 Chapter 1 of Ms. Pym's Camouflage. Ms. Pym's Camouflage by Lady Dorothy Stanley, Chapter 1. Ms. Pym was hurt. That is how she put it. Very much hurt. After a hard morning's work in the garden, she had taken refuge in a deep, easy chair in the library, glad to escape the direct rays of a very fervent sun. Ms. Pym liked to call her weeding and hoeing, war work. The two gardeners had long ago gone to the front. Only old cherry-men and an incompetent boy remained. Ms. Pym had therefore felt it to be her duty to assist in raising vegetables, and in that way to help the country, as she put it. Ms. Pym had always prided herself on her patriotism. I come of a long line of soldiers, she would say, straightening herself. We even had a general in the family. General Pym had flourished early in the 1700s, but there had been many military Pym since then, though of less exalted rank. Colonel Pym, purdy to Pym's father, had died when she was still a young girl, but she fondly treasured his memory. I took after my father the Colonel, whereas George, my brother, was the image of my gentle mother. The Colonel often said to me, Purr, you should have been the boy. George is cut out for a girl, but you would have become another general Pym, and won a VC. And now, to hear Leslie, her niece, who was lolling outside in a basket chair, say to the vicar's son, Oh, Auntie Purr, is just a vegetable marrow. A deer-placid, lazy vegetable marrow. And I shall become just like her if I keep on living this sheltered country life. What plant are you like at present? asked George Barton tenderly. Oh, a stinging nettle, cried Leslie, jumping up. Come, let's finish our set before lunch, and away they ran, flinging laughter behind them. Yes, purdy to Pym was hurt, not to say angry. Her brother, Major Pym, a widower, had retired from the army, and lived with his daughter Leslie at Torquay. When war was declared, he hastened to rejoin his old regiment. The house was let, and Leslie came to live at Froghurst Manor, with Auntie Purr. A vegetable marrow, Miss Pym repeated, looking more like a ripe tomato, as she lay back in the armchair, very hot and ruffled. Here have I been all the morning, weeding the onion bed, working for my country, until I have a curious spinning in my head, and my spine positively aches, and that chit of a girl calls me lazy. Miss Pym pressed back her head, and suddenly felt a curious crick in the neck, like a little dislocation, she said to herself. Ah, well, the onion bed must wait. I cannot go out till after tea. The sun is far too hot. But Miss Pym never finished that onion bed. Luncheon was ready. The neat parlor maid sounded a carillon on graduated metal tubes. Leslie and the vicar's son were waiting in the hall for Auntie Purr. But Miss Pym felt strangely disinclined to move. She wanted to get up and change her shoes, smooth her hair, ruffled by her mourning labours, but a strange lethargy held her, whether a body or will, she could not say. Then Leslie ran in, calling. Auntie Purr, she looked round and cried. Where can she be? Here, dear, said Miss Pym, rather faintly. Where are you, Auntie? Why, just here, said Miss Pym testily, staring at Rosie-cheeked Leslie. Playing hide and seek, Auntie Purr, and luncheon on the table. Miss Pym bad her go to lunch, adding. I will join you in a few minutes, dear. Leslie looked round the library, bewildered. Then she gently closed the door, and returned to the dining-room. Such an odd thing. I have been talking to Auntie Purr in the library, and she isn't there. That's an Irish bull, said George Barton. No it isn't. She was hidden out of sight. But she answered me quite naturally. Did you expect her to answer unnaturally? No, said Leslie, but it did seem odd not to see her. Did you go into the room and look round? No, I just stood in the doorway. Well there's nothing very surprising in that. Your aunt was behind the sofa or armchair, packing up something. Are we to wait for lunch? No, she said she would join us, and Leslie sat down. But the puzzled look lingered. Miss Pym still feeling a touch of the sun, slowly went to her room. Her maid had neglected to put hot water there. Just as though I could do war work all the morning, and dispense with hot water, she rang, pressing her finger unusually long on the electric bell. Jane hurried in with the hot water, a guilty flush on her cheek. She looked round and exclaimed. There now, I could have swore she rang. I did ring, said Miss Pym severely. I ought to have found the hot water awaiting me. Jane stared round to the room. Here take my skirt and habit brushed. That onion bed is so sandy. And Miss Pym stepped out of her neat, surged skirt, holding it out to Jane. But Jane stood near the washing-stand, ignoring Miss Pym. Her red cheek mottled by pallor, her eyes rolling. What is the matter, Jane? Here take this skirt. Miss Pym again held it out, then dropped it on to the floor. Jane snatched it up and rushed out of the room. Being Miss Pym disturbed by the girl's foolish behavior. Slowly she washed her hands and then seated herself before the dressing table. Distressed at feeling so tired. It's quite ridiculous, after all. I only weeded half that onion bed. I cannot think what's come over me. I must hurry down to lunch and take a little whiskey and soda, instead of barley water. Now for my hair it must be all in wisps. Miss Pym took up her ivory-backed hairbrush and gazed into the large, shield-shaped mirror. There she saw reflected, the dear familiar room, the pretty chintz-covered couch, the chariton bedstead with the blue-sat and iderdown coverlet, spread over the snowy counterpane. She saw white bookshelves laden with treasured volumes of her girlhood. What terrible to say! She saw no reflection of herself nor of the chair she sat on. Miss Pym rose trembling, clutching the dressing table. As she rose the chair appeared in the mirror. Miss Pym turned to the bell. Then remembering Jane's face, she paused and tottered to the chintz-covered couch. From there her eyes traveled fearfully to the mirror. She could see neither herself nor the couch. This was something altogether beyond Miss Pym's power of comprehension. Her first thought was self-concealment. Then remembering with a pang she was only too effectually concealed, she walked furtively to the door and locked it. Then like a stage conspirator she stole towards a mirror-set in the wardrobe, and with clasp tans sought in vain for the well-known reflection of a sandy-haired, rather stout woman of fifty, where were those kindly round, greenish eyes which had met hers ever since she could remember? That small nose she secretly rather liked, the friendly mouth always ready to smile back at her. It was truly appalling, for I am in existence, wailed Miss Pym, searching for her handkerchief, which was in the pocket of her surged skirt. That surged skirt which Jane, at that very time, was brushing and shaking in the sewing room. She spoke just as plain as I now speak to you, said Jane DeBessie, the young housemaid who sat in the old rocking chair, cuddling a tortoise-shell kitten. Take my skirt, and there wasn't no Miss Pym and no skirt. Then all of a sudden this skirt drops of itself on the carpet, and there wasn't a soul in the room, only a voice. And that, Miss Pym's, Bessie giggled and rocked herself. It's all very fine, you're jeering there, you'd have fainted and had hysterics. All my blood turned, but I kept my head. I picked up this skirt and left the room, shutting the door, on the voice. Suddenly Miss Pym's bell went. The maids looked at each other. You go, Bessie, my girl, whilst I finished this dress. Bessie, who was very anxious to see invisibility for herself, ran upstairs. Her heart beat more quickly when she heard the voice. She knocked and entered. Miss Pym, quite substantial, was lying on the couch. Please tell Miss Leslie that I am a little exhausted by the heat, and therefore I shall not come down to lunch. And tell Mr. Barton that I should be much obliged if after lunch he would ask his father to call on me. I must see him on very particular business. Miss Pym had recovered her visibility, lying back on the couch and stretching back her head. She had felt a slight dislocating jar and reappeared, but the experience had been too solemn and dreadful to bear all alone. She must confide in the vicar, a holy man, who could tell her if this disappearance was what is called being possessed. Finally he could suggest some form of exorcism. If you can exercise something which isn't there, thought Miss Pym. Very slowly and timidly she made her way down to the library, as though she might by some unexpected movement cause her re-disappearance. Leslie came running to her in unfaigned concern. Oh, Auntie Pur, you're not ill. It's that horrid gardening in a broiling sun. I am sure it was too much for you. Do go and lie down. I feel quite myself now, dear, said Miss Pym. I shall leave off gardening for today and sit here. I have plenty to do, all the penny-club accounts and the book catalogue, but I want to see the vicar. I have some business to talk over with him. Yes, George has run over to tell his father. Do have an early tea, Auntie Pur. Lie back in your chair and read some of the books that came yesterday from the library. Perhaps I will, said Miss Pym faintly. She had not recovered from the shock, and really felt incapable of adding up school pennies or cataloging books of the school lending library. She lay there in the large leather armchair, where Colonel Pym used to sit smoking, long ago in those laughing days. He recalled his tender look when he called her his little general Pym V.C. and here I am cowardly as a rabbit, without nerve enough to face the housemaid. But then she remembered it was because she could not face herself, or anyone else that she had been so upset. What is better than presence of mind, absence of body, the silly old riddle occurred to her. The absence of body. That was just it, the most blood-freezing experience anyone could have. She might have thought it a delusion, a brain attack caused by the sun. But Leslie had not seen her when she sat there, and Jane nearly had a fit when she spoke to her. No, it was a fact. Miss Pym could not deceive herself. She had, for an appreciable time, become invisible, and it was very important that no one should know it. No one but the dear Vicar. Who could be trusted to keep it a secret? End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 My dear Miss Pym, I hope nothing is amiss, cried the reverend, Eustice Barton, entering the library. I am delighted to see you. In fact, I had promised myself the pleasure of a visit to Froghurst Manor today. We have a great deal to talk over, have we not? Those two dear young people, so devoted, so—oh, Mr. Barton, Mr. Barton, there is or has been something very much amiss, and I feel I must tell you, just you and only you. Then Miss Pym recounted her strange experience. The Vicar, a very solid, sensible country gentleman, with a legal looking face, keen kindly eyes, and close cropped gray hair, listened patiently to Miss Pym. He liked and greatly respected her, and her story gave him pain. Such a sensible woman, too, the very last woman one would have thought to give way to delusions. Well, said Miss Pym, anxiously looking at him, you are silent. Speak. But it all means. Miss Pym drew out her handkerchief. The Vicar looked steadily at Miss Pym. You really want my opinion? Well, send for Dr. Mulready, or go to London and see a good man. Perhaps that would be better. Mulready is rather a gossip. Take a holiday, my dear Miss Pym. You are run down. Oh, we shall miss you in the parish. But we mustn't be greedy. Go away and rest. Rest, he said almost fiercely, keeping a quelling eye upon her, as much as to say, Disappear now if you dare. Miss Pym was shocked. So then you do not believe me. Of course I ought to have realized that it does seem unbelievable. I wouldn't have believed you, I suppose, if you had told me that story. I don't in the least blame you, Miss Pym. You just can't help it. All you must do is to get rest and complete change of scene. But it is true, my dear Vicar. I wish with all my heart and soul I were mistaken. If it returns, what am I to do? It may never return, but if I again become invisible, tell me, and hear her voice broke. Tell me what to do. The reverend Eustice Barton felt annoyed. He was a very matter-of-fact, sensible man. He felt he could solve most problems, and was ready and willing to settle the worldly and spiritual affairs of each one of his parishioners. But to sit and talk nonsense with Miss Pym was exceedingly distasteful to him. His son was engaged to her niece, and if Miss Pym's mind was failing, he should seriously object to his son marrying into the family. Mr. Barton's face took on his most severe, legal look. I have a good deal of work, especially today, he began, looking fixately at Miss Pym. And if there is nothing else you wish to talk of, I think I must go. A curious feeling of triumph now came over Miss Pym. The Vicar was in her power. He doubted her word or her sanity. It rested with her to convince him. She would share the dreadful secret with him. Everything is believing, but this was a case of not seeing in order to believe. Yes, Miss Pym had an unmistakable glint of triumph in her eyes. She lent forward in her chair, and spoke with measured solemnity. Mr. Barton, one moment, if you please. Look at me, fixately. It is necessary that I should disappear. Only remember, I am there all the time. Now, and Miss Pym lent back, stiffened her neck, her kindly face took on a strained, anxious expression, and she disappeared, and the chair she sat in also disappeared. To say that the good Vicar was astonished would be a feeble way of putting it. He felt physical insecurity. He stepped back cautiously, clutching the back of his chair, as though he expected to be swept away with Miss Pym into nothingness. Can you see me?" said her voice. No, no, I do not!" cried the Vicar, very nervously. Now, Mr. Barton, please come forward and take my hand. I am reaching it out to you," continued Miss Pym. Mr. Barton, greatly disturbed, groped his way to the invisible lady, starting violently when he felt a hand on his coat-sleeve. There now. Stop! Put your hand on my shoulder. Follow up my arm. There now. Can you see I am here, sitting in the armchair? No, I don't see. That is, I don't understand. Just so burst in Miss Pym, neither do I understand. In fact, I should not know that I am invisible. Has the chair gone also? She inquired anxiously. You and the chair are, out of sight, gasped the Vicar. Well go back to your seat, and I will reappear. It is difficult to carry on a connected conversation, knowing yourself to be invisible. It is awkward, and if anyone came in it would seem as though you had been talking to yourself. Mr. Barton tiptoed backwards to his chair, feeling very hot and upset. He carefully dabbed his forehead and the back of his neck with his handkerchief. Then suddenly Miss Pym was there, and her eyes said, I told you so, triumphantly. But the triumph soon gave place to a very real look of sorrow. Oh, tell me, is this an evil possession, the work of Satan? Dear Vicar, have I a devil? But the reverend Mr. Barton had recovered himself. Here was a wonderful phenomenon, undoubtedly, and it was for him to consider it and advise. I don't think it is reasonable to put down to the evil one what we cannot explain. My dear Miss Pym, this new faculty you have suddenly become possessed of is amazing and mysterious, but we need not associate it with evil. You say it occurred for the first time today, and so everything you touch disappears? Yes, it is awfully extraordinary, and no one would believe it, simply from reading or hearing about it. It is unbelievable. It isn't a malady, for you do not look ill. It's—it's just miraculous. But all the same it is very dreadful, grown to Miss Pym. I have attended church regularly, and been to most of your weekday services. I have worked hard to produce food in the garden. I have done all the club accounts. I have—and here Miss Pym buried her full round face in her ample handkerchief. Mr. Barton moved impatiently. But you appear to persist in believing this mysterious power is evil, and if not a power for evil at any rate a punishment for some imaginary sin. I do not share your view of it. I have quite a different opinion about it. Miss Pym looked up. Her middle-aged face wore a very young, a quite childlike expression of surprise, interest, and hope. Yes, a very different answer to the enigma presents itself to me, continued the vicar, who was now quite at his ease. He had been called on for help and advice. He was ready, as ever, to give both. At first he was taken aback, but every problem has its solution, and the reverend Eustace Barton was ready now to give Miss Pym what she sought. Hungry sheep never looked up to him in vain. He fed them. This—or this—faculty of becoming invisible. I consider a distinct call. Yes, a call to your patriotism. Something great is expected of you. You are to dedicate this—or—gift to your country. Miss Pym's feelings were mingled. And exaltation combined rendered her speechless. She kept her eyes fixed on the vicar, her mouth slightly opened. Yes, continued the reverend Mr. Barton, this power has been conferred on you for some high purpose. I cannot tell you how it should be utilized. Experts must decide. What you have to do—and that without delay—is to go up to London and offer yourself to the War Office. Miss Pym gasped. Oh, yes, I know the difficulties, but we are more intelligent at the War Office than we were. Continued the worthy vicar, waving his hand. A new idea has some chance of—er—gaining admittance there. You must go to the War Office at once. And Mr. Barton looked rather fierce, as though Miss Pym required coercion. But what can I do at the War Office? Said Miss Pym helplessly. Here, of course, said Mr. Barton, settling his clerical collar and straightening his clerical waistcoat. But disappearing will not impress. Officers said Miss Pym feebly, feeling an hysterical inclination to giggle. Mr. Barton looked his sternest. They'll have to be impressed. You must disappear before Sir Robert Williamson himself. I'll tell you what, Miss Pym. I will accompany you, tomorrow, to the War Office. My nephew, invalided from the front, is working there. We'll start with him. But I do not understand, in the very least, what you expect of me, what would be expected of me. That, I cannot tell you, my dear lady. You must simply show your patriotism by offering your unique services to your country. That a soldier's eye is on you, said the vicar, dramatically, pointing to General Pym, a pale-faced man in a parook, with very dark eyes. The portrait in pastel had faded in the sunshine of some one hundred and twenty summers. The red coat had become pink, the flesh-tints were bleached. Only the eyes remained vivid and dark, staring back at whoever stared into their depths. Miss Pym clasped her hands as she gazed at her pale ancestor, and then and there dedicated herself to her country, making her silent vows with closed eyes. Tomorrow, by the Ten-Eighteen Express, we'll meet at the station, she heard the vicar say. And now I must really hurry away to make arrangements. And Miss Pym was alone. It would be difficult to convey to the reader that good lady's feelings. Confused they certainly were, courageous, exalted, and nevertheless timid. Perhaps we shall best sum up Miss Pym's state of mind by saying that she was exceedingly anxious to do her duty and to show her patriotism. It cannot be denied that she would have preferred to show it in weeding the kitchen garden. But Mr. Barton had showed her a better way, and she would follow it. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Leslie thought her aunt's visit to London very odd and unexpected. Perhaps she is going up to see a doctor, poor dear, and does not want me to know. She was confirmed in the surmise when Auntie Purr refused Leslie's escort in an embarrassed way. No, my dear, I have some private business, or I should rather say public business to attend to, not exactly public, not at present. I am sure it should be considered confidential business, something which concerns me, said Miss Pym confused. It sounds as though you were eloping. To a registry office laughed Leslie, going off perhaps with the vicar. Miss Pym blushed as red as an oriental poppy. Leslie was very teasing, she thought, and when it became known that Mr. Barton had accompanied her to town, Leslie would tease her aunt still more. Miss Pym resolved to keep her own counsel, however, and allow matters to mature. I can always explain later on, she said to herself, but she did not feel easy till she sat in the Ten-Eighteen Express, and was off on her nonstop journey to town. Mr. Barton's presence was very reassuring. He managed to make her feel that disappearing was, if not quite a normal occurrence, at any rate something natural, a special gift like ventriloquism, or the phenomenal calculating powers of so-called prodigies. Mr. Barton was so balanced and sane, she felt steadied by his kindly presence, and Mr. Barton was immensely enjoying himself. He knew he was offering a prodigy to the War Office, and that but for him all the potentialities of this amazing discovery would have been lost. And Ellis, at the War Office, came down to his uncle in the big waiting room. He was a thoroughly good fellow, and though he was bored by his uncle, he never showed it. He greeted Miss Pym just as though she were eighteen, remarkably pretty, wore high heels and silk stockings, mourning decolletage and a fetching hat. Mr. Barton took him aside and in a low voice told him of Miss Pym's miraculous power, and how it was absolutely necessary to secure an interview with Sir Robert Williamson. Lieutenant Ellis looked his uncle thought, uncommonly stupid. Oh, I say! But I never see Sir Robert. I can't approach him. But there are others who can. Look here, Bertie. You must get us into a private room and bring some War Office big wigs, a colonel or two, and a general. And Miss Pym will disappear. Bertie grinned. Then he thought rapidly. He knew a jolly colonel in one department who would think it tremendous sport, and two other pals who might pass as colonels. Anyhow it would all be screamingly funny. He'd risk it. Uncle, he said, I'm your man. Follow me. Pym, will you step this way? Solemnly they mounted a broad stone staircase and were ushered into a small room. The cells of officials I am convinced have a great deal to do with shaping the official mind and manner. And why not? We know that ordinary bees' eggs laid in a particular cell produce royal bees. If bees put their eggs in official cells they would produce official bees. That is to say bees with enlarged heads and diminished brain power. Bertie Ellis was less official than many, and this was his uncle. Besides it was not far from the lunch an hour, and he was to meet at a delightful restaurant, a delightful girl who worked at the Admiralty, and wore the newest, smartest frocks. So Bertie was not quite so official that day. He was still a human being. He left Miss Pym and his uncle to fetch his friends, and soon returned with three very correct young officers in faultless khaki and a stout jolly colonel with a very red face. Mr Barton then made a short address about Miss Pym in rather a showman-like way. The three young lieutenants made really convulsive efforts to keep a war-office demeanor, almost breaking down when Mr Barton said, I will now ask Miss Pym to seat herself in the middle of the room and disappear. Not on the floor, said the gallant colonel, hastening forward with a large office chair. Certainly not on the floor, replied the vicar severely. Miss Pym, please be seated. Miss Pym, very pale and nervous, looked at her audience. Two of the younger men had pressed their handkerchiefs to their lips. With sorrowful dignity, Miss Pym sat down, lent back in the chair, and disappeared, chair and all. There was a deep silence, broken by Mr Barton. Will you speak, Miss Pym, to show you are here amidst us, though invisible? Mr Barton spoke exactly as people do at spiritualist séances. Yes, I am here, and everything appears to me just the same, said Miss Pym's voice. Will you now be good enough to rise and shake hands with the colonel, ordered Mr Barton. The colonel backed behind the table. Oh, I say, choose one of the youngens, he cried, but Miss Pym had him by the hand before he could escape from the room, and every officer found himself in succession, shaking hands with something. Just then the door opened, and a lean old staff officer walked in with a bundle of papers. He jumped up. Sir, excuse me, sir, but there is something awfully strange going on. You ought to know. Sir Robert Williamson ought to know. I jove, sir, it's lucky you came. I—I shouldn't have dared to ask you to come, said Bertie boyishly. The officer looked at him kindly with shrewd eyes. Perhaps you will introduce me to your reverend friend, and then explain. But you must make it short. You know how pressed I am. Sir Hector Russell, my uncle, Mr Barton, vicar of Froghurst. At the great name of Hector Russell, Miss Pym felt faint, and wished she might remain invisible, so great was her emotion. The vicar then briefly explained the case, dropping his rather portentous manner. Sir Hector listened acutely. It really is the best way to describe his keen, intense attitude. Then in a very gentle, quiet way he asked. When the lady, you say, is here in this room, Miss Pym, pleased to reappear, said the vicar, rather tremulously, and Miss Pym became visible, seated on the chair in the middle of the office. Sir Hector stood before her, silent, as though in a trance. Then looking at Miss Pym reassuringly, he put out his hand. This is very wonderful, almost unnerving. It is quite extraordinarily kind of you coming to us. Then turning to the officers he said, Gentlemen, not a word of this to anyone, in the war-office or outside, that must clearly be understood. The Colonel and the lieutenants murmured their acquiescence. And here are the papers, Colonel, to look at when you get time. Gentlemen, I will not detain you. And the door closed, leaving Sir Hector, with the vicar and Miss Pym. Of course, Sir Robert Williamson must meet you. He is in committee now. But it would be better for him to see you away from here. What do you say to our motoring out frog-hurst on Sunday afternoon? And you could give us a cup of tea. Sir Hector asked this so easily. In such a friendly way, Miss Pym felt quite reassured. Sir Hector then begged her to observe the greatest secrecy about it. Not to let anyone know of this extraordinary power, and not to publish the visit of Sir Robert Williamson and himself. Miss Pym assured him of her discretion. And Sir Hector escorted her and Mr. Barton to the great hall below. CHAPTER IV Miss Pym awaited that Sunday in a fever of expectancy. When she told her niece that Sir Robert Williamson and Sir Hector Russell were motoring over to tea the following Sunday, and that she and the vicar must see them in absolute privacy, Leslie could not conceal her chagrin. But George is in the West Surrey's—surely he may meet the generals—why they could make him a captain, or even a major, right away. No, I am afraid George cannot be there, said Miss Pym. But possibly after our interview you could give them tea in the drawing-room. Leslie pouted. It is so strange they're coming at all. And why should they want to see you, Auntie Purr? It is about war work. I may even have to go to France. You see, dear, I am not quite a vegetable marrow, said Miss Pym rather maliciously. Leslie colored up, her aunt doing war work in France. Why, Miss Pym had never learnt nursing. She had not even done VAD work, whereas Leslie had cleaned brass work in the Torquay Hospital for quite three months. Still George's father would see the great generals. And he might persuade them to give her fiancé promotion right away. Otherwise George might remain second lieutenant to the end. The library was turned out, and all the furniture was extra-polished. On Saturday Miss Pym herself drove old Bobby to the station and returned to the manor with the leading morning papers, the graphic and the illustrated London news, the sphere, the sketch, the Tatler, Land and Water, Corn Hill, and Blackwood. These were ranged on the large library table with the silver-handled ivory paper knife. Three war maps were fastened upon the walls. George Barton had been deputed to get the cigarettes and cigars. The late Colonel Pym's silver cigar and cigarette box was got out and polished by Miss Pym herself. That memorable Sunday in July was a most depressing day. Rain and hail beat against the windows. Miss Pym thought such weather would surely deter her expected visitors. When Mr. Barton walked in, she was so nervous she fairly jumped. And yet, when a little later the two officers appeared, all her calm had returned, and she welcomed Sir Hector as an old friend. Sir Robert was thicker and sturdier, and the strangely winning smile of Sir Hector was absent. But he looked powerful and steady-eyed. There was something dauntless about that man, which awed Miss Pym. Readily she passed from the substantial to the invisible, standing or sitting. Sir Robert handed her different articles. These in turn became invisible. He asked her to touch a chair. It disappeared. But when she touched the big table, only the part near her disappeared. Sir Robert made rapid remarks to Sir Hector in a low voice. The vicar took no part. He tactfully stood aside and left the great generals to discuss their ideas together, whilst General Pym, who had done with war, looked down on them with pale aloofness. All Miss Pym, are you really willing to help us, asked Sir Hector pleasantly? Sir Robert and I have decided that you might do very valuable work. Yes, I am quite at your service, said Miss Pym. But gentlemen, have you taken into account my limitations? We have, said Sir Robert rather curtly, and we want to know the extent. Do you speak German? Oh, yes. I talk German and French quite fluently, replied Purdy to Pym blushing. But of course I do not understand military terms, but I could study military German from textbooks. Ah, well, there is no doubt you could be of great use, said Sir Hector cheerfully. I suppose you understand that we shall want you to go into the enemy's lines, but also we shall want reports on Germany and the German state of mind. When can you start, interposed Sir Robert abruptly? Miss Pym looked round at the vicar. When? She repeated vaguely. Oh, when do you propose my going? At once. Just time to get a reply from the Commander-in-Chief out there. I think gently interposed Miss Barton. It might be as well not to specify. Miss Pym's peculiar er—gift or power. You might say that you are sending Miss Pym to headquarters, as you and Sir Hector have reason to believe she could be of great assistance. And what that assistance would be, Sir Hugh Douglas and his staff could best decide after meeting Miss Pym. Excellent suggestion, chuckled Sir Hector. Don't you see, my dear Williamson, if we described what our friend here calls Miss Pym's gift, why we'd have Sir Hugh and the staff voting us quite mad, nothing less than Miss Pym's disappearance in full committee of the staff in France will convince them. Miss Pym, we will adopt Miss Barton's excellent suggestion, and in four or five days you will be able to start. You will be escorted to France, and everything possible will be done for your safety and well-being. So long as you are on our side of the line, added Sir Robert, Miss Pym he asked her with a frown of concentration, but not unkindly. Do you realize what you are in for? Very vaguely, said Miss Pym. Do you realize that you may be shot, for though invisible you remain substantial, and therefore vulnerable? Do you realize that when you are across the line, beyond the German trenches, you are not beyond our fire? That when you actually enter Germany, you cannot travel in a railway carriage? There are no empty seats now in German trains. You can take no luggage, nothing but what you carry on you. Do you realize? But here Sir Hector smiling, interposed, my dear Williamson, we mustn't discourage Miss Pym. It won't be so bad as all that. It will be an extraordinarily interesting experience, and in many cases so humorous. Think of this lady's power. She can dine with the generals, and have excellent champagne. She will not want luggage. She will take what she requires. Everywhere and from anyone she pleases. By Joe, what a chance. What wouldn't we give for such a chance? Oh, the sport of it! And the thundering results. Miss Pym looked up at the faded pastel portrait of her ancestor, and said quietly, I wish with all my heart, Sir Hector, that I could pass my strange power on to you. But that is impossible. So you must make the best use you can of a very incompetent, but very willing woman. I shall hope to be of good service, to bring back valuable information. If I don't return, ah, well, I shall go the way of hundreds of thousands, better and younger. My kind friend here, Mr Barton, said this was my call. Well here I am, willing to go. Send me. Both the generals grasped Auntie Purr's hand. She blushed and made a little instinctive curtsy. Then in a cheerful voice begged them to come into the drawing-room for tea. Leslie, all rosy loveliness, received them. George of the West Surries was there, of course. And everyone had tea and homemade cakes and cream, and the generals talked to George and praised the West Surries, and the vickers' rich baritone was heard gently booming again. The great men stayed quite a long time, and ate lots of my cake, said Leslie afterwards. When the motor had shot away down the drive, Leslie waxed enthusiastically. Auntie Purr, aren't they delightful? I wish I could marry him right away. Sir Hector, said Miss Pym smiling, yes, he is most charming, most attractive. No, not Sir Hector, but the other, the thick-set bulldoggy general. Sir Robert, I think he is simply angelic. Oh, come now, said George. That really won't do, Leslie. I can't have you talking like that. Where do I come in? Oh, George. And I never asked him to make you a captain. Jolly glad you didn't. It might have lost me my commission. Oh, I shouldn't have asked baldly like that. I should have made him feel that I—that you—were conferring the favour. I could have told him what a wonderful intellect you have—how you had just been made manager of the branch business when war broke out. And that—that my fiancé is a fascinating goose, added George. And my dear Miss Pym asked the vicar. Is she satisfied? Miss Pym looked up, startled from her reverie. Am I satisfied? Well yes, I suppose I am—satisfied and a little bit bewildered. But it has been a great day. And now for the great adventure. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Miss Pym's Camouflage This lever-box recording is in the public domain. Miss Pym's Camouflage by Lady Dorothy Stanley. Chapter 5 Purdy to Pym sped through northern France in a high-powered motor. With an attentive officer and an expert chauffeur. She wore serviceable tweed, stout shoes, and a rain-proof hat. She carried field-glasses into small rucksacks strapped to her shoulders, and the inevitable handbag. Captain Percy couldn't imagine what Miss Pym was coming out for. But the chiefs made a fuss about her, so he did his best to make her trip comfortable. Of course everything was new and wonderful to Miss Pym. The masses of transport, the troops, the ammunition lorries, the Red Cross ambulances, the joyous crowds going off expectant, the broken men still joyous returning, the Englishmen amid the French people, the French amid the English. All the strange, amazing fact of war accepted by everyone is commonplace. She drove through a British settlement, church, chapel, meeting-house, clubs, gymnasium, playing fields, and aldershot in France. Captain Percy was an admirable Cicceroni. They landed at the Hotel de Signe, somewhere in France. Miss Pym was rather tired and not a little shaken, for the many horsepower car had leapt along the stone-paved roads of the north till it slowed down in an old French town, crowded with Tommies going to the front. The Dejeuner brought rest and comparative quiet. Miss Pym asked about her brother's regiment, wondering whether it would be possible to visit him. Captain Percy thought he must be somewhere, about Armand Tire. It was remarkable how little they had in common these two. Miss Pym was timidly on her guard, and Captain Percy nervously pulled his moustache, wondering what the old girl was after. She had let out that she knew nothing of nursing. She could not possibly have come out as an entertainer, singer, or conjurer. Votes for women? Certainly not here, somewhere in France. Well they were nearing their destination. The sound of the guns told Miss Pym that she was not so very far from those parallel lines of trench, where men crouched and waited to attack, or be attacked. I am to take you to a jolly little oberage, kept by Mayor Dupont, said Captain Percy. Mama Dupont, as our boys call her. She defied the Bosch when they smashed through, and as the mayor was killed she assumed the scarf of office, and by Joe she overawed them. She thinks no end of the British, and simply worships Sir Hugh Douglas. But we shall not be here long. For every night we move our camp one day's march nearer home. Headquarters don't shift quite so fast as that, though. But when we get them on the trot, we'll have to shift forward pretty quick. Here we are. Now I must leave you in better hands, and hurry off to report. Mayor Dupont, a stout, self-possessed French woman, dressed in black with a vast black alpaca apron, and a white-tool cap tied under her ample chin, gave her fat dimpled hand to help Madame descend, and with few words but with the long look of understanding, which is sympathy, led Miss Pym to Votre Apartement au Premier. A large room flooded with the tender glory of a setting sun, the waxed parquet was uneven, rising in gentle waves here and there. The furniture, upholstered, of course, in crimson, eutreque velvet, was tightly backed with spotless crochet, before each faute was a little round of matting bound with braid. The bed was important. It towered like a man of war in highly polished walnut, and the iderdown reposed on it like an immense souffle. I know the English taste. Madame wants tea. My officers have come to prefer Maire Dupont's café, but Madame shall have real English tea, et de Gauvre. The tea came at last in a large metal pot, with a wire basket attached to the spout and a small quantity of boiling hot milk. A big farm-servant girl in short skirts, her bare feet thrust into straw slippers, disposed of the tray on a table with uneven legs, and retired breathing noisily. Miss Pym laughs to this day at the recollection of that famous te anglais, mysterious sticks and chips floating in warm water. The perfume was not unpleasant, though slightly medicinal. The liquid poured out was pale lavender in color. No wonder the officers preferred Madame Dupont's café. The sudden stillness was very soothing. The windows looked out on a potager, and beyond was a farm. The comfortable lulling of cattle could be heard, and at intervals the call of a green parrot. Vite, vite, sinon, and then a string of naughty words. Everything had happened so quickly since that fateful day that Miss Pym felt as though she had lost all initiative. I can hardly call my soul my own. Finally I cannot call my body my own, and now I am, as it were, to be blindfolded, turned round three times and shoved into Germany. Miss Pym now took the War Office instructions from her handbag, general instructions as to making maps, describing gun emplacements, simple instructions regarding the compass, showing relative positions from various starting points. Miss Pym carried two compasses, one provided by Sir Hector Russell, the other, in the form of a locket she wore round her neck, was a gift from Leslie. It had taken Miss Pym many hours to understand the use of a compass, and as for map-making, her main idea seemed to be a picturesque sketch of doubtful accuracy. She now felt keenly her general incapacity. How defective my education has been! I know nothing of topography, nothing of engineering. I cannot drive a motor, and I could not possibly fly. She had spent three afternoons at Froghurst, firing off a service revolver at a haystack. She had hit the haystack, and incidentally killed a sal coming round at the moment. But although she could load the pistol, her aim was most uncertain. The revolver invariably jerked up or dipped down. It had been decided that she was not to carry a revolver, since she would always be able to commandeer any German officer's weapon. My dear father little foresaw what his Perdita would one day be called upon to do. If I had had, say, a few months' notice, how I should have trained. Day and night I should have trained. I should have studied German military terms, tactics, gunnery—everything likely to be of value to a, well, to a spy. It is something to be thankful for that I know German so well. Sir Hector Russell assured me that few officers know French, and there are hardly any who know German. Miss Pym sighed and looked round the room. The pictures on the walls were interesting, crudely colored prints, representing la première communion, la merrier, la douille. On the mantelpiece stood an impressive gilt clock, a golden maiden standing on one toe pointing to a winged and gilded youth, very scantily clad, asleep on a gilt bank. On the pedestal of this group were engraved the words, la mort d'or. Next to the clock was a small polished shell with a label, au bout allemand, 1870. Miss Pym felt restless, allonging for Maman Dupont, and dear human speech, induced her to creep down the stairs and start exploring, when cheerful English voices, indetestable and incorrect French, made her retreat to a dark angle. Holà, holà, mother Dupont. Here come your hungry children. Your thirsty children, you mean, broken another voice. On y va, on y va, called Mare Dupont. Voyez-moi ça, ces gosses anglais, comme sa manche, et comme sa boie. Eh, hey, mais y les meritants bien. The officers went into the yard and were plunging heads and hands into pails of water, whilst the farm girl stood by, ready to hand them from a pile, large squares of creamy white homespun linen, as towels. Miss Pym fled back to her room over the salamanger, and shortly after heard the scraping of chairs on the boarded floor and the clatter of knives and forks. But the meal was short, and soon the men withdrew, some to their rooms, others strolling about the potager, the delicate aroma of cigars and cigarettes stealing in at the window. Mare Dupont herself now came up to fetch down Miss Pym. The salamanger was orderly, and at the far end of the long table a small cloth was spread for Miss Pym, and there she tasted a dinner fit for a princess. Never had Miss Pym sat down to such a treat. Hot, appetizing, properly flavored, a French meal such as all classes in France expect and enjoy. This time, and with more reason, heard it a Pym felt that her education had been neglected. Let me see your cuisine and thank your cuisineer, she said to her hostess, who stood calm as a lady abyss, smiling at Miss Pym's enthusiasm. And what a surprise was that kitchen, a quite small outhouse or lean to, stone paved. No fireplace proper, only a moderate-sized stove covered with earthen marmites, and some burnished copper stew pans. The cook was a little whizzened hunchback, with the face of a very old monkey. She wore a frilled white cap close round her face it came, enhancing its mahogany hue. She had to stand on a wooden stool to look into her saucepens. A veritable old witch, with the skill of a witch, too. An officer's orderly was scraping carrots. Suddenly the dwarf darted across to him, and gave him a sound clack on the cheek. Oe moi sa, she screamed, holding up a piece of carrot peel. S'est comme sa, qu'il est plus schmer carot. What does she mean, asked Miss Pym. The orderly rubbed his cheek and grinned. Oe, I cut a bit deep in that there carrot. Mamzelle thought it waste. And besides, according to the French folk, you lose the flavor of the vegetable if you cut away too much of the outside. But Lor, they do know how to cook, why they can make a rare meal with what we throw away. As for their corphy, and the orderly threw up his eyes in ecstasy, Miss Pym turned to Madame and asked where the fiat to cuisine was. Oe, we need no fiat to cuisine. Unless you count him pointing to the orderly. Madlaine does all the cooking and washing up. Of course, when we have a great concourse of officers, Marie Rose, the girl, lends a hand. Ah, euf aux bouchées, sais-je vous y? She said, laughing. Miss Pym thought of the cook at Froghurst, who considered a kitchen maid insufficient, and insisted on a scullery maid as well. Mère Dupont seemed to read what was passing in her mind. Oe, yes, I have heard about your English servants. But all English people are lazy. Vous êtes devenu une race paresuse, excepte quand vous vous battez. If I get back to Froghurst, thought Miss Pym, but that if reminded her of her mission, how much better Mère Dupont would do it? She thought humbly. At the door of the auberge stood a young British officer, to see the English lady. If you are rested and it is quite convenient, will you allow me to escort you to headquarters at the mairie? Sir Hugh Douglas is very anxious to see you. Miss Pym walked through the village high street with the boyish captain. Isn't it a ripping evening? Summer has come with a rush, and after such months of wet misery. Do you know the chief personally? Oh well, after five minutes you'll feel you've known him for ever so long. He's awfully understanding. They were now at the town hall, a big whitewashed house, in no way imposing. Miss Pym was taken into a large room where officers set at telephones and maps lay in rolls on large, deal tables. Sir Hugh hastened to greet her. Miss Pym, I am exceedingly glad to meet you. I think we had better get out of this room. There are too many telephones going. It would disturb you. Here Murcott, Desmond, Price, you come along with us, and send across for Ames. This way, Miss Pym, and he let her up a fine staircase to a large room overlooking the plass. Colonel Price carried up a big lamp. Of course you know, Miss Pym, we are quite in the dark, began Sir Hugh. Then everyone started laughing, for the lamp suddenly faded out. Colonel Price jumped on a table and lit the candles in a chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Two more lamps were brought in, and the room was brilliantly illumined. We none of us know in the least what you can do for us, what you intend to do. Sir Robert speaks emphatically, but he is cryptic. So here we are, all most eager to know, and ready to help you all we can. Miss Pym had prepared many little speeches, but not a word could she remember. So she said quickly, Well, Sir Robert wishes me to cross over to the German lines, to note the gun emplacements, to put the guns out of action, if only for a bit. Oh, I don't know what else he suggests, to shoot the Kaiser, I think, also Hindenburg and others, to take their maps and printed instructions, and to terrify the men if possible. Miss Pym had got so used to the idea of what could be done, she had forgotten the effect her words would have on the Commander-in-Chief and his staff. They were looking at each other in utter bewilderment. At this juncture General Ames entered. Hello, I hope I'm not too late to hear the plans. Oh, they are quite simple, said Colonel Murcot Dryley. This lady has come to spike the German guns, kill the Kaiser in Hindenburg, and get all their maps. Sir Hugh Douglas moved restlessly and said with some asperity, Please, Miss Pym, explain yourself, Williamson has written to me quite seriously. He did not, however, tell me your plans. He merely said you could be of use. Please, Miss Pym, collect yourself, and then make it clear how you propose to be of service to the British army. Sir Hugh's manner was cold, his tone cutting, and his grey eyes splashed. Miss Pym suddenly felt nervous and trapped. Oh, if only kind Sir Hector Russell were with her, or the dear Vicar, these men of war would never understand or believe. She stood by the table, looking round at the door, as though she meditated flight. Here sit down, Miss Pym, said Colonel Murcot. Gentlemen, be seated. There is no hurry. Take your own time, and be sure of our sympathetic attention. You see, you have rather knocked us out. And at the first round he added kindly. I know, said Miss Pym, feeling a nervous inclination, to laugh or cry. She was not sure which. I know that what I have said was surprising. But it is nothing to what I am going to do, now and here. The staff stared at her in silence. You see, continued Miss Pym, I am just an ordinary, rather incompetent English lady. I am not brave. I am not trained to suffer or endure. But I am patriotic. I mean I am willing to suffer for my country. That is why I am here. Sir Hugh pushed back his chair impatiently. But Murcot put his hand soothingly on his sleeve, and his lips shaped the unspoken word. Wait! I am here, said Miss Pym steadily, rising from her chair, because I have the faculty of disappearing. Oh, rot! cried Sir Hugh fiercely. Then he added, I beg your pardon, Miss Pym, but we are engaged in such tremendous business. We cannot permit ourselves to be detained by talk like this. Still, Sir Hugh, remember that Sir Robert Williamson sent me. It would. I feel sure now. It would have been better if he had told you of my strange and quite unaccountable power. But it was thought to be so incredible he preferred that you should learn about this power by actual demonstration. If you will now watch me closely, you will see me disappear. And this chair will also disappear. Miss Pym seated herself, folded her hands, closed her eyes, and nothing happened. Gladly would she have disappeared forever. She realized the saying about blood running cold. A sound as of rushing waters was in her ears. She dared not open her eyes or look up. Sir Hugh rose very quietly. I think now, he said, the farce is played out. Mercott, will you conduct this lady back to the inn? There must be some hanky-panky about those letters purporting to come from Williamson. Sir Hugh strode to the door. But Miss Pym was quicker. She flung herself against the door, without stretched arms, and stared up into the irate general's face, then leaning her head back against the door. She disappeared. And the door also disappeared. And the passage became dimly visible. Sir Hugh started back, and the staff grouped round him. Sir Hugh, said Miss Pym faintly, I am still here, standing against the door. Put out your hand and feel. Like a blind man, Sir Hugh groped. He passed his hand over Miss Pym's face, felt her head and shoulders, the door beyond. Then he said, turning to the others. Is this exact? Has the lady really disappeared, or am I hypnotized? If you are, sir, we are all equally affected. We can see neither Miss Pym nor the door. Miss Pym joyfully submitted to the imposition of hands. Eagerly they questioned her, all at once, boyishly, impulsively. Suddenly a knocking was heard against the invisible door. General Rayner stood there, visible to all, but unable to enter. Miss Pym moved aside, still invisible, and the door reappeared. She sank down in a chair, and the chair disappeared. CHAPTER VI General Rayner apologized for interrupting. I have driven over from M, he said, to ask about those ambulances. But you all look so—so excited, he added. So would you. So will you, they cried. Only see here, Rayner, not a word to any living soul, cautioned Colonel Price. Why, he might tell everyone quite safely, said General Ames. They'd only call him drunk, or a nervous breakdown, cried Mercott, laughing rather shrilly. Miss Pym was now called on to reappear. She could not veil the glint of exultation in her eyes. The Commander-in-Chief looked very happy and boyish. You really must forgive me, because it all seemed so wildly impossible. I shall doubt again. I really shall want to see you disappear repeatedly, before I can quite accept this. Tomorrow morning I shall consider it the craze of a fevered brain. But seriously, Miss Pym, this requires a lot of thinking over. We can give you definite instructions, but we bind you to nothing. The possibilities of this adventure are immense. Oh, do put little Willie out of existence. We all have a special loathing for that particular specimen of German Berman, cried young Captain Pemberton. Better dispose of the buffalo Hindenburg, said another. General Rayner looked round the room in utter amazement. What were they all talking about? Who was this woman he had not noticed on entering? Why was the Chief looking so jolly and so wild? They must have had a champagne dinner. Yes, Rayner, I know we all seem quite dotty, said Colonel Murcott, putting his hand on the General's shoulder. And it is useless explaining. It makes it all seem more crazy than ever. But this lady will do it again, I am sure. Miss Pym do put the General out of his misery. He thinks we are all daft. Now, Rayner, see this lady? Please take hold of her hand and watch. General Rayner, greatly mystified, grasped Miss Pym's hand. And he determined she should not get away. But suddenly she was obliterated, though he felt her hand and could hear her low laugh. And not only Miss Pym was invisible, but General Rayner's own hand and arm had disappeared. There was a pause, and Miss Pym reappeared, still held by the officer. Now you know as much as we do, they cried. Sir Robert Williamson has sent this lady over to us, and the Chief is going to send her over to the Bosch. You have had an awfully trying day of it, said the Chief. Please get what rest and refreshment you can. A day or so at the Hotel de la Poste won't be so bad. My friend Madame du Pont will make you very comfortable, and one of us will take you about in a car. We must have a Council of War over this, and then we will make everything clear to you. I hope I am forgiven. And as he stretched out his hand to her, Miss Pym again noted that extremely boyish, that young, almost exultant expression, illuminate the face of the Commander-in-Chief. Two days later Miss Pym was fully instructed. She was told what was important to discover and what she should try to do. These instructions were secret, and it is therefore not proposed to give them here. Various maps were given to her, and these she was advised to carry with her. The typewritten instructions she was to read sufficiently often to memorize, and before leaving our lines, she was to burn them. Sir Hugh had selected the point where she could most safely cross over to the German side. This was on the French front, and a French officer would conduct her to Le Bois de Chevalier, and there leave her near a great oak known as Le Chaine de Couvon. Nothing had been thought out as far as possible, but Sir Hugh assured Miss Pym that she must not feel tied and bound, but do as she thought best according to circumstances. It will be a great day of rejoicing, the day of your return, and I assure you we shall await it in some anxiety, though I think the chances of your safe return amount to practical certainty. The only thing I fear is the possibility of your power failing you, in which case you could never hope to return. I confess that very thought has occurred to me, and has slightly troubled me, but there I must just risk it. And now please, Sir Hugh, let me say good-bye this evening. You say that Capitaine Rovan calls for me at eight o'clock in the morning. I want none of my English friends to see me off. I want to slip away quietly. Does this French officer know what I am going to do? Does he know about this, this faculty I have? Not a word. He has his orders to take you to that particular spot, and to leave you there. And he knows you are my trusted friend, Miss Pym. Sir Hugh gave his hand to the poor lady, who was too much moved for words, and she turned away to the Haudel de la Poste, where Madame Dupont greeted her affectionately. All delicacies had been prepared for Miss Pym's rucksack, and the officers had sent her more chocolate and pâté de foie gras and tins of biscuit than she could possibly carry. She made her selection, giving the rest to Madame Dupont, then having no luggage to pack. She sat down by the window in her pleasant room, and read over the typed pages of instruction, which she could almost repeat by heart. When quite sure of them, she descended to the cuisine, and asking the little deformed cook to open the stove, thrust the papers into the glowing furnace. Then she stood by the door, looking out over the vegetable garden, and listened to the dull roar of guns. And that goes on day and night, and will go on till we break them, she thought. Finally she heard a voice behind her say, No regrets, Miss Pym, and she turned to greet Colonel Murcott. No, I haven't a regret, unless for my owning capacity she replied gravely, but it is an awful undertaking. Yes, you will see suffering and brutality beyond belief. Those English-men and women who live quietly at home, in our tight little island, have an notion of what war means. War as understood by the Bosch. There'd be less talk of sparing them humiliation, and considering punishment revengeful, if they saw what we see. Nothing less than breaking the Bosch will do. Lord, how I wish the British and Russian pacifists could be taken across those lines over there, and be enslaved by the Huns. Oh, they would understand the Germans then, and realize that the only remedy for German couture is to conquer them, and Colonel Murcott tightened his lips. Yes, said Miss Pym, of course I am quite safe so long as I keep invisible, but it is difficult to feel invisible, to realize you are invisible. People appear to be looking at you, and seeing you, when they really cannot. I wonder whether I shall ever get used to it. What a lot of things are happening now which one can never get used to, said Colonel Murcott, leaning against the door, looking up into the starry sky. Do you know, Miss Pym, I cannot get used to this war. It still seems so unreal, and yet it is by far the most real thing in the whole world. This tremendous war, and it didn't come unheralded. We ought to have read the signs, for they were written large for all to read. But we refused to read. We turned our heads away. War, we said, was impossible, because we hate war, and then suddenly the impossible was a reality. And yet, as I said before, I cannot feel used to it, though I have been fighting since September 1914. This refusal of the mind to realize horrors is, I believe, protective. It helps to keep one sane and balanced. When you see all your men falling, all your officers killed, when everything seems hopeless, as it often did in 1914, then this strange fancy that, after all, it is a dream. Something imaginary. This feeling that death and defeat are unreal. I believe it helped me. Certainly it did, in the first battle of Ypres. I really did not recognize the awfulness of everything. I decided we were going to stand all right, and hold back the Bosch. Oh, there's a lot it doesn't do to think of, that one cannot bear to recall. I expect you will see things over there which you will not care to recall. I am sure of that, but I shall all my life be glad. I have been able to do something for England. And that thought will outweigh everything, said Miss Pym earnestly, looking up at the beautiful bronzed face of the soldier. Another comforting thought, continued he, is that physical pain is meant to be forgotten. There is nothing lasting in it, and those that suffered cannot recall, cannot retrace pain. You can recall fear, hatred, anger, but pain refuses to be remembered. You can remember about it, but not it. The ineffacably horrible thing is cruelty, which is always ineffectual and really useless. Cruelty seems to me the hallmark of the devil. The cruelty of the German is something quite unbelievable and unspeakable. And sometimes I feel, but no, Miss Pym, I must restrain my thoughts and my recollections. Suddenly the throb of a motor was heard. And soon after, a fine panard stopped before the Odell de la Poste. Probably this is Capitaine Rothan, who is to escort you to-morrow. I know him. He is an awfully good fellow, and only recently he received the military cross. Colonel Murcott went to the front entrance and greeted a slight young officer in the pale blue French uniform. Miss Pym, allow me to present to you my good friend, Capitaine Rothan. The young Frenchman straightened himself and bowed profoundly. Miss Pym looked at him with some curiosity. His was the last friendly face she was to see till she returned. He was thin and sallow. His eyes were large and melancholy. He had no appearance of a man of action. Charmé Madame, he murmured, and then Colonel Murcott explained that Sir Hugh Douglas wanted to see him, and that there were papers to take back to the French general. So Capitaine Rothan will be ready with his motor at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Do you stick to your refusal, Miss Pym? Your refusal to let me see you off? Miss Pym smiled and stretched out her hand. It will be better to have your kind greetings on my return, Colonel. And so the good lady parted with England, withdrew to her salon bedchamber, and sat at the window giving out on to the soft darkness. The moon had disappeared behind mountains of cloud, which also blotted out the stars. The maternal scent of cows rose from the yard, where they shouldered each other and moaned occasionally. But at intervals the silence and the darkness were rent by the eruptive roar of guns and the sudden play of light in the sky. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Miss Pym felt very desolate and helpless. For the first time she had serious doubts regarding the value of any work she could do in the German Lines. If there had been anything I could do, I should have had more definite instructions. Everything is left to me. Why? Because they know I can do little or nothing. It is doubtful whether Colonel Murcott himself could do much. But, but, Miss Pym, what can she do? Of course I may somehow get killed in the venture. But that is only important to me. No, the honest truth is that I am not likely to affect much. And what information I shall be able to bring from actual observation will be nil. So there is nothing much to it all. I go in comparative safety. I shall probably return without difficulty. I shall not even have the gratification of writing my adventures, because no one would believe me. To Pym there is nothing heroic in all this, and you are not entitled to self-pity. Wipe away those ridiculous tears, and just realize that you are ever so lucky to be enjoying a unique adventure. So Miss Pym fell asleep to the music of the guns, and slept through the trumpet calls of Chanticleer heralding the dawn, and trampling of cattle going out to pasture. The clanking of zinc pails, the hiccup of the old pump. She slept till Rosemarie noisily entered her room and thumped down a well-laden tray. Oh, Madame was to eat well. Madame was going on a long journey. Café au lait was poured out into a thick blue bowl. New bread was spread with rich yellow butter, and omelet still sying from the frying pan. Only in fat and golden folds on a dish. Honey in the comb, its sweetness pouring from the wounded cells, attracted distressed bees which hovered about with low murmurs, a bowl of soured cream, and fine white sugar competed with a glass saucer of quints preserved to win Miss Pym's favour. It was nearly seven o'clock, and at eight she was to start, so there was no time to lose. But a woman without trunks is soon ready, and before eight she was downstairs with Madame Dupont, who embraced her, and called her Ma chère enfant. I don't know your mission, my dear, but I do know it is for France, so God bless you. Keep your head, though the advice is needless to an Englishman or woman. Remember, too, that enfant, the Germans, are cowards. That is the great, the most marked characteristic of the brute. Cowardess and cruelty, the cruelty being the outcome of the cowardice. I'd have observed them closely, my dear, and take my word for it. They are vermin. We French do not speak in ignorance. We know. Madame certainly seemed to know Miss Pym was going over into the German lines. Yes, she was a far-seeing woman, and Miss Pym was inclined to take her view of the German people. Capitan Rothan, looking just as weary and melancholy, was standing by the great car. He handed Miss Pym into the front seat, tucked a military cloak round her, climbed him beside her, and took the steering wheel. His orderly jumped in at the back, and the cars swung round. In a second it was at the mairie, where it slowed down. On the balcony were grouped the staff officers. They gave a ringing cheer, and dropped flowers into the car, which then leapt ahead like a live thing. Capitan Rothan looked at Miss Pym with a gentle smile. C'est gentil, n'est-ce pas? C'est brave garçon. Miss Pym found her companion delightful. He talked of his home, his mother, and sisters. He showed no curiosity about her. This kind reticence was a great relief to Miss Pym, who knew not the art of fencing, and must have met any inquiries regarding her mission, with a blank refusal to give information. He told her a great deal about the French army, and the wonderful feeling existing between officers and men. He spoke with exceeding regard of the British officers, and of the Tommys with fervour. We are now going to take a hill with great celerity, he said, as a road like a white ribbon rose before them. This road is frequently shelled, but we must risk it. Keep as low as you can, but look to your left. There in the distance you will see odd zig-zags of snowy whiteness. Those are our trenches. Over beyond are the Bosch. As he spoke the car put on speed, and soon they were tearing up to a ridge, along which they skimmed even as a bird flies. Miss Pym then saw, on her left, a desolate plain, oddly marked as with an Etruscan pattern splotched in white, pearly balls of smoke broke loose from the distance. Invisible guns challenged or barked defiance. In a few moments the road dipped, and they were in a cutting, edged with trees. This is the beginning of the Bois de Chevalier. There is a jolly little oberge here, where Madame Popinot will give us a desuné. The humble inn, along low cottage, or a sign, ochre joyeux, represented by three heart-shaped faces grinning. The single room was crowded with soldiers. They rose respectfully, with one bound, and carried forward a form-like table. Capitan Rothern had it placed outside in the shade, and called for Madame la Mariette. The bride was only eighteen, a merry girl, cooking at a small stove. Capitan Rothern peered into the saucepan and marmites, to the delight of the soldiers, the bride laughing and blushing. There was no tablecloth, but Madame wiped away the red wine which had trickled on to the table, and fetched a piece of white muslin which she laid in double folds. A bunch of marigolds in a jug helped to keep the muslin from fluttering away. And again Miss Pym tasted a perfect French desuné, cooked by an artist, blue trout, a soup of milk and vegetables, a hot pot of chicken and mushroom, and an omelet au confiture. The French captain and the pretty bride were concerned at Madame's lack of appetite. But soon everyone's attention was diverted by the bursting of shells on the hill-road they had just come by. The soldiers in the ace-staminet jeered and laughed. C'est la vie, mon vieux, better luck next time, perhaps some day by chance you'll make a hit. Ah, but they killed poor old mother Gaste's donkey yesterday, cried the bride, and she could no longer drive to the market. It is a shame, poor old thing. The hat, the hat, passed the hat, yelled an excited soldier. Soon a tin helmet was passed round, and Miss Pym could hear the coppers and white money rattle into the helmet. Olah shouted, Capitan Rothern. Are the officers forbidden to subscribe? Here bring the hat round. A shy red-faced soldier-boy, with vest unbuttoned, came awkwardly forward. Capitan Rothern threw in some silver, and Miss Pym dropped in a ten-frank note. Why that will buy two, pour-ique, for Mayor Gaste cried the delighted bride as she emptied the helmet into her blue apron. If this is the bois de Chevalier, said Miss Pym to her companion, the chained couvent cannot be very far off, and it is there you are to leave me. Would it not be better to leave your car here, and we could walk to the place? Hardly that, my dear madame. Just think, if I returned here without you, what would be said? No, we must go on. The wood is pretty extensive. And on the left-hand reaches almost to our trenches. I will switch the car into a by-road, and then we can make our way on foot to the famous oak. So they left the au-berge de Courgio. All the soldiers stood at attention, those a little uncertain on their feet being propped up at the back, and once more they were on their way. The wood was now dense on either side, not a somber forest of dark trees, but green depths of young oak and chestnut. The car turned down a mossy old cart-track and stopped, out of sight of the road. There followed a wonderful walk, for yielding moss, the varied leafage, glades opening on every side, the undergrowth of fern, giving place to woodland grass, and some sweet herb which yielded a delicate perfume when bruised by footsteps. This pym was grateful to the French officer for not speaking. With his quick French intuition he understood the gravity of the occasion. She glanced at his lean, caroworn face and melancholy eyes, and felt that he was in harmony with her mood. At last they came to a ruined stone archway, all that remains of the convent. And here is the only old tree of the Bois des Chevaliers, the Chaine du Coupon. Miss Pym looked up at the oak, mighty in girth, but rather dwarfed in stature. The old twisted branches were poor in leafage, but for all that it was noble, and it represented to Miss Pym's imagination the British oak. And it is here, monsieur, that you leave me, she said, stroking the gray-green bark of the tree. Yes, madame, it is here I leave you, à la regret. I do not know what it is you have undertaken to do. Indeed I do not seek to know. It is something fine and courageous, that is certain. For madame is English, that is sufficient. But I am not without anxiety on your account, madame. Will you do me a favor? Will you wear this for the sake of all your friends? So saying he loosened his collar and fumbled for a delicate little gold chain, to which was attached a small gold metal. He drew the chain off and put it in Miss Pym's hand with the metal. On it was enameled the figure of a virgin in a blue mantle with tiny white stars round her head. Wear this as a protection. Notre-Dame Marie will be very near you. But you, Capitan Rothan, you deprive yourself not of her protection, madame. No, I shall be doubly blessed if you will wear it. I shall pray for you, madame. And I will pray for you, monsieur, replied Miss Pym. My name is Roland, he said quietly. I will wear this, Roland, and I will pray for you. Miss Pym put out her hand, and in the bois des cheveliers, young Roland kissed her hand gravely, like a knight of old. Madame, when you return, will you let me know? This is my card, giving the name and number of my regiment and company. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Miss Pym's Camouflage. This Levervox recording is in the public domain. Miss Pym's Camouflage. By Lady Dorothy Stanley. Chapter 8. A great silent spell, and Miss Pym was alone. She lent her cheek against the gray bark of the hoary oak, and, again, felt that sense of desolation, which had seized her the night before. This will never do, General Pym, she said to herself. You have got to carry this through. She sat down between the big, straggling roots of the protecting oak, and went over her instructions. She should cross to the German lines about four o'clock. It was not yet two. Miss Pym decided not to walk about the wood. She knew her direction from the oak, and by the oak she would sit till the fateful hour. The sun was very hot. The old tree was too bald with age to afford her much shelter from the sun, but she would not leave its rough, protecting breast. So leaning there, Miss Pym fell asleep, a deep, dreamless sleep, from which she was awakened, by the vicious scream of a jay. Much startled, she stared round her. Where was she? What had happened? Then it all flooded back on her. It was time, time to set out on the great adventure. She stood up against the oak, lent back her head, and disappeared. But fully to satisfy herself, she brought out a small pocket mirror. Yes, she had disappeared. There was no reflection. When taking out her compass, she started off, just as her watch marked four o'clock. She went easily and softly on the elastic moss. The old grand papa, oak, had disappeared, and the wood was thinning. Suddenly she came upon lines and lines of French soldiers lying in the bracken, peering down a slope on to open country, and there below she saw the white edging of the trenches. Everywhere now, the wood seemed alive and watchful. Under bowers of growing trees, tied together at the top, were colossal guns, approached by platforms decorated with branches, freshly cut. The men were talking and laughing, quite at ease. There was no firing on either side, only acute watchfulness. Miss Pym decided to walk down the slope, trembling as she nearly stumbled over a poilou hidden in the fern. Down she scrambled to the transverse cuttings, leading to the trenches. She found it difficult to pass. Men ran into her and stared about, trying to see what had obstructed them. Sometimes she slipped into the entrance of a dugout, or flattened herself against a parapet, till at last she faced that sad open stretch where no man may show himself and live. Miss Pym gazed and gazed at the desolate scene, wondering how she would mount the parapet, and how she could possibly get through the inextricable entanglement of barbed wire. She had a wire cutter in her handbag, but what a formidable task. How was she to cut the wire without attracting attention, and when cut, how would she be able to get through the entanglement in a skirt? She had expected neat, taut stretches of barbed wire, which with a snip-snap she could walk through, but this, and then on the German side it would be as bad or worse. It was useless to wait for darkness. She must get through whilst it was daylight, whilst she could see where she was going, and what she was doing, noticing rough steps a little way down the trench, which led up to the parapet. She made her way thither and mounted, but on the other side was a ditch and no easy descent. Miss Pym walked a long distance, till she came to an inward curve, with rough steps leading down. Descending cautiously, she came up to a hedge of wires held up at intervals by rough posts and staves. Miss Pym had been taught how to cut wire by some of Sir Hugh Douglas's staff, but her hand trembled as she started cutting the barbed wire, which sprang up when cut, and seemed to defy her. Nevertheless she worked on steadily, the sun was still very fierce, and French and German appeared too tired and sleepy to move. Miss Pym was dreadfully afraid that the sound of the clippers would start the French firing. Once she was afraid that inadvertently she had reappeared. The hedge of wire, negotiated, she found herself in a dead gray waste, pitted with great shell holes, filled with muddy water. The limitless desolation appeared as the negation of mind and purpose. Nothing had shape or meaning or even color. What most struck Miss Pym was not the presence of death, so much as the absence of intelligence and order. There was not a germ of life or growth, promise of fruit, nor progress. Only sunken heaps of clothing marked where men had fallen. As in a dream Miss Pym passed along this land of nevermore, till she found her advance stopped by another hedge of wire, more toothed and thicker than what she had already dealt with. Her hands ached with clipping, and her cutter was blunted. She thought of going back to the French lines. But no, that would never do. Miss Pym had come out for a purpose. Till that was accomplished there was no retreating, so she resolutely tackled the German wire. Loud songs in the tinkle of a zither covered the sound of the cutter. At last she was through, and mounting the parapet she looked down on rows of men, stout, perspiring young Germans, playing at cards or singing, quite in an off-duty sort of way. Some, however, were still dangerously alert. And Miss Pym felt that her position was precarious. She looked about her for some means of descending without attracting too much attention, when suddenly, quite near her, a sniper fired his rifle, and in her fright down dropped Miss Pym on to four sleeping huns, bringing with her part of the parapet. In a moment the wildest confusion reigned. The soldiers began firing quite recklessly. Officers came rushing out of dugouts, buttoning their tunics, their faces white, their eyes bulging, asking in short guttural barks what had happened. One man appeared with his hands up, thinking those pig-dogs of French had taken the trench. All this confusion favored Miss Pym's escape, but she was well within range of the French seventy-five guns, and therefore did not feel safe till she had put some miles between herself and the trenches. What a day of emotions and fatigue! She must choose some resting place for the night. But where should she go? The poor French peasants would be far too terrified to give her shelter, and too poor and hungry to give her food. Miss Pym was surprised to find French villages intact. It is true the huns occupied all the more well-to-do houses, but the poor little chômières still had roofs and windows. Miss Pym did not realize that these towns and villages of eastern France had been occupied since 1914, the Germans coming down like a wolf on the fold. A few cavalrymen had dashed down upon the place, followed by goose-stepping ulons, or bavarians, or other regiments, all trained to ruthlessness and cruelty. The gardens were cultivated, the fields promised rich crops, as old men, women, and children were all enslaved to work for the cruel, rapacious Bosch. Miss Pym could hardly believe her eyes. Here were trees heavy with fruit, yet to ripen, wheat and oats already knee-deep, were the French happy and prosperous after all, but she was not long in uncertainty. Entering the village, she saw a crowd of German soldiers, all red-faced and vociferous. Some were scowling, others were laughing, the men laughing looked the more terrible and menacing. They held a young girl by the arms, which they twisted behind her. The girl was barefooted, and wore a coarse apron of sacking. Her head was bent, and her hair fell loose and heavy like a veil. The girl was about to become a mother. Miss Pym walked straight up to her, and in a loud, clear voice, cried in French, Have courage, my child! The bondue will not forsake you. The girl shook back her mane and looked round. Her emaciated face shone by the perspiration of terror. Her lips were as white as her cheeks. The brutal men stopped their rivalled talk, still twisting the girl's arms. Miss Pym walked round amongst them, saying mockingly in German. So this is German Koltur. Every man who harms a woman or a child or an old man shall die. He is doomed. You are all doomed. Miss Pym kept on moving round the girl, repeating to the Germans, You are doomed. The men looked at each other, much frightened. Then without warning, as happens in a wild panic, They let go of the girl and scattered. The girl slid, like a lizard, into a little house, And Miss Pym stood alone in an abandoned village street, In the gathering twilight. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 She now decided to resume visibility and knock at the door of the house Where the girl had taken refuge. She knocked gently, and could hear soft scufflings within And panting breath. Uvrei, she said quietly at the keyhole, I am not German, I bring you good news. She could hear a whispered parlay, and the door was cautiously opened. She slipped into a dark room, and the door was refastened. Then cold, eager hands reached out to her, hands hardened by toil. They drew her and pushed her into a room at the back. What a strange little group she saw there, a tall old peasant Leaning on a stick, an old, old woman, with the face of a seer. Girls whose pale faces shone almost phosphorescent In the deepening twilight, and small children looking up at her, With such waiting, hungry eyes. Oh, my friends, cried Miss Pym in broken accents. I am English. I have come across secretly to bring you good news. The French and the English are advancing to deliver you. Soon this village will be France again. The Germans are retreating. We have more men and more guns than the Bosch. The night will soon have passed, and the great new dawn is coming To France and to the whole world. No, madame. We are all lost, all forsaken, said the old man huskily, Whereupon the woman, who looked aged beyond computation, In a high trembling voice, chanted, This is the truth. France is victorious. France shall soon come into her own. We shall live to see that day, because we could not die till that beautiful day had come. Then we shall pass away happy. Madame, you saved me from the monsters, said a voice in Miss Pym's ears. Madame, give us food, cried the children. Madame, do not stay here. The Germans will certainly kill you if they find you. And they will then spit us all on their bayonets, cried one of the women. But you have given us comfort and hope, cried another woman. You must carry on that message of comfort to others, said Miss Pym. Tell me, where are the headquarters of these soldiers? Down the main road, then to the right. And Madame will see the gates of the château. Oh, the thieves and murderers! They have taken away all the things in the château. Even Madame Le Contest clothes. They have stabled horses in Le Grand Salon, walking them up the terrace steps by boards. Yes, and they have taken everything here, piped a little boy. All grandmaires linen, and all our casseroles. And my little bowl, cried a wee girl. They took my little bowl. And they put out the eyes of my pupae and tore off her arms. Madame, let me see your face, said the old man. We are not able to afford lights. But I will light these resinous twigs, so that we can see the face of the brave Englishwoman, if only for a few seconds. Standing outside the back door, amid a crowd of poor French people who had heard of Miss Pym's coming. The old man held aloft a torch of crackling pine. Miss Pym stepped forward and looked at the care-worn people. A strange sight. Never to be forgotten. The leaping light. The wall of faces. All stamped with privation and fear. The solemn old man who held the lighted sticks. Till the flame gave out, and a shower of sparks scattered. Then a distant bugle sounded. And Miss Pym decided to slip away on scene. She must sleep in the woods, that was clear. But she wished to visit the Chateau before retiring to rest. Her small stock of food must be kept for emergencies. It was important, therefore, to secure a bite from headquarters. The soldiers were not going hungry. And perhaps she could carry away a good meal for the poor hungry people she had left. What a scene at the Chateau! Orderlies, men of the auxiliary service, were hurrying about. The magnificent ballroom of the Chateau was put to a base use. All the tapestries had been removed. And the great mirrors were starred by bullets. Cases were being packed or unpacked, and noise and disorder reigned. Suddenly a door above, giving on to a balcony, was opened with extreme violence. This in happy times the orchestra played here, and the guests of the Chateau danced in the splendid ballroom below, reflected again and again in the great mirrors. A stout German officer, his head shaved to the skin, burst through the doors on to the balcony, and leaning over the gilded balustrades, yelled, Silence! An order hardly necessary to voice, as his mere presence had effectually silenced the noisy crowd below. The German glared down on the people, then raising his revolver. He deliberately fired into a corner, where the men were masked. After that, giving a satisfied grunt, he withdrew. Miss Pym stiffened with horror. The bullet had whistled past her head, and buried itself in the chest of a young soldier. He gave one cough, and fell dead. Miss Pym fled from the room, and hurriedly mounted the branching staircase of White Stone, and opening one side of the great folding doors, slipped into the immense salon over the ballroom. Here at table, set fifteen German officers. Amongst them the murderer she had seen on the balcony. They were loudly drinking the soup, and looked up at the opening door, which Miss Pym closed behind her. You thought that was the ghost of the man you shot, eh, Conrad? Ah, the fellow isn't dead. I just gave him a lesson in manners. They all want teaching. The general, a lean, savage-looking man, called out, Colonel Conrad, I don't like your discipline. I hear the man Brunan was popular. This will make trouble. The soldiers are less disciplined every day. And this sort of discipline of yours may lead to mutiny. You told me to obtain silent, said Colonel Conrad sulkily, wiping his moustache. Not by killing the men, retorted the general sternly. A man more or less general began the Colonel. I tell you, Brunan was popular, said the general severely. I never liked the fellow myself. I hear he was a socialist. But it is not politic to kill him. There has been a lot of restiveness amongst the men today. It is reported your men ran away this evening. From voices. Hell and thunder, Conrad. This won't do. Germans running away from voices. But the men will have it, general, that they heard ghostly voices, said a young staff officer eagerly. It began over a girl. I won't have this sort of thing going on, shouted the general, banging the table with his fist, till the glasses rang. And for the corporal who was in charge of that particular lot. The officers looked bored. They were hungry, and a roast goose, banked round with sausages, was being brought in. How annoying the general could be. The corporal stood at attention. What is this nonsense about voices, asked the general abruptly. The corporal's eyes rolled. Speak, or you shall be punished. My general, it is true. We all heard a voice this evening in the village. That shameless girl, Cloday, was being disciplined by Sergeant Krause. When Brunan, the late Hans Brunan, came up and threatened Krause, and tried to free the girl, suddenly a voice spoke all round us, saying we were doomed, that we were lost, that we had no right to kill women and children. That was Brunan. He was doubtless a ventriloquist. He did it to frighten you. Go and tell the men that he was able to throw his voice anywhere. But he is dead now, and a good riddance. The men won't hear any more voices. If they do, they must be punished. See that they stand their ground. What are German soldiers coming to? Hell and thunder. Then Miss Pym raised her voice. You are doomed. Every man of you will die very soon, and you will be punished for your cruelty and wickedness. You are doomed. Doomed. The corporal gave a howl and straightway fled from the room, followed by the soldiers waiting with the plates, and the men about to carve the succulent goose. Another fellow dropped a bottle of champagne and tore after the others. Several officers rose from their seats with pale faces and twitching nostrils. But Colonel Conrad completely collapsed, and commenced crying like a small boy. The general, who was rather deaf, did not understand the sudden madness. He sat there in such a fury he was literally speechless. He looked at Conrad whose face was buried in a table napkin, and at the perturbed officers, and with tremendous self-control he said, Ring for the dinner. Miss Pym quickly approached the sideboard, snatched up several large serviettes in which she wrapped the goose, the sausages, and the potatoes, also a big loaf of bread. She pulled four large candles from the candelabra, seized two bottles of champagne, and decamped. Rushing down the village, she made her way to the back of the houses, finding at last the house where she had delivered the message of hope. The inmates were sitting on the doorstep, whispering together, with the neighbors. Miss Pym made herself visible, and beckoning to the women, she displayed a corner of the loaf and the end of a sausage. Quick you must give a banquet. Here is a goose and sausages, a big loaf and potatoes, all for you, madame, but you will share with your neighbors, I am sure, and a little champagne to drink the health of the allied armies, bonsoir mes amis, and Miss Pym glided away down the village highway, supperless. I must get a little bread and wine, she thought, or I shall not sleep. And seeing a light in what had been the Presbyterre, she looked in. Here a few young German subalterns were smoking, bottles of wine were on the table. Miss Pym becoming invisible, let herself in quietly, no one noticed her entrance. She seated herself in a corner, and with a thick slice of tolerable bread and a glass of claret, she made her humble meal. The officers were talking in a low voice. One was writing to his fiancée in the black forest. Miss Pym satisfied, rose and fetching a pillow and a quilt from an upper room, strolled out into the soft night, starlit with a new moon, just a curved slip rocking on its back. Miss Pym was so weary, she could hardly drag her tired feet. She determined to sleep beyond the village, in a little wood, reached through fields of young barley and meadows of lush grass. She wandered a while in the wood, trying to find a suitable spot, and at last in the shadow of a granite boulder. And beneath a thick-leaved chestnut tree, Miss Pym laid herself down to sleep after recommending her body and soul to the care of Almighty God. Wired by the down quilt, her head on a redundant pillow, Miss Pym soon slept as deeply and soundly as in her pretty bedroom at Froghurst Manor. End of Chapter 9