"Wonderful retreat and hiding-place--wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible for me! How shall I ever repay all this?
How, save by giving my last drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory ?" He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week--the secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him hither to this still undiscovered refuge.

How had it all been arranged, he wondered; and who had made it possible?
He could not tell, as yet.

No information was forthcoming.

But in his heart he understood, and his lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly revered it.
At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged them all in order.
"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our press--such of it as still remains.

It may inspire some fainting heart and thrill some lagging mind.