then began to stroll about the café, and, feeling that a row was approaching, I thought it wise to disappear before I became involved in it.

I paid the waiter, and my new-found friend and I went out into the dark streets.

Few things in literature have impressed me so much and affected me so deeply as De Quincey's story of Ann and Oxford Street-stony-hearted stepmother-in his Confessions of an Opium-Eater.' My situation that night was perhaps more desperate than that of De Quincey when he tramped Oxford Street, friendless and penniless, and met that angelio, street-girl, who tended him like a mother and loved him like a sister. But I was older than De Quincey, and the troubles which threatened to overwhelm me had come of my deliberate seeking, so that the advantages from that point of view, at any rate, were heavier on my side. Like De Quincey, I never learned more of my benefactress than her Christian name, and, like De Quincey, however assiduously I may search for her as a free man, to tell her of my gratitude for all that she did for me, I may search and search and never find her. I shall refer to her from this point on as "Ann."

Within a quarter of an hour of first meeting her, when we were away from the café and alone together, I looked at her carefully, and came to the deoision that I would confide in her.

"If Ann is to deserve my confidence," I said to myself,

"then she deserves my whole confidence, and I will tell her everything about myself, leaving her with the option of informing the police, or helping me in the one or two directions where assistance has become absolutely essential."

"Fräulein," I said, "when I told you in the café that I was a German and not a foreigner, I told you a lie."

Her eyes lit up with interest, and I went on

"I was unable to tell you anything else there, but I am a foreigner. I am an Englishman. I escaped from Ruhleben Camp near Spandau this morning, and escaped with the intention of crossing over into Holland."

While I watched her carefully, the conviction seized me that I had taken the right course, and that my confidence was not misplaced. I never, from that moment on, regretted having told her, and I never once had occasion to falter in the confidence which I placed in her. Never again in my life will I allow to pass unchallenged and unrebuked any sweeping condemnation of the women of her class. Magdalen she may have been, but, for me, she broke her alabaster box of ointment, and discovered depths of tenderness and unselfishness which then and since touched me more deeply than it is in my power to describe. In my memory Ann ranks among the good women of the world.

Through Ann, I managed to obtain an introduction to a gentleman who was a burglar, and something worse. I met

We were both a little embarrassed at first, but after I had persuaded him that I was one of the same kidney, he warmed up to me.

"Look here, Herr," I said, “I have committed a certain crime, but "-here I feigned embarrassment and winked "if you don't mind, I would rather not go into details."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. One is always willing to help a pal. One never knows when he may need it himself."

"That's very fine on your part," I said. "Now, look here! the police are hot on my heels, and I must get clear of Berlin as soon as possible. I want to go to a certain town "-I gave the name of another town, of course,—" and, in order to be able to get past any of the detectives who may question me in the train, it is absolutely essential that I should have suitable legitimation papers,

"What sort of papers have you got? If they are what I am seeking, we might come to some arrangement with each other."

He produced his, and eventually I bought them, giving him my word that I would pest them to him, anonymously, within three days, after which time they would be of no further use to me. Except for the fact that they were for a younger man, they were exactly what I was seeking. The burglar had been several times rejected by the Army Medical Board as being unfit for military service, and had therefore every right to wear civilian clothes. We went to another house to complete the deal, and when he had left I set about to learn by heart all details concerning the new personality I had assumed. The burglar had had the bad taste to choose a father whose name was unconscionably difficult to pronounce, and I found that he had also been born in some out-of-the-way place which was equally difficult to pronounce. Before we left the café, my friend, the burglar, looked at me and said

"You are a Swede, are you not?"

I looked at him in amazement.

"Yes," I said; "but how on earth did you discover that?"

"Oh," he answered, "I could tell at once from your Swedish accent.'

Ann grew mischievous, and with a twinkle in her eye, which the burglar happily failed to notice, said to him quite seriously

"Oh yes. An Englishman, for example, would speak with an entirely different accent, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, quite different," answered the burglar.

When everything had been arranged between us, Ann and the burglar began to discuss a certain criminal of their acquaintance who had formerly been one of their set. They described how this man had murdered his mistress and appeared in their midst the same evening as though nothing had happened. They seemed to be greatly impressed by the murderer's sangfroid, and I felt it the proper thing to do to express a sort of horrified admiration of his coolness. I am afraid I gave the burglar the impression that such amazing nonchalance as the murderer revealed would be quite beyond my modest powers.

My funds were running low, and I was therefore compelled to decide to leave Berlin earlier than I should otherwise have done. I left by a very

early train from the Schlesischer Bahnhof on the Tuesday morning.

Ann used to meet me for meals during the day, and during the three days I remained in Berlin, I wandered about the city, visiting different cafés, picture theatres, restaurants, and hotels, frequently sitting in orowded restaurants among German officers and soldiers, doing my best all the time to look as little like an escaped prisoner as possible. The future was still very uncertain, but my plans were maturing. All this this time, Ann did wonders for me.

"Now look here," she would say, "what art thou going to do about thy next meal? Thou wilt have hunger if thou hast no meat to eat. Here are meat coupons, a potato coupon, and a bread coupon. With these thou canst go to such and such a restaurant and get a fairly good lunch. I will meet thee there. No, no, take them. I don't need them at all."

The day before I left Berlin she said to me

"I have been trying to get thee emergenoy bread coupons, but I have been unable to do so.

With these coupons, however, thou canst go to such and such a shop and buy a quarter of a loaf. At a certain other shop there is a peculiar kind of sausage for sale, without coupons. It is rather expensive, but thou hadst better buy it than go hungry, for the railway journey is a long one. Make sandwiches for thyself with the bread and sausage,

and take them with thee in thy attaché-case."

When I insisted on her taking some of my money, she looked worried and said

"No, thou wilt have need of it before thou reachest Holland." I had decided that I would spend the Monday night in a fifth-rate hotel, close to the Schlesischer Bahnhof, and that night Ann came along with me, and waited for me in a café, close by, until I had booked my room. I was rather afraid of complications which might arise through registration, as I did not want to use my new name in Berlin, unless I were compelled to do so. Most of the hotels were full, but eventually I found one where a room was free, and when I told the landlady that I should have to leave in order to catch a very early train, she said, to my great relief

"Oh, well, if you are only staying those few hours, it is hardly worth while to worry about registration."

"Just as you like," I said nonchalantly. "It's no trouble, of course."

"Oh, I don't think we'll bother."

"Right you are," I said. "Good night."

I rejoined Ann later at the café. We walked about the dark streets for a time among the crowds of soldiers and civilians, and then came the moment of parting. Ann looked sadly at me, as the tram which she was to take came to a stop.

"Good-bye, Ann," I said, with a lump in my throat, and

tried to put into words the deep gratitude I felt for all that she had done for me.

"Good-bye," she said quietly. "I hope that all will go well with thee. Do not forget to write to me under the name we have agreed upon when thou arrivest safely at a certain town."

I promised, and kept my word two days later. That is the last that I saw of Ann. As I walked back to the inn, I felt inexpressibly sad and lonely.

I left the inn at an unearthly hour the following morning, after a short but sound sleep, and went across to the station, where I bought my ticket for a certain town in another part of Germany, without difficulty. The waiting-room was literally crammed with soldiers going to and from a certain front. There were hundreds of them in full field kit, lying on benches in the corridors, and on tables, chairs, and the floor in the big waiting-room. I stood at the bar among them, and drank coffee, before I left to pass through the barrier to the train.

For reasons of economy, I had taken a third-class ticket; but I noticed, to my dismay, that the third-class compartments were rapidly filling up with soldiers, and, fearing that they might be too talkative for an English escaped prisoner, I decided that I would change into a second-class compartment. I informed the conductress of the train, but it was too late to go back to the booking-office and change my ticket. She said that that

could be arranged on the way. There were one or two other people in the compartment, but I took no notice of them, and settled down to read a German novel that I had bought, which, ouriously enough, had the title, "Ins neue Land" (Into the new country!) It was only later in the day that the significance of the title struck me. I had taken a slow train in order to avoid control by detectives, and, owing to an accident on the line, we were delayed so long that I was in the train, without leaving it, for over nineteen hours. Six hours of the journey I spent sitting opposite a German officer, who was apparently returning to the front from leave. For a long time he was the only other occupant of the compartment, and I had to maintain a very surly demeanour, lest he should belong to the very unusual type of German officer who is willing to enter into conversation with a chance travelling companion. When we stopped for a long time between stations, owing to the accident to which I have referred, I frequently leaned out of the window and chatted with the girl conductress, and deplored, along with her, the fact that the delay was very hard on the soldiers in the train who were returning home to spend a short leave with their families,

I got into very great difficulties through losing my railway ticket. My conductresses changed about three times. I was going to a station which we will call Y, and at X, the station before Y, late that

VOL. CCIV.-NO. MCCXXXV.

night, I was still without my ticket, and left the compartment in order to make inquiries of the conductress as to whether she had obtained a transfer ticket for me or not. To my horror, I discovered that the conductress who had taken my third-class ticket was no longer there, and the one who had taken her place, after a moment's consideration, said—

"Oh, that is very awkward. I know now what has happened. The other girl left at Z and took your ticket along with her. When you get to Y, you had better go to the chief stationmaster and explain the whole matter to him and see what can be done. It is very awkward indeed."

This quite unexpected turn which events had taken worried me a great deal. I knew that my German would not stand the test of long explanations before so astute a railway official as the chief station-master of Y, and I returned to my compartment with a feeling of certainty that I should never get through.

It may be that at times such as these the mind is stabbed awake, as it were, and one seizes hold of possibilities which, under ordinary circumstances, would not occur to one. A railway guard was standing opposite to my compartment, and, judging from the paraphernalia he was carrying, I came to the conclusion that he was going off duty. He had, too, a devilmay-care air which air which rather pleased me.

"That is my man," I said to myself.

U