第58章

Late in May she started for home.It had not been necessary to close the little house.An Englishwoman of mature years and considerable wealth, hearing from Mr.Travers of Sara Lee's recall, went out a day or two before she left and took charge.She was a kindly woman, in deep mourning; and some of the ache left Sara Lee's heart when she had talked with her successor.

Perhaps, too, Mrs.Cameron understood some of the things that had puzzled her before.She had been a trifle skeptical perhaps about Sara Lee before she saw her.A young girl alone among an army of men! She was a good woman herself, and not given to harsh judgments, but the thing had seemed odd.But Sara Lee in her little house, as virginal, as without sex- consciousness as a child, Sara Lee with her shabby clothes and her stained hands and her honest eyes - this was not only a good girl, this was a brave and high-spirited and idealistic woman.

And after an evening in the house of mercy, with the soldiers openly adoring and entirely respectful, Mrs.Cameron put her arms round Sara Lee and kissed her.

"You must let me thank you," she said."You have made me feel what I have not felt since-"She stopped.Her mourning was only a month old."I see to-night that, after all, many things may be gone, but that while service remains there is something worth while in life."The next day she asked Sara Lee to stay with her, at least through the summer.Sara Lee hesitated, but at last she agreed to cable.As Henri had disappeared with the arrival of Mrs.Cameron it was that lady's chauffeur who took the message to Dunkirk and sent it off.

She had sent the cable to Harvey.It was no longer a matter of the Ladies' Aid.It was between Harvey and herself.

The reply came on the second day.It was curt and decisive.

"Now or never," was the message Harvey sent out of his black despair,across the Atlantic to the little house so dose under the guns of Belgium.

Henri was half mad those last days.Jean tried to counsel him, but he was irritable, almost savage.And Jean understood.The girl had grown deep into his own heart.Like Henri, he believed that she was going back to unhappiness; he even said so to her in the car, on that last sad day when Sara Lee, having visited Rene's grave and prayed in the ruined church, said good-by to the little house, and went away, tearless at the last, because she was too sad for tears.

It was not for some time that Jean spoke what was in his mind, and when he had done so she turned to him gravely:

"You are wrong, Jean.He is the kindest of men.Once I am back, and safe, he will be very different.I'm afraid I've given you a wrong impression of him.""You think then, mademoiselle, that he will forget all these months - he will never be unhappy over them?""Why should he?" said Sara Lee proudly."When I tell him everything he will understand.And he will be very proud that I have done my share."But Jean's one eye was dubious.

At the wharf in Dunkirk they found Henri, a pale but composed Henri.Jean's brows contracted.He had thought that the boy would follow his advice and stay away.But Henri was there.

It was as well, perhaps, for Sara Lee had brought him a letter, one of those missives from the trenches which had been so often left at the little house.

Henri thrust it into his pocket without reading it.

"Everything is prepared," he said."It is the British Admiralty boat, and one of the officers has offered his cabin.You will be quite comfortable."He appeared entirely calm.He saw to carrying Sara Lee's small bag on board; he chatted with the officers; he even wandered over to a hospital ship moored near by and exchanged civilities with a wounded man in a chair on the deck.Perhaps he swaggered a bit too much, for Jean watched him with some anxiety.He saw that the boy was taking it hard.His eyes were very sunken now, and he moved his right arm stiffly, as though theold wound troubled him.

Jean did not like leave-takings.Particularly he did not like taking leave of Sara Lee.Some time before the boat sailed he kissed her hand, and then patted it and went away in the car without looking back.

The boat was preparing to get under way.Henri was standing by her very quietly.He had not slept the night before, but then there were many nights when Henri did not sleep.He had wandered about, smoking incessantly, trying to picture the black future.

He could see no hope anywhere.America was far away, and peaceful.Very soon the tranquillity of it all would make the last months seem dreamlike and unreal.She would forget Belgium, forget him.Or she would remember him as a soldier who had once loved her.Once loved her, because she had never seemed to realize the lasting quality of his love.She had always felt that he would forget her.If he could only make her believe that he would not, it would not be so hopeless.

He had written a bit of a love letter on the little table at Dunkirk that morning, written it with the hope that the sight of the written words might carry conviction where all his protests had failed.

"I shall love you all the years of my life," he wrote."At any time, in any place, you may come to me and know that I am waiting.Great love like this comes only once to any man, and once come to him it never goes away.At any time in the years to come you may know with certainty that you are still to me what you are now, the love of my life.

"Sometimes I think, dearest - I may call you that once, now that you have left me - that far away you will hear this call of mine and come back to me.Perhaps you will never come.Perhaps I shall not live.I feel to-day that I do not care greatly to live.