"Let Americans not rush in where French officers fear to tread!" chuckled the aviator's son, as they entered the doorway leading to the tower.

Yet, notwithstanding his levity, the boy felt a certain sense of awe—of solemnity. There they were, in a place which only recently the Germans had made a target for their shells, and he fully realized that should suspicion be aroused, even in the slightest degree, it would mean another bombardment.

Had the builders of the ancient tower designed it for the purpose of giving the beholder a vivid impression of a prison they had succeeded well. The solid masonry and the long, narrow windows, heavily barred, through which the light feebly sought admittance, were all calculated to produce that effect.

As a matter of precaution, Don shut off the light, then headed the advance up the circular flight of stone steps.

"Remember—eternal vigilance is the price of life," exclaimed Dunstan.

"Oh, cut out such theatrical stuff," broke in Chase, impatiently.

The ambulanciers ascended higher and higher until they reached the summit, which was broken and jagged.

"Thus far shalt thou go, and no further," chanted Chase, in sepulchral tones.

With the utmost caution, Don Hale peered over the wall.

How high up it seemed!—higher by far than he had ever imagined. From his lofty position he could look over the roof of the main building and wings and see the moonlight gleaming here and there. Then his eyes took in a portion of the rear walls, deep in shadow, their base and the porte-cochère, so far below, losing themselves in the darkness.

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed.

The far-reaching view embraced the ranges of rolling hills to the east. Between the Red Cross men and that wide sweep of ridges, patched with soft, indefinite masses of lights and shadows, wherein charm and mystery rested in equal degrees, lay that stretch of territory known as "No Man's Land"—the most dangerous spot on the globe. On one hand it was bounded by the French trenches; on the other by the German.

"And all along its tortuous course of hundreds of miles through Belgium and France there is but ruin and desolation!" exclaimed Dunstan Farrington, in thoughtful tones. "Farms, villages, towns and forests have paid the penalty for being in 

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