"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:--
"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."
Marjorie put down the letter with a shaking hand.
"Is it right to forgive the enemies of our country?" she asked Mrs. Morrison.
"When they are dead," replied the Principal.
Marjorie went out slowly from the study, and stood thinking for a moment. Then, going upstairs to her cubicle, she looked in her treasure box, and found the little gold locket containing the portrait of her one-time friend. It had been a birthday present from Chrissie. She refrained from opening it, but, taking it down to the dingle, she flung it into the deepest pool in the brook. She walked back up the field with a feeling as though she had attended a funeral.
"I've just seen Miss Norton," she confided. "The specialist came to look at Eric yesterday, and he gives quite good hopes for him. He's to go into a children's hospital under a very clever doctor, and be properly looked after and dieted. His own mother lets him eat anything. Norty's simply beaming. She's to take him herself next week in a motor ambulance."