The Girl Philippa. Chambers Robert William

these posters, representing a German firm which manufactures soap, have been placed throughout Belgium and France for the convenience of an invading army.

      "Immediate removal of these advertisements seems advisable in the opinion of my informant.

      "(Signed), SISTER EILA,

      "Of the Daughters of St. Vincent de Paul at Saïs."

      When she had finished the letter and had unhesitatingly signed it, she lifted her clear eyes to him in silence. Her breath came a trifle unevenly; the tint of excitement grew and waned in her cheeks.

      "At least," he said, "you will understand that I am a friend to France."

      "Yes, that is evident."

      "Will you direct and seal the packet and give it to the postman?"

      "Yes."

      "And, Sister Eila, if they send gendarmes or other officials to question you?"

      She looked straight into his eyes, deeply, so that her gaze seemed to plunge into the depths of his very soul.

      Then, lifting the cross from the rosary at her girdle, she slipped out of her chair and knelt down beside her desk, her young head bent low over the crucifix which she held between the palms of her joined hands.

      Halkett, head also lowered, stood motionless.

      After a few moments she rose lightly from her knees.

      "It is a vow, now," she said. "I have bound myself to silence concerning the source of my information – " her untroubled eyes rested again on his – "because I believe in you, Monsieur."

      He started to speak, but seemed to find no word to utter. A bright color mounted to his brow; he turned abruptly from the desk and stepped toward the open door.

      And the instant he appeared there, framed by the doorway, a shot rang out, knocking a cloud of stucco and plaster from the wall beside him.

      CHAPTER IX

      He shrank back flat against the wall, edged along it, and slipped swiftly inside the house. A thick veil of lime dust hung across the open doorway, gilded by the sunlight. Crumbs of plaster and mortar still fell to the schoolroom floor.

      Through the heated silence of early afternoon he could hear the distant cries of the children from their playground; there was no other sound; nothing stirred; nobody came.

      If Warner had noticed the shot at all, no doubt he supposed it to be the premature report of some piece. To the gaunt, furtive Vosges poacher no close season exists. If it did exist, he would cease to.

      Halkett slowly turned his head and saw Sister Eila behind him. She had risen from her chair at the desk; now she came slowly forward, her deep, grey eyes fixed on him. But before she could take another step he laid his hand firmly on her wide, blue sleeve and forced her back into the room.

      "Keep away from that door," he said quietly.

      "Did somebody try to kill you?" she asked. Her voice was curious, but perfectly calm.

      "I think so… Don't show yourself near that door. They might not be able to distinguish their target at such a range."

      "They? Who are 'they'?"

      "Whoever fired… I must ask you again to please keep out of range of that doorway – "

      "The shot came from the river willows across the fields, did it not?" she interrupted.

      "I'm very sure of it. You need not feel any anxiety for the children, Sister; I am going. There'll be no more shots."

      "There is a door at the back by the kitchen yard, Mr. Halkett. They will not see you if you leave that way."

      He stood thinking for a while; then:

      "On your account, and on the children's, I'll have to show myself again when I leave the house, so that there'll be no mistake about my identity. Don't move until after I have gone some distance along the road. And please say to Mr. Warner that I've returned to the inn for luncheon – "

      "There is a door in the rear! You must not show yourself – "

      "Indeed, I must. Otherwise, they might mistake you or Sister Félicité or one of the children for me – "

      "Mr. Halkett!" He had already started.

      "Yes?" he replied, halting and glancing back; and found her already at his elbow.

      "Why were you shot at?" she asked. "I desire to know."

      He looked her straight in the eyes:

      "I can't tell you why, Sister."

      "You say you are English, and that you are a friend to France. If that is true, then tell me who shot at you! Do you know?"

      "In a general way, I suppose I do know."

      "Do you not trust a French Sister of Charity sufficiently to tell her?"

      "What man would not trust a daughter of St. Vincent de Paul?" he said pleasantly.

      "Then tell me. Perhaps I already guess. Has it to do with your knowledge of German advertisements?"

      He was silent.

      "You are evidently a British agent." Her deep, grey eyes grew more earnest. "You are more!" she said, clasping her hands with sudden conviction. "I suspected it the first time I saw you – "

      "Please do not say to anybody what it is that you suspect – "

      "You are a British officer!" she exclaimed.

      "Sister Eila; you could do me much harm by mentioning to others this belief of yours, or anything concerning this affair. And – do you remember that you once said you trusted me?"

      "I said it – yes."

      "Do you still have confidence in me?"

      Their eyes met steadily.

      "Yes," she said. "I believe you to be a friend to France, and to me." A slight flush edged the snowy wimple which framed the lovely oval of her face.

      "I am your friend; and I am a friend to France – I say as much as that to you. I say it because of what you are, and because – you are you. But ask me no more, Sister. For men of my profession there are confessionals as secret and as absolute in authority as those which shrive the soul."

      He hesitated, his eyes shifted from her to the fresh flowers on the desk, which they had both gathered; he reached over and drew a white blossom from the glass.

      "May I take it with me?"

      She bent her head in silence.

      Then he turned to go through the deadly doorway, carrying his flower in his hand; but, as he walked out into the sunshine, Sister Eila stepped swiftly in front of him, turned on the doorstep, screening him with extended arms.

      "This is the best way," she said. "They ought to see quite clearly that I am a Sister of Charity, and they won't fire at me – "

      But he tried to push her aside and spring past her:

      "Stand clear of me, for God's sake!" he said.

      "Wait – "

      "Sister! Are you insane?"

      "You must be, Mr. Halkett – "

      "Keep away, I tell you – "

      "Please don't be rough with me – "

      He tried to avoid her, but her strong, young hands had caught both his wrists.

      "They won't shoot at a Sister of Charity!" she repeated. " – And I shall not permit them to murder you! Be reasonable! I am not afraid."

      She held on to his wrists, keeping always between him and the distant glimmer of the river:

      "I shall walk to the road with you this way; don't try to shake me off; I am strong, I warn you!" She was even laughing now. "Please do not wriggle! Only schoolboys wriggle. Do you suppose I am afraid? Since when, Monsieur, have Sisters of Charity taken cover from the enemies of France?"

      "This is shameful for