Chambers Robert William
Who Goes There!

CHAPTER XX
BEFORE DINNER

Michaud, head forester, had taken off his grey felt hat respectfully when Valentine introduced him to Guild, there in the lantern light of the winter sheep fold. A dozen or more men standing near by in shadowy groups had silently uncovered at the same time. Two wise-looking sheep dogs, squatted on their haunches, looked at him.

Then the girl had left Guild there and returned to the house.

"I should like to have a few moments quiet conversation with you," said Guild; and the stalwart, white-haired forester stepped quietly aside with him, following the younger man until they were out of earshot of those gathered by the barred gate of the fold.

"You are Belgian?" inquired Guild pleasantly.

"De Trois Fontaines, monsieur."

It was a characteristic reply. A Belgian does not call himself a Belgian. Always he designates his nationality by naming his birthplace – as though the world must know that it is in Belgium.

"And those people over there by the sheep fold?" asked Guild.

"Our men – some of them – from Ixl, from the Black Erenz and the White, from Lesse – one from Liège. And there is one, a stranger."

"From where?"

"Moresnet."

"Has he any political opinions?"

"He says his heart is with us. It is mostly that way in Moresnet."

"In Moresnet ten per cent of the people are Germans in sympathy," remarked Guild. "What is this man? A miner?"

"A charcoal burner."

"Does he seem honest?"

"Yes, Monsieur," said the honest forester, simply.

Guild laid one hand on the man's broad shoulder:

"Michaud," he said quietly, "I know I am among friends if you say I am. I mean friends to Belgium."

The dark eyes of the tall forester seemed to emit a sudden sparkle in the dusk.

"Monsieur is American?"

"Yes. My grandfather was Belgian."

"Monsieur is a friend?"

"Michaud, my name, in America is Guild. My name in Belgian is Kervyn Gueldres. Judge, then, whether I am a friend to your country and your king."

"Gueldres!" whispered the forester, rigid. "Kervyn of Gueldres, Comte d'Yvoir, Hastiere – "

"It is so written on the rolls of the Guides."

"Monsieur le Comte has served!"

"Two years with the colours. I am here to report for duty. Do you feel safe to trust me now, Michaud, my friend?"

The tall, straight forester uncovered. "Trust a Gueldres! My God!"

"Put on your hat," said Guild, bluntly, "I am American when I deal with men!"

"Monsieur le Comte – "

"'Monsieur' will do. Give me your hand! That is as it should be. We understand each other I think. Now tell me very clearly exactly what happened this morning on the hill meadows of the Paillard estate."

"Monsieur le – "

"Please remember!"

"Pardon! Monsieur Guild, the Grey Uhlans rode over the border and laughed at the gendarme on duty. Straight they made for our hill meadows, riding at ease and putting their horses to the hedges. Schultz, our herdsman, saw them trotting like wolves of the Black Erenz, ran to the wooden fence to close the gate, but their lances rattling on the pickets frightened him.

"They herded the cattle while their officers sat looking on by the summer fold.

"'Do not these cattle and sheep belong to the Paillard estate?' asks one of the officers of Schultz. And, 'Very well then!' says he; 'we are liquidating an old account with Monsieur Paillard!'

"And with that a company of the Grey Ones canters away across the valley and up the slope beyond where our shepherd, Jean Pascal, is sitting with his two dogs.

"'You, there!' they call out to him. 'Send out your dogs and herd your sheep!' And, when he only gapes at them, one of their riders wheels on him, twirling his lance and shoves him with the counter-balance.

"So they make him drive his flock for them across the valley, and then over the border – all the way on foot, Monsieur; and then they tell him to loiter no more but to go about his business.

"That is what has happened on our hill pasture. He, the lad, Pascal, is over there with his dogs" – pointing toward the fold – "almost crazed with grief and shame. And, Schultz, he wishes us to organize as a franc-corps. Me? I don't know what to do – what with Monsieur Paillard away, and the forests in my care. Were it not for my responsibility – "

"I know, Michaud. But what could an isolated franc-corps do? Far better to join your class if you can – when your responsibility here permits. Those young men, there, should try to do the same."

"Monsieur is right! Even the classes of 1915, '16, and '17 have been called. I have reminded them. But this outrage on the hill pastures has inflamed them and made hot-heads of everybody. They wish to take their guns and hunt Grey Uhlans. They don't know what they are proposing. I saw something of that in '70. Why the Prussians hung or shot every franc-tireur they caught; and invariably the nearest village was burned. And I say to them that even if Monsieur Paillard is dead, as many are beginning to believe, his death does not alter our responsibility. Why should we bring reprisals upon his roof, his fields, his forests? No, that is not honest conduct. But if we are now really convinced of his death, as soon as Madame Courland leaves, let us turn over the estate to the proper authorities in Luxembourg. Then will each and all of us be free to join the colours when summoned – if God will only show us how to do it."

"Madame Courland and mademoiselle ought to go tomorrow," said Guild. "One or another of your hotheads over there might get us into trouble this very night."

"The man from Moresnet talks loudest. I have tried to reason with him," said Michaud. "Would you come to the fold with me?"

They walked together toward the lantern light; the men standing there turned toward them and ceased their excited conversation.

"Friends," said old Michaud simply, "this gentleman's name is Kervyn of Gueldres. I think that is sufficient for any Belgian, or for any man from the Grand Duchy?"

Off came every hat.

"Cover yourselves," continued Michaud calmly. "Monsieur, who has become an American, desires to be known as Monsieur Guild without further mark of respect. This also is sufficient for us all, I suppose. Thou! Jean Pascal, cease thy complaints and stand straight and wipe thy tears. By God, I think there are other considerations in Lesse Forest than the loss of thy sheep and of Schultz's cattle!"

"M-my sheep are gone!" blubbered the boy, "I was too cowardly to defend them – "

"Be quiet," said Guild. "It was not a question of your courage! You did wisely. Show equal wisdom now."

"But I shall go after Uhlans now with my fusil-de-chasse! Ah, the cowards of Germans! Ah, the brigands – "

"Cowards! Assassins!" muttered the other. "Grey wolves run when a man goes after them – "

"You are wrong," said Guild quietly. "Germans are no cowards. If they were there would be no credit for us in fighting them. Don't make any mistake you men of the Ardennes; their soldiers are as brave as any soldiers. And where you belong is with your colours, with your classes, and in uniform. That's where I also belong; that's where I am going if I can find out how to go. Perhaps one of you can guide me. Think it over. Keep cool, and listen to Michaud, who is older and wiser than all of us."

There was a profound silence. Then a voice from the darkness, very distinct:

"I have seen red. It is necessary for me to bleed an Uhlan!"

Guild walked toward the sound of the voice: "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Moi, je suis de Moresnet!"

"Then you'd better go back to the zinc mines of Moresnet, my friend. No Uhlans will trouble you down there."

And, aside to Michaud: "Look out for that young man from Moresnet. He's too hotly a Belgian to suit my taste."

"Monsieur, he is a talker," said Michael with a shrug.

"My friend, be careful that he is nothing more dangerous."

"Ah, sacré bleu!" exclaimed the forester, reddening to his white temples – "if any of that species had the temerity to come among us! – "

"Michaud, they might even be among the King's own entourage… No doubt that fellow is merely, as you say, a talker. But – he should not be left to wander about the woods alone. And, tell me, is there anybody else you know of who might do something rash tonight along the boundary?"

"Monsieur – there are two or three poor devils who escaped the firing squads at Yslemont. They live in our forest, hiding. Our people feed them."

Guild said in a troubled voice: "Such charity is an obligation. But nevertheless it is a peril and a menace to us all."

"Were this estate my own," said the sturdy forester, "I would shelter them as long as they desired to remain. But I am responsible to Monsieur Paillard, and to his tenant, Madame Courland. Therefore I have asked these poor refugees to continue on to Diekirch or to Luxembourg where the sight of an Uhlan's schapska will be no temptation to them."

"You are right, Michaud." He held out his hand; the forester grasped it. "Tomorrow we should talk further. Our duty is to join the colours, not to prowl through the woods assassinating Uhlans. Good night! In the morning then?"

"At Monsieur's service."

"And both of us at the service of the bravest man in Europe – Albert, the King!"

Off came their hats. And, as they stood there in silence under the stars, from far away across the misty sea of trees came the sound of a gun-shot.

"One of your men?" asked Guild sharply.

"I don't know, Monsieur. Big boar feed late. A poacher perhaps. Perhaps a garde-de-chasse at Trois Fontaines."

"I hope nothing worse."

"I pray God not."

They continued to listen for a while, but no other sound broke the starry silence. And finally Guild turned away with a slight gesture, and walked slowly back to the Lodge.

Lights from the tall windows made brilliant patches and patterns across terrace and grass and flowers; the front door was open and the pleasant ruddy lamp-light streamed out.

Valentine passing and mounting the stairs caught sight of him and waved her hand in friendly salute.

"We're sterilizing Harry's shins – mother and I. The foolish boy was rather badly tusked."

"Is he all right?"

"Perfectly, and bored to death by our fussing."

She ran on up the stairs, paused again: "We're not dressing for dinner," she called down to him, and vanished.

Guild said, "All right!" glanced at the hall clock, and sauntered on into the big living-room so unmistakably American in its brightness and comfort.

But it was not until he had dropped back into the friendly embrace of a stuffed arm-chair that he was aware of Karen curled up in the depths of another, sewing.

"I didn't know you were here," he said coolly. "Have you had an agreeable afternoon?"

"Yes, thank you."

"It's a very charming place."

"Yes."

"I think the Courlands are delightful."

"Very."

"Miss Courland and I had a wonderful walk. We had no trouble in taking all the trout we needed for dinner, and then we went to a rock called The Pulpit, where we lay very still and talked only in whispers until three wild boars came out to feed."

Karen lifted her eyes from her sewing. They seemed unusually dark to him, almost purple.

"After that," he went on, "we walked back along the main ride to a carrefour where the drive crosses; and so back here. That accounts for my afternoon." He added, smiling carelessly: "May I ask you to account for yours?"

"Yes, please."

"Very well, then I do ask it."

She bent over her sewing again: "I have been idle. The sun was agreeable. I went for a little stroll alone and found an old wall and a pool and a rose garden."

"And then?"

"The rose garden is very lovely. I sat there sewing and – thinking – "

"About what?"

"About – you – mostly."

He said steadily enough: "Were your thoughts pleasant?"

"Partly."

"Only partly?"

"Yes… I remembered that you are joining your regiment."

"But that should not be an unpleasant thought for you, Karen."

"No. I would have it so, of course. It could not be otherwise under the circumstances."

"It could not be otherwise," he said pleasantly; but his grey eyes never left the pale, sweet profile bent above the leisurely moving needle.

"I understand."

"I know you understand that– at least, Karen."

"Yes. Other matters, too – a little better than I did – this morning."

"What matters?" he asked casually. But his heart was threatening to meddle with his voice; and he set his lips sternly and touched his short mustache with careless fingers.

Karen bent still lower over her sewing. The light was perfectly good, however.

"What," he asked again, "are the matters which you now understand better than you did this morning?"

"Matters – concerning – love."

He laughed: "Do you think you understand love?"

"A little better than I did."

"In what way? You are not in love, are you, Karen?"

"I think – a – little."

"With whom?"

No answer.

"Not with me?"

"Yes." She turned swiftly in the depths of her chair to confront him as he sprang to his feet.

"Wait!" she managed to say; and remained silent, one slim hand against her breast. And, after a moment: "Would you not come any nearer, please."

"Karen – "

"Not now, please… Sit there where you were… I can tell you better – all I know – about it."

She bent again over her needle, sewing half blindly, the hurrying pulses making her hand unsteady. After he was seated she turned her head partly around for a moment, looking at him with a fascinated and almost breathless curiosity.

"If I tell you, you will come no nearer; will you?" she asked.

"No. Tell me."

She sewed for a while at random, not conscious what her fingers were doing, striving to think clearly in the menace of these new emotions, the power of which she was divining now, realizing more deeply every second.

"I'll try to tell you," she said: "I didn't know anything – about myself – this morning. What we had been to each other I considered friendship. Remember it was my first friendship with a man. And – I thought it was that."

After a silence: "Was it anything deeper?" he asked.

"Yes, deeper… You frightened me at first… I was hurt… But not ashamed or angry. And I did not understand why… Until you spoke and said – what you said."

"That I love you?"

"Yes… After that things grew slowly clearer to me. I don't know what I said to you – half the things I said on the way back – only that I made you angry – and I continued, knowing that you were angry and that I – I was almost laughing – I don't know why – only that I needed time to try to think… You can't understand, can you?"

"I think so."

She looked up, then bowed her head once more.

"That is all," she said under her breath.

"Nothing more, Karen?"

"Only that – after you had gone away this afternoon I began to be a little in love."

"Will it grow?"

"I think so."

"May I tell you that I love you?"

"Yes, please."

His clasped hands tightened on his knees; he said in a low unsteady voice: "All my heart is yours, Karen – all there is in me of love and loyalty, honour and devotion, is yours. Into my mind there is no thought that comes which is not devoted to you or influenced by my adoration of you. I love you – every word you utter, every breath you draw, every thought you think I love. The most wonderful thing in the world would be that you should love me; the greatest miracle that you might marry me. Dare I hope for you, Karen?"

"Yes – please."

"That you will grow to really love me?"

"Yes."

"With all your heart?"

"I think so."

In the tremulous silence she turned again and looked at him, bending very low over her work.

"Will you be gentle with me, Kervyn?"

"Dearest – "

"I mean – considerate – at first… There is a great deal I don't know about men – and being in love with one of them… Brought up as I have been, I could not understand that you should take me – in your arms… I was not angry – not even ashamed… Only, never having thought of it – and taking it for granted that, among people of your caste and mine, to touch a man's lips was an act – of betrothal – perhaps of marriage – "

"Dearest, it was!"

"Yes, I understand now. But for a while I felt – strangely – overwhelmed… You can understand – having no mother – and suddenly face to face with – you – "

She leaned her cheek against the back of the chair and rested so, her small white hands folded over her sewing.

"I have yet to see Baron Kurt," she said half to herself. "I shall say to him that I care for you. After that – when you come back, and if you wish me to marry you – ask me."

He stood up: "How near may I come to you, Karen?"

"Not very near – just now."

"Near enough to kiss your finger-tip."

"Yes, please."

Without turning her head she extended her arm; his lips touched lightly the fragrant skin, and she pressed her fingers a trifle closer – a second only – then her arm fell to her lap.

"After dinner," she said, "I shall show you the roses in the garden."

"They are no sweeter than your hand, Karen."

She smiled, her flushed cheek still resting against the cushions.

"It is very wonderful, very gentle after all," she murmured to herself.

"What, Karen?"

"I meant love," she said, dreamily.

CHAPTER XXI
SNIPERS

Dinner was ended. Darrel lay on a lounge in the sitting-room, a victim against his will to romance. Beside him on a low footstool sat Valentine, reading aloud to him when she thought he ought to be read to, fussing with his pillows when she chose to fuss, taking his cigarette from his lips and inserting a thermometer at intervals, and always calmly indifferent to his protests or to her mother's laughter.

For she had heard somewhere that a wild boar's teeth poisoned like a lion's mauling; and the sudden revelation of a hero under the shattered shell of modesty and self-depreciation which so long obscured the romantic qualities in this young man determined her to make him continue to play a rôle which every girl adores – the rôle of the stricken brave.

Never again could Darrel explain to her how timidity, caution, and a native and unfeigned stupidity invariably characterized his behaviour at psychological moments.

For Guild had told her all about this young man's cool resourcefulness and almost nerveless courage during those hair-raising days in Sonora when the great Yo Espero ranch was besieged, and every American prisoner taken was always reported "Shot in attempting to escape."

She had never even known that Darrel had been in Mexico until Guild told her about their joint mining enterprise and how, under a spineless Administration, disaster had wiped out their property, and had nearly done the same for them.

"Mother," said the girl, "I think I'll look at his shin again."

"Nonsense!" protested Darrel, struggling to sit up, and being checked by a soft but firm little hand flat against his chest.

"I don't want to have my shin looked at," he repeated helplessly.

"Mother, I am going to change the dressing. Will you help?"

"For the love of Mike – "

"Be quiet, Harry!"

"Then make Guild go out of the room! He's laughing at me now!"

Karen was laughing, too, and now she turned to Guild: "Come," she said, smilingly; "we are not welcome here. Also I do want you to see the rose garden by star-light." And to Mrs. Courland, naïvely: "May we please be excused to see your lovely garden?"

The pretty young matron smiled and nodded, busy with the box of first-aid bandages for which Valentine was now waiting.

So Karen and Guild went out together into the star-light, across the terrace and lawns and down along a dim avenue of beeches.

The night was aromatic with the clean sweet odour of the forest; a few leaves had fallen, merely a tracery of delicate burnt-gold under foot.

Karen turned to the right between tall clipped hedges.

Mossy steps of stone terminated the alley and led down into an old sunken garden with wall and pool and ghostly benches of stone, and its thousands of roses perfuming the still air.

They were all there, the heavenly company, dimly tinted in crimson, pink, and gold – Rose de Provence, Gloire de Dijon, Damask, Turkish, Cloth of Gold – exquisite ghosts of their ardent selves – immobile phantoms, mystic, celestial, under the high lustre of the stars.

Mirror-dark, the round pool's glass reflected a silvery inlay of the constellations; tall trees bordered the wall, solemn, unstirring, as though ranged there for some midnight rite. The thin and throbbing repetition of hidden insects were the only sounds in that still and scented place.

They leaned upon the balustrade of stone and looked down into the garden for a while. She stirred first, turning a little way toward him. And together they descended the steps and walked to the pool's rim.

Once, while they stood there, she moved away from his side and strolled away among the roses, roaming at random, pausing here and there to bend and touch with her face some newly opened bud.

Slender and shadowy she lingered among the unclosing miracles of rose and gold, straying, loitering, wandering on, until again she found herself beside the pool of mirror black – and beside her lover.

"Your magic garden is all you promised," he said in a low voice – "very wonderful, very youthful in its ancient setting of tree and silvered stone. And now the young enchantress is here among her own; and the spell of her fills all the world."

"Do you mean me?"

"You, Karen, matchless enchantress, sorceress incomparable who has touched with her wand the old-familiar world and made of it a paradise."

"Because I said I loved you – a little – has it become a paradise? You know I only said 'a little.'"

"I remember."

"Of course," she added with a slight sigh, "it has become more, now, since I first said that to you. I shouldn't call it 'a little,' now; I should call it – " She hesitated.

"Much?"

She seemed doubtful. "Yes, I think it is becoming 'much' – little by little."

"May I kiss – your hand?"

"Yes, please."

"And clasp your waist – very lightly —this way?"

"In sign of betrothal?"

"Yes."

She looked up at him out of the stillest, purest eyes he had ever beheld.

"You know best, Kervyn, what we may do."

"I know," he said, drawing her nearer.

After a moment she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Standing so beside the pool, breathing the incense of the roses, she thought of the dream, and the gay challenge, "Who goes there?" She was beginning to suspect the answer, now. It was Love who had halted her on that flower-set frontier; the password, which she had not known then, was "Love." Love had laughed at her but had granted her right of way across that border into the Land of Dreams. And now, unchallenged, save by her own heart, she had come once more to the borderland of flowers.

"Halt!" said her heart, alert; "who goes there?"

"It is I, Karen, wearing the strange, new name of Love – "

She lifted her head, drew one hand swiftly across her eyes as though to clear them, then stepped free from the arm that encircled her.

"Karen – "

"Yes, I – I do love you," she stammered – "with all – all my heart – "

"Halt!" rang out a voice like a pistol shot from the darkness.

The girl stood rigid; Guild sprang to her side. "Qui vive!" cried the voice.

"Belgium!" said Guild coolly.

"Then who goes there! – you! – below there in that garden?"

"Friends to Belgium," replied Guild in a quiet and very grave voice. "Don't move, dearest," he whispered.

"What is happening?"

"I don't know, yet."

Presently, nearer the balustrade above them, the voice came again: "Is it Monsieur Guild?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Pardon. Will Monsieur come up to the terrace? I am watching the wall beyond the pool."

They ascended the stone steps; Karen moving lightly beside him. In the shadow of the clipped yews a dark form stirred.

"Pardon. I did not recognize Monsieur Guild nor Mademoiselle. There is trouble."

It was Schultz the herdsman; his rifle was in his hand and he wore two cartridge-belts crossed over his smock en bandoulière.

He touched his hat to Karen, but turned immediately toward the star-lit sky-line where the dark coping of the wall cut it.

"What is the trouble?" asked Guild with a sinking heart.

"God knows how it happened, Monsieur Guild – but there was bad blood tonight and hot heads full of it. Then, very far in the forest, a shot was fired."

"I heard it. What happened?"

"Listen, Monsieur! The Moresnet man and the boy, Jean Pascal, put their heads together. I don't know how it was, but even after what you said to us, and after Michaud told us to remain prudent and calm, somehow after we heard that shot we all, one by one, took down our guns; and after a little while we found ourselves together in the carrefour.

"And from there we went, without saying a word, to the Calvary on the hill pasture road. It was as though each of us understood without telling each other – without even hinting at a plan.

"And by and by we went down by the rivulet at the foot of the hill pastures, and there, as we expected, were two of the Yslemont refugees. They had their guns. And one of them had a spiked helmet."

"Go on," said Guild, compressing his lips.

"He had taken it near Trois Fontaines, not below the hill. We all examined it. We saw red, Monsieur. Then a calf which had escaped the Grey Wolves moved in the bushes near us. The Moresnet man caught it, and he and the shepherd, little Jean Pascal, took the dumb beast and tied it to a sapling near the road. On our side of the boundary! But we all knew what might happen."

There was a silence; then Schultz said in a low, hoarse voice: "It was fated to be. We took both sides of the road in the long grasses of the ditches. And the calf bawled for company.

"The company came after a while – two Grey Wolves. First we heard the clink-clink of their horses' feet; then we saw their lances against the sky.

"They came on, picking their way. And of a sudden the electric breast-torch on one of them breaks out like a blinding star, plays over the road, then lights up the calf which is terrified and backs into the hedge.

"He drives his lance-butt into the sod and gets out of his saddle. His comrade sits the other horse, pistol lifted, elbow on thigh. And there comes then another Uhlan, walking and leading his horse – three of the dirty brigands, Monsieur, across the border and on our side!"

"Go on."

"Eh bien – we bled them!"

"You killed them?"

"Yes, Monsieur – two there by the hedge in the grassy ditch; the other hung to his horse for a while – but came off sideways. One spur caught and his horse took him back that way – across the border."

"Go on."

"We took their schapskas. Jean Pascal wished to go across the border after more Wolves. He was crazy. And the blood made us all a little drunk. And then we found that the Moresnet man had gone. That chilled us."

He wiped his face with his sleeve, never taking his eyes from the wall across the garden.

"After that," he said, "we lay very still, watching. And in a little while an Uhlan crossed the hill pasture walking his horse slowly against the stars. Then there were others moving across the sky up there, and we also heard others on the road. So we have been quietly falling back into the forest where, if they follow, they shall not go back, please God!"

"Where is Michaud?"

"He was very angry, but, since the affair has really begun, he is with us, of course."

"Where is he?"

"He went to the house to find you an hour ago."

Guild bit his lip in silence. The stupidity of what had been done, the utter hopelessness of the situation sickened him.

The slow, groping peasant mind, occupied always with the moment's problem only, solving it by impulse and instinct alone – what could be done with such a mind – what could be hoped from it except under patiently inculcated military discipline.

Loosened from that, and defending its property from actual or threatened aggression, it became a furtive, fierce and quickened mind, alternately cunning and patiently ferocious. But of reason, or of logic, it reckons nothing, knows nothing.

Trouble had begun – trouble was abroad already in the star-light – moving, menacing.

"What is your word?" he asked bluntly.

"Yslemont."

He turned to Karen, who stood quietly beside him: "The ladies must leave this house tonight. There is no time at all to waste. There is going to be real trouble here by morning. And I am going to ask you if you will give these American ladies shelter tonight at Quellenheim. Will you, Karen?"

"Of course."

"From there they can go to the city of Luxembourg tomorrow, and so into Holland. But they ought to go now."

"And you, Kervyn?"

"I shall be very busy," he said. "Come back to the house, now."

They walked away together, moving quickly along the beech-woods; she with that youthful, buoyant step as lithe as a young boy's; he beside her with grave, preoccupied face and ears alert for the slightest sound.

"Kervyn?"

"Yes."

"Will you come back to Quellenheim, too?"

"I can't do that, dearest."

"May I ask you what you are going to do?"

"Dear, I don't know yet. I haven't formed any plan at all."

"Is it not very dangerous for you to remain here?"

"No, I think not… That is – I shall see how this matter threatens to develop."

He felt her hand lightly on his arm, looked around, halted. She came to him, laid her cheek against his breast in silence.

"You must not be afraid for me, Karen."

"I shall try – to remember."

He lifted one of her hands. It was cold and delicately fragrant. He kissed it.

"The Bank at Diekirch is my address. I shall try to write you. I shall come back some day and marry you. Do you love me, Karen?"

"With all – all my – soul."

"And you will marry me?"

"Yes, Kervyn."

She looked up, her eyes brilliant as wet stars. And very gently, almost timidly, they exchanged their betrothal, lip to lip.

He drew her to him a little closer – held her so a moment, scarcely in contact. Then they turned again to the grassy ride and moved swiftly forward toward the drive.

Every light in the house had been lit, apparently. The automobile stood before the door; three forest waggons with their big fine horses were in line behind; and servants were loading them with American trunks, suitcases, and luggage of every description, under the active direction of Darrel.

When he saw Guild and Karen coming he called out: "Your luggage is packed! Mrs. Courland and Valentine and their two maids are filling hampers with bed linen and knick-knacks. You've heard what's happened, of course?"