climax of enthusiasm and
worship, and, before he could guess my intention, threw my arms around
his neck and kissed him on the lips. He held me from him at arm's length
and stared about in annoyance and perplexity. The four men greeted him
with roars of laughter, and explanations were made. At first he was
sceptical. He scrutinized me keenly and was half convinced, then shook
his head and would not believe. It was not until I became the old Avis
Everhard and whispered secrets in his ear that none knew but he and Avis
Everhard, that he accepted me as his really, truly wife.

It was later in the day that he took me in his arms, manifesting great
embarrassment and claiming polygamous emotions.

"You are my Avis," he said, "and you are also some one else. You are two
women, and therefore you are my harem. At any rate, we are safe now.
If the United States becomes too hot for us, why I have qualified for
citizenship in Turkey."*

* At that time polygamy was still practised in Turkey.

Life became for me very happy in the refuge. It is true, we worked
hard and for long hours; but we worked together. We had each other for
eighteen precious months, and we were not lonely, for there was always
a coming and going of leaders and comrades--strange voices from the
under-world of intrigue and revolution, bringing stranger tales of
strife and war from all our battle-line. And there was much fun and
delight. We were not mere gloomy conspirators. We toiled hard and
suffered greatly, filled the gaps in our ranks and went on, and through
all the labour and the play and interplay of life and death we found
time to laugh and love. There were artists, scientists, scholars,
musicians, and poets among us; and in that hole in the ground culture
was higher and finer than in the palaces of wonder-cities of the
oligarchs. In truth, many of our comrades toiled at making beautiful
those same palaces and wonder-cities.*

* This is not braggadocio on the part of Avis Everhard. The
flower of the artistic and intellectual world were
revolutionists. With the exception of a few of the
musicians and singers, and of a few of the oligarchs, all
the great creators of the period whose names have come down
to us, were revolutionists.

Nor were we confined to the refuge itself. Often at night we rode over
the mountains for exercise, and we rode on Wickson's horses. If only he
knew how many revolutionists his horses ha