"If it pleases me! Parbleu, Polignac, I've drunk nothing but rum since Berk——since the last remittance from my agent was spent. A bottle of sack! Many I've emptied with the Czar of Muscovy, whose head, mark you, is not as strong as mine. Certainly, a bottle of sack—the money, my friend?"

Some two hours later, Aglionby left the inn at which Mr. Berkeley was putting up. His mood and mien were jovial; his rubicund cheeks even more ruddy than usual. He was too old and tough a campaigner, and too well seasoned by his experiences in Russia, to allow himself to be overtaken in liquor; but he was certainly in an unusually buoyant humour, and trod the street with a confident swing. As he passed along, he jingled the money in his pocket, and appeared to take an uncommon pleasure in the sound. His brow was clear, his eye bright, and he held half-audible communion with his thoughts.

"'Tis a hard world, Rafe my boy; odso, 'tis a hard world. 'Tis not often a man gets paid for doing what he would gladly do for nothing. Ay, and 'tis less often he gets paid twice, begad! Rafe, my bully boy, you're in luck. Stap me, we'll break another bottle of sack and drink to your success. Nay, nay; hold a little: business before pleasure. A draft from our Hebrew friend—egad, they're the one good thing I know in Amsterdam; that is easily got; then a letter to the Elector's chamberlain; oons! 'tis more difficult, but to be faced; I'm no scholard, hang it, but I can pay some poor scrivener that is, whether 'tis to be Latin or French; and to be Captain Rafe once more's worth a dollar or two for pen-work. Then for a bottle at the Goudenhoof'd. And to-morrow, my friend Rochester and my excellent coz with the scripture name—to-morrow, by the lord Harry, our final reckoning!"

CHAPTER XVII

In the Dusk

Katrinka—Filial—Fine Feathers—A Practical Joke—Up a Tree—A Trap—In Waiting—The Last Minute—A Bolt from the Blue—Ad Misericordiam—A Theory—With Thanks

Harry had for some time been itching for an opportunity of active service in his new calling. Garrison life, with its drilling and exercising, was all very well, and he had much to learn; but the business of a soldier was to fight, and he was eager to take his share in the campaign, on the issue of which so many important interests depended. His chance came at last, and though the result was too tame for his active spirit, he felt that it was at least a beginning.

At the end of the first week in September his regiment received orders to join a corps forming under General Brulau to begin the investment of Limburg, a little hill-town south-east of Breda. On the 10th the force of twenty-four squadrons encamped before the town, cutting off all access, and occupying the approaches and the lower town without resistance. Some ten days later the Duke of Marlborough arrived with his main force; batteries played night and day on the upper town, and made so wide a breach that orders were given for a grand assault. At this point, however, the French commander, seeing the futility of resistance and the hopelessness of relief from the outside, beat a parley, and in less than twenty-four hours agreed to surrender. On the 28th the garrison of 1400 men laid down their arms and marched out. The duke, having taken possession of the place, announced that the campaign was closed, and the army would at once go into winter quarters. Harry therefore returned to Breda without having drawn his sword, and had to reconcile himself to the thought of a long winter of inaction.

One morning a messenger came to him from Mynheer Grootz, bearing a present of tea and Japanese ware from the merchant to Madame de Vaudrey, part of a cargo from the east which had eluded the French warships and privateers that scoured the narrow seas. Since the incident of Polignac's discomfiture at Lindendaal, Grootz had been assiduous in paying little attentions of this kind to the ladies, and often sought Harry's aid in conveying his presents. Harry was somewhat amused at this amiable side of his former employer's character; Grootz was not on the surface a likely squire of dames. No doubt, Harry thought, he was anxious about the welfare of the ladies in their solitary position, with no master of the house, but only a number of faithful though not too intelligent servants. He was nothing loth to be the medium through whom these gifts reached Madame de Vaudrey, and he found that Fanshawe was always very ready to accompany him on these and other occasions.

It happened that on this day Harry was on duty, and saw no opportunity of getting away until the evening. Having been absent from Breda for nearly three weeks, he was anxious to learn how things were at Lindendaal. The proximity of Polignac always gave him some uneasiness, and though that gentleman's hold on the ladies had been effectually snapped, Harry felt by no means sure that he would accept his rebuffs as final. He therefore sent for Sherebiah, and ordered him to ride over with Mynheer Grootz's parcel. Sherebiah's eagerness to set off amused his master.