“I’m going to carry you to the village. Here, wave your handkerchief to show them that we are friends,” and he drew it from her pocket and thrust it into her hand. “Now, your arm about my neck.”
She obeyed mutely; then, as he straightened up, she saw, over his shoulder, the cavalry forming for the charge.
“No, no!” she cried. “Put me down. Here are the letters! See, I am placing them in your pocket! Now, put me down and save yourself!”
He was picking his way forward over the barbed wire. He dared not lift his eyes from the road even for a glance at her.
“Be still!” he commanded. “Don’t struggle so! I will not put you down! Wave the handkerchief!”
“There is cavalry down yonder,” she protested, wildly. “It will charge in a moment!”
“I know it! That’s one reason I will not put you down!”
He was past the wire; he could look at her for an instant—into her eyes, so close to his; deep into her eyes, dark with fear and pain.
“Another reason is,” he said, deliberately, “that I love you! I am telling you now because I want you to know, if this should be the end! I love you, love you, love you!”
He was forced to look away from her, for there were fallen trees in front, but he felt the arm around his neck tighten.