Anna was hurrying through the quiet streets of Witanbury on her way to Mr. Head’s Stores.

As she walked along, looking neither to the right nor to the left, for she had of late become unpleasantly conscious of her alien nationality, she pondered with astonishment and resentment the events of the last two days—the receipt of a telegram by Mrs. Otway, and its destruction, or at any rate its disappearance, before she, Anna, could learn its contents; and, evidently in consequence of the telegram, her mistress’s hurried packing and departure for London.

Then had followed a long, empty day, the old woman’s feelings of uneasiness and curiosity being but little relieved by Rose’s eager words, uttered late on the same evening: “Oh, Anna, didn’t mother tell you the great news? Major Guthrie is coming home. She has gone up to meet him!” The next morning Mrs. Jervis Blake herself had gone to London, this being the first time she had left her husband since their marriage.

There had come another day of trying silence for Anna, and then a letter from Rose to her old nurse. It was a letter which contained astounding news. Mrs. Otway was coming back late to-night, and was to be married—married, to-morrow morning in the Cathedral, to Major Guthrie!

The bride-elect sent good old Anna her love, and bade her not worry.

Of all the injunctions people are apt to give one another, perhaps the most cruel and the most futile is that of not to worry. Mrs. Otway had really meant to be kind, but her message gave Anna Bauer a most unhappy day. The old German woman had long ago made up her mind that when it suited herself she would leave the Trellis House, but never, never had it occurred to her that anything could happen which might compel her to do so.

At last, when evening fell, she felt she could no longer bear her loneliness and depression. Also she longed to tell her surprising news to sympathetic ears.

All through that long day Anna Bauer had been making up her mind to go back to Germany. She knew that there would be no difficulty about it, for something Mrs. Otway had told her a few weeks ago showed that many German women were going home, helped thereto by the British Government. As for Willi and Minna, however bitterly they might feel towards England, they would certainly welcome her when they realised how much money, all her savings, she was bringing with her.

As she walked quickly along—getting very puffy, for she was stout and short of breath—it seemed to her as if the kindly old city, where she had lived in happiness and amity for so many years, had changed in character. She felt as if the windows of the houses were frowning down at her, and as if cruel pitfalls yawned in her way.

Her depression was increased by her first sight of the building for which she was bound, for, as she walked across the Market Place, she saw the boarded up shop-front of the Stores. “Mr. Head hoped to get the plate-glass to-morrow”—so the boy who had brought the butter and eggs that morning had exclaimed—“but just now there was a great shortage of that particular kind of shop-front glass, as it was mostly made in Belgium.”

Meanwhile the Witanbury Stores presented a very sorry appearance—the more so that some evilly disposed person had gone in the dark, after the boarding had been put up, and splashed across the boards a quantity of horrid black stuff!

Anna hurried round to the back door. In answer to her ring, the door was opened at last a little way, and Polly’s pretty, anxious face looked out cautiously. But when she saw who it was, she smiled pleasantly.

“Oh, come in, Mrs. Bauer! I’m glad to see you. You’ll help me cheer poor Alfred up a bit. Not but what he ought to be happy now—for what d’you think happened at three o’clock to-day? Why, the Dean himself came along and left a beautiful letter with us—an Address, he called it.” She was walking down the passage as she spoke, and when she opened the parlour door she called out cheerfully, “Here’s Mrs. Bauer come to see us! I tell her she’ll have to help cheer you up a bit.”

And truth to tell Alfred Head did look both ill and haggard—but no, not unhappy. Even Anna noticed that there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Very pleased to see you, I’m sure!” he exclaimed cordially. “Yes, it is as Polly says—out of evil good has come to us. See here, my dear friend!”

Anna came forward. She already felt better, less despondent, but it was to Polly she addressed her condolences. “What wicked folk in this city there are!” she exclaimed. “Even Mr. Robey to me says, ‘Dastardly conduct!’”

“Yes, yes,” said Polly hastily. “It was dreadful! But look at this, Mrs. Bauer——” She held towards Anna a large sheet of thick, fine cream-laid paper. Across the top was typed—

“TO ALFRED HEAD,
CITY COUNCILLOR OF WITANBURY.”

Then underneath, also in typewriting, the following words:

“We the undersigned, your fellow-countrymen and fellow-citizens of Witanbury, wish to express to you our utter abhorrence and sense of personal shame in the dastardly attack which was made on your house and property on March 25, 1915. As a small token of regard we desire to inform you that we have started a fund for compensating you for any material loss you may have incurred which is not covered by your plate-glass insurance.”

There followed, written in ink, a considerable number of signatures. These were headed by the Dean, and included the names of most of the canons and minor canons, four Dissenting ministers, and about a hundred others belonging to all classes in and near the cathedral city.

True, there were certain regrettable omissions, but fortunately neither Mr. and Mrs. Head nor Anna seemed aware of it. One such omission was that of the Catholic priest. Great pressure had been brought to bear on him, but perhaps because there was little doubt that members of his congregation had been concerned in the outrage, he had obstinately refused to sign the Address. More strange and regrettable was the fact that Miss Forsyth’s name was also omitted from the list. In answer to a personal appeal made to her by the Dean, who had himself gone to the trouble of calling in order to obtain her signature, she had explained that she never did give her signature. She had made the rule thirty years ago, and she saw no reason for breaking it to-day.

Anna looked up from the paper, and her pale blue, now red-rimmed, eyes sparkled with congratulation. “This is good!” she exclaimed in German. “Very, very good!”

Her host answered in English, “Truly I am gratified. It is a compensation to me for all I have gone through these last few days.”

“Yes,” said Polly quickly. “And as you see, Mrs. Bauer, we are to be really compensated. We were thinking only yesterday that the damage done—I mean the damage by which we should be out of pocket—was at least £15. But, as Alfred says, that was putting it very low. He thinks, and I quite agree—don’t you, Mrs. Bauer?—that it would be fair to put the damage down at—let me see, what did you say, Alfred?”

“According to my calculation,” he said cautiously, “I think we may truly call it twenty-seven pounds ten shillings and ninepence.”

“That,” said Polly, “is allowing for the profit we should certainly have made on the articles those wretches stole out of the windows. I think it’s fair to do that, don’t you, Mrs. Bauer?”

“Indeed yes—that thoroughly to agree I do!” exclaimed Anna.

And then rather sharply, perhaps a trifle anxiously, Alfred Head leant over to his visitor, and looking at her very straight, he said, “And do you bring any news to-night? Not that there ever seems any good news now—and the other sort we can do without.”

She understood that this was Mr. Head’s polite way of asking why she had come this evening, without an invitation. Hurriedly she answered, “No news of any special kind I have—though much that me concerns. Along to ask your advice I came. Supper require I do not.”

“Oh, but you must stop and have supper with us—with me I mean,” said Polly eagerly, “for Alfred is going out—aren’t you, Alfred?”

He hesitated a moment. “I shall see about doing that. There is no hurry. Well, what is it you want to ask me, Mrs. Bauer?”

At once Anna plunged into her woes, disappointment, and fears. Now that the excitement and pride induced by the Address had gone from his face, Alfred Head looked anxious and uneasy; but on hearing Anna’s great piece of news he looked up eagerly.

“Mrs. Otway and this Major Guthrie to be married at the Cathedral to-morrow? But this is very exciting news!” he exclaimed. “D’you hear that, Polly? I think we must go to this ceremony. It will be very interesting——” his eyes gleamed; there was a rather wolfish light in them. “The poor gentleman is blind, is he? It is lucky he will not see how old his bride looks——” he added a word or two in German.

Anna shrank back, and, speaking German too, she answered, “Mrs. Otway has a very young face, and when not unhappy, she is very bright and lively. For my part, I think this Major a very-much-to-be-envied man!” Her loyalty to the woman who had been kind and good to her over so many years awakened, tardily.

“No doubt, no doubt,” said Alfred Head carelessly. “But now I suppose you are thinking of yourself, Frau Bauer?”

Polly broke in: “Do talk in English,” she said pettishly. “You can’t think how tiresome it is to hear that rook’s language going on all the time!”

Her husband laughed. “Well, I suppose this marriage will make a difference to you?” he said in English.

“A difference?” exclaimed Anna ruefully. “Why, my good situation me it loses. Home to the Fatherland my present idea is——” her eyes filled with big tears.

Her host looked at her thoughtfully. What an old fool she was! But that, from his point of view, was certainly not to be regretted. She had served his purpose well—and more than once.

“Mrs. Otway she a friend has who a German maid had. The maid last week to Holland was sent, so no trouble can there be. However, one thing there is——” she looked dubiously at Polly. “Mrs. Head here knows, does she, about my——?”

And then at once between Alfred Head’s teeth came the angry command, in her own language, to speak German.

She went on eagerly, fluently now: “You will understand, Mr. Head, that I cannot behave wrongly to my dear nephew Willi’s superior. I have been wondering to-night whether I could hand the affair over to you. After all, a hundred marks a year are not to be despised in these times. You yourself say that after the War the money will be made up——” she looked at him expectantly.

He said rather quickly to his wife, “Look here, Polly! Never mind this—it’s business you wouldn’t understand!” And his wife shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t care what the old woman was saying to Alfred. She supposed it was something about the War—the War of which she was so heartily sick, and which had brought them, personally, such bad luck.

“It is difficult to decide such a thing in a hurry,” said Alfred Head slowly.

“But it will have to be decided in a hurry,” said Anna firmly. “What is to happen if to-morrow Mrs. Otway comes and tells me that I am to go away to London, to Louisa? English people are very funny, as you know well, Herr Hegner!” In her excitement she forgot his new name, and he winced a little when he heard the old appellation, but he did not rebuke her, and she went on: “Willi told me, and so did the gentleman, that on no account must I move that which was confided to me.”

“Attend to me, Frau Bauer!” he said imperiously. “This matter is perhaps more important than even you know, especially at such a time as this.”

“Ach, yes!” she said. “I have often said that to myself. Willi’s friend may be interned by now in one of those horrible camps—it is indeed a difficult question!”

“I do not say I shall be able to do it, but I will make a big effort to have the whole business settled for you to-morrow morning. What do you say to that?”

“Splendid!” she exclaimed. “You are in truth a good friend to poor old Anna Bauer!”

“I wish to be,” he said. “And you understand, do you not, Frau Bauer, that under no conceivable circumstances are you to bring me into the affair? Have I your word—your oath—on that?”

“Certainly,” she said soberly. “You have my word, my oath, on it.”

“You see it does not do for me to be mixed up with any Germans,” he went on quickly. “I am an Englishman now—as this gratifying Address truly says——” he waited a moment. “What would be the best time for the person who will come to call?”

Anna hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “The marriage is to be at twelve, and before then there will be a great deal of coming and going at the Trellis House.”

“Is it necessary for you to attend the bridal?” he asked.

Anna shook her head. “No,” she said, “I do not think so; I shall not be missed.” There was a tone of bitterness in her voice.

“Then the best thing will be for your visitor to come during the marriage ceremony. That marriage will draw away all the busybodies. And it is not as if your visitor need stay long——”

“Not more than a very few minutes,” she said eagerly, and then, “Will it be the same gentleman who came three years ago?”

“Oh, no; it will be someone quite different. He will come in a motor, and I expect a Boy Scout will be with him.”

A gleam of light shot across Anna’s mind. But she made no remark, and her host went on:

“You realise that great care must be taken of those things. In fact, you had better leave it all to him.”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded understandingly. “I know they are fragile. I was told so.”

It was extraordinary the relief she felt—more than relief, positive joy.

“As to the other matter—the matter of your returning to Germany,” he said musingly, still speaking in his and her native language, “I think, yes, on the whole your idea is a good one, Frau Bauer. It is shameful that it should be so, but England is no place at present for an honest German woman who has not taken out her certificate. I wonder if you are aware that you will only be allowed to take away a very little money? You had better perhaps confide the rest of your savings to me. I will take care of them for you till the end of the War.”

“Very little money?” repeated Anna, in a horrified, bewildered tone. “What do you mean, Herr Hegner? I do not understand.”

“And yet it is clear enough,” he said calmly. “The British Government will not allow anyone going to the Fatherland to take more than a very few pounds—just enough to get them where they want to go, and a mark or two over. But that need not distress you, Frau Bauer.”

“But it does distress me very much!” exclaimed Anna. “In fact, I do not see now how I can go——” She began to cry. “Are you sure—quite sure—of what you say?”

“Yes, I am quite sure,” he spoke rather grimly. “Well, if you feel in that way, there is nothing more to be said. You will either stay with your present lady, or you will have to go to the Pollits.”

She looked up at him quickly; she was surprised that he remembered her daughter’s married name, but it had slipped off his tongue quite easily.

“Never will I do that!” she exclaimed.

“Then you had better arrange to stop here. There are plenty of people in Witanbury who would be only too glad to have such an excellent help as you are, Frau Bauer.”

“I shall not be compelled to look out for a new situation,” she said quickly. “My young lady would never allow that—neither would Mrs. Otway!”

But even so, poor Anna felt disturbed—disturbed and terribly disheartened. The money she had saved was her own money! She could not understand by what right the British Government could prevent her taking it with her. It was this money alone that would ensure a welcome from the Warshauers. Willi and Minna could not be expected to want her unless she brought with her enough, not only to feed herself, but to give them a little help in these hard times. But soon she began to feel more cheerful. Mrs. Otway and the Dean would surely obtain permission for her to take her money back to Germany. It was a great deal of money—over three hundred pounds altogether.

Within an hour of her return to the Trellis House Anna heard the fly which had been ordered to meet Mrs. Otway at the station drive into the Close. For the first time, the very first time in over eighteen years, Anna did not long to welcome her two ladies home. Indeed, her heart now felt so hurt and sore that when she heard the familiar rumble she would have liked to run away and hide herself, instead of going to the front door.

And yet, when the two came through into the hall, Rose with something of her old happy look back again, and Mrs. Otway’s face radiant as Anna had never seen it during all the peaceful years they two had dwelt so near to one another, the poor old woman’s heart softened. “Welcome!” she said, in German. “Welcome, my dear mistress, and all happiness be yours!”

And then, after Rose had hurried off to Robey’s, Mrs. Otway, while taking off her things, and watching Anna unpack her bag, told of Major Guthrie’s home-coming.

In simple words she described the little group of people—of mothers, of wives, of sweethearts and of friends—who had waited at the London Docks for that precious argosy, the ship from Holland, to come in. And Anna furtively wiped away her tears as she heard of the piteous case of all those who thus returned home, and of the glowing joy of certain of the reunions which had then taken place. “Even those who had no friends there to greet them—only kind strangers—seemed happier than anyone I had ever seen.”

Anna nodded understandingly. So she herself would feel, even if maimed and blind, to be once more in her own dear Fatherland. But she kept her thoughts to herself....

At last, after she had a little supper, Mrs. Otway came into the kitchen, and motioning to Anna to do likewise, she sat down.

“Anna?” she asked rather nervously, “do you know what is going to happen to-morrow?”

Anna nodded, and Mrs. Otway went on, almost as if speaking to herself rather than to the woman who was now watching her with strangely conflicting feelings: “It seems the only thing to do. I could not bear for him to go and live alone—even for only a short time—in that big house where he left his mother. But it was all settled very hurriedly, partly by telephone to the Deanery.” She paused, for what she felt to be the hardest part of her task lay before her, and before she could go on, Anna spoke.

“I think,” she said slowly, “I think, dear honoured lady, that it will be best for me to go to Germany, to stay with Minna and Willi till the War is over.”

Mrs. Otway’s eyes filled with tears, yet she felt as if a load of real anxiety had suddenly been lifted from her heart.

“Perhaps that will be best,” she said. “But of course there is no hurry about it. There will be certain formalities to go through, and meanwhile——” Again she stopped speaking for a moment, then went on steadily: “A friend of Major Guthrie’s—one of his brother officers who has just come home from the Front—is also to be married to-morrow. His name is Captain Pechell, and the lady also is known to Major Guthrie; her name is Miss Trepell. I have arranged to let the Trellis House to them for six weeks, and I have to tell you, Anna, that they will bring their own servants. Before I knew of this new plan of yours, I arranged for you to go to Miss Forsyth while this house is let. However, the matter will now be very much simpler to arrange, and you will only stay with Miss Forsyth till arrangements have been made for your comfortable return to Germany.”

The colour rushed to Anna’s face. Then she was being turned out—after all these years of devoted service!

Perhaps something of what Anna was feeling betrayed itself, for Mrs. Otway went on, nervously and conciliatingly: “I did try to arrange for you to go and spend the time with your daughter, but apparently they will not allow Germans to be transferred from one town to another without a great deal of fuss, and I knew, Anna, that you would not really want to go to the Pollits. I felt sure you would rather stay in Witanbury. But if you dislike the idea of going to Miss Forsyth, then I think I can arrange for you to come out to Dorycote——” But even as she said the words she knew that such an arrangement would never work.

“No, no,” said Anna, in German. “It does not matter where I go for a few days. If I am in Miss Forsyth’s house I can see my gracious young lady from time to time. She will ever be kind to her poor old nurse.” And Mrs. Otway could not find it in her heart to tell Anna that Rose was also going away.