Dalroy had staked everything on that last despairing call, little dreaming that it would be answered. It was as though an angel had spoken from out of the black portals of death. He was so taken aback, his spirit was so shaken, that for a few seconds he was tongue-tied, and Irene appeared in the moonlit space before he stirred an inch. She came from an unexpected quarter, from the west, or Argenteau, side. "The others said I was a lunatic to return," she explained simply; "but, when I came to my full senses after being aroused from a sound sleep, and told to fly at once because the Germans were on us, I realised that you might have outwitted them again, and would be looking for us in vain. So, here I am!" He ran to her. Now that they were together again he was swift in decision and resolute as ever. "Irene," he said, "you're a dear. Where are our friends? Is there a path? Can you guide me?" "Take my hand," she replied. "We turn by a big tree in the corner. I think Jan Maertz followed me a little way when he saw I was determined to go back." "I suppose I had unconscious faith in you, Irene," he whispered, "and that is why I cried your name. But no more talking now. Rapid, silent movement alone can save us." They had not gone twenty yards beneath the trees when some one hissed, "Visé!" "Liège, you lump!" retorted Dalroy. "Monsieur, I----" "Shut up! Hold mademoiselle's hand, and lead on." He did not ask whither they were going. The path led diagonally to the left, and that was what he wanted--a way to a flank. Maertz, however, soon faltered and stopped in his tracks. "The devil take all woods at night-time!" he growled. "Give me the highroad and a wagon-team, and I'll face anything." "Are you lost?" asked Dalroy. "I suppose so, monsieur. But they can't be far. I told Joos----" "Jan, is that you?" cried Léontine's voice. "_Ah, Dieu merci!_ These infernal trees----" "Silence now!" growled Dalroy imperatively. "Go ahead as quickly as possible." The semblance of a path existed; even so, they stumbled over gnarled roots, collided with tree-trunks which stood directly in the way, and had to fend many a low branch off their faces. They created an appalling noise; but were favoured by the fact that the footpath led to the west, whereas the pursuers must climb the cliff on the east. Léontine, however, led them with the quiet certainty of a country-born girl moving in a familiar environment. She could guess to a yard just where the track was diverted by some huge-limbed elm or far-spreading chestnut, and invariably picked up the right line again, for the excellent reason, no doubt, that the dense undergrowth stood breast high elsewhere at that season of the year. After a walk that seemed 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?"