earers disappearing
with their burden through the front door, and the door itself closed to
with a bang by Crystal. Truly his sense of decorum and of the fitness of
things had received a severe shock and now he had the additional
mortification of seeing his beautiful daughter--his dainty and
aristocratic Crystal--in a state bordering on frenzy.

"My darling Crystal," he exclaimed, as he made his way quickly to her
side and put a restraining hand upon her arm.

But Crystal now was far beyond his control: she shook off his hand--she
paid no heed to him, she went closer up to St. Genis and once more
repeated her ardent, passionate query:

"Where is he now?"

"At the English hospital, I hope," said St. Genis with as much cool
dignity as he could command. "Have I not assured you, Crystal, that I've
done all I could? . . ."

"At the English hospital? . . . you hope? . . ." she retorted in a voice
that sounded trenchant and shrill through the overwhelming passion which
shook and choked it in her throat. "But the roadside--where you left him
. . . to die in a ditch perhaps . . . like a dog that has no home? . . .
where was that?"

"I gave full directions at the English hospital," he replied. "I
arranged for an ambulance to go and find him . . . for a bed for him
. . . I. . . ."

"Give me those directions," she commanded.

"On the way to Waterloo . . . on the left side of the road . . . close
by the six kilometre milestone . . . the angle of the forest of Soigne
is just there . . . and there is a meadow which joins the edge of the
wood where they were making hay to-day. . . . No driver can fail to find
the place, Crystal . . . the ambulance. . . ."

But now she was no longer listening to him. She had abruptly turned her
back on him and made for the door. Her father interposed.

"What do you want to do, Crystal?" he said peremptorily.

"Go to him, of course," she said quietly--for she was quite calm now--at
any rate outwardly--strong and of set purpose.

"But you do not know where he is."

"I'll go to the English hospital first . . . father, dear, will you let
me pass?"

"Crystal," said M. le Comte firmly, as he stood his ground between his
daughter and the door, "you cannot go rushing through the streets of
Brussels alone--at this hour of the night--through all the soldiery and
all the drunken rabble."

"He is dying," she retorted, "and I am going to find him. . . ."

"You have taken leave of your senses, Cr