Then would come a terrible revulsion of feeling: she would remember that the Prince of Orange was even now in Ghent, with two thousand men who were to be armed by him so that they might fight against their King and threaten the life of the Lieutenant-Governor, the King’s own chosen representative. And she would hate and despise herself for her cowardly irresolution--her very prayer to God appeared like blasphemy--and she wanted to urge the horses forward, she fretted at every delay, for delay might mean the murder of the Duke of Alva, and the standard of rebellion hoisted up in triumph above the Town House of Ghent. Women will understand and pity her--those at least who once in their life have been torn ’twixt duty and sentiment. Lenora was not one of the strong-minded of her sex: she was very young--a mere girl reared in the tranquillity of convent life, and then suddenly thrown into the vortex of political intrigue, of cruel reprisals and bitter revolt; and heart and mind within her fought a terrible battle which threatened to ruin her entire life. But in the meanwhile she was sorely in need of rest. The _tapperij_ was so quiet and the ingle-nook was rendered quite private by a tall screen between it and the rest of the room. The soldier in the corner was snoring with insistent monotony, a big blue-bottle droned against the window, and a pleasing glow and cheerful crackling came from the fire in the hearth. Lenora slept peacefully. CHAPTER X ENEMIES I When she woke, Mark was sitting as he was so fond of doing on a low stool close to the hearth, with one long leg stretched out to the blaze, his elbow resting on his knee, his face overshadowed by his hand. Lenora--even as she first opened her eyes--saw that he was looking at her. A quick blush rose to her cheeks. "Is it time to go?" she asked quickly. "Not yet," he replied. She was a little startled and looked around her, puzzled and anxious. The room had looked so light and cheerful when she had entered it--two large bow windows gave on the Grand’ Place--and the weather had remained clear and bright. But now it seemed so dark, almost as if twilight was fading fast. "What hour is it?" she questioned, and looked about her anxiously for a clock. "I do not know," he replied airily. "But your horse?" "Still at the farrier’s: he was busy and could not shoe her at once." "But I am sure that it must be getting late," she said with a sudden note of anxiety in her voice. "Very late, I am afraid," he said lightly. "Then should we not be starting for Brussels?" "We cannot. I have no horse." "You can hire one, surely?" "Not in this town." "But I must be in Brussels by nightfall," she urged. "I am afraid that this is impossible in any case. The powers that reign supreme in this town would not--if you remember--allow us into it, and now they will not allow us out."