Page 175 - A Hero of Liége

Towards midnight the two friends in peasant costume slipped out of the
rear of the fort, and taking the stars as their guide trudged through the fields

and woods and up the hill into the deserted streets of Seraing. The great
iron-foundries were silent; no glare from the furnaces lit the sky.

"Belgium is paying a heavy price," thought Kenneth.

They crossed the silent bridge in the moonlight, crossed the Namur road
and the railway beyond, and had just reached the road leading through

Waremme and Louvain to Brussels when the sound of voices on their right
caused them to shrink back behind a hedge. Peering out they saw a patrol of
some twenty-five Uhlans riding past at a foot pace.

"We shall have to go across the fields," whispered Pariset, when the

horsemen had gone by. "We dare not pass them. This means a general
advance to-morrow. The bosches lose no time."

They struck across the fields to the south of their true course, and plodded
on, more or less at a venture. Turning by and by into a lane, they almost

collided with a cyclist, who, swerving to avoid them, skidded on the wet
track, and fell to the ground. The sinking moon shed just enough light for
them to distinguish a French uniform, and they ran forward to assist the

fallen man, Pariset speaking to him in French.

"Ah! You are French?" said the cyclist, springing to his feet and raising his
bicycle.

"Belgian and English, monsieur," Pariset answered. "You are a scout?"

"Yes; a troop of Chasseurs are a mile or two south. Have you seen anything
of the enemy?"

"A number of Uhlans are riding up the Waremme road."

"How many?"