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.
"Be more careful!" she cautioned. "Someone may hear us," and she drew him down into the shadow of the bank. "Unfortunately, I cannot swim, but no doubt you can."
"I'm not what would be called an expert, but I think I could swim across this river. However, I absolutely refuse to try to take you over. It would be too great a risk."
"If we had a plank or log, I could hold to it while you pushed it along. If you grew tired, you could rest and drift for a time."
Stewart considered the plan. It seemed feasible. A drifting plank would attract no attention from the shore—the river was full of débris from the operations around Liège—and, whether they got across or not, there would be no danger of either of them drowning. And they ought to get over, for it would be no great task to work a plank across the stream.