They had written the sign-manual of the Hun upon the ashes of Visé in the blood of its massacred inhabitants. Frightfulness, the many-headed hydra, was uncaged and let loose ere they rolled on to Liége peeved by their three hours' intolerable delay. While I who write and you who read far from the sound of fusillades, or the crash of shells or the yells of peasants dying amongst the flames of burning houses, learned of these deeds from the shrilly clamorous headlines, and asked one another with raised eyebrows, in incredulous voices: "Can these hideous things possibly have been done?"
Patrine had no doubt that they had been done!—were being done even while she sat waiting in Sherbrand's church for Sherbrand. Did she not know von Herrnung? Were not his fellow-officers and the soldiers he and they commanded, lustful, brutal, cruel, rapacious, arrogant, and pitiless even as he? He was a Type—not the isolated example of a new species. It would not be easily stamped out; its dominating characteristics would write themselves upon a conquered race. Those outraged wives, those violated daughters of Belgium would live to see it reproduced in the living fruit of their humiliation. What honest man could bear to stoop over his wife's bedside and meet the eyes of the Enemy looking at him—from the face of a new-born child!
A rigor of horror seized upon her body and shook it. Her jaw dropped, her eyes closed as though they shrank and withered under their contracting lids. She slid from her seat and fell upon her knees helplessly. Her head sank forwards upon the hands that rose instinctively to hide her face. In the same instant Sherbrand's low voice speaking behind her turned the heart in her bosom to ice.
"Dearest—I am ready, that is if you are? My keeping you was unavoidable. I am going to Communion with my mother, before the Funeral Mass to-morrow, and I wanted to make my Confession first. Has the time seemed long?"
"Not long. Shall we go now?"
He bent the knee to the High Altar and moved with Patrine down the nave towards an altar dedicated to the Virgin Mother, that was on the south side of the church near the great west door. Wax tapers of several sizes burned in a brass stand beside the tiny altar-rail. Sherbrand lighted three tapers and placed them, felt in his waistcoat-pocket for a bit of silver and balanced it on the slotted top of the money-box too gorged with pennies to admit of the slender sixpenny bit. Then with a beautiful, devotional simplicity he knelt upon the narrow blue golden-starred cushion for a moment, looking up at the gracious veiled head that bent above.
But for the modernity of the tweed clothes, the pose of the athletic, lightly-built body would, with the mellowed light from the great rose window falling on the keen bronzed face and thick fair hair, have suggested a knight at prayer. In a moment he rose. They returned as they had come, passed through the chapter-house of the Sodality, and issued through the door into the garden. She said, as he triumphantly possessed himself of the dear white hand:
"Tell me, when you lighted and placed those three candles and knelt down—what did you intend—what was it for? A practical insurance against a railway-accident?"
The dull, ill-timed gibe was no sooner uttered than she sickened with self-contempt. For Sherbrand answered with direct simplicity:
"Well, no! Call my three candles a reminder that I have asked Our Lady's help and protection and guidance for three dear people. My father, my mother, and my wife that is to be. For myself I asked that I might never disappoint you. You don't know how I shall try to live up to your belief in me!"