According to the agreement with Heideck, Brandelaar, on his return from Dover, was to put in at Flushing, and the Major had instructed the guardships at the mouth of the West Schelde to allow the smack to pass unmolested without detention. But he waited for the skipper from day to day in vain. The weather could not have been the cause of his delay; certainly it had not been too bad for a man of Brandelaar’s daring. A moderate north wind had been blowing nearly the whole time, so that a clever sailor could have easily made the passage from Dover to Flushing in a day.

Consequently, other reasons must have kept him in England. Heideck began to fear that either his knowledge of men, so often tried, had deceived him on this occasion, or that Brandelaar had fallen a victim to some act of imprudence in England.

A whole week having passed since Brandelaar had started, Heideck at least hoped for his return to-day. The north wind had increased towards evening; there was almost a storm, and the blast rattled violently at the windows of the room in the hotel, in which Heideck sat still writing at midnight.

A gentle knock at the door made him look up from his work. Who could have come to see him at this late hour? It was certainly not an orderly from his office, which was open day and night, for soldiers’ fingers as a rule knocked harder.

“Come in!” he said. The door opened slowly, and Heideck saw, in the dimly-lighted corridor, a slender form in a long oilskin cape and a large sailor’s hat, the brim of which was pressed down over the forehead.

A wild idea flashed through Heideck’s mind. He sprang up, and at the same moment the pretended young man tore off his hat and held out his arms with a cry of joy.

“My dear—my beloved friend!”

“Edith!”

At this moment all other thoughts and feelings were forgotten by Heideck in the overpowering joy of seeing her again. He rushed to Edith and drew her to his breast. For a long time they remained silent in a long embrace, looking into each other’s eyes and laughing like merry children.

At last, slowly freeing herself from his arms, Edith said—

“You are not angry with me, then, for coming to you, although you forbade it? You will not send me away from you again?”

Her voice penetrated his ear like sweet, soothing music. What man could have resisted that seductive voice?

“I should like to be angry with you, my dear, but I cannot—Heaven knows I cannot!”

“I could not have lived any longer without you,” whispered the young woman. “I was obliged to see you again, or I should have died of longing.”

“My sweet, my only love! But what is the meaning of this disguise? And how did you manage to cross the Channel?”

“I took the way you showed me. And is my disguise so very displeasing to you?”

She had thrown off the ugly, disfiguring cape and stood before him in a dark blue sailor’s dress. Even in her dress as an Indian rajah he had not thought her more enchanting.

“The only thing that displeases me is that other eyes than mine have been allowed to see you in it. But you still owe me an explanation how you got here?”

“With your messenger of love, your postillon d’amour, who was certainly rather uncouth and awkward for so delicate a mission.”

“What! did you come with Brandelaar?” cried Heideck, in surprise.

“Yes. The moment I received your letter from his clumsy sailor’s fist, my mind was made up. I asked him whether he was returning to Flushing, and when he said yes, I declared he must take me with him, cost what it would. I would have paid him all I possessed, without hesitation, to take me across. But the good fellow did it for much less.”

“You foolish girl!” said Heideck reprovingly. But pride in his beautiful, fearless darling shone brightly from his eyes. “I shall have to take Brandelaar seriously to task for playing so reckless a game. But what made him so long in returning?”

“I believe he had all kinds of private business to see after. And he was not the only one—I had my business too. I did not want to come to you empty-handed, my friend.”

“Empty-handed? I don’t understand.”

“I puzzled my brains how I could please you, and appease your anger at my sudden appearance—that terrible anger, of which I felt so afraid. And as I heard from Brandelaar that it is your duty to discover military secrets—”

“The worthy Brandelaar is a chatterer. It seems as if your beautiful eyes have tempted him to open his whole heart to you.”

“And if it had been the case,” she asked, with a roguish smile, “would you not have every reason to be grateful to him as well as myself? But really—you don’t even know what I have brought for you. Aren’t you the least curious?”

“No military secret, I suppose?”

He spoke jestingly, but she nodded seriously.

“Yes—a great secret. Chance helped me, or I should hardly have got hold of it. There it is! But be sure I shall claim an adequate reward for it.”

She handed him a sealed envelope, which she had kept concealed under her dress. When Heideck, with growing excitement, spread out the paper it contained, he recognised at the first glance the blue stamped paper of the English Admiralty.

No sooner had he read the first lines than he started up in the most violent excitement. His face had become dark red, a deep furrow showed itself between his eyebrows.

“What is this?” he ejaculated. “For God’s sake, Edith, how did you come by this paper?”

“How did I come by it? Oh, that’s quite a secondary consideration. The chief thing is, whether it is of any value to you or not. But aren’t you pleased with it?”

Heideck was still staring like one hypnotised at the paper covered with the regularly formed writing of a practised clerk’s hand.

“Incomprehensible!” he murmured. Then, suddenly looking at Edith almost threateningly, he repeated—

“How did you come by it?”

“You are questioning me like a magistrate. But you may know, for all I care. The brother of the lady with whom I was staying in Dover is private secretary to the Admiralty—a poor fellow, suffering from disease of the lungs, whose one desire was to go to Egypt or Madeira, to get relief from his sufferings. By finding him the means for this I have done an act of philanthrophy. I asked him, in return for a further present of money, to give me the copy of an important document connected with his department.”

She suddenly broke off, and Heideck burst out into a short, sharp laugh which filled her with surprise and alarm.

“An act of philanthrophy!” he repeated in a tone of unspeakable bitterness. “Did you know what this man was selling to you?”

“He said it was the English fleet’s plan of attack, and I thought it would interest you.”

“But surely you must have known how far-reaching would be the consequences of your act? Had you no suspicion that irreparable harm might overtake your country, if this plan came to the knowledge of its enemies?”

His voice quivered with fearful anxiety, but Edith did not seem to understand his excitement.

“I understand you less and less,” she said impatiently. “It can only be one of two things. Either this paper is of importance to you, and then you ought to feel the more grateful to me, the more important it is. Or the secretary has deceived me as to its value. Then it isn’t worth the trouble of saying any more about it.”

“Do you look at it in that light, Edith?” he said, mournfully. “Only in that light? Did you only think of yourself and me, when you bribed an unfortunate wretch to commit the most disgraceful of all crimes?”

“Oh, my dearest, what strong language! I was not prepared for such reproaches. Certainly I was only thinking of you and me, and I am not in the least ashamed to confess it, for there is nothing in the world of more importance for me than our love.”

“And your country, Edith? is that of no account?”

“My country—what is it? A piece of earth with stones, trees, animals, and men who are nothing to me, to whom I owe nothing and am indebted for nothing. Why should I love them more than the inhabitants of any other region, amongst whom there are just as many good and bad people as amongst them? I am an Englishwoman: well, but I am also a Christian. And who would have the right to condemn me, if the commandments of Christianity were more sacred to me than all narrow-minded, national considerations? If the possession of this paper really made you the stronger—if it should bring defeat upon England, instead of the hoped-for victory which would only endlessly prolong the war—what would mankind lose thereby? Perhaps peace would be the sooner concluded, and, justly proud of my act, I would then confess before all the world.”

Heideck had not interrupted her, but she saw that her words had not convinced him. With gloomy countenance he stood before her, breathing hard, like one whose heart is oppressed by a heavy burden.

“Forgive me, but I cannot follow your train of thought,” said he, with a melancholy shake of the head. “There are things which cannot be extenuated however we may try to palliate them.”

“Well, then, if you think what I have done so monstrous, what is there to prevent us from undoing it? Give me back the paper; I will tear it up. Then no one will be injured by my treachery.”

“It is too late for that. Now that I know what this paper contains, my sense of duty as an officer commands me to make use of it. You have involved me in a fearful struggle with myself.”

“Oh, is that your logic? Your sense of honour does not forbid you to reap the fruits of my treachery, but you punish the traitress with the full weight of your contempt.”

He avoided meeting her flaming eyes.

“I did not say I despised you, but—”

“Well, what else do you mean?”

“Once again—I do not despise you, but it terrifies me to find what you are capable of.”

“Is not that the same thing in other words? A man cannot love a woman if he is terrified at her conduct. Tell me straight out that you can no longer love me.”

“It would be a lie if I said so, Edith. You have killed our happiness, but not my love.”

She only heard the last words of his answer, and with brightening eyes flung herself on his breast.

“Then scold me as you like, you martinet! I will put up with anything patiently, if only I know that you still love me, and that you will be mine, all mine, as soon as this terrible war no longer stands between us like a frightful spectre.”

He did not return her caresses, and gently pushed her from him.

“Forgive me, if I must leave you now,” he said in a singularly depressed voice, “but I must be in Antwerp by daybreak.”

“Is it really so urgent? May I not go with you?”

“No, that is impossible, for I shall have to travel on an engine.”

“And when will you return?”

Heideck turned away his face.

“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 passing 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 passion 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 circumstances, 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 passed. 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 God’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.