Who Goes There!

"You are horribly tired – aren't you?" she faltered, looking into his worn face which two days' lack of sleep had made haggard.

He nodded, watching her.

"I'll move across the way and let you stretch out," he said.

"No – you need not."

"You look dead tired."

"I couldn't sleep that way. You – need not – move."

He nodded; his eyes closed. After he had been asleep a little while, watching him, she wondered what he might be dreaming, for a ghost of a smile edged his lips.

Then, sleeping, his arm moved, encircled her, drew her shoulder against his. And she found herself yielding, guided, relaxing, assenting, until her cheek lay against his shoulder, resting there. And after a while her eyes closed.

The fuel had given out. After a little while the last spark died. And she slept.

CHAPTER XIV

HER ENEMY

The dim light fell on them where they slept seated upright, unconscious, swaying as the car swayed. Unseen forests swept past on either side under a dark sky set with stars; low mountains loomed in the night, little rivers sparkled under trestles for a second and vanished in the dull roar of the rushing train.

The man, sunk back against the upholstered seat, lay as though dead.

But after a while the girl dreamed. It was the frontier toward which they were rushing through the night – a broad white road running between meadows set with flowers, such as she had often seen.

Two painted sentry boxes stood on either side of the boundary; the one on her side was empty, but in the other she realized that her enemy was on guard, hidden, watching her.

She desired to cross. In all her life never had she so longed for anything as she longed to cross that still, sunny, flower-bordered frontier.

She dared not. Her enemy stood hidden, armed, watching her from within that painted sentry box. She knew it. She was afraid. She knew that her enemy would step out with weapon levelled and challenge her the instant she set foot across that flowering frontier. She was afraid of his challenge, afraid even to learn what her enemy might look like.

Yet she must cross. Something had to be done – something had to be done while the sun was shining and the breeze in the meadow set the flowers all swaying. She looked desperately at the silent sentry box. Nothing moved. Yet she knew her enemy was watching her.

Then, frightened, she set one foot across the line – took one more step, very timidly.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

She knew it – she knew it! It had come – it had happened to her at last!

"F-friend!" she faltered – "but I do not know the countersign."

"Pass, friend, without the countersign!"

Could she believe her ears!

She listened again, her hand resting against her heart. But she only heard a child laughing inside the sentry box, and the smothered ruffle of preening wings.

Her dream partly awoke her; she lay very still, vaguely conscious of where her cheek was resting, then closed her eyes to seek her enemy again among her dreams.

CHAPTER XV

IN CONFIDENCE

They awoke with a light shining in their eyes; the guard stood on the running rail, one hand on the knob of the door.

"The frontier," he said. "Descend if you please for the customs, and kindly have your papers ready."

The girl's blue eyes were sleepy and humorous as she rested her hand on his arm to rise.

"Are we ever to have a good night's sleep again?" she murmured as he aided her to descend in the lantern-lit darkness.

"It's our punishment," he said.

"For what, please?"

"For ever doubting each other."

She said nothing. A soldier picked up their luggage and carried it across the platform where another train stood waiting.

And all at once Guild realized that the soldiers around the station and custom-house were not Belgians but Germans. He had forgotten that, and it gave him a distinct shock.

As he and Karen, following the soldier, entered the long room in the custom-house, an officer all in sea-grey from the shrouded spike on his helmet to his ankles came forward and saluted; and Guild coolly lifted his cap.

"Have I by chance the honour of addressing Herr Guild?" asked the officer.

"I am Herr Guild."

"And – gnädiges Fräulein?" – at salute and very rigid.

"Fräulein Girard."

"The gracious young lady has credentials? – a ring, perhaps?"

Karen drew off her glove, slipped the ring from her finger. A soldier held up a lantern; the lieutenant adjusted a single eye-glass, scrutinized the ring, returned it with a tight-waisted bow.

"Papers in order!" he said, turning to the customs officials. "Pass that luggage without inspection!"

He was very polite. He escorted them to the Belgian train, found an empty compartment for them, thanked them with empressement, and retired into the darkness which had hatched him.

As the train started Karen said in a low voice: "Would you care to call that officer a barbarian, Kervyn?"

"You haven't seen Louvain. But probably that officer has – through his monocle."

She sighed. "Are we to – differ again? I am so sleepy."

This time he was entirely awake and responsible for his actions. So was she. But she was really very tired, she remembered, when conscience began to make her uncomfortable and call her to account.