looking for his. He was
watching, too, the strangely unreal appearance of the sunlit fields, the
long shadows, the golden smoky light, and the church tower, set among
cypresses half a mile away--yet without any conscious sentiment. He had
not said a word to Gertie, nor she to him, and he was totally taken by
surprise when, after the first soft crash of bells for evening service,
she had suddenly thrown herself round face forward among the grasses and
burst out sobbing.

"My dear girl!" said Frank, "whatever's the matter?" Then he stopped.

* * * * *

Fortunately, the procession of worshipers had run dry, and the two were
quite alone. He sat upright, utterly ignorant of what to say. He thought
perhaps she was in pain ... should he run for the Major or a doctor?...
Then, as after a minute or two of violent sobbing she began a few
incoherent words, he understood.

"Oh! I'm a wicked girl ... a wicked girl ... it's all so beautiful ...
the church bells ... my mother!"

* * * * *

He understood, then, what had precipitated this crisis and broken down
the girl's reserve. It was, in fact, exactly that same appeal which
holds a gallery breathless and tearful in the last act of a Surrey-side
melodrama--the combination of Sunday quiet, a sunset, church bells,
associations and human relationships; and Gertie's little suburban soul
responded to it as a bell to a bell-rope. It was this kind of thing that
stood to her for holiness and peace and purity, and it had gone clean
through her heart. And he understood, too, that it was his presence
that had allowed her to break down. The Major's atmosphere had held her
taut so far. Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat as he
stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sunday fields and then down
at the shaking shoulders and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of
Gertie.... He did not know what to do ... he hoped the Major would not
be back just yet. Then he understood he must say something.

"Don't cry," he said. "The Major--"

She sat up on the instant in sudden consternation, her pretty, weak,
sunburned face disfigured with tears, but braced for the moment by fear.

"No, no," said Frank; "he isn't coming yet; but--"

Then she was down again, moaning and talking. "Oh!... Oh!... I'm a
wicked girl.... My mother!... and I never thought I should come to
this!"

"Well, why don't you chuck it?" said Frank practica