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The Becketts had hardly heard of the Ourcq. As for me, I'd forgotten that part in the drama of September, 1914. I knew that there was an Ourcq a canal, or a river, or both, with a bit of Paris sticking to its banks: knew it vaguely, as one knows and forgets that one's friends' faces have profiles. But Brian's words brought back the whole story to my mind in a flash.
Those words, "tried to ruin," I uttered rather feebly, holding forth to the Becketts, because we had passed a long dark line of trees before which we'd been told we ought to see the Cathedral rise triumphant against an empty background of sky. And still there was nothing! Of course, I told myself, it must be the mist.
When I think what a short time ago it is that his life hung in the balance, this seems a miracle. I'm afraid I am glad glad that I did the thing which has given him his chance. Besides, I love the Becketts. So does Brian. And they love us. It's difficult to remember that I've stolen their love. Surely, they're happier with us than they could have been without us?
I almost want to be punished since Brian is safe, and my punishment can't spoil his future. The patriotic Becketts have given up the big gray car, now they've settled down at the Château d'Andelle: and our one-legged soldier-chauffeur has departed, to conduct a military motor.
It should have been exquisite, it was heartbreaking, to see how he feared to hurt my feelings with some offer of help from his abundance. "Hurt my feelings!" And it was with the sole intention of "working" them for money that I'd written to the Becketts. That looks horrible in black and white, doesn't it, Padre? But I won't try to hide my motives behind a dainty screen, from your eyes or mine.
But it was the first glimpse the Becketts had had of war's abominable destruction. I took up nursing in the south of France before the Zeppelins made much visible impression on London; and as I volunteered for a "contagious" hospital, I've lived an isolated life far from all horrors save those in my own ward, and the few I saw when I went to nurse Brian.
"It's not complicated," I laughed; and gave him the name of the Paris bankers in whose care the Becketts allow Brian and me to have letters sent Morgan Harjes. He repeated the address after me, and then stopped, holding out his hand. "That's all," he said abruptly. "I shall be glad, whatever happens, that I waited, and had this talk with you. Good-bye."
If I am needed anywhere on earth, it isn't here, but down in the south at my poor Hôpital des Épidémies. Would it be cowardly in me to fly, as soon as I've persuaded the Becketts to spare me, and throw the responsibility I haven't dared decide to take, upon my brave, blind Brian? Ah, I don't mean telling him about myself and my sins. I shouldn't have the courage for that, I fear!
Beckett's greeting of him, stopped me from telling the truth if I would have told it. I'm not sure if I would, in any case, Padre; but as it was I could not. The question seemed settled. To have told the Becketts that I was an adventuress a repentant adventuress and let them go out of my life without Brian ever knowing they'd come into it was one thing.
I was sick with fear for a moment lest it should drop an "egg" on to the garden, and kill Brian or the Becketts, or the lieutenant who had wished to spare us this danger.
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