An Infamous Army

Chapter Eighteen

By eight o'clock in the morning the last of the regiments had marched out of Brussels. A little later the Duke followed, accompanied by his staff, and a profound silence descended on the city. Judith had fallen asleep some hours before, with the sound of the trumpets and the tread of many feet in her ears. When she awoke the morning was considerably advanced. Her first feeling was of surprise to find everything quiet, for the shouting and the drumming and the bugle-calls had seemed to run through her dreams. She got up, and looked out between the blinds upon a sun-baked street. A cat curled on the steps of a house opposite was the only living thing in sight. No uniforms swaggered down the street, no ladies in muslins and chip hats floated along to pay their morning calls or to promenade in the Park.

She dressed, and went down to the salon on the first floor. Worth had gone out, but he came in presently with the newspapers. It was being reported in the cafes that the Duke had ridden out in high spirits, saying that Blucher would most likely have settled the business himself by that time and that he would probably be back in Brussels for dinner. The general opinion seemed to be that no action would be fought that day. It was thought that the bulk of the British troops could not be brought up in time. Judith did not know whether to be glad or sorry; the suspense would be as hard to bear as the sound of cannon, she thought.

"Quite a number of people are leaving for Antwerp." Worth observed. "Lady Fitzroy has gone, and I met D. Lancey just before he went off to join the Army, who told me that he had prevailed upon that poor young wife of his to go, too." He paused, but she made no comment. He smiled. "Well, Judith?"

"You would not wish to go if I were not here."

"Very true, but that can hardly be said to have a bearing on the case."

"I don't want to run away, if you think it would not be wrong in me to stay. I hope you don't mean to talk to me of defeat, for I won't listen if you do."

"Like you, I'm of a sanguine disposition. But young Julian's nurse beat us both in that respect. She has taken him out into the Park for an airing, and the only emotion roused in her breast by all the racket that went on during the night was a strong indignation at having a child's rest disturbed."

"Ah, she is a phlegmatic Scot! I have no fear of her losing her head."

They were interrupted by the butler's coming into the room with the announcement that Lady Barbara Childe was below and wished to speak to the Earl.

Judith was astounded. She had not thought that after their encounter on the previous night Lady Barbara would dare to accost her again, let alone call at her residence. She looked at Worth, but he merely raised his eyebrows, and said: "Well, I am at home, and perfectly ready to receive visitors. I don't understand why they are left in the hall. Beg her ladyship to come up."

"Yes, my lord," said the butler, his bosom swelling at the reproof. "I should have done so in the first place . But that her ladyship desired me to carry the message."

He withdrew, stately and outraged. The door had scarcely shut behind him when Judith's feelings got the better of her. She exclaimed: "I wish you had sent her about her business! I do not see why I should be obliged to receive her in my house! And that you should be willing to do so gives me a very poor opinion of your loyalty to Charles!"

"I cannot think that Charles would thank me for turning Lady Barbara away from my door," he replied.

There was no time for more; the butler opened the door and announced Barbara; and she came into the room with her long, mannish stride.

Judith rose, but before she had time to speak she was forestalled.

"I didn't mean to force myself into your presence," Barbara said. "I am sorry. My business is with your husband." She paused, and a wintry, rueful smile flashed across her face. "Oh, the devil! My curst tongue again! Don't look so stiff: I have not come to wreck your marriage." This was said with a good deal of bitterness. She forced herself to speak more lightly, and added, looking in her clear way at Worth: "I couldn't, could I? You at least have never succumbed to my famous charms."

"No, never," he replied imperturbably. "Will you not sit down?"

"No; I do not mean to stay above a minute. The case is that I am in the devil of a quandary over my horses. Would you be so obliging as to house them for me in your stables? There is the pair I drive in my phaeton, and my mare as well."

"Willingly," he said. "But - forgive me - why?"

"My brother and his wife are leaving Brussels this morning. They are gone by this time, I daresay. The house in the Rue Ducale is given up. My own groom is not to be trusted alone, and I do not care to stable the horses at the hotel. They tell me there is already such a demand for horses to carry people to Antwerp that by nightfall it will be a case of stealing what can't be hired."

"Lord and Lady Vidal gone!" Judith exclaimed, surprised into breaking her silence.

"Oh yes!" Barbara replied indifferently. "Gussie has been in one of her confounded takings ever since the news was brought in last night, and Vidal is very little better."

"But you do not mean to remain here alone, surely?"

"Why not?"

"It is not fit!"

"Ah, you doubt the propriety of it! I don't care for that." Her mouth quivered, but she controlled it. Judith noticed that she had twisted the end of her scarf tightly between her fingers and was gripping it so hard that her gloves seemed in danger of splitting. "Both my brothers are engaged in this war," she said. "And Charles."

"I had not supposed that Charles's fate was any longer a concern of yours," Judith said.

"I am aware of that. But it is my concern, nevertheless." She stared at Judith with haunted eyes. "Perhaps I may never see him again. But if he comes back I shall be here." She drew a sobbing breath, and continued in a hard voice: "That, however, is my affair. Lord Worth, you are very obliging. My groom shall bring the horses round during the course of the day. Goodbye!" She held out her hand, but drew it back, flushing a little. "Oh - ! You would rather not shake hands with me, I daresay!"

"I have not the least objection to shaking hands with you," he replied, "But I should be grateful to you if you could contrive to stop being foolish. Now sit down and try to believe that your differences with my brother leave me supremely indifferent."

She smiled faintly, and after a brief hesitation sat down in the chair by the table. "Well, what now?" she asked.

"Are you staying with friends? May I have your direction?"

"I am at the Hotel de Belle Vue."

"Indeed! Alone?"

"Yes, alone, if you discount my maid."

"It will not do," he said. "If you mean to remain in Brussels you must stay here."

She looked at him rather blankly. "You must be mad!"

"I am quite sane, I assure you. It can never be thought desirable for a young and unprotected female to be staying in a public hotel. In a foreign capital, and in such unsettled times as these, it would be the height of folly."

She gave a short laugh. "My dear man, you forget that I am not an inexperienced miss just out the schoolroom! I am a widow, and if it comet to folly, why, I make a practice of behaving foolishly!"

"Just so, but that is no reason why you should not mend your ways."

She got up. "This is to no purpose. It is unthinkable that I should stay in your house. You are extremely kind, but -"

"Not at all," he interrupted. "I am merely protecting myself from the very just anger I am persuaded my brother would feel were he to find you putting up at a hotel when he returns to Brussels."

She said unsteadily: "Please - ! We will not speak of Charles. You don't wish me to make a fool of myself, imagine."

He did not answer; he was looking at Judith. She was obliged to recognise the propriety of his invitation. She did not like it, but good breeding compelled her to say, "My husband is right. I will have a room prepared at once, Lady Barbara. I hope you will not find it very disagreeable: we shall do our best to make your stay comfortable."

"Thank you. It is not I who would find such a visit disagreeable. You dislike me cordially: I do not blame you. I dislike myself."

Judith coloured, and replied in a cool voice: "I have not always done so. There have been times when I have liked you very well."

"You hated me for what I did to Charles."

"Yes."

"O God, if I could undo - if I could have it back, all this past month! It is useless! I behaved like the devil I am. That wretched quarrel! The very knowledge that I was in the wrong drove me to worse conduct! I have never been answerable to anyone for my misdeeds: there is a fiendish quality in me that revolts at the veriest hint of - but how should you understand? It is not worthy of being understood!"

She covered her face with her hands. Worth walked across the room to the door, and went out.

Judith said in a kinder tone: "I do understand in part. I was not always so docile as you think me. But Charles! There is such a sweetness of temper, such nobility of mind -"

"Stop!" Barbara cried fiercely. "Do you think I don't know it?" I knew it when he first came up to me, and I looked into his eyes, and loved him. I knew myself to be unworthy! The only thing I did that I am not ashamed of now was to try not to let him persuade me into becoming engaged to him. That impulse was the noblest I have ever felt. Though I knew I should not, I yielded. I wanted him, and all my life I have taken what I wanted, without thought or compunction!" She gave a wild laugh. "You despise me, but you should also pity me, for I have enough heart to wish I had more."

"I do pity you," Judith said, considerably move "But having yielded -"

"Yes! Having yielded, why could I not submit? I do not know, unless it be that from the day I marrie Jasper Childe I swore I would never do so, never allow myself to be possessed, or governed, or even guide: Don't misunderstand me! I am not trying to find excuses for myself. The fault lies deeper: it is in my curst nature!"

"I have sometimes thought," Judith said, after a short pause, "that the circumstances of your engagement made it particularly trying for you. In this little town we are obliged to live in a crowded circle from which there can be no escape. One's every action is remarked, and discussed. It is as though your engagement to Charley; was acted upon a stage, in all the glare of footlights, for the amusement of your acquaintances."

"Oh, if you but knew!" Barbara exclaimed. "You do,in part, realise the evils of my situation but you cannot know what a demon was roused in me by finding myself the object of every form of cheap wit on the one hand, and of benign approval upon the other! It was said that I had met my match, that I was tamed at last, that I should soon settle down to a life of humdrum propriety! You would have had the strength to disregard such nonsense: I had not. When I was with Charles it did not signify. Every annoyance ,was forgotten in his presence; even my damnable restlessness left me. But he was busy; he could not be always at my side; and when he was away from me I was bored. If he had married me when I begged him to! But no! It would not have answered. There must still have been temptation."

"Yes, I am very sensible of that. You are so much admired: it must have been hard indeed to give up your -" She hesitated.

"My flirtations," said Barbara, with a melancholy smile. "It was hard. You know that I did not give them up. When I look back upon the past month it is with loathing, believe me! It was as though I was swept into a whirlpool! I could not be still."

"Oh, do no speak of it! I myself have been conscious of what you describe. There has been no time for reflection, no time for anything but pleasure! It was as though we were all a little mad. But I believe Charles understood how it was. He said once to me that the life we were leading was ruinous. It was very true! I do not deny that your wildness made him anxious; indeed, I have blamed you bitterly for it. But all that was nothing!"

"You are thinking of my having made your brother fall in love with me. It was very bad of me."

"The provocation was severe. I honoured you for coming up to Harriet so handsomely that day. There can be no excuse for her behaviour. It vexed me when you made him go to you at the Richmond's party, but I'd not blame you entirely. But afterwards! How could you have let it go on? Forgive me! I did not mean to advert to this subject. It is over, and should be forgotten. I do not know what passed between you and Charles."

"Everything of the most damnable on my part." Barbara said.

"I daresay you might lose your temper. But your conduct since that night! You left nothing undone that could hurt him."

"Nothing!" Barbara said. "Nothing that could drive him mad enough to come back to me! I would not go to him: he was to come to me - upon my own terms.Folly! He would not do it, nor did I wish him to. The news that war had broken out brought me to my senses. There was no room then for pride. Even if his affections had been turned in another direction - but could not believe it could be so, for mine were unaltered! He turned from me in the ballroom, but thought I saw, in his eyes, a look -"

Her voice was suspended; she struggled to regain her composure, and after a moment continued: "I tried to find him. Nothing signified but that I should see him before he went away. But he had gone. Perhaps I shall never see him again."

She ended in a tone of such dejection that Judith was impelled to say, with more cheerfulness than she felt "We shall not think of that, if you please! Recollect that his employment on the Duke's staff is to his advantage. He will not be in the line. Why, how absurd this is! He has survived too many engagements for us to have the least reason to suppose that he will not survive this one. Indeed, all the Duke's aides-de-camp have been with him for a long time now. Depend upon it, they will come riding back in the best of health and spirits . Meanwhile, I do earnestly beg of you to remain with us!"

"Thank you. I will do so, and try not to disgrace you. You won't be plagued with me too much, I hope. I shall be busy. Indeed, I ought not to be here now. I have promised to go to Madame de Ribaucourt's. She has made herself responsible for the preparation for the wounded, and needs help."

"Oh, that is the very thing!" Judith cried. "To be able to be of use! Stay till I fetch my bonnet and gloves! I would like, of all things, to go along with you."

A few minutes later they left the house together, and set out on foot for their destination. They met few acquaintances on the way; streets which the day before had been full of officers and ladies were now only lined with the tilt-carts designed for the transport of the wounded, and with baggage-wagons, in perfect order, ready to move off at a moment's notice. Flemish drivers were dozing in the carts; a few sentinels were posted to guard the wagons. The Place Royale, strangely quiet after the confusion of the night, had been cleared of all the litter of equipment. There were more wagons and carts there, with a little crowd of citizens standing about, silently staring at them. Horses were picketed in the Park, but a fair number of people were strolling about there, much as usual, except for the gravity of their countenances and the lowered tones of their voices.

At the Comtesse de Ribaucourt's all was bustle and business. Many of Judith's friends were there, scraping lint and preparing cherry-water.

The feeling of being able to do something which would be of use in this crisis did much to relieve the oppression of everyone's spirits. Dr Brugmans, the Inspector-General of Health, came in at noon for a few moments, and told of the tents to be erected at the Namur and Louvain Gates for the accommodation of the wounded. Various equipments were needed for them, in particular blankets and pillows. Judith willingly undertook the responsibility of procuring all that could be had from her numerous acquaintances in the town, and lost no time in setting out on a house-to-house visitation.

The hours sped by; she was astonished on returning to Madame Ribaucourt's to find that is was already three o'clock; she was conscious neither of fatigue nor of hunger. She sat down at a table to transcribe the list of equipments she had cajoled from her friends, but was arrested in the middle of this task by a sound that made her look up quickly. her pen held in mid-air.

All conversation was stopped short; every head way raised. The sound was heard again, a dull rumble far away in the distance.

Someone said in an urgent voice: "Listen!" Lady Barbara walked over to the window, and stood there her head a little bent, as though to hear more plainly.

The sound was repeated. "It's the guns!" Lady Georgiana Lennox, dropping the lint she was holding.

"No, no, it's only thunder! Everyone says there can be no action until tomorrow!"

"It is the guns," said Barbara. She came away from the window, and quite coolly resumed her work of scraping lint.

The distant cannonading had been heard by others besides themselves. All over the town the greatest consternation was felt. People came running out of their houses to stand listening in the street; crowds flocked to the ramparts; and a number of men set out on horseback in the direction of Waterloo to try to get news.

They brought back such conflicting accounts that it was soon seen that very little dependence could be placed on what they said. They had seen nothing; their only information came from peasants encountered on the road; all that was certain was that an action was being fought somewhere to the south of Brussels.

When Judith and Barbara reached home at five o'clock the cannonading was still audible. Everyone they met was asking the same questions: were the Allied troops separately engaged? Had they joined the Prussians? Where was the action being fought? Could the cavalry have reached the spot? Could the outlying divisions have come up? There could be no answer to such questions; none, in fact, was expected.

Worth was at home when the ladies came in. He had seen Barbara's trunks brought round from the Hotel de Belle Vue, and had installed her frightened maid in the house. He had driven out, afterwards, a little way down the Charleroi road, but, like everyone else, had been unable to procure any intelligence. The baggage wagons lined the chaussee for miles, he said, but none of the men in charge of them knew more than himself.

They sat down to dinner presently in the same state of anxious expectation. The sound of the guns seemed every moment to be growing more distinct. Judith found it impossible not to speculate upon the chance of defeat. The thought of her child, sleeping in his cot above stairs, made her dread the more acute. She should have sent him to England with Peregrine's children; her selfishness had made her keep them in Brussels; she had exposed him to a terrible danger.

She managed to check such useless reflections, and to join with an assumption of ease in the conversation Worth and Barbara were maintaining.

Some time after dinner, when the two ladies were seated alone in the salon, Worth having gone out to see whether any news had been received from the Army, a knock sounded on the front door, and in a few minutes they were astonished by the butler's announcing Colonel Canning.

Only one visitor could have been more welcome. Judith almost sprang out of her chair, and started forward to meet him. "Colonel Canning! Oh, how glad I am to see you!"

He shook her warmly by the hand. "I have only dropped in a for a few moments to tell you that Charley was well when I saw him last. I have been on a mission: to the French King, at Alost, and am on my way back now to Quatre-Bras."

"Quatre-Bras! Is that where the action is being fought? Oh, stay just for a few minutes! We have been without news the whole day, and the suspense is dreadful. Sit down: I will ring for the tea tray to be brought in directly. But have you dined?"

"Yes, yes, thank you! I dined at Greathed's, in the Park. Seeing me pass by his house, he very kindly called to me to come up and join him. Creevey was there too. I can't tell you much, you know. I was sent off just before 5.00, so I don't know how it has been going. However, by the time I left the Brunswickers and the Nassau contingent had arrived, and Van Merlen's Light Cavalry besides, so you may be sure everything is doing famously."

Barbara said, with a smile: "Confound you, Colonel, you begin at the end! Let us have the start, if you please!"

"By God!" he said seriously, "we have had an escape! You won't blab it about the town, but the fact is Boney took us by surprise, and if Ney had pushed on last night, or even this morning, there's no saying what might not have happened. Prince Bernhard had only a battalion of Nassauers and one horse battery at Quatre-Bras." He gave a chuckle. "We can guess why Ney didn't, of course. The French know the trick the Duke has of concealing the better part of his troops from sight. No doubt Ney was afraid he'd come up against the whole Army, and dared not risk an attack without more infantry. But God knows why he delayed so long today! They say the French weren't even under arms at ten o'clock this morning. We arrived at half-past to find Orange there with two of his division and nothing of a force in front of him. Charles arrived from Ath a little while after - still in his ball dress! He had no time to waste changing it last night, so there he is, in all his splendour. However, he is not the only one. Where was I?"

"You had arrived at Quatre-Bras to find no very startling force opposing you."

"Oh yes! Well, so it was. The Duke inspected the position, saw that Ney was making no move, and rode over with Gordon and Muffling to confer with old Blucher, at Ligny."

"We have not joined the Prussians, then?"

"Oh lord, no! They're seven miles to the east of us. and pretty badly placed, too. I don't know how it has gone with them: they've been engaged all day against Boney himself, but we've had no news. It appears that General Bourmont deserted to Blucher with all his staff yesterday morning, but the old man would have nothing to do with him! I haven't heard of any other desertions. As for the Prussians today, Gordon told me Blucher had his men exposed on the slope of the hill. and that the Duke told Hardinge pretty bluntly that he thought they would be damnably mauled. I daresay they have been. Gneisenau was anxious for the Duke to move to his support, which, I understand from Gordon, he said he would do, if he were not attacked himself. But we were attacked, and there was no question of going to help the Prussians. By the time the Duke got back to our position, somewhere between two and three in the afternoon, the French were in force in a wood in front of us. They started shouting Vive I'Empereur! and then we heard Ney go down the line, calling out: 'L'Empereur recompensera celui's'avancera!' We've heard that before, and we knew we were in for it. I can tell you, it was a nice situation to be in, with only a handful of Dutch-Belgic troops to hold the position, and no sign of old Picton with the reserve."

"But how is it possible?" Judith exclaimed. "We saw the regiments march out of Brussels in the small hours!"

"There was some muddle over the orders: they were halted at Waterloo, and only reached Quatre-Bras at about half past three. By God, we were glad to see them! The French opened the attack on a farm on the main road. I should think Ney had about fifteen or sixteen thousand men opposed to our seven thousand - but that's a guess. The fields are so deep in rye you can't make out the exact positions of anyone, friend or foe. In some places it's above one's head - or it was, till it got trampled down."

He paused, for the tea tray was just then brought in. Judith handed him a cup, and he gulped some of the tea down. "Thank you. Well, the Dutch were driven out of Bossu Wood, and there was a general advance of the French. I needn't tell you the Duke remained as cool as a cucumber throughout. There never was such a man! He was always in the hottest part of the fight - no one knows better than he how to put heart into the men! They may not worship him, as they say the French worship Boney, but by God, they trust him!"

Judith smiled. "I know how much you value him Colonel. But go on!"

"Well, we couldn't hold the position against such odds, of course. Things were beginning to look devilish black, but Picton came up in the nick of time, which pretty well doubled our strength. But even so it was a ticklish business. The Highland Brigade were cut to pieces, poor devils, but they didn't yield an inch. However, as I told you the Brunswickers came up from Nivelles, then the Nassauers, and Van Merlen's cavalry That was when I left." He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, swallowed the rest of his tea, and jumped up. "I must get back. You'll be hearing more news, I daresay: someone is sure to be sent in. Goodbye - don't be alarmed! All's well, you know."

He hurried away, and not long after he had gone the noise of the firing, which had sounded closer in the stillness of the evening grew more desultory, and by ten o'clock had ceased. Worth came in, saying that the population of Brussels was still wandering about the ramparts and the Park. Great anxiety was being felt on all sides to know the result of the action. No news had as yet come in; some stout-hearted persons were maintaining that the Allies must have held their ground; others, in a state of growing uneasiness, were preparing to remove instantly to Antwerp.

The ladies gave him an account of Canning's visit , recalling as well as they were able his description of the battlefield. Worth listened intently, exclaiming when Barbara spoke of the arrival of the Brunswick and Nassau contingent: "Then none of our cavalry are engaged!"

"No. Colonel Canning mentioned only General Picton's division."

He looked serious, and said briefly: "It is an ill-managed business!"

"The Colonel said the French had taken us by surprise."

"It may well have been so. From what De Lancey told me this morning, it is plain that Wellington, as late as then, was expecting the attack to be directed on his right. Do you say the Prussians have also been engaged?"

"Yes, at Ligny, but he could not tell us how the day had gone with them. He said Napoleon himself was opposed to them."

"I would not give a penny for their chances of success!" he said. "The question will be, can Wellington maintain his communications with Blucher? It is plain Bonaparte has struck this blow in the endeavour to get between our forces. By God, it should be a lesson to those who have been saying he had lost his old genius! It is masterly! The rapidity of his march from Paris, his strategy in launching the attack at our point of junction with Blucher - it is something quite in his old style: one cannot but admire him! If he can succeed in defeating the Prussians, and Ney in carrying our position, it will be a serious business." He observed Judith's pallor, and dropped his hand on her shoulder, saying more quietly: "There is no need for alarm. If the day has gone against us we are bound to hear of it in time for me to drive you and the boy to safety. I have given orders in the stables: you need be under no apprehension."

Barbara, who had walked over to the window, turned, and said in her lively way: "Confound you, are you one of the croakers? I'll tell you what: I have a very good mind to put my horses up for sale, and so burn my boats!"

"I admire your spirit," he said, with a slight smile.

"You need not," she replied. "I have merely a shocking love of excitement. Consider! In spite of all my adventures I was never till now in danger of falling into the hands of the French. It is something quite out of the common way, and therefore enchanting!"

Judith was obliged to smile at her nonsense, but said protestingly: "How can you talk so?"

"The devil! How else should I talk? You know, if the French should come I fancy we shall make a hit with them. There is no denying that we are a handsome pair. Neither of us, I am persuaded, need look lower than a Marshal at the very least."

Such raillery, though it might bring a blush to Judith's cheeks, had the effect of relieving the oppression of her spirits. Nothing more was said of the chances of defeat, and presently Worth went out again to see if any further news had arrived from Quatre-Bras.

He came back a little after eleven, and found that Judith and Barbara were still up. "I called at Creevey's," he said. "Hamilton had been in during the evening on an errand for General Barnes, and of course dropped in on Creevey, to see Miss Ord. The result was still uncertain when he left the field, but Creevey got the impression from him that it was going in our favour. Charles was safe when he left the field: he saw him trying to rally the Belgians, who had had enough, just as he came away. Hamilton reports them as having done well at the start, but they won't stand like our own men. The worst, so far, is that the Duke of Brunswick has fallen. He was killed by a ball passing through his hand to his heart. Hamilton did not mention many of the casualties. The Highlanders have suffered most. Fassiefern and Macara have both fallen; young Hay has gone, too; but I heard of no one else whom we know."

"Hay!" Barbara lifted her hand to shade her eyes for a moment. "That boy! Ah, how wanton, how damnable! But go on! If Hay was present, Maitland's brigade must have come up. Could you get no news of Harry?"

"No; Creevey was positive Hamilton mentioned only Hay, and one other, whose name I forget."

Judith said: "Depend upon it, he would have told Mr Creevey had your brother been killed."

"He might not know. But never mind that! What else could you discover, Lord Worth? Shall we hold our ground?"

"I see no reason why we should not. It appears that reinforcements have been arriving ever since five o'clock. The most serious part of the business is that we have no cavalry there worth mentioning. The infantry has done magnificently, however: Hamilton told Creevey that nothing could equal their endurance. Only their steadiness under the onslaughts of Kellermann's cuirassiers saved the day for us at one point. The Belgian and Brunswick cavalry were scattered; our whole position was completely turned, and might have been carried but for the Highlanders - I think he said the 92nd, but I might mistake. The Duke directed them in person, charging them not to fire until he gave the word. They obeyed him implicitly, though he allowed the cuirassiers to come within thirty paces before giving the order for a volley. The attack was completely repulsed, Kellermann drawing off in a good deal of disorder. Hamilton seems to have been full of enthusiasm for the Duke's coolness. It appears he has been everywhere at once, exposing himself in the most reckless fashion."

"Surely he should not do so."

"So I think, but you will not get his officers to agree. Even those who dislike him will tell you that the sight of his long nose among them does more to steady the troops than the arrival of a division to support them. He seems to bear a charmed life. What do you think of his being nearly taken by a party of Lancers when the Brunswick Hussars broke under the musketry-fire? He was forced to gallop for his life, made for a ditch lined by the Gordon Highlanders, sang out to them to lie still, and cleared the fence, bayonets and all!"

They remained for some time discussing the news, but the clock striking midnight soon recalled them to a sense of the lateness of the hour. All sound of firing had died away at ten o'clock; nothing had been heard of since; and they could not but believe that if a defeat had been suffered news of it must have reached them.

Judith and Barbara went up to their rooms, but they had scarcely begun to undress when the noise of heavy carriages rumbling over the cobbles reached their ears. Nothing could be seen from the windows but people running out of doors to find out what was going on. Shouts and cries seemed to come from all parts of the town; and Judith, pausing only to fling a wrap round her shoulders, hurried to find Worth. He had not yet come upstairs, and called to her from the ground-floor to do nothing until he had discovered what was happening. He went out; Barbara joined Judith in the salon, and they sat in a state of apprehension that made it impossible for either to utter anything but a few occasional, disjointed sentences.

They were soon roused from this condition by the necessity of calming the servants, some of whom were hysterical with fright. Barbara went out into the hall among them, and very soon restored order. While Judith occupied herself with reassuring those whose alarm had had the effect of bereaving them of all power of speech or of action, she dealt in a more drastic manner with the rest, swearing at the butler, and emptying jugs of water over any fille de chambre unwise enough to fall into a fit of hysterics.

By the time Worth returned, the household was quiet, and Barbara had gone back into the salon with Judith, who had temporarily forgotten her own fears in amusement at her guest's ruthless methods.

Worth brought reassuring tidings. The noise they had heard had been caused by a long train of artillery, passing through the town on its way to the battlefield.

The panic had arisen from a false notion having got about that the train was in retreat. People had rushed out of their houses in every stage of undress; a rumour that the French were coming had spread like wildfire; and the greatest confusion reigned until it became evident, even to the most foolish in the crowd, that the artillery was moving, not away from the field of action but towards it.

"Is that all?" exclaimed Barbara. "Well, if there is no immediate need for us to become heroines we may as well go to bed. I, at any rate, shall do so."

"Oh," said Judith, with a little show of playfulness, "you need not think that I shall be behind you in sangfroid: you have put me quite on my mettle!"

Goodnights were exchanged; both ladies retired again to their rooms, each with a much better opinion of the other than she had had at the beginning of what, in retrospect, seemed to have been the longest day of her life.