had a note from him today. You see, after your lecture I continued writing him in prison every now and then during the year we spent in Belgium. Just occasionally he was allowed to send me a few lines in reply. Then a long time passed and I had almost forgotten him. Now he writes to say that by an extraordinary freak of fortune he has been returned home. It seems that he became very ill, so when the Germans decided to agree on an exchange of prisoners, he and our little blind Frenchman, Monsieur Bebé, were both sent back to their own lands. Lieutenant Hume does not say what is the matter with him. His letter isn’t about himself. He is really tremendously anxious to hear news of us. He has just learned of Eugenia’s marriage to Henri Castaigne, and he thinks we are pretty foolhardy to have offered our services for nursing in Russia.”

Instinctively Barbara held her companion’s arm in a closer grasp.

“Far be it from me to disagree with him!” she murmured.

For her attention had just been arrested by the noise of a horse’s hoofs approaching. Both girls looked up to see a young Cossack soldier riding toward them. He sat his horse as though he were a part of it, his feet swinging in long stirrups and his hands barely touching the reins.

Both girls felt a stirring sense of admiration. But to their surprise, as the horse drew near the young soldier pulled up and slid quietly to the ground.

The next instant he came up toward Nona.

“You will pardon me,” he said, speaking English, although with a noticeable accent, “but it will not be wise for you to continue to walk any further along this road. It is growing late and there are stragglers coming in from several villages where a German raid is feared.”

He had taken off his pointed Cossack cap of lamb’s wool and held it in his hand as though he had been a young American meeting a group of friends upon an ordinary thoroughfare.

Barbara was struck by the incongruity of his appearance and his behavior. He looked like a half-civilized warrior of centuries ago, and yet his manner was the conventional one of today. However, it would not be wise to expect him to remain conventional under unusual conditions. Barbara could see that the young Russian officer was a son of the east, not the west. He had a peculiar Oriental pallor and long, slanting dark eyes, and his small black moustache scarcely concealed the thin red lines of his lips.

Nona was frowning at him in a puzzled fashion.

But the next instant she bowed with an expression of recognition.

“Thank you, we will do as you suggest. It is odd to see you so soon again after our unexpected meeting the other afternoon. Lieutenant Orlaff, this is my friend, Miss Meade.”

Barbara inclined her head, too surprised to do more. But as the Russian officer continued to walk beside them with his horse following, she soon understood where he and Nona had met each other.

“Yes, she is an old friend, Sonya Valesky. I knew her years ago and then she went away into other countries.”

The young Russian hesitated. Barbara and Nona were both watching his face closely, so that they could see the cloud of doubt, even of struggle, that swept over it.

“You are strangers in my country, but you have come here to help us in our need,” he protested, almost as if he were thinking aloud.

“I would not have you doubt my friend. I cannot explain to you, and yet I wish to warn you. Do not be too intimate with Sonya Valesky. Russia is not like other countries in times of war or peace. She has many problems, tragedies of her own to overcome which the foreigner cannot understand. Forgive me if I should not have spoken.”

Then before either girl could fully grasp what the young man’s confused speech could mean, he had bowed, mounted his horse and ridden off.

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