the
same moment she saw Jack, asleep, huddled into a corner of the
post-chaise, his bloodless, sunken face smeared with the fine red
dust that drifted in from the creaking wheels. Grahame, driving
on the front seat, heard her move.

"Are you better?" he asked, cheerfully.

"Yes, thank you; I am better. Where are we?"

Grahame's face sobered.

"I'll tell you the truth," he said; "I don't know, and I can't
find out. One thing is certain--we've passed the last German
post, that is all I know. We ought to be near the frontier."

He looked back at Jack, smiled again, and lowered his voice:

"It's fortunate we have passed the German lines, because that
last cavalry outpost took all my papers and refused to return
them. I haven't an idea what to do now, except to go on as far as
we can. I wish we could find a village; the horses are not
exhausted, but they need rest."

Lorraine listened, scarcely conscious of what he said. She leaned
over Jack, looking down into his face, brushing the dust from his
brow with her finger-tips, smoothing his hair, with a timid,
hesitating glance at Grahame, who understood and gravely turned
his back.

Jack slept. She nestled down, pressing her soft, cool cheek close
to his; her eyes drooped; her lips parted. So they slept
together, cheek to cheek.

A mist drove across the meadows; from the plains, dotted with
poplars, a damp wind blew in puffs, driving the fog before it
until the blank vapour dulled the faint morning light and the
dawn faded into a colourless twilight. Spectral poplars, rank on
rank, loomed up in the mist, endless rows of them, fading from
sight as the vapours crowded in, appearing again as the fog
thinned in a current of cooler wind.

Grahame, driving slowly, began to nod in the thickening fog. At
moments he roused himself; the horses walked on and the wheels
creaked in the red dust. Hour after hour passed, but it grew no
lighter. Drowsy and listless-eyed the horses toiled up and down
the little hills, and moved stiffly on along the interminable
road, shrouded in a gray fog that hid the very road-side
shrubbery from sight, choked thicket and grove, and blotted the
grimy carriage windows.

Jack was awakened with startling abruptness by Grahame, who shook
his shoulders, leaning into the post-chaise from the driver's
seat.

"There's something in front, Marche," he said. "We've fallen in
with a baggage convoy, I fancy. Listen! Don't you hear the
camp-wagons? Con