They reached the highway at the same moment, and the roadside bank sheltered them. Here she released his arm.
"I beg you to be a little reasonable," she said. "You must leave Sais at once. Promise me, Mr. Halkett----"
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"Sister, if I am really a soldier, as you suppose me to be, perhaps I have--_orders_--to remain at Sais."
"Have you?" she asked frankly.
He turned and looked at her:
"Yes, little comrade."
"That is really serious."
"It must not cause you any anxiety. I shall 'wriggle'--as you say--out of this mess when the time comes. I may start tonight."
"For London? Do you wriggle as far as that?"
He said gravely:
"You know more about me now from my own lips than I would admit, even prompted by a firing squad. I trusted you even before you faced death for me on that doorstep a moment ago. _Did you see that man come out of the willows and level his rifle at us?_"
She said tranquilly:
"We daughters of St. Vincent de Paul never heed such things."
"I know you don't; I know what are your traditions. Many a Sister of your Order has fallen under rifle and shell fire on the battlefields of the world; many have died of the pest in hospitals; many have succumbed to exposure. The history of modern war is the history of the Grey Sisters. What you have just done, as a matter of course, is already part of that history. And so--" he looked down at her crucifix and rosary--"and so, Sister, and comrade, I shall tell you what it would not be possible for me to admit to any other living soul in France. Yes; I _am_ a British officer on special and secret duty. I left the United States two weeks ago. Trouble began in Holland. I am now on my way to London. Orders came today halting me at Sais. Enemies of France are annoying me--people who are becoming more desperate and more determined as the hours pass and the moment approaches swiftly when they can no longer hope to interfere with me. That moment will come when war is declared. It will be declared. I shall be very glad to arrive in England. Now I have told you almost everything, Sister Eila. My honor is in your keeping; my devotion is for my own country, for France--and for you."
"I have made one vow of silence," she said simply. "I shall make another--never to breathe one word of this."
"You need not. Just say to me that you will not speak."
Her lovely face became as solemn as a child's:
"I shall not speak, Mr. Halkett."
"That settles it," he said. "If it lay with me, I'd trust you with every secret in our War Office!" He checked himself, hesitated, then: "Sister Eila, if anything happens to me, go to Mr. Warner and ask him for _that envelope_. There are sure to be British soldiers in France before very long. Give that envelope to some British officer."
After a moment she laughed:
"Englishmen are odd--odd! They are just boys. They are delightful. I shall do what you ask.... And there is your inn.... Am I tired? _I_? Vous plaisantez, Monsieur! But, Mr. Halkett, what would be the object in your walking back with me? I should only have to walk back here again with you! It would continue _ad infinitum_."
They both laughed.
"When trouble finally comes, and if I am hit, I pray I may lie in your ward," he said gayly.
Her smile faded:
"I shall pray so, too," she said.
"I'd feel like a little boy safe in his own nursery," he added, still smiling.
"I am--happy--to have you think of me in that way." Her smile glimmered anew in her eyes. "I should be a devoted nurse." She made him a friendly little signal of adieu and turned away.
Hat in hand, he stood looking after the grey-blue figure under the snowy headdress.
At the turn of the road she looked back, saw him, still standing there; and again, from the distance, she made him a pretty gesture of caution and of farewell. Then the grassy bank hid her from view.
At the Inn of the Golden Peach, Warner's Harem was already lunching. Through the open windows of the dining-room came a discreet clatter of tableware and crockery, and a breezy, cheery tumult like the chatter in an aviary.
Halkett, not fancying it, went around the house to the quiet garden. Here he wandered to and fro among the trees or stood about aimlessly, looking down at the flower beds where, kneeling beside Sister Eila, he had aided her to fill her ozier basket.
Later Warner found him seated under the arbor with Ariadne on his knee; and a few moments afterward the maid, Linette, served their luncheon.
Neither of the young men was very communicative, but after the dishes and cloth had been removed, and when Halkett, musing over his cigarette and coffee, still exhibited no initiative toward conversation, Warner broke the silence:
"What about that shot?" he asked bluntly.
"What shot?"
"Don't you want to talk about it?"
Halkett glanced up, amused:
"Well, I suppose there was no hiding that bullet hole and the plaster dust from Sister Felicite."
"Of course not. The bullet ripped out the lathing. Who was it fired at the school? Or was it at you they let go?"
"Didn't you ask Sister Eila?"
"I did. She absolutely refused to discuss it, and referred us both to you. It was no accident, was it?"
"No."
"Somebody tried to get _you_?"
"It rather looked that way."
"Our friends in the grey car, of course!" concluded Warner.
"Not necessarily. _They_ have other friends who might be equally attentive to me. I don't know who shot at me. There were three of them over by the river."
"Well, Halkett, don't you think you had better remain indoors for a while?"
"I'd better, I suppose." He laughed. "Honestly, I'm sick of being shot at. One of these days they'll hit me, if they're not very careful."
But Warner did not smile.
"Do you promise to stay indoors?" he insisted.
"I'll see. Perhaps."
"Don't you think it advisable for you to carry some sort of a firearm--one of my automatics, for example?"
"Thanks, old fellow. I think I'll do that, if you can spare a section of your artillery for a day or two."
Warner promptly fished an automatic out of his hip pocket, and Halkett took it and examined it.
"So I'm to do the Wild West business after all," he said gayly. "Right you are, old chap. I know how it's done; I've read about it in your novels. You wait till your enemy takes a drop, then you get the drop!" He laughed at his British joke. And, having no hip pocket, he stowed away the lumpy bluish weapon in a side pocket of his coat.
"Now, don't let me interfere with your daily routine," he continued. "I shall do very well here in the arbor while you lead your Harem toward the Olympian heights."
"Sometimes I feel like pushing 'em off those cliffs," muttered Warner. "All right; I fancy you'll be snug enough in the garden, here with Ariadne, till I return. We shall have the whole house to ourselves after dinner. The Harem migrates to Ausone for overnight to do street sketches tomorrow, and returns the next morning for a general criticism. So if you'll amuse yourself----"
"I shall be quite comfortable, thanks. If anybody climbs the wall to pot me, we'll turn loose on 'em, this time--won't we, old girl?"--caressing Ariadne, who had returned to his knee.
Half an hour afterward Warner went away in the wake of the Harem; and at the end of the second hour he gave them a final criticism before they started for Ausone.
Much good it did them; but they adored it; they even adored his sarcasms. For the Harem truly worshiped this young man--a fact of which he remained uncomfortably conscious, timidly aware that warier men than he had been landed by maidens less adept than they.
So it was with his usual sense of deep relief that he saluted the Harem, picked up his own kit and canvases, and wandered at hazard through a little poplar grove and out of it on the other edge.
A wild meadow, deep with tasseled grasses and field flowers, stretched away before him, where swallows sailed and soared and skimmed--where blue lupin, _bouton d'or_, meadowsweet, and slender, silvery stems crowned with queen's lace grew tall, and the heliotrope perfume of hidden hawkweed scented every fitful little wind.
But what immediately fixed his attention was a distant figure wading waist-deep amid the grasses--a slim, brilliant shape, which became oddly familiar as it drew nearer, moving forward with light and boyish grace, stirring within him vaguely agreeable recollections.
Then, in spite of her peasant's dress, he recognized her; and he walked swiftly forward to meet her. The figure out there in the sunshine saw him coming and lifted one arm in distant recognition and salute.
They met in mid-meadow, Warner and the girl Philippa.
Her short skirt and low peasant bodice had faded to a rose-geranium tint; her white chemisette, laced with black, was open wide below the throat. Black velvet straps crossed it on the shoulders and around the cuffs. Her hair was tied with a big black silk bow.
"How in the world did you come to be here?" he asked, not yet releasing the eager, warm little hands so frankly clasped between both of his.
Philippa laughed with sheerest happiness:
"Figurez-vous, Monsieur. I have been punting since early morning; and when I found myself so near to Sais I was ready to drop with heat and fatigue: 'Mais, n'importe! Allons!' I said to myself. 'Courage, little one! Very soon you shall see Mr. Warner painting a noble picture by the river!' Et puis----" She tightened her clasp on his hands with an adorable laugh, "Nous voici enfin ensemble--tous les deux--vous et moi! Et je suis bien content et bien fatiguee."