There were several stoppages on the way; inquiries elicited the information that traffic was congested owing to the movements of troops. Already war made a difference; what would it be in the course of a year?
Alan called late at night. There was no chance of a marriage, he was to leave in the morning. He fretted and fumed at the delay, but Eve dispelled his gloom and he went cheerfully after an affectionate parting. After his departure she sat in a disconsolate mood in the large room, longing for company. She wondered if she ought to make their engagement known. He had said nothing about it; perhaps better not until she heard from him. There was the satisfaction of knowing he loved her, that she was to be his wife. Even this did not dispel the shadows; she tried to convince herself all would be well—only partially succeeding.
As for Alan, in the rush and turmoil of departure he almost forgot the question of an immediate marriage. It could not take place yet, so why trouble about it? Eve was his and he was satisfied. On the whole he considered it perhaps as well they were not married. There was no telling what might happen to him and she would be in a better position if he succumbed to the chances of war. Not that he had any fears on that score; he looked forward to the coming struggle in a very optimistic mood.
CHAPTER XVI
JANE'S LOVE AFFAIR
The battle raged; the German hordes pushed forward; the great retreat began. Paris seemed about to fall and there was anxiety in the Allied forces. Prodigies of valor were chronicled in a few lines of space; the British army, greatly outnumbered, was holding the enemy. The advance was slow, a wonderful retreat, perhaps the most heroic known until almost equaled by the Russians later on.
Then came the news that the enemy was checked, they in turn were driven back when Paris seemed within their grasp. The Germans were held and the situation saved. It was marvelous, and the "little army," under Sir John French was covered in glory. Britain thrilled at the news of her soldiers' bravery. They fought as of old, fought as at Waterloo, at Inkerman, at the Alma, and Balaklava. They had not degenerated, the same spirit animated them; they knew how to die, and how to win. For forty years the Germans had been trained for war, and their masses were held up by men who had known peace for many years.
The Sherwoods had their chance and took it. The Uhlans were no match for them; they were bowled over like ninepins. Men and horses fell in heaps before the terrible charge. Captain Chesney was in the thick of it all. Rash, brave, knowing no danger, he was a typical cavalry officer; and that master of cavalry tactics, Sir John French, heard of his bravery and recognized it. After their first action Alan Chesney was the idol of the Sherwoods. The men followed him into the jaws of death and cheered as he led them on. Nothing could stand before them, their impetuosity overcame all obstacles; they lost many men but gained imperishable renown.
Eve Berkeley read the meager accounts of the fighting and grew impatient, longing for more, wondering why publicity was not given to the doings of the bravest of the brave. Alan's name cropped up once or twice, she gathered from the vague lines that he had done wonders, that his bravery was conspicuous, that his men loved him, and she was proud of him.
Week after week passed and she only had one or two lines from him. There was no time to write long letters, she must wait until he was out of the saddle for an hour or two. She knew how difficult it must be to write, yet longed to hear, and each morning looked for a letter. When it did not come she scanned the papers in fear and trembling. She little knew the narrow escapes he had already experienced, and he came out of terrible frays with hardly a scratch. When horses were shot under him a trooper was always ready with another for him with a "take mine, sir." Alan reveled in the fury of the charge; his whole body thrilled as he galloped down on the Uhlans at headlong speed. This was soldiering indeed; no playing; deadly, grim earnest, a toss-up for life or death. He grieved at the loss of men, but the fewer in number the more they were united and proved irresistible. During the retreat they were here and there and everywhere, scouting, thwarting the enemy, breaking up his plans, a thorn in his side pricking deep. Seldom out of the saddle, he had little time to think of home and Eve Berkeley.