“Let us go to the edge of this meadow,” the girl suggested. “Perhaps we shall find another field of grain.”
But luck was against them. Beyond the meadow the woods began again.
“The meadow is better than the woods,” said Stewart. “At least it has some grass on it—the woods have nothing but rocks!”
“Let us stay in the shelter of the hedge. Then, if a patrol happens into the field before we are awake, it will not see us. Perhaps they will attempt a pursuit in the morning. They will guess that we have headed for the west.”
“I don’t think there’s much danger—it would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack—in a dozen haystacks! But won’t you be cold?”
“Oh, no,” she protested, quickly; “the night is quite warm. Good-night, my friend.”
“Good-night,” Stewart answered, and withdrew a few steps and made himself as comfortable as he could.
There were irritating bumps in the ground which seemed to come exactly in the wrong place; but he finally adjusted himself, and lay and looked up at the stars, and wondered what the morrow would bring forth. He was growing a little weary of the adventure. He was growing weary of the restraint which the situation imposed upon him. He was aching to take this girl in his arms and hold her close, and whisper three words—just three!—into her rosy ear—but to do that now, to do it until they were in safety, until she had no further need of him, would be a cowardly thing—a cowardly thing—a cowardly——
He was awakened by a touch on the arm, and opened his eyes to find the sun high in the heavens and his comrade looking down at him with face almost equally radiant.
“I did not like to wake you,” she said, “but it is getting late.”