k
it."

"Well?" said Digby, when the Major left.

"I can't do anything," said Miss Willmot "In a case of this kind there's
nothing to be done."

But Miss Willmot made up a little parcel before she left the canteen.
There were cigarettes in it, and chocolate, and a couple of mince pies,
and a large slice of cake, and some biscuits. Afterwards she acted
lawlessly, offended against discipline, treated rules and regulations
with contempt.

Sergeant O'Rorke was sitting in the guard-room playing patience when
Miss Willmot entered. He stood up at once and saluted.

"Terrible weather, miss. I'll never say again that it rains in the
County Galway. Sure, it doesn't know how. A man would have to come to
France to find out what rain is."

"Sergeant," said Miss Willmot, "I want to speak to your prisoner."

Sergeant O'Rorke scratched his ear doubtfully. Miss Willmot had no right
to see the prisoner. He had no right to open the door of the cell for
her. They had hammered some respect for discipline into Sergeant O'Rorke
when he served in the Irish Guards. But they had not hammered the Irish
nature altogether out of him. He was willing to go to great lengths, to
take risks in order to oblige a friend whom he liked and respected. He
had an Irishman's feeling that laws and regulations are not meant to
apply to ladies like Miss Willmot.

"Did you think to ask leave of the Major, miss?" he said.

"No," said Miss Willmot, "I didn't ask anybody's leave."

"That's a pity now," said O'Rorke; "but sure the Major would never have
said no if you'd have asked him."

He fitted the key into the lock and flung open the door of the cell.

"Prisoner, 'tention," he said.

Miss Willmot entered the small square room, lit by a single electric
light. It was entirely bare of all furniture, save a single rug, which
lay rolled up in a corner. The walls and floor were lined with sheets of
zinc A young man stood stiffly to attention in the middle of the room.
Miss Willmot stared at him.

Then she turned to Sergeant O'Rorke. "Shut the door please, sergeant,
and wait outside."

The young man neither stirred nor spoke.

"Tommy!" said Miss Willmot.

"7432! Private Collins, miss, 8th Wessex Borderers."

He spoke in a tone of hard, cold fury.

"Tommy," said Miss Willmot.

"Awaiting trial by Field General Court Martial on a charge of
deliberately wounding himself in the leg."

"Tommy," said Miss Willmot again, "you didn't do that."

The bo