Dalroy, still holding Irene’s arm, pressed forward.
“Are we near the tow-path?” he asked.
“Oh, is that you, Monsieur l’Anglais?” chuckled the miller. “Name of a pipe, I was positive those sales Alboches had got you twenty minutes since. Yes, if you trip in the next few yards you’ll find yourself on the tow-path after falling sixty feet.”
“Go on, Léontine!” commanded Dalroy. “What you and your friend did for amusement we can surely do to save our lives. But there should be moonlight on this side. Have any clouds come up?”
“These are firs in front, monsieur. Once clear of them, we can see.”
“Very well. Don’t lose another second. Only, before beginning the descent, make certain that the river bank holds no Germans.”
Joos grumbled, but his wife silenced him. That good lady, it appeared, had given up hope when the struggle broke out in the kitchen. She had been snatched from the jaws of death by a seeming miracle, and regarded Dalroy as a very Paladin. She attributed her rescue entirely to him, and was almost inclined to be sceptical of Joos’s sensational story about the killing of Busch. “There never was such a man for arguing,” she said sharply. “I do believe you’d contradict an archbishop. Do as the gentleman bids you. He knows best.”
Now, seeing that madame herself, after one look, had refused point-blank to tackle the supposed path, and had even insisted on retreating to the cover of the wood, Joos was entitled to protest. Being a choleric little man, he would assuredly have done so fully and freely had not a red light illumined the tree-tops, while the crackle of a fire was distinctly audible. The Germans had reached the top of the quarry, and, in order to dissipate the impenetrable gloom, had converted the hut into a beacon.
“Miséricorde!” he muttered. “They are burning our provisions, and may set the forest ablaze!”
And that is what actually happened. The vegetation was dry, as no rain had fallen for many a day. The shavings and store of logs in the hut burned like tinder, promptly creating a raging furnace wholly beyond the control of the unthinking dolts who started it. The breeze which had sprung up earlier became a roaring tornado among the trees, and some acres of woodland were soon in flames. The light of that fire was seen over an area of hundreds of miles. Spectators in Holland wrongly attributed it to the burning of Visé, which was, however, only an intelligent anticipation of events, because the delightful old town was completely destroyed a week later in revenge for the defeats inflicted on the invaders at Tirlemont and St. Trond during the first advance on Antwerp.