FIVE days later Nona Davis went again to the little wooden house, where, to her surprise, she had previously discovered a former acquaintance.

But on this occasion Sonya Valesky did not open the door.

Instead it was opened by the old peasant man whom Nona had seen before.

Today he looked more wretched than stupid. His little black eyes were red rimmed, his sallow skin more wrinkled than ever.

When Nona inquired for Sonya he shook his head disconsolately and then motioned her toward the same room she had formerly entered.

There was now a cot in the room and on this cot lay the Russian woman.

At once Nona forgot herself and her desire to ask questions. She remembered only her profession, yes, and one other thing. She recalled the words that the old French peasant, Fran¸ois, had once spoken to her and to Barbara.

“Have you pity only for wounded soldiers? Do girls and women never care to help one another? This war has made wounds deeper than any bullets can create.”

Immediately Nona had seen that Sonya Valesky was very ill. Now, no matter who she was, or what she had done, she must be restored to health. First and last Nona must put her own emotions aside, for the sake of her mission as a Red Cross nurse.

Yet what was she to do? Her services belonged to the soldiers in the Russian fortress.

As quietly and quickly as possible Nona gave her orders.

She could not be sure, but Sonya’s appearance indicated that she was suffering from the terrible scourge of typhus.

This disease had been one of the most terrible results of the war. Because of a greater lack of sanitation and cleanliness the fever had been more widespread in Servia and in Russia than in any other countries.

Personally Nona had never nursed a case before, yet she had heard the disease discussed and believed she recognized the symptoms.

First she made a thorough examination of the little house. It was cleaner than most of the peasants’ huts, so far Sonya must have prevailed, but still its conditions left much to be desired.

Without being able to speak more than a few words of their language, Nona yet managed to give her directions.

She was beginning to guess that the old peasant couple, who at first had seemed mysterious companions for the beautiful Russian woman, were probably old servants. If Sonya was a follower of Tolstoi as her mother had been, she must have refused to recognize any difference between them.

But this was not their feeling. The American girl could see that in spirit old Katja and Nika were the devoted slaves of the younger woman.Sonya was not at first conscious of the seriousness of her illness.

She wore a dressing gown of some rough homespun, a curious shade of Russian blue, the color of her own eyes. Her hair, which had turned far whiter in the past year, was partly concealed under a small lace cap such as the Russian peasant woman often wears. Then, although she did not seem able to talk, she knew Nona and thanked her for coming and for the advice she was giving the two old people.

But when Nona had finished with her orders she came and sat down near Sonya.

“I have read your letter and I have not been able to answer it until now. It seems like a miracle that I should have found out about my own mother here in a strange land. But perhaps I was meant to take care of you. You must promise to do what I tell you. I must go away now, but I’ll come back in a little while.”

Nona was getting up when Sonya took hold of her skirt.

Her face was flushed and her dark blue eyes shining.“You must not stay in this house, not for long at a time,” she pleaded. “I cannot explain to you why not, but perhaps when I am strong again I can tell you enough to have you guess the rest. Now you must go.”

Sonya took Nona’s cool hands in her hot ones and held them close for a moment.

The next moment the American girl had gone.

At the hospital inside the fortress she explained the situation, at least so far as it could be explained. A Russian woman, who had once been her friend, lay seriously ill at one of the nearby huts. Would one of the hospital physicians come and see her? Also would it be possible for her to be spared from caring for the soldiers to look after her woman friend?

Certainly a Russian doctor would attend the case; moreover, after certain formalities Nona was allowed a leave of absence from the hospital demands.

Then began an experience for the young American girl that nothing in her past two or more years of nursing had equaled.She was living and working in a new world, amid surroundings which she could not understand and of which she was afraid.

The little hut was crude and lonely. The two old peasants could speak no English, but went about their tasks day after day mute and dolorous. Sonya was too ill to recognize her nurse, and Nona could not allow Barbara or Mildred to come near her, since her patient’s illness was of the most contagious nature.

Naturally Barbara and Mildred wholly disapproved of the risk Nona was running and she had not time nor strength to make them see her side of the situation. She had written them that Sonya Valesky had proved herself to have been an old friend of her mother’s. For that reason and for several others she felt it her duty to care for her.

But strangest of all Nona’s experiences were the fragments of conversation which she heard from the lips of her ill friend.

Sonya sometimes spoke of her girlhood and then again of her life in the United States and in England. Once or twice she even called the name of Captain Dalton. Nona supposed that she must be recalling her meeting with Captain Dalton at the Sacred Heart Hospital. Then she remembered that Sonya had spoken of knowing the English officer years before.

But although her patient betrayed many facts of her past life to her nurse, never once did Sonya explain why she was living in such an out-of-the-way place. Neither did she give any clue to the kind of work that must have engaged her time and energy. Surely Sonya Valesky must have been upon some secret mission in the days of their first meeting on board the “Philadelphia!” Even then she had papers in her possession which she would allow no one to see.

However, Sonya was too desperately ill to permit her nurse much opportunity for surmising. Nona would never have left her alone for a moment except that she knew it was her duty to keep up her own strength.

Every afternoon she went for a short walk. And because no one but the Russian physician was allowed to enter the house, now and then the young Russian lieutenant would join Nona along the road. This could only occur when he was able to get leave, yet Nona began to hope for his coming. She was so depressed and lonely.

Once she asked him if he had ever heard of a member of his family named “Anna Orlaff.” Of course she gave no reason for her question. But it made no difference, because the young soldier could recall no such person.

In the course of one of their talks, however, he confided to Nona that he was a younger brother, but that his family were members of the Russian nobility.

Never once, however, did the young man betray any fact connected with Sonya Valesky’s history. He explained that their families had long known each other and that he had always been fond of her, nothing more.

So for this reason as well as others Nona found herself attracted by the young Russian officer. He seemed very simple, much younger than an American of the same age. At this time Michael Orlaff must have been about twenty-three. But Nona was wise enough to discover that he was not so simple and direct as she had first believed him. A Russian does not readily betray either his deeper thoughts or his deeper feelings. The young Russian lieutenant would not even speak of the war nor his own part in it. Yet Nona guessed from her own observation and from certain unconscious information that he was one of the favorite younger officers of the Russian general in command of the Grovno fortifications.

So a number of weeks passed, until now and then Nona Davis almost forgot the war and her original reasons for being in her present strange position. No one brought her papers; Barbara’s and Mildred’s letters contained little war news. The truth was possibly being concealed from them, or else there was no way of their discovering it.

So Nona was at least spared the anxiety of knowing that the victorious German hosts were drawing nearer and nearer the fortress of Grovno. Like stone houses built by children the other ancient Russian forts had fallen before his “Excellenz von Beseler,” the victor of Antwerp, who was known as the German battering ram.

Even when Sonya opened her eyes, after weeks of an almost fatal illness, and asked for news of the war, Nona was unable to tell her.

Then as the days of Sonya’s convalescence went by she would not let her talk of it. Always war is a more terrible thing to girls and women than it is to boys and men. But ever since their first acquaintance Nona had realized that the horror of it went deeper into Sonya’s consciousness than any person she had yet seen. It must be the war that had aged her so in the past year.

So the Russian woman and the American girl spoke of everything else. Sonya told of her own life and of Nona’s mother when they were little girls. They had both been allowed to go away to college. It was in school that they imbibed their revolutionary ideas. No wonder that their families never forgave them!

Sonya was dressed and sitting in her chair the day when the summons finally came for her arrest.

It was Nona Davis in her nurse’s Red Cross costume who opened the door for the two men in uniform. They were not dressed like soldiers, and as she could not understand what they said, she did not dream of their errand.

But Sonya’s peasant servants must have understood, for at the sight of the strangers they dropped on their knees and held out imploring hands.

Sonya herself finally made things clear. The men were two police officers who had been sent to bring her to Petrograd. She had been in hiding here near Grovno for several months and had hoped to escape their vigilance. Evidently Sonya had been arrested by the Russian authorities.

In spite of Nona’s insistence that her patient was not well enough to be moved, Sonya agreed to go with them at once.

And only at the moment of parting did she bestow any confidence upon the younger girl.

Then she looked deep into Nona’s golden brown eyes with her own strangely glowing blue ones, and whispered:

“I have done nothing of which I am ashamed, Nona, or I should never have asked for your friendship. It may be that I can make the Russian people understand, but I do not feel sure. This war has made men blinder than ever. I have only tried to be a follower of the ‘Prince of Peace.’”

Then after she had walked away a few steps she came back again.

“Go back to your United States as soon as you can, Nona,” she urged. “Russia is no place for you or your friends.”

Because Nona Davis dared not trust herself to speak, Sonya afterwards went away without a word of faith or farewell from her.

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