Martin went like the wind, conscious of a wild exultation. A black shape loomed in front of him, like a hay-cock in a field. He reached it, fell on his knees, and crawled into its shadow.
“Mellis!”
He heard her cry out.
“Martin—Martin—oh, my comrade!”
“Don’t speak, child. I must cut those ropes.”
He groped for her right arm, found it, and cut the thong that fastened her wrist to the stake. To free her left arm he had to lean over her body, but the second rope was cut, and of a sudden he felt her arms about him.
“Martin!”
Her great joy and her love would not be stifled. Her arms held him close, and for a moment he lay on her bosom, feeling her breath on his face, and the beating of her heart answering his.
“My own dear mate——”
“Child, it is life and death.”