this moment only just beginning tostir themselves so as to secure a peaceful solution; but, in spiteof this, the darkness and the nightmare grew in intensity. But as toHermann's determination to go to Germany, which made this so terriblyreal, since it was beginning to enter into practical everyday life,he had neither means nor indeed desire to combat it. He saw perfectlyclearly that Hermann must go.
"I don't want to dissuade you," he said, "not only because it would beuseless, but because I am with you. You couldn't do otherwise, Hermann."
"I don't see that I could. Sylvia agrees too."
A terrible conjecture flashed through Michael's mind.
"And she?" he asked.
"She can't leave my mother, of course," said Hermann, "and, after all,I may be on a wild goose chase. But I can't risk being unable to get toGermany, if--if the worst happens."
The ghost of a smile played round his mouth for a moment.
"And I'm not sure that she could leave you, Mike," he added.
Somehow this, though it gave Michael a moment of intensest relief toknow that Sylvia remained, made the shadow grow deeper, accentuated thelines of the storm which had begun to spread over the sky. He beganto see as nightmare no longer, but as stern and possible realities,something of the unutterable woe, the divisions, the heart-breaks whichmenaced.
"Hermann, what do you think will happen?" he said. "It is incredible,unfaceable--"
The gentle patting on his shoulder, that suddenly and poignantlyreminded him of when Sylvia's hand was there, ceased for a moment, andthen was resumed.
"Mike, old boy," said Hermann, "we've got to face the unfaceable, andbelieve that the incredible is possible. I may be all wrong about it,and, as I say, in a few days' time I may come racing back. But, onthe other hand, this may be our last talk together, for I go off thisafternoon. So let's face it."
He paused a moment.
"It may be that before long I shall be fighting for my Fatherland,"he said. "And if there is to be fighting, it may be that Germany willbefore long be fighting England. There I shall be on one side, and,since naturally you will go back into the Guards, you will be fightingon the other. I shall be doing my best to kill Englishmen, whom I love,and they will be doing their best to kill me and those of my blood.There's the horror of it, and it's that we must face. If we met in abayonet charge, Mike, I should have to do my best to run you through,and yet I shouldn't love you one bit the less, and you must know that.Or, if you ran me through, I shall have to die loving you just the sameas before, and hoping you would live happy, for ever and ever, as thestory-books say, with Sylvia."
"Hermann, don't go," said Michael suddenly.
"Mike, you didn't mean that," he said.
Michael looked at him for a moment in silence.
"No, it is unsaid," he replied.
Hermann looked round as the clock on the chimney-piece chimed.
"I must be going," he said, "I needn't say anything to you about Sylvia,because all I could say is in your heart already. Well, we've met inthis jolly world, Mike, and we've been great friends. Neither you nor Icould find a greater friend than we've been to each other. I bless Godfor this last year. It's been the happiest in my life. Now what else isthere? Your music: don't ever be lazy about your music. It's worth whiletaking all the pains you can about it. Lord! do you remember the eveningwhen I first tried your Variations? . . . Let me play the last one now.I want something jubilant. Let's see, how does it go?"
He held his hands, those long, slim-fingered hands, poised for a momentabove the keys, then plunged into the glorious riot of the full chordsand scales, till the room rang with it. The last chord he held for amoment, and then sprang up.
"Ah, that's good," he said. "And now I'm going to say good-bye, and gowithout looking round."
"But might I see you off this afternoon?" asked Michael.
"No, please don't. Station partings are fussy and disagreeable. I wantto say good-bye to you here in your quiet room, just as I shall saygoodbye to Sylvia at home. Ah, Mike, yes, both hands and smiling. MayGod give us other meetings and talks and companionship and years oflove, my best of friends. Good-bye."
Then, as he had said, he walked to the door without looking round, andnext moment it had closed behind him.
Throughout the next week the tension of the situation grew ever greater,strained towards the snapping-point, while the little cloud, the man'shand, which had arisen above the eastern horizon grew and overspread theheavens in a pall that became ever more black and threatening. For a fewdays yet it seemed that perhaps even now the cataclysm might be averted,but gradually, in spite of all the efforts of diplomacy to loosen theknot, it became clear that the ends of the cord were held in hands thatdid not mean to release their hold till it was pulled tight. Serviayielded to such demands as it was possible for her to grant as anindependent State; but the inflexible fingers never abated one jotof their strangling pressure. She appealed to Russia, and Russia'sremonstrance fell on deaf ears, or, rather, on ears that had determinednot to hear. From London and Paris came proposals for conference, forarbitration, with welcome for any suggestion from the other side whichmight lead to a peaceful solution of the disputed demands, alreadyrecognised by Europe as a firebrand wantonly flung into the midstof dangerous and inflammable material. Over that burning firebrand,preventing and warding off all the eager hands that were stretched toput it out, stood the figure of the nation at whose bidding it had beenflung there.
Gradually, out of the thunder-clouds and gathering darkness, vaguely atfirst and then in definite and menacing outline, emerged the inexorable,flint-like face of Germany, whose figure was clad in the shining armourso well known in the flamboyant utterances of her War Lord, which hadbeen treated hitherto as mere irresponsible utterances to be greetedwith a laugh and a shrugged shoulder. Deep and patient she had alwaysbeen, and now she believed that the time had come for her patience todo its perfect work. She had bided long for the time when she couldbest fling that lighted brand into the midst of civilisation, and shebelieved she had calculated well. She cared nothing for Servia nor forher ally. On both her frontiers she was ready, and now on the Eastshe heeded not the remonstrance of Russia, nor her sincere and cordialinvitation to friendly discussion. She but waited for the step that shehad made inevitable, and on the first sign of Russian mobilisation she,with her mobilisation ready to be completed in a few days, peremptorilydemanded that it should cease. On the Western frontier behind theRhine she was ready also; her armies were prepared, cannon fodder inuncountable store of shells and cartridges was prepared, and in endlessbattalions of men, waiting to be discharged in one bull-like rush, tooverrun France, and holding the French armies, shattered and dispersed,with a mere handful of her troops, to hurl the rest at Russia.
The whole campaign was mathematically thought out. In a few months atthe outside France would be lying trampled down and bleeding; Russiawould be overrun; already she would be mistress of Europe, and preparedto attack the only country that stood between her and world-widedominion, whose allies she would already have reduced to impotence.Here she staked on an uncertainty: she could not absolutely tell whatEngland's attitude would be, but she had the strongest reason for hopingthat, distracted by the imminence of civil strife, she would be unableto come to the help of her allies until the allies were past helping.
For a moment only were seen those set stern features mad for war;then, with a snap, Germany shut down her visor and stood with swordunsheathed, waiting for the horror of the stupendous bloodshed whichshe had made inevitable. Her legions gathered on the Eastern frontthreatening war on Russia, and thus pulling France into the spreadingconflagration and into the midst of the flame she stood ready to castthe torn-up fragments of the treaty that bound her to respect theneutrality of Belgium.
All this week, while the flames of the flung fire-brand began to spread,the English public waited, incredulous of the inevitable. Michael, amongthem, found himself unable to believe even then that the bugles werealready sounding, and that the pil
es of shells in their wicker-basketswere being loaded on to the military ammunition trains. But all theordinary interests in life, all the things that busily and contentedlyoccupied his day, one only excepted, had become without savour. A dozentimes in the morning he would sit down to his piano, only to findthat he could not think it worth while to make his hands produce thesemeaningless tinkling sounds, and he would jump up to read the paperover again, or watch for fresh headlines to appear on the boards ofnews-vendors in the street, and send out for any fresh edition. Or hewould walk round to his club and spend an hour reading the tape news andwaiting for fresh slips to be pinned up. But, through all the nightmareof suspense and slowly-dying hope, Sylvia remained real, and after hehad