But where was the ambulance? He had paid no attention to direction in his flight and hadn't the least idea now where the road lay. Thoroughly perplexed, Chase leaned against a tree trunk.
The storm had lessened, but of all the dreary and dismal situations it was possible to imagine this seemed about the worst. Here he was—alone, in utter blackness, with a few pattering drops of rain occasionally falling and little gusts of wind toying with the vegetation and making a weird symphony of sounds.
"The people who started this confounded war haven't my best regards," he growled. "It's——Oh—oh—hello! Who would have believed it!"
A flash of lightning had enabled him to make an interesting and surprising discovery. It was the tower of the Château de Morancourt, faintly visible in the distance.
"Great Julius Cæsar!" exclaimed Chase. "I said no more night visits to lonely châteaus for me, but, by Jove, I'm privileged to change my mind. After what I've gone through another visit would seem like a joyful picnic. Yes sir—why not? The château at present seems to be perfectly safe from German guns. So I'll just wait in the ancient stronghold of the De Morancourts for daylight to come."
Having decided upon something definite, Chase immediately felt very much better. He easily managed to persuade himself that it was the wisest course to pursue, though at times unpleasant doubts persisted in coming into his mind.
"Confound it! Nobody could be expected to take a chance of throwing his life away," he growled almost savagely. "Anyway—here goes!"
Traveling along the road, the young chap made rapid progress, even though the gloom was so intense that he often found himself plunging off into muddy fields at the side. Thoroughly drenched, he waded regardlessly through the pools and puddles, his sole thought being to reach the château, and, in quiet and safety, give his nerves and body the rest they required.
Arriving at the base of the hill, he found the entrance to the park of the Château de Morancourt right before him. How it brought back recollections of his previous visit! He thought of Don Hale, the youngest ambulance driver in the service, and his anxiety and forebodings concerning him increased, especially now that his thoughts were not upon his own immediate safety.
"Poor chap—poor chap!" he murmured many times. "How great a suspense I must endure! Ah!—war—war! What a terrible thing it is! Oh, but hang it all, I mustn't think too much!"