treat you as a prisoner of war, even if they caught you among my
troopers."

"But if they did not catch me--"

"No! I cannot let you take so great a risk. You are of my kin, and I owe
a duty to your mother. I shall see that you get back safely to Russia
and are sent home by sea from there."

"But if I go into Russia, I shall be arrested--those are Prince Mikail's
orders," said Fred, quietly. "I am sure to be caught there, and here
there is a chance that I may not be found. If you take Lieutenant Ernst
with you as a prisoner, no one among the Germans will know me, except as
I appear now. If I change back to my own clothes, I shall be safe from
anything worse than detention. None of the officers of the court-martial
escaped, did they?"

"No, that is true," said Suvaroff. He spoke thoughtfully. It was plain
that Fred's argument was making an impression on him. "I have heard
something of your affair with Mikail. I shall look into that. Eh--I
don't know just what to do!"

"Let us stay!" pleaded Boris. "We will be careful, and we know now just
what dangers we must avoid."

"I think we shall be back here, in force, before the week is out," said
his father, after a moment's reflection. "Very well, you shall stay! It
is true that you may be of the greatest service. I have not the right to
consider personal matters when the welfare of Russia is at stake."

It was light by now. In curious contrast to the shambles of the garden
and the disorder of the house, its windows shattered by bullets, its
furniture broken and draperies torn in the swift conflict that had
followed the appearance of the Cossacks, roosters were crowing outside
and birds were singing. General Suvaroff gave a sharp order;
subordinates passed it along. A bugle sounded, and, five minutes later,
after the general had said good-bye to the two scouts, the Cossack
raiders rode away. They were strung out in a long column along the road.
As they passed through the village Fred and Boris, watching from an
upper window of the abandoned parsonage, saw the villagers watching.
Boris had a powerful field glass, and through this he and Fred could see
the very faces of the watching Germans. Hatred and fear mingled in the
looks they sent after the invaders of their country.

"One can't blame them," said Fred, with a shudder. "War's rather
ghastly, isn't it, Boris?"

He looked down into the garden, and Boris's eyes followed his.

"Yes," said the Russian. "That's the