Hodson was waiting in the road when they came out. Miss Norton spoke to her kindly.

"We need not trouble you to take the young ladies back to Brackenfield, they can return with me across the moor," she said. "I dare say you are anxious to get home to The Tamarisks."

"Yes, thank you, m'm, it's got rather late," answered Hodson gratefully, setting off at once along the Whitecliffe Road.

The girls and Miss Norton took a short cut across the moor. They walked on for a while in silence. Then the mistress said:

"I didn't know it was you two who have been so kind to Eric. I should like to explain about him, and then you'll understand. My eldest brother married very much beneath him. He died when Eric was a year old, and his wife married again—a man in her own station, who is now keeping the 'Royal George'. I can't bear to think of Eric being brought up in such surroundings, but I have no power to take him away; his mother and step-father claim him. I had planned that when he is a little older I would try to persuade them to let me send him to a good preparatory school, but now"—her voice broke—"it is not a question of education, but whether he will grow up at all. I am writing for a specialist to come and see him next week. I won't give up hope. He's the only boy left in our family. Both my other brothers were killed at the beginning of the war." She paused for a moment, and then went on. "I'm sure you'll understand that I did not want anybody at Brackenfield to know that my relations live at a village inn. I have not spoken of it to Mrs. Morrison. May I ask you both to keep my secret and not to mention the matter at school?"

"We won't tell a soul, Miss Norton," the girls assured her.

"Thank you both for your kindness to Eric," continued the house mistress. "You have made his little life very bright lately. I need hardly tell you how dear he is to me."

"He's the most perfect darling we've ever met," said Dona.

After that they walked on again without speaking. All three were busy with their own thoughts. Marjorie's brain was in a whirl. She was trying to readjust her mental attitude. Miss Norton! Miss Norton, whom she had mistrusted and suspected as a spy, was Eric's idolized aunt, and had gone to the Royal George on no treacherous errand, but to tell fairy tales to an invalid child! When the cold scholastic manner was dropped she had caught a glimpse of a beautiful and tender side of the mistress's nature. She would never forget Miss Norton's face as she held the little fellow in her arms and kissed him good-bye.

"I'm afraid I've utterly misjudged her!" decided Marjorie. "I see now why she was so upset about that lantern slide I took. It was because Eric was in it. It had nothing to do with the German prisoners. After all, anybody can receive foreign letters if they've relations abroad, and perhaps she's going to stay with friends in the Isle of Wight. As for those Belgians in the hotel, perhaps they were genuine ones. We had Belgian guests ourselves at the beginning of the war, and couldn't understand a word of the Flemish they talked."

Marjorie ran upstairs to her dormitory as soon as she reached St. Elgiva's, and found Chrissie waiting for her there.

"Where's the uniform?" demanded her chum imperatively.

"The uniform? I didn't get it after all," replied Marjorie a little vaguely. The unexpected episode of Eric and Miss Norton had temporarily driven the former matter from her mind.

"You—didn't—get it?"

Chrissie said the words very slowly.

"No. I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped. Elaine was there—and Dona wouldn't let me—so——"

"You sneak!" blazed Chrissie passionately. "You promised! You promised faithfully! And this is how you treat me! Oh, I hate you! I hate you! What shall I do? Can't you go back for it? send for it? I tell you, I must have it!""How can I go back for it or send for it?" retorted Marjorie, amazed at such an outburst on the part of her chum. "I'm sorry; but, after all, it would have been miles too big for you, and you'll really do the part quite as well in my mackintosh, with Irene's broad leather belt. There's a piece of brown calico we can cut into strips and make puttees for you. You'll look very nice, I'm sure."

Chrissie hardly seemed to be listening. She was sitting on her bed rocking herself to and fro in the greatest emotion. When Marjorie laid a hand on her arm she flung her off passionately. She had never exhibited such temper before, and Marjorie was frankly surprised. The occasion did not seem to justify it. The disappointment about the costume could not surely be so very keen. None of the girls had meant to dress up to any great extent for the charades.

"Chrissie, don't be an idiot!"

There was no answer.

"What are you making such a hullabaloo about? You're the limit this evening. Do, for goodness' sake, brace up!"

"Let me alone!" snapped Chrissie. "You called yourself my friend, and you wouldn't do what I asked you. I've done with you now. Don't speak to me again."

"Bow-wow! Pitch it a little stronger. I'll go away till you've got over your tantrums. It's what used to be called katawampus when I was small, and they generally spanked me for it.""Can't you go?" thundered Chrissie.

Thoroughly angry with her chum, Marjorie went. She wondered how they were going to act a love scene together that evening. The soft nothings they had rehearsed would seem very hollow after the mutual reproaches they had just exchanged.

Chrissie was not in her usual place at supper-time.

"Sulking!" thought Marjorie. "I suppose she doesn't want to sit next to me. Well, she's punishing herself far more than me, silly girl! She must be dreadfully hungry, unless she's shamming a headache, and getting Nurse to give her bread and milk in the ambulance room. Perhaps she's busy with her costume. She never liked the idea of using my mackintosh for a uniform. I expect she's thought of something else."

Marjorie's anger, always hot while it lasted, but short-lived, was beginning to cool down. When supper was over she ran to look for her chum, but could not find her anywhere. There was no time for a long search, as the charades were to begin almost at once, and the St. Elgiva's girls were already preparing the stage for the first scene. Marjorie was seized upon by Patricia and borne off to arrange screens and furniture.

Punctual to a moment, the guests from the other hostels arrived and took their seats as audience. The performers, in the little room behind the platform, were breathlessly scuttling into their costumes, and all talking at once.

"Where's my hat?"

"Do button this at the back for me, please!"

"I can't find my boots!"

"Oh, bother, this skirt has no hooks!"

"Who's got the safety pins?"

"Be careful, you'll tear that lace!"

"I can't get into these shoes, they're too small!"

"I've grown out of this skirt since last theatricals."

"It's miles too short!"

"Has anybody seen my belt?"

Each one was so occupied in finishing her own hasty toilet that she could not give much thought to the others, and it was only when all were ready that Patricia asked:

"Where's Chrissie?"

The girls looked round in consternation. She was certainly not in the dressing-room. Betty ran on to the platform, drew aside the curtain a little, and, beckoning Annie Turner from among the audience, sent her and six other Intermediates in search of the missing performer. They returned in a few minutes to say that they could not find her. Marjorie, meantime, had explained the cause of the quarrel.

"It's sickening!" raged Betty. "For her to go and spoil the whole thing, just out of temper! I'd like to shake her!"

"Everybody's waiting for us to begin!" fluttered Rose.

"We won't wait!" declared Patricia. "Let us take the second charade first, Chrissie doesn't come on in that; and, Betty, you go and ask Annie to take Chrissie's place. She doesn't act badly, and there'd be time to tell her what to do. She must fetch a mackintosh. Here's my broad belt and a soft felt hat. She can belong to an Australian regiment."

Annie, summoned hastily behind the scenes, rose magnificently to the occasion. Coached by Betty and Marjorie, she grasped the outline of the part she must play with immediate comprehension. She donned the mackintosh, buckled the belt over her shoulder, cocked the soft hat over one eye, practised a military stride and an affectionate embrace, and declared herself ready for action. She was only just in time. The audience was already applauding the end of the first charade. The performers came trooping back, flushed and excited, and much relieved to find Annie so well prepared.

"You mascot! You've saved our reputation!" exulted Patricia.

"I'm never going to speak to Chrissie Lang again!" declared Betty.

"It's abominable of her to let us down like this!" agreed Rose indignantly.

Charade No. 2 went off with flying colours. Annie really played up magnificently. None of the girls had known before that she could act so well. She threw such fervour into her love-making that Mrs. Morrison, who was among the spectators, gave a warning cough, whereupon the gallant officer released his lady from his dramatic embrace, and, falling gracefully on one knee, bestowed a theatrical kiss upon her hand. The clapping from the girl portion of the audience was immense."But where is Chrissie Lang?" asked everybody when the performance was over.

Nobody knew. Since Marjorie had parted from her in the dormitory she had not been seen. Neither teachers, girls, nurses, nor servants could give any report of her. She simply seemed to have disappeared. Mrs. Morrison questioned everyone likely to know of her movements, but obtained no satisfaction. Her cubicle in No. 9 Dormitory was unoccupied that night. At breakfast next morning the sole topic of conversation was: "What has become of Chrissie Lang?"

"Mrs. Morrison thinks she must have run away, and she's telephoning to the police," Winifrede told Marjorie in confidence, when the latter, anxious to unburden herself, sought the head girl's study. "I can't see that it's your fault in any way. Chrissie was absurd to show such temper, and it certainly was no reason for going off. I'm afraid there must be something else at the bottom of it all."

"But what?"

"Ah, that's just the question!"

Marjorie was very much upset and disturbed. She could scarcely keep her attention on her classes that morning. "Where has Chrissie gone, and why?" she kept asking herself. At dinner-time there was still no news of the truant. It was rumoured that Mrs. Morrison had telegraphed to Mrs. Lang, and had received no reply. The Principal looked anxious and worried. She felt responsible for the safety of her missing pupil.Early in the afternoon, Marjorie, wishing to be alone, took a stroll down the dingle. It was a favourite haunt of Chrissie's, who had often sat reading beside the little brook. Marjorie walked to the very stone that had been her usual seat. The sharpenings of a lead pencil were still there, and lying at the edge of the water was a crumpled-up piece of paper. Marjorie picked it up and smoothed it out. It was in Chrissie's writing, and contained a list of details in connection with tanks and guns, also particulars of the Redferne munition works and the Belgian colony there, and several other pieces of information in connection with the war. She stared at it in consternation. A sudden light began to break in upon her mind.

"Good heavens! Was it Chrissie after all who was the spy?" she choked.

The idea seemed too horrible. It was she herself who had so readily answered all her chum's questions in regard to these things. In doing so, had she not been betraying her own country? Once the clue was given, all sorts of suspicious circumstances came rushing into her mind. She wondered it had never struck her before to doubt her friend's patriotism. Nearly distracted with the dreadful discovery, she hurried away to find Winifrede, and, showing her the paper, poured out her story. Winifrede listened aghast.

"I'm afraid it's only too true, Marjorie," she said. "I've been talking to Mrs. Morrison, and all sorts of queer things have come out about Chrissie. It seems that a prisoner has escaped last night from the German camp, and they think it must have been her brother, and that she helped him. Mrs. Morrison has had a long talk with a detective, and he said they telegraphed to Millgrove, where Chrissie's mother lives, and the police there found the house shut up, and discovered that she is a German, and that her true name is Lange, not Lang. The detective said they have had Brackenfield under observation lately, for they suspected that somebody was heliographing messages with a mirror to the German camp. And who put that bicycle lamp in the Observatory window last spring? We have certainly had a spy in our midst. We ought to take this paper at once to Mrs. Morrison, and you must tell her all you know."

Marjorie not only had a long talk with the Principal, but was also forced to undergo an examination by the detective, who asked her a string of questions, until he had extorted every possible detail that she could remember.

"There's not a shadow of a doubt," was his verdict. "There are plenty of these spies about the country. It's our business to look after them. Pity she got away so neatly. I'm afraid she and her precious brother must have had a boat in waiting for them. It's abominable the amount of collusion there is with the enemy. They'd accomplices in Whitecliffe, no doubt, if we could only get on the track of them."

"I wish you had mentioned all this to me sooner, Marjorie," said Mrs. Morrison."I never suspected anything," returned Marjorie, bursting into tears.

The poor child was thoroughly unnerved by her interview with the detective, and the Principal's reproach seemed to put the finishing touch to the whole affair. In Winifrede's study afterwards she sobbed till her eyes were red slits.

"Never mind," comforted Winifrede. "After all, things might have been worse. Be thankful you didn't lend her your brother's uniform. It's as clear as daylight she didn't want it for charades. It would be easy for a German prisoner to escape disguised as a British officer. It might have got your brother into most serious trouble."

"It was Dona who wouldn't let me take it," choked Marjorie. "She said at the time that she didn't trust Chrissie. I've been a blind idiot all along!"

"We were none of us clever enough to find her out."

It was just about a week after this that a letter arrived at Brackenfield, addressed to Marjorie in Chrissie's handwriting. It bore a Dutch stamp and postmark, and had been opened by the censor. Mrs. Morrison perused it first in private, then, calling Marjorie to the study, handed it to her to read. It bore no address or date, and ran thus:—

"My dear Marjorie,

"This letter is to say a last good-bye to you, for you will never hear from me or of me again. By now you will have found out all. Believe me that what I did was not by my own wish. I hated and loathed it all the time, but I was forced by others to do it. I cannot tell you how wretched I was, and how I envied you, who had no dreadful secret to keep. We are going back to our own people" (here a portion of the letter was blackened by the censor). "It was all for his sake" (again a portion was erased). "I want to tell you, Marjorie, how I have loved you. You have been the one bright spot in my life, and I can never forget your kindness. I have your portrait inside my locket, and I shall wear it always, and have it buried with me in my coffin. Try to think of me as if I were already dead, and forgive me if you can.

"From your still loving friend,
"Chrissie."