A correspondent of the _Daily Telegraph_ reports from Stockholm that the whole of eastern Germany is upset by the menace of Cossack raids. He hears that a diplomatic despatch from Vienna contains information that the civilian inhabitants of Koenigsberg, East Prussia, and Breslau, in Silesia, are abandoning their homes and that only the military will remain in these strongholds. From Copenhagen it is reported, allegedly from German sources, that Silesia expects devastation by fire and sword and that the wealthy Prussian landholders, whose immense estates cover Silesia, are leading the exodus toward the west. The military authorities have done everything possible to check the panic, fearing its hurtful influence on Germany's prospects, but have been unable to reassure the inhabitants. Many of these have seen bands of Cossacks who have penetrated a few miles over the border and their warnings have spread like a forest fire. For a long while the young man studied the letter, reading and re-reading it, until, closing his eyes, he could repeat it word for word. And when he was letter perfect he nodded and handed back the letter to the hussar, who pouched it. A moment later the car ran in among a horde of mounted Uhlans, and one of their officers came galloping up alongside of the machine. He and the hussar whispered together for a few minutes, then an Uhlan was summoned, a white cloth tied to his lance-shaft, and away he went on his powerful horse, the white flag snapping in the wind. Behind him cantered an Uhlan trumpeter. Toward sunset the grey automobile rolled west out into open country. A vast flat plain stretched to the horizon, where the sunset flamed scarlet and rose. But it was almost dusk before from somewhere across the plain came the faint strains of military music. The hussar's immature mustache bristled. "British!" he remarked. "Gott in Himmel, what barbarous music!" Guild said nothing. They were playing "Tipperary." And now, through the late rays of the afterglow, an Uhlan trumpeter, sitting his horse on the road ahead, set his trumpet to his lips and sounded the parley again. Far, silvery, from the misty southwest, a British bugle answered. Guild strained his eyes. Nothing moved on the plain. But, at a nod to the chauffeur from the hussar, the great grey automobile rolled forward, the two Uhlans walking their horses on either side. Suddenly, east and west as far as the eye could see, trenches in endless parallels cut the plain, swarming with myriads and myriads of men in misty grey. The next moment the hussar had passed a black silk handkerchief over Guild's eyes and was tying it rather tightly. CHAPTER IV BAD DREAMS