eemed much longer than it really was--the radius of
the wood from the hut being never more than two hundred yards in any
direction--the others heard her say anxiously, "Are you there, father?"

"Where the deuce do you think I'd be?" came the irritated demand. "Do
you imagine that your mother and I are skipping down these rocks like a
couple of weasels?"

"It is quite safe," said the girl. "I and Marie Lafarge went down only
last Thursday. Jules always goes that way to Argenteau. He has cut steps
in the bad places. Jan and I will lead. We can help mother and you."

Dalroy, still holding Irene's arm, pressed forward.

"Are we near the tow-path?" he asked.

"Oh, is that you, _Monsieur l'Anglais_?" chuckled the miller. "Name of a
pipe, I was positive those _sales Alboches_ had got you twenty minutes
since. Yes, if you trip in the next few yards you'll find yourself on
the tow-path after falling sixty feet."

"Go on, Leontine!" commanded Dalroy. "What you and your friend did for
amusement we can surely do to save our lives. But there should be
moonlight on this side. Have any clouds come up?"

"These are firs in front, monsieur. Once clear of them, we can see."

"Very well. Don't lose another second. Only, before beginning the
descent, make certain that the river bank holds no Germans."

Joos grumbled, but his wife silenced him. That good lady, it appeared,
had given up hope when the struggle broke out in the kitchen. She had
been snatched from the jaws of death by a seeming miracle, and regarded
Dalroy as a very Paladin. She attributed her rescue entirely to him, and
was almost inclined to be sceptical of Joos's sensational story about
the killing of Busch. "There never was such a man for arguing," she
said sharply. "I do believe you'd contradict an archbishop. Do as the
gentleman bids you. He knows best."

Now, seeing that madame herself, after one look, had refused point-blank
to tackle the supposed path, and had even insisted on retreating to the
cover of the wood, Joos was entitled to protest. Being a choleric little
man, he would assuredly have done so fully and freely had not a red
light illumined the tree-tops, while the crackle of a fire was
distinctly audible. The Germans had reached the top of the quarry, and,
in order to dissipate the impenetrable gloom, had converted the hut into
a beacon.

"_Misericorde!_" he muttered. "They are burning our provisions, and may
set the forest ablaze!"

And that is