The Red Cross girls with the Stars and Stripes

FOLLOWING his letter, the next afternoon Richard Thornton arrived at the American hospital on a short visit to his wife.

He looked thin, but bronzed and strong, and intensely enthusiastic over his recent ambulance work. Since the United States had entered the war with the Allies, the American ambulance men were permitted to run greater risks and to render more valuable service.

On his breast Richard Thornton wore the medal of the Croix de Guerre, presented him by the French government for bravery under fire. With six other ambulance men he had been present at a gas attack near Verdun and with them had succeeded in rescuing nearly a thousand soldiers.

Preferring to tell Barbara the news himself, Dick had not written her of his recent honor.

The thought of his wife’s being in France at the same time with him and engaged in Red Cross work was seldom out of Dick Thornton’s mind; nevertheless, he had not allowed his unceasing desire to see her to interfere for a moment with his work. Not until he believed he had earned a short respite did Dick ask for and receive a short leave of absence.

Therefore, during her husband’s stay, Eugenia arranged that Barbara should have but few duties at the hospital, that she might remain continuously with him.

Only Eugenia asked as a favor that on some afternoon Dick go in with her for a brief call upon Captain Castaigne. From his wife’s letters Dick, of course, knew of Captain Castaigne’s condition and of the strange discovery of him.

It was two days after Dick’s arrival when, one afternoon just before dinner, Eugenia and Dick decided to make their visit.

For the first time since his arrival at the hospital Eugenia changed from her Red Cross uniform to a dress of which her husband had at one time been especially fond, a smoke-colored chiffon, with lavender and gray tones in it. The dress Captain Castaigne had once said reminded him of the soft colors of the twilight and suggested the peace and happiness which Eugenia’s presence always gave him.

In a chair by the window, with his hand resting upon Duke, Captain Castaigne was sitting, when Eugenia and Richard Thornton went in to him.

The bandage had been removed from his eyes, now covering only the wound over his temple. Again he wore the uniform of a Captain in the army of France.

In returning to his old uniform Eugenia had hoped that it might in some fashion affect her husband’s memory of the past. But Captain Castaigne had made no comment upon putting it on and no one knew whether it had made the slightest impression upon him.

Eugenia entered the room first.

Since her original discover that her husband had no memory of her, Eugenia had never come into his presence without an almost morbid sense of pain and shrinking. Whatever misfortune had befallen him, she still cared for him so deeply, it seemed incredible that he should even desire her society less than he did that of the other people around him. Certainly he preferred Jeanne’s, the little French girl, who had first rescued him, and Mildred Thornton’s, who was now giving him such devoted care.

With the noise of Eugenia’s and Richard Thornton’s approach, Captain Castaigne slowly turned his head. In the past he and Dick had known each other but slightly, yet Eugenia felt she wished some man friend’s opinion of her husband, who was not a physician.

“Gene, where have you been? I have a headache and am lonely. I don’t understand your leaving me so long alone,” Captain Castaigne began in an injured tone, as Eugenia walked toward him.

She thought that he had mistaken her for little Jeanne, whom he never forgot and was never weary of seeing. Frequently when Jeanne did not appear at the hospital at the hour he desired her, Captain Castaigne became annoyed and disappointed.

“It is late, Jeanne will be here tomorrow. But I brought a friend who wishes to talk to you, Henri,” Eugenia answered quietly, yet not looking at her husband, because of the tears which had suddenly blinded her eyes.

Duke had deserted his master and walked over to her. He never left his master alone, but if Eugenia were in the room, he understood that she required his sympathy and understanding the more.

But Captain Castaigne’s manner was now both aggrieved and puzzled.

“You won’t be with me until tomorrow, Gene? Why are you deserting me tonight?”

Apparently Captain Castaigne had not noticed Richard Thornton’s presence.

Dick had come only a few feet into the room, for at Captain Castaigne’s first words he had stopped and without speaking was observing the other man closely.

He saw, of course, that Captain Castaigne appeared like a man who had been wretchedly ill. He was thin and languid, his face had the wounded man’s pallor; besides, there was the effect of the bandage. But Dick was accustomed to seeing wounded men. What he did not behold in Captain Castaigne’s face was the blankness, the expression of weakness which he had been led to expect.

Yet even while he watched, Eugenia had walked over and taken both of Captain Castaigne’s hands into her own and was leaning over, holding them closely for a moment.

Then she said with perfect calmness:

“No, dear, I did not understand you. Of course I shall not leave you tonight and never again until you wish me to go.”

Then Captain Castaigne had laughed with a suggestion of his old teasing gayety toward his wife.

“Do I often send you away from me, Gene? But tell me what does all this mean? Why do I find myself here? Have I been ill and have you brought me to your own hospital to care for me? But no, you are not wearing your Red Cross uniform.”

Then, without waiting to hear more, Richard Thornton had slipped quickly away to find Barbara, and Barbara had then found Nona and Mildred to confide her husband’s great news.

That same evening after dinner Barbara chose for her own confession.

Perhaps she believed that Dick would be more lenient because of the scene he had witnessed. Perhaps the thought of the exquisite happiness in the reunion between Eugenia and Captain Castaigne made the shadow between herself and her husband the more painful. Whatever the reason, Barbara selected the hour when they were walking together after dusk to whisper the history of the past few weeks.

At first, without in the least understanding and afterwards in deeper and deeper silence, Dick listened to the story.

Only when Barbara had broken down did he reply in a voice which she had never heard from him before:

“Suppose we go back to our room, Barbara, so that I can fully grasp what this is you are telling me. It is so unlike any conception I ever had of you that you must forgive my appearing stupid. No, of course, Lieutenant Kelley was in no way to blame. I am almost as sorry for him as I am for myself. Only you cannot have hurt his ideal of you as you have mine. But please don’t cry out here where people can see you.”

“But I will unless you tell me what you are going to do?” Bab insisted like a frightened child.

“What I am going to do isn’t so important as the way I feel, is it, Bab?” Dick answered.

Afterwards, no one except Nona Davis appreciated why Barbara went about during the rest of her husband’s visit with a white, unhappy face and frightened dark-blue eyes.

Nona did not speak to her on the subject of her confession to her husband, realizing that she must wait until Barbara showed a desire to bestow her confidence. Yet several times Nona wished that she felt she had the right to talk to Dick. They had been good friends in the past, surely he must see that Barbara had merely behaved like a spoiled child and would not allow her one offense to spoil their happiness. Yet certainly he looked even more unhappy than Barbara.

But without doubt neither Dick nor Barbara received the attention that would have been bestowed upon them under ordinary circumstances.

For the entire staff at the hospital, including Mildred Thornton, who was Richard Thornton’s sister and Barbara’s sister-in-law, and also Mollie Drew, were too excited by the unexpected change for the better in Captain Castaigne.

Captain Castaigne had not miraculously recovered. He had no recollection of his injury nor his illness afterwards, neither could he recall many circumstances in his past life before or since the outbreak of the war. Yet the great fact was that he had recognized his wife and now wished her with him constantly.

Very slowly, very painstakingly, Eugenia, under the doctor’s advice, was teaching Captain Castaigne to recall other things. Yet, after all, it was better that he should not remember too much at the beginning. The thought of the war, of his own suffering, of the tragedy through which his beloved land was passing, were happily gone from his mind.

Perhaps, never in their married life had he and Eugenia been so happy. Always until now they had enjoyed only a few hurried days or weeks together, with Captain Castaigne about to return to the front and Eugenia to her nursing.

On the day following Captain Castaigne’s recognition of his wife, Mildred Thornton quietly assumed management of the hospital. This, of course, was after consultation with the doctors and nurses on the staff and was regarded as only temporary. But for the present Eugenia must be spared every outside responsibility.

Yet there was one serious piece of information she could not be spared.

Three days after Captain Castaigne’s partial recovery the officer in command at the American camp sent Lieutenants Martin and Kelley and a secret service officer for a private interview with Madame Castaigne. She spent two hours with them behind a locked door.

By accident Nona Davis chanced to be in the front of the hospital when the officers arrived, and although they bowed to her formally, not one of them showed the least inclination to talk to her, nor to explain the nature of the errand.

Knowing what she did from Philip Dawson’s confidence, so much and at the same time so little, Nona naturally endured a miserable day. She was fearful that Barbara Thornton would have to face even graver charges. For after her interview Eugenia had gone directly to her husband and, so far as Nona knew, had spoken to no one of what she had learned from the interview.

Nona was also puzzled. For Lieutenant Kelley to be one of the officers who came to the hospital did not suggest his guilt. Yet, unless he and Barbara were in some way involved, why should Madame Castaigne be told a purely military secret?

That night, after Captain Castaigne had fallen asleep, happily for Nona, Eugenia chose her as her solitary confidant.

Later, the same information was discussed by every human being inside the American hospital. But by what method the news was disseminated no one could have told. Certainty neither Nona Davis nor Madame Castaigne were responsible.

The truth was that Agatha Burton, who had been working as a Red Cross nurse for nearly two years, was a German spy. She had gone into the Red Cross training with but this one idea and plan in mind. The months she had devoted to nursing in Italy, keeping faith and gaining an excellent record as a nurse were to render her reputation above suspicion when the hour of the United States’ entrance into the war and the sending of American soldiers to France arrived.

Moreover, Agatha Burton was an American. There was no reason why the authorities who had investigated her history, in the effort to discover whether or not she would be an acceptable Red Cross nurse in the Allied countries, should have suspected her disloyalty.

Yet the drama and the disloyalty went deeper than Agatha Burton’s share.

Three years before, at the outbreak of the war, Charles Anderson had enlisted as a private in the United States army. His people were German-Americans, but for this and for other causes, he had expressed his desire to prove his devotion to the United States.

There are many loyal German-Americans in our country and the sympathy of the American people has, from the beginning of the present war, gone out to them. So no one dreamed that Charles Anderson wore the uniform of the United States army merely as a mask for treachery. Yet Germany has been responsible for strange, distorted ideas of right and justice in her war. At one time the spy, after his death at least, enjoyed fame in his own country, the land for which he often suffered both dishonor and death. But Germany has rendered dishonor more dishonorable.

The German spy is the man or woman who, after eating your bread, living under your roof, sharing all that your generosity has to give, in the end betrays you.

Agatha Burton had been engaged to Charles Anderson from the time they were boy and girl. The far-reaching scheme of treachery and dishonor had, from the beginning been his, and Agatha only his accomplice.

It was a feminine weakness, yet in spite of their surprise and horror, Eugenia and Nona confessed quietly to each other that they were glad Agatha was on her way to the United States. Her case would be dealt with on her arrival there.

Neither would Charles Anderson’s name nor his fate ever be openly discussed at the American camp.