deep into the forest, where nothing of light or sound penetrated.
And when he could no longer stand he sat down, his young head in
his hands, and waited. His body had been shot through and
through. About midnight he died.

When Jack came to his senses the gray mystery of dawn was passing
through the silent forest aisles; the beeches, pallid, stark,
loomed motionless on every side; the pale veil of sky-fog hung
festooned from tree to tree. There was a sense of breathless
waiting in the shadowy woods--no sound, no stir, nothing of life
or palpitation--nothing but foreboding.

Jack crawled to his knees; his chest ached, his mouth cracked
with a terrible throbbing thirst. Dazed as yet, he did not even
look around; he did not try to think; but that weight on his
chest grew to a burning agony, and he tore at his coat and threw
it open. The flat steel box, pierced by a bullet, fell on the
ground before his knees. Then he remembered. He ripped open
waistcoat and shirt and stared at his bare breast. It was
discoloured--a mass of bruises, but there was no blood there. He
looked listlessly at the box on the leaves under him, and touched
his bruised body. Suddenly his mind grew clearer; he stumbled up,
steadying himself against a tree. His lips moved "Lorraine!" but
no sound came. Again, in terror, he tried to cry out. He could
not speak. Then he saw her. She lay among the dead leaves, face
downward in the moss.

When at last he understood that she was alive he lay down beside
her, one arm across her body, and sank into a profound sleep.

She woke first. A burning thirst set her weeping in her sleep and
then roused her. Tear-stained and ghastly pale, she leaned over
the sleeping man beside her, listened to his breathing, touched
his hair, then rose and looked fearfully about her. On the
knapsack under the tree a tin cup was shining. She took it and
crept down into a gulley, where, through the deep layers of dead
leaves, water sparkled in a string of tiny iridescent puddles.
The water, however, was sweet and cold, and, when she had
satisfied her thirst and had dug into the black loam with the
edge of the cup, more water, sparkling and pure, gushed up and
spread out in the miniature basin. She waited for the mud and
leaves to settle, and when the basin was clear she unbound her
hair, loosened her bodice, and slipped it off. When she had
rolled the wide, full sleeves of her chemise to the shoulder she
bathed her face and breas