“Dear Molly, you must not. Roy must be tired and hungry. Try to think of that. He wants food. And he has not said one word to me yet.” Polly dashed aside her tears, trying to smile. “How did you get away from Verdun, Roy?” “Not Verdun. Didn’t you know I’d been sent to Bitche last spring?” “No. Were you really? O we hear so little!”—and a sigh came from Polly’s heart, while Molly, having pulled Roy into a chair, knelt by his side, gazing with eyes of rapt delight in his face. “It’s an awful place. I got away from there—I’ll tell you all about it by-and-by. It’s all right now—now I’m back in old England. Do you know, when first I got on shore, I just went down on my knees, and kissed the ground. Drake, you didn’t know me! For shame. But I was sure Miss Molly would.” “I don’t know as I didn’t, sir, for all you’re so growed and altered. I couldn’t turn you away, and that’s a fact—though it seemed like as if I’d ought. And I did feel queer-like and no mistake, when I see you a-looking at me, sir; only, begging your pardon, sir, you did speak so short——” “I’m sorry; but I didn’t mean to be found out by anybody first except by Miss Molly. Dear little Moll!”—as she stooped to kiss the back of his brown hand. “No, no, you mustn’t do that. I say, Drake, I wonder if you can find anything respectable for me to wear. These things were given to me at a farmhouse in France, and they were old to begin with. And I’ve had to get to London on foot, because I’d no money, though people have given me many a lift, and food as well. But couldn’t you make me look a bit decent, before Mr. and Mrs. Bryce come home?” Drake made no difficulty at all about the matter, and he and Roy, after a few more explanations, went off together. Roy had seen in an old newspaper, since landing on the east coast, the mention of Mrs. Fairbank’s death, and he had at once decided to find his way straight to the house of Mr. Bryce, secure of learning there what might have become of Polly and Molly. He had hardly felt surprise, on arrival, to learn that both the girls were within. Another sadder duty would lie before him soon—to see Admiral and Mrs. Peirce, and to tell them the story of little Will. But his first aim had been to reach Molly. As the two disappeared, Molly flung herself on the rug, with her face on Polly’s knee. “O to think that I have my own own Roy again!” she whispered. “Dear Molly, ’tis indeed something to be thankful for.” A tear splashed on Molly’s cheek, and she looked up with startled eyes. “Ah—I have forgot! If Denham could but have come with Roy! Then we should both be happy; we should want nothing. Except my papa and my mamma to return.” Another tear fell. “But we will ask Roy, and he will tell us about Denham. Perhaps he will bring you a message from him.” “No,” Polly answered. “Roy comes from Bitche—not from Verdun. Did you not hear? ’Tis long since he saw them. And, Molly, you must not ask.” “Not ask!”