If she married Lancelot it would be her own, or if she married anyone she could have her horses."An' I clane forgot that Mr. Darby sent two notes,"—Phil produced a letter—-"to be givin' immaydiate; but when I seen the horses go——" Phil wept afresh.For one moment Gheena had looked at the car which the chauffeur was winding up, then she opened the letter."Don't worry, little girl, I've bought the lot. They're here for you to hunt to-morrow, and at any time.""God save us! couldn't he lave you alone?" said Phil, as Gheena leant against a manger, sobbing openly again.Darby, always her friend, kind, crippled Darby—Darby, whose eyes followed her. If—if——The housemaid's bicycle was at the kitchen door. Gheena looked at it.Voices sounded across the yard. A cart was coming in."An' God help us! I niver got the pison the Masther sent for, an' he will ate the face off me now. Prussian acid he wanted, an' I declare I forgot it. Sure I can tell him they're stockin' none of thim German affairs now."Gheena looked at her red cur. In a moment she was on the bicycle, which was far too short for her, and with her knees stuck up in unpleasant publicity, was tearing down the avenue."Light in her head to be makin' afther them now," said Phil bitterly. "An' it all the Masther's fault."The opal glow faded to a silver dusk with little mist wraiths in the hollows, and light glint of damp on the budding leaves. Darby was alone in his library before a glowing peat fire, his dogs at his feet, when they got up growling quite politely as the door was flung open and Gheena came in.She was white, rings showed round her eyes, her breath coming short."It was the length of Maria's legs which made me so tired," she said. "Don't stare, Darby. Oh, Darby!"She came across, holding out cold trembling hands.Darby rang the bell sharply, ordering strong coffee."I came, Darby"—she knelt down, the glow of the fire-light turning her hair to bronze—"I came, because you've always helped me, to know if you'd—marry me, Darby?"He held the cold hands more closely, he hid the bitter pain which leapt into his eyes. She had come to offer herself to the man who had loved her so long, simply that she might be free."It would be a poor thing to do," he said slowly; "there is something more than freedom and paying out Dearest George in matrimony, Gheena, something more."Gheena showed no surprise. It seemed to her natural that her reasons should be so plain."But you like me, Darby, and if you won't, I'll ask the Professor, or someone."He looked for one glimpse of love in her eyes, for anything except the complete trust and the weariness of the overstrained face, as she explained that she would not endure for four years, and that she wanted a friend."Four years, or for ever?" he said. "Gheena, it hurts just a bit." Then he dropped her hands, putting his on her head. It came to him that he was strong enough to bear an engagement, to see her through her troubles, until he stepped back with just a little more pain to bear, and left her happy. And—perhaps—the strongest of men dream—cripple as he was.So Darby said "Right." He said it quite cheerfully. "And here's coffee. You are just worn out, dear, from that ride.""It was Maria's legs," said Gheena. "Darby, you'll drive me back, and how tired you look! But aren't you glad?"He got up, limping, to look for matches. A cripple, a maimed, scarred thing, to whom this light offering of what never could be love had hurt worse than his injuries. Gheena would never care for him. He was just old Darby to her. She came to him to help her as she had done all her life. She could probably even marry him just as old Darby, and drag out her life cheerily, hurting him, never knowing happiness herself."I couldn't do much walking with you, Gheena," he said."But you're so much better," she answered. "And I shouldn't know you if you could walk fast now, Darby. And you can let your sister have this house; she always wants it and it's splendid!"The awful presence of Dearest George, enduring the night air, was on the doorstep when they drove up to Castle Freyne.He said icily that old friend as Darby was, he could not have his stepdaughter disappearing in this fashion, and that some change in discipline must be made."And all my muscles are stiff from the length of Maria's legs," said Gheena cheerily. "And you'd better see about the Dower House, Dearest, because I am going to be married.""You've persuaded her," gasped Dearest George."To Darby," said Gheena, lifting Crabbit. "To Darby Dillon, Dearest, so don't buy the Prussic acid now. Let me alone.""To Darby Dillon!" repeated Dearest George, sitting down on the damp steps.CHAPTER XVIBasil Stafford offered his congratulations on almost the same spot where the three had stood in the autumn.It was fair spring now, nearly May, with a blue glint on the water. But Gheena had been out for a swim and had come in glowing, while Crabbit still pursued gulls and hoped to catch one.Darby sat in a sheltered nook. His face had grown thinner; some inward war had drawn lines round his mouth. A lithe figure sat beside him—Psyche, with some of her light gaiety gone too. Basil remarked that he had come to congratulate, and he also looked quiet and subdued."Oh, thank you very much," said Gheena. "Lancelot had three helpings of beefsteak pie yesterday, and Dearest is glooming at the Dower House over the expense of putting in radiators. I'll never let mother go there, of course, but the radiators won't matter.""Even in war time," said Basil thoughtfully. "Mr. Freyne looks quite thin.""He says we shall lose the war now and nothing will matter," said Psyche, "and he's going out to drive a motor ambulance if they'll take him.""Everyone," said Gheena, "is doing something now."Basil Stafford sat down in the shelter."And perhaps I am too," he said a little impatiently, "even if it's not what people think."There was open hostility in Gheena's eyes when she replied that perhaps he was.She climbed the cliff lightly, slow Darby left behind then jumped back again and slipped, Stafford springing up to help her, both young and strong and whole-limbed. Darby's sticks went slowly and heavily as he toiled up."Just here," he said, "we thought of the scratch pack. I have not sent them back yet, they amuse me; but they must go next week, after one more hunt.""It will be so awful when one can't see you hunting hounds." Little Psyche's eyes were full of the admiration which Darby never saw in anyone else's."Which you think I do well," he said, laughing.Psyche replied that he did everything well, and Gheena came up the cliffs again, kindness in her eyes, friendship; but as he limped on, Darby had seen her look at Basil Stafford. The lines of pain deepened in Darby's face; then he laughed again. He was no worse off than he had been six months before, and he had helped Gheena on. Now that she was engaged, with the prospect of taking over her inheritance when she chose, Dearest George was perpetually apologetic and almost wistfully anxious to please. He had referred to the engagement to his wife as being in the nature of a trench mortar—something hurled at him when he slept."Look here, Miss Freyne," Stafford stopped Gheena—"I want you not to wait on the cliffs at night, or go out in your boat, but especially at night. The submarines are blockading and they've been seen near here."Gheena said cheerfully that they were not likely to waste a torpedo upon her."Supposing someone saw you out alone. It's possible. I heard you were off near the point two nights ago.""I am looking for the base," said Gheena composedly. "I shall find it too."Here Mr. Stafford made the grievous mistake of telling her hotly that no one wanted her to look for it, and, in fact, that she was not to. The fewer people on the cliff the better, and certain people would be pleased if she did not wander there."That I can understand," said Miss Freyne, adding that she would go out when and where she chose, and after this haughty outburst her face clouding and growing sad.Mrs. De Burgho Keane was at the house to offer congratulations. She did it quite gracefully, suggesting that Darby's injuries would keep Gheena from gadding about quite as much as most young women did, once that she knew they would be happy."Poor Lancelot, of course, will never go back to be killed," she added pleasantly. "He was too young for you, Gheena."Gheena jumped up to kiss Violet Weston, and to remove her to the far end of the room, where they whispered together impolitely. A fresh expedition along the coast was planned, but before it came off Gheena went off alone in her new two-seater, going down the same narrow lane which she had last driven down with Darby, and pulling up only just in time on the plateau.The beauty and chill of spring lay on the sea; a silver shade touched the brightest cold blue; little speckles of white, steel edged, rimmed the tiny waves. The illusiveness of girlhood was in the mood of the day, fair and yet too bright for warmth. Rock roses crouched in the clefts of the stones: little yellow flowers, and here and there a rare blue gentian brilliant against the green. Fern prongs were pushing up, and the white gulls sailed happily on the water, mocking Crabbit's barks.And on the water and in it, mischief—lurking demons down below; machines oiled by human relentlessness, dealing swift death gladly to the toilers of the sea.Amid the sheen and the glitter Gheena almost brought herself to believe that she saw the black rim of a periscope.It was only a floating piece of wood dipping up and down, but it made the girl spring forward and over the edge of the cliff down on to the black rocks bared by the tide—a low one. There was only one cave which she wanted to see, the cave close by the hidden one which Crabbit had gone into. "Hi, Crabbit, leave these gulls!" said Gheena; "I want you." She peered into the hole which Crabbit had leapt through, wrinkled her nostrils, wrinkled them again, her heart thumping. She scrambled into the open cave as if she were Grandjer hot on a fox, her eyes sparkling and yet full of fear. It was a slimy cave, with a wide creek leading into it when the tide was high. A large boulder in the cavern stood in a pool of cold dank water. Gheena removed her shoes and splashed into the pool, squeezing between the brown boulder and the wall; the pool deepened, but next moment, with a scream, she felt a hole leading into the next cave. Switch went her small electric torch, and she saw the dark gap, completely invisible from the far side of the boulder. Beyond it was a kind of open ledge quite wide enough for a man to pass through comfortably. Next moment Gheena and Crabbit were peering into the further cave, the torch making an elusive glimmer, and still her heart thumped heavily.The lower half was damp where the tide poured in, but the torch glimmered.... The upper and dry range of irregular ledges was covered with tins of petrol.It was so easy to see that Gheena knew some light must come from above, and then saw a little tunnel going to the outer world, enough to put a little light and air into the place.The easiness of rowing stores up the creek and putting them through was now completely apparent; and, at the same time, with a crisp chill not caused by the atmosphere, Gheena remembered that this meant war, and that the man who had put the petrol there would probably add Miss Freyne and Crabbit to his store if he found them. Which man? She slipped out of the cave, splashed through the pool, noticed how an overhanging rock almost completely hid the aperture, and bolted for sunlight with her shoes in her hands. She put them on her numbed feet outside, and then going back to the car, absolutely sat down to think.The elusive quarry of her chase stood before her with bared teeth, and, never having expected to catch it, Gheena Freyne backed away. This was grave. It was war. Something outside light confidences to Violet Weston, or the Professor. The trouble grew deeper in her eyes. It was something to watch for herself.A boat in the shadows outside by the point would see the submarine run andsee who supplied it. Gheena shivered, and Crabbit went down to catch a gull.Yes, who supplied it? Her eyes were heavy. If she went to the coastguards, their clumsy zeal would be sure to muddle everything. "They would sit about the rocks like a lot of puffins," said Gheena aloud, "and pretend they were looking for shrimps in May." General Brownlow must be written to, but ... Behind it all lurked a fear deeper than she had felt in the cold cave. The fear of whom she might see rowing out in the boat ... the betrayer ... a paid German agent and, doubtless, spy.It was a very long way to row round from Castle Freyne, but no great distance from the Dower House, and no comment would be made if she took a boat over there, left it and walked back. Phil must paint both grey to match the night ... and then ...Who did it?Crabbit sat on the car when he was whistled for; he was blighted and put out. These gulls were afraid of him, and barking from pinnacles of rock was not amusing.Gheena pressed her self-starter, wheeled round perilously and bumped up the lane, her discovery weighing her down. Who supplied the petrol? Whose face would she see when she watched from the shadows?She saw Mr. Basil Stafford's at that moment, and nearly ran into him, when he failed to put his long-nosed car out of her way."If you don't keep off those cliffs," he said irritably, "we shall have to make them forbidden ground, Miss Freyne. It's just getting serious now, you see."She stared at him moodily. Basil Stafford's eyes flashed. "You've ... found something?" he burst out, leaning across.Gheena saw a sullen-looking little revolver lying beside him."I found a new cave full of rocks," she said nervously; "that—that was all.""You'll tell me if you do—promise," he said earnestly."When I tell anyone it will probably be you," said Gheena drearily. "And do get out of the way.... I'm cold."Even Dearest George's complete depression, because he had already caught a chill in the garden at Girtnamurragh, failed to cheer Gheena. The one-time tyrant humbly asked her where she had been, and himself helping her to her favourite omelette could not make Gheena smile.The magnitude of her discovery frightened her. They were really at war, and there was really someone paid by an enemy—the real enemy ... and this close to her own home....The loss of a small and favourite bangle also worried her. If the spies found it they would probably track her. They would know someone had been there.Darby, with the sadness deepening in his kind eyes, wondered what was the matter when she sat on the arm of his chair, and, with her hand in his, was palpably almost unaware of his presence in the world. He dropped the slight brown little hand and Gheena stroked Crabbit with it. She sat close to him, without a trace of self-consciousness. He was Darby, the friend who had helped her, and marriage was a thing they could talk of some day.Psyche, sitting on the fender stool, had seen the dropped hand go absently to Crabbit's head, and her eyes darkened.Violet Weston's coming to tea roused Gheena up, but she looked nervous instead of pleased."Gheena," said Darby, "has been submarine hunting and is feeling the effects of failure; she is depressed."Mrs. Weston said lightly that she believed it was all nonsense. They might find out something—she nudged Gheena—but it would not be petrol bases on the coast."Despair and tight shoes," said Mrs. Weston, "stopped me looking; but, of course, I'll go with you again, Gheena dear.""I'm not going to look any more," said Gheena heavily.Violet Weston smiled as she admired her mauve suede shoes. She said that mysterious motor-cyclists passed through the village when all respectable motor-cyclists ought to be in bed, and wondered who they could be. She had heard them twice or three times, and had told Mr. Keefe about them.Just then Mr. Keefe, trying to look as if his visit was accidental, blushed behind Naylour, and explained a lengthy drive and the tempting vicinity of Castle Freyne. When Mrs. Weston, who made room for him beside her on the sofa, continued to talk about the motor-bicycles, he grew pinker and looked embarrassed.It seemed to Mr. Keefe that a great deal of nonsense was talked about bases and so forth."But the fact remains," said Darby, "that someone supplies the beggars, or they would not attempt this blockade they are so cock-sure of...." Then he muttered "The O'Tooles" in tones of depression.The clergyman arrived primed with war news and plans. In his opinion the Allies had only just to go there and move up there, and pinch Germany in one place and nip her in another, and Poof! it was over. Just a little dash. Nothing more."If Napoleon O'Toole," murmured Darby—"oh, thank you, Gheena, I could get my own, really."It was part of the hurt to have Gheena wait upon him, to see her jump lightly for hot cakes, a fresh cup of tea."Much better let me ... the table's miles away. Mum always entrenches over there."Mrs. Freyne poured out nervously, asking everyone's advice as to sugar and cream, and confusing matters greatly by taking the last person's unswervingly until she asked someone else's.Dearest George, sneezing gloomily, had no words even to offer upon the English advance. He did think the submarines would be nasty; the sea was so beastly chilly, but land tactics had ceased to interest him, and he only grunted.They had just finished tea when Stafford drove to the door and sent in for Mr. Freyne, saying he was going to Cortra on business."He motors such a lot," said Mrs. Weston softly—"at night and all times; that car is a fifty sixty, and almost silent. He looked excited or worried."Gheena did not answer, she was watching the sea."Gheena, you did not come on anything to-day?" Mrs. Weston put an arm round Gheena, bent down to speak to her, kissing the soft cheek."Only a severe chill," said Gheena, growing red.Basil Stafford slipped away. He looked worn out, his eyes haggard, as though from lack of sleep. With another heavy sigh Gheena Freyne peered seawards.In the drawing-room, Darby and Psyche left alone, drew near to the fire."When you are married——" began Psyche."When!" said Darby. "Does it strike you, sprite, that I should marry a girl who scarcely thinks of me, and that it would take a great deal of love to make anyone forget my leg and my scars?"Psyche replied very sharply that she did not think so at all, and poked the fire until it collapsed in ruins."Didn't I tell Mrs. Malone to co*nn*fine them?" rose Phil's voice outside. "Thim haythin Germans of Faverolly's, an' into the spring beds agin with them. I'll hunt thim, Ma'am." Further yells and shoos from Phil, with some comments added to the effect that thim beds wasn't Mongs or Pars, and advice to make in for thimselves before Crabbit turned them into sossidges.Psyche went to the window."Crabbit has removed several tails," she said, "and there is no place like Ireland. I never want to live out of it.""No?" said Darby absently.The elusive sunshine next day sent Gheena bathing, off to her favourite pools, where she dived under the rocks and came up a little blue. It was a treat at first. The vigorous young life seemed a thing apart from Darby's. Yet it was Gheena who was content, and Darby Dillon who looked drearily at the vista of the future. He feared the sudden thunderclap of his fortune—the nugget of gold which he had dreamt of and come upon unexpectedly was too heavy to lift, too valuable for him to hold."Some day," he said to Gheena, "we'll be blasting that rock to get you out, Gheena. You'll never come up. Will you drive with me this afternoon up the hills to see about returning my hounds?""I? Oh, take Psyche. I am going for a row," Gheena stammered a little. "I should be so cold after a swim, Darby, in the car."Basil Stafford watched her start for her row in the newly-painted, half-dry boat which Phil had spent a day at. He stood pondering as she shot out on the gay ripple of the sea and up the harbour. As cautiously as he could, he started along the cliffs, taking cover behind friendly gorse, bending inland at times, his mind occupied by possible orders which he must give to the coastguards.Gheena, rowing easily, saw the figure on the cliffs, knew it too well, a dull fog of misery creeping between her and the sunshine. What was he watching for?She made the boat secure at Girtnamurragh, told the men to leave it, and made an ostensible survey of the garden which spades and forks were rending ruthlessly. The old straggling border had been put to rights, shrubs were being clipped. Dearest George, sneezing with complete lack of spirit, stood superintending the renovations, and shivering at the chill airs off the sea."You could even shut those out if the air inside the house wasn't like a tombstone," he remarked, looking limply at Gheena."But Gheena is in no hurry, Dearest," replied Mrs. Freyne, "and the fishermen are sure to steal the vegetables if we're not here. Don't you think they might?"Gheena grinned softly, kissed her mother, and asked for a drive home; she was tired. It was opportunity sent to her. The watcher on the cliff thought it a completely natural thing when he saw her go by in the motor. The boat was now ready close to the cave.Phil was made fellow-conspirator, pledged to see that the small car was placed at night in an outhouse beyond the yard gate ready to drive.That night Gheena slipped from her side door, poor Crabbit left behind, but only walked to the harbour and rowed out a little then. The vast loneliness of the sea at night frightened her; she wanted to get out to it—to the eerie laps and gurgles among the rocks, the white gleam of the waves' caps, the voices of the night. Lying still, she saw a boat shoot past—some of the fishermen making for the village—then left the boat and was stealing home when someone rose out of the dimness and spoke to her."Gheena—Miss Freyne—you must not do it! What are you doing out like this, and war time?""And what are you doing out like this in war time?" retorted Gheena, an uncertain note in her voice.Stafford caught her by the shoulders, holding her."I ask you, I pray you, not to come out," he said. "I'll ask Darby to say...""Darby will only say what I want him to," observed Gheena; "that's what Darby is there for.""A man has some right over his future wife," said Stafford slowly.Miss Freyne murmured several indistinct beginnings of remarks, and left them all unfinished rather nervously."Poor old Darby!" she said amiably at last.Mr. Stafford returned gloomily that Darby was one of the best. If Miss Freyne meant to marry her intended——"But ... of course." Then Gheena's voice died again. She was acutely conscious of a struggle with tears as hands gripped hers for a second."You must keep off the rocks at night," said Stafford. "For a reason. Promise, I beg it of you.""If you will keep off them" was what Miss Freyne muttered in a strangled voice. "I ... ask you to." She ran away."Hang," remarked Stafford savagely.A few days later Mr. Keefe got his commission, and left at a few hours' notice, wildly excited. He was now Captain Keefe in a well-known regiment, and his mind was taken up by Sam Browne belts and revolvers. So quickly did he go that his farewell even to Mrs. Weston was a brief one, though he had just time to hint that he now thought if he survived he might ask anyone to marry him. He was replaced by a rather elderly man, whom the police seemed to regard with awed respect.Gheena had almost broken down when she had talked to Stafford, but her resolution was only deepened. She must see, and see alone the face of the man who had arranged to put petrol in those caves!For several nights the two-seater slipped unheard down the back avenue and along a narrow by-lane to the Dower House, where it was left hidden near some bushes until Gheena crept to her boat. She grew used to rowing out alone in the chill darkness in her short skirt and a thick coat, until one night, in a murky warmth, she rowed right out opposite the cave, and thought that she heard voices on the shore—voices subdued and muffled. Creeping in, Gheena saw someone on the shore—a dark, indefinite figure on the very edge of the sea. Next moment her heart throbbed suddenly, for even in the darkness she believed that she knew it. And she rowed desperately out. It felt safer at sea; she did not want to be sure. After this violent spurt she let the boat drift, lying in the trough of the swell; it would be time enough to pull when she heard the waves on the rocks. She drifted quickly. Lying there, she was almost invisible, and Gheena Freyne's heart leaped and missed a beat, a chill horror of certainty creeping up her spine as, quite naturally, the periscope of a submarine nosed up quite close to her, and a long thing like a whale showed in the dim light.It might be an English submarine. It might.... Gheena sat as a bird before an able-bodied snake, completely afraid to do anything, because just then very low and cautious murmurs commenced to discuss matters in German, and a laughing gull called. Also, it seemed to Gheena, with a German accent.One man said that he trusted that the Irish pig would be out in a moment, and a second, subservient but decided, trusted so, as if he did not, then, owing to the sudden unforeseen accidents, they were completely powerless to get away. This voice appeared to regret the blasphemous language of the Herr Captain, but repeated its statement decorously."As none of these pigs of fools ever keep a look-out," remarked a third voice, which was young and pleasant, "just do the laughing gull again, Max."The excellent imitation of the laughing gull was repeated; it now became evident from the conversation, that it should have been answered by a whistle from the cliffs. Then as Gheena began to paddle away, noiselessly she hoped, someone exclaimed blasphemously. She heard the quick splash of a swimmer in the water, and with so much to be afraid of that she forgot fear, she heard the scuffle of a man climbing into the boat."If you scream or make a sound," said someone in excellent English, "I..."Gheena said she supposed then that she had better not, and that she was only out amusing herself, and would like to go home.But the answer to this was to find herself moving as in a dream on to the back of the steel whale, with everyone buzzing round her in undertones.The captain asked her if she understood German, to which she said "No" hurriedly, believing it might be useful to pretend ignorance. She again asked politely to be allowed to go home.From the ensuing whispers she gathered that she was not likely to be allowed to. Someone argued that it would not matter, and the voice of the engineer said if they could not get away it certainly would not, and Gheena found herself being propelled down into an atmosphere reeking of oil, where light was permissible.Here a stout senior officer positively gloated at her capture. It appeared that he was even a minor admiral, whose varied manoeuvres had run the "U" boat out of fuel. He sat at a small table and glowered, while Gheena, not at all sure that she was awake, was conscious of glances of rapt admiration from the senior lieutenant, the owner of the pleasant voice ... so Gheena stood closer to him."Good evening; I want to go home," said Gheena in French, why she hardly knew. Someone had told her to address herself to the head admiral.Having addressed some abusive remarks to her in German and seen these received blankly, they decided that the strange woman did not, owing to usual lack ofKulturof her race, understand any language but her own and French.The question of the petrol appeared to be pressing. There were even low-voiced fears concerning treachery, and Gheena gathered that it was even possible that a boat must be sent to try to discover a certain cave if they were not signalled by—Gheena could not catch the name."We sent word by wireless," she heard, "to him.... It has always been right...."Gheena went very white. Who had they sent word to?The inferior admiral grunted fiercely, and motioned to Gheena to sit down. She did so, closer than ever to the lieutenant who looked good-natured. She was told she was to answer questions."In England," said the admiral, "I suppose you are all now so terrified, you only come out in the dark; that is why a young Fräulein boats alone at night!"Gheena nodded thoughtfully, but she said that it was not England exactly; in fact it was Ireland. She said it dreamily because she was sure she was asleep."Tell me"—the admiral opened a pocket-book—"what do they say of our Zeppelins in stricken London?""Zeppelins!" Gheena raised her head. "Oh, yes ... the recruiting balloons, of course," she said thoughtfully.The stout officer grew purple so slowly that it was quite interesting to watch him—a purple which straddled gradually across his big nose and lost itself in his beard."The ...Himmel... ball ... oons," he said heavily. "Balloons!" At this point the senior lieutenant developed a nasty cough and had some trouble with it."Yes, the things got up to get more recruits," said Gheena sweetly, flickering a glance at the lieutenant. "I believe some people really believe they are German, sent by the Socialists who are against the war; but we all think here they're only for recruiting. Some always come when we're short of men.""They who strike the terror, the death-shower! Girl, you rave!" The admiral got up and glared."But I was really in England once, Commander, when balloons did come," said Gheena, "and all the stories of misery are invented just for a purpose. You tell your poor cross Kaiser when you go back...."The admiral sat down again, and his big mouth opened slowly, showing discoloured teeth; a muffled voice somewhere in the background wondered anxiously when the boat would come."You see, in England we are never afraid," said Gheena carelessly, but she felt a singing in her ears then when the admiral said something about when she got to Germany."You are not going to take me back there," she whispered. Gheena Freyne realized her folly. She would be imprisoned, questioned. She would be a girl alone and friendless. "You have no right to," she said hotly. "I've uncles who are generals, and you've no right. Let me go!"If—the commander, who was lantern-jawed, cleared his throat—if the gracious Fräulein would answer a few questions intelligently, she might perhaps be landed somewhere on her own coast; they had no desire to be harsh. Every nerve in Gheena's body thumped almost painfully. She feared, above all things on earth now, the thought of going down in this close atmosphere and being taken away a prisoner. Basil Stafford had been right, it was dangerous out alone."Your spy," she said unevenly ... "the man ... I know him...."The commander then said she must certainly be taken along and imprisoned, and, still as in a dream, Gheena realized the folly of this last remark, for the admiral, fading rusty brown again, said something about troublesome prisoners and made unpleasant allusions in German to the bottom of the sea.Meantime the night was passing. The engineer sent for, suggested that they should sink and someone row in to see what had happened. He thought, in fact, that the Herr Lieutenant knew the cave.She must escape. Gheena thought she felt the boat sinking. She grew suddenly cunning. With a quick stagger she caught at the impressionable lieutenant and muttered, "Air! air! air!""A breath of air—all right," whispered Gheena, reeling.It was the lieutenant who persuaded them to let her be taken on deck for a moment. He would see to her not screaming. Gheena was helped up very tenderly, and left for a minute to herself, gripping the rail."I've English friends; I'll look after you," the lieutenant whispered, and went for brandy. The time was enough to allow her to slip her arms out of the coat and unfasten her skirt; she had knickerbockers underneath.When the perturbed Germans grunted gruffly and discussed their difficulty, Gheena sprang.She dived very prettily to the accompaniment of muffled bad language, and as she came up, heard hoarse whispers concerning immediate death if she did not return.The threats were nothing, but the sound of a splash made the girl shudder. They dared not show a light or fire a shot, but a strong swimmer would catch her easily. She dived again and swam under water until her bursting lungs seemed to crack, then shot up, treading water, to see the long whale still close to her and hear a man swimming, but not in her direction. Down again and again, until she felt too far away to be caught. Then lightly she struck out for land, and just as she did a shrill whistle sounded from the shore.But cold, fright and those underwater swims had tired Gheena out. She swam less and less vigorously, swam until her arms seemed lead and every stroke brought a panting, wheezing breath. Then for the first time Gheena cried out, a feeble cry for help as her lips tasted salt and she nearly sank. It was answered by a splash of oars and a boat shooting out close to her.The face which she had dreaded to see was outlined for a moment by the flash of an electric torch. Gheena felt warm hands hurriedly pull her into the boat, and as she crouched, completely exhausted, Basil Stafford's voice said "I told you not to" in tones of annoyed remonstrance.Some outer covering was wrapped round Gheena, whose teeth had begun to chatter. Her resentment at the lack of sympathy due to her blended with a dull sorrow which was stronger than the resentment.Looking up, Miss Freyne chattered out that she had been nearly drowned, and wished it had been completely."If you will go out alone—" Stafford's oars were making no sound in the water. "And your boat?""That's somewhere near it. You're not—going to take me out again to it?" said Gheena excitedly. "I won't go! I won't go to Germany!" And she sat up. "I must tell ... they're waiting for the oil. I must tell! Oh, why—why did you?" said Miss Freyne, breaking down into unrestrained sobs. "Oh, why is it you, and why did you?"She stopped sobbing, because it is difficult to cry comfortably when someone grips your shoulders and actually shakes you. Gheena knew that a face which she felt sure was an angry one was close to hers, and a hoarse whisper was demanding information. She gave it brokenly; she sat back with a gasp as the noiseless oars shot the boat through the water, and she could hear Stafford muttering to himself excitedly."Don't cry out, do you hear?" he whispered. "Not a sound, or I'll..."Miss Freyne snapped out "Shoot me, I suppose," with rancorous dignity and as clearly as chattering teeth would allow."To come here ... to eat our food ... with—with us ... and give oil to that Father Christmas!" were the indistinct words which reached Basil Stafford, who was breathing heavily. The boat bumped rather sharply against the shore."Don't speak," said Stafford grimly, "or it's Germany for you. This way.... Don't you dare to speak."The path in the dark might have been anywhere. Waiting for the first opportunity to slip away, Gheena was propelled along it. She heard voices, a door opened, and next minute she was in a big room, with shutters shut closely and a small fire burning in the grate.Then Gheena, recovering, demanded liberty, for it was the drawing-room at Gurtnamurragh, and these traitors were using it to hide in her house.Stafford's hands fell heavily on her shoulders; his eyes were very sad, but determined."It is all your own fault, and you will stay here until I come for you," he said coldly. "You can't get out, I'm going to nail the shutters. There are blankets in the corner and I'll stoke up the fire. Perhaps the blanket first."Gheena put one on hastily, conscious of her costume.The fury of Gheena's wrath left him unmoved. To be left there alone while the submarine was fed, to be treated in this fashion! She said several things about it all."You are, of course, quite sure that I was going out to her?" said Stafford, as he drove big nails home."I was afraid. I went alone because I was half sure." Gheena checked herself. "I found out your cave days ago ... and I've watched." She began to cry again.He came close to her. Something lit up his eyes."You came out alone—because you were sure you would find me. That was why you went alone; and having found me, you must tell—you would have told—or would you?""England first," said Gheena, her voice mixing pride and broken dreariness. "But...""Then you won't!" he snapped out quite cheerfully, banging the door.But he came back with water for the kettle, and pointed out that there was tea in the basket near the fire.Then he left again. Gheena heard the muffled voices and silence fell. She was far too angry to be frightened.Wrapping herself as thoroughly as possible in a blanket, she put the kettle on, piled up the fire and stamped wrathfully.The events of the night now felt to her as though she had been through an evil dream which could not be real—a submarine close in—waiting for petrol—and all their suspicions realized. Basil Stafford was that vile but necessary thing, a spy."As I actually met him going out to it," said Gheena wearily—"actually met him—there is no mistake now."Gheena did not cry out. Patriotism fought with something which for a time worsted it completely. Then, rousing herself, she cooed dolefully, listening to the echo of the cry ringing through the empty house.Inspiration came to her. The iron fastenings of the old shutters, if the wood could be burnt round them, might be wrenched free. Gheena seized a small piece of broken iron paling which someone had used as a poker and stuck it into the glowing heat.In a very short time she had burnt quite a good sized hole, and the room was acrid with the smell of charred wood. Someone had left a candle on the table. Gheena lighted it to peer at her work. Having seen with dismay that it would take another half-hour before she could even hope to move the bar, Gheena swung round to see Stafford's face thrust into the room."Lights!" he said bitterly. "I might have known I could not trust you."Gheena repeated the word "trust" rather blankly, and gathered her blanket round her."Lights—here," he said again. "Of course, nothing may happen, but that's not your fault, is it?" He seized the candle.The door banged. This language from a detected criminal had bereft Gheena of speech.She put the poker back slowly, to start in real fear, for, as if conjured up by the speck of light, voices sounded, rang in anger, bare and almost animal-like in its sound, and came the paff-paff of revolver shots—then silence—then voices again."Safe and sound we has him, an' I near to be shot"—this was the voice of Thomas Hassett, one of the coastguards—"safe and sound with the stroke Ned Murphy drew on him."Ned Murphy was the village sergeant.Gheena adjusted her blanket and took out the poker absently, her face very white.They—had caught Basil Stafford—other people were on the watch. It was all over now.Paff-paff—more shots, the noise of running feet, a yell of someone in pain."God save us! the arrum is hanging on ye, Misther Stafford," said a sympathetic voice; "an' who could belt away for the docther as quick as ye could yerself in ye're cyar?""They to come along to the wrong sphot, when ye were afther bringin' in Miss Gheena, an' we only three. Will I run a taste ov rope around the cross one, sir? He is lively.""I tell you I—— Put it down, Mr. Stafford." Gheena heard the Professor's voice, as in English, with no trace of German accent, he entreated someone not to be an idiot. The door was flung open. Two coastguards tenderly helped in a man who crumbled and tottered between them. With a gasp of terror Gheena recognized the polite lieutenant, and her first thought was that she wished he had not seen her in a blanket.Opening wider, the door admitted the Professor holding out something and talking volubly, and Basil Stafford, his left arm hanging down and his right gripping a revolver."And I—thought," said Stafford apologetically to the Professor, "that it might be you."The Professor grinned sweetly; he looked at the wounded officer."The sorra a thing wrong with him but a clip on the head, Miss," said Mr. Dunne. "Let ye not be frightened. He'll be all right when he sees clear again, an' the sthars is in."Gheena now observed that Stafford had no coat on, and realized that she was wearing it; she said so nervously.He looked at her rather sternly."So you were determined," he said quietly, "and you found a way. It brought them here, anyhow, before I got away."Gheena let the poker fall slowly; it lay upon the end of her blanket, singeing it—yes, it was her work.Stafford soon went out, Murphy with him. The German lieutenant sat up and groaned heavily. He stared a little wildly when Gheena proffered him hot tea."Treachery," he said bitterly. "I was sent out to look round as the man did not come, and we rowed to the signal—three flashes—a stop and one."Gheena looked thoughtfully at the guilty candle.The Professor, breaking into fluent German, questioned rapidly, and the lieutenant replied sulkily to the effect that he did not believe the "U" boat could safely go down again. Then he fell into a species of stupor, breathing heavily."Light schulls they have," said Murphy pleasantly. "Any of the little sthrokes I dhrew on him wouldn't have med one of us miss a pint of porther?"Completely bewildered, forgetting even her blanket, Gheena breathed fast and stared.The old Professor, who appeared to have thrown off several years of life, chuckled pleasantly.Then he ceased chuckling to ask gravely if she could possibly keep a secret, and make no mention of this night's adventuring to anyone save Darby."It was your light which did it," he said. "And Stafford here practically alone. You flashed it; I saw the gleam. He says he told you not to.""You'll imprison him—or——" Gheena's voice was unsteady.The Professor said "With other prisoners of war," in an absent voice, and thought Irish girls were impressionable."But a spy—a prisoner of war!" Gheena's head was down; she hid her eyes.Here the Professor remarked a little impatiently that the officer of an enemy ship was not a spy."Stafford found out the eyrie a week ago"—the old Professor chuckled again—"and, of course, I got to hear of it. He had men waiting in that cave until, Murphy tells me, they came out whitened like celery in the dark. And he got Guinane there easily last night. He told me all about it outside just now. Guinane has given it all away.""But—then, who——?" Gheena sat down on an upturned box; she felt she needed support.The Professor merely chuckled cryptically, making no reply."It's not Mr. Stafford?" said Gheena.At this the old gentleman also sat down on another box which was not up to his weight. Extracting himself from the ruins, he said "You too," and abused the flimsy nature of grocery boxes."The fellow's store full of petrol," grunted the Professor—"his new house, y'know. Guinane was well paid."Ned Murphy thrust an anxious face into the room. "If any could guide the mother, sir?" he whispered. "He is bleedin' and a shiver sot in on him, an' he won't come anear the fire, but mutherin' words half delarious. If we could get him where he'd be cared an' there wouldn't be talk! Th' ould docther, if ye brings him here, 'll be chatterin' for all the world like a magpie."Gheena said sharply that she could drive the car, but not in a blanket.Mr. Murphy was a married man. He produced a penknife eloquently, and suggested a couple of slashes an' a taste of twine would make a skhirt while ye'd be waitin'.Gheena, still bewildered, stood in meek silence, her blanket reft from her to be rent in twain. The skirt manufactured by Murphy would not have done for Ascot, but it complied with decency. Very quietly the girl went out into the still, dim night, looking back once at the polite lieutenant lying in stupor on the floor. She was not at all sure that he would not vanish.Someone walking feebly was helped out by two coastguards. Gheena did not turn to look; she kept her head down."And for Heaven's sake remember you're not driving Darby's tin-kettle twelve-power," said a weak but unashamed voice, "and go slow. I wanted them to get a donkey cart for me."Gheena said "Where to?" as she slipped the clutch—was she in this nightmare to drive to the county gaol twelve miles away? The Professor replied, "Why, Mrs. Maloney's, of course!" rather peevishly. He was watching the nearness of the banks in the narrow lane and the pace at which their dark shapes were sliding by.But Gheena drove skilfully; she slid round the corner, and the car seemed to leap forward at the road."Steady; there is not much room," said the Professor, "and Murphy was on the dickey.""Begonnes, I am here still, sir," said Murphy cheerlessly, "though that whip around near spilt me."The gleam of dawn was in the east, a pinky yellow glow chasing grey night away.They slipped past sleeping Castle Freyne and into the village, with the little dark houses clinging to the edge of the cliff; dun shapes growing just visible. They pulled up with complete disregard for Stafford's tyres, and he was helped out; the hall door of his small house stood open, ready for his return at any time. Gheena's lips tightened as she saw it. She had now to walk home before any light came. She stood uncertain, waiting.The Professor bustled out to order her in, saying that Basil was feverish; they had sent for the doctor.Basil was on the sofa in his dressing-gown; he looked wan and lined, and he had one hand to his chest as if in pain."I'm sorry," he said quickly, "for what happened.""Yes"—Gheena held her own hand to her throat because it hurt her—"yes, it was all my fault.""But I simply had to shut you up," he said. "We were watching at the cave, and your torpedo-destroying in that little boat was spoiling everything. Of course, I never expected to find you swimming. Then you flashed that light, and the fellows we caught—they thought that it was Guinane's lamp and rowed right in to us; they fought. I told you not to poke round—but—but—they nearly caught you and took you away, and I've never said——"Here Stafford's voice grew very weak. He sipped something out of a tumbler."You were watching in the cave to catch Germans? You haven't been spying? Haven't sold yourself for money?" Gheena's voice took a clearer note of sheer clear joy."Oh, look here!" said Stafford a little grumpily. "It hurts. I used to watch you and that Western woman. I've learnt a bit of lip language and it hurts, besides being ridiculous. Now do I look like a spy?"To which Miss Freyne replied incoherently that he had understood they always looked like unspies—that was, no spies—and being young and nice-looking and so on—and she grew confused.Stafford put his hand on hers for a moment."I was in a regiment in India," he said. "Got a funny wound on a little frontier expedition, so they wouldn't pass me for active service. It's caught again now. And I had a friend; I badgered him until they sent me here to spy round on this coast—so they said. And all the time they had a regular secret service man at it, and were only keeping me quiet for friendship's sake. But I did find out something in the end. There was I watching the Professor, and fellows grinning as they read my reports about him. I knew you suspected me," he went on, "and even that you believed the money which I spoke of was German money. And it's only lately I realized that—that it hurt you to believe it, Gheena. You went alone so that no one else might see me. I hope to get back to my regiment next year to do real work. And—if you gave me this"—he fumbled at a note-case—"will you take it back and say it was not deserved?"He pulled out a note-case and out of it a feather, once white. Gheena took it to see it was now stained red in one place—red with blood."I never gave it," she whispered. "Not that.""Gheena," said Stafford, sitting up, "you didn't give it; it was Miss O'Toole. Oh, I say, Gheena! And you belong to Darby! Oh, I say, and I cared so much!"Gheena was sobbing almost wildly over the little stained plume."But—I belong to Darby," she said, when she could speak. Somehow, brought suddenly face to face with the naked realities of life, explanations seemed useless things."Gone," said the Professor, running in, "off in his car." He sat down and groaned. "Waiting too long, as usual!" he stormed."Who has gone?" Gheena hid her face."Mrs. Weston, otherwise Heinrich Helshumer. She's left all there—shoes and stockings, and you might as well look for needles in hay, and she has a wireless there.""Mrs. Weston," said Gheena weakly."Her man gave her away when we cornered him. I'd suspected for some time. I knew from her playing on the fiddle. What is it, Stafford?""The dam fellow—was always fussing near you," said Stafford, and fainted.
If she married Lancelot it would be her own, or if she married anyone she could have her horses.
"An' I clane forgot that Mr. Darby sent two notes,"—Phil produced a letter—-"to be givin' immaydiate; but when I seen the horses go——" Phil wept afresh.
For one moment Gheena had looked at the car which the chauffeur was winding up, then she opened the letter.
"Don't worry, little girl, I've bought the lot. They're here for you to hunt to-morrow, and at any time."
"God save us! couldn't he lave you alone?" said Phil, as Gheena leant against a manger, sobbing openly again.
Darby, always her friend, kind, crippled Darby—Darby, whose eyes followed her. If—if——
The housemaid's bicycle was at the kitchen door. Gheena looked at it.
Voices sounded across the yard. A cart was coming in.
"An' God help us! I niver got the pison the Masther sent for, an' he will ate the face off me now. Prussian acid he wanted, an' I declare I forgot it. Sure I can tell him they're stockin' none of thim German affairs now."
Gheena looked at her red cur. In a moment she was on the bicycle, which was far too short for her, and with her knees stuck up in unpleasant publicity, was tearing down the avenue.
"Light in her head to be makin' afther them now," said Phil bitterly. "An' it all the Masther's fault."
The opal glow faded to a silver dusk with little mist wraiths in the hollows, and light glint of damp on the budding leaves. Darby was alone in his library before a glowing peat fire, his dogs at his feet, when they got up growling quite politely as the door was flung open and Gheena came in.
She was white, rings showed round her eyes, her breath coming short.
"It was the length of Maria's legs which made me so tired," she said. "Don't stare, Darby. Oh, Darby!"
She came across, holding out cold trembling hands.
Darby rang the bell sharply, ordering strong coffee.
"I came, Darby"—she knelt down, the glow of the fire-light turning her hair to bronze—"I came, because you've always helped me, to know if you'd—marry me, Darby?"
He held the cold hands more closely, he hid the bitter pain which leapt into his eyes. She had come to offer herself to the man who had loved her so long, simply that she might be free.
"It would be a poor thing to do," he said slowly; "there is something more than freedom and paying out Dearest George in matrimony, Gheena, something more."
Gheena showed no surprise. It seemed to her natural that her reasons should be so plain.
"But you like me, Darby, and if you won't, I'll ask the Professor, or someone."
He looked for one glimpse of love in her eyes, for anything except the complete trust and the weariness of the overstrained face, as she explained that she would not endure for four years, and that she wanted a friend.
"Four years, or for ever?" he said. "Gheena, it hurts just a bit." Then he dropped her hands, putting his on her head. It came to him that he was strong enough to bear an engagement, to see her through her troubles, until he stepped back with just a little more pain to bear, and left her happy. And—perhaps—the strongest of men dream—cripple as he was.
So Darby said "Right." He said it quite cheerfully. "And here's coffee. You are just worn out, dear, from that ride."
"It was Maria's legs," said Gheena. "Darby, you'll drive me back, and how tired you look! But aren't you glad?"
He got up, limping, to look for matches. A cripple, a maimed, scarred thing, to whom this light offering of what never could be love had hurt worse than his injuries. Gheena would never care for him. He was just old Darby to her. She came to him to help her as she had done all her life. She could probably even marry him just as old Darby, and drag out her life cheerily, hurting him, never knowing happiness herself.
"I couldn't do much walking with you, Gheena," he said.
"But you're so much better," she answered. "And I shouldn't know you if you could walk fast now, Darby. And you can let your sister have this house; she always wants it and it's splendid!"
The awful presence of Dearest George, enduring the night air, was on the doorstep when they drove up to Castle Freyne.
He said icily that old friend as Darby was, he could not have his stepdaughter disappearing in this fashion, and that some change in discipline must be made.
"And all my muscles are stiff from the length of Maria's legs," said Gheena cheerily. "And you'd better see about the Dower House, Dearest, because I am going to be married."
"You've persuaded her," gasped Dearest George.
"To Darby," said Gheena, lifting Crabbit. "To Darby Dillon, Dearest, so don't buy the Prussic acid now. Let me alone."
"To Darby Dillon!" repeated Dearest George, sitting down on the damp steps.
CHAPTER XVI
Basil Stafford offered his congratulations on almost the same spot where the three had stood in the autumn.
It was fair spring now, nearly May, with a blue glint on the water. But Gheena had been out for a swim and had come in glowing, while Crabbit still pursued gulls and hoped to catch one.
Darby sat in a sheltered nook. His face had grown thinner; some inward war had drawn lines round his mouth. A lithe figure sat beside him—Psyche, with some of her light gaiety gone too. Basil remarked that he had come to congratulate, and he also looked quiet and subdued.
"Oh, thank you very much," said Gheena. "Lancelot had three helpings of beefsteak pie yesterday, and Dearest is glooming at the Dower House over the expense of putting in radiators. I'll never let mother go there, of course, but the radiators won't matter."
"Even in war time," said Basil thoughtfully. "Mr. Freyne looks quite thin."
"He says we shall lose the war now and nothing will matter," said Psyche, "and he's going out to drive a motor ambulance if they'll take him."
"Everyone," said Gheena, "is doing something now."
Basil Stafford sat down in the shelter.
"And perhaps I am too," he said a little impatiently, "even if it's not what people think."
There was open hostility in Gheena's eyes when she replied that perhaps he was.
She climbed the cliff lightly, slow Darby left behind then jumped back again and slipped, Stafford springing up to help her, both young and strong and whole-limbed. Darby's sticks went slowly and heavily as he toiled up.
"Just here," he said, "we thought of the scratch pack. I have not sent them back yet, they amuse me; but they must go next week, after one more hunt."
"It will be so awful when one can't see you hunting hounds." Little Psyche's eyes were full of the admiration which Darby never saw in anyone else's.
"Which you think I do well," he said, laughing.
Psyche replied that he did everything well, and Gheena came up the cliffs again, kindness in her eyes, friendship; but as he limped on, Darby had seen her look at Basil Stafford. The lines of pain deepened in Darby's face; then he laughed again. He was no worse off than he had been six months before, and he had helped Gheena on. Now that she was engaged, with the prospect of taking over her inheritance when she chose, Dearest George was perpetually apologetic and almost wistfully anxious to please. He had referred to the engagement to his wife as being in the nature of a trench mortar—something hurled at him when he slept.
"Look here, Miss Freyne," Stafford stopped Gheena—"I want you not to wait on the cliffs at night, or go out in your boat, but especially at night. The submarines are blockading and they've been seen near here."
Gheena said cheerfully that they were not likely to waste a torpedo upon her.
"Supposing someone saw you out alone. It's possible. I heard you were off near the point two nights ago."
"I am looking for the base," said Gheena composedly. "I shall find it too."
Here Mr. Stafford made the grievous mistake of telling her hotly that no one wanted her to look for it, and, in fact, that she was not to. The fewer people on the cliff the better, and certain people would be pleased if she did not wander there.
"That I can understand," said Miss Freyne, adding that she would go out when and where she chose, and after this haughty outburst her face clouding and growing sad.
Mrs. De Burgho Keane was at the house to offer congratulations. She did it quite gracefully, suggesting that Darby's injuries would keep Gheena from gadding about quite as much as most young women did, once that she knew they would be happy.
"Poor Lancelot, of course, will never go back to be killed," she added pleasantly. "He was too young for you, Gheena."
Gheena jumped up to kiss Violet Weston, and to remove her to the far end of the room, where they whispered together impolitely. A fresh expedition along the coast was planned, but before it came off Gheena went off alone in her new two-seater, going down the same narrow lane which she had last driven down with Darby, and pulling up only just in time on the plateau.
The beauty and chill of spring lay on the sea; a silver shade touched the brightest cold blue; little speckles of white, steel edged, rimmed the tiny waves. The illusiveness of girlhood was in the mood of the day, fair and yet too bright for warmth. Rock roses crouched in the clefts of the stones: little yellow flowers, and here and there a rare blue gentian brilliant against the green. Fern prongs were pushing up, and the white gulls sailed happily on the water, mocking Crabbit's barks.
And on the water and in it, mischief—lurking demons down below; machines oiled by human relentlessness, dealing swift death gladly to the toilers of the sea.
Amid the sheen and the glitter Gheena almost brought herself to believe that she saw the black rim of a periscope.
It was only a floating piece of wood dipping up and down, but it made the girl spring forward and over the edge of the cliff down on to the black rocks bared by the tide—a low one. There was only one cave which she wanted to see, the cave close by the hidden one which Crabbit had gone into. "Hi, Crabbit, leave these gulls!" said Gheena; "I want you." She peered into the hole which Crabbit had leapt through, wrinkled her nostrils, wrinkled them again, her heart thumping. She scrambled into the open cave as if she were Grandjer hot on a fox, her eyes sparkling and yet full of fear. It was a slimy cave, with a wide creek leading into it when the tide was high. A large boulder in the cavern stood in a pool of cold dank water. Gheena removed her shoes and splashed into the pool, squeezing between the brown boulder and the wall; the pool deepened, but next moment, with a scream, she felt a hole leading into the next cave. Switch went her small electric torch, and she saw the dark gap, completely invisible from the far side of the boulder. Beyond it was a kind of open ledge quite wide enough for a man to pass through comfortably. Next moment Gheena and Crabbit were peering into the further cave, the torch making an elusive glimmer, and still her heart thumped heavily.
The lower half was damp where the tide poured in, but the torch glimmered.... The upper and dry range of irregular ledges was covered with tins of petrol.
It was so easy to see that Gheena knew some light must come from above, and then saw a little tunnel going to the outer world, enough to put a little light and air into the place.
The easiness of rowing stores up the creek and putting them through was now completely apparent; and, at the same time, with a crisp chill not caused by the atmosphere, Gheena remembered that this meant war, and that the man who had put the petrol there would probably add Miss Freyne and Crabbit to his store if he found them. Which man? She slipped out of the cave, splashed through the pool, noticed how an overhanging rock almost completely hid the aperture, and bolted for sunlight with her shoes in her hands. She put them on her numbed feet outside, and then going back to the car, absolutely sat down to think.
The elusive quarry of her chase stood before her with bared teeth, and, never having expected to catch it, Gheena Freyne backed away. This was grave. It was war. Something outside light confidences to Violet Weston, or the Professor. The trouble grew deeper in her eyes. It was something to watch for herself.
A boat in the shadows outside by the point would see the submarine run andsee who supplied it. Gheena shivered, and Crabbit went down to catch a gull.
Yes, who supplied it? Her eyes were heavy. If she went to the coastguards, their clumsy zeal would be sure to muddle everything. "They would sit about the rocks like a lot of puffins," said Gheena aloud, "and pretend they were looking for shrimps in May." General Brownlow must be written to, but ... Behind it all lurked a fear deeper than she had felt in the cold cave. The fear of whom she might see rowing out in the boat ... the betrayer ... a paid German agent and, doubtless, spy.
It was a very long way to row round from Castle Freyne, but no great distance from the Dower House, and no comment would be made if she took a boat over there, left it and walked back. Phil must paint both grey to match the night ... and then ...Who did it?
Crabbit sat on the car when he was whistled for; he was blighted and put out. These gulls were afraid of him, and barking from pinnacles of rock was not amusing.
Gheena pressed her self-starter, wheeled round perilously and bumped up the lane, her discovery weighing her down. Who supplied the petrol? Whose face would she see when she watched from the shadows?
She saw Mr. Basil Stafford's at that moment, and nearly ran into him, when he failed to put his long-nosed car out of her way.
"If you don't keep off those cliffs," he said irritably, "we shall have to make them forbidden ground, Miss Freyne. It's just getting serious now, you see."
She stared at him moodily. Basil Stafford's eyes flashed. "You've ... found something?" he burst out, leaning across.
Gheena saw a sullen-looking little revolver lying beside him.
"I found a new cave full of rocks," she said nervously; "that—that was all."
"You'll tell me if you do—promise," he said earnestly.
"When I tell anyone it will probably be you," said Gheena drearily. "And do get out of the way.... I'm cold."
Even Dearest George's complete depression, because he had already caught a chill in the garden at Girtnamurragh, failed to cheer Gheena. The one-time tyrant humbly asked her where she had been, and himself helping her to her favourite omelette could not make Gheena smile.
The magnitude of her discovery frightened her. They were really at war, and there was really someone paid by an enemy—the real enemy ... and this close to her own home....
The loss of a small and favourite bangle also worried her. If the spies found it they would probably track her. They would know someone had been there.
Darby, with the sadness deepening in his kind eyes, wondered what was the matter when she sat on the arm of his chair, and, with her hand in his, was palpably almost unaware of his presence in the world. He dropped the slight brown little hand and Gheena stroked Crabbit with it. She sat close to him, without a trace of self-consciousness. He was Darby, the friend who had helped her, and marriage was a thing they could talk of some day.
Psyche, sitting on the fender stool, had seen the dropped hand go absently to Crabbit's head, and her eyes darkened.
Violet Weston's coming to tea roused Gheena up, but she looked nervous instead of pleased.
"Gheena," said Darby, "has been submarine hunting and is feeling the effects of failure; she is depressed."
Mrs. Weston said lightly that she believed it was all nonsense. They might find out something—she nudged Gheena—but it would not be petrol bases on the coast.
"Despair and tight shoes," said Mrs. Weston, "stopped me looking; but, of course, I'll go with you again, Gheena dear."
"I'm not going to look any more," said Gheena heavily.
Violet Weston smiled as she admired her mauve suede shoes. She said that mysterious motor-cyclists passed through the village when all respectable motor-cyclists ought to be in bed, and wondered who they could be. She had heard them twice or three times, and had told Mr. Keefe about them.
Just then Mr. Keefe, trying to look as if his visit was accidental, blushed behind Naylour, and explained a lengthy drive and the tempting vicinity of Castle Freyne. When Mrs. Weston, who made room for him beside her on the sofa, continued to talk about the motor-bicycles, he grew pinker and looked embarrassed.
It seemed to Mr. Keefe that a great deal of nonsense was talked about bases and so forth.
"But the fact remains," said Darby, "that someone supplies the beggars, or they would not attempt this blockade they are so cock-sure of...." Then he muttered "The O'Tooles" in tones of depression.
The clergyman arrived primed with war news and plans. In his opinion the Allies had only just to go there and move up there, and pinch Germany in one place and nip her in another, and Poof! it was over. Just a little dash. Nothing more.
"If Napoleon O'Toole," murmured Darby—"oh, thank you, Gheena, I could get my own, really."
It was part of the hurt to have Gheena wait upon him, to see her jump lightly for hot cakes, a fresh cup of tea.
"Much better let me ... the table's miles away. Mum always entrenches over there."
Mrs. Freyne poured out nervously, asking everyone's advice as to sugar and cream, and confusing matters greatly by taking the last person's unswervingly until she asked someone else's.
Dearest George, sneezing gloomily, had no words even to offer upon the English advance. He did think the submarines would be nasty; the sea was so beastly chilly, but land tactics had ceased to interest him, and he only grunted.
They had just finished tea when Stafford drove to the door and sent in for Mr. Freyne, saying he was going to Cortra on business.
"He motors such a lot," said Mrs. Weston softly—"at night and all times; that car is a fifty sixty, and almost silent. He looked excited or worried."
Gheena did not answer, she was watching the sea.
"Gheena, you did not come on anything to-day?" Mrs. Weston put an arm round Gheena, bent down to speak to her, kissing the soft cheek.
"Only a severe chill," said Gheena, growing red.
Basil Stafford slipped away. He looked worn out, his eyes haggard, as though from lack of sleep. With another heavy sigh Gheena Freyne peered seawards.
In the drawing-room, Darby and Psyche left alone, drew near to the fire.
"When you are married——" began Psyche.
"When!" said Darby. "Does it strike you, sprite, that I should marry a girl who scarcely thinks of me, and that it would take a great deal of love to make anyone forget my leg and my scars?"
Psyche replied very sharply that she did not think so at all, and poked the fire until it collapsed in ruins.
"Didn't I tell Mrs. Malone to co*nn*fine them?" rose Phil's voice outside. "Thim haythin Germans of Faverolly's, an' into the spring beds agin with them. I'll hunt thim, Ma'am." Further yells and shoos from Phil, with some comments added to the effect that thim beds wasn't Mongs or Pars, and advice to make in for thimselves before Crabbit turned them into sossidges.
Psyche went to the window.
"Crabbit has removed several tails," she said, "and there is no place like Ireland. I never want to live out of it."
"No?" said Darby absently.
The elusive sunshine next day sent Gheena bathing, off to her favourite pools, where she dived under the rocks and came up a little blue. It was a treat at first. The vigorous young life seemed a thing apart from Darby's. Yet it was Gheena who was content, and Darby Dillon who looked drearily at the vista of the future. He feared the sudden thunderclap of his fortune—the nugget of gold which he had dreamt of and come upon unexpectedly was too heavy to lift, too valuable for him to hold.
"Some day," he said to Gheena, "we'll be blasting that rock to get you out, Gheena. You'll never come up. Will you drive with me this afternoon up the hills to see about returning my hounds?"
"I? Oh, take Psyche. I am going for a row," Gheena stammered a little. "I should be so cold after a swim, Darby, in the car."
Basil Stafford watched her start for her row in the newly-painted, half-dry boat which Phil had spent a day at. He stood pondering as she shot out on the gay ripple of the sea and up the harbour. As cautiously as he could, he started along the cliffs, taking cover behind friendly gorse, bending inland at times, his mind occupied by possible orders which he must give to the coastguards.
Gheena, rowing easily, saw the figure on the cliffs, knew it too well, a dull fog of misery creeping between her and the sunshine. What was he watching for?
She made the boat secure at Girtnamurragh, told the men to leave it, and made an ostensible survey of the garden which spades and forks were rending ruthlessly. The old straggling border had been put to rights, shrubs were being clipped. Dearest George, sneezing with complete lack of spirit, stood superintending the renovations, and shivering at the chill airs off the sea.
"You could even shut those out if the air inside the house wasn't like a tombstone," he remarked, looking limply at Gheena.
"But Gheena is in no hurry, Dearest," replied Mrs. Freyne, "and the fishermen are sure to steal the vegetables if we're not here. Don't you think they might?"
Gheena grinned softly, kissed her mother, and asked for a drive home; she was tired. It was opportunity sent to her. The watcher on the cliff thought it a completely natural thing when he saw her go by in the motor. The boat was now ready close to the cave.
Phil was made fellow-conspirator, pledged to see that the small car was placed at night in an outhouse beyond the yard gate ready to drive.
That night Gheena slipped from her side door, poor Crabbit left behind, but only walked to the harbour and rowed out a little then. The vast loneliness of the sea at night frightened her; she wanted to get out to it—to the eerie laps and gurgles among the rocks, the white gleam of the waves' caps, the voices of the night. Lying still, she saw a boat shoot past—some of the fishermen making for the village—then left the boat and was stealing home when someone rose out of the dimness and spoke to her.
"Gheena—Miss Freyne—you must not do it! What are you doing out like this, and war time?"
"And what are you doing out like this in war time?" retorted Gheena, an uncertain note in her voice.
Stafford caught her by the shoulders, holding her.
"I ask you, I pray you, not to come out," he said. "I'll ask Darby to say..."
"Darby will only say what I want him to," observed Gheena; "that's what Darby is there for."
"A man has some right over his future wife," said Stafford slowly.
Miss Freyne murmured several indistinct beginnings of remarks, and left them all unfinished rather nervously.
"Poor old Darby!" she said amiably at last.
Mr. Stafford returned gloomily that Darby was one of the best. If Miss Freyne meant to marry her intended——
"But ... of course." Then Gheena's voice died again. She was acutely conscious of a struggle with tears as hands gripped hers for a second.
"You must keep off the rocks at night," said Stafford. "For a reason. Promise, I beg it of you."
"If you will keep off them" was what Miss Freyne muttered in a strangled voice. "I ... ask you to." She ran away.
"Hang," remarked Stafford savagely.
A few days later Mr. Keefe got his commission, and left at a few hours' notice, wildly excited. He was now Captain Keefe in a well-known regiment, and his mind was taken up by Sam Browne belts and revolvers. So quickly did he go that his farewell even to Mrs. Weston was a brief one, though he had just time to hint that he now thought if he survived he might ask anyone to marry him. He was replaced by a rather elderly man, whom the police seemed to regard with awed respect.
Gheena had almost broken down when she had talked to Stafford, but her resolution was only deepened. She must see, and see alone the face of the man who had arranged to put petrol in those caves!
For several nights the two-seater slipped unheard down the back avenue and along a narrow by-lane to the Dower House, where it was left hidden near some bushes until Gheena crept to her boat. She grew used to rowing out alone in the chill darkness in her short skirt and a thick coat, until one night, in a murky warmth, she rowed right out opposite the cave, and thought that she heard voices on the shore—voices subdued and muffled. Creeping in, Gheena saw someone on the shore—a dark, indefinite figure on the very edge of the sea. Next moment her heart throbbed suddenly, for even in the darkness she believed that she knew it. And she rowed desperately out. It felt safer at sea; she did not want to be sure. After this violent spurt she let the boat drift, lying in the trough of the swell; it would be time enough to pull when she heard the waves on the rocks. She drifted quickly. Lying there, she was almost invisible, and Gheena Freyne's heart leaped and missed a beat, a chill horror of certainty creeping up her spine as, quite naturally, the periscope of a submarine nosed up quite close to her, and a long thing like a whale showed in the dim light.
It might be an English submarine. It might.... Gheena sat as a bird before an able-bodied snake, completely afraid to do anything, because just then very low and cautious murmurs commenced to discuss matters in German, and a laughing gull called. Also, it seemed to Gheena, with a German accent.
One man said that he trusted that the Irish pig would be out in a moment, and a second, subservient but decided, trusted so, as if he did not, then, owing to the sudden unforeseen accidents, they were completely powerless to get away. This voice appeared to regret the blasphemous language of the Herr Captain, but repeated its statement decorously.
"As none of these pigs of fools ever keep a look-out," remarked a third voice, which was young and pleasant, "just do the laughing gull again, Max."
The excellent imitation of the laughing gull was repeated; it now became evident from the conversation, that it should have been answered by a whistle from the cliffs. Then as Gheena began to paddle away, noiselessly she hoped, someone exclaimed blasphemously. She heard the quick splash of a swimmer in the water, and with so much to be afraid of that she forgot fear, she heard the scuffle of a man climbing into the boat.
"If you scream or make a sound," said someone in excellent English, "I..."
Gheena said she supposed then that she had better not, and that she was only out amusing herself, and would like to go home.
But the answer to this was to find herself moving as in a dream on to the back of the steel whale, with everyone buzzing round her in undertones.
The captain asked her if she understood German, to which she said "No" hurriedly, believing it might be useful to pretend ignorance. She again asked politely to be allowed to go home.
From the ensuing whispers she gathered that she was not likely to be allowed to. Someone argued that it would not matter, and the voice of the engineer said if they could not get away it certainly would not, and Gheena found herself being propelled down into an atmosphere reeking of oil, where light was permissible.
Here a stout senior officer positively gloated at her capture. It appeared that he was even a minor admiral, whose varied manoeuvres had run the "U" boat out of fuel. He sat at a small table and glowered, while Gheena, not at all sure that she was awake, was conscious of glances of rapt admiration from the senior lieutenant, the owner of the pleasant voice ... so Gheena stood closer to him.
"Good evening; I want to go home," said Gheena in French, why she hardly knew. Someone had told her to address herself to the head admiral.
Having addressed some abusive remarks to her in German and seen these received blankly, they decided that the strange woman did not, owing to usual lack ofKulturof her race, understand any language but her own and French.
The question of the petrol appeared to be pressing. There were even low-voiced fears concerning treachery, and Gheena gathered that it was even possible that a boat must be sent to try to discover a certain cave if they were not signalled by—Gheena could not catch the name.
"We sent word by wireless," she heard, "to him.... It has always been right...."
Gheena went very white. Who had they sent word to?
The inferior admiral grunted fiercely, and motioned to Gheena to sit down. She did so, closer than ever to the lieutenant who looked good-natured. She was told she was to answer questions.
"In England," said the admiral, "I suppose you are all now so terrified, you only come out in the dark; that is why a young Fräulein boats alone at night!"
Gheena nodded thoughtfully, but she said that it was not England exactly; in fact it was Ireland. She said it dreamily because she was sure she was asleep.
"Tell me"—the admiral opened a pocket-book—"what do they say of our Zeppelins in stricken London?"
"Zeppelins!" Gheena raised her head. "Oh, yes ... the recruiting balloons, of course," she said thoughtfully.
The stout officer grew purple so slowly that it was quite interesting to watch him—a purple which straddled gradually across his big nose and lost itself in his beard.
"The ...Himmel... ball ... oons," he said heavily. "Balloons!" At this point the senior lieutenant developed a nasty cough and had some trouble with it.
"Yes, the things got up to get more recruits," said Gheena sweetly, flickering a glance at the lieutenant. "I believe some people really believe they are German, sent by the Socialists who are against the war; but we all think here they're only for recruiting. Some always come when we're short of men."
"They who strike the terror, the death-shower! Girl, you rave!" The admiral got up and glared.
"But I was really in England once, Commander, when balloons did come," said Gheena, "and all the stories of misery are invented just for a purpose. You tell your poor cross Kaiser when you go back...."
The admiral sat down again, and his big mouth opened slowly, showing discoloured teeth; a muffled voice somewhere in the background wondered anxiously when the boat would come.
"You see, in England we are never afraid," said Gheena carelessly, but she felt a singing in her ears then when the admiral said something about when she got to Germany.
"You are not going to take me back there," she whispered. Gheena Freyne realized her folly. She would be imprisoned, questioned. She would be a girl alone and friendless. "You have no right to," she said hotly. "I've uncles who are generals, and you've no right. Let me go!"
If—the commander, who was lantern-jawed, cleared his throat—if the gracious Fräulein would answer a few questions intelligently, she might perhaps be landed somewhere on her own coast; they had no desire to be harsh. Every nerve in Gheena's body thumped almost painfully. She feared, above all things on earth now, the thought of going down in this close atmosphere and being taken away a prisoner. Basil Stafford had been right, it was dangerous out alone.
"Your spy," she said unevenly ... "the man ... I know him...."
The commander then said she must certainly be taken along and imprisoned, and, still as in a dream, Gheena realized the folly of this last remark, for the admiral, fading rusty brown again, said something about troublesome prisoners and made unpleasant allusions in German to the bottom of the sea.
Meantime the night was passing. The engineer sent for, suggested that they should sink and someone row in to see what had happened. He thought, in fact, that the Herr Lieutenant knew the cave.
She must escape. Gheena thought she felt the boat sinking. She grew suddenly cunning. With a quick stagger she caught at the impressionable lieutenant and muttered, "Air! air! air!"
"A breath of air—all right," whispered Gheena, reeling.
It was the lieutenant who persuaded them to let her be taken on deck for a moment. He would see to her not screaming. Gheena was helped up very tenderly, and left for a minute to herself, gripping the rail.
"I've English friends; I'll look after you," the lieutenant whispered, and went for brandy. The time was enough to allow her to slip her arms out of the coat and unfasten her skirt; she had knickerbockers underneath.
When the perturbed Germans grunted gruffly and discussed their difficulty, Gheena sprang.
She dived very prettily to the accompaniment of muffled bad language, and as she came up, heard hoarse whispers concerning immediate death if she did not return.
The threats were nothing, but the sound of a splash made the girl shudder. They dared not show a light or fire a shot, but a strong swimmer would catch her easily. She dived again and swam under water until her bursting lungs seemed to crack, then shot up, treading water, to see the long whale still close to her and hear a man swimming, but not in her direction. Down again and again, until she felt too far away to be caught. Then lightly she struck out for land, and just as she did a shrill whistle sounded from the shore.
But cold, fright and those underwater swims had tired Gheena out. She swam less and less vigorously, swam until her arms seemed lead and every stroke brought a panting, wheezing breath. Then for the first time Gheena cried out, a feeble cry for help as her lips tasted salt and she nearly sank. It was answered by a splash of oars and a boat shooting out close to her.
The face which she had dreaded to see was outlined for a moment by the flash of an electric torch. Gheena felt warm hands hurriedly pull her into the boat, and as she crouched, completely exhausted, Basil Stafford's voice said "I told you not to" in tones of annoyed remonstrance.
Some outer covering was wrapped round Gheena, whose teeth had begun to chatter. Her resentment at the lack of sympathy due to her blended with a dull sorrow which was stronger than the resentment.
Looking up, Miss Freyne chattered out that she had been nearly drowned, and wished it had been completely.
"If you will go out alone—" Stafford's oars were making no sound in the water. "And your boat?"
"That's somewhere near it. You're not—going to take me out again to it?" said Gheena excitedly. "I won't go! I won't go to Germany!" And she sat up. "I must tell ... they're waiting for the oil. I must tell! Oh, why—why did you?" said Miss Freyne, breaking down into unrestrained sobs. "Oh, why is it you, and why did you?"
She stopped sobbing, because it is difficult to cry comfortably when someone grips your shoulders and actually shakes you. Gheena knew that a face which she felt sure was an angry one was close to hers, and a hoarse whisper was demanding information. She gave it brokenly; she sat back with a gasp as the noiseless oars shot the boat through the water, and she could hear Stafford muttering to himself excitedly.
"Don't cry out, do you hear?" he whispered. "Not a sound, or I'll..."
Miss Freyne snapped out "Shoot me, I suppose," with rancorous dignity and as clearly as chattering teeth would allow.
"To come here ... to eat our food ... with—with us ... and give oil to that Father Christmas!" were the indistinct words which reached Basil Stafford, who was breathing heavily. The boat bumped rather sharply against the shore.
"Don't speak," said Stafford grimly, "or it's Germany for you. This way.... Don't you dare to speak."
The path in the dark might have been anywhere. Waiting for the first opportunity to slip away, Gheena was propelled along it. She heard voices, a door opened, and next minute she was in a big room, with shutters shut closely and a small fire burning in the grate.
Then Gheena, recovering, demanded liberty, for it was the drawing-room at Gurtnamurragh, and these traitors were using it to hide in her house.
Stafford's hands fell heavily on her shoulders; his eyes were very sad, but determined.
"It is all your own fault, and you will stay here until I come for you," he said coldly. "You can't get out, I'm going to nail the shutters. There are blankets in the corner and I'll stoke up the fire. Perhaps the blanket first."
Gheena put one on hastily, conscious of her costume.
The fury of Gheena's wrath left him unmoved. To be left there alone while the submarine was fed, to be treated in this fashion! She said several things about it all.
"You are, of course, quite sure that I was going out to her?" said Stafford, as he drove big nails home.
"I was afraid. I went alone because I was half sure." Gheena checked herself. "I found out your cave days ago ... and I've watched." She began to cry again.
He came close to her. Something lit up his eyes.
"You came out alone—because you were sure you would find me. That was why you went alone; and having found me, you must tell—you would have told—or would you?"
"England first," said Gheena, her voice mixing pride and broken dreariness. "But..."
"Then you won't!" he snapped out quite cheerfully, banging the door.
But he came back with water for the kettle, and pointed out that there was tea in the basket near the fire.
Then he left again. Gheena heard the muffled voices and silence fell. She was far too angry to be frightened.
Wrapping herself as thoroughly as possible in a blanket, she put the kettle on, piled up the fire and stamped wrathfully.
The events of the night now felt to her as though she had been through an evil dream which could not be real—a submarine close in—waiting for petrol—and all their suspicions realized. Basil Stafford was that vile but necessary thing, a spy.
"As I actually met him going out to it," said Gheena wearily—"actually met him—there is no mistake now."
Gheena did not cry out. Patriotism fought with something which for a time worsted it completely. Then, rousing herself, she cooed dolefully, listening to the echo of the cry ringing through the empty house.
Inspiration came to her. The iron fastenings of the old shutters, if the wood could be burnt round them, might be wrenched free. Gheena seized a small piece of broken iron paling which someone had used as a poker and stuck it into the glowing heat.
In a very short time she had burnt quite a good sized hole, and the room was acrid with the smell of charred wood. Someone had left a candle on the table. Gheena lighted it to peer at her work. Having seen with dismay that it would take another half-hour before she could even hope to move the bar, Gheena swung round to see Stafford's face thrust into the room.
"Lights!" he said bitterly. "I might have known I could not trust you."
Gheena repeated the word "trust" rather blankly, and gathered her blanket round her.
"Lights—here," he said again. "Of course, nothing may happen, but that's not your fault, is it?" He seized the candle.
The door banged. This language from a detected criminal had bereft Gheena of speech.
She put the poker back slowly, to start in real fear, for, as if conjured up by the speck of light, voices sounded, rang in anger, bare and almost animal-like in its sound, and came the paff-paff of revolver shots—then silence—then voices again.
"Safe and sound we has him, an' I near to be shot"—this was the voice of Thomas Hassett, one of the coastguards—"safe and sound with the stroke Ned Murphy drew on him."
Ned Murphy was the village sergeant.
Gheena adjusted her blanket and took out the poker absently, her face very white.
They—had caught Basil Stafford—other people were on the watch. It was all over now.
Paff-paff—more shots, the noise of running feet, a yell of someone in pain.
"God save us! the arrum is hanging on ye, Misther Stafford," said a sympathetic voice; "an' who could belt away for the docther as quick as ye could yerself in ye're cyar?"
"They to come along to the wrong sphot, when ye were afther bringin' in Miss Gheena, an' we only three. Will I run a taste ov rope around the cross one, sir? He is lively."
"I tell you I—— Put it down, Mr. Stafford." Gheena heard the Professor's voice, as in English, with no trace of German accent, he entreated someone not to be an idiot. The door was flung open. Two coastguards tenderly helped in a man who crumbled and tottered between them. With a gasp of terror Gheena recognized the polite lieutenant, and her first thought was that she wished he had not seen her in a blanket.
Opening wider, the door admitted the Professor holding out something and talking volubly, and Basil Stafford, his left arm hanging down and his right gripping a revolver.
"And I—thought," said Stafford apologetically to the Professor, "that it might be you."
The Professor grinned sweetly; he looked at the wounded officer.
"The sorra a thing wrong with him but a clip on the head, Miss," said Mr. Dunne. "Let ye not be frightened. He'll be all right when he sees clear again, an' the sthars is in."
Gheena now observed that Stafford had no coat on, and realized that she was wearing it; she said so nervously.
He looked at her rather sternly.
"So you were determined," he said quietly, "and you found a way. It brought them here, anyhow, before I got away."
Gheena let the poker fall slowly; it lay upon the end of her blanket, singeing it—yes, it was her work.
Stafford soon went out, Murphy with him. The German lieutenant sat up and groaned heavily. He stared a little wildly when Gheena proffered him hot tea.
"Treachery," he said bitterly. "I was sent out to look round as the man did not come, and we rowed to the signal—three flashes—a stop and one."
Gheena looked thoughtfully at the guilty candle.
The Professor, breaking into fluent German, questioned rapidly, and the lieutenant replied sulkily to the effect that he did not believe the "U" boat could safely go down again. Then he fell into a species of stupor, breathing heavily.
"Light schulls they have," said Murphy pleasantly. "Any of the little sthrokes I dhrew on him wouldn't have med one of us miss a pint of porther?"
Completely bewildered, forgetting even her blanket, Gheena breathed fast and stared.
The old Professor, who appeared to have thrown off several years of life, chuckled pleasantly.
Then he ceased chuckling to ask gravely if she could possibly keep a secret, and make no mention of this night's adventuring to anyone save Darby.
"It was your light which did it," he said. "And Stafford here practically alone. You flashed it; I saw the gleam. He says he told you not to."
"You'll imprison him—or——" Gheena's voice was unsteady.
The Professor said "With other prisoners of war," in an absent voice, and thought Irish girls were impressionable.
"But a spy—a prisoner of war!" Gheena's head was down; she hid her eyes.
Here the Professor remarked a little impatiently that the officer of an enemy ship was not a spy.
"Stafford found out the eyrie a week ago"—the old Professor chuckled again—"and, of course, I got to hear of it. He had men waiting in that cave until, Murphy tells me, they came out whitened like celery in the dark. And he got Guinane there easily last night. He told me all about it outside just now. Guinane has given it all away."
"But—then, who——?" Gheena sat down on an upturned box; she felt she needed support.
The Professor merely chuckled cryptically, making no reply.
"It's not Mr. Stafford?" said Gheena.
At this the old gentleman also sat down on another box which was not up to his weight. Extracting himself from the ruins, he said "You too," and abused the flimsy nature of grocery boxes.
"The fellow's store full of petrol," grunted the Professor—"his new house, y'know. Guinane was well paid."
Ned Murphy thrust an anxious face into the room. "If any could guide the mother, sir?" he whispered. "He is bleedin' and a shiver sot in on him, an' he won't come anear the fire, but mutherin' words half delarious. If we could get him where he'd be cared an' there wouldn't be talk! Th' ould docther, if ye brings him here, 'll be chatterin' for all the world like a magpie."
Gheena said sharply that she could drive the car, but not in a blanket.
Mr. Murphy was a married man. He produced a penknife eloquently, and suggested a couple of slashes an' a taste of twine would make a skhirt while ye'd be waitin'.
Gheena, still bewildered, stood in meek silence, her blanket reft from her to be rent in twain. The skirt manufactured by Murphy would not have done for Ascot, but it complied with decency. Very quietly the girl went out into the still, dim night, looking back once at the polite lieutenant lying in stupor on the floor. She was not at all sure that he would not vanish.
Someone walking feebly was helped out by two coastguards. Gheena did not turn to look; she kept her head down.
"And for Heaven's sake remember you're not driving Darby's tin-kettle twelve-power," said a weak but unashamed voice, "and go slow. I wanted them to get a donkey cart for me."
Gheena said "Where to?" as she slipped the clutch—was she in this nightmare to drive to the county gaol twelve miles away? The Professor replied, "Why, Mrs. Maloney's, of course!" rather peevishly. He was watching the nearness of the banks in the narrow lane and the pace at which their dark shapes were sliding by.
But Gheena drove skilfully; she slid round the corner, and the car seemed to leap forward at the road.
"Steady; there is not much room," said the Professor, "and Murphy was on the dickey."
"Begonnes, I am here still, sir," said Murphy cheerlessly, "though that whip around near spilt me."
The gleam of dawn was in the east, a pinky yellow glow chasing grey night away.
They slipped past sleeping Castle Freyne and into the village, with the little dark houses clinging to the edge of the cliff; dun shapes growing just visible. They pulled up with complete disregard for Stafford's tyres, and he was helped out; the hall door of his small house stood open, ready for his return at any time. Gheena's lips tightened as she saw it. She had now to walk home before any light came. She stood uncertain, waiting.
The Professor bustled out to order her in, saying that Basil was feverish; they had sent for the doctor.
Basil was on the sofa in his dressing-gown; he looked wan and lined, and he had one hand to his chest as if in pain.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "for what happened."
"Yes"—Gheena held her own hand to her throat because it hurt her—"yes, it was all my fault."
"But I simply had to shut you up," he said. "We were watching at the cave, and your torpedo-destroying in that little boat was spoiling everything. Of course, I never expected to find you swimming. Then you flashed that light, and the fellows we caught—they thought that it was Guinane's lamp and rowed right in to us; they fought. I told you not to poke round—but—but—they nearly caught you and took you away, and I've never said——"
Here Stafford's voice grew very weak. He sipped something out of a tumbler.
"You were watching in the cave to catch Germans? You haven't been spying? Haven't sold yourself for money?" Gheena's voice took a clearer note of sheer clear joy.
"Oh, look here!" said Stafford a little grumpily. "It hurts. I used to watch you and that Western woman. I've learnt a bit of lip language and it hurts, besides being ridiculous. Now do I look like a spy?"
To which Miss Freyne replied incoherently that he had understood they always looked like unspies—that was, no spies—and being young and nice-looking and so on—and she grew confused.
Stafford put his hand on hers for a moment.
"I was in a regiment in India," he said. "Got a funny wound on a little frontier expedition, so they wouldn't pass me for active service. It's caught again now. And I had a friend; I badgered him until they sent me here to spy round on this coast—so they said. And all the time they had a regular secret service man at it, and were only keeping me quiet for friendship's sake. But I did find out something in the end. There was I watching the Professor, and fellows grinning as they read my reports about him. I knew you suspected me," he went on, "and even that you believed the money which I spoke of was German money. And it's only lately I realized that—that it hurt you to believe it, Gheena. You went alone so that no one else might see me. I hope to get back to my regiment next year to do real work. And—if you gave me this"—he fumbled at a note-case—"will you take it back and say it was not deserved?"
He pulled out a note-case and out of it a feather, once white. Gheena took it to see it was now stained red in one place—red with blood.
"I never gave it," she whispered. "Not that."
"Gheena," said Stafford, sitting up, "you didn't give it; it was Miss O'Toole. Oh, I say, Gheena! And you belong to Darby! Oh, I say, and I cared so much!"
Gheena was sobbing almost wildly over the little stained plume.
"But—I belong to Darby," she said, when she could speak. Somehow, brought suddenly face to face with the naked realities of life, explanations seemed useless things.
"Gone," said the Professor, running in, "off in his car." He sat down and groaned. "Waiting too long, as usual!" he stormed.
"Who has gone?" Gheena hid her face.
"Mrs. Weston, otherwise Heinrich Helshumer. She's left all there—shoes and stockings, and you might as well look for needles in hay, and she has a wireless there."
"Mrs. Weston," said Gheena weakly.
"Her man gave her away when we cornered him. I'd suspected for some time. I knew from her playing on the fiddle. What is it, Stafford?"
"The dam fellow—was always fussing near you," said Stafford, and fainted.