"Many thanks. I shall come out all right. There is much work to do." A ghost of the ironical smile touched his feverish lips again. "And much work to be done after this business in Europe is settled.... I mean in America. She must pay her reckoning. She must settle with us Germans.... I wish it might come soon---_now!_--while their present administration remains--while yet this dull President and his imbecile and grotesque cabinet ministers are in power.... I beg your pardon--seeing you in that uniform made me forget that you are also _Mr. Guild_." But the irony in his wearied eyes made it very plain that he had not forgotten. "Karen?" he said presently. She leaned forward in her chair beside him. "It was just bad luck, very bad luck," he muttered; "but yours is luck"--he turned his dulled eyes toward Guild--"luck to be envied.... Some day I hope it may be--the hand." "It is now, if you wish," said Guild. The other shook his head: "Too soon, too soon," he muttered. "Even a German officer has his--limits. Between you and my luck I'm in a bad way--a very bad mess." Karen bent over his hand and touched it with her lips. The fever was gaining; he began to roll his blond head from side to side, muttering of love and luck and of the glory of God and the German Empire. A slight smile remained on his lips. Before the automobile arrived from Trois Fontaines the fever seized him fiercely. His coughing racked him incessantly now, and the first heavy hemorrhage soaked his grey tunic and undershirt. They eased him all they could, laying open his broad blond chest and the ribs now terribly discoloured where his fall had crushed them in again under the bandage. How the man could have risen and come at him again Guild could not understand. He was terribly shocked. Dreadful sounds came from his laboured breathing; he lay with eyes closed now, one burning hand lying in Karen's. Toward four o'clock in the morning a far, faint sound penetrated the room. Von Reiter's eyes opened. "Halt!" he whispered. "Who goes there?" It was Death. He seemed to understand that, for he sighed very lightly, his hand closed on Karen's, and he lay gazing straight upward with brilliant eyes. A few moments later there came a rush, a crunching of gravel, the loud purr of the motor outside. Then Karen opened the door and a medical officer entered the room in haste. Guild turned to Karen: "I must go to the woods and bring in my men and Darrel. Dearest, are you decided to go with me?" "I could not remain here now. I do not wish to." "Then wait for me," he said, and went out into the night. A few moments later they took von Reiter upstairs to his own room. His mind seemed to clear again for a while and he said feebly but distinctly to his aide-de-camp: