pockets of the pad.

"We ought to be consistent and use our fingers," she said.

When they had finished their meal, which the girl declared was the most
enjoyable one that she had ever had, Dermot made her rest again on the pad
while he cleaned and replaced his plates, cutlery, and cooking vessels.
Then, leaning his back against a tree, he filled and lit his pipe, while
Noreen watched him stealthily and admiringly. In the perfect peace and
silence of the forest encompassing them she felt reluctant to leave the
enchanted spot.

But suddenly the charm was rudely dispelled. A shot rang out close by, and
Dermot's hat was knocked from his head as a bullet passed through it and
pierced the bark of the tree half an inch above his hair. As though the
shot were a signal, fire was opened on the glade from every side, and for a
moment the air seemed full of whistling bullets. The soldier sprang to
Noreen, picked her up like a child in his arms, and ran with her to an
enormously thick _simal_ tree, behind which he placed her. Then he gathered
up the pad and piled it on her exposed side as some slight protection. At
least it hid her from sight.

As he did so the firing redoubled in intensity and bullets whistled and
droned through the glade. One grazed his cheek, searing the flesh as with a
red-hot iron. Another wounded him slightly in the neck, while a third cut
the skin of his thigh. He seemed to bear a charmed life; and the girl
watching him felt her heart stop, as the blood showed on his face and neck.
The flying lead sent leaves fluttering to the ground, cut off twigs, and
struck the tree-trunks with a thud. Flinging himself at full length on the
ground Dermot reached his rifle, then crawled to shelter behind another