Blessed night! It was the kindly veil for all fugitives, and no one ever awaited it with more eagerness than John Scott.
The sun was now well beyond the zenith, and its golden darts came indirectly.

His clothing was thoroughly dry at last, and he put it on again.

Clad anew he was tempted to seek escape at once, but the sound of a footstep caused him to lie down in the shelter of the grass again.
His ear was now against the earth and the footsteps were much more distinct.

He was sure that they were made by a horse, and he believed that a Uhlan was riding near.

He remembered how long and sharp their lances were, and he was grateful that the grass was so thick and tall.
He longed for the automatic revolver that had been such a trusty friend, but the Germans had taken it long since, and he was wholly unarmed.
He was afraid to raise his head high enough to see the horseman, lest he be seen, but the footsteps, as if fate had a grudge against him, were coming nearer.