The Red Signal (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill

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of the inevitable that had her in its power. She had heard of Prussianism, but she did not know that she was beginning to experience it.

      When she went down in the morning she took her letters and asked Mrs. Schwarz how she should mail them. She was told to lay them on the table and “he” would see to them. Hilda had a. feeling that they had fallen into an abyss, as from the distance of the kitchen she saw her letters swept up in the elder Schwarz's big gnarled fist. Instinctively, she felt they might never reach their destination. Surely not until they had passed the censorship of this household tyrant. She spent the day trying to devise a means by which she might mail her own letters, or at least send a telegram. She was beginning to feel virtually a prisoner on this farm.

      Yet there was little time to think. She was driven from one duty to another, and the sudden violent plunge into unwonted labor had made her so stiff and sore in every joint that she could scarcely move without pain.

      Three age-long days and three more nights, all too short for resting, passed, with only the sound of the friendly freight whistle to mark the daylight, and the rumble of the midnight freight through her dreams for comfort. The fourth night she cried herself to sleep once more, because the expected letter from Uncle Otto had failed to appear. The day had been so tortuous with its drudgery, so bleak in its monotony, the future seemed so impossible, so interminable, like eternity in hell. Then, suddenly, some time after midnight, she awoke with a strange insistent whirring approaching in the air through the night. It seemed to be coming on straight through the house, like some terrible destroying animal that nothing could stay, and the sound of it was like no sound that she had ever heard before. Nearer and nearer it drew, and she sprang from her bed softly and crept to her window. She could hear stealthy, sudden noises in the house, as if some other sleeper had also been aroused by the sound.

      The moon was larger now, and very low. The stars were clear and there was a soft radiance over everything that made the plowed fields look like sonic hallowed spot. Up in the sky, not far away, from where the monster noise was coming, she saw a dark cloud-like bird of enormous proportions curve and settle and disappear somewhere in the shadows of the meadow behind the barn and the noise died away slowly into the night. Hilda rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had been dreaming.

      Then out from the back of the house there passed like a wraith the form of a man and kept moving on, a shadowy speck, down the path through the cabbage patch, past the lettuce and turnips, past the barn, between the rows of tomato plants, on into the meadow. After he had disappeared, Hilda wondered if she had really seen him at all, and, shivering, crept back to bed and lay, alert, listening, with every muscle tense and every sense keen. Sometimes she thought she heard distant voices. She did not know what she thought. Her heart was beating somewhere up in her throat, and her head was aching in great hot and cold waves. It seemed as though she must keep calm and take deep breaths, or she would go out in the tenseness of the moment.

      CHAPTER III

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      It was a long time she lay so, with the crooning of the frogs in the distance down by the railroad, croaking away as if nothing had happened. She had almost fallen asleep, and the beating in her throat was slowly quieting down, when the voices came again, distantly, quietly, but growing nearer, she slipped from her bed and crept once more to the window. Soft, padded steps were coming and sibilant utterances in German. They drew nearer until they were directly under her window. She kept quite still and held her breath now, and the tenseness of the strain hurt her chest, but she was not thinking of herself.

      “You are quite sure we can talk here unheard?” a strange voice was saying in cultured German.

      The grunt of assent in response was unquestionably from the elder Schwarz.

      “Whose is that window up there? It is open.”

      “It is only that child they have sent down to helb in the kidgen. She does nod understand German. You are safe.”

      “Don’t be too sure. It does not take long to learn a few words.”

      “She iss much too stupid to learn. I don’t know whad Otto Lessing means sending her here, unless he wants to ged rid of her. She iss no good to vork. You need nod pe afraid. She iss sound asleeb. Und, anyvay, she vould nod know vat you mean even if she onderstand the German. She is a child of that foolish brudder of Otto Lessing, who married an American voman. She is a sigley little thing. Can't stand nothing!”

      “It is not wise to be too sure about anyone. I never trusted that Heinrich you think so much of. One cannot be too guarded. Remember, the Father-land is depending on you. A great deal hangs on your success or failure here. There must be nothing done that would cast the slightest breath of suspicion this way. This is one of the most important stations. When France and England are subdued —and the day is not far off—all must be in readiness here, and we shall make short work of this country. The people are all asleep and can be taken without a fight, only we must look out that they do not waken before the time. Remember, you are held responsible here. The All-Highest is looking to you. You must not run a single risk. Look out that your men here do not know too much! Trust them only so far as you have to. And now for your report. Did the rifles arrive safely and in good condition? Good! And you have them stored in a dry, safe place? Is that the only door? Well, if there is another inner one I would conceal this one with brush. You cannot be too careful. I would advise you to put three or four inches of earth over this trap and plant something, any small plants that can be transplanted occasionally without arousing suspicion or calling attention when it becomes necessary to open the door. Of course, we cannot tell just how soon these arms may be needed. Everything is thoroughly organized. If there should be a sudden victory abroad we could send out the order for an uprising here within twenty-four hours. You must look out that those rifles are kept in perfect condition for immediate use. And the powder and dynamite? They have come? How much? Ah! That is well. You will need to be ready to furnish it on demand with an order from your captain almost any day now. Your orders are to be on hand to-morrow to unload another consignment of potatoes and fertilizer when the car is dropped off here. Let some one guard the car, but have your wagon break down, so that you will be delayed till evening. It is better so, some stray traveller might come along and observe you. Of course, you will carry no lanterns into the car. In the front end, toward the right corner, you will find a box marked "Turnip Seed.' Carry it carefully.”

      “And now I have special orders for your son. He must go up to town during this coming week and enlist in the American Army. His orders are in this envelope, and he will bring all his 'reports' here to you———”

      Schwarz's voice murmured a protest, but the hard, cultured voice went on:

      “It is of no use to urge such woman's foolishness. It is the command! Is it not what you sent him to the Fatherland to be educated for, that he might serve his country? He will be in a remarkable position to obtain information which is very much needed. He should be glad he has the great honor to serve in so high a capacity. Now, will you show me where you have put the powder?”

      The two men moved softly away over the grass, and their voices were audible no longer. Hilda drew a long breath and found she was trembling from head to foot. What did it all mean? Could she be dreaming?

      When she scrambled out of bed the next morning in answer to the angry summons at her door the occurrences of the night came at once sharply to her mind, and she found her fingers trembling as they tried to fasten the buttons in her hasty toilet. Had it all really happened, or was it only an ugly dream? She went and looked out of her window. The sky was crimson with dawn, and the grass below her window was quite visible. There were no signs in the short young turf of recent footsteps. There was nothing to mark the place but a large iron cover with a big thick ring by which to lift it. It looked as if it might be the cover to an old cistern, or possibly a coal pit. It had not excited her curiosity when she had seen it before, but now she recalled some of the sentences spoken beneath her window, and looked again. Could this be the trap-door the stranger had spoken of? But no, it must all have been a dream, of course!

      She

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