It was terrible journey; almost a thousand miles;. The last part of it was the worst. There were signs of war on every side. Dead horses. Hundreds of little crosses where men were buried. Burnt farms and broken buildings that used to the homes of the people.

At last we reached our journeys end. It was an old grey castle. Even on a summer evening it looked cold and uncomfortable. "I could never live here," I thought.

Out coach drove through the great getway, and one of Jeans officers welcomed us warmly. He led me through several doors and up some dark stairs. At the top, there was a lighted room. A familiar figure was busily preparing a meal.

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