And now suddenly she had become a part of him, and the glory of it rode overwhelmingly over all other emotions that were struggling in his brain--the glory of the thought that it was she who had come to him in the last moment, who had saved him, and who was now leading him to freedom through the crash of storm.
At the crest of a low knoll between barracks and Kedsty's bungalow she stopped for the first time.

He had there, again, the almost irresistible impulse to reach out in the darkness and take her into his arms, crying out to her of his joy, of a happiness that had come to him greater even than the happiness of freedom.

But he stood, holding her hand, his tongue speechless, and he was looking at her when the lightning revealed her again.

In a rending flash it cut open the night so close that the hiss of it was like the passing of a giant rocket, and involuntarily she shrank against him, and her free hand caught his arm at the instant thunder crashed low over their heads.

His own hand groped out, and in the blackness it touched for an instant her wet face and then her drenched hair.
"Marette," he cried, "where are we going ?" "Down there," came her voice.
Her hand had left his arm, and he sensed that she was pointing, though he could not see.