but not for worlds would she have revealed this fact at the moment.

Curious that she should feel this extreme distrust of her companion, when she had been her ardent defender in their earlier acquaintance! But then she had never expected to be drawn into any intimacy with her.

Besides, Russia was an incomprehensible country. The class distinctions which had so impressed her in England were as nothing to the differences in rank here.

Russia, in truth, seemed a land of princes and paupers! To a girl of Nona Davis’ ideas and training, to find herself associated with the lower orders of Russian society was distinctly disagreeable. She had lived so long on the tradition of family that social position seemed of first importance.

Now her former acquaintance was living in a peasant’s house and was dressed like a peasant woman. Some strange change must have taken place in her life to reduce her to such a position, when previously she had given the impression of wealth and distinction.

Nona got up hurriedly, drawing her coat about her. Later perhaps she might be willing to hear what the other woman wished to confide, but not today.

Yet Nona felt that she did not wish to look into her companion’s eyes. She must try not to think of her any longer as Lady Dorian, though “Sonya” was an exquisite Russian name, it certainly gave no clue to her identity.

However, she could not fail to see that the other woman’s expression revealed surprise and sorrow at her attitude, but was without resentment. It was as if she had grown accustomed to distrust and coldness.

“I am sorry you don’t wish me to speak of your mother, Nona. It is true I can give you no explanation of the change in my surroundings, but the present need not affect the past. I know that your father has kept your mother’s story a secret from you. Yet there is nothing in it of which you may not be proud, that is, if you have the nature which I have hoped to find in you.”

Embarrassed and yet determined not to listen any further, Nona continued obstinately walking toward the door, with Sonya quietly following her.

“Will you wait a moment, please?” the older woman asked. “I have two friends here in the house with me, whom I would like you to meet. When you talk me over with Mildred and Barbara to find out their opinion of me and of what I have tried to tell you, you can explain to them that I am not alone. I realize that I have always been a mystifying acquaintance and I’m sorry, but it is not possible to tell you my history at present. Some day I may be able to explain.”

Sonya’s tone was half grave and half gay. Moreover, her blue eyes with their curiously dark brows and lashes watched the younger girl with an almost wistful affection.

The situation was more than puzzling. Yet, although she grew more anxious each minute to be away, Nona could only agree to her companion’s request.

For a moment she was left alone in the crude, bare room. It was cheerless and cold and she grew even more uncomfortable. Surely, Russia was the strangest land in the world. How could her history as a young American girl have any connection with it? Why had she so insisted upon continuing her Red Cross nursing in Russia, when without her urging the other Red Cross girls would have been content to remain where they were?

The next moment a very old woman and a man came into the room with Sonya. There was no doubting they were both peasants. With them it was not merely a matter of rough clothes. They were both heavily built, with stupid, sad faces and they mumbled something in broken English when they were introduced to Nona, eyeing her with suspicion. It was only when their gaze rested upon Sonya that their faces changed. Then it was as though a light had shone through darkness.

Sonya introduced them by name, some queer Russian name which Nona could not grasp.

However, she was trying her best to find something civil to say in return, which they might be able to understand, when an unexpected noise interrupted them.

Some one had unceremoniously opened the door in the hall and was walking toward them.

For an instant Nona thought she saw a shade of anxiety cross the faces of her three companions, but the next instant it was gone.

Nona could scarcely swallow a gasp of surprised admiration when, soon after, the door opened.

A young Russian soldier entered the room. He wore the uniform of a Cossack: the high boots, the fur cap and tunic.

To Nona Davis’ American eyes the young man seemed a typical Russian of the better classes. He was extremely handsome, more than six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes and a colorless skin.

He appeared surprised at Nona’s presence, but explained that he was stationed at the Russian fort where a number of wounded were being cared for. He remembered having seen Nona and her two friends. They were the only American nurses in the vicinity, so it was not strange to have noticed them.

Michael Orlaff was the soldier’s name. Sonya spoke it with distinctness, but gave him no title. Yet evidently they knew each other very well.

A moment later and Nona finally got away. She was late and nervous about returning to the fortifications alone. Yet as she hurried on she was thinking over the afternoon until her head ached with the mystery of it. Perhaps it might be wise if she could avoid meeting this particular group of people again.

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CHAPTER III

General Alexis

ALL that day Mildred Thornton had scarcely left the bedside of her patient.

For the Russian boy was dying, and as there was no hope for him, Mildred could only do her best to make him as comfortable as possible.

Now he seemed half asleep, so with her hands folded in her lap the girl sat near him trying to rest, although unable to keep her mind as quiet as her hands.

How strange her surroundings! Since her arrival in Europe as a Red Cross nurse she had lived and worked in two other countries and certainly had passed through remarkable experiences, yet none of them were to be compared with these few weeks of nursing in Russia. One might have been transferred to another planet instead of another land.

As an ordinary American tourist, Mildred had been familiar with Europe for several years, having spent three summers abroad traveling with her parents. But this was her first vision of the East, for Russia is eastern, however she may count herself otherwise.

The American girl now lifted her eyes from the figure of the dying boy and let them wander down the length of the room which sheltered them.

An immense place, it held rows on rows of other cot beds with white-clad nurses passing about among them. When they spoke or when the patients spoke Mildred could rarely guess what was being said, as she knew so few words of Russian. Yet she had little difficulty with her nursing, for the ways of the ill are universal and she had already seen so much suffering.

Now the hospital room was in half shadow, but it was never light nor aired as the American nurse felt it should be.

The hospital quarters were only a portion of the fortress, a great room, like a barracks which had been hastily turned into a refuge for the wounded.

The long stone chamber boasted only