Gretel started to her feet, with a wild, half-formed idea of making her escape, but the portly form of Mr. Becker stood between her and the door, and she sat down again, feeling suddenly cold, and rather sick.

“Do not agitate yourself so much,” Mr. Becker was saying, soothingly. “It is true that our beloved Anna is very ill, but the doctors have great hopes for the result of the operation. I am sorry that you have had your trip for nothing, but it could not be helped. Now that you are here, you will surely stay and have coffee with us. My wife will have it ready in a few moments.”

“I am afraid I can’t possibly stay,” protested Gretel. “I only came to see FrÄulein because you said she wanted me. My brother will be waiting for me. I went out in such a hurry that I forgot to mention where I was going.”

Mr. Becker glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“There is plenty of time to spare,” he said; “it is not yet five o’clock. Surely you will not deprive Mrs. Becker and me of the great pleasure of offering hospitality to Hermann Schiller’s daughter?”

His manner was so kind and courteous that Gretel was beginning to feel rather ashamed of her first suspicion. So she made no further effort to rise, and even forced a faint smile.

“Did you know my father?” she asked, stiffly. It was the first time in her life that praise of her adored father had not caused her heart to swell with pride.

“I did not have the honor of his personal acquaintance,” Mr. Becker admitted, “but his art! Oh, Miss Schiller, what an artist he was!” Mr. Becker heaved a deep sigh, and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

Before Gretel could speak again, there was a rattling of crockery, and Mrs. Becker reappeared, bearing a tray containing hot coffee and thick slices of brown bread and butter. Setting the tray on the centre table, she requested her husband and Gretel, in the same dull tone as before, to “come and eat.” Gretel was very uncomfortable, and very anxious to get away, but she dared not refuse the invitation, and Mrs. Becker poured her out a cup of the steaming coffee.

“This is indeed a great pleasure,” remarked Mr. Becker, smiling benignly. “We are proud, are we not, Gertrude, to have the daughter of the great Hermann Schiller drink coffee with us?”

“Certainly we are proud,” murmured Mrs. Becker, obediently, but the expression of her face did not change in the slightest, and Gretel, knowing how anxious she must be about her niece, felt very sorry for her. She was also a good deal surprised by Mr. Becker’s manner, for on former occasions when she had gone to see FrÄulein, that gentleman had taken very little notice of her.

“Your father was not only a great artist, Miss Schiller,” the host went on, sipping his coffee. “He was a great patriot as well. If there were more men like him alive to-day, it might be better for our poor country.”

Gretel’s face brightened. Perhaps, after all, she had been mistaken. The likeness was certainly startling, but then people sometimes did look alike.

“I am sure this war would have made Father very unhappy,” she said. “He was so kind and gentle; he hated everything cruel.”

“All good Germans hate what is cruel,” Mr. Becker assured her. “All war is terrible, but there are times when stern methods must be used. The sterner the method, the sooner the fighting will be over.”

Gretel could not repress a slight shudder; Mr. Becker’s voice sounded so fierce and determined. She glanced at Mrs. Becker, but her expression remained unchanged.

“Your father loved his country better than anything else in the world,” Mr. Becker went on, solemnly. “I once had the pleasure of hearing him speak at a dinner given for the German Ambassador, and it was one of the most stirring speeches I have ever listened to in my life. I wish I possessed a copy, that I might read it to you.”

“I should like to hear anything Father ever said,” said Gretel, with an uneasy glance towards the clock.

“I am sure you would, but, alas! I fear it is impossible. That speech was delivered more than ten years ago, but I am convinced that Hermann never wavered in his love and allegiance to the Fatherland. I hope his daughter loves her country as well.”

“I hope I do,” said Gretel, blushing. “I would love to help my country, but there isn’t much a girl of my age can do, except knit for the soldiers, and make bandages and surgical dressings for the Red Cross.”

Mr. Becker’s face was fairly beaming at her across the table.

“You cannot be sure about that,” he said. “In these days there is work for all to do. No one is too young or too ignorant to help. You may not realize it, but you have a great opportunity before you.”

“I!” cried Gretel, opening her eyes in genuine astonishment. “Why, what can I do?”

Mr. Becker smiled a rather peculiar smile.

“You are going to Washington,” he said, “and you have been visiting in New London. One often sees and hears things that might be of great service to the Government, and which should be reported.”

Gretel remembered Fritz Lippheim, and her cheeks grew crimson. Was it possible that FrÄulein’s uncle knew of that meeting, and was going to reprove her for not betraying her old friend? She did not speak, and in a moment Mr. Becker went on.

“Your brother, I understand, holds an important position in Washington. You are likely to meet many interesting people, and may hear things which will be very valuable to us. You understand what I mean, do you not?” Gretel gave a violent start, and her heart began to beat very fast.

“I don’t think I do understand,” she said. “Do you mean that I should tell my brother everything I see and hear? I would do that naturally, of course, but sometimes one happens to meet an old friend, just by accident, and——”

Gretel paused, abruptly, struck by the altered expression of Mr. Becker’s face. He still smiled, but his smile had changed.

“I think perhaps you do understand a little better than you care to show,” he said, mysteriously. “I must give you credit, my dear young lady, for being much cleverer than I supposed.”

Gretel pushed back her chair from the table, and rose.

“I really cannot stay any longer,” she said, hurriedly. “I am afraid my brother will be anxious about me. Good-bye, Mrs. Becker. I am terribly sorry about FrÄulein. Perhaps you will send me a line to let me know how she gets on. My address is——” “Sit down!” thundered Mr. Becker, in a voice so changed that Gretel dropped back into her chair, shaking from head to foot.

“I think we are misunderstanding each other,” the man went on, in a quieter tone, but with eyes fixed sternly on Gretel’s face. “When I ask Hermann Schiller’s daughter if she wishes to help her country, I naturally suppose she knows what country I mean.”

“I thought you meant my own country,” faltered Gretel. “I am an American.”

“An American!” repeated Mr. Becker, scornfully. “Hermann Schiller’s daughter an American! It is impossible! I will not believe it.”

“My mother was an American,” said Gretel, “and I was born here in New York. I have always loved Germany, for my father’s sake, but if he were alive now, I know he would not approve of the dreadful things the Germans are doing.” Gretel was horribly frightened, and yet, oddly enough, she had never felt so truly an American as she did at that moment. There was a moment of intense silence, during which Mr. Becker continued to regard his visitor with stern, incredulous eyes. Then the man said, slowly:

“I see. You have been deceived, like so many others. You have been told only one side of this great question. Otherwise, nothing will persuade me to believe the daughter of a German patriot would turn her back on the Fatherland in her hour of need. Listen, and I will try to explain the truth to you. Germany is fighting for her existence. She has been cheated, deceived—do you understand?”

Mr. Becker talked on steadily for the next ten minutes, but Gretel scarcely heard a word he said. Her eyes were on the clock, and her sole thought was of making her escape. Oh, why had she ever come here, even for FrÄulein’s sake? Would that dreadful man never stop talking, and let her go home? At last Mr. Becker paused.

“Have I made the situation any more clear to you?” he inquired, sharply. “I—I don’t know,” faltered Gretel. “I know you think Germany is in the right—I suppose all Germans do—but I am an American. Now will you please let me go? It is getting very late.”

Mr. Becker turned furiously upon his wife.

“What did that fool Anna mean by telling us this girl was a German?” he demanded. “She gave us to understand the child could be useful to the cause.”

“Oh, Rudolph,” protested Mrs. Becker, beginning to cry, “it is not my fault, I am sure. I only told you what Anna said. Indeed, I am not to blame.”

“Not to blame!” her husband repeated, fiercely; “but where is the use in blaming fools? As to you, young lady, I find I have made a mistake. I thought I was speaking to a German, but I see you have no desire to help your father’s people. But there is one thing you must and shall do before you leave this room. You shall solemnly swear never to repeat to a living soul one word of what has passed here this afternoon. You must swear not even to mention having been to this house. Otherwise, I shall not let you go.”

Gretel was very white. She felt sick and faint, and more frightened than she had ever been in her life. But through all her terror she seemed to hear Ada Godfrey’s clear voice proclaiming:

“Any one who doesn’t report a suspect is a disloyal American citizen.”

“I can’t be disloyal to my country,” she told herself, desperately. “Perhaps I shall be killed, but it would be better to die than be disloyal.”

Mr. Becker went into an adjoining room, whence he returned, carrying a large German Bible, which he laid upon the table.

“Are you prepared to swear?” he demanded, sternly. “Even if you are not willing to help Germany, I scarcely suppose you are willing to have your father’s people punished through any fault or mistake of yours. I believe you are to be trusted in so far as that. Will you swear?”

Gretel’s white lips moved, but no sound came from them. She resolutely shook her head. Mrs. Becker clasped her hands, with an exclamation of dismay.

Mr. Becker laid a heavy hand on the girl’s trembling shoulder.

“Do you realize what you are doing?” he asked, and his voice shook a little, but whether with anger or fear Gretel did not know.

“I can’t swear not to tell,” she whispered. “It would be disloyal to my brother, and—and to my country.”

“Then,” said Mr. Becker, sternly, “you will not be allowed to leave this house. Do you understand what that means?”

Gretel gave a little frightened sob. She glanced towards the open window, with some wild idea of screaming for help, but as if anticipating her intention, Mr. Becker sprang across the room and closed the window with a bang.

“Now,” said the man, turning fiercely upon her again, “perhaps you will realize that I am in earnest. I will give you one more chance. Will you solemnly swear not to mention to any human being where you have been this afternoon, or repeat one word of what has passed?”

Again Gretel shook her head.

“I can’t swear,” she whispered, in a voice so unlike her own that it startled her.

Mr. Becker seized her roughly by the arm. His eyes were blazing with anger.

“You little fool!” he cried. “You little obstinate fool!”

He half led, half dragged her out of the room, down the narrow hall of the apartment.

“Go in there!” he commanded, “and, remember, if you make one sound, try in any way to attract attention, you will have a gag put into your mouth. That will not be pleasant, so you had best do as I say. There are other Germans in this house, besides myself, and they know what loyalty to their country sometimes requires.”

In another moment Gretel found herself in a small dark room; the door was closed, and she heard the turning of the key in the lock. She was a prisoner. It had all been so sudden, so unexpected, that for the first few minutes Gretel scarcely believed it was true. It seemed so much more like the things that happened in bad dreams that she half expected to wake up suddenly and find herself on the library sofa, where she had been dozing when Mr. Becker’s summons came. But gradually the awful truth began to dawn upon her, and then she sank down in a little heap on the floor, and lay there, moaning in a terror greater than any she had ever known in her life.

How long she lay there she did not know, but at last she raised her head and began to look about her. The room had no window, but was lighted from a skylight, and although very hot and stuffy, it was not without air. It was evidently used as a storeroom, for the only furniture it contained were several trunks and boxes, and everything was plentifully sprinkled with dust. There was light enough to enable her to look about, but she could see no means of escape, or even of attracting attention, had she dared to do so after Mr. Becker’s dreadful threat. It must be after six o’clock by this time, she was sure, and Percy would soon be coming for her. Oh, what would he think?—what would everybody think? She got up off the floor, and began walking rapidly up and down the narrow limits of her prison. She felt along the wall with her hands, in the wild hope of finding some means of escape, but, alas! there was only the one door, and that was locked. With a cry of despair, she sank down on one of the trunks and burst into an agony of tears.

She cried until she was utterly exhausted, and then sat, leaning her head against the wall, in a kind of hopeless despair. She had no means of knowing what time it was, but from the diminished light she felt sure it must be getting dark. Percy would be waiting for her by this time—growing more anxious every moment. He would telephone the Barlows, but they would know nothing. Oh, why had she not told Mrs. Murphy where she was going? In that case Percy might have found her, but now—— Gretel’s reflections were cut short by the turning of the key; the door swung open and revealed Mr. Becker standing on the threshold, and his wife close behind him. Mrs. Becker carried a tray.

“My wife has brought your supper,” said the man, shortly. “You may bring in the tray, Gertrude.”

Mrs. Becker came in and set the tray down on one of the trunks. There was a gas-jet in the room, and the woman struck a match and lighted it. Gretel noticed that Mrs. Becker’s eyes were red and swollen. She also noticed that the tray contained a well-filled plate of some kind of stew, as well as several slices of bread and butter, and a glass of water.

“I will come back in half an hour to take away the things,” Mr. Becker announced, “so you had best eat at once.”

Gretel clasped her hands imploringly.

“Please, please let me go!” she cried, tremulously, but the man only shook his head, and in another moment the door was closed again, and the key turned in the lock. In spite of Mr. Becker’s advice to “eat at once,” Gretel did not begin her supper. Indeed, she felt no desire for food of any kind. The smell of the steaming stew, plentifully seasoned with onions, made her so sick that she moved as far as possible from the tray, and sat down on a box in the corner. She was growing more and more frightened every moment. If they kept her there all night she was sure she should die of fright. And yet, strange to say, even at that moment, the idea of securing her liberty by making the required promise never entered her mind.

At the end of the stipulated half hour Mrs. Becker returned, but this time she came alone. She glanced at the untouched food, and then at Gretel.

“Don’t you like your supper?” she inquired, not without some surprise in her tone. “The stew is good. I made it myself.”

“I am not hungry,” said Gretel. “Oh, Mrs. Becker,” she added, eagerly, “can’t you persuade your husband to let me go home? My brother will be so terribly worried.” Mrs. Becker softly closed the door and stood with her back against it.

“You ought not to have made Rudolph so angry,” she said in a frightened whisper. “You should have done what he asked. I never disobey him, never.”

“But I couldn’t do what he asked,” cried Gretel. “Oh, Mrs. Becker, don’t you see I couldn’t? I am an American.”

“Well, what does that matter? Your father was a German; you should be a German, too. Now you have made my husband angry, and Heaven knows what will happen. Rudolph is a great patriot; he is working for the Fatherland. No one suspects, but if you told what he said to you, it would do terrible harm to the cause. Rudolph’s life might be in danger, and his friends’ lives, too. He has two friends in there with him now.” Mrs. Becker opened the door a crack as she spoke, and Gretel caught the sound of men’s voices. They were not talking loud, but their voices sounded excited, and she could even distinguish a few German words she knew. “You hear?” said the woman, and heaved a long sigh.

Gretel burst into tears.

“Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?” she sobbed. “No one has any idea where I am. They will never be able to find me. Mrs. Becker, for the love of Heaven, help me to get away.”

“It is indeed terrible,” sighed Mrs. Becker, “but it is all your own fault. If you had obeyed my husband, you would have been at home hours ago. I am very sorry, but there is nothing I can do. Rudolph says I may bring in a mattress and a pillow, and in the morning I will bring your breakfast, and some water, so that you may wash.”

She was turning to leave the room when Gretel suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, Mrs. Becker,” she said, anxiously, “have you heard anything from the hospital yet?”

“The hospital,” repeated Mrs. Becker, looking puzzled; “why should I hear from a hospital?” “Why, about FrÄulein, of course,” gasped Gretel. “You said they had taken her to the hospital for an operation.”

“Oh, Anna, you mean,” said Mrs. Becker, her dull face lighting with comprehension. “Rudolph told me to say Anna was in a hospital, but it was not true. She is in New Jersey, governess to two little boys. She left nearly two weeks ago, just before my husband and I moved here.”

“But—but why did you send for me, then?” questioned the astonished Gretel. “I thought it was because FrÄulein was ill and wanted to see me.”

“My husband sent for you,” said Mrs. Becker, slowly, “because Anna had told us you were a good German. He thought you might be of use to him, but he made a mistake, and so he is very angry.”