h army's initial scheme, had served to alter this shrewd
man's opinion completely. His confidence was gone, his nerve shaken. The
pressure of the jack-boot was heavy upon him. Dalroy was certain that
he walked away with a furtive haste, being in mortal fear lest the
people he had helped so greatly might put forth some additional request
which he dared not grant.

Next morning they left the priory grounds separately, and strolled into
the town, keeping some fifty yards apart. It was only after a struggle
that Jan Maertz relinquished the notion of trying to see Leontine before
going from Huy, but the others convinced him that he might imperil both
the girl and their benefactors. As matters stood, her greatest danger
must have nearly vanished by this time; it would be a lamentable thing
if her lover were arrested, and it became known that he had visited the
villa.

They crossed the river on pontoons. The Germans were already rebuilding
the stone bridge. They seemed to have men to spare for everything. That
the bridge was being actually rebuilt, and not made practicable by
timber-work only, impressed Dalroy more forcibly than any other fact
gleaned during his Odyssey in a Belgium under German rule. There was no
thought of relinquishing the occupied territory, no hint of doubt that
it might be wrested from their clutch in the near future. He noticed
that the post-office, the railway station, the parcels vans, even the
street names, were Germanised. He learnt subsequently that the schools
had been taken over by German teachers, while the mere sound of French
in a shop or public place was scowled at if not absolutely forbidden.

There were not many troops on the roads, but crowded troop-trains passed
on both sides of the Meuse, and ever in the same direction. Two long
hospital trains came from the south-west, and Dalroy knew what _that_
meant. Another long train of closed wagons, heavily laden, as a panting
engine testified, perplexed him, however. He spoke of it to Maertz, the
three being on the road in company as they climbed the hill to Heron,
and the carter promptly sought information from a farmer.

The man eyed them carefully. "Where are you from?" he demanded in true
Flemish.

"What has that to do with it?" grinned Maertz, in the same _patois_.

The questioner was satisfied. He jerked a thumb toward the French
frontier. "Dead uns!" he said. "They're killing Germans like flies down
yonder. They can't bury them--hav