“Now, darling!” cried Edmond, and together they held their breath and together sped towards the copse.
Next instant a rifle flashed, and there was a loud report, followed, a second later, by another sharp shot, and then another, and yet another.
The alarm had been given, and, in a moment, the whole line of the enemy’s sentries were on the alert.
Aimée heard the bullets scream past her as she ran.
She heard, too, Edmond gasp and ejaculate an expression of surprise. But until they were safe in the copse, speeding along together as fast as their feet could carry them, she was unaware that her lover’s right arm was hanging limp and useless—that he had received an ugly wound through the shoulder.
“Why?” she gasped in dismay, pulling up suddenly. “You are hurt—dearest! You are wounded!” la the darkness she felt some warm sticky fluid upon her hand.
“It’s nothing, really, Aimée. Just a graze—that’s all,” he declared. “Come, for Heaven’s sake. Let us get on, or we may yet be caught! Our own outposts must be somewhere close by. Let us hope they are beyond this copse. Come—let us hurry—hurry!”
Those final words of his were uttered because he felt his strength giving way, and before he fell exhausted, as he must do, he meant still to strive with his last effort to place his beloved in safety.
She, noticing that his voice had somehow changed, and knowing that the blood was streaming from his shoulder, took his left arm and assisted him stealthily along.
Suddenly, by a mere chance, they struck a narrow path in the darkness, and this led them to the further end of the copse.