He turned and spoke a few words in Russian, and one by one each of the other members repeated what seemed to Caruth to be a set form of words. When they had finished, Lermantoff spoke again. “You are not entirely out of danger yet, Mr. Caruth,” he warned. “Baron Demidroff is making desperate efforts to capture Marie, and she will be arrested if found. That is why she has remained concealed here. Once you have made her your wife at the American Embassy, she will be measurably safe. Until then, she will be in danger. I think, therefore, that she had better go with you in disguise. Tell me good-by now, my child, and go and get ready. I hope you will be very, very happy.” CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE As the train drew away from Gatchina, Caruth drew a long breath of relief. Running express, it would make no stops on the way to St. Petersburg, scarcely an hour distant, and little was likely to happen in an hour. Humanly speaking, he felt that Marie was safe. Quickly the speed increased as the suburbs of the town whisked by, and almost in a moment the train was running through open fields. Then might the peasants along the track, if gifted with sufficiently quick eyesight, have seen in one of the compartments a fashionably dressed young man ecstatically embracing what seemed to be a workingman. Marie wore the dress of a laborer. Her lovely hair, coiled on top of her head, was concealed beneath a rough cap. Her coat collar, turned up around her neck, hid her slim throat, while a heavy beard, hastily affixed, concealed the outlines of her oval face. With her nether limbs thrust into a pair of workingman’s trousers, and her feet hidden in heavy boots, she bore no resemblance to the fashionably dressed woman for whom the police were watching so eagerly. Caruth, however, did not seem to mind her costume, even when her beard tickled his nose and made him sneeze. Only muttering something about insisting that she should shave as soon as she became Mrs. C., he continued to kiss and hug her as though he would never be satisfied. “To think I’ve got you at last!” he cried. “After all these days and days of doubt and anxiety. To think that soon we’ll be on our own yacht, bound for our own country, away from all this horrible plotting and counterplotting. Oh, I can’t believe it!” The girl shuddered slightly. “I can’t either,” she sighed. “I’m afraid--oh, I’m horribly afraid that something will happen yet to prevent. I didn’t use to be afraid of anything! I always thought that I could face whatever came without quailing, but now--now I’m a very woman, dear! Love has made me timid. I don’t think I could bear it if I were caught now.” “Caught! You can’t be and shan’t be. Why, we are half way to St. Petersburg already.” “Not quite yet! And even if we were--oh, I’m afraid. Lermantoff is not an alarmist. He never speaks without good reason. No one else could have persuaded me to wear this ridiculous disguise.”