“You’re sure you are all right again?”
“Yes,” and she rose quickly. “We must go back the way we came.”
They set out again along the edge of the army, stumbling across rough fields, crouching behind hedges, turning aside to avoid a lighted house where some officers were making merry. For perhaps a mile they pressed on, with a line of sentries always at their right, outlined against the gleam of scattered lights. Then, quite suddenly, there were no more lights, and they knew that they had reached the limit of the encampment.
Had they also reached the limit of the line of sentries? There was no way to make sure; but they crept forward to the wall along the highway and peered cautiously over. The road seemed empty. They crossed it as swiftly and silently as shadows, and in a moment were safe behind the wall on the other side.
Beyond it lay the yard of an iron foundry, with great piles of castings scattered about and a tall building looming at their left. In front of it they caught the gleam of a sentry’s rifle, so they bore away to the right until they reached the line of the railway running close along the river bank. There were sentries here, too, but they were stationed far apart and were apparently half-asleep, and the fugitives had no difficulty in slipping between them. A moment later, they had scrambled down a steep bank and stood at the edge of the river.
“And now,” whispered Stewart, “to get over.”
He looked out across the water, flowing strong and deep, mysterious and impressive in the darkness, powerful, unhurried, alert—as if grimly conscious of its task, and rejoicing in it; for this stream which was holding the Germans back had its origin away southward in the heart of France. He could not see the other bank, but he knew that it was at least two hundred yards away.
“If we could find a boat!” he added. “We saw plenty of them this afternoon.”
“We dare not use a boat,” the girl objected. “We should be seen and fired upon.”
“Do you mean to swim?” Stewart demanded.