will you?"

"Indeed, no one will be unkind to her, " he said. "She's only been a toolafter all--poor old woman. No doubt there will be a deportation order, and she will be sent back to Germany. "

"Remember that you are to draw on me if any money is required on herbehalf, " cried out Major Guthrie, fixing his sightless eyes on the placewhere he supposed the other man to be. 

"Yes, yes--I quite understand that! But we've found out that the oldwoman has plenty of money. It is one of the things that make us believethat she knows more than she pretends to do. "

He waved his hand as they drove off. Somehow he felt a better man, abetter Englishman, for having met these two people. 

 * * * * *

There was very little light in the closed motor, but if it had been openfor all the world to see, Mary Guthrie would not have minded, so happy, so secure did she feel now that her husband's arm was round her. 

She put up her face close to his ear: "Oh, Alick, " she whispered, "I amafraid that you've married a very foolish woman----"

He turned and drew her into his strong arms. "I've married the sweetest, the most generous, and--and, Mary, the dearest of women. "

"At any rate you can always say to yourself, 'A poor thing, but mineown--'" she said, half laughing, half crying. And then their lips metand clung together, for the first time. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

Mr. Reynolds walked back up the steps of the Council House of Witanbury. He felt as if he had just had a pleasant glimpse of that Kingdom ofRomance which so many seek and so few find, and that now he wasreturning into the everyday world. Sure enough, when he reached theCouncil Chamber, he found Dr. Haworth there with a prosaic-lookingperson. This was evidently the man to whom the Dean thought Anna wouldbe more likely to reveal the truth than to her kind, impulsive employer. 

Mr. Reynolds had not expected to see so intelligent and young-looking aman. He was familiar with the type of German who has for long made hiscareer in England. But this naturalised German was not true to type atall! Though probably over fifty, he still had an alert, active figure, and he was extraordinarily like someone Mr. Reynolds had seen. In fact, for a few moments the likeness quite haunted him. Who on earth could itbe that this man so strongly resembled? But soon he gave up the likenessas a bad job--it didn't matter, after all!

"Well, Mr. Head, I expect that Dr. Haworth has already told you what itis we hope from you. "

"Yes, sir, I think I understand. "

"Are you an American?" asked the other abruptly. 

The Witanbury City Councillor looked slightly embarrassed. "No, " he saidat last. "But I was in the United States for some years. "

"You were never connected, I suppose, with the New York Police?"

"Oh no, sir!" There was no mistaking the man's genuine surprise at thequestion. 

"I only asked you, " said Mr. Reynolds hastily, "because I feel as if wehad met before. But I suppose I made a mistake. By the way, do you knowAnna Bauer well?"

Alfred Head waited a moment; he looked instinctively to the Dean forguidance, but the Dean made no sign. 

"I know Anna Bauer pretty well, " he said at last. "But she's more afriend of my wife than of mine. She used sometimes to come and spend theevening with us. "

He was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. Had Anna mentioned him? Hethought not. He hoped not. "What is it exactly you want me to get out ofher?" he asked, cringingly. 

Mr. Reynolds hesitated. Somehow he did not at all like the man standingbefore him. Shortly he explained how much the old woman had alreadyadmitted; and then, "Perhaps you could ascertain whether she hasreceived any money since the outbreak of war, and if so, by what method. I may tell you in confidence, Mr. Head, there has been a good deal ofGerman money going about in this part of the world. We hold certainclues, but up to the present time we have not been able to trace thismoney to its source. "

"I think I quite understand what it is you require to know, sir, " saidAlfred Head respectfully. 

There came a knock at the door. "Mr. Reynolds in there? You are wanted, sir, on the telephone. A London call from Scotland Yard. "

"All right, " he said quietly. "Tell them they must wait a moment. Willyou please take Mr. Head to the cell where Anna Bauer is confined?"

Then he hurried off to the telephone, well aware that he might now beabout to hear the real solution of the mystery. Some of his best peoplehad been a long time on this Witanbury job. 

 * * * * *

Terrified and bewildered as she had been by the events of midday, Anna, when putting her few things together, had not forgotten her work. True, she had been too much agitated and upset to crochet or knit during thelong hours which had elapsed since the morning. But the conversation shehad had with her mistress had reassured her. How good that dear, gracious lady had been! How kindly she had accepted the confession ofdeceit!

Yes, but it was very, very wrong of her, Anna Bauer, to have done whatshe had done. She knew that now. What was the money she had earned--afew paltry pounds--compared with all this fearful trouble? Still, shefelt now sure the trouble would soon be over. She had a pathetic faith, not only in her mistress, but also in Mrs. Jervis Blake and in the Dean. They would see her through this strange, shameful business. So she tookher workbag off the bed, and brought out her crochet. 

She had just begun working when she heard the door open, and there cameacross her face a sudden look of apprehension. She was weary of beingquestioned, and of parrying questions. But now she had told all sheknew. There was great comfort in that thought. 

Her face cleared, became quite cheerful and smiling, when she saw AlfredHead. He, too, was a kind friend; he, too, would help her as much as hecould--if indeed any more help were needed. But the Dean and her ownlady would certainly be far more powerful than Alfred Head. 

Poor Old Anna was not in a condition to be very observant. She did notsee that there was anything but a cordial expression on her friend'sface, and that he looked indeed very stern and disagreeable. 

The door was soon shut behind him, and instead of advancing with handoutstretched, he crossed his arms and looked down at her, silently, fora few moments. 

At last, speaking between his teeth, and in German, he exclaimed, "Thisis a pretty state of things, Frau Bauer. You have made more trouble thanyou know!"

She stared up at him, uncomprehendingly. "I don't understand, " shefaltered. "I did nothing. What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have brought us all within sight of the gallows. Yourself quite as much as your friends. "

"The gallows?" exclaimed old Anna, in an agitated whisper. "Explainyourself, Mr. Head----" She was trembling now. "What is it you mean?"

"I do not know what it is you have told, " he spoke in a less savagetone. "And I know as a matter of fact that there is very little you_could_ say, for you have been kept in the dark. But one thing I maytell you. If you say one word, Frau Bauer, of where you received yourblood money just after the War broke out, then I, too, will say what_I_ know. If I do that, instead of being deported--that is, instead ofbeing sent comfortably back to Berlin, to your niece and her husband, who surely will look after you and make your old age comfortable--then Iswear to you before God _that you will hang_!"

"Hang? But I have done nothing!"

Anna was now almost in a state of collapse, and he saw his mistake. 

"You are in no real danger at all if you will only do exactly what Itell you, " he declared, impressively. 

"Yes, " she faltered. "Yes, Herr Hegner, indeed I will obey you. "

He looked round him hastily. "Never, never call me that!" he exclaimed. "And now listen quite quietly to what I have to say. Remember you are inno danger--no danger at all--if you follow my orders. "

She looked at him dumbly. 

"You are to say that the parcels came to you from your nephew inGermany. It will do him no harm. The English police cannot reach him. "

"But I've already said, " she confessed, distractedly, "that they werebrought to me by a friend of his. "

"It is a pity you said that, but it does not much matter. The one thingyou must conceal at all hazards is that you received any money from me. Do you understand that, Frau Bauer? Have you said anything of that?"

"No, " she said slowly. "No, I have said nothing of that. "

He fancied there was a look of hesitation on her face. As a matter offact we know that Anna had not betrayed Alfred Head. But that she hadnot done so was an accident, only caused by her unwillingness to dwellon the money she had received when telling her story to Mrs. Guthrie. 

The old woman turned a mottled red and yellow colour, in the poor lightof the cell. 

"Please try and remember, " he said sternly, "if you mentioned me atall. "

"I swear I did not!" she cried. 

"Did you say that you had received money?"

And Anna answered, truthfully, "Yes, Herr Head; I did say that. "

"Fool! Fool indeed--when it would have been so easy for you to pretendyou had done it to please your nephew!"

"But Mrs. Otway, she has forgiven me. My gracious lady does not think Idid anything so very wrong, " cried Anna. 

"Mrs. Otway? What does she matter! They will do all they can to get outof you how you received this money. You must say---- Are you attending, Frau Bauer?"

She had sunk down again on her bench; she felt her legs turning tocotton-wool. "Yes, " she muttered. "Yes, I am attending----"

"You must say, " he commanded, "that you always received the money fromyour nephew. That since the war you have had none. Do I make myselfclear?"

"Yes, " she murmured--"quite clear, Herr Head. "

"If you do not say that, if you bring me into this dirty business, thenI, too, will say what _I_ know about _you_. "

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. What did he mean?

"Ah, you do not know perhaps what I can tell about you!"

He came nearer to her, and in a hissing whisper went on: "I can tell howit was through you that a certain factory in Flanders was shelled, andeighty Englishmen were killed. And if I tell that, they will hang you!"

"But that is not true, " said Anna stoutly. "So you could not say that!"

"It _is_ true. " He spoke with a kind of ferocious energy that carriedconviction, even to her. "It is absolutely true, and easily proved. Youshowed a letter--a letter from Mr. Jervis Blake. In that letter wasinformation which led directly to the killing of those eighty Englishsoldiers, and to the injury to Mr. Jervis Blake which lost him hisfoot. "

"What is that you say?" Anna's voice rose to a scream of horror--ofincredulous, protesting horror. "Unsay, do unsay what you have justsaid, kind Mr. Head!"

"How can I unsay what is the fact?" he answered savagely. "Do not be astupid fool! You ought to be glad you performed such a deed for theFatherland. "

"Not Mr. Jervis Blake, " she wailed out. "Not the bridegroom of mychild!"

"The bridegroom of your child was engaged in killing good Germans; andnow he will never kill any Germans any more. And it is _you_, FrauBauer, who shot off his foot. If you betray me, all that will be known, and they will not deport you, they will hang you!"

To this she said nothing, and he touched her roughly on the shoulder. "Look up, Frau Bauer! Look up, and tell me that you understand! It isimportant!"

She looked up, and even he was shocked, taken aback, by the strange lookon her face. It was a look of dreadful understanding, of fear, and ofpain. "I do understand, " she said in a low voice. 

"If you do what I tell you, nothing will happen to you, " he exclaimedimpatiently, but more kindly than he had yet spoken. "You will only besent home, deported, as they call it. If you are thinking of your moneyin the Savings Bank, that they will not allow you to take. But withoutdoubt your ladies will take care of it for you till this cursed war isover. So you see you have nothing to fear if you do what I tell you. Sonow good-bye, Frau Bauer. I'll go and tell them that you know nothing, that I have been not able to get anything out of you. Is that so?"

"Yes, " she answered apathetically. 

Giving one more quick look at her bowed head, he went across and knockedloudly at the cell door. 

There was a little pause, and then the door opened. It opened just wideenough to let him out. 

And then, just for a moment, Alfred Head felt a slight tremor ofdiscomfort, for the end of the passage, that is, farther down, some waypast Anna's cell, now seemed full of men. There stood the chief localpolice inspector and three or four policemen, as well as the gentlemanfrom London. 

It was the latter who first spoke. He came forward, towards Alfred Head. "Well, " he said rather sternly, "I presume that you've been able to getnothing from the old woman?"

And Mr. Head answered glibly enough, "That's quite correct, sir. Thereis evidently nothing to be got out of her. As you yourself said, sir, not long ago, this old woman has only been a tool. "

The two policemen were now walking one each side of him, and it seemedto Alfred Head as if he were being hustled along towards the hall wherethere generally stood, widely open, the doors leading out on to thesteps to the Market Place. 

He told himself that he would be very glad to get out into the open airand collect his thoughts. He did not believe that his oldfellow-countrywoman would, to use a vulgar English colloquialism, "givehim away. " But still, he would not feel quite at ease till she wassafely deported and out of the way. 

The passage was rather a long one, and he began to feel a curious, nervous craving to reach the end of it--to be, that is, out in the hall. 

But just before they reached the end of the passage the men about himclosed round Alfred Head. He felt himself seized, it seemed to him fromevery side, not roughly, but with a terribly strong muscular grip. 

"What is this?" he cried in a loud voice. Even as he spoke, he wonderedif he could be dreaming--if this was the horrible after effect of thestrain he had just gone through. 

For a moment only he struggled, and then, suddenly, he submitted. Heknew what it was he wished to save; it was the watch chain to which wereattached the two keys of the safe in his bedroom. He wore them among abunch of old-fashioned Georgian seals which he had acquired in the wayof business, and he had had the keys gilt, turned to a dull gold colour, to match the seals. It was possible, just possible, that they mightescape the notice of these thick-witted men about him. 

"What does this mean?" he demanded; and then he stopped, for there rosea distant sound of crying and screaming in the quiet place. 

"What is that?" he cried, startled. 

The police inspector came forward; he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry totell you, Head"--he spoke quite civilly, even kindly--"that we've had toarrest your wife, too. "

"This is too much! She is a child--a mere child! Innocent as a babyunborn. An Englishwoman, too, as you know well, Mr. Watkins. They mustbe all mad in this town--it is quite mad to suspect my poor littlePolly!"

The inspector was a kindly man, naturally humane, and he had known theprisoner for a considerable number of years. As for poor Polly, he hadalways been acquainted with her family, and had seen her grow up from alovely child into a very pretty girl. 

"Look here!" he said. "It's no good kicking up a row. Unluckily for her, they found the key with which they opened your safe in her possession. D'you take my meaning?"

Alfred Head grew rather white. "That's impossible!" he said confidently. "There are but two keys, and I have them both. "

The other looked at him with a touch of pity. "There must have been athird key, " he said slowly. "I've got it here myself. It was hidden awayin an old-fashioned dressing-case. Besides, Mrs. Head didn't put up anyfight. But if she can prove, as she says, that she knows no German, andthat you didn't know she had a key of the safe--for that's what shesays--well, that'll help her, of course. "

"But there's nothing _in_ the safe, " Head objected, quickly, "nothing ofwhat might be called an incriminating nature, Mr. Watkins. Only businessletters and papers, and all of them sent me before the War. "

The other man looked at him, and hesitated. He had gone quite as far asold friendship allowed. "That's as may be, " he said cautiously. "I knownothing of all that. They've been sealed up, and are going off toLondon. What caused you to be arrested, Mr. Head--this much I may tellyou--is information which was telephoned down to that London gentlemanhalf an hour ago. But it was just an accident that the key Mrs. Head hadhidden away was found so quickly--just a bit of bad luck for her, if Imay say so. "

"Then I suppose I shan't be allowed to see Polly?" There was a tone ofextreme dejection in the voice. 

"Well, we'll see about that! I'll see what I can do for you. You're notto be charged till to-morrow morning. Then you'll be charged along withthat man--the man who came to the Trellis House this morning. He's beenfound too. He went straight to those Pollits--you follow my meaning?Mrs. Pollit is the daughter of that old German woman. I never couldabide _her_! Often and often I said to my missis, as I see her gocrawling about, 'There's a German as is taking away a good job from anEnglish woman. ' So she was. Well, I must now tell them where to takeyou. And I'm afraid you'll have to be stripped and searched--that's theorder in these kind of cases. "

Alfred Head nodded. "I don't mind, " he said stoutly. "I'm an innocentman. " But he had clenched his teeth together when he had heard the nameof Pollit uttered so casually. If Pollit told all he knew, then the gamewas indeed up. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

After the door had shut behind Alfred Head, Anna Bauer sat on, quitemotionless, awhile. What mind was left to her, after the terrifying andagonising interview she had just had, was absorbed in the statement madeto her concerning Jervis Blake. 

She remembered, with blinding clearness, the afternoon that Rose hadcome into her kitchen to say in a quiet, toneless voice, "They think, Anna, that they will have to take off his foot. " She saw, as clearly asif her nursling were there in this whitewashed little cell, the look ofdesolate, dry-eyed anguish which had filled Rose's face. 

But that false quietude had only lasted a few moments, for, in responseto her poor old Anna's exclamation of horror and of sympathy, Rose Otwayhad flung herself into her nurse's arms, and had lain there shiveringand crying till the sound of the front door opening to admit her motherhad forced her to control herself. 

Anna's mind travelled wearily on, guided by reproachful memory through amaze of painful recollections. Once more she stood watching the strangemarriage ceremony--trying hard, aye, and succeeding, to obey SirJacques's strict injunction. More than one of those present had glancedover at her, Anna, very kindly during that trying half-hour. How wouldthey then have looked at her if they had known what she knew now?

She lived again as in long drawn-out throbs of pain the piteous dayswhich had followed Mr. Blake's operation. 

Rose had not allowed herself one word of fret or of repining; but onthree different nights during that first week, she had got out of bedand wandered about the house, till Anna, hearing the quiet, stufflesssounds of bare feet, had come out, and leading the girl into the stillwarm kitchen, had comforted her. 

It was Anna who had spoken to Sir Jacques, and suggested the sleepingdraught which had finally broken that evil waking spell--Anna who, farmore than Rose's own mother, had sustained and heartened the poor childduring those dreadful days of reaction which followed on the brave frontshe had shown at the crisis of the operation. 

And now Anna had to face the horrible fact that it was she who hadbrought this dreadful suffering, this--this lifelong misfortune, on thebeing she loved more than she had ever loved anything in the world. Ifthis was true, and in her heart she knew it to be true, then she didindeed deserve to hang. A shameful death would be nothing in comparisonto the agony of fearing that her darling might come to learn the truth. 

 * * * * *

The door of the cell suddenly opened, and a man came in, carrying a trayin his hands. On it were a jug of coffee, some milk, sugar, bread andbutter, and a plateful of cold meat. 

He put it down by the old woman's side. "Look here!" he said. "Yourlady, Mrs. Guthrie as she is now, thought you'd rather have coffee thantea--so we've managed to get some for you. "

And, as Anna burst into loud sobs, "There, there!" he saidgood-naturedly. "I daresay you'll be all right--don't you be worryingyourself. " He lowered his voice: "Though there are some as says thatwhat they found in your back kitchen this morning was enough to haveblown up all Witanbury sky high! Quite a good few don't think you knewanything about it--and if you didn't, you've nothing to fear. You'll betreated quite fair; so now you sit up, and make a good supper!"

She stared at him without speaking, and he went on: "You won't be havingthis sort of grub in Darneford Gaol, you know!" As she again looked athim with no understanding, he added by way of explanation: "After you'vebeen charged to-morrow, it's there they'll send you, I expect, to waitfor the Assizes. "

"So?" she said stupidly. 

"You just sit up and enjoy your supper! You needn't hurry over it. Ishan't be this way again for an hour or so. " And then he went out andshut the door. 

For almost the first time in her life, Anna Bauer did not feel as if shewanted to eat good food set before her. But she poured out a cup ofcoffee, and drank it just as it was, black and bitter, without puttingeither milk or sugar to it. 

Then she stood up. The coffee had revived her, cleared her brain, andshe looked about her with awakened, keener perceptions. 

It was beginning to get dark, but it was a fine evening, and there wasstill light enough to see by. She looked up consideringly at theold-fashioned iron gas bracket, placed in the middle of the ceiling, just above the wooden chair on which her gracious lady had sat duringthe last part of their conversation. 

Anna took from the bench where she had been sitting the crochet in whichshe had been interrupted. 

She had lately been happily engaged in making a beautiful band ofcrochet lace which was destined to serve as trimming for Mrs. JervisBlake's dressing-table. The band was now very nearly finished; therewere over three yards of it done. Worked in the best and strongest linenthread, it was the kind of thing which would last, even if it werecleaned very frequently, for years and years, and which would grow finerwith cleaning. 

The band was neatly rolled up and pinned, to keep it clean and nice; butnow Anna slowly unpinned and unrolled it. 

Yes, it was a beautiful piece of work; rather coarser than what she wasaccustomed to do, but then she knew that Miss Rose preferred the coarserto the very fine crochet. 

She tested a length of it with a sharp pull, and the result waswonderful--from her point of view most gratifying! It hardly gave atall. She remembered how ill her mistress had succeeded when she, Anna, had tried to teach her to do this kind of work some sixteen to seventeenyears ago. After a very little while Mrs. Otway had given up trying todo it, knowing that she could never rival her good old Anna. Mrs. Otway's lace had been so rough, so uneven; a tiny pull, and it becameall stringy and out of shape. 

Yes, whatever strain were put on this band, it would surelyrecover--recover, that is, if it were dealt with as she, Anna, woulddeal with such a piece of work. It would have to be damped andstretched out on a piece of oiled silk, and each point fastened downwith a pin. Then an almost cold iron would have to be passed over it, with a piece of clean flannel in between. .. . 

CHAPTER XXXV

At eight o'clock the same evening, Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Hayley wereeating a hasty meal in the Trellis House. James Hayley had beencompelled to stay on till the last train back to town, for on him theuntoward events of the day had entailed a good deal of trouble. He hadhad to put off his cousin's tenants, find lodgings for their twoservants, and arrange quarters for the policeman who, pending inquiries, was guarding the contents of Anna's bedroom. 

A charwoman had been found with the help of Mrs. Haworth. But when thiswoman had been asked--her name was Bent, and she was a verger's wife--toprovide a little supper for two gentlemen, she had demurred, and said itwas impossible. Then, at last, she had volunteered to cook two chops andboil some potatoes. But she had explained that nothing further must beexpected of her; she was not used to waiting at table. 

The two young men were thus looking after themselves in the prettydining-room. Mr. Reynolds, who was not as particular as his companion, and who, as a matter of fact, had had no luncheon, thought the chopquite decent. In fact, he was heartily enjoying his supper, for he wasvery hungry. 

"I daresay all you say concerning Anna Bauer's powers of cooking, ofsaving, of mending, and of cleaning, are quite true!" he exclaimed, witha laugh. "But believe me, Mr. Hayley, she's a wicked old woman! Ofcourse I shall know a great deal more about her to-morrow morning. ButI've already been able to gather a good deal to-day. There's been aregular nest of spies in this town, with antennæ stretching out over thewhole of this part of the southwest coast. Would you be surprised tolearn that your cousin's good old Anna has a married daughter in thebusiness--a daughter married to an Englishman?"

"You don't mean George Pollit?" asked James Hayley eagerly. 

"Yes--that's the man's name! Why, d'you know him?"

"I should think I do! I helped to get him out of a scrape last year. He's a regular rascal. "

"Aye, that he is indeed. He's acted as post office to this man Hegner. It's he, the fellow they call Alfred Head, the Dean's friend, the citycouncillor, who has been the master spy. " Again he laughed, this timerather unkindly. "I think we've got the threads of it all in our handsby now. You see, we found this man Pollit's address among the very fewpapers which were discovered at that Spaniard's place near Southampton. A sharp fellow went to Pollit's shop, and the man didn't put up anyfight at all. They're fools to employ that particular Cockney type. Isuppose they chose him because his wife is German----"

There came a loud ring at the front door, and James Hayley jumped up. "I'd better see what that is, " he said. "The woman we've got here issuch a fool!"

He went out into the hall, and found Rose Blake. 

"We heard about Anna just after we got to London, " she saidbreathlessly. "A man in the train mentioned it to Jervis quite casually, while speaking of mother's wedding. So we came back at once to hearwhat had really happened and to see if we could do anything. Oh, James, what a dreadful thing! Of course she's innocent--it's absurd to thinkanything else. Where is she? Can I go and see her now, at once? She mustbe in a dreadful state. I do feel so miserable about her!"

"You'd better come in here, " he said quietly. It was odd what a sharplittle stab at the heart it gave him to see Rose looking so likeherself--so like the girl he had hoped in time to make his wife. And yetso different too--so much softer, sweeter, and with a new radiance inher face. 

He asked sharply, "By the way, where's your husband?"

"He's with the Robeys. I preferred to come here alone. "

She followed him into the dining-room. 

"This is Mr. Reynolds, --Mr. Reynolds, my cousin Mrs. Blake!" He waiteduncomfortably, impatiently, while they shook hands, and then: "I'mafraid you're going to have a shock----" he exclaimed, and, suddenlysoftening, looked at her with a good deal of concern in his face. "There's very little doubt, Rose, that Anna Bauer is guilty. "

"I'm sure she's not, " said Rose stoutly. She looked across at thestranger. "You must forgive me for speaking like this, " she said, "butyou see old Anna was my nurse, and I really do know her very well. "

As she glanced from the one grave face to the other, her own shadowed. "Is it very very serious?" she asked, with a catch in her clear voice. 

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. "

"Oh, James, do try and get leave for me to see her to-night--even foronly a moment. "

She turned to the other man; somehow she felt that she had a betterchance there. "I have been in great trouble lately, " she said, in a lowtone, "and but for Anna Bauer I don't know how I should have got throughit. That is why I feel I _must_ go to her now in her trouble. "

"We'll see what can be done, " said Mr. Reynolds kindly. "It may beeasier to arrange for you to see her to-night than it would beto-morrow, after she has been charged. "

 * * * * *

When they reached the Market Place they saw that there were a good manyidlers still standing about near the steps leading up to the now closeddoor of the Council House. 

"You had better wait down here while I go and see about it, " said JamesHayley quickly. He did not like the thought of Rose standing among thesort of people who were lingering, like noisome flies round a honey-pot, under the great portico. 

And when he had left them standing together in the great space under thestars, Rose turned to the stranger with whom she somehow felt in closersympathy than with her own cousin. 

"What makes you think our old servant was a----" she broke off. Shecould not bear to use the word "spy. "

"I'll tell you, " he said slowly, "what has convinced me. But keep thisfor the present to yourself, Mrs. Blake, for I have said nothing of itto Mr. Hayley. Quite at the beginning of the War, it was arranged thatall telegrams addressed to the Continent should be sent to the headtelegraph office in London for examination. Now within the first tendays one hundred and four messages, sent, I should add, to a hundred andfour different addresses, were worded as follows----" He waited amoment. "Are you following what I say, Mrs. Blake?"

"Yes, " she said quickly. "I think I understand. You are telling me aboutsome telegrams--a great many telegrams----"

But she was asking herself how this complicated story could be connectedwith Anna Bauer. 

"Well, I repeat that a hundred and four telegrams were worded almostexactly alike: 'Father can come back on about 14th. Boutet is expectinghim. '"

Rose looked up at him. "Yes?" she said hesitatingly. She was completelyat a loss. 

"Well, your old German servant, Mrs. Blake, sent one of these telegramson Monday, August 10th. She explained that a stranger she met in thestreet had asked her to send it off. She was, it seems, kept underobservation for a little while, after her connection with this telegramhad been discovered, but in all the circumstances, the fact she was inyour mother's service, and so on, she was given the benefit of thedoubt. "

"But--but I don't understand even now?" said Rose slowly. 

"I'll explain. All these messages were from German agents in thiscountry, who wished to tell their employers about the secret despatch ofour Expeditionary Force. 'Boutet' meant Boulogne. Of course we have noclue at all as to how your old servant got the information. "

Rose suddenly remembered the day when Major Guthrie had come to saygood-bye. A confused feeling of horror, of pity, and of vicarious shameswept over her. For the first time in her young life she was glad of thedarkness which hid her face from her companion. 

The thought of seeing Anna now filled her with repugnance and shrinkingpain. "I--I understand what you mean, " she said slowly. 

"You must remember that she is a German. She probably regards herself inthe light of a heroine!"

The minutes dragged by, and it seemed to Mr. Reynolds that they had beenwaiting there at least half an hour, when at last he saw with relief thetall slim figure emerge through the great door of the Council House. Very deliberately James Hayley walked down the stone steps, and cametowards them. When he reached the place where the other two werestanding, waiting for him, he looked round as if to make sure that therewas no one within earshot. 

"Rose, " he said huskily--and he also was consciously glad of thedarkness, for he had just gone through what had been, to one of hishighly civilised and fastidious temperament, a most tryingordeal--"Rose, I'm sorry to bring you bad news. Anna Bauer is dead. Thepoor old woman has hanged herself. As a matter of fact, it was I--I andthe inspector of police--who found her. We managed to get a doctor inthrough one of the side entrances--but it was of no use. "

Rose said no word. She stood quite still, overwhelmed, bewildered withthe horror, and, to her, the pain, of the thing she had just heard. 

And then, suddenly, there fell, shaft-like, athwart the still, darkair, the sound of muffled thuds, falling quickly in rhythmical sequence, on the brick-paved space which melted away into the darkness to theirleft. 

"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Reynolds. His nerves also were shaken bythe news which he had just heard; but even as he spoke he saw that thesound which seemed so strange, so--so sinister, was caused by a tallfigure only now coming out of the shadows away across the Market Place. What puzzled Mr. Reynolds was the man's very peculiar gait. He seemed, if one can use such a contradiction in terms, to be at once crawling andswinging along. 

"It's my husband!"

Rose Blake raised her head. A wavering gleam of light fell on her pale, tear-stained face, and showed it suddenly as if illumined, glowing fromwithin: "He's never been so far by himself before--I must go to him!"

She began walking swiftly--almost running--to meet that strangely slowyet leaping figure, which was becoming more and more clearly definedamong the deeply shaded gas lamps which stood at wide intervals in thegreat space round them. 

Then, all at once, they heard the eager, homing cry, "Rose?" and theanswering cry, "Jervis?" and the two figures seemed to become mergedtill they formed one, together. 

THE END