“He is too heavy that you should carry him far,” he protested.
“You’re very much of a man, Arthur,” she said quietly. “You don’t realise, I suppose, that nature gives us women strong arms for this very purpose.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. The fact is, I’m worried. I have a doubt at the back of my head that we ought to be going the other way.”
“Which other way?”
“In precisely the opposite direction.”
“But what can we do? At what stage in our wanderings up to this very moment could we have parted company with our friends? Do you know, I have a horrible feeling that we have brought a good deal of avoidable misery on their heads? If we hadn’t gone to the mill——”
“They would probably all have been dead by this time, and certainly both homeless and friendless,” he interrupted. Then he began telling her the fate of Visé, but was brought up short by an imperative whisper from Pochard. They were talking English, without realising it, and Huy was near.
“And why carry that sword?” added the Frenchman. “It is useless, and most dangerous. Thrust it into a ditch.”
Dalroy obeyed promptly. He had thoughtlessly disregarded the sinister outcome if a patrol found him with such a weapon in his hand.
They came to Huy by a winding road through a suburb, meeting plenty of soldiers strolling to and from billets. Luck befriended them at this ticklish moment. None saw a little party turning into a lane which led to the back of the villa tenanted by Monsieur Pochard’s married sister. This lady proved both sympathetic and helpful. The cart, with its sad freight, was housed in a wood-shed at the bottom of the garden, and the dogs were stabled in the gardener’s potting-shed.