spare her. You do not make yourself overthankful, Liebchen."
"I am trying to, Herr Baron."
"A kiss, darling, to your better success!" He gave it. "Now I will have you compose yourself. A few more kilometers and the next stop is ours. Lauengratz is not upon the railroad; it is not so modern, nor is my family so new as that."
He gazed out complacently while the train ran the few kilometers swiftly. It drew into a tiny woodland station of the sort which Ruth had frequently observed—a depot with switch tracks serving no visible community, but with a traveled highway reaching back from it toward a town hidden within the hills. No one waited here but the station master and a man in the uniform of a military driver, who stood near a large touring car. He was gazing at the train windows and, seeing Wessels, he saluted. He came forward as the train stopped and, when the compartment door was opened, he took Wessels' traveling bag.
"Those in the racks, too," Wessels directed curtly in German. Those were Ruth's; and she shrank back into the corner of the seat as the man obediently took them down. Wessels stepped out upon the platform and turned to Ruth.
No one else was leaving the train at that station; indeed, the door of no other compartment opened. There was no one to whom Ruth might appeal, even if appeal were possible. Wessels stood patiently in the doorway; behind him rose quiet, beautiful woodland.
"Come," he commanded Ruth, stretching a hand toward her.
