They could not have carried Denis—a six-foot man, in his heavy accouterments—they could not have raised him from the ground, in ordinary circumstances. But extraordinary need calls out extraordinary powers. One-half a man's strength is his conviction of strength. Dorothea lifted the man she loved with her love in addition to her muscles, and Lettice had the strength of endurance, if not that of passion. So they carried him across the bridge and laid him in the round tower among the hay. Dorothea spoke again.
"Get my first-aid things out of the dresser drawer, Lettice, while I see what's wrong. Quick as you can; we haven't a second to lose."
Lettice obeyed orders. When she came back Dorothea's uplifted face was sunshine unclouded.
"He's not going to die!" she cried, and her voice sang. "He isn't even dangerously hurt, it's only pain and loss of blood. And, Lettice, he's been telling me—darling, no; don't, don't try to talk, it does hurt you so—he's been telling me he's been bombing the Zeppelins at Aix! They got them, too, they set one on fire, and the other man got off safe; but Denis had a bullet through his tank. So he made for Rochehaut, but he couldn't get farther than Florenville, so he burnt his machine and came on on foot. And this morning he saw the Bellevue, and while he was asking about it he was seen, and they hunted him, all among the woods by the river, and he was hit, this"—she touched the cheek she was bandaging with thistle-down finger—"I wish I were a doctor, then I'd put some stitches in; it'll spoil your looks, my darling. Just think, Lettice, he was hiding in the wood, he could actually see us, but he never meant to come out for fear of getting us into a scrape. He meant to lie there till dusk and then get away—if they hadn't caught him first, which they would have. Watch how this bandage goes, you'll have to do it when I'm gone." She was working as she talked, with perfect swiftness and dexterity. "I wish, oh! I wish I could stay and see to you myself. Never mind, it can't be helped. Cover him up with the hay, Lettice—careful! don't crush it, or it'll give the show away. They may possibly look in here, for form's sake."
She stood up, struggling into the bloodstained coat she had taken from Denis. Lettice stared, bewildered.
"What—what are you going to do?"
"Lead them off on a false scent, of course," said Dorothea—"the Huns, I mean. Goodness, I shall never get my hair under this cap—where are your scissors?"
"But—"
Dorothea stamped, sawing at her thick plaits.