Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/311

 into each side pocket, and after them the loose cartridges, in handfuls.

Then, after another moment’s thought, he crossed the cabin again, and leaned over the open trunk.

"I've got a pocketful of milk tablets here," he explained, "and a pound or two of German army chocolate.”

He swung about and looked at her, with his almost boyish smile.

"And I'm terribly sorry, but it isn't sweetened!" he said. Although there was no answering smile on her face, he thought he saw a ﬂeeting look of gratitude in her eyes, as though she was struggling to thank him for even his foolish and futile efforts at lightheartedness. And while she still gravely looked up at him he slipped his huge wicker-covered brandy-flask into his hip pocket, and once more consulted his watch.

"Our time is up!" he said, with every semblance of levity suddenly fading from his face. It tortured him to see such resigned hopelessness in her quiet eyes, but he knew it was perilous to surrender to his feelings.

"I know it's hard," was all he said, "but it has to be done."

"I understand," she said.

He turned, with his hand on the light-switch.