At last, after a very long time—days or weeks, he could not tell which—he opened his eyes and looked around him with fairly untroubled brain. He was in a room in a Russian house, for a porcelain8 stove occupied a good part of it. Outside the low window he saw the everlasting9 snow, some trees, their bare branches swaying in the keen wind, and, in a moment, a soldier walking rapidly toward shelter.
Inside the room, at the foot of his cot, was a small hospital table, with gauze, bandages and bottles upon it. The walls were newly white-washed, two other cots lay beyond his, and a faint smell of chloroform lingered on the air. He turned his heavy head and saw an officer seated beside him.
“Well, Bob, how is it?” inquired the surgeon, taking the patient’s hand in his.
Bob stared at him, moved his tongue with an uneasy feeling that he could not speak, then murmured, still with painful effort, “You, Greyson? They brought me here—all right—then. What day is it?”
“It’s Christmas Day. We brought you here night before last. You’re in Nikolsk village, in our little hospital. Don’t you remember what happened to you day before yesterday?”
“Yes,” Bob answered slowly. The whole tragic11 scene reappeared before his mind in bits which he struggled to piece together. But all at once the dull ache in his leg brought it vividly12 back. He started from his pillows, a sudden dread13 darkening his eyes. “Greyson,” he stammered14, “my leg! You won’t—you haven’t——”
“We haven’t and we won’t,” said the surgeon, smiling as he pressed Bob’s shoulders back against the pillows. “Your leg is going to be all right. You’re a tough specimen16, Bob—I’ll say that. Most people wouldn’t have come out of it so well.”
“You’re telling me the truth?” Bob persisted, his muscles tense and quivering.
“On my word of honor. The fracture is set and shows every sign of healing. You have no fever.”
Bob lay silent, spent with peaceful gratitude17. He began again reviewing his accident, and when he reached the moment when the British tommy bent18 over him he roused himself to ask:
“That British soldier who brought you word—do you know who he is? I want to thank him. He gave me his coat, too. Is he all right?”
“Yes. He came here yesterday to ask for you. I tried to thank him myself, but as soon as I began he cut me short by saying, 'Never mind that, sir. It ain’t a medal of honor I’m lookin’ for. What I want is for you to promise not to say nothing to my captain about that there night. I was out as you might say without leave, when I happened to see that air chap’s signal blazing.’”
Bob smiled faintly. “I’ll stand his guardhouse sentence for him, if he gets one,” he said unsteadily. “Another few minutes and I couldn’t have held out.” He shivered at thought of those hours of misery20, drawing the blankets closer around him. “You sent word to my squadron, of course, Greyson—and to Father?”
“Yes, to both. Turner came over yesterday. He salvaged21 your airplane and took your maps and sketches22 back to Headquarters. He said the colonel received them with enthusiasm.”
Under the glow of this satisfaction Bob forgot his regrets, the loss of his plane and his own helplessness. With vague thoughts of past Christmases flitting through his mind he sank into what was this time profound and restful sleep.
When he awoke again he was enough stronger to think clearly and without gaps in his memory. It was almost dark in the room and, outside, the snow-fields were glimmering23 in the twilight25 of early afternoon. The stove sent out a pleasant heat that Bob was still near enough to his escape from freezing to rejoice in. He thought now of the skirmish in the clouds with the Fokker biplane, and of the German pilot whom he had seen face to face. He began to long for news of the battle-front. He wondered whether the Bolsheviki’s meagre air forces had been further increased. At this point in his reflections the man in the cot beside him sat up and looked at him, with deep, sad grey eyes, set in a thin, fever-worn, unshaven face.
“Good-day,” he said, speaking English with a slight lisp and great deliberation. “You are better, I hope?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Bob, studying him. The stranger’s melancholy26 eyes and oddly vibrating voice so aroused his curiosity that almost unconsciously he asked, “Who are you, please?”
The man hesitated a second before he answered, “I am a Russian prisoner—brought wounded here.”
“I see,” said Bob and relapsed into silence.
His neighbor looked at him, his sad eyes gleaming as though with thoughts he did not know how or feared to put into words. After a moment he seemed to reach a decision for, pushing himself upright in bed with his thin, trembling hands, he said with a sort of jerky eagerness, “I am not a Bolshevik, Gospodin (sir). I am not an enemy.”
“Uh?” Bob’s incredulity expressed itself in something like a grunt27, which he did not trouble to make more articulate. He had heard plenty of German prisoners, seeking to please their captors, make the same sort of protestations. At what he took to be cowardly fawning28 he lost interest in his strange neighbor.
The Russian, however, visibly excited, darted29 glances almost beseeching30 toward the American, who lay looking out of the little window in unsympathetic silence. He started to address Bob again, frowned, hesitated, then plunged32 into speech. He spoke33 fluently enough, except for an occasional Russian word inserted where his English failed him.
“Perhaps you think, Gospodin officer, that I take a liberty with you. But, consider, I have watched a young man brought back from death to life—for you were yesterday very close to death. I know the cold snow-fields. I have lain there, too. It is not strange that I speak to you—ask for your health?”
“Not a bit—of course not,” agreed Bob, suddenly pitying, in spite of himself, this thin, pain-wracked sufferer who held himself up from his pillows with an effort that sent tremors34 through his nervous, overwrought frame. “Why don’t you lie down?” he asked. “You’re tiring yourself for nothing.”
The Russian lay back panting, but almost at once he demanded, breathlessly, “You will let me talk to you? Not now, perhaps, but soon—to-morrow? I have watched your face while you lay there. You are one of those Americans who thinks and acts——” He broke off, catching35 his breath.
Bob thought, “I wonder if he’s crazy.” Aloud he answered soothingly36, “All right. Tell me anything you like. I can’t talk much yet, but I can listen.”
Before the other had time to answer the room door opened and Major Greyson, followed by the colonel in command at Archangel, came to Bob’s bedside. Behind them an orderly brought a lamp, which he placed on the table, for darkness had fallen over the snow-fields.
“Awake, are you, Captain Gordon? And feeling—how?” asked Colonel Masefield, taking Bob’s hand as he sat down by the cot. “You don’t look quite yourself, but Greyson here is encouraging.”
“I’m getting on all right, sir, and thank you for coming,” said Bob, returning the handshake with one that was still feeble.
“I had a cable from your father, Bob,” put in the surgeon. “He asked for any further news.”
“Didn’t make it any worse than you could help, did you?” asked Bob, hating to send bad news on Christmas Day.
“I said your leg was broken and you were suffering from shock but were not in danger,” replied Major Greyson, sitting down on a chair the orderly brought forward.
“The Nieuport, Colonel—I’m sorry,” said Bob.
“You’ve brought us down twenty-eight German planes, Captain Gordon, and this is the first of ours you’ve lost. I think we can overlook it,” said Colonel Masefield. “Besides, that Nieuport was well sacrificed for the sketches you got. They are just what we’ve wanted. Adding them to Turner’s photographs we can launch our attack on the enemy’s new lines.”
“An attack—a big one?” Bob asked eagerly.
“Big for our little resources. We hope to push the Bolshies back a bit. Of course our objective here is simply to keep them well east of Archangel and away from the little port of Alexandrovsk—our one way out.”
“I’ll miss it,” said Bob drearily37, trying to move his broken leg, a helpless weight in splints and plaster. “Did you find the note I scribbled38 on one of my sketches, Colonel? That the Fokker which chased me was piloted by Rittermann? I’d like to face him in a plane his size!”
“Yes, that was a bit of priceless information,” said the colonel thoughtfully. “We’ve had our suspicions; though, to tell the truth, I think there is only an occasional German pilot flying with the Bolsheviki. The German government would hardly bargain with them now. They have enough anarchy39 at home to fear.”
“By the way, Greyson,” exclaimed Bob. “Why did you put me in the room with a Bolshevik?” Bob glanced at the empty cot beside him. The orderly had wheeled the Russian away for a change of scene, which consisted in another view of shimmering40 snow and faintly starlit sky.
“Well, as you may have noticed, Bob,” said Major Greyson, “we haven’t a great deal of room here. That chap had to have the best of care. He was as near death, two weeks ago, as anyone can be and live. We picked him up after their last retreat. Besides, he’s not a Bolshevik. He’s quite a decent fellow.”
“What, has he told you that stuff, too?” demanded Bob. “Colonel, I think he’s a first-class liar42. He hardly waited until I was awake to pour into my ears that he was not a Bolshevik. He was fighting with them, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, they forced him in,” said Major Greyson.
“They all say that. Why didn’t he refuse?”
“Oh, for several reasons.” The surgeon remarked Bob’s flushed face and quick breath and evaded43 an argument. “I think we’ll go now, Colonel, if you please,” he added. “My patient isn’t quite the man he was yet. He’s talked enough.”
“Good luck, sir, with the attack,” said Bob as the colonel rose. “I wish I could be there.”
“You made it possible,” said the colonel. “That’s something.”
More tired than he realized, Bob fell into a doze44 when he was left alone, thinking vaguely of the coming engagement in which he could have no share.
The attack, however, did not come off as the colonel hoped, for, by the middle of Christmas night, the few stars were hidden by the clouds which had spread over the heavens, the wind howled around the little village of Nikolsk and snow began to fall heavily. Dawn broke, about half-past eight, the feeblest, greyest glimmer24 of light over the snow-fields. From the sky fell such myriads45 of snowflakes that it made Bob dizzy to watch them. The wind drove them like white flocks in every direction, mostly, it seemed, up against the window from which the orderly beat the drifts every half hour. The icy wind penetrated47 the cracks and chilled the room, in spite of the big porcelain stove’s unfailing heat.
Bob knew that to-day neither Allies nor enemy would think of an attack. It was as much as life was worth to venture abroad in the increasing storm. A stranger was almost certain to get lost on the snow-fields, once the curtain of falling snow had cut him off from landmarks48. The never-lessening descent of the snowflakes fascinated his eyes. He lay motionless, in his listless weakness, watching them, until his neighbor the Russian roused him from his reverie with his eager, pleading voice.
“Gospodin American, will you listen to me? I do not wish to be an annoyance49, but perhaps you will be glad to hear——”
Bob turned toward him, curious at this insistence50. The Russian lay on his pillows, looking spent and weary, his haggard face white above his unshaven cheeks, but his eyes brighter than ever in the dull grey light of the snow-storm.
“Where were you wounded?” Bob asked him.
The Russian pointed51 to his chest. “Here. But it is nearly well. Only it hurts sometimes to breathe. Will you listen a moment, Gospodin Captain?”
“Yes,” Bob nodded.
The Russian pulled himself to that edge of his cot which was nearest Bob’s and began at once, “My name is Andrei Androvsky. I live in the town of Nijny-Novgorod, which is, as your honor knows, east of Moscow. There I left my wife and two young children.”
He paused, breathless again. Bob thought with a touch of impatience52, for that strained, eager voice was beginning to get on his nerves, “It’s the story of his life he wants to tell me, then. What on earth for?”
Androvsky caught his breath and continued: “I left them in 1914 to enter the Czar’s army and fight Germany.” Perhaps his clear, watchful53 eyes guessed something of Bob’s thoughts, for he hurried on with fewer details. “I fought under the Grand Duke and under Brusilov. I became an officer. I fought with the Republican army after the Czar’s fall. My papers would show you this, but the Bolsheviki kept them when they forced me to serve.”
“Forced you?” Bob interrupted. “What do you mean?”
“They threatened me with death and——”
“But death at their hands or death fighting like a slave in a bad cause—I think you made a poor choice,” said Bob pitilessly. He was picturing himself forced to fight with the Germans against his own countrymen.
The Russian’s eyes darkened with shame and sorrow. Bob’s heart suddenly smote54 him for his hard words. But Androvsky answered unresentfully, his thin voice shaking a little:
“Yes, if life were all, I would have given it. But the Bolsheviki were going to take my house and little patrimony55 and turn my wife and children out-of-doors in the bitter winter. My youngest child was six months old. Could I see them starve and freeze to death?”
“I didn’t think of that,” Bob slowly admitted. “It was hard. What did you do?”
“I joined the Bolsheviki, stifling56 my conscience, trying to think only of my little ones safe and warm at home. I do not defend myself. I only tell you what is true, so that you may take my word for something else.”
“Something else?” Bob echoed.
“So that knowing that I am friendly to the Allies,” Androvsky went on, “you may believe me when I tell you that the Germans are helping57 the Bolsheviki.”
Bob’s heart gave a quick throb4 and a vision of Rittermann’s face flashed before him. But at the same time he studied his companion intently. Androvsky’s tragic story was just what a clever rascal58 would make up to win sympathy. He thought the Russian’s looks and voice better proof of his sincerity59 than any argument. In spite of the wariness60 gained in two years of hard experience Bob believed that the man meant to speak the truth. About any real German alliance with the Bolsheviki, however, he was frankly61 incredulous.
“I know there are some German flyers up here,” he told Androvsky. “But I don’t think Germany would really combine with Trotsky to attack us. The new Germany has too much anarchy to fight at home to ally itself with the Soviets62 now.”
“You are right, Gospodin Captain,” exclaimed the Russian, with a return of his nervous excitement. “The German government is busy suppressing outbreaks, even in Prussia itself. But the Germans who are bitterly discontented, those inclined toward Bolshevism, or even Royalists who see ruin ahead—are but too willing to join any power able to delay the peace or to divide the Allies. These malcontents have turned Bolsheviki for the chance of revenge. You say you have seen German officers here. I have seen German officers organizing the Bolshevik regiments63 and German ammunition65 feeding their guns.”
“Won’t the German government do anything?” asked Bob. “It must see that only peace will save Germany now.”
“The new government is weak, and still fighting its own rebels. Besides, its leaders are divided between dread of Bolshevism and a bitter satisfaction at seeing the Allies threatened by its advance. Will you tell your friends this, Gospodin Captain?”
“Yes, let me think it over,” Bob said. “Don’t talk any more now. You’ll have a relapse. I believe what you say, or that it seems the truth to you.”
Androvsky nodded and closed his eyes. Bob fell once more to watching the cascades66 of snowflakes hurled67 against the pane68, thinking over the Russian’s words. Bob did not want to and tried not to believe him, because it meant bad news, uncertainty69, the peace delayed. He felt at that moment, with sudden gloom, as Lucy had felt the day she said to Larry, “I thought the war was over. But here it seems to be tailing out in all directions.”
Before he got very far in his troubled reflections the dull report of two pistol shots fired in the snow-storm made him start up to listen.
In a minute another shot followed. It sounded about a hundred yards distant, south of the village. Almost at the same moment half a dozen dough-boys, wrapped to the ears in sheepskin jackets and woolen70 mufflers, ploughed past the window with rifles in their hands.
“What can it be, Androvsky?” asked Bob, tingling71 with the helpless longing72 to get up and see for himself. “Orderly! Greyson!” he called.
But the orderly, usually within easy call, did not answer, and Androvsky could only shake his head, staring at the window. A few hurried footsteps and a murmur10 of voices disturbed for a moment the hospital silence which then settled down again.
After twenty minutes spent in vainly straining his ears, Bob at last heard quick steps in the corridor. The door opened and the orderly entered, carrying blankets and pillows which he laid down on the empty cot beyond Androvsky’s.
“What is it, Miller73? What’s happened?” cried Bob.
The orderly pulled the empty cot around in front of the window as he answered in fragmentary haste, “Man to be brought here, sir. Pretty well chilled through in the snow. Escaped from the Bolshies’ lines.”
He paused, hurrying to prepare the cot, for already slow steps sounded outside and two soldiers entered, carrying a stretcher on which lay a young man, bareheaded, all of his uniform but boots and breeches hidden by his snow-covered sheepskin coat. His arms dangled74 at his sides, his eyes were closed and his fair hair wet with snow.
“Lay him down gently,” directed Major Greyson, following the bearers to the cot. “Now—easy—that’s it. Pull off his coat, Miller. Move the cot further from the stove—beyond the window.”
Under the hands of surgeon and orderly the patient opened his eyes, starting up on his cot, to be immediately pushed back again by Major Greyson.
“Lie still. Don’t try to speak,” said the surgeon.
“Not——? Why, I have to,” declared the other, bobbing up again as soon as Major Greyson’s hand was removed. “Look here, d-don’t you believe what t-that fellow t-tells you,—the one I brought in—that he’s my s-servant. I heard him g-get that off to one of your s-soldiers. He followed to c-catch me. He’s a B-Bolshevik—my prisoner.”
The undaunted pluck in the young man’s voice struggled with the deadly chill of exposure that made his teeth chatter75 and his tongue stammer15 over the words. He cast one keen glance at the surgeon as he ended, then lay obediently back on his pillows, closed his eyes and fainted.
“Here, Miller, get a hypodermic needle ready. Pull off his boots, Johnson, and give his legs a gentle rubbing,” ordered Major Greyson, his fingers on the unconscious man’s fluttering pulse. Half to himself, half to Bob he grumbled76, “Of all the rattle-pated idiots. Why must he talk when he’s as weak as a cat? What’s one Bolshie prisoner more or less?”
“He spoke like an Englishman,” said Bob. “Who is he?”
“British officer,” said Major Greyson, pointing to the uniform blouse lying across a chair. “I’ve sent word to their lines. I believe there was only one officer held prisoner anyway, a chap who got caught in a raid last week. Must be this man; he’d be the sort to plunge31 into a trap.”
“Well, he plunged out again,” protested Bob. “He took advantage of this storm to escape. Pretty smart of him.”
“Yes, if he comes around all right,” said the surgeon doubtfully.
“Why, he’s no worse than I was.”
“No, but as I said before, you are a tough specimen. This lad looks rather frail77, though it’s true that delicate-looking young Britishers show lots of endurance. Bring more snow, Miller. His foot is about frozen.”
The Britisher stirred, opened his eyes and almost at once, in a voice that trembled with weakness, began to speak.
“Went off, did I? Send word to my regiment64, ah—Major—won’t you?”
“Will you keep quiet?” demanded Major Greyson. “Give your heart a chance to pick up.”
“Right-o. Got clean away anyhow—didn’t I? I was afraid for a bit I wouldn’t pull it off. I——”
The surgeon discovered a white spot at the tip of his patient’s ear. He clapped a handful of snow against it. The young officer gasped78 and for a moment subsided79.
“I’ll have to stuff his mouth with snow, next,” muttered Major Greyson. “I wonder if he’s a bit delirious80.”
Bob smiled, feeling a secret liking81 for the cocky young Britisher who now, his cot pushed into the coldest corner of the room, lay squirming under Major Greyson’s pitiless snow-rubbing.
“Frost-nipped, am I, what?” he gasped after a moment. “I say—got a bit of snow down my throat that time, Major.”
“Captain, will you obey my orders and stop talking?” demanded the surgeon with exasperated82 calm.
“Stop talking? Better for me, you mean? Somehow I think a gloomy silence is really more——Oh, all right,—I’m dumb.”
Bob laughed outright83 this time. He turned to Androvsky who, head on hand, lay watching the young Britisher, a gentle smile on his pale lips.
“Did you ever see him before, Androvsky? Was he taken while you were with the Bolsheviki?”
“No, Gospodin Captain. When I fell wounded no Britisher had been taken.”
Bob looked intently at the Russian, remembering the conversation of an hour ago. Androvsky met his gaze with patient, melancholy eyes. But Bob’s leg had begun hurting too severely84 for him to ponder much over the questions that puzzled him. When Major Greyson had given the Britisher a quieting draught85 and left the room with his aides, Bob snuggled under the blankets out of the chilly86 air and, with a glance at the steadily19 falling snow outside the window, fell into a doze.
When he woke, by his wrist-watch it was four o’clock and night had fallen. The orderly had just brought in the lamp and had covered the Britisher with another blanket. Bob saw the young officer stir beneath his covers and look toward the cots in front of him. In the lamplight Bob could see that his lean face was very young, more boyish than his own. His fair hair lay in thick locks on his forehead, from which, Bob supposed, it was ordinarily brushed back, for now the Britisher raised a feeble hand and smoothed up the scattered87 strands88 which fell over his eyes.
“How do you feel, Captain?” asked Bob, nodding to him.
The Britisher gave a nervous start, then answered a trifle uncertainly, “Why—er—not too well. I say, sir, this is Nikolsk village, isn’t it? The American hospital? I expect my colonel knows I’m here?”
“Yes, but the storm is still raging. They could hardly come to you now, and certainly could not transfer you.”
“Right. I’m not complaining. A bit dizzy yet. The old bean doesn’t work fast. Do you—er—happen to know if there’s anything much wrong with me? Rather like to be on to it, you know.”
Bob was glad to be able to answer, “No, I’m sure you’re quite all right. You were overcome by the cold, and frost-bitten. But the surgeon seemed satisfied before he left. Were you out long in the storm?”
“Long enough. I shiver yet to think of it,” said the Britisher, his voice quickening with a return of his unquenchable energy. “It’s a bit of a storm. I’m grateful to it, though. The snow fell so thick the guards left my window. I broke out, hid, and ran for it. They chased me and did some blind firing. One ran square into me. I grabbed him and brought him in. Nothing much to that end of it. The tough part was the half hour I crouched89 in the snow under my window, waiting for the camp sentries90 to give up patrolling and make for shelter.”
“Where were you? Behind their lines?”
“In a sort of shack91 near the Bolshies’ barracks—right beyond their trenches92. But the bally trenches are not held to-day, except at intervals. I stole over easily enough. By the way, may I know your name?”
“Robert Gordon, Captain, U. S. Flying Corps93. Did you find out much about the Bolshevik force?” Bob was thinking again of Androvsky’s revelations.
“Robert Gordon, did you say?” asked the Britisher, ignoring the question. “Are there others of that name in your corps?”
“No, not any other in the Flying Corps. Do you think the Germans are supporting the Bolsheviki? Are there any German officers over there now?” persisted Bob, following his own anxious thoughts.
“Didn’t see any. Don’t know, to tell the truth. I was busy wondering if I’d starve to death before I could make a break for it. Horrid94 bounders, Bolshies. But, I say, this is simply priceless! Haven’t you a cousin, Henry Leslie?”
“Yes! Why?” Bob raised his head to see the Britisher’s face as he put the question.
“As some original chap remarked, it’s a small world. To think we had to come to Archangel to meet. Hope you’ll find me worth the trouble.”
The Britisher gave a chuckle95 from under the blankets pulled up about his chin. Bob began to wonder if he could be delirious, as Major Greyson had for a moment suspected. “Look here,” he demanded, “just what are you talking about?”
“Talking about you,” responded the Britisher, his eyes twinkling. “Cold in here, isn’t it?” He cautiously lowered the blanket to explain, “No less important news than this, Captain Bob Gordon. Henry Leslie is my cousin, too, and Arthur Leslie is my brother, and Janet is my sister——”
“You are Alan Leslie?” Bob almost managed to sit up in bed in his excitement. “You’re Arthur’s little brother, the s——” He stopped, growing suddenly red.
“That’s it, the 'silly ass41’—identity complete,” finished Alan, quite unruffled. “I’d give you a handshake, cousin, old thing, if it could be done.”
“Alan Leslie!” Bob stared at him, his lips slowly parting in a smile divided between surprise at the odd chances of war and a dozen recollections of what he had heard of Alan in the past two years. He remembered Arthur Leslie standing96 in a doorway97 in some French village reading a letter in which Alan described his convalescence98 after a wound received in a burst of reckless bravery. Arthur had shaken his head as he muttered, “That silly ass Alan.”
“What happened to you, eh? Stopped a bullet?” asked Alan, studying Bob with his bright, untroubled eyes.
“My leg’s broken. My airplane fell and threw me out. I’m all right, they say. How long have you been up here, Alan?”
“Here? Let’s see. No, I’ve lost track. A week or two, I think, before the Bolshies caught me, and a few hundred years after that. Horrid brutes99, Bolshies. Cold here, isn’t it? They might move me nearer the stove, I think. Where are your people, Bob? Funny I don’t know any of them and you’ve seen Arthur so often. Arthur’s the family pride, you know. Not a bad chap, Arthur.”
Under the negligent100 tone in which Alan spoke Bob divined the glowing admiration101 for his elder brother which had united the two in spite of all Alan’s follies102. Like a true Britisher, Alan praised his brother in deprecating, ambiguous phrases. “Just as they praise England, or English exploits, in a negative, unwilling103 sort of way,” Bob thought. “It’s only if someone attacks them that they shed sparks.”
He began telling about his family and asking all the questions he had time to put in about the Leslies. When the first curiosity was satisfied on both sides Alan cast a doubtful glance toward Androvsky, who lay dozing104 on his cot.
“What’s that doing in here?” he inquired, jerking his head in the Russian’s direction. “Looks like one of my late captors.”
“He’s a Russian,” said Bob, speaking low, “but a Menshevik, forced in by the Bolshies.”
“Told you that, did he? I fancy he’s having you a bit.”
“No. I’m convinced he’s straight.”
“He’s spoofing you. They’re a rum lot. I suppose he’d swear to anything to get near this stove. By the way, so would I.”
“I’ll call the orderly to move you. You were frost-bitten so they didn’t dare warm you up. Miller!” Bob shouted, for bells were unknown in Nikolsk hospital.
“Good egg,” approved Alan, shivering under his blankets. He glanced toward the window, beyond which thick flakes46 were still falling. “I hate the sight of that snow. Polar bears, that’s what this place is fit for. Wonder if they could be trained to fight the Bolshies. Here comes someone, Bob.”
Major Greyson entered the room, casting an astonished glance at the young Britisher.
“Who says the British are reserved and distant,” he thought, approaching Alan’s cot. “Here’s this fellow calling Bob by his name after a couple of hours’ acquaintance. Well, Captain, how is it?” he asked, taking Alan’s cold hand in his. “We’ve sent word to your regiment. The wires are down but I sent a Russian messenger. You’ll have to stay here for a while and be patient.”
“No complaints, Major. I’m no end grateful to you,” said Alan, looking up at him. “Would you be good enough to move me nearer to the stove, if I’m quite thawed105 out?”
“What do you think, Greyson?” said Bob, as the surgeon and Miller moved Alan’s cot a scant106 foot nearer to the stove. “This is Captain Alan Leslie and my cousin.”
Major Greyson looked quickly at Bob, with so evident a search for signs of feverish107 excitement that Bob could not help laughing.
“I’m not out of my head, Greyson,” he declared. “He is my cousin, really.”
“Why, you told me you’d never seen him,” protested the surgeon.
“He hadn’t. This is our first meeting. Can’t call it auspicious108, can one, Major?” said Alan, basking109 in the faint warmth that reached him. He gave another look toward Androvsky. “Rather a horrid lot of patients you have here, Major, excepting Bob.”
Major Greyson smiled as he sat down by Alan’s cot. “You seem pretty cheerful, Captain Leslie, but that foot of yours must be hurting quite a bit.”
“Oh, rather. I suppose it can’t be helped,” said Alan coolly. “It’s better than when I first woke.”
“We’ll see what can be done.” Major Greyson turned to the Russian who was moving on his cot. “Androvsky, you awake? Miller will wheel you about a little.”
“Thank you, Gospodin Major,” said the Russian, sitting up.
Bob’s thoughts, turned once more to Androvsky, led him to inquire again of Alan, when the Russian had gone out and Major Greyson was examining the Britisher’s foot, “Didn’t you see any Germans in the Bolshevik lines, Alan? Couldn’t you guess anything about what they’re up to?”
“I didn’t see any Germans—not in my guard-house. And I wasn’t invited anywhere else. What’s it all about, Bob? I wasn’t a spy, I was a prisoner. Awful beasts, Bol——”
“Oh, Alan!” Bob came so near saying “Don’t be a silly ass” that Arthur’s nickname for his brother all at once explained itself.
Major Greyson interposed. “Bob, do you know that a frozen foot hurts even more than a broken leg? Don’t expect too much thinking of him for a day or two. Forget the Bolshies for a while. Let other people worry about them until you’re on your legs again.”
Alan nodded approval. “Can’t see why he wants to think of them at all, can you, Major? Yes, that does rather hurt when you touch it. Sorry I jumped. I’ll be quiet now.”
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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3
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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5
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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7
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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8
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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9
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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10
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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11
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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12
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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13
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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14
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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16
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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17
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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18
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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19
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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20
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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21
salvaged
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| （从火灾、海难等中）抢救（某物）( salvage的过去式和过去分词 )； 回收利用（某物） | |
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22
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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23
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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24
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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25
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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28
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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29
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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30
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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31
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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33
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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34
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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35
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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36
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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37
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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38
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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39
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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40
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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41
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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42
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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43
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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44
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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45
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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46
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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47
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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48
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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49
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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50
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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51
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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52
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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53
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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54
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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55
patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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56
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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57
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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58
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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59
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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60
wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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61
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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62
soviets
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| 苏维埃（Soviet的复数形式） | |
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63
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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64
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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65
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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66
cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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67
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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68
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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69
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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70
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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71
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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72
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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73
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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74
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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75
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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76
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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77
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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78
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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79
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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80
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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81
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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82
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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83
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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84
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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85
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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86
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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87
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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88
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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89
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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91
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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92
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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93
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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94
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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95
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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96
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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97
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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98
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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99
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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100
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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101
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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102
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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103
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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104
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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105
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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106
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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107
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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108
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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109
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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