It looked very much as if this were Betty’s final adventure. She lay upon the ground, on one side, where she had rolled from the elevation about the trunk of a huge tree. Both arms were over her head, for she had tried to catch the branches as she was thrown. Tossed over the bushes, she had just escaped being hurled against the tree, but had struck her head on one of its large roots as she fell. Her face was pale, her hands and arms limp, her brown hair a tumbling mass about the dark collar and shoulders of her riding coat. For a long time she lay so, then gradually began to come to a very sick consciousness of her condition and surroundings. Her arms were stiff as she drew them down to hold an aching, dizzy head. She tried to raise herself on her elbow, but fell back again and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they rested on a little ground squirrel that sat at attention on a projection of the root which had made the large lump on Betty’s head, as she later discovered by the stain there.

“Hello, little chap,” she said, whereat the chipmunk whisked out of sight behind the tree. Betty tried to think what had happened, and turned over on her back, her arm under the bruised head, looking now into the leafy branches of the big elm. A fat wood thrush flew upon one of the lower limbs and sang “Come to me,” most consolingly. Every dark spot upon his breast was in view, and he spread his wings, preened his feathers, turned this way and that, changed the key of his song, went from major to minor, and tinkled his little musical bell from time to time.

“Aren’t you a darling?” asked Betty, smiling a little crooked smile. “Oh, yes; I got thrown. It was Calico. I’m supposed to be ‘boning’ on Lit., and it’s little Betty who will have to get herself out of this mess. I can’t be so awfully far in this woods. But I imagine that Calico has found his way home. Maybe they will come after me. No broken bones anyway, unless my head,” and Betty smiled again her drawn smile. “Now I’m going to sit up!” And sit up she did. She gathered up her loose hair, wet and stained, and finding still a hairpin or two, fastened it on top of her head, away from the aching lump. “My, it’s getting dark. I’ll have to hurry.”

But there was no hurrying for Betty. She crawled to the tree and drew herself up against it. “If I could only see where the sun is, I could tell the direction,” she thought. Then she wondered if she were near enough to the lake to hear it and listened attentively. She could not be very far from the bridle path, and yet the horse had run into the woods for quite a distance. Oh, well, she didn’t know what would happen, but she might as well try to get out of the woods some way. Deciding on the direction, she staggered from tree to tree at first, but came to no clearing, and it kept growing darker. It was hard to keep in any one direction when there were so many thick bushes to go around, and the time seemed very long. Every little while Betty would have to sit down, all sick and dizzy, to rest. The night air was chilly and little noises startled her.

Finally, she seemed to come into a narrow path, and presently she heard the sound of waves. She had at last come through that almost impenetrable woods to the lake shore. “Now I can find the way home,” she thought, though what part of the shore she would reach she had no idea.

Feeling her way along slowly, Betty would lose the path at times, then find herself back upon it again, and while she watched, for fear she might walk over the edge of some bluff, she saw a glimmer through the trees, then found herself before an open door from which shone the feeble light of a lantern. She staggered in, and dropped into a straight chair which was propping open the door. At once she heard voices outside, and began seriously to doubt the wisdom of her walking into the place. She looked around. There was a long table roughly made and upon it stood bottles of chemicals and different tools. This was no real house,—what had she stumbled upon? Could this be the house over the cave? But it was too late to get away, for they were almost at the door. Betty could hear the conversation now. It was partly in English, partly in simple German, and Betty thought to herself that, after all, having studied German was not such a waste of time as she had felt. There were words here and there which she did not recognize, but to her horror she realized that these were the men who were responsible for the attempt on the bridge. They were explaining to some one evidently in authority over them, and excusing themselves for their failure. The other man spoke harshly, telling them that there would be a search and they must conceal the evidences of their work at this place.

“Tomorrow the government boat will be down here. Fishing pretence will not deceive them. They will search everywhere. The secret service men are already on the trail. Signal for the hydroplane. You can work for White Wings till this blows over. Throw all that stuff into the lake. Did you remove all the bombs from the cave?”

Betty’s heart sank as she recognized the voice. It was that of Captain Holley. She rose, having some wild idea of trying to escape, but did the best thing that she could have done under the circumstances. Fright, chill, and the injured head were too much for her, and she sank to the floor by the chair in a faint.

Round the corner of the little house walked the three men and stopped astonished at the sight of the fallen figure in the doorway. Betty would have been still more frightened if she could have seen the revolvers drawn, and heard Captain Holley’s angry exclamation as he discovered who she was. “It is one of the young ladies from the school,” said he, stooping over her. Betty was regaining her senses, but did not dare move. Stepping over her, still with revolver in hand, he went inside and looked around to see if she had any companion.

“She has seen too much. Throw her in the lake,” growled one of the men.

“There is no one else here,” said Captain Holley, returning. Lifting Betty he laid her on a bench which stood against the wall inside. “She has been thrown, I judge, and has come through the woods.”

“They will be hunting for her, too,” said the same man who had spoken.

“If they catch us, it will be better if we have treated her well,” spoke the second man.

“If they get us, they can prove nothing unless she tells them something. Throw her in the lake, I say.”

A sharp reproof from Captain Holley stopped further remarks, and the two men began to bundle up various articles, with the bottles and other things on the table. “Row out a little distance before you drop them,” was the order.

As the men left the room, Betty moaned a little, to give warning that she was conscious, and Captain Holley came over to look at her. Taking a flask from his pocket, he poured a small dose of something into a dingy glass which stood by a pitcher on the table, diluting it with water from the pitcher. Betty opened her eyes and stared at him without a word as he lifted her head and gave her the stimulant. She drank, not knowing but it might poison her, for she had little confidence in the gentleman who was giving it to her. But she felt much better after swallowing the hot dose and said, “Thank you, Captain Holley,—can you take me home, please?”

“I do not know,” he replied non-commitally,—“what can I do. I have a serious errand. I dare not leave you here alone, and I can not take you home now.”

“Oh, I am afraid of those men,—do not leave me!” cried Betty.

“Did you have a fall?”

“Yes; I waited to pick a flower and told the girls, or Cathalina to go on.”

“What became of the horse?”

“I don’t know. If he had gone home, I should think they would have come for me right away. I must have been unconscious a long time.”

“Miss Betty, I have been interested in you for some time. Could you think of going away with me tonight. Could you forget your prejudice against my nation? I shall have large sums of money and could make you happy.” The young man’s eyes sparkled as with perfect poise he stood looking down on the forlorn Betty.

Betty’s eyes closed in sick surprise. Surely no girl ever listened to a proposal under such difficult circumstances. While not an actual assassin, the man had been planning death for her countrymen and justified it under the name of patriotism for another country. He had been playing a part at Grant Academy.

“Oh, Captain Holley!” she cried—“I’m too sick to think of anything! No, of course I would not go away with anybody without my parents’ knowledge! But I do trust you to be good to me,” she added, her lips trembling.

“You are a very beautiful girl,” said Captain Holley, his cold face expressing no feeling now. “You will think of me and change your mind. Come.”

Betty had heard the humming of a motor, but remembered that she must not show any knowledge of what had been said about the hydroplane.

Putting his arm around the shaken girl, the young officer led her down some rude steps at the rear of the building to the foot of the bluff. She thought as she went how cleverly these must be concealed. But as she reached the bottom, she felt so sick again, that she reeled against her companion, who picked her up, carried her over the rocks and put her into something at the water’s edge, something with wings, a dark shadow in the night, for the moon was hid by clouds.

Betty was fastened in and off they glided, presently rising from the water and cutting through the cold night air. Betty had ceased to care what became of her, though she drowsily longed to get to some comfortable place and go to sleep. These were water wings indeed, more interesting than the “night hawk,” but how cold it was! Next, they were descending, upon the water once more, and approaching some landing.

Dazed and stiff, she was lifted out. Captain Holley gave a sharp whistle and a man came running to the landing. “Take it right back, for they have need to hurry. They were destroying the contents of the hut, but it is too late. I saw the vessel lying off to the east as I came. Look out for the marines. Our men were to row off from land and wait for you, signaling when they heard the motor. I shall be waiting for you in the plane, at the accustomed place.”

This was in English, and the reply was in the same language. The young captain was evidently under strong excitement. He half carried Betty some little distance to a house, where a stern looking woman opened the door. To her the officer used a strange language which Betty thought might be Russian, and they talked rapidly while a fire was being made and a kettle of water put on the stove. Another man appeared and all three left the room. There was the noise of furniture being moved, of people going up and down stairs and talking.

After a little, the woman came in again, made Betty a cup of strong hot tea and brought it to her on a plate which also contained a piece of bread and butter and a small, round cake. The little meal was very refreshing. Betty ate it and watched the woman making hurried preparations for another lunch, setting several plates on the kitchen table, for it was into the kitchen that Betty had been brought and placed in an old-fashioned rocking chair near the stove.

She had just finished the last drop of tea when Captain Holley came running lightly down the stairs, as she could hear, and entered the room, drawing up a chair. Catching the eye of the woman, he pointed to the door and she obediently went out.

“I have had a cot put in the attic with everything that you will need. It will be safer. Whatever you may hear, do not come downstairs until morning. Will you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Come in, Sofia. Help this lady upstairs and give her the key.”

As Betty left the kitchen, she turned and saw her strange admirer standing erect and still, in his aviator’s costume, looking after her with an expression almost stern. She stopped a moment. “Thank you, Captain Holley, more than I can tell, for your protection.” He did not reply, but raised his hand in salute.

It was a tiresome climb to the attic for one in Betty’s lame condition, but at last the woman opened a door at the head of the stairs and ushered her into a dusty, close place, pointing toward a clean cot in a space which had been hastily cleared from rubbish. An old wash-stand had been moved up near the cot and contained water-pitcher and towels, which Betty was very glad to see. Handing Betty the key, the woman went downstairs, and Betty turned the key in the lock with great satisfaction, feeling almost safe, if she was in a strange garret, as she said afterward. She had known the time when she was afraid of attics at night, but this was so safe by comparison that she did not think of being frightened. When she had bathed her face and carefully combed as much of her hair as was not matted over the wound, she felt more like the old Betty. Cold compresses felt good to the sore spot and loosened the hair over it. “I am whole up to date,” she thought, “and perhaps I can persuade his highness to let me go in the morning. Why, this is an electric light! I don’t know any place in the country around here that has it but White Wings. Of course it is White Wings. Where else could a hydroplane come from? If I hadn’t been so stupid, I would have recognized it.” A cord dangled from the ceiling with a dingy little bulb swinging at its end, and Betty carefully located it relative to the bed before she turned off the light and crawled into a slightly lumpy but very welcome cot. The coarse gown provided was clean, and the little pillow soft. Air came from somewhere, though she had seen no windows. The atmosphere of the place would soon be improved, she concluded.

The tea had made her less sleepy. For some time after she had thanked Providence for her safety, she lay awake, wondering what Greycliff folks were doing, what would come of this adventure, and how she was going to get back. “I need a doughty knight to come and rescue the princess in the tower!” Betty giggled at the thought and grew drowsy, her head aching less, until finally she dropped into a slumber perhaps less disturbed than that of her suite-mates, who were still dressed and curled up on the outside of their beds. Miss Randolph was sleeping scarcely at all, and there were men searching the woods and shore for her all night. Although she knew that Captain Holley was concerned in this dreadful work as a spy, she felt that he had a fancy for her and that she was comparatively safe in any refuge of his choosing. The last sounds that Betty heard were of people hurrying about, an occasional door closing noisily. The ever-shifting moonlight crept into a little round window behind some heavy furniture and threw long shadows from the dusky objects in the attic over the lonely little figure in the old cot.