showering into the smooth water inside, and a boat that lay just off the
shore in a line with the opening scattered into fragments before our
straining eyes.... We lay doubled over our oars, panting and sobbing and
laughing. We had escaped--but as by fire.

A moment for breath, and we slipped over the side, grateful for the cold
bracing of the water on our sweltering skins, struggled through the few
yards to the mouth of the tunnel, and crept through to the road. We lay
there prone till our strength came back, and one full heart, at all
events,--nay, I will believe two,--thanked God fervently for escape from
mighty peril. For no man may look death so closely in the face as that
without being stirred to the depths.

"A close thing!" breathed Le Marchant, as we got onto our feet and found
the solid earth still rolling beneath us.

"God's mercy!" I said, and we sped up the steep Creux Road, among the ferns
and flowers and overhanging trees.

My heart was leaping exultantly. For Carette and my mother and home and
everything lay up the climbing way, and I believed, poor fool, that I had
got the better of a man like Torode of Herm.

At sight of us, one came running down from Les Lâches where he had gone at
sound of the firing, and greeted us with amazement.

"Bon Gyu, Phil Carré! And we thought you dead! And Helier Le Marchant!
Where do you come from? Where have you been all the time?"

"Prisoners of war. We came across from France there. There's à boat in the