In the ballroom a few determined couples were stilt dancing, but with the departure of the officers the zest had gone from the most carefree young female. Ladies were collecting their wraps, carriages were being called for, and a stream of guests were filing past the Duchess of Richmond, returning thanks and taking leave.

Judith, who had gone upstairs to fetch her cloak, was startled, on her way down again, to encounter Barbara, her train caught over her arm, and in her face an expression of the most painful anxiety. She put out her hand impulsively, grasping Judith's wrist, and said in a strangled voice: "Charles! Where is he?"

"My brother-in-law left the ball before supper," replied Judith.

"0 God!" The hand left Judith's wrist and gripped the banister-rail. "He is in Brussels? Yes, yes, he is still in Brussels! Tell me, confound you, tell me!"

There was a white agony in her face, but Judith was unmoved by it. She said: "He is not in Brussels, nor will he return. I wish you goodnight, Lady Barbara."

She passed on down the stairs to where Worth stood waiting for her. Their carriage was at the door; in another minute they had entered it, and were being driven out of the gates in the direction of the centre of the town.

Judith leaned back in her corner, trying to compose her spirits. Worth took her hand presently, and held it lightly in his own. "What is it, my dear?"

"That woman!" she said in a low voice. "Barbara Childe! She dared to ask me where Charles had gone. I could have struck her in the face for her effrontery! She let Charles go like that - unhappy, all his old gaiety quite vanished!" She found that tears were running down her face, and broke off to wipe them away. "Don't let us speak of it! I am tired, and stupid. I shall be better directly."

He was silent, but continued to hold her hand. After a minute or two she said in a calmer tone: "That noise. It seems to thud in my brain. What is it?"

"The drums beating to war," he replied. "The Reserve is being put into motion at once."

She shuddered. As the carriage drew nearer to the Park, the coachman was obliged to curb his horses to a walk, and sometimes bring them to a complete standstill. There was scarcely a house in Brussels where soldiers were not billeted; the sound of the trumpet and the drums brought them out, knapsacks slung over their shoulders, coats unbuttoned, and shakos crammed on askew. Some had wives running beside them; others had their arms round Belgian sweethearts; one Highlander was carrying a little boy on his shoulder while the child's parents, who had been his hosts walked beside with his knapsack and his musket.

In the great Place Royale a scene of indescribable confusion resigned. The sky was already paling towards dawn, and in the ghostly grey light men, horses. wagons, gun-carriages seemed to be inextricably mixed. Wagons were being loaded, and commissariat trains harnessed; the air was full of a medley of noises: the stamp of hooves on the cobbles, the rumble of wheels, the jingle of harness, the sudden neigh of a horse and the indistinguishable chatter of many voices. An officer called sharply; someone was whistling a popular air; a mounted man rode past; a Colour waved. Soldiers were sitting on the pavement, some sleeping on packs of straw, others checking the contents of their knapsacks.

Judith, who had been leaning forward in the carriage, intent upon the scene, turned suddenly towards Worth.

"Let us get out!"

"Do you care to? You are not too tired?"

"No. I want to see."

He opened the door and stepped down on to the cobbles, and turned to give his hand to her. She stood beside him while he spoke with the coachman, and then took his arm. They made their way slowly across the Place. No one paid any heed to them; occasionally a soldier brushed past them, or they had to draw aside to allow a wagon to go by, or to pick their way through a tangle of ropes, canteens, corn-sacks, bill-hooks, nose-bags, and all the paraphernalia of an army on the move.

They reached the farther side of the Place at length, and stood for some time watching order grow out of the confusion. Regiments were forming one after the other, and marching down the Rue de Namur towards the Namur Gate. The steady tramp of boots made an undercurrent of sound audible through the shrill blare of the trumpets and the ceaseless beat of the drums. Some of the men sang; some whistled; the riflemen began to form up, and a voice from their ranks shouted: 'The first in the field and the last out of it: the bloody, sighting Ninety-fifth!" A roar went up; hundreds of voices chanted the slogan. Indifferent-eyed Flemish women, driving market-carts full of vegetables into Brussels from the neighbouring countryside, stared incuriously; an order rang out; another regiment moved forward.

Once Worth bent over Judith, asking: "Are you not tired? Shall we go home?"

She shook her head.

At four o'clock the sun was shining. In the Park, the pipes were playing Hieland Laddie. The sound of them drew nearer, the tread of feet grew to a rhythmic thunder. The Highland Brigade came marching through the Place in the first rays of the sunlight pipe-majors strutting ahead, ribbons fluttering from the bagpipes, huge fur headdresses nodding, and kilts swinging.

"Were they some of those men who danced for us tonight?" Judith asked, recognising a tartan.

"Yes."

She was silent, watching them pass through the Place and out of sight. When the music of the pipes was faint in the distance, she said, with a sigh: "Let us go home now, Julian. I shall remember this night as long as I live. I think."

Chapter Eighteen

By eight o'clock in the morning the last of the regiments had marched out of Brussels. A little later the Duke followed, accompanied by his staff, and a profound silence descended on the city. Judith had fallen asleep some hours before, with the sound of the trumpets and the tread of many feet in her ears. When she awoke the morning was considerably advanced. Her first feeling was of surprise to find everything quiet, for the shouting and the drumming and the bugle-calls had seemed to run through her dreams. She got up, and looked out between the blinds upon a sun-baked street. A cat curled on the steps of a house opposite was the only living thing in sight. No uniforms swaggered down the street, no ladies in muslins and chip hats floated along to pay their morning calls or to promenade in the Park.

She dressed, and went down to the salon on the first floor. Worth had gone out, but he came in presently with the newspapers. It was being reported in the cafes that the Duke had ridden out in high spirits, saying that Blucher would most likely have settled the business himself by that time and that he would probably be back in Brussels for dinner. The general opinion seemed to be that no action would be fought that day. It was thought that the bulk of the British troops could not be brought up in time. Judith did not know whether to be glad or sorry; the suspense would be as hard to bear as the sound of cannon, she thought.

"Quite a number of people are leaving for Antwerp." Worth observed. "Lady Fitzroy has gone, and I met D. Lancey just before he went off to join the Army, who told me that he had prevailed upon that poor young wife of his to go, too." He paused, but she made no comment. He smiled. "Well, Judith?"

"You would not wish to go if I were not here."

"Very true, but that can hardly be said to have a bearing on the case."

"I don't want to run away, if you think it would not be wrong in me to stay. I hope you don't mean to talk to me of defeat, for I won't listen if you do."

"Like you, I'm of a sanguine disposition. But young Julian's nurse beat us both in that respect. She has taken him out into the Park for an airing, and the only emotion roused in her breast by all the racket that went on during the night was a strong indignation at having a child's rest disturbed."

"Ah, she is a phlegmatic Scot! I have no fear of her losing her head."

They were interrupted by the butler's coming into the room with the announcement that Lady Barbara Childe was below and wished to speak to the Earl.

Judith was astounded. She had not thought that after their encounter on the previous night Lady Barbara would dare to accost her again, let alone call at her residence. She looked at Worth, but he merely raised his eyebrows, and said: "Well, I am at home, and perfectly ready to receive visitors. I don't understand why they are left in the hall. Beg her ladyship to come up."

"Yes, my lord," said the butler, his bosom swelling at the reproof. "I should have done so in the first place . But that her ladyship desired me to carry the message."

He withdrew, stately and outraged. The door had scarcely shut behind him when Judith's feelings got the better of her. She exclaimed: "I wish you had sent her about her business! I do not see why I should be obliged to receive her in my house! And that you should be willing to do so gives me a very poor opinion of your loyalty to Charles!"

"I cannot think that Charles would thank me for turning Lady Barbara away from my door," he replied.

There was no time for more; the butler opened the door and announced Barbara; and she came into the room with her long, mannish stride.

Judith rose, but before she had time to speak she was forestalled.

"I didn't mean to force myself into your presence," Barbara said. "I am sorry. My business is with your husband." She paused, and a wintry, rueful smile flashed across her face. "Oh, the devil! My curst tongue again! Don't look so stiff: I have not come to wreck your marriage." This was said with a good deal of bitterness. She forced herself to speak more lightly, and added, looking in her clear way at Worth: "I couldn't, could I? You at least have never succumbed to my famous charms."

"No, never," he replied imperturbably. "Will you not sit down?"

"No; I do not mean to stay above a minute. The case is that I am in the devil of a quandary over my horses. Would you be so obliging as to house them for me in your stables? There is the pair I drive in my phaeton, and my mare as well."

"Willingly," he said. "But - forgive me - why?"

"My brother and his wife are leaving Brussels this morning. They are gone by this time, I daresay. The house in the Rue Ducale is given up. My own groom is not to be trusted alone, and I do not care to stable the horses at the hotel. They tell me there is already such a demand for horses to carry people to Antwerp that by nightfall it will be a case of stealing what can't be hired."

"Lord and Lady Vidal gone!" Judith exclaimed, surprised into breaking her silence.

"Oh yes!" Barbara replied indifferently. "Gussie has been in one of her confounded takings ever since the news was brought in last night, and Vidal is very little better."

"But you do not mean to remain here alone, surely?"

"Why not?"

"It is not fit!"

"Ah, you doubt the propriety of it! I don't care for that." Her mouth quivered, but she controlled it. Judith noticed that she had twisted the end of her scarf tightly between her fingers and was gripping it so hard that her gloves seemed in danger of splitting. "Both my brothers are engaged in this war," she said. "And Charles."

"I had not supposed that Charles's fate was any longer a concern of yours," Judith said.

"I am aware of that. But it is my concern, nevertheless." She stared at Judith with haunted eyes. "Perhaps I may never see him again. But if he comes back I shall be here." She drew a sobbing breath, and continued in a hard voice: "That, however, is my affair. Lord Worth, you are very obliging. My groom shall bring the horses round during the course of the day. Goodbye!" She held out her hand, but drew it back, flushing a little. "Oh - ! You would rather not shake hands with me, I daresay!"

"I have not the least objection to shaking hands with you," he replied, "But I should be grateful to you if you could contrive to stop being foolish. Now sit down and try to believe that your differences with my brother leave me supremely indifferent."

She smiled faintly, and after a brief hesitation sat down in the chair by the table. "Well, what now?" she asked.

"Are you staying with friends? May I have your direction?"

"I am at the Hotel de Belle Vue."

"Indeed! Alone?"

"Yes, alone, if you discount my maid."

"It will not do," he said. "If you mean to remain in Brussels you must stay here."