I just remember that—I know they seized us; they tore us away from each other. And then I can recall nothing but some awful place of pain—a place of confusion and horrible noise and terrible suffering and then a blank, which seemed to last for years and years—then Lilian’s voice, very faint, very far away—then a little nearer, a little louder. "Are you better, darling?" "Yes" (my voice was so weak, I could hardly hear it myself), "have I been ill?" "Very, very ill, but you are better now, thank God, thank God." "Where are we, Lilian?" "In a kind of a cave at the back of a house." "But how did we get here, I want to know all about it." "I wonder if you are strong enough to hear more now?" "Yes, yes," I cried, feverishly; "it will make me much worse not to know." "Well," she replied, soothingly, "I think it would, and you must not agitate yourself. Now I will give you a cooling draught, and then you must lie quite still, and I will tell you everything." "You won’t hide anything, will you? I want to know what happened after that dreadful torture," and I shuddered. "You were not tortured, darling; what their intentions were I do not know. I think they did mean to put us to a cruel death, but God is over all and prevented it." "But why have I been ill then, Lilian? I am sure I could not have fancied it all." "My poor darling, you had a dreadful blow—they pushed us so violently apart that you fell with your head against that platform; it was a horrid cut, but it is healing up nicely now." "Then what happened?"