THE YELLOW DOVE
“I don’t. I am in your power. Shoot me if you like.” Udo smiled.
“I can hardly be expected to do that. I do not love you now, my cousin. I cannot love anyone who is false to my country, but I cannot forget that once, not a year ago, we were brothers. No, I cannot shoot you, Cyril, though perhaps that would be a better death than that other—yonder.”
Hammersley shrugged. “It is the fortune of war. From your point of view I deserve it. I can only thank you again, for myself and for Miss Mather, for your generosity.”
A sound from the girl and Udo acknowledged her presence by a bow.
“Under other circumstances,” he said with stiff politeness, “I should be glad to extend the hospitalities of Winden Schloss. But, of course, as Miss Mather can see, my mother and sisters are away and I”
“Of course, Graf von Winden, it is understood,” she said haltingly in German.
“I can do nothing, Fräulein. I am powerless—at the orders of General von Stromberg, who arranges the coming and the going of all at Windenberg.”
“The coming, Udo,” said Hammersley dryly. “Not the going.”
“I am sorry, I have done what I could. You have done well to give me the papers. I shall now go back to Blaufelden and return them to Excellenz.”
Hammersley started up.
“You mean that you will leave us here?”
“Natürlich. I do not wish to see you killed against the kitchen wall. It is not the death for the blood of von Eppingen. Even if you are shot while escaping
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