in an instant she dashed away into the undergrowth until they had passed, an example followed by Edmond.
Then, when the enemy had gone, they once more went forward again, but full of caution lest they should be taken by surprise.
Those five miles were the longest either of them had ever covered, for every yard was full of breathless terror. They knew not where, an outpost might be lurking, for they were gradually approaching the Belgian front.
It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when, on emerging from the wood into the hot sunshine again, they found themselves above a tiny whitewashed village, with slated roofs and thin church spire — the village of Assesse.
This place they carefully avoided lest it should be occupied by the enemy, but approaching a field not far away, Edmond said:
“See yonder! darling, that old black shed. In there, my uniform is hidden beneath some straw. Until night comes on I dare not change.”
“Then let us hide in the shed till night,” she suggested. “You can change after dark, and we can then go forward.”
He sighed. The situation was, he knew, critical. “You know the risk we shall run, darling. Are you really prepared for it?”
“I will face any danger at your side, Edmond. You have saved my life to-day, remember, and at imminent risk of your own.”
“Because I love you, my own darling,” was his quick response. “I have thought only of you, and of you alone. I must save you, and God will surely assist me in so doing.”
“Yes. We are in His hands,” she declared fervently. “Let us go over yonder, and hide till it grows dark.”
“But you must be hungry,” he suggested.
“No, Edmond,” she laughed. “Don’t think of me — think of yourself, of your own safety.”
So they crept forward, unobserved, until they reached the shed — a mere shelter for cows. In one corner of the dirty place lay a great heap of mouldering straw, and Edmond, having worked away until he had made a hole large enough to admit them both, they both crept in and lightly covered themselves.
And then, as she found herself in his strong arms, she felt his fond kisses raining upon her brow, fierce, passionate caresses, that told her plainly how deep and how sacred was his great love for her — how strong was his affection and devotion.
For seven long hours they remained there, conversing in whispers, he recounting to her the various engagements in which he had been since the outbreak of the war.
He explained to her, too, how by reason of a law-case brought to him by a client, his suspicions had, two years before, been aroused that Arnaud Rigaux, the great Brussels financier, was a secret agent of the German Government. For months he had watched closely until, only a fortnight before the war, Rigaux’s suspicions had been aroused that he was being watched. The spy feared him — feared lest he should go to the Minister of War and disclose his suspicions. This course, however, Edmond had hesitated to take.
“Why?” asked Aimée. “Was it not your duty to tell the truth?”
“It was my duty, I admit. But had I done so, you, dearest, not knowing the true facts, would have believed me guilty of trying to remove my rival by an underhand method. I should have lost your esteem. Therefore I preferred to wait until I could strike an effective blow, and still, at the same time, reveal to you that I had just cause for so doing.”
“Your just cause was revealed to-day, Edmond,” she said. “You have avenged our country, which that mean, despicable spy sought to undermine and destroy, and at the same time, dear, you saved me.”
“I had no idea that the scoundrel was in Dinant, watching the wanton work of his Prussian friends. He hated Belgium, and all Belgians, and so he went, I suppose, to witness a scene of destruction unparalleled in modern history.
“Last night, after we had been driven back over the hills, I resolved at all hazards to return to you; therefore, as I have explained, I took the clothes from a dead Bavarian and succeeded in passing the German outposts just before the dawn. It was an exciting journey back to Dinant, I can assure you,” and he smiled grimly.
“Ah! It must have been. And you risked your life — you are risking it now — in order to save me,” she said.
Slowly the light faded and a ray of red sunset, shining in at the doorway of the shed, lit up the place with crimson light.
Suddenly they heard sounds of voices. They both held their breath.
Aimée, who knew German, heard one of the men exclaim, as they approached:
“This would, I think, be a snug place in which to spend the night, Karl.”
Her heart beat quickly. She could hear it thumping.
The man’s companion muttered some response gruffly, and they both entered with heavy tramp. She could see that they were tall, broad-shouldered Uhlans, in grey braided tunics, jack boots, and helmets.
They looked around for a few seconds, whereupon the gruff-voiced man exclaimed in disgust:
“No. It’s too dirty. Let us get further along. We shall surely find a better place than that.”
And then they strode out, remounted their horses and rode away.
The pair in hiding drew long breaths of relief. That had, surely, been a narrow escape.
When it had grown quite dark and the rats began to scamper, Edmond, foraging about, discovered his torn worn-out Belgian uniform, and quickly exchanged his Bavarian dress for his own clothes. Then he having carefully stolen out and reconnoitred, they both crept away across the fields to where the trees of a plantation showed like a black, jagged line against the night sky.
In his Belgian uniform Edmond Valentin was now in even greater danger than before, for at any moment they might be challenged, when he would, assuredly, be shot.
But, keeping closely in the shadows, they went on until they gained the plantation. The night was close and oppressive. In the distance, every now and then could be heard the thunder of guns, while in the sky before them, the long straight beams of the searchlights, sweeping backwards and forwards, showed the direction of the Belgian front, now that they had retired from the Meuse.
“I left the regiment about three miles from the edge of this wood,” Edmond whispered. “They were yonder, where that second searchlight is showing. But probably they have retired farther, towards Namur, or our outposts would certainly have been here. We must have a care, and avoid the German sentries.”
Then they crept forward and entered the dark, silent plantation. There was not a breath of wind; not a leaf stirred, hence their footsteps sounded loudly as they stole forward, holding their breath, and halting every now and then to listen.
Once they heard voices — men speaking in German and laughing. Even the scent of tobacco reached their nostrils. They halted, drew back and waited, so escaping detection.
That was truly a weird and exciting night adventure, for they were now very near the German outposts. They could see the twinkling lights of camp-fires upon a hill-side on their right, and once the far-off sound of
