the
wreckage of a roof which, at one side, reached the ground. It was a
forbidding place, seeming on the point of tottering over, although this
very danger might grant it immunity from German searchers.

Making himself as flat as possible he wriggled forward, listened a
moment at the threshold, then crept inside and crawled to the farthest,
darkest corner. The next instant his blood was congealed by a piercing
scream not three feet from his face.

CHAPTER XIV

Out of the darkness, right into his face, this scream came, ending in a
weak, despairing, but above all else heartrending, moan; then everything
grew still. Jeb could have neither moved nor uttered a cry; he had
recoiled in terror, crouching as a part of the fallen masonry that
littered the floor.

Almost at once quick steps resounded through the ruined streets,
scrambling over heaps of wreckage and coming nearer until they passed
with a kind of ruthless determination just outside the tottering wall.
In another moment they had turned an angle and the sentry, silhouetted
against the lighter sky, stood peering through the doorway. He barked
something in German that had an ominous sound, and the nearby voice
began an hysterical whimpering, interspersed with pleading in rapidly
spoken French which Jeb partially understood. At least, he realized a
girl was in this dark place with him, and that she was promising to make
no further outcry. Weak and thin her voice seemed, though rasping in a
kind of frenzy, as she attempted to excuse a former disobedience by
trying to explain how someone had come and frightened her. Luckily for
Jeb the man gruffly interrupted with another flow of German, or his fate
might then and there have been sealed.

"Please--please," the girl moaned, "oh, please don't come in! I won't
cry again!"

He hesitated, as if considering; then growled a threat and turned back.

Waiting until he had quite gone and the last sound of his boots upon the
rubble had died away, Jeb summoned his French and cautiously whispered:

"I'm your friend--don't make a noise!"

A slight movement in the corner first answered him, then a wee voice
asked:

"Is Monsieur English?"

"No, American."

The sound which followed this lingered in his ears long afterward. It
was scarcely a gasp, nor moan, nor groan, but an inarticulate animal
sound expressive of what the body feels when snatched in the nick of
time from destruction. A moment later she had crawled t