own words,
and she had wept and told him he was "wonderful"!

The deep breath he had drawn ended in a sigh. He was fighting more than
one storm, and in this instant he felt an indescribable weariness of
soul and body. But not for a second did he hesitate in the course he had
decided on. Later, when Doris was safe, perhaps things would clear up.
For the moment there was one thing, and one alone, to be done.

The trees around the house made the approach under their cover a fairly
easy one. However, he moved slowly, missing no precaution. He hardly
believed the zeal of the Italians would keep them out in the storm, but
they might have rigged up some sort of shelter, or, more probably, they
might be doing sentry-work at some of those dark windows.

Clinging close to the trees, he skirted the house, then approached it
from the rear, and slipped along the side of the building, hugging the
wall. As he noiselessly moved he listened, but no sound came from
inside. When he reached the front right wing he stopped, and, looking
up, verified his swift impressions of the afternoon.

A wide veranda swung around the front and side of this wing, supported
by substantial pillars, up any one of which he knew he could climb like
a cat. The roof of the veranda opened on the low French front windows of
the up-stairs sitting-room. There was no question that within a few
moments he himself could enter that sitting-room.

The real question, and again he carefully considered it, was how, once
in the room, he could get the girl out of it. _She_ could not climb
railings and slide down pillars. There was a window on the rear end of
the wing, above what plainly served in summer-time as a veranda
dining-room. This end of the veranda was glassed in, and over it a
trellis afforded a support for frozen vines that now shivered in the
storm. If he could get Doris out at that window, he might be able to get
her down to the ground with the help of the trellis. But from what room
did the window open, and how much of the upper hall would they have to
traverse before reaching it? Not much, he fancied.

Again he looked around, and listened. There was no sound or motion, save
those caused by the storm. The next instant he was climbing the pillar
toward the dimly lighted window. The ascent was not so easy as he had
pictured it. To his chagrin, he made several unsuccessful efforts before
he finally drew himself over the top of the veranda roof, and, lying
f