upon a bench in a dark corner and chafed her hands as he peered anxiously into her face.
"Pull yureself together, honey," he urged. "Don't yew give way yit. Yew've gotter walk past the Guard ef I carries yew all the rest of the way."
The broken-hearted girl could only moan. The American racked his brains for a solution of the difficulty and wished John Bull and Rupert were with him. It would be utterly hopeless to approach the gate with the girl in his arms. "What would happen if he could not get her out that night? Suddenly the girl rose to her feet. Pride had come to her rescue.
"Come, Monsieur Bronco," she said in a dead, emotionless voice. "Let me get home," and began to walk like an automaton. Slipping his arm through hers, the American guided and supported her, and in time, Carmelita awoke from a terrible dream to find herself at home. The Russian girl, in some clothing and a wrap of Carmelita's, admitted them at the back door.
"Get her some brandy," said the Bucking Bronco.
"Shall I open the Caffy and serve fer yew, Carmelita, ma gel?" he asked.
Before he could translate his question into Legion French, Carmelita had understood, partly from his gestures. She shook her head.
Olga Kyrilovitch looked a mute question at the American. He nodded slightly. Carmelita caught the unspoken communication between the two.
"Yes," she said, turning to Olga, "you were right.… They were all right. And I was wrong.… He is the basest, meanest scoundrel who ever betrayed a woman. I do not realise it yet—I am stunned.…
