in the mill with four German officers--a set of foul, drunken brutes who
will stop at no excess. I'm going now to get a rifle. You make quietly
for the stable opposite the kitchen door. You will find Joos there. He
will explain. Tell me, are you for Belgium or Germany in this war?"

The Walloon might be slow-witted, but Dalroy's words seemed to have
pierced his skin.

"For Belgium, monsieur, to the death," he answered.

"So am I. I'm an Englishman. As you go, think what that means."

Leaving Maertz to regain his feet and the stick, Dalroy rushed on up the
hill. The unexpected struggle had cost him but little delay; yet it was
dark, and the miller was nearly frantic with anxiety, when he returned.

"Is Maertz with you?" was his first question.

"Yes, monsieur," came a gruff voice out of the gloom of the stable.

"Do you know now how nearly you blundered?"

"Monsieur, I would have tackled St. Peter to save Leontine."

"Quick!" hissed Joos, "let us kill these hogs! We have no time to spare.
The others will be here soon."

"What others?"

"Jan will tell you later. Come, now. Leave Busch to me!"

"Keep quiet!" ordered Dalroy sternly. "We cannot murder four men in cold
blood. I'll listen over there by the window. You two remain here till I
call you."

But there was no need for eavesdropping. Leontine's voice was raised
shrilly above the loud-clanging talk and laughter of the uninvited
guests. "No, no, my mother must stay!" she was shrieking. "Monsieur, for
God's sake, leave my mother alone! Ah, you are hurting her.--Father!
father!--Oh, what shall we do? Is there no one to help us?"

CHAPTER VI

THE FIGHT IN THE MILL

As Dalroy burst open the door, which was locked, the heartrending
screams of the three women mingled with the vile oaths of their
assailants. He had foreseen that the door would probably be fastened,
and put his whole strength into the determination to force the bolt
without warning. The scene which met his eyes as he rushed into the room
was etched in Rembrandt lights and shadows by a lamp placed in the
centre of the table.

Near a staircase--not that which led to the lofts, but the main stairway
of the domestic part of the dwelling--Madame Joos was struggling in
the grip of the orderly and one of the lieutenants. Another of
these heroes--they all belonged to a Westphalian detachment of the
commissariat--was endeavouring to overpower Irene. His left arm pinned
her left arm to her