The Girl Philippa. Chambers Robert William

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      Sister Eila had seated herself at her desk, and, while he was still examining the poster, she continued serenely to correct the pile of inky copybooks.

      He watched her for a while, where she bent above the scrawled pages, her pen poised, her lovely face framed in the snowy wimple under the pale shadow of her wide-winged coiffe.

      "Sister Eila?"

      She turned her head tranquilly.

      "You are English, you tell me?"

      "Irish." She smiled.

      "It's the same. Tell me, have you had enough experience in your world of duty and of unhappiness to know an honest man when you encounter him?"

      Sister Eila laid aside her pen and turned toward him.

      "I don't think I understand," she said.

      "I mean, could you make up your mind about – well – about such a man as I am – merely by inspecting me and hearing me speak?"

      Sister Eila laughed:

      "I think I could very easily."

      "Have you already done so?"

      "Why, yes, I suppose so."

      "Do you think I am honest enough to be trusted?"

      Sister Eila laughed again, deliciously.

      "Yes, I think so," she said.

      He remained silent and his face, already grave, grew more serious. Sister Eila's smile faded as she watched him. It was becoming very plain to her that here was a man in trouble.

      Silent there together in the cool stillness of the schoolroom, they heard the distant clatter of little feet, the vigorous voice of command from Sister Félicité; and a moment later a double file of chattering children passed in the sunshine outside the window, led toward their noonday playground by Sister Félicité accompanied by Warner.

      "What is on your mind, Mr. Halkett?" asked Sister Eila, still watching him.

      "If I tell you," he said, "will you ask me no more than I offer to tell you?"

      She flushed:

      "Naturally, Monsieur – "

      "You don't quite understand, Sister. What I have to say I wish you to write down for me in the form of a letter of information to the French Government."

      "You wish me to write it?"

      "Please. And that is what I mean. Naturally, you might ask me why I do not write it myself… Don't ask me, Sister… If you really do trust me."

      He turned, met her gaze, saw two clear, sweet eyes unspoiled and unsaddened by the wisdom she had learned in dark and wretched places; saw in them only a little wonder, a faintly questioning surprise.

      "What is your answer, Sister?" he asked.

      "My answer is – I – I do trust you… What am I to write?"

      She took a few loose leaves of paper from the desk, and sat looking at him, pen lifted.

      He said:

      "Write to the chief of the general staff at the Ministry of War in Paris."

      And when she had properly addressed the personage in question, he dictated his letter very slowly in English; and Sister Eila, her expressionless young face bent above the letter paper, translated into French as he dictated, and wrote down the exact meaning of every word he uttered:

      "Information has come to me that the advertisements of Bauermann and Company, of Cologne, Prussia, which are posted everywhere throughout Belgium and Northern and Eastern France, conceal military and topographical details concerning the vicinity where these advertisements are displayed.

      "Such information could be of use only to a prowling spy or an invading enemy.

      "Therefore, acting upon the incomplete information offered me, I deem it my duty to bring this matter to the notice of the Government.

      "It would appear that:

      "1st. Secret information is contained in the details of the picture which embellishes this advertisement, a sample of which I inclose herewith.

      "2nd. These details vary in every poster. Presumably their number, color, groupings, and general distribution constitute a secret code which is calculated to convey information to the enemies of France.

      "3rd. In the sample which is inclosed with this letter, the number of ships probably represents the number of highways leading from Saïs to Rosières-sous-Bois; the sea gulls flying above two of the ships give the distance in kilometers; the ten white flowers give the distance by the military road.

      "The sun, in the picture, appears to be about three hours high above the horizon; and it is three hours' journey from here to the nearest French fortified post, the Pass of the Falcons in the Vosges.

      "The rays of the sun are five in number, three long ones and two short ones; and there are three battalions of the line guarding the fort at the pass, and two companies, one of engineers, one of Alpine infantry.

      "My informant, who desires to remain anonymous, further declares it to be his belief that an exhaustive study of this and similar posters would reveal perfectly clear messages in every detail of color, drawing, and letter-press; and that it is his firm conviction that these posters, representing a German firm which manufactures soap, have been placed throughout Belgium and France for the convenience of an invading army.

      "Immediate removal of these advertisements seems advisable in the opinion of my informant.

      "(Signed), SISTER EILA,

      "Of the Daughters of St. Vincent de Paul at Saïs."

      When she had finished the letter and had unhesitatingly signed it, she lifted her clear eyes to him in silence. Her breath came a trifle unevenly; the tint of excitement grew and waned in her cheeks.

      "At least," he said, "you will understand that I am a friend to France."

      "Yes, that is evident."

      "Will you direct and seal the packet and give it to the postman?"

      "Yes."

      "And, Sister Eila, if they send gendarmes or other officials to question you?"

      She looked straight into his eyes, deeply, so that her gaze seemed to plunge into the depths of his very soul.

      Then, lifting the cross from the rosary at her girdle, she slipped out of her chair and knelt down beside her desk, her young head bent low over the crucifix which she held between the palms of her joined hands.

      Halkett, head also lowered, stood motionless.

      After a few moments she rose lightly from her knees.

      "It is a vow, now," she said. "I have bound myself to silence concerning the source of my information – " her untroubled eyes rested again on his – "because I believe in you, Monsieur."

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