“What?” “He knows--he must know that, whoever I am, I’m loyal! So send for him, or go and speak to him before you do anything more; that’s all I ask. Oh, I know this has been horrible for you, Mr. Byrne.” For the first time Ruth was losing control of herself. “But do you suppose it’s been easy for me? And do you suppose I’ve done it for myself or for any adventure to see the war or just to come here? I’ve done it to go into Germany! Oh, you won’t stop me now! For if you leave me alone--don’t you see--I may get into Germany tomorrow or this week or anyway before the next big attack can come! What do I count, what do you count, what can the memory of Cynthia Gail count in comparison with what I may do if I can go on into Germany? What----” “Don’t cry!” Byrne forbade her hoarsely, seizing her shoulder and shaking her almost roughly. “My God, Cynthia,” he begged, “don’t cry.” He had called her by that name again; and Ruth knew that, not her appeal, but her semblance in her emotion to Cynthia, had overcome him for the moment. “I’m not going to cry,” Ruth said. “But----” He stopped her brusquely. He seemed afraid, indeed, to let her go on. “Whether I’ve got to bring you to the army authorities and give you over at once under arrest,” he said coldly, “is up to you. If you agree to go with me quietly--and keep your agreement--I’ll take you along myself.” “Where?” Ruth asked. “I know some people, whom I can trust and who can take you in charge till I can talk to Hull. He’s the only reference you care to give?” “Yes,” she said. “If he stands for you, that won’t mean anything to me, I might as well tell you,” Byrne returned. “You’ve probably got him fooled; you could do it, all right, I guess.” “Then what’s the use in your sending for him?” “Oh; you think now there’s none? It was your idea, not mine.” “I’ll go with you quietly to your friends,” Ruth decided, ending this argument. “I’ll understand that you’re going to communicate with Gerry Hull about me.” She arose and Byrne seized her arm firmly. He blew out the candle and, still clasping her, he groped his way to the door. Some one stepped in the rubbish on the other side. They had been conscious, during their stay in the room, that many people had passed outside; once or twice, perhaps, a passer-by might have paused to gaze at the ruin; but Ruth had heard no one enter the house. Byrne had heard no one; for his grasp on Ruth’s arm tightened with a start of surprise as he realized that the someone who now suddenly moved on the other side of the door must have come there moments before. Byrne stepped back, drawing Ruth with him, and thrusting her a little behind him. The person on the other side of the door was a watchman, perhaps, or the owner of this house or a neighbor investigating to what use these ruined rooms were now being put. Byrne, thinking thus, spoke loudly in labored French, “I am an American officer, with a companion, who has looked in here.”