 17. Lights out. There was two of every single thing in the arc, said Jeffrey firmly. The man in church read it out of the Bible. 2. Teddy Bears asked Allison. No, teddies are only toys. There was real bears, though. Meet ones, asked his sister, hopefully. Yes, and all the other animals. Who drove to the main? All Noah and Mrs. Noah. Wasn't they have had a time? If you tried to drive in our turkeys and sheep and cows together, there'd be awful trouble. And Noah had lions and tigers and snakes, too. Perhaps he had good sheep-dogs, Nora suggested. She was sewing with Mrs. Hunt under a tree on the lawn, while the children played with Noah's arc on a short legged table near them. He'd need them, Jeffrey said. But would sheep-dogs be any good at driving snakes and porkal pines, Nora? Noah might have been, Nora answered prudently. They must have been used to it, you see. And I believe a good sheep-dog would get used to anything. Funny things, all Noah and his family wore, said Jeffrey, looking at Jefette with disfavour. Like dressing gowns, only worse. Wouldn't have been much good for looking after animals in. Why, even the land-army girls wear trousers now. Well, fashions were different then, said Mrs. Hunt. Perhaps, too, they took off the dressing gowns when they got inside the arc, and had trousers underneath. Where'd they keep all the food for the animals anyhow? Jeffrey demanded. They'd want such a lot, and it would have to be all different sorts of food. Tigers wouldn't eat veggie-tubbles, like rabbits. And effulans would eat buns, said Alison anxiously. Did Mrs. Noah make him buns? She couldn't, silly, unless she had a gas stove, said Jeffrey. They couldn't carry firewood, as well. I say, mother, don't you think the arc must have had a supply-ship following round, like Navy has? It isn't mentioned, said Mrs. Hunt. I say, said Jeffrey, struck by a new idea that put aside the question of supply. Just fancy if a submarine had torpedoed the arc. Wouldn't have been exciting. Let's do it in the bath, said Alison delightedly. All right, Jeffrey said. Maybe, mother. Oh, yes, if you don't get too wet, his mother said resiantly. They can all swim. That's a comfort. We'll muster them, said Jeffrey, bundling the animals into a heap. Hand over that bird, Alison. I say, mother, which came first, a fell or an egg? Mrs. Hunt sighed. It isn't mentioned, she said. Which do you think? Fell, I suspect, answered her son. I think, I think, was the egg, said Alison. How would it be hatched, if it was, silly? demanded her brother. They didn't have ink, ink, ink-labators, then? Alison pukered her brows and remained undefeated. Perhaps Adam sat on it, she suggested. I cannot imagine Adam being broody, said Mrs. Hunt. Well, anyhow, he hatched out Eve, said Jeffrey. No one ventured to combat this statement, and the children formed themselves into a stretcher-party, bearing the ark and its contents upon a tray in the direction of the bathroom. Aren't they, darlings? Nora said, laughing. Look at that, Michael. Michael was toddling behind the stretcher-party, as fast as his fat legs would permit, uttering short and sharp shrieks of anguish lest he should be forgotten. Jeffrey gave the order. Halt! And the ark and its bearers came to a standstill. Come along, kid, said the commanding officer. You can be the band. The procession was reformed with Michael in the lead, tooting proudly on an imaginary boogal. They disappeared within the house. They are growing so big and strong, said Mrs. Hunt, thankfully. Michael can't wear any of the things that fitted Jeff at his age. As for Allison, nothing seems to fit her for more than a month or two. Then she gracefully bursts out of her garments. As for Jeff, but he is getting really too independent. He went off by himself to the village yesterday, and I found him playing football behind one of the cottages with a lot of small boys. Oh, did you? Nora said, looking a little worried. We heard just before I came over this morning that there is a case of fever in the village. Some travelling tinker people seem to have brought it. Dad said, I must tell you, we had better not let the children go down there for the present. There were some gypsy-looking boys among the crowd that Jeff was playing with, Mrs. Hunt said anxiously. I do hope he hasn't run any risk. He's wearing the same clothes, too. I'll take them off him and have him washed. She gathered up her sewing hurriedly. But I think Jeff is strong enough now to resist any germ. Oh, of course he is, Nora answered. Still, it doesn't do any harm to take precautions. I'll come and help you, Mrs. Hunt. Jeffery, congenially employed as a submarine commander about to torpedo the ark, was distinctly annoyed at being reduced to a mere small boy, and an unclad one at that. I don't see why you want to undress me in the middle of the morning, he said, wriggling out of his blue jersey. And it isn't washing day either. And Alison and Michael will go and sink the ark without me if you don't hurry. I won't let them, Jeff, Nora reassured him. I'm an airship commander cruising round over the submarine, and she doesn't dare to show so much as the tip of her periscope. Of course, when her captain comes back he'll know what to do. Rather, said the captain, wriggling this time in ecstasy, I'll just put up my anti-aircraft gun and blow the old airship to smithereens. Alison uttered a hell. Won't have Nora made into smithereens. Don't you worry, darling. I'll dodge, said Nora. Michael, what are you doing with Mrs. Noah? Not what, my dear, if he'll Mrs. Noah drowned, said Michael, conceding the lady yet more securely in his tiny pocket. She good. Michael loves her. Oh, rubbish, Michael. Put her back in the ark, said Jeffrey wrathfully. However, can we have a proper submarineing if you go and colour half the things? Never coloured nothing, said Michael, unmoved. Only took to my dear, equal Mrs. Noah. Never mind, Jeff. He's only a small boy, Mrs. Hunt said. Isn't a small boy, protested Michael furiously. Daddy said I was enormous. So you are, best beloved, laughed Nora, catching him up. Now the submarine commander has on clean clothes, and you'd better get ready to go on duty. Jeffrey dashed back to the bath with a shout of defiance to the airship, and the destruction of the ark proceeded gaily. There, said Mrs. Hunt, putting Jeffrey's garments into a tope, it's just as well to have them washed, but I really don't think there's any need to worry. I don't think you need, indeed, said Nora, laughing, as a medley of sound came from the bathroom. It was an off day for Nora, but Mrs. Lyle she had bought it and preserved every variety of food, that would lend itself to such treatment, and now the working season was almost over. For the first time the home for tired people had not many inmates, owing to the fact that leave had been stopped for several men at the front who had arranged to spend their holiday at Homewood. They had with them an elderly Colonel and his wife, Harry Trevor and another Australian, a silent major who played golf every hour of daylight, and read golf literature during the other part of the day, and a couple of sappers on final leave after recovering from moons. Today the Colonel and his wife had gone up to London, the others, with the exception of Major Mackay, who, as usual, might be seen afar upon the links, had gone with Mr. Linton to a sale where he hoped to secure some unusually desirable pigs. The sappers, happy in ignorance, promised themselves much enjoyment in driving them home. Left alone, therefore, Nora had gone for the day to Mrs. Hunt, ostensibly to improve her French and needlework, but in reality to play with the babies. Just how much the Hunt babies had helped her, only Nora herself knew. I'm asked to a festivity the day after tomorrow, Mrs. Hunt said that afternoon. They were having tea in the pleasant sitting-room of the cottage, sounds from the kitchen indicated that Eva was giving her a celebrated performance of a grizzly bear for the benefit of the children. The performance always ended with a Hunt, and with the slaying of the quarry by Geoffrey, after which the bear expired with lingering and unpleasant details. Douglas's Colonel is in London on leave, and he and his wife have asked me to dine and go to a theatre afterwards. It would mean staying in London that night, of course. So, of course, you'll go. I should love to go, Mrs. Hunt admitted. It would be jolly in itself, and then I should hear something about Douglas, and all he ever tells me about himself might be put on a field postcard. If the babies are quite well, Nora, do you think you would mind taking charge? Nora laughed. She had occasionally come to sleep at the cottage during a brief absence on Mrs. Hunt's part, and liked nothing better. I should love to come, she said, but you'd better not put it that way, or Eva will be dreadfully injured. I don't, to Eva, smiled Mrs. Hunt. She thinks you come over in case she should need anyone to run an errand, and therefore permits herself to adore you. In fact, she told me yesterday that for a young lady you had an uncommon amount of sense. Jim would have said that was as good as a diploma. Nora said, laughing. I'd rather think so myself, Mrs. Hunt answered. What about Wally, Nora? Have you heard lately? Yesterday, Nora replied. He decorated his letter with beautiful people using pen wipers, so I suppose he is near Epress. He says he's very fit, but the fighting seems very stiff. I'm not happy about Wally. Do you think he isn't well? I don't think his mind is well, said Nora. He was better here before he went back, and now that he is out again, I believe he just can't bear being without Jim. He can't think of him happily, as we do. He only fights his trouble, and hates himself for being alive. He doesn't say so in words, but when you know Wally as well as Dad and I do, you can tell from his letters. He used to write such cheery, funny letters, and now he deliberately tries to be funny, and it's pretty terrible. She paused, and suddenly a little sob came. Mrs. Hunt stroked her hand, saying nothing. Do you know, Nora said presently, I think we have lost Wally more than Jim. Jim died, but a real Jim is ever close in our hearts, and we never let him go, and we can talk and laugh about him, just as if he was here. But a real Wally seems to have died altogether, and we've only the shell left. Something in him died when he saw Jim killed. Mrs. Hunt, do you think you'll ever be better? I think he will, Mrs. Hunt said. He is too fine and plucky to be always like this. You have to remember that he is only a boy, that he had the most terrible shock that would come to him. It must take time to recover. I know, Nora said. I tried to think like that, but it hurts so that one can't help him. We would do anything to make him feel better. And you will, in time. Remember, you and your father are more to him than anyone else in the world. Make him feel you want him. I think nothing else can help him so much. Mrs. Hunt's eyes were full of tears. He was such a merry lad. It breaks one's heart to think of him as he is. He was always the cheerfulness person I ever saw, said Nora. He just laughed through everything. I remember once when he was bitten by a snake, and it was hours before we could get a doctor. We were nearly mad with anxiety, and he was in horrible pain with the tourniquet. But he joked through it all in the most ridiculous way. And he was always so eager. It's the last thing you could call him now. All the spring has gone out of him. It will come back, Mrs. Hunt said. Only keep on trying. Let him see how much he means to you. Well, he's all we have left, said Nora. There was silence for a moment, and then it was a relief when the children burst into the room. They all went to the station two days later to see Mrs. Hunt off for her excursion. Michael was not to be depended upon to remain brave when a train actually bore his mother away, so he did not wait to see her go. There were errands to be done in the village, and Nora bundled them all into the governess cart, giving Jeffrey the reins to his huge delight. He turned his merry face to his mother. Good-bye, darling. Take care of yourself in London-town. I will, said his mother. Might you take care of all the family? You're in charge, you know, Jeff. Rather, he said, I'm G.O.C., and they've got to do what I tell them, haven't they? And, mother, tell the Colonel to send father home. Then you won't be G.O.C., said Nora. Don't want to be if father comes, said Jeffrey, his eyes dancing. You'll tell him, won't you, mother? Indeed I will, she said. Now, off you go. Don't put the card into the ditch, Jeff. Isn't you insulting, said her son loftily, but women's don't understand. He elevated his nose, and then relented to fling her kisses as the pony trotted off. Mrs. Hunt stood at the station entrance to watch him for a moment, sitting very straight and stiff, holding his whip at the precise angle taught by Jones. It was such a heartsome sight that the incoming train took her by surprise, and she had barely time to get her ticket and rush for a carriage. Nora and her charges found so much to do in the village, that when they reached home it was time for Michael's morning sleep. Eva broke no interference with her right of tucking him up for this period of peace, but graciously permitted Nora to inspect the process, and kiss the rosy cheek peeping from the blankets. Then Allison and Jeffrey accompanied her to the house, and visited Mrs. Lyle in her kitchen, finding her by a curious chance just removing from the oven a batch of tiny cakes of bewildering attractions. Nora lost them afterwards, and, going to look for them, was guided by sound to Alanby's pantry, where that most correct of boulders was found on his hands and knees, being fiercely ridden by both his visitors, when it was very pleasant to behold Alanby's frantic endeavours to get to his feet before Nora should discover him, and yet to avoid upsetting his riders. Then they called upon Mr. Linton in his study, but finding him for once inaccessible, being submerged beneath accounts and checkbooks, they fell back upon the billiard-room, where hey, Trevor and Bob McGrath, his chum, welcomed them with open arms, and romped with them until it was time for Nora to take them home to dinner. Awful jolly kids, said Harry. Why don't you keep them here for lunch, Nora? Eva would be terribly hurt, said Nora. She always cooks everything they like best when Mrs. Hunt is away, quite regardless of their digestions. Well, can't they come back afterwards? Let's all go for a walk somewhere. Oh, do! pleaded Jeffrey. Could we go to the river Nora? Yes, of course, said Nora. Will it be too far for Alice and Doe? Not it. She walked there with Father when he was home last year. Do let's! Then we must hurry, said Nora. Come along, or Eva will think we have deserted her. They found Eva slightly trokeland. I was wondering was you staying over there to dinner, she said. I know I ain't one of your fine lady cooks with a name and a family herald, but there ain't no harm in that their potato pie for all that. It looks beautiful, said Nora, regarding the brown pie affectionately. I'm so glad I'm here for lunch. What does Michael have, Eva? Michael has fish, and he has it out in the kitchen with me, said Eva firmly, and his own little baby custard pudding. No one but me ever cooks anything for that kid. Well, of course, you sent him cakes and things, she added grudgingly. Oh, but they're not nourishment, said Nora, with tact. No, said Eva brightening. That's what I say, and nourishment is what counts, ain't it? Oh, rather, Nora said. And isn't he a credit to you? Well, come on, children, I want pie. She drew Alice's high chair to the table, while Eva, departing to the kitchen, relieved her feelings with the burst of song. They spent a merry afternoon at the river, a little stream, which went gurgling over pabbly shallows, widening now and then into a broad pool, or hurrying over miniature rapids where brown trout lurked. Harry and Bob, like most Australian soldiers in England, were themselves only children when they had the chance of playing with babies. They romped in the grass with them, swung them on low-growing bows, or skimmed stones across placid pools, until the sun grew low in the west, and they came back across the park. Nora wheeled Michael in a tiny car. Bob carried Alison, and presently Jeffrey admitted that his legs were tired, and was glad to ride home astride Harry's broad shoulders. Mr. Linton came out to meet them, and they all went back to the cottage where Eva had tea ready, and was slightly aggrieved because her scones had cooled. Now you must all go home, Nora told her men folk after tea. It's late, and I have to bathe three people. Don't we see you again? Harry asked. You may come over tonight if you like. That is coming, Nora said. Jeff, you haven't finished, have you? I don't think I'm very hungry, Jeffrey said. May I go and shut up my guinea-pigs? Yes, of course. Alison, darling, I don't think you ought to have any more cakes. I always have three for eleven when mother is at home, said Alison firmly, annexing a chocolate cake, and digging her little white teeth into it in the hope of averting any further argument. Michael doesn't want more. He had Jeff's. Jeff's? But didn't Jeff eat any? Jeff's silly tonight, said his sister, fancy not being hungry when there was chocolate cakes. I hope he didn't get too tired, Nora said to herself anxiously. I'll hurry up and get them all to bed. She bathed Michael and Alison with Eva in attendance and took them up. They were very sleepy, too sleepy to be troubled that mother was not there to kiss them goodnight. Indeed, as Nora bent over Michael, he thought she was his mother and murmured, mom, mom, in the dusk in a little contented voice. Nora put her cheek down to the rose leaf for one moment and then hurried out. Jeff, where are you, Jeff? I'm here, said Jeffrey, from the back doorstep. He rose and came towards her slowly. Something in his face made her vaguely uneasy. Ready for bed, old chap, she asked. Come on, are you tired? My legs are tired, Jeffrey said, and my head's queer. It keeps turning round. He put out a little appealing hand, and Nora took it in her own. It was burning hot. I wish mother was home, the boy said. Nora sat down and took him on her knee. He put his head against her. You must just let old Nora look after you until mother comes back, she said gently. The memory of the fever in the village came back to her, and she turned sick with fear. For a moment she thought desperately of what she must do, both for Jeffrey and for the other children. I won't bathe, Master Jeff. He is tired, she said to Eva. She carried a little fellow into his room and slipped off his clothes. He turned in the cool sheets, thankfully. Lie still, old man, I'll be back in a moment, Nora said. She went out and called to Eva, reflecting with relief that the girl's hard cockney sense was not likely to fail her. Eva, she said, I'm afraid Master Jeff is ill. You know there is fever in the village, and I think he has it. I mustn't go near anyone, because I've been looking after him. Run over to the house and tell Mr. Linton I would like him to come over, as quickly as possible. Don't frighten him. Right home, Sudiva, I won't be your appetite. Her flying feet thudded across the grass as Nora went back to the room, where Jeffrey was already sleeping heavily. She looked down at a little face, flushed and dry, in her heart an agony of dread for the mother, away at her party in London. Then she went outside to wait for her father. He came quickly, accompanied by Mr. Lyle and Harry Trevor. I telephoned for the doctor, directly I got your message, he said. He'll be up in a few minutes. Thank goodness, said Nora. Of course it may not be the fever, but it's something queer. The little chap wasn't all right down at the river, Harry said. Only he kept going, he's such a plucky kid. But he sat jolly quiet on me, coming home. I knew he was quiet, I just thought he was a bit tired, Nora said. I say, Daddy, what about the other children? What about you? he asked. His voice was hard with anxiety. Me, said Nora, staring. Why, of course I must stay with him, Dad. He's in my charge. Yes, I suppose you must, said David Linton heavily. We'll find out from the doctor what precautions can be taken. Oh, I'll be all right, Nora said. But Alison and Michael mustn't stay here. No, of course not. Well, they must only come to us. But the tired people, Nora asked, missed the lull in their post. There are hardly any now, and two of the boys go away tomorrow, she said. The south wing could be kept entirely for the children, couldn't it, Mr. Linton? Cathy could look after them there. They are fond of her. That's excellent, said Mr. Linton. I really think their risk to the house wouldn't be much. Any of the tired people who are worried would simply have to go away. But the children would not come near any of them. And please, goodness, they won't develop fever at all. Then I'll go back and have a room prepared, Mr. Lyle said. And then I'll get you, Mr. Harry, to help me bundle them up and carry them over. He mustn't leave them in this place a minute longer than we can help. That lovely fat Michael, where Mr. Lyle lived coherently, she hurried away. There was a home of an approaching motor presently, and the doctor's car came up the drive. Dr. Hall, a middle-aged and overworked man, looking over Jeffrey quickly, and nodded to himself as he tucked his thermometer under the boy's arm. Jeffrey scarcely stirred in his heavy sleep. Fever, of course, said the doctor presently out in the hall. No, I can't say whether he'll be bad or not, Ms. Nora. We'll do our best not to let him be bad. Mrs. Hunt away, is she? Well, I'll send you up a nurse. Luckily, I have a good one free, and she will bring medicines and will know all I want done. He nodded approval of their plans for Allison and Michael. Mr. Linton accompanied him to his car. Get your daughter away as soon as you can, the doctor said. It's a beastly species of fever. I'd like to hang those tinkers. The child in the village died this afternoon. You don't say so, Mr. Linton exclaimed. Yes, very bad case from the first. Fine boy, too. But he didn't call me in time. Well, this village had forgotten all about fever. He jumped into the car. I'll be up in the morning, he said, and wore it off into the darkness. Allison and Michael enormously amused at what they took to be a new game, who presently bundled up in blankets and carried across to Homewood, and soon a cab trundled up with a brisk, capable-looking nurse, who at once took command in Jeffrey's room. I don't think you should stay, she said to Nora. The maid and I can do everything for him, and his mother will be home tomorrow. A good hot bath with some disinfectant in it, here. Then leave all your clothes here that you've worn near the patient, and run home in fresh things. No risk for you, then. I couldn't leave, Jeff, Nora said. Of course, I won't interfere with you, but his mother left him to me while she was away. He might ask for me. Well, it's only for your own sake, I was advising you, said the nurse. What do you think, Mr. Linton? I think she ought to stay, said Mr. Linton, shortly, with fear dugging at his heart as he spoke. Just make her take precautions, if there are any. But the child comes first. He was left in our care. He went away soon, holding Nora very tightly to him for a moment, and then the nurse sent Nora to bed. There's nothing for you to do, she said. I shall have a sleep near the patient. But you'll call me if he wants me. Yes, I promise. Now, be off with you. At the moment Nora did not feel as though she could possibly sleep. But very soon her eyes grew heavy and she dozed off to dream, as she often dreamt that she and Jim were riding over the fire plane at Billabong, bringing in a mob of wild young bullocks. The cattle had never learned to drive, and broke back constantly towards the shelter of the timber behind them. There was one big red beast in particular that would not go quietly. She had half a dozen gallops after him in her dream, with Boston under her swinging and turning with every movement of the bullocks, and finally heading him, wheeling him, and galloping him to the mob. Then another broke away, and Jim shouted to her across the paddock, Nora, Nora! She woke with a start. A voice was calling her name, Horsley. She groped for her dressing-gown and slippers, and ran to Jeffery's room. The nurse, also in her dressing-gown, was bending over the bed. You're quick, she said approvingly. He only called you once. Take this now, sonny. Nora! She bent down to him, taking the hot hand. I'm here, Jeff Altman. Take your medicine. All right, said Jeffery. He gulped it down obediently, and lay back. Will mother come? Very soon now, Nora said. You know she had to be in London, just for one night. She'll be back to-morrow. It's nearly to-morrow now, the nurse said, not far off, morning. That's nice, the child said. Stay with me, Nora. Of course I will, old man. Just shut your eyes and go to sleep. I won't go away. She knelt by his bed, passing him gently, until his deep breaths told that sleep had come to him again. The nurse touched her shoulder and pointed to the door. She got up softly and went down. Looking through her open window at the first streaks of dawn in the east. Her dream was still vivid in her mind. Even over her anxiety for the child in her care came the thought of it, and the feeling that Jim was very near now. Jim, she whispered, gazing at the brightening sky. In Germany, at that moment, two hunted men were facing dawn, running wildly, in dread of the coming daylight. But of that Nora knew nothing. The Jim she saw was the big, clean-limbed boy with whom she had ridden so often at Billabong. It seemed to her that his laughing face looked at her from the rose and gold of the eastern sky. Then Jeffrey turned and called to her, and she went to him swiftly. It was four days later. Mother, Jeffrey's voice was only a thread of sound now. Will father come? I have sent for him, little son. He will come if he can. That's nice. Where's Nora? I'm here, sweetheart. Nora took the wasted hand in hers, holding it gently. Try to go to sleep. Don't go away, Jeffrey murmured. I'm awfully sleepy. He half turned, nestling his head into his mother's arm. Across the bed the mother's haggard eyes met Nora's, but hope had almost died from them. If he lives through the night, there is a chance, the doctor said to David Linton. But he's very weak, poor little chap. An awful pity, such a jolly kid, too. And all through two abominable families of tinkers. However, there are no fresh cases. Can you do nothing more for Jeffrey? The doctor shook his head. I've done all that can be done. If his strength holds out, there is a bare chance. Would it be any good to get in another nurse, Mr. Linton asked? I'm afraid of the mother and Nora breaking down. If they do, we shall have to get someone else, the doctor answered. But they wouldn't leave him, neither of them has had any sleep to speak up, since the boy was taken ill. Nora is as bad as Mrs. Hunt. The nurse says that even if they are asleep, they hear Jeffrey if he whispers. I'll come again after a while, Mr. Linton. He hurried away, and David Linton went softly into the little-thatched cottage. Dusk was stealing into Jeffrey's room. The blind fluttered gently in the evening breeze. Mrs. Hunt was standing by the window, looking down at the boy, who lay sleeping, one hand in that of Nora, who knelt by the bed. She smiled up at her father. Mrs. Hunt came softly across the room, and drew him out into the passage. He may be better if he sleeps, she said. He has hardly had any real sleep since he was taken ill. Poor little man! David Linton's voice was very gentle. He's putting up a good fight, Mrs. Hunt. Oh, he's so good! The mother's eyes filled with tears. He does everything we tell him. He know he fought us a bit at first, and then we taught him he was on parade, and we were the officers, and he has done everything in soldier fashion since. I think he even tried to take his medicine smartly, until he grew too weak. But he never sleeps more than a few moments, unless he can feel one of us. It doesn't seem to matter whether it's Nora or me. Jeffrey stirred, and they heard Nora's low voice. Go to sleep, old chap. It's lights out, you know. Mustn't wake up until re-vay. Has last post gone, Jeffrey asked feebly. Oh yes, all the camp is going to sleep. His father. Yes, now you must go to sleep with him, the whole night long. Stay close, Jeffrey whispered. His weak little fingers threw her hand against his face. Then no sound came but fitful breathing. The dark filled the little room. Presently the nurse grabbed in with a shaded lamp and touched Nora's shoulder. You could get up, she whispered. Nora shook her head, pointing to the thin fingers curled in her palm. I'm all right, she murmured back. They came and went in the room from time to time. The mother holding her breath as she looked down at the quiet face. The nurse with her keen professional gaze. After a while the doctor stood for a long time behind her, not moving. Then he bent down to her. Sure you're all right. Nora nodded. Presently he crept out and soon the nurse came and sat down near the window. Mrs. Hunt has gone to sleep, she whispered as she passed. Nora was vaguely thankful for that. But nothing was very clear to her, except Jeffrey's face. Neither the slow passing of the hours nor her own cramped position that gradually became pain. Jeffrey's face and the light breathing that grew harder and harder to bear. Fear came and knelt beside her in the stillness, and the night crept on. CHAPTER 18 THE WATCH ON THE RINE Evening was closing upon a waste of muddy flats. Far as the eye could see there was no rise in the land. It lay level to the skyline, with here and there a glint of still water, and further off flat banks between which a wide river flowed sluggishly. If you cared to follow the river, you came at length to stone blockhouses, near which centuries patrolled the banks, and would probably have turned you back rudely. From the blockhouses a high fence of barbed wire, thickly criss-crossed, stretched north and south until it became a mere thread of grey stretching over the country. There was something relentless, forbidding, in that savage fence. It was the German frontier. Beyond it lay Holland, flat and peaceful, but more securely than a mountain range between the two countries, that thin grey fence barred the way. If you turned back from the centuries and followed the muddy path along the river bank, you were scarcely likely to meet anyone. The guards in the blockhouses were under strict discipline, and were not encouraged to allow friends to visit them, either from the scattered farms or from the town of Emery, where lights were beginning to glimmer faintly in the twilight. It was not safe for them to disregard regulations, since at any moment a patrol motor-launch might come shooting down the river, or a surprise visit be paid by a detachment from the battalion of infantry quartered for training purposes at Emery. Penalties for lax discipline were severe. The guards were supposed to live on the alert, both by day and by night, and the Emery Commandant considered that the fewer distractions permitted to the sentries, the more likely they were to make their watch a thorough one. There had been too many escapes of prisoners of war across the frontier. Unpleasant remarks had been made from Berlin, and the Commandant was on his metal. Therefore the river bank was purposely lonely, and any stray figure on it was likely to attract attention. A mile from the northern bank a windmill loomed dark against the horizon, a round brick building, like a big pepper-caster, with four great arms looking like crossed combs. A rough track led to it from the main road. Within the building was divided into several floors, lit by narrow windows. The heavy sails had plied lazily during the day. Now they had been secured, and two men were coming down the ladder that led from the top. On the ground floor they paused, looking discontentedly at some barrels, that were ranged against a wall, loosely covered with sacking. Those accursed barrels are leaking again, one said in German. Look! he pointed to a dark stain spreading from below, and Rudolf told me he had caulked them thoroughly. Rudolf does nothing thoroughly. Do you not know that? answered his companion scornfully. If one stands over him, well and good. If not, then all that Master Rudolf cares for is how soon he may get back to his beer-house. Well, they must be seen to in the morning. It is too late to begin the job tonight. I am in no hurry, said the first man. If you would help me, I would attend to them now. All the stuff may not be wasted. Himmel, I am not going to begin work again at this hour, answered the other with a laugh. I am not like Rudolf, but I see no enjoyment in working overtime. It will be dark as it is before we get to Emery. Come on, my friend. You are a lazy fellow, Himmel, rejoined the first man. However, the loss is not ours after all, and we should be paid in nothing extra for doing the work tonight. Have you the key? I do not forget it, two nights running, returned Himmel. What luck was that the Master did not come to-day. If he had found the mill open, I should certainly have paid dearly. Look for you indeed, said his companion. They went out, shuttering and locking the heavy oaken door behind them. Then they took the track that led to the main road. The sound of their footsteps had scarcely died away, when the sacking over one of the barrels became convulsed by an internal disturbance and fell to the floor. And Jim Linton's head popped up in the opening, like a jack-in-the-box. Come on, Desmond. They've gone at last, he whispered. Desmond's head came up cautiously from another barrel. Take care. It may only be a blind, he warned. They may come back at any moment. Jim's answer was to wriggle himself out of his narrow prison, slowly and painfully. He reached the floor and stood stretching himself. If they come back, I'll meet them with my hands free, he said. Come on, old man, we're like rats in a trap if they catch us in those beastly tobs. At least out here, with our knives and our fists. Come out and get the stiffness out of your limbs. Well, as opposed we may as well go under fighting if we have to, Desmond agreed. Jim helped him out, and they stood looking at each other. They were a sorry-looking pair. The clothes hung in rags about them. They were barefoot and heartless, and, beyond all belief, dirty. Thin to emaciation, their gaunt limbs and hollow cheeks spoke of terrible provisions. But their sunken eyes burned fiercely, and there was grim purpose in their set lips. Well, we're out of the small traps, but it seems to me we're called pretty securely in a big one, Desmond said presently. How on earth are we going to get out of this pepper pot? We'll explore, Jim said. Suddenly his eye fell on a package lying on an empty box, and he sprang towards it, tearing it open with claw-like fingers. Oh, by Jove! Food! he said. They fell upon it ravenously. Course food left by one of the men, whose beer drinking of the night before had perhaps been too heavy to leave in with my chappatite next day. But, course as it was, it was life to the two men who devoured it. It was nearly six weeks since the night when their tunnel had taken them into the world, outside the barbed wire of their prison. Six weeks, during which it had seemed, in Desmond's phrase, as though they had escaped from a small trap to find themselves caught within a big one. They had been weeks of dodging and hiding, traveling by night, trusting to map and compass and the stars, lying, by day, in woods, in ditches, under haystacks, in any hole or corner that you sheltered them, in a world that seemed full of cruel eyes looking ceaselessly for them. Backwards and forwards they had been driven, making a few miles, and then forced to retreat for many, thrown out of their chorus, often lost hopelessly, falling from one danger into another. They had never known what it was to sleep peacefully. Their food had been chiefly turnips, stolen from the fields, and eaten raw. Three times they had reached the frontier, only to be seen by the guards, fired upon. A bullet had clipped Jim's ear, and forced to turn back as the only alternative to capture. What that turning back had meant, no one but the men who endured it could ever know. Each time swift pursuit had nearly discovered them. They had once saved themselves by lying for a whole day at part of a night in a pond, with only their faces above water in a clump of raids. They had long abandoned their original objective. The point they had aimed at on the frontier was far too strongly guarded, and after two attempts to get through, they had given it up as hopeless, and had struck towards the Rhine, in faint expectation of finding a boat, and perhaps being able to slip through the sentries. They had reached the river two nights before, but only to realise that their hope was vain. No boats were to be seen, and the frowning blockhouses barred away relentlessly. So they had struck north, again trying to pierce the frontier. And the night before had encountered sentries, not men alone, but bloodhounds. The guards had contented themselves with firing a few volleys. The dogs had pursued them savagely. One jim had succeeded in killing with his knife, the other, thrown off the trail for a little by a stream down which they had waded, had tracked them down, until, almost exhausted, they had dashed in through the open door over the old mill, for once careless as to any human beings who might be there. The bloodhound had come too, and in the mill, lit by shafts of moonlight through the narrow windows, they had turned to bay. The fight had not lasted long. They were quick and desperate, and the dog had paid the penalty of his sins, or of the sins of the human brutes who had trained him. Then they had looked for concealment, finding none in the mill. The floors were bare except for the great barrels half full of a brown liquid that they could not define. Well, there's nothing for it, jim had said. There's not an inch of cover outside, and daylight will soon be here. We must empty two of these things and get inside. And the dog, Desmond had asked. Oh, we'll pickle Ponto. Together they had managed it, though the barrels text all their strength to move. The body of the bloodhound had been lowered into the brown liquid. Two of the others had been gradually emptied upon the earthen floor, with the daylight they had crawled in, drawing the sacking over them, to crouch half stifled through the long day, trembling when a step came near, clenching their noise with a sick resolve to sell their freedom dearly. It seemed incredible that they had not been discovered, and now the package of food was the last stroke of good luck. Well, blessings on Emil, or Fritz, or Ludwig, or whoever he was, jim said, eating luxuriously. This is the best blowout I've had since. Well, there isn't any since. There never was anything so good before. Never, agreed Desmond. By George I thought we were done when that energetic gentleman wanted to begin overhauling the casks. Me too, said Jim. Emil saved us there, good luck to him. They finished the last tiny crumb, and stood up. I'm a different man, Desmond said. If I have to run tonight, then the man that tries to catch me will have to do it with a bullet. That's likely enough, Jim said, laughing. Well, come and see how we're going to get out. There seemed little enough chance as they searched from floor to floor. The great door was strong enough to resist ten men. The windows were only slits, far too narrow to allow them to pass through. Even had they dared risk the noise of breaking their thick glass. Up and up they went, their hearts sinking as their bodies mounted, seeing no possible way of leaving their rent prison. Rats in a trap, said Desmond. There's nothing for it but those beastly barrels again, and to watch their chance of settling a meal at his pal when they come to-morrow. Let's look out here, Jim said. They were at the top of the mill, in a little circular place, barely large enough for them to stand upright. A low door opened upon a tiny platform with a railing from which the great sails could be worked. They were back now, but the wind was rising, and they creaked and strained at their mooring rope. Far below the silver sheet of the Rhine moved sluggishly, gleaming in the moonlight. The blockhouses stood out sharply on either bank. Wonder if they can see us as plainly as we see them, Jim said. We'll have callers here presently if they can, Desmond said. That, at least, is certain. Better come in, Jim. Jim was looking at the great sails, and then at the rope that moored them. Wait half a minute, he said. He dived into the mill and returned almost instantly with a small coil of rope. I noticed this when we came up, he said. It didn't seem long enough to be any use by itself. But if we tie it to this mooring rope, it might be long enough. To reach the ground from here, Desmond asked him in astonishment. Never, you're dreaming, Jim. Not from here, of course, but from the end of the sail. The sail, Desmond echoed. If we tie it to the end of the sails' rope, and let the mill go, we can swing out one at a time, Jim said. Bit of a drop at the bottom, of course, but I don't think it will be too much. If we wait till our sail points straight down. But, but, Desmond hesitated. The sail may not bear any weight. Neither may the rope itself. The ropes seemed good enough. They're light, but strong, Jim said. As for the sail, well, it looks pretty tough. The framework is iron. We can hold on it and test it a bit. I'd sooner risk it than be caught here, old man. Well, I'm going first, Desmond said. That you're not. It's my own little patent idea, Jim retorted. Just you play fair, you old reprobate. Look, they keep a sort of boat-hook thing here, to catch the rope when the arm is turning. Very thoughtful and handy. You'll easily get it back with that. He was knotting the two ropes as he spoke, testing them with all his strength. There, that will hold, he said. Now we'll let her go. He untied the mooring rope, and very slowly the great sails began to revolve. They tugged violently as the arm bearing the rope mounted and drew it back. It creaked and groaned, but a rope held, and nothing gave way. Jim turned his face to Desmond and the narrow platform. I'm off, he said. No end of a jolly lark, isn't it? Hold her till I get to the railing. Jim, if it's too short. Well, I'll know all about that in a minute, said Jim, with a short laugh. So long, old chap, I'll be waiting below to catch you when you bounce. He flung his legs over the railing, sitting upon it for an instant, while he gripped the rope, twining his legs around it. Then he dropped off, sliding quickly down. Sick with suspense, Desmond leaned over to watch him. Down, down he went. The mill arms rose for a moment, and then checked as his weight came on them. And slowly, slowly the great sail from which he dangled came back until it pointed straight downwards, with the clinging figure highing far below. Down until the man above could scarcely see him, and then the rope released, suddenly sprang into the air, and the sails mounted, revolving as if to make up for lost time. On the grass below a figure capered madly, a low triumphant whistle came up. Oh, thank God! said Desmond. He clutched a boat hook and leaned out, finding that his hands trembled so that the sails went round three times before he managed to catch the dangling rope. Then it was only a moment before he was on the grass beside Jim. They grinned at each other. You all right? Jim asked. Oh yes, it was pretty basely seeing you go, though. It was only a ten-foot drop at the end, said Jim, casting his eye up at the creaking sails. But it certainly was a nasty moment while one wondered if the old affair would hold. I don't believe it ever was made in Germany. It's too well done. Well, praise the pigs, we haven't got to tackle those barrels again, Desmond said. Come along, we'll try and find a hole in the old fence. They came out of the friendly shadow of the mill and trotted northwards, bending low as they ran. There was no cover in the flats, and the moonlight was all too clear, although friendly clouds darkened it from time to time. It was a windy night with promise of rain before morning. Holt! Who goes there? The sharp German words rang out suddenly. Before them, three soldiers seemed to have risen from the ground with leveled rifles. Jim and Desmond gave a despairing gasp and turned, ducking and twisting as they fled. Bullets whistled past them. Are you hit? Jim called. No, are you? No, there's nothing but the river. They raised all madly, their bare feet making no sound. Behind them the pursuit thudded, and occasionally a rifle cracked, not so much in the hope of hitting the twisting fugitives as to warn the river sentries of their coming. The Germans were not hurrying. There was no escape, they knew. Father Rhine and his guardians would take care of their quarry. Jim jogged up beside Desmond. We've just a chance, he said, if we ever get to the river. You can swim under water. Oh yes. Then keep us close to the bank as you can. The shots may go over you. We'll keep us near the blockhouses as we dare before we dive. Keep close. He was the better runner, and he drew ahead. Desmond hurried at his heels. The broad river gleamed in front. There were men with rifles silhouetted against its silver. Then a merciful cloud-bank drifted across the moon, and the shots whistled harmlessly in the sudden darkness. Jim fell the edge of the bank under his feet. Dive, he called softly. He went in gently, and Desmond followed with a splash. The sluggish water was like velvet. The tide dug him gently on, while they swam madly below the surface. Shouts ran up and down the banks, searchlights from the blockhouses lit the river, and the water was churned under a hail of machine-gun bullets, with every guard letting off his rifle into the stream in the hope of hitting something. The bombardment lasted for five minutes, and then the officer in command gave the signal to seize fire. The pity is, he observed, that we never get the bodies, the current seized to that, but the swine will hardly float back to their England. He shrugged his shoulders. That being settled, suppose we return to supper. It might have hindered the worthy captain's enjoyment had he been able to see a mud-bank fifty yards below the frontier, where two tripping men looked at each other, and laughed, and cried, and wrung each other's hands, and, in general, behaved like people bereft of raisin. Haven't got a scratch, have you, you old blighter? asked Jim ecstatically. Not one, rotten machine-gun practice, wasn't it? Sure you're all right. Rather, do you realise you're in Holland? Do you realise that no beastly home can come up of nowhere and take pot-shots at you? It's not their pot-shots I minded so much, said Jim, but to go back to a prison camp. Well, shooting would be a joke to that. Oh, by a jove, isn't it gorgeous? They pumped hands again. Now, look here, we've got to be sober, Desmond said presently. Holland is all very well, I've heard it's a nice place for skating, but neither of us has any wish to get interned here. Rather not, said Jim, I want to go home and get into uniform again, and go hunting for huns. Same here, said Desmond. Therefore we will sneak along this river until we find the boat. Go steady now, young Linton, and don't turn handsprings. Within the Dutch frontier the Rhine breaks up into a delta of navigable streams, on which little brown sailed cargo boats ploy perpetually, and the skipper of a Dutch cargo boat will do anything for money. A couple of hours' hard walking brought Jim and Desmond to a village with a little pier, near which a half dozen boats were moored. A light showed in a porthole, and he went softly on deck, and found their way below into a tiny and malodorous cabin. A stout man sprang to his feet at sight of the dripping scarecrows who invaded his privacy. South Africa had taught Desmond sufficient touch to enable him to make himself intelligible. He explained the position bravely to the mariner, and they talked at length. Once a stiff figure he said finally, turning to Jim, but he says, can do. He'll get us some clothes and drop down the river with us to Rotterdam, and find the skipper who'll get us across to Harwich, the German navy permitting, of course. The German navy, said Jim scornfully, but there asleep. He yawned hugely. I'm going to sleep too, if I have to camp on the gentleman's table. Tell him to call me when it's time to change for blighty. Reveille. It was not yet dawn when David Linton, fully dressed, came into the cottage garden. The door stood open, and he kicked off his shoes and crept into the house. Eva sat on the floor of the passage with her head in her hands. She looked up with a start as the big man came in, and scrambled to her feet. A queer, dishevelled figure with her tousled head and crumpled cap and a prom. A wave of dismay swept over Mr. Linton. Is he? he whispered, and stopped. The girl backened him into the sitting room. He's never stirred all night, she whispered. I don't know if he isn't dead, I never see anyone lie so still. The nurse wouldn't sit there like a wooden image if he was dead, would she, sir? Surely not, said David Linton, whereas Miss Nora, kneeling alongside of him, same like she was when he was here. She ain't never stirred, neither. And I'll bet a dollar she must be stiff. And Mrs. Hunt? She's in there with them. She had a little sleep, not much. No one said one word in this house all night. Why didn't you go to bed? David Linton said, looking down at the pinched old face and the stooping shoulders. He had never noticed Eva very much. Now he felt a sudden wave of pity for the little London servant. She loved Jeffrey too in her queer way. Not me, said Eva defiantly, and him very near dying. I've been boiling the kettle every hour or so, but none of them came out for tea. Will you have a cup, sir? A refusal was on his lips, but he changed his mind. Thank you, he said gently, and have one yourself, Eva. My word I'll be glad of it, she said. It's bitter cold sitting out there. She tiptoed off to the kitchen. Mr. Linton stood, hesitating for a moment, and then went along the passage. A screen blocked Jeffrey's doorway, and he peeped over it. As he did so, Mrs. Hunt moved to the end of the bed. Jeffrey lay exactly as he had been on the night before. So utterly still, that it was impossible to say whether he were alive or dead. Nora grouched beside him, her hand still against his face. Then, very slowly, Jeffrey turned and opened his eyes. Mother, he said, mother I'm so thirsty. Mrs. Hunt was beside him as his eyelids had lifted. The nurse moving swiftly handed her a little cup. Drink this, sweetheart. The mother raised his head, and Jeffrey drank eagerly. That's awful nice, he said. May I have some more? They gave him more, and put him back on the pillow. He looked at Nora, who knelt by him silently. Wake up, old Nora, his ravely, he said. She smiled at him, and put her face on his, but she did not stir. Suddenly the nurse saw Mr. Linton and beckoned to him. Carry her, she can't move. Nora felt her father's arm about her. Hold round my neck, dear, he said. The nurse was at her other side. They raised her slowly, but she clenched her teeth to keep back any sound that should tell of the agony of moving, still smiling with her eyes on Jeffrey's sleepy face. Then suddenly she grew limp in her father's arm. Fainted murmured the nurse, and a very good thing. She put her arm round her, and they carried her out between them, and put her on a sofa. I must go back to Jeffrey, the nurse said. Rub her, rub her knees hard before she comes to. It's going to hurt her, poor child. She hurried away. Jeffrey was lying quietly, his mother's head close to him. The nurse put her hand on his brow. Nice and cool, she said. You're a very good boy, Jeff. We'll think about some breakfast for you presently. Mrs. Hunt raised her white face, and the nurse's professional calmness wavered a little. She patted her shoulder. There, there, my dear, she said. He's going to do very well. Don't you worry. He'll be teaching me to ride that pony before we know where we are. She busied herself about a boy with deft touches. Now, just keep very quiet. Put mother to sleep, if you like, for she is a tired old mother. She hastened back to Nora. Is she all right? David Linton's voice was sharp with anxiety. She has never moved. The best thing for her, said the nurse, putting him aside and beginning to massage this new patient. If I can rub some of the stiffness away before she becomes conscious, it will save her a lot. Run away, there is a dear man, and tell that poor soul in the kitchen that a child is all right. He will live. Rather, that sleep has taken every trace of the fever away. He's weak, of course, but we can deal with that when there is no temperature. Tell Eva to make tea. Lots of it. We all want it. Thus it was that presently might have been seen the astounding spectacle of a grizzled Australian squatter and a little cockney-serving maid holding each other's hands in a back kitchen. I knew it was all right when I heard you coming down the hall, said Eva tearfully. No one's had that sort of step in this house since Master Jeff went sick. The dear lamb won't it be heavenly to see his muddy boob marks on me clean floor again, and him coming to me kitchen window and asking me for grope. I'll have tea in it, Jeffy, sir, and please excuse me for catching all of you like that, but I'd have bust if I hadn't held on to something. Jeffery dropped off to sleep again presently, and Mrs. Hunt came to Nora, who was conscious and extremely stiff, but otherwise too happy to care for aches and pains. They did not speak at first. Those two had gone down to the borderland of death to bring back little wandering feet. Only they looked at each other, and clung together, still trembling, though only the shadow of fear remained. After that Jeffery mended rapidly, and, having been saint-like when very ill, became just an ordinary little sinner in his convalescence, and taxed everyone's patience to keep him amused. Alison and Michael, who were anxiously watched for developing symptoms, refused to develop anything at all, remaining in the rudest health, so that they were presently given the run of all home-wood, and assisted greatly in preventing any of the tired people from feeling dull. Nora remained at the cottage, which was placed strictly in quarantine, and played with Jeffery through the slow days of weakness that the little fellow found so hard to understand. Aids to convalescence came from every quarter. Major Hunt, unable to leave France, sent parcels of such toys and books as could still be bought in half-ruined towns. Wally, who had been given four days' leave in Paris, which bored him to death, sent truly amazing packages, and the tired people void with David Linton in ransacking London for gifts for the sick room. Jeffery thought them all very kind, and would have given everything for one hour on break-in beside Mr. Linton. You'll be able to ride soon, all chap, Nora said, on his first afternoon out of bed. Will I? The boy looked scornfully at his thin legs. Look at them, they're like silly sticks. Yes, but Breakin won't mind that, and they'll get quite fat again. Well, not fat, as Jeffery showed symptoms of horror, but hard and fit, like they were before, quite useful. I do hope so, Jeffery said. I want them to be all right before father comes, and Wally. Will Wally come soon, do you think? I'm afraid not, you see. He has been to Paris. There's hardly any leave to England now. Perhaps leave will be opened by Christmas, Jeffery suggested, hopefully. Wouldn't it be a lovely Christmas if father and Wally both came? Wouldn't it just? Nora smiled at him, but the smile faded in a moment, as she walked to the window and stood, looking out. Christmas had always been such a perfect time in their lives. She looked back to years when it had always meant a season of welcoming Jim back, when every day for weeks beforehand had been gay with preparations for his return from school. Jim would arrive with his trunks bulging with surprises for Christmas morning. Wally would be with him, both keen and eager for every detail in the life of the homestead, just as ready to work as the play. All Billabong, from the Chinese gardener to Mr. Linton, hummed with the joy of their coming. Now for the first time Christmas would bring them nothing of Jim. She felt suddenly old and tired, and the feeling grew in the weeks that followed, while Jeffery gradually came back to strength and merriment, and the cottage, after a strenuous period of disinfecting, emerged from the ban of quarantine. Alison and Michael had a rapturous reunion with their mother and Jeffery, and home would grow strangely quiet without the patter of their feet. Nora returned to her post as housekeeper to find little to do. The house seemed to run on oil wheels, and Mr. Lyle and the servants united in trying to save her trouble. I don't know, is it the fever she have on her, said Catty, in the kitchen one evening. She is that quiet and pale looking, you wouldn't know her for the same girl. Oh, there is no fear of fever now, said Mr. Lyle. Well, she is not right. Is it fretting she is after Master Jim? She was that brave at first. You'd not have said there was any one dead at all. I think she's tired out, said Mr. Lyle. She has been on her great strain ever since the news of Mr. Jim came, and she is only a child. She can't go through all that, and finish up by nursing a fever patient, and then avoid paying for it. She cannot indeed, said Catty. Why wouldn't the Master take her away for a change? Indeed, it's himself looks bad enough these times, as well. We'll have the two of them ill on us if they don't take care. They might go, said Mr. Lyle thoughtfully. I'll suggest it to Mr. Linton. David Linton, indeed, would have done anything to bring back the colour to Nora's cheeks, and the light into her eyes. But when he suggested going away, she shrank from it pitifully. Ah, no, Daddy, I'm quite well, truly. Indeed, you're not, he said. Look at the way you never eat anything. Oh, I'll eat ever so much, said Nora eagerly. Only don't go away. We have work here, and we wouldn't know what to do with ourselves anywhere else. Perhaps some time, when Wally comes home, if he cares to go, we might think about it. But not now, Daddy. She hesitated. Unless, of course, you want to very much. Not unless you do, he said. Only get well, my girl. I'm quite all right, protested Nora. It was only Jeff's illness that made me a bit slack. And we've had a busy summer, haven't we? I think our little war job hasn't turned out too badly, Dad. Not too badly at all. If it hasn't been too much for my housekeeper, he said, looking at her keenly. Remember, I won't have her knocked up. I won't be, Daddy, dear, I promise, Nora said. She made a brave effort to keep his mind at ease, as the days went on, riding and walking with him, forcing herself to sing as she went about the house. She had her reward in the look in the silent man's eyes when he first heard a song on her lips, and entering with a good imitation of her old energy into the plants for the next year on the farm. But it was all imitation, and in his heart David Linton knew it. The old Nora was gone. He could only pity her with all his big heart and help her in her struggle, knowing well that it was for his sake. In his mind he began to plan the return to Australia, in the hope that Billabong will prove a tonic to her tired mind and body. And yet how could they face Billabong without Jim? He came out on the terrace one evening with a letter in his hand. Nora, he said, I've good news for you. Wally is coming home. Is he, Dad, on leave? Well, he has been wounded, but not seriously. They have been nursing him in a hospital at Boulogne, and he writes that he is better, but he is to have a fortnight's leave. It will be lovely to have him, Nora said. May I see the letter, Dad? Of course, he gave it to her. Poor old Wally. We must give him a good time, Nora. It's a pity Harry's leave didn't happen at the same time, said Nora. However, Phil will be a mate for him. They like each other awfully. Yes, agreed her father. Still, I don't think Wally wants any other mate when you are about. They were always astonishingly good in the way they overlooked my bad taste in being a girl, said Nora, with a laugh. She was running her eye over the letter. Oh, hit in the shoulder. I do hope it was in a very painful wound. Poor old boy. I wonder, will he be able to ride that? He says he's very well. But then he would, Mr. Linton said. Since we first knew him, Wally would never admit so much as a finger ache if he could possibly avoid it. I expect he'll ride if it's humanly possible. Alanby came out. Hawkins would like to see you, sir. Very well, said his master. By the way, Alanby, Mr. Wally is coming back on leave. The butler's face brightened. Is he indeed, sir? That's good news. Yes, he has been wounded, but he's all right. Mr. Lyle will certainly invent a new dish in his honour, sir, said Alanby, laughing. Is he coming soon? This week, he says. Well, I mustn't keep Hawkins waiting. He went into the house, with Alanby at his heels. It was evident that the kitchen would hear the news as quickly as the ex-surgeon could get there. Nora read the letter over again, slowly, and folded it up. Then she turned from the house and went slowly across the lawn. At the sweep of the drive there was a path that made a shortcut across the park to a style, and her feet turned into it half unconsciously. The dull apathy that had clogged her brain for weeks was suddenly gone. She felt no pleasure in the prospect that would once have been so joyful of seeing Wally. Instead her whole being was seething with a wild revolt. Wally's coming had always meant Jim. Now he would come alone, and Jim could never come again. It isn't fair, she said to herself, over and over. It isn't fair. She came to the style and paused, looking over it into a quiet lane. All her passionate hunger for Jim rose within her, choking her. She had kept him close to her at first. Lately he had slipped away so that she had no longer the dear comfort of his unseen presence that had helped her through the summer. And she wanted him, wanted him. Her tired mind and body cried for him. Always Jim and mate and brother in one. She put her head down on the railing with a dry sob. A quick step brushed through the crisp leaves carpeting the lane. She looked up. A man in rough clothes was coming towards her. Nor had Drew back, wishing she had brought the dogs with her. The place was lonely, and the evening was closing in. She turned to go, and as she did so the man broke into a clear whistle that made her pause, catching her breath. It was the marching tune of Jim's regiment. But beyond the tune itself there was something familiar in the whistle. Something that brought her back to the style, haunting, catching at the rail with her hands. Was there anyone else in the world with that whistle, with that long, free stride? He came nearer and saw her for the first time. A white-faced girl who stood and stared at him, with eyes that dared not believe, with lips that tried to speak his name, and could not. It was Jim who saw up as he spoke. Nora! Nora! He flung himself over the style and called her to him. Old mate, he said, dear little old mate. They clung together like children. Presently Nora put up her hand, feeling the rough surge of his coat. It isn't a dream, she said. Tell me it isn't, Jimmy boy. Don't let me wake up. Jim's laugh was very tender. I'm no dream, he said. All these months have been a dream, and you can wake up now. She shivered, putting her face against him. Oh, it's been so long! Then suddenly she caught his hand. Come, she said breathlessly, come quickly to that. They ran across the park hand in hand, near the house Jim paused. I say, old chap, we can't take him by surprise, he said. I was going to sneak him by the back door and get hold of Mr. Lyle and Allenby to tell you. Hadn't you better go and prepare him a bit? Yes, of course, Nora said. There's a light in the study. He's always there at this time. Come in, and I'll hide you in Allenby's pantry until I ring. They crept in by the side door, and immediately ran into the butler. How are you, Allenby? Jim inquired pleasantly. Allenby staggered back. It's Mr. Jim, he gasped, turning white. It is, so Jim, laughing. He found the butler's hand and shook it. Nora left him, and went swiftly to her father's study. She opened the door softly. David Linden was sitting in a big armed chair by the fire, bending forward and looking into the red coals. The light fell on his face and showed it old and sad, with a depth of sadness that even Nora had hardly seen. He raised his head as the door opened. Hello, my girl, he said, forcing a smile. I was just beginning to wonder where you were. I went across the park, Nora said nervously. Something in her voice made her father look sharply at her. Is anything the matter, Nora? No, she said quickly. She came close to him and put her hand on his shoulder. You look as if you had seen a ghost, he said. What is it, Nora? I thought I had, too, she stammered. But it was better than a ghost. Daddy, daddy, she broke down, clinging to him, laughing and crying. What is it? cried David Linden. For God's sake, tell me, Nora. He sprang to his feet, shaking. He's here, she said. He isn't dead. Suddenly she broke from him and ran to the bell. Jim, she said, Jim has come back to us, daddy. The door was flung open and Jim came in with great strides. Daddy, my boy, said his father. They gripped each other's hands and Nora clung to them both and sobbed and laughed all at once. Let me sit down, children, said David Linden presently, and they saw that he was trembling. I'm getting an old man, Jim. I didn't know how old I was until we lost you. You couldn't get old if you tried, said Jim proudly, and you can't lose me either, can he, Nora? And they drew together again. It seemed complete happiness just to touch each other, not to speak, to be, together. Afterwards there would be explanations, but they seemed the last thing that mattered now. They did not hear the hoot of a motor in the drive or a ring at the front door. Alanby answered it and admitted a tall subaltern. Mr. Wally, evening, Alanby, said Wally, I believe I'm a bit ahead of time. I didn't expect to get here so soon. Do you think they'll have a corner for me? Alanby laughed, a rather quavering laugh. I think you'll always find your room ready, sir, he said. I suppose you haven't heard the good news, sir. I never hear good news, said Wally shortly. What is it? Alanby eyed him doubtfully. I don't know as I oughtn't to break it to you a bit, sir, he said. You can't be over-strong yet, and you wounded and all, and never having rightly got over losing Mr. Jim, and Wally shuddered. For heaven's sake, man, stop breaking it gently, he said. What is it? In his voice was the crisp tone of the officer, and the ex-sgt came to attention smartly. It's Mr. Jim, sir, he said. He's home! For a long moment, he said, For a long moment, Wally stared at him. You're not mad, I suppose, he said slowly, or perhaps I am. Do you mean? Them huns couldn't kill him, sir. Alanby's voice rose on a note of triumph. Let me take your coat, sir, he's in the study, and you coming just puts to top on everything, sir. He reached up for Wally's coat, but the boy broke from him and ran blindly to the study, bursting in upon the group by the fire. There he stopped dead, and stared at them. Old chap, said Jim, he sprang to him and flung an arm round his shoulders. Then he gave a great sigh of utter contentment, and echoed Alanby unconsciously. Well, if that doesn't make everything just perfect, he said. End of chapter 19