and the ditches to canals, there came, brought by a Belgian
corporal, the man who swore that Henri had passed him in his trench
while the others slept, had shoved him aside, which was unlike his usual
courtesy, and had climbed out over the top.

To Sara Lee this Hutin told his story. A short man with a red beard and
a kindly smile that revealed teeth almost destroyed from neglect, he was
at first diffident in the extreme.

"It was the captain, mademoiselle," he asserted. "I know him well. He
has often gone on his errands from near my post. I am"--he smiled--"I
am usually in the front line."

"What did he do?"

"He had no cap, mademoiselle. I thought that was odd. And as you
know--he does not wear his own uniform on such occasions. But he wore
his own uniform, so that at first I did not know what he intended."

"Later on," she asked, "you--did you hear anything?"

"The usual sniping, mademoiselle. Nothing more."

"He went through the inundation?"

"How else could he go? Through the wire first, at the barrier, where
there is an opening, if one knows the way, I saw him beyond it, by the
light of a fusee. There is a road there, or what was once a road. He
stood there. Then the lights went out."

XXX

On a wild night in January Sara Lee inaugurated a new branch of service.
There had been a delay in sending up to the Front the men who had been
on rest, and an incessant bombardment held the troops prisoners in their
trenches.

A field kitchen had been destroyed. The men were hungry, disheartened,
wet through. They needed her, she felt. Even the little she could do
would help. All day she had made soup, and at evening Marie led from
its dilapidated stable the little horse that Henri had once brought up,
trundling its cart behind it. The boiler of the cart was scoured, a
fire lighted in the fire box. Marie, a country girl, harnessed the
shaggy little animal, but with tears of terror.

"You will be killed, mademoiselle," she protested, weeping.

"But I have gone before. Don't you remember the man whose wife was
English, and how I wrote a letter for him before he died?"

"What will become of the house if you are killed?"

"Dear Marie," said Sara Lee, "that is all arranged for. You will send
to Poperinghe for your aunt, and she will come until Mrs. Cameron or
some one else can come from England. And you will stay on. Will you
promise that?"

Marie promised in a loud wail.

"Of course I shall come back,