CHAPTER XXX
A WAY OF ESCAPE
THE light of the moon streamed in through the south windows in a flood of silence, revealing the overturned benches, the moving figures along the walls, the smoke cloud drifting upward to the rafters. The lieutenant, after a brief word to his men in the vestibule, picked his way down the narrow aisle, stopping an instant to question Wharton and O'Hare. With one quick glance through the window, I stepped down from the pulpit platform to meet him. He was bare-headed and coatless, and even in that dim light I could perceive a dark stain, like oozing blood, on the front of his shirt.
"You are wounded?" I exclaimed.
"Nothing to worry over," he replied easily, his eyes laughing, "a mere touch in the shoulder, which, however, has put my left arm out of commission. Ah! fair cousin!" and he held up his hand in sudden greeting. "We who are about to die, salute you."
"Do not say that," she pleaded. "Surely the victory is ours."
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