“For Belgium, monsieur, to the death,” he answered.
“So am I. I’m an Englishman. As you go, think what that means.”
Leaving Maertz to regain his feet and the stick, Dalroy rushed on up the hill. The unexpected struggle had cost him but little delay; yet it was dark, and the miller was nearly frantic with anxiety, when he returned.
“Is Maertz with you?” was his first question.
“Yes, monsieur,” came a gruff voice out of the gloom of the stable.
“Do you know now how nearly you blundered?”
“Monsieur, I would have tackled St. Peter to save Léontine.”
“Quick!” hissed Joos, “let us kill these hogs! We have no time to spare. The others will be here soon.”
“What others?”
“Jan will tell you later. Come, now. Leave Busch to me!”