"There are no guards down here?"

"No."

"Nor at the stables?"

"I cannot tell; I was afraid to ask."

The arbor ended some thirty feet from the stables, with a low,
vine-covered fence between. There have been darker nights, yet I could
distinguish merely the dim outlines. Still feeling her clasp on my arm I
came to a halt, startled into absolute silence by the approach of the
relief guard. The sturdy tramp of feet, and the slight tinkle of
bayonets against canteens, told plainly the fellows had turned our way,
although, crouched where we were, we could at first see nothing. I drew
my revolver, my other hand clasping hers, and waited breathlessly. The
little squad came trudging down the opposite side of the fence, only the
upper part of their bodies dimly visible against the slightly lighter
background of the sky. I made out the officer in command, and four men,
then they wheeled into the shadow of the stables, and the sentinel
stationed there challenged. There was a reply, the sound of a musket
brought sharply to the shoulder, a gruff, indistinguishable order, and
then again the tramp of feet, dying away in the distance. Every
movement, and word, told the story, revealed the situation. I turned my
eyes back to the girl's face, questioningly, barely able to perceive its
whiteness.

"They have a guard there," I whispered, my lips close to her ear. "Is
there no other way out?"