“It will mean more to France than many regiments!” and she struck the pocket which contained the letters. “Ah, we must get through—we must not fail!”
She rose suddenly and stretched her arms high above her head.
“Dear God, you will not let us fail!” she cried. Then she turned and held out a hand to him. “Come,” she said, quietly; “if we are to get across, it must be before the moon rises.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE PASSAGE OF THE MEUSE
The mist of early evening had settled over the river and wiped away every vestige of the army, save the flaring lights of the camp-kitchens and the white lamps of the motors; but the creaking of wheels, the pounding of engines, and the regular tramp of countless feet told that the advance had not slackened for an instant.
On the uplands there was still a little light, and Stewart and his companion picked their way cautiously down through a belt of woodland, across a rough field, and over a wall, beyond which they found an uneven path, made evidently by a vanished herd as it went back and forth to its pasture. They advanced slowly and silently, every sense on the alert, but seemingly no pickets had been posted on this side, from which there was no reason to fear an attack, and they were soon down amid the mist, at the edge of the encampment.
Here, however, there were sentries—a close line of them; the fugitives could see them dimly outlined against the fires, and could hear their occasional interchange of challenges.
“It is impossible to get through here,” whispered the girl. “Let us go on until we are below the bridge. Perhaps we shall find a gap there.”
So, hand in hand lest they become separated in the darkness, they worked their way cautiously downstream, just out of sight of the line of sentries.
“Wait!” whispered Stewart, suddenly. “What is that ahead?”