"I don't know. Perhaps I shall be sent on further, so that I shall have no opportunity of saying good-bye to you."

"In other words, you don't mean to see me again? You are silent. You cannot have the heart to deceive me. Must I remind you that you have sworn to belong to me, if you survive this war?"

"If I survive it--yes!"

The tone of his reply struck her like a blow. She had no need to look at him again, to know what was pa.s.sing in his mind. Now for the first time she understood that there was no further hope for her. Heideck had spoken the truth, when he said he still loved her, and the horror which he felt at her conduct did not, according to his conscience, release him from his word. But as he at the same time felt absolutely certain that he could never make a traitress to her country his wife, his idea of the honour of a man and officer drove him to the only course which could extricate him from this fearful conflict of duties.

He had sworn to marry her, if he survived the war. And since he could no more keep his oath than break it, he had at this moment decided to put an end to the struggle by seeking death, which his calling made it so easy for him to find. With the keen insight of a woman in love Edith read his mind like an open book. She knew him so well that she never for a moment cherished the illusion that she could alter his mind by prayers or tears. She knew that this man was ready to sacrifice everything for her--everything save honour. Her mind had never been fuller of humble admiration than at the moment when the knowledge that she had lost him for ever spread a dark veil over all her sunny hopes of the future.

She did not say a word; and when her silence caused him to turn his face again towards her, she saw an expression of unutterable pain in his features, usually so well controlled. Then she also felt the growing power of a great and courageous resolution. Her mind rose from the low level of selfish pa.s.sion to the height of self-sacrificing renunciation.

But it had never been her way to do by halves what she had once determined to carry out. What was to be done admitted no cowardly delay, no tender leave-taking must allow Heideck to guess that a knowledge of his intentions had decided her course of action.

With that heroic self-command of which, perhaps, only a woman is capable in such circ.u.mstances, she forced herself to appear outwardly calm and composed.

"Then I am no longer anxious about our future, my friend," she said after a long silence, smiling painfully. "I will not detain you any longer now; for I know that your duties as a soldier must stand first. I am happy that I have been permitted to see you again. Not to hinder your doing your duty in this serious time of war, I give you your freedom.

Perhaps your love will some day bring you back to me of your own accord.

And now, farewell."

Her sudden resolution and the calmness with which she resigned herself to this second separation must have seemed almost incomprehensible to Heideck after what had pa.s.sed. But her beautiful face betrayed so little of the desperate hopelessness she felt, that, after a brief hesitation, he regarded this singular change in the same light as the numerous other surprises to which her mysterious nature had already treated him. She had spoken with such quiet firmness, that he could no longer look upon her resolution as the suggestion of a perverse or angry whim.

"For G.o.d's sake, Edith, what do you intend to do?"

"I shall try to return to Dover to-morrow. I should only be in your way here."

"In that case, we should not see each other again before you leave?"

"You said yourself that there was little chance of that."

"I am not my own master, and this information--"

"No excuse is necessary; no regard for me should hinder you in the performance of your official duties. Once again then, good-bye, my dear, my beloved friend! May Heaven protect you!"

She flung herself on his breast and kissed him; but only for a few seconds did her soft arm linger round his neck. She did not wish to give way, and yet she felt that she would not be able to control herself much longer. She hurriedly picked up her oilskin cape from the floor and seized her fisherman's hat. Heideck fervently desired to say something affectionate and tender, but his throat seemed choked as it were by an invisible hand; he could only utter, in a voice that sounded cold and dry, the words, "Farewell, my love! farewell!"

When he heard the door close behind her, he started up impetuously, as if he meant to rush after her and call her back. But after the first step he stood still and pressed his clenched left hand upon his violently beating heart. His face, as if turned to stone, wore an expression of inflexible resolution, and the corners of his mouth were marked by two deep, sharp lines, as if within this single hour he had aged ten years.

x.x.x

EDITH'S LAST JOURNEY

Skipper Brandelaar had given Edith the name of the inn near the harbour, where he expected a message from Heideck in the course of the night; for he felt certain that the Major would be anxious to speak to him as soon as possible.

But he was considerably surprised when, instead of the messenger he expected, he saw his beautiful disguised pa.s.senger enter the low, smoke-begrimed taproom. He went to meet Edith with a certain clumsy gallantry, to shield her from the curiosity and importunities of the men seated with him at the table, whose weatherbeaten faces inspired as little confidence as their clothing, which smelt of tar and had suffered badly from wind and weather.

Utterly surprised, he was going to question Edith, but she antic.i.p.ated him.

"I must get back to Dover to-night," she said hurriedly, in a low tone.

"Will you take me across? I will pay you what you ask."

The skipper shook his head slowly, but resolutely.

"Impossible. Even if I could leave again, it couldn't be done in such weather."

"It must be done. The weather is not so bad, and I know you are not the man to be afraid of a storm."

"Afraid--no! Very likely I have weathered a worse storm than this with my smack. But there is a difference between the danger a man has to go through when he cannot escape it, and that to which he foolishly exposes himself. When I am on a journey, then come what pleases G.o.d, but--"

"No more, Brandelaar," interrupted Edith impatiently. "If you cannot, or will not go yourself, surely one of your acquaintances here is brave and smart enough to earn a couple of hundred pounds without any difficulty."

The skipper's little eyes twinkled.

"A couple of hundred pounds? Is it really so important for you to leave Flushing to-day? We have hardly landed!"

"Yes, it is very important. And I have already told you that I don't care how much it costs."

The skipper, who had evidently begun to waver, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"H'm! Anyhow, I couldn't do it myself. I have important information for the Herr major, and he would have a right to blame me, if I went away without even so much as speaking to him. But perhaps--perhaps I might find out a skipper who would take the risk, provided that I got something out of it for myself."

"Of course, of course! I don't want a favour from you for nothing. You shall have fifty pounds the moment I set foot in the boat."

"Good! And two hundred for the skipper and his men? The men are risking their lives, you mustn't forget that. Besides, they will have to manage confoundedly cleverly to get past the German guardships unnoticed."

"Yes, yes! Why waste so much time over this useless bargaining? Here is the money--now get me a boat."

"Go in there," said Brandelaar, pointing to the door of a little dark side room. "I will see whether my friend Van dem Bosch will do it."

Before complying with Brandelaar's suggestion, Edith glanced at the man whom he had indicated with a movement of his head. Externally this robust old sea-dog was certainly not attractive, but his alarming appearance did not make Edith falter in her resolution for a moment.

"Good--talk to your friend, Brandelaar! And mind that I don't have to wait too long for his consent."

The gallant Brandelaar must have found a very effective means of persuasion, for in less than ten minutes he was able to inform Edith that Van dem Bosch was ready to risk the journey on the terms offered.

He said nothing more about the danger of the undertaking, as if he were afraid of frightening the young Englishwoman from her plan, so profitable to himself. From this moment nothing more was said about the matter. It was not far to the place where the cutter lay at anchor, and Edith struggled on bravely between the two men, who silently walked along by her side, in the face of the hurricane from the north, roaring in fitful gusts from the sea. They rowed across to the vessel in a yawl, and when Brandelaar returned to the quay he had his fifty pounds all right in his pocket.

"If the Herr major asks after me, you may tell him the whole truth with confidence," Edith had said to him. "And greet him from me--greet him heartily. Don't forget that, Brandelaar."

The skipper's two men, who had been lying fast asleep below deck in the cutter, were considerably astonished and certainly far from pleased at the idea of the nocturnal pa.s.sage. But a few words from the skipper in a language unintelligible to Edith speedily removed their discontent.

They now readily set to work to set sail and weigh anchor. The skipper's powerful hands grasped the helm; the small, strongly-built vessel tacked a little and then, heeling over, shot out into the darkness.

It pa.s.sed close by the Gefion, and had it by accident been shown up by the electric light which from time to time searched the disturbed surface of the water, the nocturnal trip would in any case have experienced a very disagreeable interruption. But chance favoured the rash undertaking. No signal was made, no shout raised from the guardship, and the lights of Flushing were soon lost in the darkness.