"You are not hurt?" Sylvia asked softly, as she stood alone with Bevill and looked up at him through the density of the night-a density that now, however, the swift rising of the moon was dispersing. "Oh! I pray not."
"In no way," Bracton replied. "He plays well, yet his defence is weak in the extreme-and it may be that the darkness was my friend. But, Sylvia," forgetting his courteous deference for the moment, yet observing, as he recalled himself, that either she had not remarked his utterance of her name, or heeded it not, "but I have left him free-free for harm, for evil."
"I think not. It would appear the Comtesse has some hold over him, knows something that may keep him silent; yet, nevertheless-"
"Yes-nevertheless?"
"We-we must go. Escape! I-we," she went on, speaking tremulously, "are not safe. I am afeard."
"Afeard? You? Yet you have told me the French, even though the worst befall, will not hurt a woman."
"I have changed my thoughts. It is-a-woman's privilege to do so. I would put leagues and leagues betwixt myself-betwixt us-and Liége: betwixt us and all this land ravaged by war and contending armies. I-I-cannot bear to remain here longer. In truth, I fear-I am sick with fear."
Remarking Sylvia's strange agitation, an agitation so strangely new-born, so different from the calm indifference and absence of all apprehension which she had testified when first he reached her, Bevill could not but wonder at the change that had come over her. For now she was but in little more danger-if any-than she had been a week past. There were, it is true, the rumours that the Allies were drawing near, that Kaiserswörth had fallen to them, that Nimeguen had either done so too or was about to do so, that Marlborough was hastening to take chief command of all the forces. Yet what mattered this! She, like every other woman in all the land, in every hemmed-in, beleaguered town and city, was safe from personal violence-safe as a child itself.
"And she knew it," he thought, as he gazed at the outlines of Sylvia's face, now plainly visible in the light cast by the moon through the leafy branches of the great tree. "She knew it, and she knows it still. What is it she fears? What fear has come to her?"
Suddenly he asked:
"Is it Francbois you fear?"
For a moment Sylvia did not answer, turning her head away instead, but saying in a whisper a moment later, "Yes."
"And I have let him live-live, when I might have slain him without effort," while adding the next instant, "How can he harm you? No man can force a woman to listen to his plaint, to accede to it. And I-am I not by your side?"
"Ah, yes," she whispered again, while murmuring next through closed lips some words he did not catch-words that almost appeared to sound as though they were the words "Knight" and "Sentinel."
After which, speaking more clearly, Sylvia went on, "Still I would fain depart. Ah! let us go."
"In spite of my protection! Through fear of Francbois?"
"In fear of Francbois-yes," looking straight into his eyes, while adding inwardly, "Fear of him-for you."
"But Liége, the exit from Liége, is forbidden to all except the French, since all others would avail themselves of the opportunity of divulging the disposition of their forces round the city and in the city also. It is impossible to go."
"Yet you are French-are supposed to be French. You have the means wherewith to be De Belleville, the attaché, or Le Blond, the mousquetaire. You can baffle suspicion with your knowledge of their tongue, with your accent."
"Nay; I could not baffle a true Frenchwoman, the Comtesse, whatever I may do with these Netherlanders. Neither could I deceive a mousquetaire, and Francbois knows I am an Englishman. I will not go. I will not expose you-and Madame de Valorme to the danger of travelling with me the few miles necessary, to the danger of endeavouring to pass out of Liége."
As he uttered these words it seemed to him that there came a low, yet swiftly suppressed moan from the girl's lips, and, looking down wonderingly at her while not understanding-for had she not said that, come what might, all women were safe in Liége-he was about to ask her why his determination moved her so much, when the Comtesse and Francbois returned to where they stood.
"Emile will not divulge your nationality," the former said now to Bevill. "He-well, I have persuaded him. Is it not so!" addressing Francbois.
"Monsieur de Belleville may rely on me. He-he-misunderstood my intentions," Francbois replied, holding out his hand to Bevill.
Owing possibly to the darkness, the young man failed, however, to see that hand, whereon, a moment later, its owner allowed it to drop to his side.
CHAPTER XVII
At this time the excitement in Liége among those who were shut up in it and also among the French who lay around it, as well as in the citadel and Chartreuse, had become intense. For the latter knew by despatches from their field-marshals and generals, and the former from those who, in spite of the besiegers' vigilance, still managed to pass in and out of the city-when they were not caught and promptly hanged at one of the gates-that the Allies were more or less triumphant in the engagements that took place with their foes. Athlone had already defeated detachments of the French in several encounters; Kaiserswörth, if not already fallen into our hands, must undoubtedly soon fall; Nimeguen, the frontier town of the United Provinces, was in the same condition, and Venloo was in a very similar one.
Yet all heard-the French with anxiety, and the whole of the inhabitants of Holland and the Netherlands with joy-of something more. The Earl of Marlborough had undoubtedly arrived and after a considerable discussion-in which such various and remarkably diverse personages as the King of Prussia, the Archduke Charles of Austria, the Elector of Hanover, and the Duke of Zell, including, of all persons in Europe, Prince George of Denmark, supported by his wife, Queen Anne, had all aspired to the commandership-in-chief-he had been appointed to that high post.
Marlborough, as the French very well knew-and the knowledge of which they did not disguise-had never yet lost any skirmish, battle, or siege at which he had commanded. His present foes could not know that, during the whole of his long military campaign in the future he was never to lose one solitary skirmish, battle, or siege, and was to stand out amongst the great commanders of all time as the single instance of a soldier who had never experienced defeat.
The fact of this general's presence near Liége, since now he was marching on Kaiserswörth to assist Athlone, was amply sufficient to induce the French to tighten their hold over all places at present under their domination. For their marshals and generals remembered him as colonel of the English regiment in the service of France, as well as what he had done in the Palatinate under Turenne; their King at this time, growing old and timorous, remembered that once again Marlborough had offered his sword to France, had asked for the command of a French regiment-and had been refused. Now Le Roi Soleil remembered that refusal, and recognised that it had raised up against him and his country the most brilliant and powerful enemy France had ever had to contend with.
Consequently, in Liége as elsewhere, no living soul who was not French could quit the city except by cunning or strategy; it was useless to attempt to do so. Also, pickets patrolled the streets day and night, sentries were posted on the walls with orders to shoot any who could not give the password; boats, filled with armed men, patrolled the river, making inspection of all and every craft upon it; watch fires burned around. On the other hand, none were molested nor their houses visited; trade was carried on as far as possible in the city, though only such trade as was necessary for provisioning the inhabitants and supplying such food as was already inside the walls, since nothing could now enter them.
"You see," said Bevill to Sylvia one morning at this period, which was now the middle of June, as they talked over all these things, "how impossible any attempt to leave Liége would be. We could not get as far as one of the gates without being stopped and subjected to rigorous examination."
"If it were not for us," the girl said, looking at him, "you could doubtless do so.
"What!" he exclaimed, looking at her in turn. "What! You suggest that? That I, who came here to enable you to leave this place, should now consult only my own safety and go away again while leaving you behind? Oh!"
"Ah, forgive me, but-but-I do so fear for you. For us there is no actual danger; I am an inhabitant of the city; the Comtesse de Valorme is a Frenchwoman. But you-oh, it is terrible-terrible!"
While, as Sylvia spoke, there came to her mind another thought to which she quickly gave utterance.
"If it is dangerous," she said, "to attempt to leave Liége, is it more so to you than remaining here? Once outside you would, at least, be free from the treachery of Francbois."
"The treachery of Francbois! Do you still fear that?"
"Yes. No matter what hold the Comtesse may have over him-and that she has one is undoubted-if he wishes to betray you he will do so."
"Yet why wish to do so?"
"Ah!" Sylvia exclaimed, and then was suddenly silent, her eyes lowered.
For how could she tell him that which she knew must be the motive of any treacherous act Francbois might perform; how tell him that which, she thought, he should have divined for himself? She could not tell Bevill that Francbois declared him to be his rival, the obstacle to his hopes with her; that he believed that they had met often in England, that they loved one another.
But still she thought he should have understood. Meanwhile, though this divination came not, as yet, to Bevill's mind, there sprang suddenly to it a light, a revelation.
He saw, he understood, that it was his safety she alone considered-not her own.
He recognised the nobility of her character, the self-sacrifice she was ready to make in being willing to quit a place where, if the discomfort was great, her personal security was almost certain, so that by acting thus the one chance of his safety, the one road to it-if any such road existed-was open to him. And in recognising this he also recognised another thing-a thing that he had not dreamt of, not suspected in himself, but that he could no longer doubt possessed him. He understood that, from the first, he had been drawn towards this girl not more by her beauty and stately grace than by her womanly attributes, her lack of thought for herself, her noble self-respect and her personification of honest, upright, English womanhood. This English womanhood, valiant, self-contained, was fearless through consciousness of lacking every attribute that could attract evil towards her; strong because girt with woman's strongest armour-innocence.
And now he knew that, day by day, he had been gradually, though unperceived by himself, learning to love her; he knew that as she had said those words. "I do so fear for you," and not only had said them, but had testified to their truth by the anxiety for his safety that she showed, he was no longer beginning, learning to love her, but had learned to love her.
"What shall I do?" he asked himself as they sat on this summer day in her host's garden. "How act? Now is no time to tell her what has sprung full grown into my heart. Honour bids me be silent, and I must obey. No word, no plea, must come from me until she stands free and unfettered in her, in our, land. I must draw no interest, no credit, from having placed myself here in a position of danger on her behalf, 'specially since the danger is not to her-but to me. That may procure me her esteem and regard; it must not be used as a means whereby to win her love."
Therefore he did not repeat his question as to why Francbois should wish to betray him, but, when he had concluded the above reflections, contented himself with saying:
"I must not, will not, go hence. Since you aver there is no danger to you here, so shall there be none to me. I promised the Earl that I would enable you to quit Liége; seeing there is no need nor call for you to go, I remain also."
"You misunderstand me," she said. "The danger may be small, but the existence is unbearable. I do most earnestly wish to go, to attempt to reach England; yet I know. I feel-it is borne in on me-that if I attempt to do so, to reach the allied forces or the coast in your company, I shall bring harm to you; and-and-oh!" she said, "I could not endure that. But by yourself alone you may pass safely. Oh, go, go, go!"
"It is impossible. No more can I pass out alone than with you and the Comtesse."
"What is to be done?" Sylvia almost wailed.
"We can stay here. Here, where I am in no danger-"
"Not from Francbois!" she exclaimed, recalling again to her mind that which Bevill had undoubtedly not dreamt of-the fear that Francbois deemed him his rival and would stop at nothing to remove him from his path. "Not here," she went on, "where any stranger who enters the 'Gouden Leeuw' may chance to recognise you."
"It is improbable; yet, even so, I can leave that hostel."
"But where can you go? Here you would be welcome in the garb of one who was of much assistance to Madame de Valorme, as one who is my friend, my would-be protector; yet-there is Francbois to contend with. While, if you choose another inn, the danger would be as great as at the 'Gouden Leeuw.'"
As Sylvia uttered these words she saw by Bevill's face that some fresh idea had sprung to his mind, that he was thinking deeply.
"What is it?" she asked. "What?"
For a moment he did not reply, but sat with his eyes fixed on hers, then suddenly he asked: "You have said that I can escape alone; and I know, I feel as sure as you yourself, that together we cannot escape. But what if-"
"Yes, yes," she whispered, stirred to excitement at his words.
"What if I should go alone, and you and the Comtesse go together, we meeting outside the French lines?"
"Ah, yes. That way! Yes, yes! What more? Tell me. Oh, tell me!"
Still speaking slowly, deliberately, so that she understood that he was thinking deeply as he spoke, that he was weighing carefully each word as it fell from his lips, he said:
"Your house is now deserted. There is no servitor there?"
"None," she answered, "excepting only the gardener, the old man you saw. He dwells in a little cottage some distance behind. What is your plan?"
"This. It may be best that I withdraw from the 'Gouden Leeuw.' I-I can leave it at dusk, as though with the intention of passing out of the city. The people of the house deem me a Frenchman, and therefore hate me. They will not regard my departure as strange; while, if it were well to confide in them, they would not betray me. It was so with the landlord at Antwerp who, in truth, saved me. It might be-would be so here, if needed. The French are their oppressors; they look to the English to save them from the French."
"And afterwards?" Sylvia asked almost breathlessly. "Afterwards?"
"I should not leave the city-then; but if, instead, I might find shelter in your house for some night or so-"
"Yet how will you live with none to minister to your wants? How support your horse?"
"I must confide in the gardener. He, like the rest here, is heart and soul for us, for the English. As for what remains to do, there shall be no light in the house at night, and I will lie close and snug all day. Thus Francbois will be deluded into the thought that I am gone. If he has hoped to gain aught by my presence here, he will soon learn that he has missed the mark."
"And for us-for Radegonde and myself? What shall we do? She is a Frenchwoman, armed with all passes necessary; but I am an Englishwoman, although resident in Liége. It may be they would not harm me here, even if the worst comes to the worst-if the Allies besiege the town, if the French are all driven into it; yet, since I am English, neither will they let me go forth, fearing what information I might convey outside."
Again reflecting for a moment, while still his eyes rested on the soft, clear beauty of the girl whom now he knew he loved, though, in truth, he was not at this moment thinking more of that beauty than of how he might contrive that he and she should escape together out of this city, he was silent. Then he said:
"The Comtesse is free to go or stay as pleases her. They will not prevent her from doing either. Yet her domestics remain; they cannot go. If she is persistent in reaching Marlborough or Athlone, she cannot travel accompanied by that company. She is in the heart of war, she will be surrounded by troops of all denominations. If she goes, she must go unaccompanied or almost unaccompanied."
"She is very resolute. She will go. If only to throw herself at the feet of our great generalissimo and plead for succour for those in the South."
"Accompanied by one maid, or companion, or attendant, she would pass unnoticed; while I, dressed in more sober clothes than these I wear, might pass as follower-as a humble servant from the South. Thus should I risk less chance of detection from any tone or trick of voice."
"Ah!" Sylvia exclaimed, again stirred to excitement as Bevill unfolded his ideas. "But the attendant, the companion?"
"Why, yes, the attendant," he replied. "And would you disdain to play that part? Could you bring yourself for a few days, one day or two at most, to sink yourself and your dignity-"
"Ah, ah!" the girl exclaimed, springing to her feet and with her blood on fire-quicksilver-now at the scheme his suggestions unfolded before her, at the prospect of safety-for him, above all for him! – that they opened up. "My dignity! Ah, it shall be done! At once! Yet, no," she went on; "not at once. It cannot yet be done; there are precautions to be taken."
"What precautions?"
"That you should have safe entry to my house; also, be safe in it. And yet," she added regretfully, "you will be so solitary and alone."
"It will not matter, so long as I find the means for our escape; yet what other precautions are needed?"
"Above all, that of your safety, since 'tis you alone who stand in danger; yet, still, some other precautions too. The Comtesse's following are all bestowed at the 'Kroon,' there being no place for them here. They must be warned to hold their peace until the Comtesse returns, as she may do-alone. And, further, there is that firebrand, Francbois. He cannot have the dust thrown in his eyes in one day. He must not know that, as you are gone, so, too, are we; or that we are going too. For that would arouse his suspicions once more, and suspicion with him would lead to deadly action. Also I must see old Karl, and bid him leave open a door in the Weiss Haus and in the stable too, and-and provide sustenance for you. Our knight," she added softly, "must not die for want of nourishment."
"You think of all-of all others but yourself," Bevill murmured.
"Ah, no! I think only that he who risks his life for me should have that life cared for by me." After which, since perhaps she did not desire that this portion of the subject should be pursued, she continued: "When do you purpose putting your plan in action? When will you commence seeking shelter in what will be but a dark, gloomy refuge?"
"At once-the sooner the better. If Karl can be warned by you to-day, then I will go to-night. If danger threatens from Francbois, it will not grow less by being given time to grow and thrive."
At this Sylvia was herself silent for a moment, as though wrapt in meditation. Then slowly she said:
"It may be best-very well it may. Francbois is away from home to-day; he sleeps sometimes at the Jesuit College-"
"The Jesuit College? Is he a Jesuit?"
"He may be, so far as a layman can be one, if that is possible. But I do not know. At least, he is greatly their friend, and is, Madame de Valorme thinks or knows, used by them for their purposes. It is in this that she has some hold over him which may keep him silent. The French do not love them."
"And he is away from this portion of the city to-night?"
"Yes."
"So be it. To-night is the night of nights for me. If I can enter the Weiss Haus after dark, I will do so. I do but wait your word."