It was on her tongue's end to tell him of her resolution to go to America, but she changed her mind instantly and finally. She would not ask his help, not after this affair under the tree. And she would start to-morrow. She would not, could not, spend another day at Mervaux. The resolution had occupied her in a moment of silence. Awakening from it, she saw that he had turned as one drawn by something of intense interest and was gazing out across the fields. Far away on the horizon was a flash and another flash and then many flashes. It was like sheet lightning.
"There must be a storm in the distance!" she exclaimed.
"Listen!" he said sharply.
From that direction came a sound like thunder, yet not like thunder, for its dull peals had a booming regularity.
"And there—where my finger points!"
She stepped a little behind him and looked along his arm. Beyond the fingers' end, breaking out of the mantle of night, were one-two-three-four bright, sharp flashes in regular succession, followed by reports, one-two-three-four.
"Listen!"
There was a rumble of wheels on the main road, mingled with the shouts of men, very audible once one's mind was centred on it.
"The near, sharp flashes are from the French guns! The others are the burst of shells! They are fighting there—there in sight of us!" Helen exclaimed, gripping Phil's arm. "The war has come to Mervaux! This will be terrible for mother! We must be careful how we break the news to her."
"Yes, she must go," said Phil. "Wait!"