The Girl from Alsace Part 31

"Let us be clear, then," he said. "It is not for freedom, or for any abstract ideal I am fighting. It is for you--for your friendship, for your----"

"No, it is for France," she broke in. "I am not worth fighting for--I am but one girl among many millions. And if we win--if we get through----"

She paused, gazing out through the gathering darkness with starry eyes.

"Yes--if we get through," he prompted.

"It will mean more to France than many regiments!" and she struck the pocket which contained the letters. "Ah, we must get through--we must not fail!"

She rose suddenly and stretched her arms high above her head.

"Dear G.o.d, you will not let us fail!" she cried. Then she turned and held out a hand to him. "Come," she said, quietly; "if we are to get across, it must be before the moon rises."

CHAPTER XIII

THE Pa.s.sAGE OF THE MEUSE

The mist of early evening had settled over the river and wiped away every vestige of the army, save the flaring lights of the camp-kitchens and the white lamps of the motors; but the creaking of wheels, the pounding of engines, and the regular tramp of countless feet told that the advance had not slackened for an instant.

On the uplands there was still a little light, and Stewart and his companion picked their way cautiously down through a belt of woodland, across a rough field, and over a wall, beyond which they found an uneven path, made evidently by a vanished herd as it went back and forth to its pasture. They advanced slowly and silently, every sense on the alert, but seemingly no pickets had been posted on this side, from which there was no reason to fear an attack, and they were soon down amid the mist, at the edge of the encampment.

Here, however, there were sentries--a close line of them; the fugitives could see them dimly outlined against the fires, and could hear their occasional interchange of challenges.

"It is impossible to get through here," whispered the girl. "Let us go on until we are below the bridge. Perhaps we shall find a gap there."

So, hand in hand lest they become separated in the darkness, they worked their way cautiously downstream, just out of sight of the line of sentries.

"Wait!" whispered Stewart, suddenly. "What is that ahead?"

Something tall and black and vaguely menacing loomed above them into the night.

"The church tower!" breathed the girl, after a moment. "See--there are ruins all about it--it is the village they burned."

They hesitated. Should they enter it, or try to go around? There was something sinister and threatening about these roofless, blackened walls which had once been homes; but to go around meant climbing cliffs, meant breathless scrambling--above all, meant loss of time.

"We must risk it," said the girl, at last. "We can come back if the place is guarded."

Their hands instinctively tightened their clasp as they stole forward into the shadow of the houses, along what had once been a street, but was now littered and blocked with fallen walls and debris of every kind, some of it still smouldering. Everywhere there was the stench of half-burned wood, and another stench, more penetrating, more nauseating.

Stewart was staring uneasily about him, telling himself that that stench could not possibly be what it seemed, when his companion's hand squeezed his and dragged him quickly aside against a wall.

"Down, down!" she breathed, and they cowered together behind a ma.s.s of fallen masonry.

Then Stewart peered out, cautiously. Yes, there was someone coming. Far down the street ahead of them a tiny light flashed, disappeared, flashed again, and disappeared.

Crowding close together, they buried themselves deeper in the ruins and waited.

At last they could hear steps--slow, cautious steps, full of fear--and the light appeared again, dancing from side to side. It seemed to be a small lantern, carefully shaded, so that only a narrow beam of light escaped; and that beam was sent dancing from side to side along the street, in dark corners, under fallen doorways.

Suddenly it stopped, and Stewart's heart leaped sickeningly as he saw that the beam rested on a face--a white face, staring up with sightless eyes.

The light approached, hung above it--a living hand caught up the dead one, on which there was the gleam of gold, a knife flashed----

And then, from the darkness almost beside them, four darts of flame stabbed toward the kneeling figure, and the ruins rocked with a great explosion.

When Stewart opened his eyes again, he saw a squad of soldiers, each armed with an electric torch, standing about the body of the robber of the dead, while their sergeant emptied his pockets. There were rings--one still encircling a severed finger--money, a watch, trinkets of every sort, some of them quite worthless.

The man was in uniform, and the sergeant, ripping open coat and shirt, drew out the little identifying tag of metal which hung about his neck, broke it from its string, and thrust it into his pocket. Then he gathered the booty into his handkerchief, tied the ends together with a satisfied grunt, and gave a gruff command. The lights vanished and the squad stumbled ahead into the darkness.

There was a moment's silence. Stewart's nerves were quivering so that he could scarcely control them--he could feel his mouth twitching, and put his hand up to stop it.

"We can't go on," he muttered. "We must go back. This is too horrible--it is unbearable!"

Together they stole tremblingly out of the ruin, along the littered street, past the church-tower, across the road, over the wall, back into the clean fields. There they flung themselves down gaspingly, side by side.

How sweet the smell of the warm earth, after the stench of the looted town! How calm and lovely the stars.

Stewart, staring up at them, felt a great serenity descend upon him.

After all, what did it matter to the universe--this trivial disturbance upon this tiny planet? Men might kill each other, nations disappear; but the stars would swing on in their courses, the constellations go their predestined ways. Of what significance was man in the great scheme of things? How absurd the pomp of kings and kaisers, how grotesque their a.s.sumption of greatness!

A stifled sob startled him. He groped quickly for his comrade, and found her lying p.r.o.ne, her face buried in her arms. He drew her close and held her as he might have held a child. After all, she was scarcely more than that--a child, delicate and sensitive. As a child might, she pillowed her head upon his breast and lay there sobbing softly.

But the sobs ceased presently; he could feel how she struggled for self-control; and at last she turned in his arms and lay staring up at the heavens.

"That's right," he said. "Look up at the stars! That helps!" and it seemed to him, in spite of the tramp of feet and the rattle of wheels and curses of savage drivers, that they were alone together in the midst of things, and that nothing else mattered.

"How sublime they are!" she whispered. "How they calm and strengthen one! They seem to understand!" She turned her face and looked at him.

"You too have understood!" she said, very softly; then gently disengaged his arms and sat erect.

"Do you know," said Stewart, slowly, "what we saw back there has revived my faith in human nature--and it needed reviving! Those men must have seen that that scoundrel was a soldier like themselves, yet they didn't hesitate to shoot. Justice still lives, then; a sense of decency can survive, even in an army. I had begun to doubt it, and I am glad to know that I was wrong."

"The tenderest, n.o.blest gentleman I ever knew," she answered, softly, "was a soldier."

"Yes," Stewart agreed; "I have known one or two like that."

War was not wholly bad, then. Its fierce flame blasted, blackened, tortured--but it also refined. It had its brutal l.u.s.ts--but it had also its high heroisms!

The girl at his side stirred suddenly.

"We must be going," she said.

"You're sure you are all right again?"

"Yes," and she rose quickly. "We must go back the way we came."