Her syren call had the desired effect—as well it might. The gentlemen addressed, both of whom were labouring up the slippery slope with bent heads, stopped suddenly, and looked about them. Next moment they were doubling heavily through the long grass in the direction of the road, making signals as they ran. They appeared agitated about something. “Come off that road!” shouted one of them, who was leading by ten yards, to the two female figures in the mist. “_Quittez le chemin! C’est dangereux!_ Beat it for here! _Dépêchez-vous!_ As hard as you—well—I’ll—be—” he swallowed something—“_Frances Lane?_” With a final bound, Boone Cruttenden, with a steel helmet on his head, a gas apparatus slung on his chest, and acute fear in his eyes, landed squarely in the ditch; then scrambled out upon the road. “Why—Boone?” began Frances affably. But, a grasp of iron fastened on her arm just above the elbow, and a badly frightened young man proceeded to propel her, without ceremony, across the ditch and away from the road. “You fetch the other one, Major!” he called over his shoulder. “I shall be charmed,” replied an unmistakable English drawl. “Boone, listen!” protested Miss Lane breathlessly, as she was towed sideways across the hillside. “What are you—?” But her escort merely muttered to himself, as they ran: “Can you beat it? Can you _beat_ it?” Presently, having placed a distance of more than a hundred yards between itself and the road, the panting convoy was permitted to halt. “We will now continue our excursion up the hill,” announced the English Major. “But we will keep off the road, if you ladies don’t object. It is registered from top to bottom, you know.” “Just what does that mean?” enquired Miss Lane, whose natural curiosity was coming back with her breath. “It means,” replied the Major, removing a shining monocle from his right eye and wiping it with a khaki handkerchief, “that the Boche has the range to every yard of it. As he usually searches it with H.E. and shrapnel every few hours, it is healthier to keep on the grass when going up and down this hill. Are we far enough away now, do you think, Cruttenden?” “Ye-es. But it would be better to split into two parties, I should say. Less conspicuous—eh?” The Major readjusted his monocle, and replied solemnly: “By all means. This young lady and I will extend another hundred yards to the left. Cruttenden, considering your tender years, you display a promising acquaintance with tactics. Also diplomacy. So long!” So by force of tactical exigency, Frances Lane and Boone Cruttenden walked up the hillside in the rain together. Major Floyd and Miss Ryker were discernible in the failing daylight, keeping station on the left flank. “Now, tell me!” Boone and Frances began together. Then they stopped. Boone smiled. “Ladies first!” he said. But for once Frances preferred to be a listener. “No, Boone Cruttenden—you!” she said. “Tell me what you are doing here, anyway.”