It was not until late in the afternoon, when dressed in her own garments, which had been carefully cleansed and brushed by her nurse, that she was admitted to the office of the Field Marshal. She was shown into his room and he greeted her with unmistakable cordiality, offering her the chair next his own and congratulating her warmly upon the success of her achievement and Cyril’s. “You know,” he asked quietly, “the contents of these documents?” “Yes. Their importance made it necessary that I should.” “Then of course you realize the necessity for the utmost secrecy?” “I do.” The General smiled at her and brought forward a copy of a recent issue of the London _Times_. “Did you know that for the past three days England has actually stopped criticizing me to talk about you?” “About _me_?” she asked. “Yes, read,” he said smiling, and she took the paper from him, skimming the headings of a news item he pointed out to her: MISS MATHER STILL MISSING. MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE STILL UNACCOUNTED FOR. LADY HEATHCOTE TELLS STRANGE STORY. JOHN RIZZIO, THE FAMOUS COLLECTOR, A GERMAN SPY. And then in the news item below: Allison Mather, of Ashwater Park, believing that his daughter is still alive, today offered a reward of five thousand pounds to anyone---- She stopped reading and put the paper down. “Poor Daddy!” she whispered. “O Sir John, will you let him know----?” “I have already done so, child. He knows that you are safe.” And then with a laugh, “The five thousand pounds--I think are mine. I need a new hospital corps.” “Oh, he’ll give it, I’m sure.” “You promise?” “Yes.” He took her hand and rose in the act of dismissal. “We have supper at six. I hope you will be able to join us.” “But, General----” She paused at the door. He smiled at her softly. “If all goes well--you shall see him tomorrow.” She colored prettily. Everyone seemed to know, but she didn’t care. The world, in spite of its terrors, was a garden of roses to Doris. * * * * * She did not see Cyril the next day or the one following. His temperature had risen, and while the danger of a relapse was not acute, they thought it safer that she be kept away. She had worried, fearing the worst, but the frankness of the head surgeon reassured her. The bullet had drilled through him, just scraping the lung. He would recover. But why take a chance of complication when all was going well? There was no reply to that, so Doris waited at headquarters, thankful and trying to be patient, sending two penciled scrawls which were delivered to the wounded man.