"To think that you of all men should sink so hopelessly at our first rebuff!--Trafford, the hero of the revolution, is no better than a craven!" "There is more than one kind of cowardice, Bernhardt," rejoined Trafford without heat; "and I admit I was a coward in the Marienkastel, when the shells dropped and buried men alive under tottering walls. I don't think I was ever afraid before, but then I had never been in action with--with a woman." "But 'perfect love casteth out fear,'" mocked Bernhardt. "Then is my love very far from perfect," came the ready answer. "I was in a very torment of anxiety. A good man groaning out his life with a lump of lead in his breast, and a broken wall across his legs, is bad enough, but she"--and Trafford pointed to Gloria, who was engaged in tending a poor, disfigured wretch who had been moved from the stricken castle--"my God, Bernhardt, I was a coward!" "Women don't feel pain as much as men," said Bernhardt brutally. "Our anxiety on their account is a purely selfish sentiment based on the lowest instincts." "Your theory would be preposterous even if we were animals," replied Trafford. "As applied to humanity it is blasphemy. I fancy your wound hurts you." "Aye, my wound hurts me--not the wound in my arm--I don't feel that--but the wound in my spirit. I am not one to sit down under defeat." "Then what do you propose to do?" "Push on to the Brunvarad!" "And play Meyer's game for him! The road is held with every rifle and quick-firer they can cram into it." "We can get through at a price," said Bernhardt between his teeth. "I don't think we could get through at any price," rejoined Trafford with conviction. "If we go on we are beaten men; if we stay here we may make a draw of it." Bernhardt uttered an exclamation of contempt. "There is no such word in Grimland," he said. "We either win victory or we drain the cup of defeat to its dregs. Are we to return to the good loyal town of Weidenbruck and say, 'We have lost three hundred men and a dozen guns; we have not captured Weissheim, nor taken Karl, but we have made a draw of it? Strew garlands in our path and deck your houses with bunting, for we have escaped total destruction!' "I was not suggesting returning to Weidenbruck," said Trafford. "Can we stay here? What are we to eat? Where are we to sleep? The nights are far from warm at these altitudes. To sleep out of doors at Weissheim; is to sleep the sleep that knows no waking. If we cannot go forward we must fall back on our communications at Wallen. The hospitality of Major Flannel's curling-rink is not one to be accepted permanently." Trafford was silenced. Events had landed them in an _impasse_, and to curse the whole folly of the expedition was alike ignoble and unprofitable.