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
and _see 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 of _Kultur_ of 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 Fraeulein 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 Fraeulein 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.