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----"
[Illustration: "Springing to her feet and with her blood on
fire"--_p_. 559.]
"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."