It was but natural that amid so much tumult and suspense I should remain forgotten. My uniform, dingy in the brightest sun, was scarce noticeable in the half-lit dusk, and I wandered about the camp almost at will. The night was not old before I noticed the bustle of great preparations. Officers hurried about as if time of a sudden had doubled its value. Soldiers very anxiously examined their muskets and bayonets; cannon were wheeled into more compact batteries; more ammunition was gathered at convenient points. On all faces I saw expectation. I thought at first that some night skirmish was intended, but the bustle and the hurrying extended too much for that. I set about more thorough explorations, and it was easy enough to gather that Burgoyne intended to risk all in a pitched battle on the morrow. These were the preparations for it. Curiosity had taken away from me, for the moment, the desire to go back to my own people, but now it returned with double force. It was not likely that my warning of the coming battle could be of much value, for our forces were vigilant; but I had the natural desire of youth to be with our own army, and not with that of the enemy, at the coming of such a great event. But the chance for my return looked very doubtful. Both armies were too busy to pay heed to a flag of truce even if it could be seen in the night. I wandered about looking for some means of escape to our own lines, and in seeking to reach the other side of the camp passed once more through the space in which the women and children lay. I saw a little one-roomed house, abandoned long since by its owners. The uncertain light from the window fought with the shadows outside. I stepped to the window, which was open, and looked in. They had turned the place into a hospital. A doctor with sharp instruments in his hand was at work. A woman with strong white arms, bare almost to the shoulder, was helping him. She turned away presently, her help not needed just then, and saw my face at the window. “Dick,” she said in a tone low, but not too low to express surprise, “why haven’t you returned to the army?” “Because I can’t, Kate,” I said. “My flag of truce is forgotten, and the bullets are flying too fast through the dark for me to make a dash for it.” “There should be a way.” “Maybe, but I haven’t found it.” “Albert ought to help you.” “There are many things Albert ought to do which he doesn’t do,” I said. “Don’t think too badly of him.” “I think I’ll try to escape through the far side of the camp,” I said, nodding my head in the way I meant to go. “We owe you much, Dick, for what you have done for us,” she said, “and we wish you safety on that account, and more so on your own account.” She put her hand out of the window and I squeezed it a little. Perhaps that was Chudleigh’s exclusive right. But she did not complain, and Chudleigh knew nothing about it.