rk on the river bank, where in
a quiet alcove I somewhat Germanised my appearance. I shaved my short
beard and trimmed my moustache with the ends erect, the now universal
fashion of the German menfolk; and with an old felt cap and unmistakable
German clothes, I felt I could probably pass muster until I opened my
mouth.

I had, thanks to my good friend, learned off a few German phrases for
use at odd times, so, as night fell we parted.

Down the pathway I stepped with a world of mystery ahead of me. I
remember now it took no slight effort to leave, but though the call away
was unmistakable, I knew the reply was the hardest task in my
experience. But I set my teeth and trudged down the track till I
reached the bend, then I looked back. At the top of the road a figure
stood, a hand waved and--yes--a kiss was thrown, then she turned away.

I felt alone in a new world, so marked my way and went into the night.

[Illustration]

During the first hours I stepped along in fear and trembling. I peopled
every dark corner with a sentry; I pictured every distant tree as
covering watching soldiers. I wondered at the lack of challenge, till it
dawned upon me that I was not in the fighting country. There was no war
in these parts, so I tramped along at the side of the road till early
morning, the only incident being a hail from a man on a bridge which I
had passed but did not have to cross. The bridges were evidently
guarded. As dawn light came into the sky I saw an aeroplane pass flying
low and stared at by an early morning ploughman, then I crept behind a
hedge and stole a sleep.

CHAPTER XII.

The Waste of War.

I could not have been long in slumber, when a slight noise, perhaps the
cracking of a stick, drove sleep from my anxious brain, and I sat up
with surprise, staring at a long figure in black that stood peering at
me. The black gown, the beads and the broad-brimmed hat told me it was a
priest.

He spoke to me in German. It was one of the sentences Miss Goche told me
I would be asked--he wished to know where I was going. So I fired at him
a second of my readied German phrases: "I'm going south to fight," I
said, which was true.

Then he let free a flood of German that floored me. He waited for a
reply that hesitated; then with a queried look into my face, he said:
"English! you're no German," and his eyes began to twinkle.

"You can confess," he said, "remember there is no war with men of God.
I, too, am