"Good heavens! Let's get to a telegraph-office, and I'll send her word at once. And father, too--dear old dad--he's had two months of sorrow that might have been avoided. What a fool I was! I ought to have telegraphed from Copenhagen." "Copenhagen!" "Yes; I escaped--nearly died of hunger--got on board a Danish ship as stowaway, and arrived at Copenhagen half-starved. But I wasn't up to traveling for a bit. I'm pulling around, gradually. I'm--well, to be sure! And mother doesn't know. What a surprise it will be! What a jollification! What a--!" "Here, hold up, Dick--hold up, man--you're tottering." The colonel's strong hand kept Dick on his feet. He led the young man gently through the vestibule. "Here, come to a quiet place. You mustn't be seen in public," growled the colonel. "Why not?" asked Dick. "I'm a little faint. You see, I haven't much money. I had to borrow. A square meal, at your expense, would do me a world of good, colonel. Let's go to the dining-room." "Very well. We can get a quiet table there. But I want you to understand at once that, though I'm here, I'm not your friend." "Eh? What?" "Well, you can't expect it." "Oh, you're angry with me because I'm fond of Dora. I suppose you saw my telegram and--intercepted it." "Yes." "Then Dora doesn't know!" "No, Dora doesn't know--nor will she know. Better be dead, my boy--better be dead!" "I beg your pardon?" queried Dick, gazing at the colonel with dull, tired eyes. The colonel vouchsafed no explanation, but led the way into the dining-room. He selected a table in a corner, and thrust the menu over to Dick. The sick man's eyes ran listlessly down the card, and he gave it back. "I'm too done. You order. Perhaps, a drink'll pull me up." The colonel ordered brandy. He was now able to get a better look at the returned hero. The change in the young man shocked him, and he could see that the hand of death had clutched Dick harshly before letting him go. "What was it--fever?" he asked, with soldier-like abruptness, as he scanned the lean, weary face. "Enteric and starvation, and a bit of a wound, too. I was taken prisoner, but, when the ambulance cart was left in a general stampede, I was just able to cry out to a nigger to cut my bonds. He set me free; but, afterward, I think I went mad. I was in our lines, I know. It was a good old Yankee who set me free; but, when reason came, I was again in the wrong camp. The ambulance cart had got into its own lines again. At any rate, I was in different hands, with a different regiment, packed off to a proper prison camp. I sent word home, or thought I'd sent word. I thought you all knew. By Jove, what a lark it will be to turn up and see their faces!" Dick took a long draught at the brandy, and a little color came into his face.