He glanced back at the shore, where the lights of the camp shone dimly through the mist. "We're going to drift right past the camp," he said; "but they can't see us, and it will make our landing safer if we come out below the troops. It would be rather embarrassing, wouldn't it, if we found a patrol waiting for us on the bank? Now for another swim!" He pushed ahead until he found himself beginning to tire, then stopped and looked around. "There's the bridge!" he said, suddenly. And, sure enough, just ahead, they could see its dim shape spanning the stream. A cold fear gripped Stewart's heart. Suppose they should be swept against one of the abutments! "Take tight hold with both hands," he commanded. "Don't let go, whatever happens!" He swung himself round to the front of the box and tried to pierce the gloom ahead. The center of the stream would be clear, he told himself, and they must be nearly in the center. Then he heard the confused tread of many feet, the current seemed to quicken, and he glanced up to see that they were almost beneath the bridge. Yes, the stream ahead was clear; but what were those lights down along the water? And then he saw that a boat was moored there, and that a squad of men were strengthening the supports with which the engineers had hastily repaired the shattered abutment. With frenzied energy, he pulled the box around so that his companion's head was hidden behind it; then, with only his nose out, he floated silently on. They would not see him, he told himself; they were too busily at work. Even if they did, they could make nothing of this rough shape drifting down the river. Nevertheless, as they swept within the circle of light cast by the flaring torches, Stewart, taking a deep breath, let himself sink below the surface; and not until the blood was singing in his ears did he come up again. They had passed! They were safe! He drew a deep breath. Then he peered around the box. "Are you there? Are you all right?" "Yes," came the soft answer. "Never tell me again that you are not a fighter!" "Compliments are barred until we are safe in Belgium!" he reminded her gayly. "But it's clear sailing now!" He struck out again, pushing diagonally forward toward the bank which he could not see, but which could not be far away. This was not going to prove such a desperate adventure, after all. The worst was over, for, once on land, far below the German troops, they had only to push forward to find themselves among friends. Then his heart stood still as a shrill scream rent the night--a woman's scream of deadly horror--and he jerked his head around to find that his comrade was no longer there. CHAPTER XIV THE LAST DASH Never will Stewart forget the stark horror of that instant; never afterward did he think of it without a shudder. It was one of those instants--fortunately few--which stamp themselves indelibly upon the brain, which penetrate the spirit, which leave a mark not to be effaced.