"Miss Thornton, as soon as it is possible for convenient arrangements to be made for you I want you to know that I intend having you sent back to Petrograd. You must of course have a safe escort or I should have seen to the matter sooner."

Ordinarily Mildred Thornton possessed unusual self-control, but the surprise, indeed, the shock of the speech, took her unawares.

She had not dreamed that she and Barbara and Nona had been such complete failures in their Red Cross work. Why, after their several years of war experience they had felt themselves of perhaps unusual value in the Russian nursing. So far as she knew there had been no complaints of their work, only praise. But in any case how could their failures have reached General Dmitri Alexis' ears? It seemed incredible that he should ever be annoyed with such trifling concerns.

"Just as you wish," Mildred answered quietly, yet with greater personal dignity than any one of the other American Red Cross girls could have summoned. "We have done our best to help with the nursing. If we have failed it is, of course, wisest that we should return to Petrograd. Afterwards we can go home to the United States."

"Failed in your nursing? And it is for that reason you believe I wish to have you sent away from my fortress?"

Actually General Alexis stopped in his walk and faced his companion, since Mildred was, of course, obliged to stop also.

"That is folly. I know nothing of your nursing. But from your face, from a something, a serenity and strength that your presence suggests, I feel that you must understand and love your profession."

General Alexis was now studying Mildred Thornton with surprising intentness, as though he were trying in this moment of their acquaintance to pierce beneath the surface of the girl before him. This was characteristic of the man. No human being was ever too small or too unimportant for his consideration. He was a strange combination: a great soldier and yet one of the gentlest of men.

"I want you to go back to Petrograd because I fear for your safety and the safety of your friends should you remain much longer at Grovno," he continued. "It is of this fact you are not to speak. I have reason to know that at almost any hour in the next few days we may expect the German attack. Grovno will resist to the uttermost. But it may be that the old fortifications are not so invincible as we once thought them to be. A new war has brought a new world and the old order changeth."

Once again Mildred saw beneath the outer surface of the man, but almost at once he was again the soldier.

"You understand that I do not expect this. If I decide it may be wiser to retreat, it will only be to form a conjunction with another part of Grand Duke Nicholas' army. But in any case I should prefer to have you three American nurses away from all possible danger. The Russian nurses will share the fate of their own soldiers. Be prepared to leave within a few days. When the necessary arrangements are made you will receive instructions."

Then before Mildred could protest, and she had scarcely the courage for this, they had reached the gate of the fortress.

Here General Alexis bowed and waited for his guard to come up with him. Mildred could feel the surprise even of the sentries at the gate and the few soldiers who chanced to be near at their unexpected appearance. Truly it was amazing that the great commander should be concerned with the fate of three unimportant American girls, and even more amazing that he should actually show his consideration and friendliness to one of them!



CHAPTER VIII

Another Warning

Two hours after Sonya Valesky had been taken away by the Russian police Nona Davis started back for the Russian fortress.

Only a few moments were required to pack her own belongings, since the little house and everything inside it had been fumigated as soon as Sonya reached a state of convalescence. Nona's time had been spent in trying to comfort Sonya's servants, old Katja and Nika, and also in trying to acquire some information from them.

In neither effort was she successful. Either the old man and woman knew nothing of Sonya's actions, or else they were too grief-stricken to confide their knowledge. There was also the third possibility that Sonya had warned them against betraying her to any human being. Whatever the reason, they were dumb, except for their half-broken Russian prayers and stories of Sonya as a little girl. If she had not long ago been fully aware of the fact, Nona was now assured that the two peasants had been former servants of the Russian woman. It was Sonya who would not recognize the distinctions of maid and mistress, who called herself by no title and would allow her servants to call her by none.

Therefore it was almost night when Nona left the little hut, old Nika carrying her bag and plodding behind her. The girl felt that she must return to her two American friends to receive their aid and sympathy.

Surely something could be done for Sonya, it was horrible to think of her being carried off to a Russian prison, concerning which one had read such dreadful stories. She was too ill and she seemed so utterly without friends or relatives. Yet Nona herself was utterly powerless, knowing no one with any influence in Russia. Nevertheless she felt a strange bond, which had come to her out of the past, between herself and Sonya Valesky.

One person, however, might be willing to give her advice, though she doubted his help. In returning to the fort, Nona meant as soon as possible to request an interview with the young Russian officer, Michael Orlaff.

She was not frightened during her walk through the dismal Russian country. Wearing her Red Cross uniform she felt a sufficient protection, besides old Nika's presence. But the real truth is she was too absorbed in considering Sonya's history and fate to be aware of anything else.

She was therefore more annoyed than frightened when a figure appeared before her at the crossing of the road by the Three Pines. The voice that straightway called out to them held a quality of command that made Nika drop at once on his knees. Nona was not in the least frightened, but then she had seen the outline of the young officer's figure and the glistening of his sword hilt.

"I am Nona Davis, an American Red Cross nurse on my way back to the fortress, Lieutenant Orlaff," the girl explained. "I am glad to have met you, as perhaps you will tell me what I must do when I reach the gate."

The Russian officer saluted as though Nona had been a superior officer.

"I was on my way at the present moment to Sonya Valesky's home to inquire for her. This is the first hour of freedom I have been able to command all day. But tell me what brings you back to the fortress at this time? Has Sonya grown worse or is she better?"

Here was her opportunity. Nona felt that fate must have sent it to her by a special dispensation. Now there need be no delay in her confidence.

Lieutenant Orlaff came of a noble family, he must have powerful connections, if he could only be persuaded to use them in Sonya's behalf. Certainly he had appeared to be her friend, although disapproving of her behavior and views of life.

As sympathetically and as quickly as possible Nona told of the coming of the Russian police. Then she laid great stress on the fact that Sonya was too ill to have been taken away at such a time. Yet she had gone without resistance, making no plea for herself and asking for no aid. What must they do? The situation was unendurable.

Intentionally Nona used the pronoun "they," including Lieutenant Orlaff with herself in their interest in Sonya. Yet except for his first muttered exclamation the Russian officer had made no comment.

In the darkness Nona gazed at him resentfully. The Russians were a cruel people, sometimes all fire and then again all ice. She would like to have told him what an American man would have attempted for a friend, who was a woman and in such a tragic position, no matter what her crime or mistake. But Nona was sure by this time that Sonya Valesky had committed no crime. She had come to know her too well, her exquisite gentleness, so oddly combined with a blind determination that took no thought of self. Besides she recalled her friend's final words, "a follower of the Prince of Peace." Surely there were but few such followers in the European world today!

Awaiting his answer, Nona continued to look at her companion. The young Russian might have stood for the figure of "Mars," the young god of war, as he strode along beside her. He was six feet in height, splendidly made, and tonight in the semi-darkness his face showed hard and unmoved.

"I am grieved but not surprised at what you tell me," he returned the next moment. "Not a hundred, but a thousand times I have warned Sonya that she must give up her mad ideas. There was sufficient danger in them when the world was at peace. Now in time of war to preach that men are brothers, that there should be no such thing as patriotism, that all men are kin, no matter what their country, there never was such folly. It is hard to feel pity or patience."

"Then you will do nothing to help?" Nona inquired, trying to hide the anger she felt. "Of course I understand that from your point of view and from the view of nearly all the world Sonya Valesky is hopelessly wrong. But I can't see why she should be punished because she has a higher ideal than other people?"

If Nona had only thought for a moment she would have realized that the world has always thus rewarded its visionaries.

"But Sonya is not content to think in this way alone. She has spent her life in trying to persuade other persons to her view, and has many followers. Once she was a very rich woman and traveled in many lands preaching her universal brotherhood," the young officer ended his speech with a characteristic shrug of his shoulders, which is the Oriental fashion of announcing that fate is stronger than one's will.

"To have continued advocating such a doctrine in a time of war was worse than madness. I have done what I could, I have even risked my own honor and safety in remaining Sonya's friend. Now retribution has come," he concluded, as though the subject was not to be resumed.

And Nona did not reply at once. So the young Russian officer and the American girl walked on toward the fortress through darkness that was each moment growing more dense. There were no lights save the stars, since the fortress was only dimly lighted in the interior; outside lights would too plainly have exposed their position to the enemy.

"What then do you think will become of Sonya? What punishment will she have to suffer?" Nona inquired when she felt that she had gotten her voice under control.

"Siberia," Lieutenant Orlaff returned briefly. Then feeling that his companion desired him to say more, he went on:

"In many cases a man or woman who has done what Sonya Valesky has would be hung as a traitor. She has been preaching peace, which means she has been urging men not to fight. That is treason to Russia. But I believe that Sonya will be lightly dealt with because she comes of a family that once served the Czar and his father. Besides, Sonya is a woman and a beautiful one and it would not do to make a martyr of her."

"Then you think Siberia a light punishment?" Nona questioned, no longer trying to keep the bitterness out of her tones. "Well, surely you accept a friend's misfortune easily! I have not your philosophy. I do not think I can do much, as I have no friends in Russia and no money, but as soon as I receive permission I shall go to Petrograd to be of whatever service I can."

Lieutenant Orlaff stared at the girl beside him. It was impossible to see anything but the outline of her face, yet he could observe its pallor and the sheen of her hair under the nurse's cap. Besides, he felt the contempt she had not allowed herself to express, for the Russian is singularly proud and sensitive.

"I repeat that I am very sorry," the young officer added. "You are wrong in thinking I take Sonya Valesky's fate lightly. Her family and mine, as I once told you, have been friends for many years. After the death of her parents my father was for a little time her guardian until she came of age. I will do what I can; I will write letters to her relatives and to people who were once her friends. But I warn you to expect nothing. Long ago they became weary of her wild theories and have had nothing to do with her for years."

"Then all the more reason why I should do what I can. Even if I accomplish nothing, at least Sonya will have the comfort of knowing that a friend is near her during her trial," the girl said aloud, although really not addressing her companion.

During the latter part of his speech she had been thinking very rapidly. First of all, she must ask for a leave of absence from her Red Cross nursing and explain that it was necessary for her to return to Petrograd for a time. But where was she to obtain the money for her expenses? She had nothing of her own except the few roubles which she was paid for her work and which she had forfeited when she undertook to care for Sonya Valesky. In all probability when Mildred Thornton knew her mission she could borrow the money from her. But then this would mean a delay so long that she might be of no service to Sonya. For Mildred kept only a small amount of extra money with her and would be compelled to write her father for any large sum. Weeks would pass before Judge Thornton could receive his daughter's request and then there would be more time required for the transmission of the check.

However, besides Mildred there was Eugenia who could be appealed to for aid. There was no doubt of Eugenia's assistance, once she learned Sonya Valesky's story and realized why she had seemed a suspicious character to all of them in the days of their meeting on board the "Philadelphia." But Eugenia was away off somewhere in France nursing in a Red Cross hospital near her husband's line of trenches. It would also take time to reach Eugenia. Nevertheless she was the best person to whom to make a request.

"But what connection have you with Sonya Valesky? Why should you not be willing to leave her to her fate?" Lieutenant Orlaff had to ask the second time before Nona heard him. "You have done what you could in nursing her through a dangerous illness; friendship could expect nothing more. Besides, you are an American girl and can have only a slight acquaintance with Sonya."

Again Nona Davis did not reply immediately. How much or how little should she take the Russian officer into her confidence? However, it did not seem to her of much importance then.

"You are mistaken. I am not simply an American girl," Nona explained quietly. "My father was an American, but my mother was a Russian. She and Sonya Valesky knew each other as girls, although my mother was the older. There is a stronger tie between us than you imagine. And I have reason to believe that my mother once thought as Sonya does about many things."

"Your mother, impossible!" Michael Orlaff exclaimed, with more consternation and regret in his voice than was reasonable. "But you, surely you cherish no such ideas?"

The American girl shook her head, although she seemed to be pondering over her companion's question before replying.

"No," she returned at last. "I have no such ideas and I believe never will have them. Even though my mother was a Russian, I am an American in all my feelings and instincts and training. Russia fascinates me, but it frightens me at the same time. Besides, it is not necessary in our country that we should teach peace and equality, because it is in those two principles that the American people most believe. If Sonya is released I mean to try and take her back to the United States with me to remain until the war is over."

"But Sonya will not be released, I have tried to make you understand," Lieutenant Orlaff added doggedly. "What is one woman more or less in times like these? Go to Petrograd if you will, Miss Davis. I have told you it is not wise for you and your friends to remain at Grovno. But when you reach Petrograd have nothing to do with Sonya Valesky. I have known you only a short time, yet I am your friend and I warn you. Cannot you see that I care very much what becomes of you? You are a guest in my country; you have come to do us a service. It would be a poor return if trouble overtook you."

Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff with old Nika hobbling behind them had by this time about reached the entrance to the fortress. Nona was truly grateful. She was very tired and depressed from the day's experiences. Moreover, she did not understand the manner or the words of the young officer beside her. At one moment he seemed extraordinarily hard and at the next unnecessarily concerned. Nothing could happen to her in Petrograd of a serious character, but in any case her experiences could not interest Lieutenant Orlaff.

As soon as possible Nona said good-by to him. Later, in recalling their conversation, she often thought of a phrase he used: "What is one woman more or less in times like these?"



CHAPTER IX

The Attack

There was a great deal more for the three American Red Cross girls to confide to one another than they could find time for, soon after Nona Davis' return to the fortress.

But two evenings later it chanced that the three girls were all on day duty and therefore had the same evening and night free.

In the left wing of the fortress, near the hospital quarters, was the single, small bedroom which the three American nurses shared. Once before Nona had discovered Barbara Meade rereading one of Dick Thornton's letters and giving way to the blues in their small, cold chamber. This evening she made the discovery a second time.

It chanced that Barbara had gotten away from her nursing first and hurried off to the only privacy that was possible under the circumstances. Because she was looking forward to a long and serious conversation with her two friends she made ready to meet the situation as comfortably as possible. This means that Barbara slipped out of her nursing uniform and into the pretty kimono that Mildred had presented her with long ago in Paris. Then, while she waited for the others, she read Dick's and Eugenia's latest letters once again.

At last Dick had arrived in New York City and was writing from the lovely home Barbara remembered so well. He had only been there a little while when this letter had been written, but already Dick had confided the news of his engagement to his mother and father.

Barbara could read between the lines in a characteristic feminine fashion. Dick declared that his father was delighted to hear of his happiness and that he had not forgotten that they probably owed their son's life to the girl to whom he was now engaged.

But Judge Thornton agreed with his son—a man should be able to support his wife before he married. Therefore he meant to do all that he could to get Dick started in the right way, so that he might go ahead as quickly as possible.

Dick did not seem to feel that it would take very long to accomplish this delectable result, but to Barbara, away off in Russia, a land she both disliked and feared, the situation looked pretty indefinite.

Moreover, Dick had said nothing about the way in which his mother had received the news of a prospective daughter-in-law. This was not an oversight on Dick's part; Barbara understood him too well to be deceived into any such impression. He and his mother were too intimate and devoted for him not to care intensely about her attitude toward the girl he wished to marry. Never could he have forgotten to mention his mother's position! No, it was merely what she had always expected. Mrs. Thornton thoroughly disapproved of her son's engagement and Dick would not wound the girl he loved by writing her this fact. Later there was a chance that his mother might be persuaded to change her mind. But in any case it would be easier to explain by word of mouth than coldly to set down the present situation.

Moreover, if Barbara had required further proof, she would have had it in the fact that Mrs. Thornton had not written her a single line to say either that she was glad or sorry that the daughter of her husband's old friend had become engaged to her only son. If she had spoken of the matter to Mildred, Mildred had never referred to it, proving again that any comment from Mrs. Thornton must have been unfavorable.

While she made these reflections following the rereading of her fiance's letter, Barbara was lying on her cot-bed with an army blanket drawn close up under her chin. Now she buried her curly head deeper in her pillow and turned from Dick's to Eugenia's letter.

It was difficult to think of Eugenia Peabody as Madame Castaigne, indeed as the Countess Castaigne, only neither she nor her husband would ever be induced to use their titles. The old Countess might always remain in safe possession of hers.

Barbara wondered if Eugenia was happier than she was. Then she felt ashamed of herself. Eugenia's husband was every instant in danger of losing his life, while Dick had only returned to the United States, where he was now safe in his own home. Yet Eugenia's letter made no complaints. She mentioned having seen Captain Castaigne once in the past month, when he had received a leave of absence of twenty-four hours and had hurried to her.

No, Eugenia's letter was chiefly devoted, as all her previous letters had been, to her interest and concern in the three American Red Cross girls. She wished them to return immediately to France and to the old chateau, where the Countess Castaigne would be only too happy to shelter them. Later, if they wished, they could find other Red Cross work to do in France. But Russia was not a country where the girls should have gone at this time, and certainly not without her to look after them. Moreover, the news from the Russian lines grew more and more alarming. Everywhere the Germans seemed to be conquering. It was disheartening after the Russian triumphs at the beginning of the war. The letter closed with a final plea: would Barbara do her best to persuade Nona and Mildred that they should as soon as possible come back to France. There would be no cowardice or desertion of duty in leaving Russia at present, only discretion and good sense.

And upon this point of view Barbara was reflecting when Nona found her.

Personally Barbara agreed with Eugenia and wished that Nona and Mildred would join her in withdrawing from Russia whenever they could best be spared. But she could not decide whether she ought to thrust her point of view upon her friends since she was uncertain whether her judgment or her desire most swayed her.

France would be so much nearer New York and therefore Dick's letters could be so much more frequent. Then there was the Countess Castaigne, to whom she could pour out all her heartburnings. Moreover, there was the chance of every now and then seeing her beloved Eugenia.

But Barbara also remembered that she had always been the least brave and determined of the four American nurses ever since their arrival in Europe. Should she reveal herself in the selfsame light again?

At this instant Nona snuggled under the blanket beside the younger girl.

The Russian winter was fast approaching and frequently it was bitterly cold. Besides, there were no chairs in the Red Cross girls' bedroom, only the three beds and some stools, so it was simpler to lie down than be seated.

"I have a long story to tell you, Bab, and I want your advice, only I think we had best wait for Mildred, so you may not have to hear everything twice," Nona began.

"You mean about Sonya Valesky?" Barbara queried. Of course Nona had told her two friends of Sonya's arrest, but had not been able to go into the details of the story, nor had she mentioned her own intentions. Very possibly both the girls would disapprove, as Lieutenant Orlaff had done, of her becoming more closely involved with Sonya Valesky's history.

Fortunately Mildred appeared at the door without further delay.

But when she entered the room, both of her companions could see that she also had something of importance upon her mind which she wished to discuss at once.

Instead of lying down, Mildred immediately seated herself upon the edge of her cot, facing her friends. Then she drew her own blanket up around her shoulders.

"Girls," she began, "I don't usually do the talking, but I want both of you to listen to me for a few moments tonight. I have been trying to speak of this for several days, and if I don't tell you now the order may come when you are wholly unprepared. We are to be sent back to Petrograd as soon as a safe escort can be found for us."

"Sent back to Petrograd! Thank fate for even so much!" Barbara whispered under the cover. "Petrograd might be the beginning of a return journey to France."

Then she drew her chin up, endeavoring to appear deeply wounded.

"Do you mean, Mildred, that our services as Red Cross nurses are not considered valuable?" she demanded. "Why, only today one of the Russian surgeons declared that it was difficult to decide which one of us did the best work. Of course, I think Mildred at present deserves the prize, Nona has been off duty so long in taking care of Sonya Valesky."

Mildred Thornton glanced from one girl's face to the other. In spite of Barbara's effort to conceal her pleasure, it was evident that she was secretly rejoicing. But Mildred understood Barbara's position; it was natural that she should feel as she did under the circumstances. Then Barbara had never put forth any claims to being a martyr.

What really surprised Mildred Thornton was Nona Davis' expression of relief, almost of pleasure, at her news.

Why, Nona had been more enthusiastic than any one of them over the Red Cross nursing in Russia! She it was who had originally planned their coming into Russia and had been most deeply interested since their arrival.

"But why are we to be sent back to Petrograd?" Nona also demanded, frowning a little in her effort to grasp the situation. "What reason was given; have we failed in any duty or service since our arrival at Grovno?" Nona went on, sitting up, while two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. "Please, Mildred, don't be mysterious. Tell us where you received your information and why we are to be sent away so ignominiously?"

Mildred Thornton shook her head in quiet reproach. She was not so impatient nor so unreasonable as the other two girls.

"I am waiting to tell you," she returned. "The other afternoon I was sitting alone in the little Russian church when General Dmitri Alexis came in. On leaving he chanced to discover me and asked me to walk with him for a few moments. You know I told you I had met him the day he came into my hospital ward to decorate the dying soldier?" Mildred added.

This time her companions only nodded, not wishing to interrupt.

"Well, it was General Alexis himself who said that he wished us to go back to Petrograd. It was not that he felt the fortress at Grovno would not be able to hold out against the German attacks, but that a soldier should be prepared for any emergency. In case Grovno should fall, or General Alexis decide it wiser to retreat and join another portion of Grand Duke Nicholas' army, he does not wish us at Grovno. He says that the Russian Red Cross nurses have the right to remain with their own soldiers, but that we are Americans and with us the circumstances are different. He does not intend that harm shall befall us. So I am afraid we have no choice in the matter. As soon as the order comes from General Alexis we must be ready to leave at once. One can scarcely dare disobey the commander in chief," Mildred concluded, with regret in her tones.

"Certainly not," Barbara added with emphasis.

Then for another moment Nona Davis continued gazing thoughtfully at Mildred.

"I suppose I ought to tell you, Mildred, you and Barbara both, that I am not sorry we are to go to Petrograd; indeed, I am truly glad. Because I had intended to try to get permission to return there alone. You know I told you of Sonya's arrest, but I did not tell you that I intend to do all that I possibly can to befriend her. She seems to have no one who cares what becomes of her so far as I can find out, except her two old servants, Katja and Nika. I may not be able to do much, but I have written Eugenia, asking her to lend me some money and to forward it to the American Ambassador at Petrograd as soon as possible. I would like to leave almost at once. You see, I don't know what has become of Sonya, nor when her trial may take place."

"And for my part I hope you may never know," Barbara protested, sitting up with her cheeks suddenly crimson and her hair much tousled.

"See here, girls, I know neither of you think much of my advice, and very probably you don't consider me especially brave. I'm not disputing the last point. But I am more sensible than either of you and I can see both sides of a situation better. Mildred is an idealist, and Nona, you are a dreamer. You think you are not, but I expect you have more of your mother's blood in you than you realize. I am desperately sorry for Sonya Valesky. I think she is an exquisite and much-wronged woman with the courage and devotion necessary to a martyr. But I don't see that you are particularly fitted to follow her example, Nona. That is all that would happen if you attempt to mix yourself up with Sonya Valesky's political fortunes in Petrograd. You have no important friends and could do absolutely nothing for her, but you might manage to get yourself and us, because we care for you, into a great deal of hot water."

Mildred began to undress.

"I think Bab is right, Nona, though I understand just how you feel. It does seem too cruel to desert a friend in a time of such extremity. When we get to Petrograd perhaps we can talk Sonya Valesky's case over with our Ambassador and he may help us with his advice. Let's get to sleep now; we can judge more wisely in the morning."

It was too cold for a leisurely disrobing, so in a very short time the three girls were ready for the night. Soon after they were asleep.

For many hours, lasting all through the darkness, the fortress at Grovno appeared wrapped in a profound silence. This in spite of the presence of many thousands of men without and within its gates. Now and then there may have been the faint noise of a sentry changing his watch, or a scout arriving with a report for headquarters.

It was just at dawn when the German attack began. But the Russian general had been warned and was awaiting it.

Never in all the grim history of war was there ever a more sudden or more terrific cannonading.

The three American girls were at first stunned by the unexpected noises of the explosions. Shell after shell shrieked over the walls of the fortress, cannon after cannon repeated an unceasing bombardment.

Neither were the Russian guns slow in replying. Except for the location of the sounds it was impossible to tell which were the Russian cannon and which those of the enemy.

For some time no one of the three American girls attempted to speak. It would have been impossible to have heard one another. But by and by Barbara crawled out of her cot and put her arm about Mildred Thornton.

"I am frightened, Mildred. I wish your General's order had come sooner and we were safely away from Grovno. I think perhaps because of Dick I don't want anything dreadful to happen. I want to be happy."

There was a sob in Barbara's voice which Mildred heard, if not with her ears, at least with her heart.

"It is going to be all right, little sister," she returned. "I can't explain exactly why, but I have perfect faith in General Alexis."



CHAPTER X

Mildred's Opportunity

For five days and nights the firing continued almost without cessation.

In a measure the occupants of the Russian fortress grew accustomed to the noises, unless one explosion seemed a little more terrific than the others.

Actually the Red Cross nurses went about their work inside the hospital wing of the fort as though the Germans were not attacking.

There was one fact, however, that could not be overlooked: more and more wounded were constantly being brought in, until not only the cots but most of the floor space of the wards were covered with stricken soldiers.

There was no definite news. No one could say whether the Germans had been seriously depleted by the Russian gun fire, or whether the Grovno fort would be able to continue its resistance. A few of the outer defenses had already fallen. The Russian soldiers in the trenches behind the first line of barricades had sought safety inside the fortress. But these signs meant nothing of moment, and no one dared ask questions of the Russian officers, who alone might know the purpose of their commander.

Then on the morning of the seventh day, at dawn, Mildred Thornton, who chanced to be gazing out of a small window which overlooked the courtyard of the fort, made a discovery.

She had not been asleep all night, as there was so much work to be done, but on the way to her room had stopped for a single breath of fresh air, after the fever and confusion of the hospital.

What she saw were enormous cannon being lifted on low motor trucks and these trucks being driven as swiftly as possible outside the Grovno gate and along the Russian highway. There were a few soldiers accompanying them.

Almost with the flash of an intuition the idea came to Mildred: General Alexis was contemplating a retreat. He must have decided that, alone and with only a limited number of regiments at his command, he would be unable to hold out against the enemy for an unlimited time. Therefore it might be wiser to draw them further into Russia and away from their own supplies. General Alexis could join Grand Duke Nicholas beyond the Styr River and there be better prepared to meet the invaders. Mildred knew that the country on the other side of the river covered miles of swamps. If the bridges over the river were destroyed, the Germans would find great difficulty in pursuit.

Therefore the cannon and other heavy guns, with whatever munitions could be spared, were first to be taken to places of safety. Later on General Alexis would probably give orders for a more general retreat. But when Grovno fell the Germans would find none of the spoils of war left behind for the victors.

All this Mildred thought out slowly and carefully as she stood for a few moments beside the tiny window. Then she went into her room, changed her uniform for a fresher one and returned to her work. Not a word of her idea did she breathe to any one. She had no foundation for her impression, and at first it was an impression, nothing more. Yet Barbara or Nona might have been frightened by the suggestion.

However, as the dawn passed and the hours of the day followed, other persons beside Mildred Thornton began dimly to appreciate the possible conditions. More and more of the munitions of war were hauled away, and surely this did not look as if the fight were to be persisted in at Grovno.

Finally, just before twilight the order came that the wounded, with their nurses and surgeons, were to be moved at nightfall. Whatever preparations were necessary must be made at once.

Silently small groups of soldiers were already being marched away.

Oh, of course the old guns of the famous fortress continued to belch forth destruction, and there was no lessening of the front ranks of soldiers, who were directly attacking the enemy. General Alexis was merely drawing off the men whom he did not actually need for defense. Grovno could be protected by a comparatively small number of soldiers without the enemy appreciating any depreciation in their numbers. For all the firing was done behind a barricade of walls. So far the Germans were about a mile away. There would be no hand-to-hand combats until the fortress was finally demolished.

Even under such dangerous conditions the American Red Cross girls were relieved to hear that they were to be sent from Grovno. They were also told that they were not to follow the army. As soon as they reached a railroad, the wounded and their nurses were to be removed to Petrograd. There they would find hospitals ready for their accommodation.

So it was to be Petrograd after all! The three girls were not seriously frightened; indeed, they were less so than at the time of the French retreat. It was so evident that General Alexis was providing for the safety of the wounded before the danger time. They would find all the roads open to them now, while the Germans were being held on the farther side of the ancient stone walls.

Just after dusk the hospital staff and their patients were ready for departure. Parties of ten, consisting of seven wounded soldiers, two nurses and a physician, gathered quietly in the stone courtyard enclosed by the wings of the fortress. They were then placed in low carts, drawn by gaunt horses and driven by a Russian moujik, wearing a long blouse, high boots and a cap with the peculiar Russian peak.

There were no such facilities for transportation in Russia as the American Red Cross girls had found in France. The motor cars and ambulances owned by the Russian army were few in number and inadequate to their needs. These could only be employed in cases where swiftness was a pressing necessity.

The three American girls were standing together just outside a stone doorway leading into the yard and awaiting orders. As a matter of course they wore their Red Cross uniforms: the long circular cape and the small close-fitting bonnet. But Barbara had also put on nearly everything else she possessed. They would be traveling all night under extremely uncomfortable conditions and through a bitterly cold country. In fact, Barbara looked rather like a little "Mother Bunch" with her squirrel fur coat on top of her sweater and her cape over them both, and carrying her army blanket.

Mildred was also prepared for the cold with a heavy coat under her uniform cape. Unfortunately, Nona owned nothing to make her more comfortable, except that Mildred had insisted upon lending her her sweater. But both girls had their blankets over their arms and small bags in their hands. There would be no room for other luggage.

"We are going to have a wonderful night, I think," Barbara murmured. "Of course it will be hard and we may have to suffer discomfort and see others suffering far worse things. But a retreat through this strange country, with its odd inhabitants, as unlike as if they belonged in different planets, will be an experience none of us will ever wish to forget."

It was curious that Barbara should almost whisper her little speech, as if her voice could be heard above the uproar of the cannonading. Yet in the pauses between the firing lasting a few moments the silence seemed almost unearthly.

At present there was just such a silence, so that the American girls could even hear the creaking of the old wagon wheels as the ambulance carts rolled out of the fortress yard. Now and then there was a faint groan from a wounded man that could not be repressed. The wagons had no springs, but were made as comfortable as possible by layers of hay covering the wagon floors.

Almost the moment that Barbara's speech was finished, some one suddenly stepped out of the door, near which the three girls were standing. Looking up they discovered a colonel in the Russian army, on the personal staff of General Alexis. No one of the three girls knew the officer's name; his rank they recognized from the uniform he wore. Moreover, they had observed him always accompanying the Russian commander as one of his chief aides.

His appearance in the courtyard at this moment was surprising, but in all probability he wished to issue a direct order concerning the plan of retreat.

Yet the officer did not at once move forward to where groups of soldiers were also making preparations to be on the march. Instead he stood for a few moments just outside the door, gazing searchingly about him.

No one of the Red Cross girls spoke. They were too awed by the gravity of the situation to make trivial remarks. Moreover, the big Russian officer was an impressive figure. It was more interesting to watch him until they were summoned to take their places in the wagons that were now leaving the fortress at intervals of about ten minutes apart.

By chance Mildred Thornton made a movement and immediately the Russian colonel directed his glance toward her. He stared at her for a moment in silence and then, stepping forward, touched her upon the arm.

"I should like to speak to you a moment alone, nurse," he announced in low tones, although Barbara and Nona both heard this part of his speech.

Instantly Mildred complied, and the girl and man moved a few feet away, where they could talk without being overheard.

Under the circumstances neither Barbara nor Nona had the temerity to follow them. But this did not mean that they were not both extraordinarily curious. At least they strained their ears as much as possible in order to try and catch a stray word spoken either by Mildred or her companion. But they heard nothing except the low murmur of the two voices, the officer asking questions and Mildred making replies.

"What on earth do you suppose he can be saying to Mill?" Barbara finally whispered.

Nona only shook her head. Any guessing would be a pure waste of energy, since Mildred would return in a few moments to explain.

She did come back almost immediately, but with her first words her friends realized that something unusual had occurred. Ordinarily Mildred was calm and self possessed. Now her voice shook and indeed she seemed to be shivering either from cold or excitement.

"I can't go with you to Petrograd, girls," she said quietly enough, however. "Listen, please, so I can make matters plain to you, for you may be ordered to leave at any moment. Barbara, I want you to write my father and mother and try and make them see I had no choice in this decision. But you must not speak of the circumstances to any one else. It would be dangerous for me and for us all if you betray this confidence. The officer who talked with me just then is Colonel Feodorovitch. He is very near General Alexis and tells me that General Alexis has been wounded. The wound is not considered serious and he refuses to give up his command or to leave the fort until the final moment for retreat. Neither must his soldiers learn of what has taken place. His own surgeon is with him now and will remain with him. But there is a chance that they will also require a nurse. Colonel Feodorovitch came to find one before we all got away. By accident he saw me first and requested me to remain behind. I could not refuse."

"Mildred!" Nona and Barbara exclaimed in unison, with no attempt to conceal their dismay, almost their horror.

"But you can't accept, Mildred," Barbara expostulated. "If you do I shall not leave you. Why, what would your mother and father and Dick think of my deserting you at such a time? Besides, don't you remember that General Alexis himself wanted us safe in Petrograd before the retreat. He would be bitterly opposed to your being chosen to remain behind. Didn't you speak of this to Colonel Feodorovitch?"

"I couldn't, Barbara," Mildred insisted. "It would have been such a long story and Colonel Feodorovitch knows about as much English as I do Russian. It would only have looked as though I were shirking a most important duty. General Alexis will not recall ever having thought or spoken to me, at a time when the Russian army, perhaps the whole Russian nation, is dependent on his failure or success. If I can do even the least thing to help him at such a crisis, why, how could I refuse? Please try and see this as I do, Barbara, you and Nona. There may be nothing for me to do. General Alexis' wound is not serious or he could not retain his command. I must leave you now; I am wanted at once. I'll join you in Petrograd as soon as it is humanly possible."

But Barbara had clutched Mildred's coat.

"You shall not stay alone. I am almost your sister and I won't allow it."

Quietly Mildred unclasped the younger girl's hand.

"For my own sake I would give a great deal to have you stay, Bab, but we have no choice. Remember, we are under discipline like soldiers. We must do as we are commanded."

With this Mildred returned inside the fortress.

At the same instant Nona Davis and Barbara Meade heard their names being called. At once they moved forward and were assisted inside the wagon, which soon after passed out of the gate and moved creakingly along the main road in the direction of the Styr River.

They were to cross one of its bridges, as the main army was now doing. The last of the regiments at Grovno would see that the bridges were destroyed before the German soldiers could come up to them.



CHAPTER XI

A Russian Retreat

For many hours the ambulance wagon in which Nona and Barbara were riding jogged on, forming one of a procession of similar wagons.

The girls grew cold and cramped. Now and then they tried to move in order to make their patients more comfortable or at least to give water to the wounded men. But the wagons were so crowded that the slightest stirring was well nigh impossible.

Nevertheless, as Barbara Meade had predicted, the long night was one neither she nor Nona would ever be willing to forget.

At first they rode along, passing the wooden huts of the peasants that once had lined both sides of the main road leading to the middle bridge across the river Styr. But many of these shacks had suffered from the stray shells of the Germans, which, having passed beyond the fortress, had brought desolation to the country side. These little wooden houses in many places were mere heaps of burnt-out ashes. Others were half burned, or else collapsed, as if they had been houses built by children, who had afterwards kicked them down.

Everywhere, from the little homes that were unhurt, as well as from the ruined ones, the peasants were fleeing. With the passing of the first Russian regiment away from Grovno they had guessed what must inevitably follow.

There were bent-over old women and men carrying packs on their backs like beasts of burden, and in truth the Russian peasant has been nothing more for many centuries. The children, who ran along beside them, were incredibly thin and dirty and hungry.

One member of each little group would carry a lighted pine torch, pointing the way with fitful shadows. But wherever it was possible they followed in the wake of the wagons.

At first the night was dark and the American girls could hear their driver muttering strange Russian imprecations as his horses stumbled and felt their way along. Finally Barbara presented him with the electric lamp, which had been Dick Thornton's farewell present to her on the day of her sailing from New York City. She had used it many times since then, but never for a queerer purpose.

However, before they reached the river the moon had risen and both Nona and Barbara were grateful for the added light. Yet the scene they next witnessed was lighted by many camp fires.

The Russian infantry, who had been first to begin the retreat from Grovno, had camped on this side the river for a few hours rest.

A confused murmur of sounds arose. In little knots before the fires men squatted on their knees in Oriental fashion, waiting for the copper pots to boil. For at all hours of the day and night the Russian drinks tea, now more than ever, since by command of the Czar the soldier is forbidden to touch alcohol.

The girls could observe that the men had curiously unlike faces. It was difficult to understand how they could all be Russians. Never before had they seen so many of the soldiers at one time. Some of them had flat faces and high cheek bones, with eyes like the Chinese.

It was very strange! Yet Nona whispered that they must remember some of these Russian soldiers had come from Asia, from beyond the Caspian Sea. Perhaps their ancestors had been members of the great Mongolian horde that had once invaded Europe under Genghis Khan.

In their interest Nona and Barbara began discussing the possible history of these soldiers aloud. By and by, one of the wounded men, who chanced to be a Russian university graduate, smiled to himself over the interest and excitement of the two American nurses. He had been suffering intensely from the jolting and was glad for anything that would distract his mind from his suffering.

"The soldiers you are discussing are called 'Turcomen,'" he remarked aloud.

Nona and Barbara were startled by the voice out of the darkness, but they murmured confused thanks.

"Perhaps we had best not discuss our surroundings so openly," Nona suggested, and Barbara agreed with a silent motion of her head.

By this time they had reached the central bridge. It was built of steel and stretched like a long line of silver across the dark river.

Over the bridge, like enormous over-burdened ants, the American girls could see other ambulance wagons moving slowly on. For the horses had become weary of their heavy loads and yet were to have no rest of any length until daylight.

On the farther side of the river there were other small encampments. But by and by Barbara Meade fell asleep with her head pressed against Nona's shoulder.

Occasionally Nona drowsed, but not often. She was torn between two worries. What would become of Mildred Thornton, left behind with strangers in a besieged fortress that might fall at any hour? Surely her situation was more fraught with danger than any in which the Red Cross girls had found themselves since their arrival in Europe.

Nona wished that she had taken sides with Barbara more decisively and refused to leave Grovno unless Mildred accompanied them.

But Mildred had disappeared so quickly. Then the order had come for their departure almost at the same instant. There had been so little time to protest or even to think what was best. Certainly Mildred herself should have refused to accept such a dangerous responsibility. But at the same moment that Nona condemned her friend, she realized that she would have done exactly the same thing in her place. In coming to assist with the Red Cross nursing they had promised to put the thought of duty first. Mildred could not shirk the most important task that had yet been asked of her.

Perhaps no harm would befall her. Certainly Nona appreciated that everything possible would be done to insure Mildred's safety. Her life and honor would be the first charge of the soldiers surrounding her. Moreover, General Alexis would certainly leave the fortress before there was a chance of his being taken prisoner. He was too valuable a commander to have his services lost and the Germans would regard him as too important a capture.

So Nona's attention wandered from Mildred to her other friend, Sonya Valesky. What had become of Sonya and how was she ever to find her in the great and unknown city of Petrograd? If she only had a friend to consult, but she had even been compelled to leave Grovno without seeing Lieutenant Orlaff again. He had promised to write a few letters in Sonya's behalf, although assured that they would do no good.

Yet in some way Nona was determined to discover the Russian woman. Perhaps the Czar himself might be brought to pardon Sonya if he heard that she would leave for the United States and never return to Russia again. Then Nona smiled and sighed at the same time over her own simplicity. The Czar was at the head of his troops, with the fate of his crown and his country at stake. "What did one woman more or less count in times like these?"

Before daylight Nona must have also slept, because she was finally awakened by the stopping of their ambulance wagon.

When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see a rose flush in the sky and to hear the slow puffing of an engine.

The wagons had arrived at a small railroad station, connecting with the main road leading into Petrograd.

Word of the approach of the ambulances must have been sent ahead, for a train of more than a dozen coaches was even now in waiting.

As quickly as possible Nona and Barbara crawled out of their wagon, stamping their feet on the frozen ground and waving their arms in order to start their circulation. Then they began to assist in transferring the wounded soldiers from the wagons to the cars. The men were wonderfully patient and plucky, for they must have suffered tortures. They had first to be lifted on to an ambulance cot and then transferred to another cot inside the train. A few of the soldiers fainted and for them Nona and Barbara were relieved. At least they were spared the added pain.

Yet by and by, when the long line of cars started for Petrograd, the occupants of the coaches were amazingly cheerful. Tea and bread had been served all of the travelers and cigarettes given to the men.

Some of the soldiers sang, others told jokes, those who were most dangerously ill only lay still and smiled. They were on their way to Petrograd! This meant home and friends to some of them. To others it meant only the name of their greatest city and the palace of their Czar. But to all of them Petrograd promised comfort and quiet, away from the horrible, deafening noises of exploding bullets and shells.

Naturally Nona and Barbara were affected by the greater cheerfulness about them.

"If only Mildred were with us, how relieved I would be. Really, I don't know how we are to bear the suspense of not knowing what has become of her," Barbara said not once, but a dozen times in the course of the day.

But night brought them into the famous Russian capital.



CHAPTER XII

Petrograd

On their arrival Barbara and Nona went with the wounded soldiers to a Red Cross hospital in Petrograd.

There, to her consternation, a few days later Nona Davis became ill. The illness was only an attack of malarial fever, which Nona had been subject to ever since her childhood; nevertheless, the disease had never chosen a more unpropitious time for its reappearance.

For a few days she seemed dangerously ill, then her convalescence left her weak and exhausted. She was totally unfit for work and only a burden instead of an aid to the hospital staff.

Poor Barbara had a busy, unhappy time of it. She did her best to look after Nona in spare moments from her regular nursing, and she also tried not to lose courage when no word came from Mildred. Neither from newspapers nor inquiries in all possible directions could she even learn whether Grovno had fallen.

She was unable to read the newspapers for herself and so was compelled to wait until one of the other nurses could find time to laboriously translate the information into English.

Evidently at the present time the Russian papers did not desire the Russian people to learn the fate of the fortress and its commander. For all news on the subject was carefully withheld.

Under the strain Barbara might have broken down herself except for a piece of good fortune that at length came to Nona and to her.

An American woman, married to a Russian, the Countess Sergius, learning of the presence of the two American Red Cross nurses in the Russian hospital, called at once to see if she could do anything for their comfort. Discovering Nona ill and Barbara on the verge of a breakdown, the American woman insisted that the girls be her guests. They were not able to be of special assistance at the hospital under the present circumstances, while a week or so of rest and change might do wonders for them both.

In answer to Nona's protest that she was not well enough to be an agreeable visitor and could not bear the ordeal of meeting strangers, the older woman announced that the girls could live as quietly as they liked. She would let them have a private apartment in her house and they need see no one except the servants who would look after them.

As the American Countess was undoubtedly extremely wealthy and most anxious to be of service, Barbara and Nona gratefully accepted her invitation. So about ten days after their arrival in Petrograd they were living in one of the handsomest houses along the famous Nevski Prospect. This is the Fifth Avenue of Petrograd, a wide avenue three miles in length. Nothing is small in Russia or in the Russian people.

The girls were delightfully comfortable. One-half the third floor of the great house had been given up to them, consisting of two bedrooms, a bath, and a sitting room where their meals were served.

Indeed, the girls soon discovered that although the Countess meant to be hospitable and kind, she was sincerely glad that they wished to be left alone. She was an extremely busy woman, one of the important hostesses of Petrograd in times of peace. But now, like most society women in the allied countries, she was devoting all her energies to relief work. There were charity bazaars and concerts and Russian ballet performances, for the benefit of the soldiers, that must be managed day and night.

After three days of luxury and idleness Nona Davis felt strong again.

Perhaps more than the other Red Cross girls she deserved credit for her devotion to her nursing. For Nona had the southern temperament which loves beauty and ease, and there were times in her life when she had deliberately to shut her eyes to these enticements.

But now, with the thought of Sonya Valesky ever on her mind, she could not allow herself to relax an hour longer than necessary.

Contrary to Barbara Meade's judgment, Nona decided to ask the advice of their hostess as to how she should begin the search for her Russian friend.

Instantly the American woman became less cordial. But when Nona had told as much of the other woman's story as she dared, the Countess frankly discussed the situation with her.

If Nona would be guided by an older woman she would give up the quest for Sonya Valesky. Certainly Sonya's fate was an unhappy one, but she was wholly responsible for it herself. If she had been content to take life as she found it she would now have been occupying a brilliant position.

The Countess evidently had no use for reformers or persons who break away from recognized conditions. She confessed to Nona that her own position in Russian society had been difficult to attain. Not for worlds would she be suspected of having anything to do with a Socialist, or an Anarchist, or whatever dreadful character Nona's friend might be! The Countess was perfectly polite, but Nona thoroughly understood that if she insisted upon discovering the unfortunate Sonya, her presence as a guest in the Countess' home would no longer be desired.

Since there was nothing else to do, Nona decided that she must wait until help came from some unexpected direction. She had no idea of giving up the search for Sonya. But in the meantime she could enjoy a brief rest and see Petrograd.

In the winter time Petrograd is the most beautifully quiet city in the world. And now in war times it was scarcely less so, for the ground was covered with many inches of snow. There was a muffled sound even to the tread of the soldiers' feet, marching through the frozen streets. Neither was there a single wagon or carriage to be heard, since everybody went about in sleighs and everything was hauled in the same way. But now, because all the best horses were at the front, one often saw great oxen drawing sledges through the once gay and fashionable city.

The Countess Sergius had retained only a single pair of horses for her own use and that of her big household, nevertheless, she now and then loaned her sleigh for an afternoon to her two American girl guests.

Sight-seeing was the only amusement which kept Nona and Barbara from a morbid dwelling on their worries. Barbara had written to Judge and Mrs. Thornton in the way that Mildred had directed. But she could not feel that either of Mildred's parents would feel any the less wretched and uneasy because their daughter believed that she was only "doing her duty." Since the original letter Barbara had never been able to write them again. What could she say, except that no word of any kind had since been received from Mildred? There would be small consolation in this news, and of course Barbara wrote Dick every few days.

One afternoon Barbara and Nona left the Countess' house at about three o'clock and drove down the entire length of the Nevski Prospect toward the Winter Palace of the Czar.

There were scudding gray clouds overhead and a light snow falling.

No one could have failed to be interested. The Russian streets are ordinarily paved with sharp-edged stones, but the ice made them smooth as glass. Over the windows of the shops the girls could see painted pictures of what the shopkeepers had to sell inside. This is common in Russia, since so many of her poorer people are unable to read.

Most of the buildings in Petrograd are of stucco, and indeed, except for her churches and a few other buildings, the Russian capital resembles a poor imitation of Paris. Peter the Great, who constructed the city upon the swamp lands surrounding the river Neva, was determined to force Russia into the western world instead of the east. For this reason he brought all his artists from France and Italy, so that he might model his new city upon their older ones.

The Winter Palace itself the girls discovered to be a Renaissance building, with one side facing the river and the other a broad square. Their sleigh stopped by the tall monolith column commemorating Alexander the First, which stands almost directly in front of the Palace. Leading from the Palace to the Hermitage, once the palace of the great Catherine, is a covered archway.

The Hermitage is one of the greatest art museums in the world and contains one of the finest collections of paintings in Europe. Although the two Red Cross girls had now been in Petrograd several weeks, neither of them had yet been inside the famous gallery.

"Suppose we go in now and see the pictures," Barbara proposed. "We might as well take advantage of our opportunities, even if we are miserable," she added with the characteristic wrinkling of her small nose. "Besides, I'm frozen, and you must be more so, Nona. How I have adored my squirrel coat and cap ever since we came to this arctic zone! Thank fortune, our Countess has loaned you some furs, Nona! Do you know, I really am not so surprised that your mother was a Russian noble woman. You look like my idea of a Russian princess, with your pale gold hair showing against that brown fur. Who knows, maybe you'll turn into a Russian princess some day! But shall I tell our driver to stop?"

Nona Davis shook her head, smiling and yet rather pathetic, in spite of her lovely appearance in borrowed finery.

"I don't want to be a Russian princess, Bab, or a Russian anything, I am afraid, in spite of my heritage. I think it a good deal nicer to be engaged to an American like Dick Thornton. If you don't mind, let's don't try to see the pictures today. I am tired and we ought to be fresh for such an experience. If you are cold, suppose we go back into the center of the town and walk about for a while. Then we can send the sleigh home to the Countess. I don't feel that we should keep it for our use the entire afternoon, and if we stop to look at the pictures it would take the rest of the day. There are some queer side streets that join the Nevski Prospect I should like to see."

The Countess Sergius lived about two miles away from the Winter Palace. When the girls were within a quarter of a mile of the house where they were guests, they finally got out of the sleigh. Their driver was an old man with a long beard and not the character of servant the American Countess would have employed under ordinary conditions. But her former young men servants were in the army, and like other wealthy families in Russia at this time, she was glad to employ any one possible.

However, Nona undertook to make the man understand that they would not need his services again that afternoon. She had more of a gift for languages than the western girl and her knowledge of French was always useful. So after a little hesitation, the big sleigh at last drove away. And actually for the first time since their arrival in Petrograd Nona and Barbara found themselves alone in the Russian streets.

There could be no danger of getting lost, for they had only to come to this central thoroughfare and the Countess' house lay straight ahead.

So the two girls turned into the side street that lay nearest them.

After a five minutes walk they found themselves in another world.

On the Nevski Prospect they were in Europe; here they were in Asia.

It was curious, but even the smells were different. These were Asiatic odors, if the girls had only known, queer smells of musk and attar of roses and other less pleasant things.

The Russian women and children were crowding the narrow streets, while inside the little shops the wares were displayed on big tables. In the summer time these goods were sold on open stalls in the streets.

"Let us go into one of the shops and buy a few trinkets," Barbara suggested. "I would like to own one of those embroidered Russian aprons."

Then she stopped, her attention caught, as Nona's had been, by a sudden rustling in the air above them. A moment later a flock of gray and white pigeons was crowding about their feet. These also were the pigeons that haunt the thoroughfares of the east.

Personally Nona Davis would have preferred remaining outside in the fresh air. She was cold, but she objected to the squalid atmosphere of the interior of so many Russian houses. However, she could not refuse to agree to every request Barbara made of her all that afternoon.

A moment later and she was almost as interested as the younger girl in making purchases.

There were odd pieces of beautiful, gayly colored embroideries that, according to American ideas, appeared incredibly cheap. Then there were bits of Russian brass, that seemed to interest Barbara particularly, as it is probable that she had a sudden rush of the housekeeper's ardor. Here were interesting things that might be purchased for her own and Dick's apartment in New York almost for nothing!

Whatever the cause, Nona, after fifteen or twenty minutes, found her own pleasure cooling. Moreover, she had very little money to spend on frivolities, and so found a stool in a corner and sat down to wait for Barbara and to watch the crowd.

There were numbers of people in the shop, although few of them seemed to be making purchases. Now and then a big soldier, crowned by his peaked fur cap, would stalk proudly in to purchase a trinket, possibly for the girl of his heart. The Russians are ardent lovers, and as the soldier was only at home on a short leave, he had to make the best of his opportunity.

Most of the women who were not wearing furs had heavy shawls drawn over their heads and shoulders. Nona could not see their faces very well, and only received flitting impressions of dark eyes and large, heavy features, with almost always the curiously pale and yet sallow skin peculiar to the Russian peasant. It is only among the better classes that one finds other types.

Suddenly Nona gave a cry of alarm, which she quickly hushed. To her surprise some one had quietly come up back of her and laid a hand on her shoulder. It was one of these same peasant women, wearing a heavy, dark shawl.

She was trying to say something which Nona could not at once understand. Yet it was plain enough that the woman was imploring her to make no disturbance that would attract attention.

The next moment Nona had recognized the woman. It was old Katja, Sonya Valesky's servant, whom she had left with Nika in her little hut.

What had brought the old woman to Petrograd? In reality Nona knew without asking the question. It was Katja's devotion to Sonya.

The old woman was speaking a queer jumble of languages, Russian and the few words of English she had learned while the American girl was living in the same house.

What Nona finally learned was, that Katja was imploring her to meet her somewhere the next day, where they could talk without being observed.

Nona knew of no place except the one that was always open to rich and poor alike in Russia. And she had to think quickly. Yet the churches had always been their refuge ever since the arrival of the four Red Cross girls in Europe.

At the same moment Nona could only recall the most celebrated Russian church in Petrograd. She must lose no time, for even Barbara must not learn of her mission, and Barbara might turn and come back to join her at any moment.

"In the Cathedral of St. Isaac, toward the left and in the rear of the church at three o'clock tomorrow," Nona murmured. And Katja must have understood, for she went away at once.

It was just as well, because at almost the same moment Barbara returned to join Nona, her arms full of queer-shaped packages, and looking happier than she had since their arrival in the Russian city.



CHAPTER XIII

The Next Step

The following afternoon it seemed to Nona Davis that all Petrograd was a-glitter with onion-shaped domes. The Russian priests explained that these domes were really shaped like folded rosebuds, symbolizing the church on earth that was to blossom in heaven. But to see them in this fashion required a Russian imagination.

However, the effect was very beautiful, and Nona was glad to have her attention diverted, as she started out to find the Cathedral of St. Isaac. Some of the domes were of blue, set with stars to represent the canopy of the sky. But Nona knew that the central dome of St. Isaac's was an enormous copper ball covered with gold and that its radiance could be seen at a great distance.

She had had great difficulty in fulfilling her engagement with Katja. At first she had tried to deceive Barbara in regard to her intention, being fully determined to continue her search for Sonya until she had discovered her; nevertheless, it did not seem worth while to trouble Barbara while she had no actual information to go upon. But Barbara would not be deceived.

Nona suggested that she wished to walk for several hours and feared the younger girl might become fatigued. In reply Barbara assured her that there was nothing she herself so much desired as exercise, and as for growing tired, Nona would the sooner be worn out, since she was the one who had been ill.

Afterwards, while there were other excuses for her departure which Nona struggled to invent, all were equally useless. From the first Barbara had guessed her plan. Although she had seen nothing and knew nothing of Nona's meeting with Katja the day before, she had immediately guessed that Nona's desire for a solitary excursion was in some way connected with her effort to find Sonya Valesky. And this effort the younger girl continued to oppose.

So Nona had finally departed, leaving Barbara in tears over her obstinacy and foolhardiness. She was very unhappy, but what else was possible for her to do? Had Barbara been in the same need that Sonya now was, surely no one could have persuaded her to turn her back upon Barbara.

Katja was waiting and fortunately there were but a few other persons in the Cathedral at the same hour.

As quickly and as intelligently as she knew how, the old woman explained that Sonya was in a civil prison in Petrograd and was to be tried for treason within another week. Katja had not seen her child, but had received a few lines in reply to a dozen letters which a friend had written for her. Katja herself could neither read nor write.

Although Nona could speak only a few words of Russian, she had learned to read a little of the language with difficulty. Now she managed to translate her friend's ideas, if not her exact words.

Sonya did not wish Katja to try to see her nor to attempt to appear at the prison at the hour of her trial. Nothing could be done for her release and Katja would only be made the more miserable. Neither was Katja to let Nona know anything of her whereabouts until after sentence was passed. Then if Katja could find the American girl she was to say farewell for Sonya Valesky. She was also to thank Nona for her kindness and add that the acquaintance with her friend's daughter had brought Sonya much happiness.

Standing with the crumpled sheet of paper in her hand, written by the woman who so soon expected to say farewell to the things that make life worth living, Nona Davis felt her own cheeks flush and her eyes fill with tears. How little had she really deserved the Russian woman's affection, for how much she had distrusted her!

Well, Nona again determined to do all that was possible now to prove her allegiance.

As soon as she could get away from Katja, Nona secured a sleigh and drove at once to the house of the American Ambassador. Because her card represented her as an American Red Cross nurse she felt assured that she would be treated with every courtesy.

This was perfectly true, although obliged to wait half an hour; finally one of the secretaries of the Ambassador invited the American girl into a small office. She could not, of course, see the Ambassador without a special engagement, but the secretary would be pleased to do whatever was possible.

Nona was both pleased and relieved. The secretary proved to be a southerner, a young fellow from Georgia, who could not have been more than twenty-five years old. Certainly it was far easier to tell the story of Sonya Valesky to him than to an older man or to one whose time was more valuable.

Nevertheless, when she had finished, although there was no doubt of the secretary's attention and interest, Nona found him equally as discouraging as everybody else had been concerning Sonya Valesky's fate and any part which she might have hoped to play in it. There could be little doubt that Sonya would be condemned to Siberia. She was a political prisoner and would not be tried by a military court. Her offense was spoken of as sedition, or as an infringement of the "Defense of the Realm" act. For Sonya had been endeavoring to induce the Russian soldiers to join her peace societies rather than to fight for their country.

The young American secretary did his best to make the situation plain to Nona Davis. In England or France, under the same circumstances, Sonya Valesky might have escaped with only a short term of imprisonment or a fine. But this would not be true in Russia. Besides, it appeared that Sonya was an old offender and that her socialist ideas were well known. It would be impossible for the American Ambassador or any member of his staff to make the smallest effort in Sonya's behalf. Such an effort would represent an act of discourtesy on the part of the United States Government, as if she were attempting to interfere with Russia's treatment of her own subjects.

There was one thing only which the young secretary could undertake in Nona's cause. He would make an effort to have her allowed to visit her friend. If Sonya's trial was not to take place for a week, it was just possible that the American girl might be permitted to see her.

So Nona was compelled to go away with only this small consolation.

However, before leaving she secured the address of an American family in Petrograd who might be willing to take her as a boarder. For Nona realized that with her present plan she could not longer remain as a guest in the Countess' house.

Then Barbara had again to be reckoned with. It was early dusk when Nona Davis finally reached their apartment in the splendid Russian house. Barbara had just finished tea, but the tea things had not been sent away.

Because Nona was evidently so tired and discouraged the younger girl comforted her with tea and cakes before beginning to ask questions. Afterwards Barbara insisted upon being told the entire account of the afternoon's experiences. Nona must begin with her meeting with Katja, her interview in the Cathedral, then her visit to the house of the United States Ambassador and finally the description of the place where she had engaged board before returning to her temporary home.

Although Barbara was ordinarily much given to conversation and frequent interruptions of other people's anecdotes, she listened without comment until the other girl had finished.

"We are both too tired to pack up our few possessions tonight, Nona," she answered in conclusion; "but we can attend to them in the morning and then say good-by to the Countess."

Nona was lying upon a divan with her yellow head sunk among a number of brown cushions, but she got half way up at Barbara's words.

"But I don't expect you to leave here, Barbara dear, to go with me," she protested. "I didn't engage board for anyone else. The house where I am to stay is shabby and not especially comfortable. I wouldn't have you leave this lovely home for worlds! I am sorry, you may be a little lonely without me. But I am hoping we may hear from Mildred at almost any hour and then I'm sure the Countess would be only too happy to have her take my place here. I expect Mildred will be a distinguished character after having been chosen to nurse the great General Alexis."

"Don't talk nonsense," Barbara protested, in answer to the first part of her friend's speech. "Of course, I am not going to let you wander off and live in a strange family by yourself." Then Barbara sighed.

She was sitting on a small stool beside Nona's couch, resting her chin on her hand and looking very childish and homesick.

"Of course, I know you have to do whatever you can for Sonya Valesky, Nona," she agreed unexpectedly. "In your position I hope I would have the courage to behave in the same way. I have only made a fuss about things because I was worried for you, but I have always known you would not pay any attention to me. Nobody ever does."

Although Nona laughed and attempted to argue this point, Barbara remained unconvinced.

"Oh, well, possibly Dick or Eugenia can sometimes be persuaded into doing what I ask, but never you or Mildred," she concluded, and then sighed again. "If we could hear just a single word from Mildred!"

The next day the two girls moved to their new lodgings. Their hostess was gracious enough, but made no protest when Nona explained that she expected to be permitted to visit the Russian prisoner within the next few days.

The order to see Sonya came sooner than Nona expected. Indeed, the two girls had only been in their new quarters for about thirty-six hours when the young secretary from the embassy called upon them. With him he brought the permit from the Russian government.

Nona was to be allowed to visit the prison near the Troitska bridge on the following day and to spend ten minutes with her friend. She must understand that a guard would listen to whatever conversation was held. Also she must take with her nothing of any kind to present to Sonya Valesky. Their interview would be closely watched.

Naturally Barbara Meade insisted upon accompanying Nona. She knew, of course, that she would not be allowed to see the prisoner, nor had she the least wish to see her. But she could wait in some antechamber until the ten minutes passed and then bring Nona safely back to their lodging place. For certainly the experience ahead of her friend would be a painful one, and although Nona did her best to conceal her nervousness from the younger girl, Barbara again was not deluded.

When the two girls set out for the prison the next afternoon it would have been difficult to decide which one most dreaded the ordeal. But in truth the ordeal was in a way a mutual one. While she waited, doubtless Barbara's imagination would paint as tragic a scene as Nona might be obliged to go through with.

It seemed to Nona Davis, after leaving Barbara, that she walked down a mile or more of corridor. The corridor might have been an underground sewer, so dark and unwholesome were its sights and smells. It led past dozens of small iron doors with locks and chains fastened on the outside.

Finally Nona's guard paused before one of these doors and then opened it. Inside was an iron grating with bars placed at intervals of about six inches apart. The room it barricaded was six feet square and contained a bed and stool. There was one small window overhead, not much larger than a single pane of glass in an average old-fashioned window.

But the light from the window fell directly upon the head of the woman who was seated beneath it.

Sonya Valesky had not been told that she was to receive a visitor. So perhaps Nona did appear like a sudden vision of a Fra Angelico angel, standing unexpectedly in the dark corridor with her hair as golden as a shaft of sunlight.

Sonya only stared at the girl without speaking. But Nona saw that her friend's dark hair, which had been a little streaked with gray at their first meeting more than two years before, was now almost pure white. However, Sonya did not look particularly ill or unhappy; her blue eyes were still serene. Whatever faith in life she may have lost, she had not lost faith in the cause for which she must suffer.

"Don't you know me, Sonya?" Nona asked almost timidly, as if she were talking to a stranger.

Then the Russian woman came forward with all her former dignity and grace. She was wearing a black dress of some rough material, but it seemed to Nona Davis that she had never seen a more beautiful woman. Sonya was like a white lily found growing in some underground dungeon.

She put her hands through the bars and took hold of Nona's cold ones.

"This is wonderfully kind of you, Nona?" she said with the simplicity of manner that had always distinguished her. "I have wanted to know what had become of you and your friends. Somehow information sifts even inside a prison in war times, and I have learned that General Alexis gave up trying to hold Grovno. You are on your way back home, I trust."

Nona could scarcely reply. It seemed so strange that Sonya could be talking in such an everyday fashion, as if her visit were being made under ordinary circumstances. Not a word did she say of her own sorrow or the tragedy that lay ahead of her.

Nona could only fight back the tears. "We are returning to France as soon as Mildred Thornton joins us in Petrograd," she answered, and then explained that Mildred had stayed behind at Grovno.

"But isn't there anything I can do for you, Sonya?" Nona added. "I shall certainly not leave Petrograd until after your trial, and then if you are released you must come away with me."

The older woman only shook her head.

"I shall not be released, Nona, so don't make yourself unhappy with false hopes. This is not my first offense against the government of Russia. I have never believed in the things in which they believe, not since I was a little girl. I suppose I am a troublesome character. But after all, in going to Siberia I am only following the footsteps of greater men and women than I can hope to resemble."

Sonya let go Nona's hands and stepped back into her little room. From under her pillow she drew a small folded paper.

"In going to Siberia I forfeit all my estates, Nona," Sonya Valesky explained when she came back. "But I have a small amount of money in the United States, as well as in my own country. Perhaps the government may be willing to allow me to dispose of my property, although of course I can't tell. But I have made a will and had it witnessed here in the prison. If it is possible I want you to have half of the little I have left and Katja and Nika the rest. There would be no chance to leave it to the cause of peace in these days."

Nona received the little paper.

"You won't be in Siberia all your life, Sonya, that I won't believe," she protested. "Some day when this war is over the Czar will pardon you. Please remember that I shall never forget you and never stop trying to do what I can for your release. If I am allowed to have it, I will take care of your money until you are able to come to me."

Hearing a guttural noise behind her, Nona Davis now turned around. Her guard was signaling that the time allotted for her visit was over.

She was not able to kiss the older woman good-by, only to hold both her hands close for another moment and then to go away with her eyes so blinded with tears that she could not see. Yet she never forgot the picture that Sonya Valesky made when she had a final glance at her.

Four days later a few lines appeared in the Russian daily papers, stating that Sonya Valesky, a woman of noble birth, but at present a Russian nihilist, had been condemned to penal servitude in Siberia for life. She had been proved guilty of treason to the Imperial Government.



CHAPTER XIV

Mildred's Return

On the same afternoon that Nona and Barbara read the news of Sonya Valesky's sentence, Mildred Thornton came to Petrograd.

Her return was characteristic of Mildred.

It was a little past twilight and Nona and Barbara were in their shabby sitting room; they now shared the same bedroom in the new lodgings. Nona had been crying, and in order to try and make her forget, Barbara was reading aloud. She had received a package of books and magazines from Dick Thornton earlier in the day, but this was her first chance to look them over.

Although endeavoring to listen, in reality Nona's attention was only pretence. Her thoughts were with the Russian woman whose life had been so strangely associated with her own. It seemed to Nona that she had not realized how much she cared for Sonya Valesky until these last few weeks. She had become like an exquisite older sister whom she might possibly have had as a companion and friend. Never had Nona been more conscious of her own loneliness. It is true that she had been more or less lonely all her life, but this she had taken as a matter of course. Now in these last few hours she had suddenly been overwhelmed by the thought.

Apparently their work as Red Cross nurses in Europe was nearly over. At least, when Mildred finally joined them, the three girls intended returning to France to spend a little time with Madame Castaigne and Eugenia. Then Barbara and Mildred would doubtless go back to their homes in the United States. Barbara would be married in a short time and Mildred would not wish to remain longer away from her mother and father. But Nona had no home and no people to whom she might return.

The girl was glad at this moment that there were no lights in their sitting room save the two candles which were directly behind Barbara's book. She did not wish the younger girl to guess the extent of her depression.

Yet it was Nona who first heard the knock at their sitting room door. Quickly as possible she got up and walked forward to open it, not even attempting to smooth her hair or to wipe the traces of tears from her face. Barbara did not glance from the page of her book, both girls were so convinced that it was only the woman who usually brought them their dinner at this hour.

When Nona opened the door, Mildred took her by both shoulders and quietly kissed her.

"Mildred!" It was Nona's exclamation that finally aroused Barbara Meade. But even then, although Barbara rose to her feet, dropping her book on the floor, she did not move forward. She let Mildred come and put her arms around her and kiss her on both cheeks. Then Mildred stood still in the center of the room and smiled at her two friends.

"Won't either one of you say she is glad to see me?" she asked, with a mixture of gayety and wistfulness.

By this time Barbara and Nona were both embracing the newcomer at once, and at the same time attempting to remove her wraps. Under her nursing coat Mildred was wearing a long sable coat, suitable for a princess, but neither of the girls noticed it in the excitement of her arrival.

"Where did you come from? Oh, Mildred, what have you been doing all this time? I have nearly died of anxiety." Barbara protested. "Surely you could have gotten us some word, if only to say you were alive."

Mildred shook her head. "I couldn't, dear. I have come back to you the very first moment it was possible. But it is a long story. I can't tell you all at once. May I sit down?"

At last Nona and Barbara had the grace to observe that Mildred looked white and tired.

"I arrived in Petrograd about half an hour ago with General Alexis and his staff and the Russian maid who has been with us ever since we were left behind at Grovno," she explained, when her friends had thrust her unceremoniously into their only comfortable chair.

"I told General Alexis that I must find you at once, so we drove to the United States Embassy and they gave us your address. Then they left me here. I am dreadfully hungry; can't we have something to eat before I finish my story?"

"Certainly not," Barbara insisted, "or not until you have answered two or three more questions. For I am much more apt to die of curiosity than you are to perish of starvation. How long did you remain at Grovno, and did the Germans ever capture you? I suppose your general didn't die, if he escorted you to our humble door. But if he wasn't desperately ill, why did he have you stay so long in a position of such danger?" And Barbara ceased to ask more questions simply because her breath had given out.

At the same instant Nona signaled a warning glance. Mildred was almost fainting with exhaustion. In these last few weeks she must have passed through difficult experiences and naturally she could not tell them everything at once.

"Please go downstairs and ask that dinner be sent up, Barbara," Nona demanded. "And get soup or milk or something special; if not I'll make some beef tea for Mildred on the alcohol lamp. Mildred, suppose you put on my wrapper and lie down until after you have eaten, then we can talk as long as you have strength for."

And the girls did talk until nearly midnight in spite of Mildred's fatigue. She was perfectly well, only tired, she insisted, and greatly excited at seeing Nona and Barbara again.

She had passed through events in these past few weeks such as few women have ever known. But of course Mildred related what had taken place in a simple, almost matter of fact fashion. She was so little given to heroics, or to thinking of herself as a conspicuous personage.

"Yes, they had stayed on at Grovno until almost the hour when the Germans entered the old fortress. General Alexis had been wounded, but had not considered his wound serious and would not desert his post until he had finally accomplished his purpose. For the last hour virtually only six persons had kept the German army from entering the fortifications: General Alexis, Colonel Feodorovitch, two lieutenants and two private soldiers, although the Russian physician, who had remained with his commander, had turned soldier toward the last."

"But you don't mean that you continued inside the fort to the very end?" Barbara demanded almost angrily. "I suppose you were forgotten."

"I think I was at the last," Mildred returned. "You see, at first when General Alexis discovered that I was the Red Cross nurse who had been chosen to stay behind, he was angry and insisted that I leave at once. But by the time he learned of my presence, it was too late to find me an escort. Besides, the doctor did not wish me to go. There was a Russian woman, a kind of servant, who was also with us, and did the cooking, I believe, if we ever ate. Anyhow, she stayed with me and looked after me when she could, so that I was never actually alone."

"But Mildred," Nona asked, guessing at many details that her friend did not mention, "how did you finally get away at last? And have you come directly here from Grovno? Surely the fort did not hold out all these weeks."

"No, we have been away from Grovno nearly two weeks, I can't remember the exact passage of time very well," Mildred explained, lifting her hands to let down the long braids of her heavy flaxen hair, and allowing the hairpins to drop girl fashion, carelessly into her lap. She was wearing Nona's kimono, and it is always easier to talk confidentially with one's hair down, if one happens to have the mass that Mildred had. The very weight of it was oppressive when she was tired.