a
little German town in Alsace. Several of these, among them Mars, had
been wounded and in hospital together, but were turned out as cured the
moment they were strong enough to wield a scythe. Led by Mars, a young
Russian officer and a private in a Highland regiment had escaped from
the gang of prisoners by crawling for a long distance through tall ranks
of grain. They had hidden themselves among the stacks, and at night had
continued their progress in the direction--they hoped--of the French
frontier. Next morning they were given shelter by a farmer's wife whose
sympathies were with France. She provided them with disguises, but they
ventured to move only at night. At the end of four nights' travel they
came upon French soldiers advancing into Alsace, and made themselves
known, but not until they had been fired on as spies. Mars and the
Russian had both been wounded, and were in a French field hospital at
the time the newspaper account of their adventures went to press.
Neither were badly hurt, but they were extremely weak from lack of food
and loss of blood, to say nothing of old wounds scarcely healed when
they had started on their dash for freedom. The Russian officer (said to
be a nephew of Prince Sanzanow, Russia's ambassador to England)
considered that he owed his life to the aviator; and it was believed
that when the two were able to move they would be brought to a private
convalescent home in London, financed by the Russian ambassadress and
other great ladies.

I was so happy for the rest of the day that, as I could tell no one what
was in my heart, I sang to myself, under my breath, "It's a long, long
way to Tipperary." Eagle was alive and safe after all my black fears,
and I felt sure that if he came to England I should meet him. He could
not say now that he had done nothing "worth while." I thought, too, that
he would see the time had come at last to let the world know that
"Monsieur Mars" and Captain Eagleston March were one. I longed for the
day of revelation. It seemed to me that it would be a great day. I could
hardly wait for it to arrive; but a fortnight passed and the papers had
no more to say of "Mars, the elusive."

Meanwhile, the world had been busily making history for its future
generations, and momentous things had been happening to almost every one
I knew, except myself and my own immediate circle. Since I had first met
Milly at Diana's many weeks ago, and had been shown the letter from
Stefa