“I think I’ll see if the lantern is lighted.  Let’s have it a little more cheerful in here,” he said.  There was a sharp exclamation, and two vigorous hands grasped him by the shoulder, jerking him back unceremoniously.

“No!  No!  You will ruin all!  There must be no light,” cried the soldier, his voice high and shrill.

“But we are out of the city.”

“I know!  I know!  But I will not permit you to have a light.  Against orders.  We have not passed the outpost,” expostulated the other, nervously.

“What’s the matter with your voice” demanded Lorry, struck by the change in it.

“My voice?” asked the other, the tones natural again.  “It’s changing.  Didn’t it embarrass you when your voice broke like that?” went on the questioner, breathlessly.  Lorry was now leaning back in the seat, quite a little mystified.

“I don’t believe mine ever broke like that,” he said, speculatively.  There was no response, and he sat silent for some time, regretting more and more that it was so dark.

Gradually he became conscious of a strange, unaccountable presence in that dark cab.  He could feel a change coming over him; he could not tell why, but he was sure that some one else was beside him, some one who was not the soldier.  Something soft and delicate and sweet came into existence, permeating the darkness with its undeniable presence.  A queer power seemed drawing him toward the other end of the seat.  The most delightful sensations took possession of him; his heart fluttered oddly; his head began to reel under the spell.

“Who are you?” he cried, in a sort of ecstacy.  There was no answer.  He remembered his matchsafe, and with trembling, eager fingers drew it from the pocket of the coat he was wearing.  The next instant he was scratching a match, but as it flared the body of his companion was hurled against his and a ruthless mouth blew out the feeble blaze.

“Oh, why do you persist?” was cried in his ears.

“I am determined to see your face,” he answered, sharply, and with a little cry of dismay the other occupant of the carriage fell back in the corner.  The next match drove away the darkness and the mystery.  With blinking eyes he saw the timid soldier huddling in the corner, one arm covering his face, the other hand vainly striving to pull the skirt of a military coat over a pair of red trouser-legs.  Below the arm that hid the eyes and nose he saw parted lips and a beardless, dainty chin; above, long, dark tresses strayed in condemning confusion.  The breast beneath the blue coat heaved convulsively.

The match dropped from his fingers, and, as darkness fell again, it hid the soldier in the strong arms of the fugitive—­not a soldier bold, but a gasping, blushing, unresisting coward.  The lithe form quivered and then became motionless in the fierce, straining embrace; the head dropped upon his shoulder, his hot lips caressing the burning face and pouring wild, incoherent words into the little ears.