At the Sign of the Sword Part 19

"No, no," she cried, lifting her lips to his, and kissing him long and fervently. "No. We shall win, Edmond, and you will live. Right and justice are, surely, upon our side, and we shall vanquish this German enemy of civilisation. Brute force can never win in the face of Providence and G.o.d's good-will."

"True, darling. But you must save yourself," he urged. And, hastily, he told her of the attack upon Liege, the retreat to the Meuse, the bombardment of Dinant, and the valiant manner in which the defenders had fought and retaken the citadel.

In those five minutes in which the devoted pair stood together in the dim, flickering light, he held her in his strong embrace. Their affection was a fierce and pa.s.sionate devotion, the fire of a love unquenchable. He repeated in her ear his fervent love for her, and then he added in a hard voice:

"Aimee, if in this terrible fight for life I fall, and we do not meet again, I want you to promise me one thing. Will you, darling?"

"Of course, Edmond. What is it?"

"That you will never consent to marry that man, Arnaud Rigaux--our enemy?"

"I will never marry him, Edmond. I would rather die first?"

"You promise me that?" he asked eagerly.

"I promise you. Before I consent I would rather take my own life. I swear to you that I will never be the wife of Arnaud Rigaux."

"_Bien_! Remember always that he is our mutual enemy--yours and mine,"

he said in a hard, determined tone. Then he again kissed her, rea.s.sured by her fervent promise.

As they stood beneath the lamplight, a sentry pa.s.sed them, his bayonet gleaming beneath the fitful light. But they were both in ignorance that, away in the shadow of a doorway, a man who had just entered the square had withdrawn to watch the affectionate pair--out of curiosity perhaps.

Lovers are always interesting to the curious, yet this man who had hitherto walked very briskly, had suddenly stopped and withdrawn to the shadow, so suddenly indeed, that the heavy-footed sentry had not detected his light steps.

Had Edmond Valentin known that he was being spied upon, then woe-betide the watcher! The Belgians were again in occupation of the town, and any suspicious character was at once arrested as a German spy, of whom there were so many hundreds swarming all over the country.

As it was, the pair stood in utter ignorance of the sharp watchful eyes upon them, and in the silence of the night, continued in low undertones their a.s.surances of affection.

Away across the river--beyond the ruins of the old Chateau of Creve-Coeur--a fierce red light rose until it glared in the night sky, the toll of war paid by the poor defenceless peasantry, to those barbaric hordes of "kultur" who were sweeping across Belgium with rapine, fire, and sword. At no crime or outrage, torture or desecration, were those hirelings of the Master Criminal of Earth now hesitating. The modern Judas, who had stretched out the hand of friendship to Great Britain, to Russia, to France and to Belgium, falsely proclaiming himself the Apostle of Peace, and endeavouring to blind the world to his true intentions, had now revealed himself as the world's bitterest, most dastardly, and most low-down enemy, who was making what he was pleased to term "frightful examples" in an endeavour to terrify and to stagger humanity.

"I fear that you will not be able to telephone to your father, darling,"

Edmond was saying. "Only an hour ago communication was again interrupted. Some Uhlans have cut the wires, I suppose. They do so every day. Your only chance will be to try and get through to Brussels yourself--only it is so far away, now that there is no rail or motors-- sixty miles, or more."

"But what shall I do?" she asked. "What do you advise, Edmond?"

What could he advise? He stood before her, unable to reply.

So engrossed were they in their conversation that they did not notice that, after the sentry had pa.s.sed across the square to the corner of the narrow Rue Grande, up which Aimee had trudged, the dark civilian figure in the doorway had slipped across the Grand Place, and was again engulfed in the shadows.

"You can go no further to-night, dearest," he said. "You know this place--Dinant. Why not go to the Hotel de l'Epee yonder, up the street, and remain there till morning? Then I will get permission to come and see you, and we can decide upon some plan."

"Ah! yes!" she cried. "Uncle Francois! I know the dear old fellow.

His son was in our service as chauffeur two years ago. What an excellent idea! Yes. I will go at once. But without money will he take me in?" she queried with hesitancy.

"Never fear, darling?" he laughed. "The daughter of the Baron de Neuville has unlimited credit in any town in Belgium. But alas?" he added, "I must go, sweetheart, for I have to deliver an immediate message, and obtain a reply. I may be too late if I do not hurry."

"Yes--go, Edmond," she said, just a little reluctantly. "Carry out your duty. I know my way to Uncle Francois' quite well. _Au revoir_!"

"Till to-morrow, my own darling," he said, and holding her again in his strong embrace for a few seconds, he imprinted upon her white, open brow, fond pa.s.sionate caresses in all the ecstasy of their mutual love.

As he held her in his arms, in the dark silent Grand Place, the sharp sound of a bugle broke upon their ears. It was blown from the citadel above.

"The alarm!" gasped her lover breathlessly. "_Dieu_! What can have happened?" In a moment the call was repeated, and echoed across the river, while next second there was the rattle of rifle-shots in the darkness, and from the rock, above where they stood, opened out long white beams of intense light which slowly swept the valley up and down.

Suddenly the quick pom-pom-pom of a Maxim--Edmond's Maxim--broke the quiet, followed by a red flash and a terrific explosion above them.

The Belgians had discovered that the enemy, under cover of darkness, were making another attack upon the town!

"You cannot stay here, darling," Edmond cried, in frantic haste. "Run along to Uncle Francois'. He has big cellars there. Remain below in them until the storm has pa.s.sed. I must get back to my gun." And he kissed her again breathlessly, saying, "Good-bye, darling--till to-morrow."

Once more the heavy guns upon the citadel flashed and roared. No time was now to be lost.

"We are attacked again?" cried Valentin. "Run along to the Epee! You will be safe there. Run quickly!"--and he kissed her in hasty farewell.

Then they parted.

She had only a couple of hundred yards to go to gain the old-fashioned inn. He watched her disappear around the corner, then, as fast as his legs could carry him, he ascended the hill-side to where his men, posted with their machine-gun, were already firing.

By this time, however, the whole town was agog. The alarm signals had aroused everyone. It was, indeed, an awful nightmare. The barbaric enemy were again upon them for a second time!

A German armoured motor-car had suddenly swept down the Rue St Jacques--which ran behind the Rue Grande--and was firing with its machine-gun into the windows of houses without warning or provocation.

Behind it, rode a large body of Uhlans, who at once ran through, with their lances, those of the peaceful inhabitants who opened their doors to ascertain the cause of the firing.

Aimee succeeded in gaining the door of the ancient inn only just in time, knocking frantically, and obtaining admittance, while Uncle Francois, recognising her, was at once eager for information as to what had happened to the Baron. At the moment the girl entered the shelter of the house, bullets were already sweeping up the streets.

Dinant had been attacked suddenly by a force under Lieutenant-Colond Beeger, one of the most arrogant Huns of the Kaiser--a monster, who dealt death upon defenceless women and children, and who had been sent by his superiors to repeat the "frightful examples" of Aerschot and of Vise. The sharp, relentless talons of the Prussian eagle had, alas!

been set into the little place, peaceful, quiet, and unoffending as it had always been throughout the ages.

Within five minutes the town arose from its silence to a pandemonium of noise. Edmond, who had climbed up the four hundred steps leading to the citadel to his machine-gun, saw but little of the Dantean scene below.

His pom-pom was now spitting death down into the Grand Place, but suddenly he slackened the fire in fear lest he might be sending to the grave any of those brave Dinantais, whom he could not distinguish from the enemy in the darkness.

Meanwhile, Aimee stood in the great cellars of the Hotel of the Sword, huddled with a hundred others of all ages and all cla.s.ses, and fearing for her lover in that violent storm which had so suddenly burst upon them.

How would it end? What could the end be?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HELD BY THE ENEMY.

The long, narrow street was being swept by a hail of lead. Once again was Dinant stricken.

The Germans--ordered by the a.s.sa.s.sin who led them--were firing indiscriminately into the houses as they rode along.

A woman sleeping in the top room of the hotel was killed, while, in the next house, a poor little child was mortally wounded, and died in its mother's arms. Those who opened their doors, startled at the commotion, were all ruthlessly shot down. The marauders, more savage than the warriors of the Khalifa, spared n.o.body.

Aimee, seated upon a mouldy wine-barrel in the stuffy cellar amid that crowd of terrified women, listened to the firing, keenly apprehensive of Edmond's fate. That sudden and unexpected meeting now seemed to her like some strange dream.

Hiding there, she knew not the savage, awful acts that were being committed by the Kaiser's a.s.sa.s.sins, acts which were but the prelude of a reign of terror.