Sister Eila passed them in the starlight, her young head bent over the rosary in her hands, moving slowly across the lawn.
Their passing on the drive did not seem to arouse her from her meditation; she seated herself on a stone bench under a clump of yews; and they moved on in silence.
As they reached the terrace a shot sounded down by the river; another echoed it; the rattle of rifle fire ran along the valley from, north to south; a rocket rose, flooding the hill beyond the quarry road with a ghastly light.
Peggy Brooks, white as death, came over to Philippa and took her hands into both of hers.
She had begun to learn what love meant, with the first blind shot in the dark, and all the passion and fear within her was concentrated in wondering where those leaden messengers of death had found their billets.
She said in a ghost of a voice:
"Is there going to be a battle here?"
"Not now," replied Warner. "Probably it's nothing at all—some nervous sentry waking up his equally nervous comrades.... What a horrible light that rocket shed!"
The shots had died away; there was no more firing.
Vignier had come around; he was an old soldier, and Warner spoke to him.