"No more! no more!" replied Albert Maurice. "Here is our way." The young citizen now led his companion forward to the armory, which had been collected in the town-house, under his own care. As they went, the liberated prisoner would fain have asked a thousand questions explanatory of the strange tidings he had just received; but the answers of Albert Maurice were brief, and somewhat sharp. Referring him entirely to the papers that he had received, the young citizen strode onward, and saw the Vert Gallant of Hannut equip himself once more in a complete suit of arms. There was a degree of joy in the countenance of the young heir of Hannut as he did so--a sort of new lighting up of that military hope which was the great inspiration of the day--that called a melancholy smile even to the lip of Albert Maurice; and he gazed upon him, as with quick and dexterous hands he clothed his powerful limbs in steel, as an old man on the verge of the tomb might be supposed to regard a youth setting out upon the flowery path of life, full of all those bright aspirations that had passed away from himself for ever. When it was all done; "Your horse," said the young citizen, "stands below; but yet one moment. A pass must be written for yourself and the Archduke. Follow me once more."
In the next chamber were implements for writing; and, with a rapid hand, Albert Maurice traced the necessary order, destined to remove all petty obstacles from the path of his princely rival, signed his name below in a bold, free hand, and gave it to his companion with a proud, but bitter smile.
"There," he said; "take it, and go forth! and may God speed you on your errand! Forgive me if I have sported with your feelings this night, which may be I have done in some degree, but there is a potent demon in my heart just now, that strives hard to crush each noble wish and kindly feeling, ere they can rise. Now, farewell!"
"Farewell! farewell!" replied Hugh of Hannut. "I may, perhaps, want more information than these papers contain. But we shall meet again!"
"Perhaps we may," replied Albert Maurice, as the other turned, and descended the steps. "Perhaps we may," he repeated, as, after a moment's pause, he heard the trampling of horse, announcing that the other had departed--"perhaps we may, in the grave, or, rather, beyond it."
The young President then returned to the chamber in which he had been sitting, and continued for about an hour engaged in writing. When he had concluded, he buried his eyes in his hands for a few moments, and remained plunged in deep thought. Rousing himself, he raised a lamp, and striding across the passages to the room where the corpse of Ganay the druggist lay, he threw open the door, and gazed upon the countenance of the dead man for some time.
Without a word, he then walked back to the chamber where he had been writing; and drawing forth the small silver box which had been given him, poured the white powder that it contained into one of the cups, added a little wine from the tankard, and drank off the mixture. After which he cast himself into a chair, and closed his eyes. For several minutes he remained in the same position, without a muscle of his face being moved; but at length he opened his eyes, looking somewhat fiercely round the chamber.
"This is too much!" he exclaimed aloud. "It has no effect! and I lie here, expecting death without a chance of his approach, while the past haunts me, and there seem voices crying up for judgment upon me, from that accursed square. But I will soon end all!" and starting up, he drew his dagger from the sheath; but as he did so, something in the word judgment appeared to seize upon his imagination. "Judgment!" he said--"judgment! Am I not flying to judgment?" and laying down the dagger on the table, he paused, gazing round with a degree of fearful bewilderment in his eyes, which seemed to show either that his mind was shaken, or that some potent destroyer was mastering the body. "Judgment!" he repeated. "Were it not better to wait till I am summoned, to strive to wipe out the evil, and to bear the sorrows that God has given as a punishment for all that I have done, and left undone? Judgment!--Judgment!" But, as he repeated that awful word, his cheek grew deathly pale; cold drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead, his lips became nearly livid; and the rich curls of his dark hair, as if relaxed by the overpowering weakness that seemed coming over his whole frame, fell wild and floating upon his brow. At first, apparently unconscious of the change that was taking place, he leaned his hand upon the table to steady himself as he stood; but the moment after, two or three sharp shudders passed over his whole frame; and after reeling painfully for an instant, he cast himself back into the chair, exclaiming, in a tone full of despair indeed, "It is too late! it is too late!" and he threw himself to and fro in restless agony. "This is vain!" he cried, at length, opening his eyes. "This is weak, and empty, and cowardly! I that have lived boldly can surely die as I have lived;" and once more resuming the attitude in which he had placed himself at first, he clasped his hand tight over his eyes, as if to exclude a painful sense of the light. In a moment or two, the hand dropped; but his eyes remained closed; and after a time, the exhausted lamps, which had now been burning many hours, went out, and all was darkness!
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The rumour which had given to the heart of Mary of Burgundy the glad hope that Maximilian of Austria was already within her territories, had deceived her; and Hugh of Hannut, on arriving at Brussels, found that his princely companion-in-arms was still far from that city. True to the promise he had given, however--though all his own feelings would have conducted him at once to the forest of Hannut, wherein he had led a life of such adventure and interest, and to the mansion where her he loved now dwelt, and in which his happiest days had been passed--he advanced directly towards Cologne; and not far on the hither side of the Rhine, met the small party which accompanied the son of the Emperor. It were as tedious as an old chronicle to tell the joy of Maximilian at the coming of his friend, or to detail all the efforts that were made by the Duke of Cleves to deter or prevent the Archduke from pursuing his journey towards Ghent. The private information he had received, and the armed force which now accompanied him on his way, rendered all efforts either to alarm or impede him vain; and the rapid progress made by the French arms had so convinced the people of Flanders that a single leader, whose fortunes were linked for ever to that of the princess of Burgundy, was absolutely necessary to give vigour and direction to their efforts, that all attempts to stir them up to oppose the alliance with the Austrian prince would have been fruitless under any circumstances.