First he removed his pack and hers a hundred yards down stream, through the granite gateway, and placed them just beyond.
Then he came back for Miss Erith. Scarcely awakened as he lifted her, she placed one arm around his neck with the sleepy unconsciousness of a tired child. They had long been on such terms; there was no escaping them in the intimacy of their common isolation and common danger.
He laid her on the moss, well screened by the granite barrier, and beyond range of the brook's rainbow spray. She was already asleep again.
He took off both her shoes, unwound the spiral puttees and gave her bruised little feet a chance to breathe.
He made camp, tested the wind and found it safe to build a fire, set water to simmer, and unpacked the tinned rations. Then he made the two beds side by side, laying down blankets and smoothing away the twigs underneath.
The surviving carrier pigeon was hungry. He fed it, lifted it still banded from its place, cleaned the cage and set it to dry in a patch of sunshine.
The four automatic pistols he loaded and laid on a shelf in the granite barricade; set ammunition and flashlight beside them.
Then he went to his pack and got his papers and material, and unrolled the map upon which he had been at work since he and Evelyn Erith had entered the enemy's zone of operations.
From time to time as he worked, drawing or making notes, he glanced at the sleeping girl beside him.
Never but once had the word "love" been mentioned between these two.