They glanced at her critically, realising for the first time that she had escaped without any of the marks of martyrdom. “Didn’t you get any?” “No; you seem to have been the favourites.” “Disgusting savages!” “The Sussex people always were the worst boors in England.” When they had made some sort of job of their mutual grooming, and had eaten a few rock-cakes and biscuits, Joan Gaunt unbuttoned her blouse and drew from the inner depths a long white envelope. Lizzie Straker sidled nearer, still holding the candle. Eve had not seen this envelope before. She stood up and looked down over their shoulders as they sat. Joan Gaunt had drawn out a sheet of foolscap that was covered with cipher. Lizzie Straker pointed an eager finger. “That’s the place. It’s between Horsham and Guildford.” “And there’s no proper caretaker, only a man at the lodge.” “We can make a blaze of it. We shall hear from Galahad at Horsham.” They were human enough to feel a retaliating vindictiveness, after the way they had been pelted at Pulborough, and Eve, looking down at the paper that Joan Gaunt held, realised at last that they were incendiaries as well as preachers. She could not read the precious document, but she guessed what it contained. “Is that our Black List?” “Yes.” They did not offer to explain the cipher to her, for she was still something of a probationer. Moreover the candle was guttering out, and Lizzie Straker had to smother it in the grass beside the stack. Eve returned to her corner, made a nest, took off her hat, and, turning her knapsack into a pillow, lay down to look at the stars. A long day in the open had made her sleepy, but Joan Gaunt and Lizzie Straker were still talking. Eve fell asleep, with the vindictive and conspiring murmur of their voices in her ears. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXVIII THE MAN WITH THE MOTOR Eve woke with the scent of hay in her nostrils, and her hair was damp with dew. She sat up, and from that brown nook on the hill-side looked out upon a world that was all white mist, with a great silver sun struggling out of the east. Each blade of grass had its droplet of dew. The air was still as deep water. From a wood in the valley came the sound of the singing of birds. Her two companions were still asleep, Joan Gaunt lying with her mouth wide open, her face looking grey and old. Eve picked up an armful of hay, went a few paces forward, and sat down so that she could see everything without having to look over the bodies of the sleeping women. It was like watching the birth of a world. The veil of white mist hid miraculous happenings, and the singing of the birds down yonder was like the exultation of souls that beheld and marvelled. Mystery! The stillness seemed to wait. In a little while the white veil would be withdrawn.