er, he says, there is a ferry, used by peasants,
which will take us across to Austria."

"Why must he go?" Carter inquired, his every suspicion aroused for the
woman he loved.

"Should he be missing in the morning from his hut, the soldiers would
guess the reason for his absence. His wife and infant would probably pay
for his loyalty with their lives."

"And this Carl, how can he vouch for his loyalty?" Carter persisted.

"I know Carl," said the girl sweetly. That was enough.

The peasant stood to one side as the pair passed him. One glance into
the honest eyes was sufficient to convince Carter that the man had
spoken the truth.

Soon nothing could be seen of the shadowy figure on the forest edge
which stood watching until darkness swallowed the form of his beloved
suzerain. Side by side again, the two persisted along the starlit way of
their hopes, until they, too, entered another forest beyond. Here,
though aided by the lantern Hans had left with them, they lost the
narrow lane a score of times; disuse had made it almost invisible.

At last, gray with mourning, the tardy day awoke. With heavy limbs and
straining eyes, they stumbled at last into view of the promised haven of
thatch.

A premonition of something amiss caused Carter to pause as they hastened
toward it. The door, unlatched, swung open desolately upon creaking
hinges. No smoke beckoned from its chimneys, no sign of personality bade
them draw near. Trusia choked back the sob as she clung heavily to
Carter's arm.

"It is empty," she prophesied.

"The fellow is about some place, doubtless," Carter answered cheerfully,
that she might not be panic-stricken by his acquiescence. "You stay
here. I'll scout about a bit,--and find him," he added as an
afterthought. Leaving both his pack and revolver with her, he approached
the house with the same caution he would have displayed in routing out a
grizzly bear.

In the tiny enclosure in front of the cabin, he found the disturbing
evidence of the visitation of a number of horses in the marred and
furrowed soil of the garden, torn by a score of hoofs. Cossacks had been
here. He paused, with straining ears, by the door, listening for some
portent from within. No sound gave him a clue as to the situation inside
the single room which made up the peasant home. He entered boldly.

Trusia's heart pounded in lonely centuries, it seemed, as she prayed
fervently for his reappearance. Presently, staggering beneath a