“Very well, then do. Get your eyes red and your face swollen and have tears running down your cheeks if you can manage it, and when I come for you again you’re to sob. Don’t speak a word no matter what anyone says to you, but sob like--like a motor bicycle.” “I will,” said Susie. “And if you do it well, I’ll buy you the smartest blouse in London to-morrow and bring it home to you.” When they reached the station they jumped down from the platform and crossed the line to the train. Tom opened the door of an empty third-class carriage and pushed Susie into it. Then he went round to the back of the train and climbed on to the platform. He made straight for the carriage in which the soldiers sat. “Sergeant,” he said, “will you come along with me for a minute?” The sergeant, who was beginning to find his long vigil rather dull, warned his men to stay where they were. Then he got out and followed Tom O’Donovan. Tom led him to the carriage in which Susie sat. The girl had done very well since he left her. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her cheeks were slobbered. She held a handkerchief in her hand rolled into a tight damp ball. “You see that girl,” said Tom. “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. “Seems to be in trouble, sir.” “She’s in perfectly frightful trouble,” said Tom. “She’s on her way to Dublin--or she would be if this train would start--so as to catch the night mail to Cork. She was to have been married in Cork to-morrow morning and to have gone off to America by a steamer which leaves Queenstown at 10.30 a.m. Now of course, the whole thing is off. She won’t get to Dublin or Cork, and so can’t be married.” Susie, when she heard this pitiful story, sobbed convulsively. “It’s very sad,” said Tom. The sergeant, a nice, tender-hearted young man, looked at Susie’s pretty face and was greatly affected. “Perhaps her young man will wait for her, sir,” he said. “He can’t do that,” said Tom. “The fact is that he’s a demobilised soldier, served all through the war and won the V.C. And the Sinn Feiners have warned him that he’ll be shot if he isn’t out of the country before midday to-morrow.” Susie continued to sob with great vigour and intensity. The sergeant was deeply moved. “It’s cruel hard, sir,” he said. “But my orders----” “I’m not asking you to disobey orders,” said Tom, “but in a case like this, for the sake of that poor young girl and the gallant soldier who wants to marry her--a comrade of your own, sergeant. You may have known him out in France--I think you ought to stretch a point. Listen to me now!” He drew the sergeant away from the door of the carriage and whispered to him. “I’ll do it, sir,” said the sergeant. “My orders say nothing about that point.” “You do what I suggest,” said Tom, “and I’ll fix things up with the guard.”