Some curious feminine force must have moved Sally Ashton on this occasion. Most women find it difficult to allow a human being to endure physical suffering, once the person is delivered into their care. As she made her way to the chateau for the second time Sally loathed the cold dark morning and there was no beauty nor significance to her in the gray leaden sky which lay like a mourning veil over the sad French landscape. Sally considered that she was engaged in an almost unjustifiable action. Yet she could not make up her mind to leave the soldier to starve, or to betray his presence in the chateau. Moreover, Sally was haunted by a small nervous fear, which may have been out of place in the face of the larger issues which were involved. As the soldier in hiding had no reason to believe she would arrive so early in the morning, he might still be asleep. Sally disliked the idea that thus she might be called upon to awaken him. The conventions of life were dear to her, she had a real appreciation of their value and place in social life and no desire to break with any one of them. The food could be left in the dismantled old drawing-room, under its arch of leaning walls, but Sally wished to leave a command as well as the food. After this one unhappy pilgrimage she would do nothing more for the soldier's safety and comfort. He must take his chances and slip away. The entire neighborhood was disturbingly quiet. An owl of late habits would have been almost companionable. Upon one point Sally considered herself inflexible. She would not enter the chateau; she might call softly from the outside if it were necessary. If no one replied she would return to the farm and nevermore would the chateau be honored by her presence. In an entirely different state of mind she approached the old house on this second occasion and made her way to the opening between the walls. Inside there seemed an even more uncanny silence. Yet how could one call to an utter stranger whose name, whose identity, whose nationality were all unknown? "Halloo!" Sally cried in a faint voice, not once but three or four times. There was no reply. She called again. Then she entered the drawing-room quickly with no other idea than to put down her offerings and flee away as soon as possible. Sally was possessed of the impression that, however long the wrecked walls might remain in position while she was outside them, once inside she would be buried beneath a descending mass. A few feet within the arch she discovered her soldier. He had made for himself a bed out of an old mattress which he had dragged from some other room, using a torn covering which once had been a beautiful eiderdown quilt. As he had no pillow and his face was completely uncovered, Sally realized he was in a stupor and so ill that he had not heard her approach or her repeated calls. Fortunately Sally Ashton was essentially practical.