Yet it was not personal fear that troubled her. She would have pressed forward, even had she been obliged to essay the crossing of No Man's Land alone.
At last the jouncing ambulance came to a rocking halt.
"As far as I can take you folks in this old fliver, I guess," drawled Charlie Bragg. "An unhealthy looking place for a picnic."
He twisted around in his seat to look at Ruth. She smiled wanly at him, while the Major got down quickly and offered her his hand.
"Is it all right, Ruth?" Charlie whispered. "I don't know this French chap."
"Don't fear for me, Charlie dear," she returned. "He is Major Henri Marchand. I fancy he is high in the French Army. And I know his mother—a very lovely lady."
"Oh, all right," responded the boy shortly. "One of the family, as you might say? Take care of yourself. Haven't heard from Cameron, have you?"
"That is what I am here for," whispered Ruth. "I hope I shall hear of him soon."
"Well, best o' luck!" said Charlie Bragg, as Ruth followed the major out of the rear of the ambulance.
The evening was falling. They stood at the mouth of a wide gully up which the car could not have traveled. The latter turned in a swirl of dust and pounded back toward the rear. When it was out of sight and the noise of it had died away, there did not seem to be any other sound about them.