ous
waters. And even in his own desperate plight he recalled that their last
words had been words of discord, for he knew now (generous as he was)
that _he_ was to blame for this dreadful end of all their fine
hopes--that Archer had been right--they should have stayed at Melotte's
hovel. Amid the swirl of the waters, as he swam he knew not where, he
remembered how Archer had said he ought to think of his duty to Uncle
Sam and not imperil his chance to help by going after Florette Leteur.

He was sick, utterly sick, and nearer to hopelessness than he had ever
been in his life; but he struck out in a kind of mechanical resignation,
believing that the wind and the trend of the water must bring him to one
shore or the other before he was exhausted. There was no light anywhere,
no clew or beacon of any sort in that wild blackness, and since he
therefore had no reason to oppose his strength to the force of the storm
he swam steadily in the direction in which it carried him. It made no
difference. Nothing mattered now....

After a while the noise of the lashing changed to that lapping sound
which only contact with the land can give, and soon Tom could
distinguish a solid mass outlined in the hollow blackness of the night.
He had no guess whether it was the Baden or the Alsatian shore that he
was approaching nor how far north or south he had been carried. Nor did
he much care.

His foot touched something hard which brought him to the realization
that he must lessen the force of his advance or perhaps have his life
dashed out upon a rocky shore; and presently he was staggering forward,
brushing his hair away from his eyes, wondering where he was, and
scarcely sensible of anything--his head throbbing, his whole body on the
verge of exhaustion.

"It's my fault--anyway--I got to admit it----" he thought, "and--it
serves--me--right."

One firm resolution came to him. Now that Providence had seen fit to
cast him ashore, if he was to be permitted to continue his flight alone,
he would go straight for his goal, the Swiss border, and not be led
astray (that is what he called it, _led astray_) by any other
enterprise. His duty as a soldier, and he thought of himself as a
soldier now, was clear. His business was to help Uncle Sam win the war
and he must leave it to Uncle Sam to put an end to the stealing of young
girls and to restore them to their homes. He saw himself now, as Archer
had depicted him, in the silly role of a "story b