aws of war.--Here, you," he added, surveying Dalroy quite amicably,
"be off to your aunt! You'll probably be shot at Oosterzeele; but that's
your affair, not mine."

"You don't know my aunt," said Dalroy. "I'd sooner face a regiment of
soldiers than stand her tongue if I go home without her niece."

If he hoped to placate this swaggering scoundrel by a display of
good-humour he failed lamentably. An ugly glint shone in the man's eyes,
and he handled the carbine again threateningly.

"To hell with you and your aunt!" he snarled. "Perhaps you don't know
it, you Flemish fool, but you're a German now and must obey orders. Cut
after your pal before I count three, or I'll put daylight through you!
One, two----"

Then the hapless Irene committed a second and fatal error, though it was
pardonable in the frenzy of a tragic dilemma, since the next moment
might see her lover ruthlessly murdered. To lump all German soldiers
into one category was a bad mistake; it was far worse to change her
accent from the crude speech of the province of Liege to the
high-sounding periods of Berlin society.

"How dare you threaten unoffending people in this way?" she almost
screamed. "I demand that you send for an officer, and I ask the other
men of your regiment to bear witness we have done nothing whatsoever to
warrant your brutal behaviour."

The hussar stood as though he, and not Dalroy, had been silenced by a
bullet. He listened to the girl's outburst with an expression of blank
amazement, which soon gave place to a sinister smile.

"_Gnaediges Fraeulein_," he answered, springing to "attention," and
affecting a conscience-stricken tone, "I cry your pardon. But is it not
your own fault? Why should such a charming young lady masquerade as a
Belgian peasant?"

On hearing the man speak as a well-educated Berliner, Irene became
deathly white under the tan and grime of so many days and nights of
exposure. She nearly fainted, and might have fallen had not Dalroy
caught her. Even then, when their position was all but hopeless, he made
one last attempt to throw dust in the crafty eyes which were now
piercing both Irene and himself with the baneful glare of a tiger about
to spring.

"My cousin has been a governess in Berlin," he said deferentially. "She
isn't afraid of soldiers as a rule, but you have nearly frightened her
to death."

Their captor still examined them in a way that chilled even the
Englishman's dauntless heart. He was summin