the window pane. He read it over and over. A curious feeling that his
eyes were tricking him possessed him. He reached out and rubbed the
message slowly, fully expecting it to disappear. The letters felt
rough under his fingers. It was really written there with Evelyn's
diamond. Still unbelief possessed him. How had it happened that she
had foreseen this dreadful mischance clearly enough, in some mysterious
way, to plan the delivery of the saving message?

As Warren looked, the events of the last few crowded days seemed to
rise up and bear him down under their horror and immensity. He sat
clutching the arms of his chair, and with unseeing eyes stared and
stared at the letters. All at once he felt very young, very helpless,
very lonely.

America, his own dear country, with its safety and its careless,
unthinking haphazard hospitality for every living person who seeks her
shores; America seemed suddenly to be set farther than the farthest
star.

Like most American boys, Warren was clever, shrewd and ingenious. Life
with Professor Morris had trained him in ingenuity and efficiency.
Since his earliest remembrance it had fallen to his lot to act as the
head of his family, making decisions that usually are the sole right of
fathers and guardians. But now, under conditions of horror and
tragedy, he realized that he was after all only a boy; and the thought
came to him that he and his, dear and infinitely precious as they were
to each other, counted not at all in the great tragedy of war.

Who was there to help? The American Consul was powerless for the time,
if he could be found. Warren knew that the portion of the city where