"I pray God," the Comtesse said, then whispered again to the wounded man, "André, I will not leave Liége until I see you restored. You shall be removed to Van Ryck's house. I alone will nurse you back to recovery."
But De Violaine, understanding her words, murmured:
"As well leave me. What matters now my life or death!"
The impatience of La Rose grew greater as still the rider whom the wayward creature had loved to carry on her back, the rider for whom she had pined and fretted during their long separation, did not come. Yet soon, though she did not know it, that impatience would be at an end. Inside the old Dutch house the last partings were being made; the two who were going forth from it, never perhaps to cross its threshold again, were bidding farewell to those left behind. Even now Bevill was standing by the couch on which De Violaine lay through the long days, while from his lips fell the last words that he supposed he would ever utter to him whose prisoner he had been, to him who had been so humane a custodian.
"I pray," he was saying now, "that your recovery may be swift and assured; I pray that between your land and mine peace may exist at last. Above all, I pray that we may never meet as opposing soldiers; that, where'er the tide of war shall roll, it shall not bring us face to face. But, as friends--ah, yes! For, Monsieur de Violaine, be my life long or short as best it pleases God, I shall ever hold dear the memory of him who, when he had me in his hand, treated me neither as spy nor foreign foe, but with a gentleness such as a noble heart alone could prompt."
"Farewell. Heaven bless you!" De Violaine said. "You should be very happy. I, too, will pray for that happiness. And, should we ever meet again it shall be as brothers, an' you will. For brothers we are in our faith and in our calling. Farewell."
And now all were parted with, excepting only one--Radegonde. Madame Van Ryck could not leave her bed, so Bevill and Sylvia had gone in to her. There remained no more than the parting with that true friend and the last handshake with Van Ryck, himself true to the core.
"Ah how can I leave you!" Sylvia sobbed, as now the two women were locked in each other's arms. "You--you whom I have always loved; you without whom I could have done nought for him. Oh! Radegonde, shall we never meet again?"
"God He knows," the other answered reverently. "I pray so. Ah, Sylvia! Sweet Sylvia."
But at last they forced themselves apart; at last Bevill stood face to face with her who, from almost the first moment they met at Louvain, had been staunch and firm to him--face to face for the last time, Sylvia standing back by the door open to the great porch. Then, ere he could find his voice, which, indeed, it seemed to him was impossible, he heard her saying even as her hand held his: