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And it happened in that way that Captain Neeland of the 6th Battalion, Athabasca Regiment, Canadian Overseas Contingent, found himself in the Forest of Aulnes, with instructions to stay there long enough to verify or discredit a disturbing report which had just arrived by mail.
Several reasons influenced his superiors in sending Neeland to investigate this latest and oddest report: for one thing, although he had become temporarily a Canadian for military purposes only, in reality he was an American artist who, like scores and scores of his artistic fellow Yankees, had spent many years industriously painting those sentimental Breton scenes which obsess our painters, if not their critics.
As he turned away from the group at the rail, still amused, a man advancing aft spoke to him by name, and he recognized an American painter whom he had met in Brittany. "You, Neeland?" "Oh, yes. I’m fed up with watchful waiting." "Where are you bound, ultimately?" "I’ve a hint that an Overseas unit can use me. And you, Wayland?" "Going to my old home in Finistère where I’ll get well, I hope."
Around the angle of the moat crept a ripple; a rat appeared, swimming, and, seeing them, dived. L’Ombre never stirred. An involuntary shudder passed over Neeland, and he looked up abruptly with the instinct of a creature suddenly trapped but not yet quite realizing it.
He was a very bad painter, but he did not know it; he had already become a promising soldier, but he did not realize that either. As a sportsman, however, Neeland was rather pleased with himself.
"Will you come in, Captain Neeland or, perhaps we had better seat ourselves on the bridge in order to lose no time because I wish you to see for yourself " She lifted her dark eyes; a tint of embarrassment came into her cheeks: "It may seem absurd to you; it seems so to me, at times what I am going to say to you concerning L’Ombre "
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