The Girl from Alsace Part 32

They set out again along the edge of the army, stumbling across rough fields, crouching behind hedges, turning aside to avoid a lighted house where some officers were making merry. For perhaps a mile they pressed on, with a line of sentries always at their right, outlined against the gleam of scattered lights. Then, quite suddenly, there were no more lights, and they knew that they had reached the limit of the encampment.

Had they also reached the limit of the line of sentries? There was no way to make sure; but they crept forward to the wall along the highway and peered cautiously over. The road seemed empty. They crossed it as swiftly and silently as shadows, and in a moment were safe behind the wall on the other side.

Beyond it lay the yard of an iron foundry, with great piles of castings scattered about and a tall building looming at their left. In front of it they caught the gleam of a sentry's rifle, so they bore away to the right until they reached the line of the railway running close along the river bank. There were sentries here, too, but they were stationed far apart and were apparently half-asleep, and the fugitives had no difficulty in slipping between them. A moment later, they had scrambled down a steep bank and stood at the edge of the river.

"And now," whispered Stewart, "to get over."

He looked out across the water, flowing strong and deep, mysterious and impressive in the darkness, powerful, unhurried, alert--as if grimly conscious of its task, and rejoicing in it; for this stream which was holding the Germans back had its origin away southward in the heart of France. He could not see the other bank, but he knew that it was at least two hundred yards away.

"If we could find a boat!" he added. "We saw plenty of them this afternoon."

"We dare not use a boat," the girl objected. "We should be seen and fired upon."

"Do you mean to swim?" Stewart demanded.

"Be more careful!" she cautioned. "Someone may hear us," and she drew him down into the shadow of the bank. "Unfortunately, I cannot swim, but no doubt you can."

"I'm not what would be called an expert, but I think I could swim across this river. However, I absolutely refuse to try to take you over. It would be too great a risk."

"If we had a plank or log, I could hold to it while you pushed it along.

If you grew tired, you could rest and drift for a time."

Stewart considered the plan. It seemed feasible. A drifting plank would attract no attention from the sh.o.r.e--the river was full of debris from the operations around Liege--and, whether they got across or not, there would be no danger of either of them drowning. And they ought to get over, for it would be no great task to work a plank across the stream.

"Yes, I think I could do that," he said at last. "Let us see if we can find a plank."

There was nothing of the sort along the sh.o.r.e, though they searched it for some distance; but opposite the foundry they came upon a pile of the square wooden sand-boxes in which castings are made. Stewart, when he saw them, chuckled with satisfaction.

"Just the thing!" he said. "Providence is certainly on our side to-night!"

"I hope so!" breathed the girl, and between them they carried one of the boxes down to the edge of the water.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, Stewart sat down and began to take off his shoes.

"We shall have to get rid of our clothing," he said, in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster. "There is nothing heavier than clothes when they get water-soaked. Besides, we've got to keep them dry if we can. If we don't, we shall nearly freeze to death after we leave the water--and they'll betray us a mile off!"

The girl stood for a moment staring out across the river. Then she sat down with her back to him.

"You are quite right," she agreed, quietly, and bent above her shoes.

"We'll turn the box upside down and put our clothes upon it," went on Stewart, cheerfully. "They will keep dry there. The water isn't very cold, probably, but we shall be mighty glad to have some dry things to get into once we are out of it."

She did not reply, and Stewart went rapidly on with his undressing. When that was finished, he rolled his trousers, shoes and underclothing into a compact bundle inside his coat, and tied the sleeves together.

"Now I'm going to launch the raft," he said. "Roll your clothes up inside your coat, so that nothing white will show, and wade out to me as soon as you are ready."

"Very well," she answered, in a low tone.

With his bundle under one arm, Stewart turned the box over and dragged it into the water. He had been shivering in the night air, but the water was agreeably warm. Placing his bundle upon the top of the box, he pushed it before him out into the stream, and was soon breast-deep.

Then, holding the box against the current, he waited.

Minute after minute pa.s.sed, but she did not come. He could not see the sh.o.r.e, but he strained his eyes toward it, wondering if he should go back, if anything had happened. So quiet and unquestioning had been her acceptance of his plan that he did not suspect the struggle waging there on the bank between girlish modesty and grim necessity.

But, at last, from the mist along the sh.o.r.e, a white figure emerged, dim and ghostlike in the darkness, and he heard a gentle splashing as she came toward him through the water. He raised his arm, to make certain that she saw him, then turned his head away.

Near and nearer came the splashing; then the box rocked gently as she placed her clothing on it.

"All right?" he asked, softly.

"Yes," she answered.

He turned to find her looking up at him from the level of the stream, which came just beneath her chin. The light of the stars reflected on the water crowned her with a misty halo, and again he read in her face that sweet and tremulous appeal for respect and understanding which had so moved him once before. It moved him far more deeply now; but he managed to bite back the words which leaped to his lips and to speak almost casually--as though situations such as this were the most ordinary in the world.

"Have you got a firm grip of the handle?"

"Yes."

He a.s.sured himself that both bundles of clothing were secure.

"All ready, then," he said. "Just hold on and let your body float out in the water. Don't hold your head too high, and if you feel your hands slipping call me at once. I don't want to lose you, little comrade!"

"I will remember," she promised, smiling gratefully up at him.

"Then here we go," and he pushed the box slowly out into the stream.

In a moment the water was at his chin.

"All right?" he asked again.

"Yes."

He took another step forward, the current caught him and lifted him off his feet, and he began to swim easily and slowly. He was not sure of his strength, it was a long time since he had done any serious swimming, and he knew that he must husband himself. Then, too, the current was stronger than it had seemed from the sh.o.r.e, and he found that he could make head against it but slowly, for the box was of an awkward shape and the girl's body trailing behind it so much dead weight.

"Slow but sure," he said, rea.s.suringly, resting a moment. "You're quite all right?"

"Yes. You must not worry about me."

He glanced back at the sh.o.r.e, where the lights of the camp shone dimly through the mist.

"We're going to drift right past the camp," he said; "but they can't see us, and it will make our landing safer if we come out below the troops.

It would be rather embarra.s.sing, wouldn't it, if we found a patrol waiting for us on the bank? Now for another swim!"

He pushed ahead until he found himself beginning to tire, then stopped and looked around.

"There's the bridge!" he said, suddenly.

And, sure enough, just ahead, they could see its dim shape spanning the stream. A cold fear gripped Stewart's heart. Suppose they should be swept against one of the abutments!

"Take tight hold with both hands," he commanded. "Don't let go, whatever happens!"