‘All that is best in Germany,’ said he.  ’But for God’s sake ride forwards, for I have risked my life and exposed my good name in order to carry you this warning.’

Well, if I had been heavy with thought before, you can think how I felt after my strange talk with the man among the fagots.  What came home to me even more than his words was his shivering, broken voice, his twitching face, and his eyes glancing swiftly to right and left, and opening in horror whenever a branch cracked upon a tree.  It was clear that he was in the last extremity of terror, and it is possible that he had cause, for shortly after I had left him I heard a distant gunshot and a shouting from somewhere behind me.  It may have been some sportsman halloaing to his dogs, but I never again heard of or saw the man who had given me my warning.

I kept a good look-out after this, riding swiftly where the country was open, and slowly where there might be an ambuscade.  It was serious for me, since 500 good miles of German soil lay in front of me; but somehow I did not take it very much to heart, for the Germans had always seemed to me to be a kindly, gentle people, whose hands closed more readily round a pipe-stem than a sword-hilt—­not out of want of valour, you understand, but because they are genial, open souls, who would rather be on good terms with all men.  I did not know then that beneath that homely surface there lurks a devilry as fierce as, and far more persistent than, that of the Castilian or the Italian.

And it was not long before I had shown to me that there was something more serious abroad than rough words and hard looks.  I had come to a spot where the road runs upwards through a wild tract of heath-land and vanishes into an oak wood.  I may have been half-way up the hill when, looking forward, I saw something gleaming under the shadow of the tree-trunks, and a man came out with a coat which was so slashed and spangled with gold that he blazed like a fire in the sunlight.  He appeared to be very drunk, for he reeled and staggered as he came towards me.  One of his hands was held up to his ear and clutched a great red handkerchief, which was fixed to his neck.

I had reined up the mare and was looking at him with some disgust, for it seemed strange to me that one who wore so gorgeous a uniform should show himself in such a state in broad daylight.  For his part, he looked hard in my direction and came slowly onwards, stopping from time to time and swaying about as he gazed at me.  Suddenly, as I again advanced, he screamed out his thanks to Christ, and, lurching forwards, he fell with a crash upon the dusty road.  His hands flew forward with the fall, and I saw that what I had taken for a red cloth was a monstrous wound, which had left a great gap in his neck, from which a dark blood-clot hung, like an epaulette upon his shoulder.

‘My God!’ I cried, as I sprang to his aid.  ’And I thought that you were drunk!’