to Father Beckett. In
that case I should at least have been relieved from responsibility. But
Puck didn't. In my heart I had known all along that he would not.

If I could have felt for a whole minute at a time that it would be fair
to wake hopes which mightn't be fulfilled, out would have burst the
secret. But whenever I'd screwed up my courage to speak, Something would
remind me: "Herter sent word that there might be a message from
Switzerland. Better wait till it comes, for he wasn't sure of his facts.
He may have been misled." Or, when I'd decided _not_ to speak, another
Something would say: "Jim is alive. You _know_ he is alive! Herter is
helping him to escape. Don't let these dear old people suffer a minute
longer than they need."

But--well--so far I have waited. A week has passed since I wrote at
Amiens. We have arrived at Jim's chateau--the little, quaint, old
Chateau d'Andelle, with thick stone walls, black-beamed ceilings, and
amusing towers, set in the midst of an enchanted forest of Normandy. No
wonder he fell in love with the place before the war, and wanted to live
there! It must have seemed an impossible dream at the time, for the
owners (the chateau has been in the same family for generations) had
money in those days, and wouldn't have let their home to strangers. The
war has made all the difference. They couldn't afford to keep up the
place, and were eager to let. Beckett money is a boon to them, so
everyone is satisfied. The agents in Paris secured two or three extra
servants to help the old pair left in the house as caretakers; and there
is a jewel of a maid for Mother Beckett--a Belgian refugette. I shall
give her some training as a nurse, and by and by I shall be able to fade
away in peace. Already I'm beginning to prepare my dear lady's mind for
a parting. I talk of my hospital work, and drop hints that I'm only on
leave--that Brian's hopes and Father Beckett's splendid new-born plan
for him, will permit me to take up duty again soon.

The plan developed on the trip: but I'm sure the first inspiration came
from Mother Beckett. While she was ill, she did nothing but lie and
think of things to do for other people. And she was determined to make
it possible for Brian to have a love story of his own, provided he
wanted one. It only needed Father Beckett's practical brain and
unlimited purse to turn her vague suggestion into a full-grown plan. A
whole block of buildings on the outskirts of Paris, let