The garrison waved their caps and cheered. A nation whose stricken soldiers showed such a spirit could never be quelled, thought Kenneth. The Germans laughed and withdrew. In half an hour the bombardment recommenced, this time from two directions. The men in their galleries listened helplessly to the destruction of their world. Darkness fell, and except for an occasional shot the bombardment ceased. The commandant sent for Pariset. "It is useless," he said wearily. "Their shells will pierce the galleries to-morrow. One of my men has already had his hand blown off; others are seriously wounded. To-night I shall flood the magazines and break all the rifles and guns; in the morning I must surrender. But you and your friend are not of my garrison: there is work for you outside; why should you be carried prisoners to Germany? Slip out in the darkness. There are no infantry around the fort. I can provide you with civilian dress. It will be dangerous to attempt to get into Liége. Make for Seraing, cross the river there, and slip between the Flemalle and Hollogne forts towards Brussels. And tell General Wonters that we held out until resistance was hopeless." 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?" "Twenty-five or so." "Are they riding fast?" "No; at a walking pace."