He picked Warren up from the floor where he had thrown him, and,
carrying him down the long room, made his way around the great table
and dropped him roughly on the pile of rags where, Elinor and Rika
were crouched.

Poor little Elinor, huddled on her pile of rags, did not recognize the
limp burden carried in by the larger of the two men, whom she had
learned to dread with unspeakable terror. When he threw it down in the
middle of the room, the pale face was turned toward the child, and she
recognized, Warren. She commenced to scream. Shriek after shriek left
her pale lips, and the man started over to her side, when a short,
sharp word silenced her. She looked to see who had spoken, calling her
so familiarly by name.

"Stop, Elly, stop," said the voice in English, and her cries were
stilled as by magic, although she still gazed with longing and terror
at the pale face down which a tiny line of blood trickled.

The second man clasped a second boy, dirty and torn, and meanly dressed
in a workman's blouse. She stared at him, never recognizing Ivan, whom
she bad always seen so gorgeously clothed in furs and fine broadcloth
and exquisite linen. It was not until he spoke again that she
recognized him.

"Be quiet, Elinor," he said. "We will save you. Warren is not hurt,
he is just dizzy. He will be all right soon."

Ivan spoke hopefully, but as he looked down at the boy lying before
him, he wondered in his heart if there was really a spark of life left