Praga was in his customary devil-may-care humor, and in reply to my earnest request for information he laughed and showed his teeth, tossed his head and shrugged his shoulders, and his first answer was a volley of his strangely phrased oaths.
"Safe so far, Prince, but it was a devilish tight place you put us in. That fellow of yours, von Krugen, is true grit, by the devil, a good fellow right through."
"What have you done with the duke? Don't waste words, man," I said, with much impatience.
"Poor little beast!" exclaimed the Corsican, with an ugly laugh. "We had to frighten him till the sweat stood thick on his forehead, his teeth chattered, and his knees knocked together like loose spokes in a rickety wheel. In truth we didn't know what to do with him, and I was half for knocking him on the head to be done with it, but von Krugen wouldn't. Then it occurred to us that we could play at being about to put him to death, and, as von Krugen was in his fancy dress, we let him play the part of his mad Majesty's executioner. We patched up a few lies, sewed them together with threats, and trimmed them with plenty of oaths. Told him the whole plot was discovered, that the madman's agents had found it all out, that my lord the duke was first on the honorable list for having his head chopped off, and that von Krugen had been sent out to give him the happy despatch. It was magnificent," and he laughed loudly at the recollection.
"Well?" I cried, the delay irritating me.
"Your duke's a lily-livered wretch enough when it comes to facing cold steel, and I'm bound to say von Krugen looked devilish ugly and dead set in earnest as, wearing his mask, he drew his sword and gave the little crank five minutes to balance up his ledgers with Heaven. He was in no mood for that sort of work, as we had guessed of course, and instead of putting up a few concentrated prayers of the customary strength he flopped down on his knees and begged us to spare his life, and he grovelled and squirmed and wriggled on his belly and wept till I could have spat on him. Faugh!" and the Corsican's face was a picture of disgust.
"I begin to see," I said.
"Not quite," said my companion, with a laugh. "For the next act was that von Krugen and I quarrelled, and we pretended to wrangle and jangle until I seemed to gain my end, and the little fool thought he owed his life to me. He clung to me and shrank from the 'executioner,' and was altogether in a fit state to promise anything I told him in order to save his skin. I told him it would cost von Krugen his life if it were known that he had not done the work, and that if any one had even a suspicion of who the duke was and who we were all our lives would be sacrificed in a twinkling. By that time he was about wet through with fear, so we told him he must consent to be thought a mad patient of ours whom we, as doctor and attendant, were conveying to an asylum. In this way we took him to Gramberg—not to the castle, but to some place where von Krugen said he would be safe for a time. There he is awaiting your instructions. He's safe enough for a few days, but what after?"
"You have done well and cleverly," I said warmly. "A little fright won't hurt him, and meanwhile matters here have taken a turn which may render it necessary for us to set him free in a few hours," and I told Praga what had happened—except as to the discovery of my imposture—and the tale made a considerable impression on him.
"When that wily old Iscariot says one thing, I always look for another meaning. But you had a master card to play. He must have been mad. And what will you do?"
"If I do not hear from him at once, I shall go on to Landsberg on the chance of my cousin's letter being right, and I will send a messenger to the baron at once."
I was in the act of ringing for a servant when one entered to tell me that Baron Heckscher was waiting to see me.
"He had better not see me," said the Corsican.
"There is no need. I will go to him. Meanwhile get ready to go with me, and communicate with von Krugen to keep the duke where he is until he hears from me."
Then I hurried to the room where Baron Heckscher was waiting.
"I deemed it best to come to you myself," he said on my entrance. "I have been delayed, because I wished to be able to assure you that others are with us in what we propose. Further, there is very important news."
"Stay, if you please," I interposed, "before you tell me any more of your news. Understand, I am not, and will not, be a party to any of your schemes. I have no wish to be in any degree in your confidence."
I guessed that the purport of his news was that some sort of interference from Berlin was threatened, and I had the strongest reasons for keeping clear of any complications whatever in that direction.
"I don't think I quite understand you," he said sharply.
"I mean that up to this point you have been working against the Countess Minna and myself and I against you. So far I have outwitted you, and you are taking the present step of freeing the countess because you can't help yourself, not in any spirit of co-operation with me, but under pressure from me, and because, if you don't do it, you know that your whole plan will be spoiled. We are still opponents, and I decline to be associated with you and your colleagues, and I retain complete freedom of action and entire liberty to explain exactly the circumstances under which this new development has taken place."
"You mean that you have threatened to murder the rightful heir to the Bavarian throne," he said, harshly and angrily.
"That I have taken less shameful steps in regard to one of the heirs than you took in regard to the other. Precisely," I retorted.
"If you will not act with us, there must be an end of things, then."
"Yes, if you mean that I must act with you, I will have no hand in your plot."
"You make needless difficulties."
"On the contrary, I make no difficulties. I refuse only to be drawn into your plot, or to be considered as one of you."
"A sudden development of scruples, under the circumstances," he sneered.
"A proper development of caution I prefer to call it, seeing that I am acting as the only real representative of the Countess Minna, and am dealing with those who have tricked her so abominably."
I spoke with all the warmth I felt.
"You wish to pose as my enemy?"
"I am quite indifferent. I know already the whereabouts of the countess from a source independent of you, and I have taken means to insure her safety."
This was not strictly accurate, but it was indirectly true, for I knew that so long as the Duke Marx remained in my hands Minna was safe enough.
He paused to think.
"Do you mean you wish to break away from the arrangement we made this morning?"
"Not so far as the renunciation of the throne is concerned; but the arrangement as to my cousin's freedom is to be considered as forced from you, not made in complicity with you. I do not wish you to tell me anything because you think I am acting with you. I am not."
"So long as you do what you've agreed, I ask no more," he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders, as though he considered the matter not worth discussing.
But I knew his indifference was only assumed to cover his chagrin.
"The news is that the greatest haste is now imperative, or everything will be lost. The Duke Marx must be back in Munich to-night or at latest to-morrow. The whole city is in an uproar, and if the duke is not back the ill consequences may be irretrievable. Moreover, I have news of action from Berlin."
"You mean you wish to pull the wires at once for an agitation in favor of your duke, I suppose, but dare not until you know he is at liberty and able to come forward. A very pretty dilemma," and I smiled. "I am in luck, it seems. But now what of this Landsberg business? The countess is there. What have you done?"
"I have wired to our leader there, Major Gessler, to expect you to take away the countess; and I have written you an authority to him that will do all you need. Give him that—you will know him, for you saw him last night when you visited the town-house of Herr Schemmell—and that very moment the countess will be placed in your hands."
"Good!" I cried gladly, my blood warming at the thought of Minna being again in my charge. "But you know that von Nauheim has gone to Landsberg."
A frown crossed his face, but with an impatient wave of the hand he exclaimed:
"He can do nothing. Now as to your part. As soon as the countess is in your care again you will hand to Gessler an authority to set the Duke Marx at liberty?"
"Yes," I replied after a moment's consideration.
"Then the sooner you are en route the better," he said, rising as he spoke. "I have no more to say to you. We part as——?"
"As we met—opponents, Baron Heckscher," I answered promptly; and as soon as he had gone I hurried back to Praga to tell him what had occurred. Within a few minutes we were driving rapidly on our way to Landsberg.
My heart was beating with pleased anticipation of seeing Minna, though I was not without some apprehension as to how she would take the news I had to tell of myself and of the deception I had practised. Nor was I altogether free from disquieting fears that in some way there was danger to her from the presence of von Nauheim. I had, too, many plans to make regarding our future movements, so that I was in no mood for conversation.
Praga began to beguile the journey by attempting to tell me a number of piquant and characteristic anecdotes of his experiences; but he soon found I was not listening, and he then relapsed into silence, and sat smoking furiously.
Once when he broke a long silence his words chanced to chime with my thoughts and I answered.
"When am I to have my revenge on that brute von Nauheim?" he asked, his dark face lowering with anger.
"You have had much of it already, for most of his plans have miscarried."
"Ay, but I want to be face to face with him, with nothing between but a couple of sharp swords," and his eyes flashed as he spoke.
"That may come sooner than we think. I care not how soon," I said.
"But I do. Body of Bacchus, but I long to see him squirm and shiver and shrink when I fix his eyes with mine and press his sword with the touch of death."
"I have a score to settle with him, too, and it grows in the waiting."
"My turn first. You can have him when I've done with him—or at least what's left of him," he cried, with a callous laugh. "Not before. And what are you going to do afterward?"
"I am still undecided," I replied; and again we were both silent.
The journey was a very tedious one, for the train was slow, and we were much delayed owing to a breakdown on the line, which made our train several hours late. The delay fretted and galled me, for I could not make sure that von Nauheim would not use the interval for some devilment of his own. My impatience made the time pass with wings of lead.
It was well toward evening when we reached our destination, and then came another delay. There was an eight-mile drive to the house, and at first we couldn't get horses.
After much difficulty we procured a couple of riding hacks of very indifferent quality, and as soon as we were mounted we pushed forward at such speed as the nature of our beasts would allow. The effect of the comparatively rapid motion through the air was exhilarating and braced me. It was dusk, however, when we reached the village, at the far end of which was the mansion.
"At last!" I exclaimed as we turned in through a pair of massive gates and rattled up the drive at a quick trot.
As I glanced at the great, grim, square building, in which scarcely a light was to be seen, a thought that all was not right was put into words by my companion, who exclaimed with an oath:
"I don't like the look of this place, Prince. I seem to smell something wrong. I'm not for trusting myself inside."
"It's all right," I answered. "It must be; there's no object now to be gained by playing us false," and I jumped from the saddle and ran up the broad flight of steps to the front door.
"Maybe," growled Praga. "But I'd rather stay where I am. I'll turn horse-minder. If it's a trap, it's as well for one of us to remain on the outside of it."
I was not sorry for him to do that, as I did not wish Minna to see him until she knew how he had been helping us. His name was too repugnant to her in connection with her brother's death.
My summons was answered at once, and I asked for Major Gessler. I was shown to a room at once, and as the door closed on me I heard a rush of footsteps, a cry or two of anger, a shout from Praga that we were betrayed, and then the quick gallop of horses down the drive.
Before I had recovered from my consternation the door was opened again quickly, and an officer appeared at it, accompanied by a couple of men, who covered me with their guns.
"What is the meaning of this?" I cried angrily. "Where is Major Gessler? I am the Prince von Gramberg, and am here with an authority from Baron Heckscher to the major. You will repent this attack, sir, whoever you are."
"If you will be good enough to hand over any weapons you may have, and to sit down quietly there"—pointing to a chair—"I shall be glad to answer you."
"I'll see you damned first!" I cried in a blind rage, and I whipped out my revolver and levelled it point-blank at his face. "Stand out of my way, or I'll shoot you like a dog!"
He was as cool as though I was merely offering him my card.
"You will gain nothing by shooting me, except that my men will promptly shoot you," he answered.
"Then tell me what the devil you mean by this outrage," I said; and despite my rage I saw readily the truth of what he said.
"I allow no man to force me in this way," he answered calmly, looking me steadily in the face. "Give up your revolver and no harm will be done to you. Indeed I shall be glad to explain matters."
I tossed the pistol on to the table, and he picked it up, handed it to one of the men, and ordered them to leave the room.
"Remain at hand to come if I call," he told them. Then to me he said, shutting the door: "I am merely obeying orders. Major Gessler is away for a time, and my instructions were to detain you until he returned."
"Why is not the major here? He was prepared for my coming by a telegram from Baron Heckscher."
"You must put your questions to him. I only obey orders. But there has been some ugly business here in regard to the Countess Minna von Gramberg. She left the place secretly with her aunt and the Count von Nauheim, about three hours ago, and the major is gone in pursuit of them."
The news set me on fire.
"I must go after them!" I cried. "Don't try to stop me. Where have they gone?"
"My orders are that you remain here," he answered stolidly, "and I cannot disobey them."
"But I have come to fetch the countess. This is the authority to Major Gessler to deliver her up to me," and, snatching the baron's letter from my pocket, I handed it to the officer.
He took it slowly, examined it carefully, and held it out again.
"It is addressed to my superior officer, I cannot open it," he said, with the same deliberate coolness.
I tore open the envelope and gave him the letter.
He shook his head.
"It is not for me. I cannot read my superior's letters. I could not act upon it if I did."
"But, good God, man, these women may be in desperate peril! You must read it!"
He shook his head again with dogged obstinacy.
At that I lost all control of myself, and with an oath I threw myself upon him to drag him out of the way of my escape from the place.
He clung to me, and wrestled furiously, and with a call brought in the two men, who soon overpowered and forced me back in my chair, fuming with rage.
"It is useless to struggle," he said in his cold, even tone. "I have my orders, and more than enough strength to see that they are obeyed."
I recognized the force of this, and, though I cursed the blockhead stolidity of the man, I could do nothing but yield.
I ceased to struggle, but felt like a madman in my baffled fury and fear for Minna. Heaven alone knew what use von Nauheim might make of this opportunity.
"Will you cease to resist if my men leave you?" asked the officer after I had been quiet some time.
"Yes, but I shall hold you responsible for the consequences of this detention of me, and they may be heavy and serious," I replied.
"I am only acting under orders," was his answer, and he signed to the men to withdraw again. "I am sorry you have compelled me to resort to force. It was not my wish."
"How long will Major Gessler be?"
"It is impossible to say. He may return in five minutes or in five hours; I can have no idea."
"He knew that I was coming?"
"Obviously, for I was told to expect you, and detain you when you arrived."
"Told to lay a trap for me, you mean?"
He made no reply.
"Did your instructions include the unwarrantable attack I heard being made upon my companion?"
"My instructions were to detain you, and I must really leave all explanations to my superior."
"Then I wish you'd leave the room as well," I retorted curtly, and, to my surprise, he took me at my word, and went out immediately, giving a command, in a tone loud enough to reach me, that the men stationed outside the door were to remain there.
As soon as I was alone I resolved to escape by the window. I got up and stole softly to it. It was shuttered, but the fastenings were on the inside, and as I tried them gently and slowly I found they were easy to release. But I knew the men outside the door would be on the alert, and that the least noise I made would bring them in.
I sat down again, therefore, and began to make a noisy clatter with some of the furniture. I banged the door of the big stove, upset a couple of chairs, and threw down some things from the table. As I stooped to pick them up one of the men put his head in at the door.
"Well, what the devil do you want?" I cried, with an angry scowl.
"I thought you called, sir," he answered.
"That's a ready lie, my man. You came because you heard a noise. That was the noise," and I picked up a chair and threw it across the room at the door. "Just hand it back, will you?"
He picked it up and placed it near the door, and went out, and I heard him mutter something to his companion about my being a "queer sort."
I slipped to the window then, and, not being afraid of making a noise, I unfastened the shutters to find the catch of the window, and was in the act of undoing that when I heard steps approaching the door across the hall. In a moment I replaced the shutters, slipped back to my chair, and was yawning heavily when the door was opened and the officer came in.
"They report to me that you have been making some disturbance here," he said shortly. "I will, therefore, leave a man in the room with you."
I cursed the clumsiness of my ruse, which had thus frustrated the chance of my escape.
"I decline to submit to such an indignity, sir," I said angrily. "I will have no jailer here."
But my protest, like everything else with this wooden idiot, passed unheeded, and one of the men was told to stand by the door inside.
For a moment I was in despair. My first thought was to try and bribe him, but I abandoned the idea as readily, for I saw that if I failed he would report the attempt to the officer, and I should be in a worse plight than ever. Yet the thought that time was flying, and von Nauheim getting farther and farther away with Minna, while I was condemned to this helpless inactivity, was like hell to me. Then a last and desperate scheme suggested itself to me. The room was lighted by an oil lamp, and my thought was to try and extinguish it, and escape in the consequent confusion and darkness. I knew now that in a moment I could open the window.
Keeping up my character for eccentricity, I jumped to my feet so suddenly that the man started and grasped his weapon, and, declaring that I was cold—though the evening was stifling, and my rage made me as hot as a fever patient—I began to stamp up and down the room, taking care at first to keep well away from the window, lest he should suspect my object. Next I declared that the lamp smelt vilely, and I set it down near the stove, and opened the little door that the fumes might escape up the flue. My next step was to whip the cover off the table, and throw it around my shoulders.
The man kept his eyes steadily on me, obviously regarding me as more than half insane, but he made no attempt to interfere with me, and I continued my monotonous march backward and forward, backward and forward, until I noticed that his vigilant watch was gradually being relaxed. Then I altered my direction slightly, until each turn took me nearer and nearer to the window, and at last I prepared to make my effort.
"Turn that lamp down a bit, it stinks," I said, with a vigorous grimace of disgust, and, without in the least suspecting my intention, he went to do it.
For a moment his back was toward me, and at that instant I snatched the cloth from my shoulders and threw it with all my force at the lamp, enveloping both it and the man as he was bending over it to do as I had requested.
He shouted lustily for help, but there were a few seconds of darkness before any one could reach me, and I tore back the shutters, opened the window, leapt out, and dashed away through the darkness at top speed, running in zigzag fashion for the cover of some shrubbery about fifty yards distant.
Before I reached the cover I heard the sounds of great commotion in the house, and a number of men started out in pursuit of me, but I plunged through the bushes at as great a speed as possible. The noise I made would, I knew, render pursuit an easy matter, and thus when I gained a small clearing I changed my direction, and raced across the lawn, taking my chance of where I was going. Fortune favored me, and I came upon a boundary wall, over which I climbed, dropping breathless and excited, but free, into a deep, dry ditch by the side of a lane. I lay down to regain my breath and to listen for any further signs of pursuit, as well as to think out my next step. I had escaped, but what use to make of my freedom I could not for a moment tell.
Presently I heard the sound of a horse cantering on the turf by the side of the lane, and looking up cautiously I saw, by the light of the moon, which was shining brilliantly, a man riding toward me. As he came closer I recognized, to my infinite pleasure, that it was the Corsican, Praga. I scrambled out of the ditch and stood up to wait for him, calling to him when he was some twenty yards away. He reined up and jumped from his horse. I told him my experiences with that dolt of an officer in the house, and he told me he was just riding back to see what had become of me, and that he had news.
"It is great news," he said. "When they tried to get at me, I galloped off, and in the village I stumbled against an old Munich acquaintance, who is here over this business, and was just coming back from a start he had made with Major Gessler. He told me something of what had happened here to-day. It seems that that brute von Nauheim got wind that something was going to happen which he didn't like—I suppose it was your coming—and he bolted with the Countess Minna and her aunt. At that Gessler seems to have thought treachery was in the wind, and that you were in some way connected with it—these officers are always fools, especially when some one tells them about half the truth—and he set out after the runaways, and left orders that if you did come you were to be kept. I was coming back to try if I couldn't find you, and perhaps get you out of the house, so that we might start in pursuit on our own account."
"Where has von Nauheim gone? Does any one know?" I asked.
"Yes, the major is on their track, I think. They are supposed to have taken the south road, von Nauheim's object being apparently to strike the railway when some miles out, and presumably get out of Bavaria as soon as possible."
"I have no horse," I said. "You had better give me yours, and then try to get one and follow me as soon as you can. I am on fire. I cannot wait."
"It's not much of a beast, and very tired, but it may serve till you can get a better," said Praga. "Make for Waal first, and then try to find some traces, and leave word for me where I am to follow. I think I can find your horse. He followed me out of the place, and I tethered him up somewhere about here."
I mounted, and after a few more hurried words from him about the direction to be taken I clapped my heels into the horse's ribs, and set off at a pace that was as near a gallop as the tired brute could imitate. The clattering of the beast's hoofs on the rough, uneven road woke the echoes around me as I dashed forward, filled with the one consuming thought of rescuing Minna from the hands of the dastard who had carried her off from me.
I found to my dismay, however, that my horse was quite incapable of any great effort, and soon began to show signs of fatigue. I had to ease him constantly, and after a few miles I could not urge him beyond a rather slow trot. To get another horse appeared difficult, and I did not pass any place that even offered a hope of one. My progress was thus irritatingly slow, and every mile I covered seemed to detract from, rather than add to, the chances of my overtaking von Nauheim.
I had no difficulty, however, in tracing the fugitives. Major Gessler, in company with three other men, had passed scarcely two hours ahead of me, and as they had made inquiries all along the route, they had left a broad trail easy enough for me to follow. If they were on the right track it was certain that I was.
After riding for a couple of hours at this slow pace I saw a mile or two ahead of me the lights of a small town, and, in the hope of being able to get a fresh mount there, I urged on my shambling steed to the utmost of his powers. But he was quite used up, and as I was forcing him down a slight hill I felt him stagger and stumble under me; and then down he went in a heap, throwing me clear of him. I could not afford to waste time over him, and as soon as I had managed to drag him to his feet I tied his head to a tree by the wayside, and set out to finish the remaining distance to the town on foot.
I had not walked more than a few hundred yards, however, when I discovered that the fall from the horse had shaken me considerably. I turned dizzy, and reeled and staggered as I walked. I kept on as long as I could, but at last, despite my burning impatience to get forward, I was compelled to sit down by the roadside and rest until the feeling passed off.
How long I sat there I do not know, but I think that for a short time I must have lost consciousness. The rest refreshed me, however, and, feeling almost myself again, I jumped to my feet quickly, eager to resume my journey.
As I did so I was startled by a low cry, like an exclamation of fear, from some one close to me; and by the moon's light I made out the darkly dressed figure of a woman some twenty or thirty paces ahead. I had been sitting in the shadow of an overhanging tree, and, no doubt, my sudden appearance had frightened her.
She stood looking at me irresolutely, and when I commenced to walk toward her she turned and sped away on the grass by the roadside noiselessly, in the hope, no doubt, that I had not seen her. Obviously she wished to avoid me.
She was nothing to me, and as I had no wish to add to her fright, I let her go, and merely watched her as she ran. I had no other feeling but curiosity, tempered with regret that all unwittingly I had been the means of frightening her. She had nearly passed out of sight when I heard her cry out again, this time a louder and shriller cry, and I thought I saw her trip and fall. I went after her then, as quickly as I could, and found her kneeling on the ground moaning, with her hands to her head.
"Are you hurt?" I asked. "I am afraid I frightened you. I trust——"
I stopped in amazement, for she turned her face quickly to me, and the next instant I was down by her side with my arm round her. It was Minna herself.
"Oh, Hans, is it really you? I am so frightened. Save me." And without another word she let her head sink on my shoulder, while she twined her arms round me in quite hysterical fear.
"Hush, my child. You are safe now," I said gently, in the soothing tone one might use to a child who had hurt itself.
And I held her in my arms in silence, my heart too full for words, as, indeed, hers was, with mingled fear, relief, and agitation.
"Where are you hurt, Minna?" I asked after a time. "Let's see if I cannot help you."
"Don't leave me; pray don't leave me," she whispered, clinging to me more tightly than ever. "I shall be better in a moment—now I am safe. I was running away from you. I was frightened when you jumped up suddenly in the road, and I fell and hurt my head. Don't leave me. I want to realize that I am really, really safe."
"Don't doubt that. None can hurt you now."
I would have added many a passionate protestation in my excitement, but I checked myself, remembering all I had yet to tell her. I let a longer interval pass before I spoke again; for, though I was burning with impatience to learn how she came to be in this way alone on the road and to take means to get her to some place of safety, I could not resist the thrilling delight of feeling her arms about me and her head nestling confidingly against my breast. The mere touch of her was an ecstasy of passion.
"Let me see to your hurt, Minna," I whispered. "We have a long journey before us."
At that she started, and began to tremble again, and said, her lips faltering as the words fell from them:
"I had forgotten. I had forgotten everything when I felt your arms around me; but he will follow us. We must hurry on. Where can I go to escape him?"
"You mean von Nauheim?" I asked, my face frowning at thought of him.
"Oh, there is so much to tell and to ask. What does it all mean, Hans? I am not much hurt. It is here," and she put her hand to her forehead, which was bleeding slightly. "I struck it against a stone when I tripped and fell, I think. And to think I was running from you, of all the world!"
I could not answer the tenderness of her tone or the love that breathed in every syllable of the words. If I had tried, the passion that was pent in me must have come rushing out. I sought to affect indifference, therefore; and though my fingers trembled as I touched her face, and my heart ached at the sight of the little wound, I dressed it in silence, and bound it up with my handkerchief.
She smiled to me several times as I did this, and when I had finished she murmured, lifting her eyes to mine:
"It will soon be well, now you have touched it, cousin." And she sighed. But the next instant she started, and a look of fear showed on her face. "I can hear the sounds of a horse at full gallop. I have been hearing nothing else in imagination for the last two hours; but this time it is real."
She spoke very wildly.
I listened intently, but could hear nothing.
"It is only imagination still," I replied. "And if it were real, it would mean nothing."
"Listen!" and she put up her finger and strained her ears.
She was right. She had caught the sound before me; but now I could distinguish the beat of hoofs in the far distance.
"I hear it now. Which way is the sound from?" I asked.
She began to tremble, and clung to me again.
"It is from that way," pointing in the direction from which I had come.
I listened again, and again found she was right.
"Good!" I exclaimed. "It will be Praga. He is following me."
"Praga! The villain who killed Gustav! Oh, Hans, it is true then that you are in league with that terrible man. I would not believe it when they told me." And she moved away from me as she spoke, and stood at a little distance, trembling.
But it was only for an instant. I had not time to reply before she came again to my side and clung to me as before, crying with quick agitation:
"I did not mean that, cousin Hans. I did not mean anything in distrust of you. I trust you altogether with my whole heart and soul. If he is with you, I know it will be not that you help him to do harm, but that he helps you to do good. I know that. Believe and forgive me for shrinking away like that. But I have always had such a dread and loathing at his mere name, for dear Gustav's sake. Oh, there is so much to be made clear."
"It will all be clear enough to you when I have told you my story," I said in as unmoved a tone as I could command at this fresh proof of her absolute confidence. "And that will be as soon as we can get out of our present plight. Even Praga has been wronged, and in this matter at least he is with us."
After that we stood in silence listening to the now fast approaching gallop of the horse.
Then came to our ears the whinnying of another horse. The galloping stopped. The horse was pulled up short.
"What does that mean?" asked Minna in a whisper of alarm; for all sounds breathed the language of danger in her present agitation.
"I left my horse tied to the hedge some distance behind there, and Praga has found it, I expect."
Almost directly after that Minna started again and cried:
"There is another horseman coming from the opposite direction. That will be the Count von Nauheim."
"It is luck that Praga is close at hand, then," said I, "for I have no arms. It will be a dramatic meeting."
And now Minna was pressing close to my side again; and in this way we stood and listened to the more distant horseman's approach, and heard also the man I judged to be Praga bring his animal back on to the hard road and set off at a sharp trot toward us.
If Minna was right in her conjecture that the horseman coming up on our right was von Nauheim, it was easy to foresee that the meeting between him and Praga would have an ugly ending. I knew well enough that the Corsican's fiery hatred of the count would urge him to take his revenge on the spot, and for the moment I was a little at a loss how to act.
Praga was now close to us, riding slowly and peering anxiously on each side of him for any traces of me. Obviously I had better let him know that I was at hand.
Minna and I were standing close under the shadow of a tree whose low branches concealed us effectually.
"Stop here while I go to speak to him," I said in a low tone.
"No, no, don't leave me," she urged, holding my arm in a nervous clutch.
"Have no fear. It is not you who need to fear now, but that villain von Nauheim, if it is indeed he coming up the hill."
"Don't go out of sight, then, cousin. I can't help being afraid—except with you close to me."
I whispered a word of reassurance, and stepped out from the shadow of the tree into the moonlight and went toward Praga.
"Who is there?" he called, stopping his horse.
"It is I, Praga—the Prince."
"Well met, indeed. Is that your horse tied to a tree back there a bit?"
"Yes, he fell and threw me; but I am all right. Quick, bring your horse on to the grass here, and under this tree," and I led him into the shadow of the tall hedge.
"Have you any traces of them?" he asked impatiently.
"Yes, I have the best news. I have found the Countess Minna. She has escaped from that villain, and I believe that the horseman you can hear coming up the hill now is the man himself coming in pursuit of her."
"Ah!" He drew in his breath. "We are in luck indeed. There is a good light," and he glanced up at the moon, and I heard him swear into his mustache, and mutter, "At last!" Then, after listening a moment, he said: "He is breathing his horse up the hill. He little guesses who's here to give him a welcome. I'll go forward and meet him. I hope to God he has a sword with him. Will you stay here? You can act as second for us both, and see that all is fair, though it would serve the dog right if I were to shoot him down without a chance."
He walked his horse slowly forward on the grass, making no noise, and keeping out of sight in the shadow of the hedge.
I went back to Minna.
The on-coming horseman was now in full sight of us on the slope of the white hill, the moonlight showing up the figures of both horse and rider, as he turned to look behind him, and sat listening intently. The silence was so intense that we seemed to feel it, and even the creak of the saddle leather, as he turned, reached our ears.
Then we saw him face round quickly and dash his heels into his horse's ribs as if to gallop forward; but, at the same instant, he caught sight of Praga, and he checked his horse again almost as he was in the very act of urging it forward. The next moment Praga was at his side.
For a second neither spoke. Then through the still night air we heard the Corsican laugh.
"You're riding late, my lord, the most noble Count von Nauheim," he said in a mocking tone.
No answer was made, and Praga put in words the thought that flashed upon me.
"Don't think of trying to escape. You won't do it this time." He spoke sternly, adding, in the previous mocking tone, "And what brings you out for horse exercise at this uncanny hour, most noble?"
The reply was sudden and unexpected by me, but not by the Corsican.
Von Nauheim drew a revolver, and fired point-blank at Praga, and then dashed his heels into his horse's sides, and tried to make off. But the other was fully prepared for the manœuvre, and when the noise of the shot, which frightened Minna excessively, and woke the echoes of the woods round us, had died away, I saw that the Corsican had grasped the bridle of von Nauheim's horse in a grip of steel, till the beast swerved round and nearly unhorsed its rider, while with his other hand Praga had struck the revolver from his opponent's grasp.
Then he laughed again.
"A hand is rarely steady when a man's shivering with fright," he said in his bantering tone; but he changed it swiftly, and, in a voice deep with passion, he cried, "Get off your horse, you coward, or I'll drag you from your saddle! Do you hear?"
Von Nauheim made no reply, and no effort to dismount.
"Do you hear me? Dismount!" thundered the Corsican, his deep, rolling voice vibrating with wrath; and when von Nauheim still hesitated, Praga bent forward, and, with a strength that surprised me, tore him from his horse, and forced him to the ground.
Von Nauheim seemed helpless with terror.
"What is he going to do?" asked Minna, shivering.
"We must wait," I answered.
Praga dismounted then, and, tying the reins of the two horses together, led them to a tree, and fastened them. Every action was done with cool, methodical purpose, which I knew was carefully calculated to increase the other's fear; and though the Corsican pretended not to watch the latter's actions, I could see that the whole time the dark, dangerous eyes were taking the keenest note of every gesture and movement.
When he had tethered the horses, he crossed the road back to where von Nauheim stood in an attitude of sullen dejection. He was like one fascinated and paralyzed with fear.
All at once I saw Praga start and glance in my direction, as a thought seemed to occur to him.
"Come," he said in a voice of rough command, short, sharp, and stern. "This way," motioning along the road toward the spot where Minna and I stood.
I wondered what he meant to do.
Von Nauheim did not move, and Praga, seizing him by the arm, half led, half dragged him forward.
"You can do an act of justice for once in your life."
He clipped the words, and followed them with a short, sneering laugh, a curious mixture of humor and anger.
"We are not alone here, and I have a fancy that you shall tell what you know about the death of young Gustav von Gramberg."
At this von Nauheim looked up, and stared rather wildly about him. I saw Praga's motive then, and was glad.
"Halt! most noble and honorable of counts," he cried when they stood about twenty paces from us. Then, in a rough, stern tone, he added, "Now tell the truth—the part you played in it."
At that von Nauheim made a sudden dash and struggle to get free from his antagonist's grip; but he might as well have tried to get away from his master, the devil, as from the iron hand that held and then shook him till his teeth chattered.
I guessed that he had caught sight of us.
"Now the truth!" cried Praga in a truly terrifying tone. "Out with it. You know me by this time."
The other glanced about him in abject fright, and then said, in a whisper hoarse and husky with agitation:
"Are you there, Minna?"
"Silence!" thundered Praga, shaking him again. "Speak what I have told you—no more, no less."
For a time von Nauheim tried vainly to find words, and the sight of his fear was so appalling and repulsive that Minna clung closer to me, and hid her face against my arm.
Another threat and command came from Praga, and then, in a voice that shook and quavered, and broke again and again, he began the shameful story of his own abominable part in the intrigue which had led to the duel between Minna's brother and the Corsican; and the latter would not let him halt until the whole villanous tale was complete.
It took a long time in the telling, and I could feel the girl shrink and wince as the truth came out in the dreary, monotonous voice of the terror-possessed wretch.
"Take me away, cousin Hans, I cannot bear this," she cried to me piteously. "My poor, poor brother!"
"Yes, we will go," I said. "But it was right for you to hear the tale, and to know who in reality played the villain's part in it."
I led her out in the moonlight then, and told Praga that we should go.
"As you will," he answered; "I will follow. Take my horse, and I'll do the best I can with yours."
In turning to speak to me he loosened his hold somewhat of von Nauheim for an instant, and the latter, with what sounded like a great sob of fear, broke away, and threw himself on the ground at Minna's feet.
"For God's sake, don't go away, Minna. Don't leave me with this man. He will murder me. Have mercy on me. Plead with him for me. You can save me. Minna, do you hear? For God's sake, have mercy," and he caught hold of her dress and clung to her—the type of broken, abject, fright-becrazed cowardice.
"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Your hands are red with my brother's blood."
"Get up, you crawling, unclean brute, and cease your whining," said Praga, dragging him to his feet.
"Don't let him be killed, cousin Hans," whispered Minna. "He is not fit to die. But, oh, take me away. This scene is killing me," she cried in distress.
At that von Nauheim broke out with more pleas and entreaties, his voice shaking as he trembled in his fear. I did not know what to do. I had promised Praga his revenge; and in all truth I could see no reason for interfering to save the man's life. He had played the scoundrel all through, and if ever a man deserved death he did.
But at the same time it was Minna who asked for mercy, and I loved her for it, and my heart was moved by her appeal. I stood thus in hesitation, when an interruption came which, for the instant, I welcomed gladly.
We were to have more company on that lonely spot; and we all four heard at the same moment the sound of horses coming quickly up the hill. A minute later we caught sight of a couple of figures in the moonlight.
The effect on von Nauheim was electrical.
He sprang up and gave a loud shout for help.
"Help, help! Murder! Help!"
The cry rang over the country-side and awakened a thousand echoes in the still night air.
An answering shout came from the approaching men, and they dashed headlong toward us, reigning up their horses almost on to their haunches.
"What is this?" cried a voice which I seemed to recognize. "Who called for help?"
"It is Major Gessler, Hans," whispered Minna. "Take care."
While I was assuring her that all was well, and that I had an order to him for her release, Praga was answering him.
"You come in excellent time, gentlemen, whoever you are. This is the thing that screeched for help," pointing to von Nauheim.
"Ah, the Count von Nauheim," said the major in a tone of satisfaction.
"There is the lady you seek, Major Gessler," said the poltroon, pointing a trembling finger to Minna. "And I call you to witness that I have been stopped on the highway by these two men and my life threatened. I claim your protection."
The major looked from one to the other of us in indecision, and then the Corsican laughed a deep, rolling laugh of contemptuous anger.
"By the nails that pierced the feet, you are a paltry thing!" he cried. "Nothing's too vile and base for you to save your dirty little life; is it? A minute since you were grovelling to the Countess Minna, hanging to her skirts, and begging her to save you; and now you think to try and curry favor with Major Gessler by this lick-spittling attempt to betray her. But you don't know him, lily-liver; he's the last man in the world to step in to prevent an affair of this kind. This is an affair of honor, major, if we can use that term with a man like this; and of course you will not think of interfering, except to see that everything is done duly and in good order."
There was a significance in his tone which did not escape me.
"I must first learn the reason of your all being here, if you please."
"I was returning to——" began von Nauheim, when Praga cut him short.
"Silence!" he thundered; "you will only lie." Then to the major he said, "I know no reason why I should explain my conduct to you."
"I can best explain this, I think," I said. "The Count von Nauheim had induced or compelled the Countess Minna here to leave your custody, and after some time she escaped from him. I was following, and by the happiest of coincidences we met. She will now remain in my care. Signor Praga was riding after me, and the Count von Nauheim came up soon afterward in search of the countess. Between Signor Praga and the count there is an old quarrel, and it was in course of arrangement when you arrived."
"Then you will return with me, countess?" said the officer.
"On the contrary, as I have already said, my cousin will remain in my charge," and I handed him the letter from Baron Heckscher.
He read it by the light of the moon, and we waited in silence till he had finished.
"You are to hand me an authority to your agents," he said as he folded up the letter.
"I have also to demand an explanation for the treatment I received on my arrival, as I understood, by your instructions," I answered sharply.
"It can all best be done at the house itself. My work is finished here, and I must set about this other matter of the Duke Marx without delay," he said. "Count von Nauheim has also an explanation to give me. We had better proceed to the house, Prince."
At this Praga showed signs of restiveness, while von Nauheim agreed eagerly.
"I have a word to say about that," exclaimed the Corsican, intervening. "I have brought this fox to earth, and have no mind to see him slip through my fingers. Prince, you won't forget our compact?"
"I shall be responsible for the count's custody," put in Major Gessler.
"Maybe, but you have an unfortunate trick of letting your prisoners slip the leash," cried Praga bluntly. "I shouldn't trust myself in that house again, Prince, if I were you. There may be more treachery there."
"Those are ugly words, sir," exclaimed the major hotly.
"They describe an ugly fact, major," returned Praga recklessly, with a shrug of the shoulders. "I am not concerned to pick my words to tickle your ears. If you don't like them"—and he threw up his hands—"I can't help it."
"I need not give you my assurance, I trust, Prince von Gramberg," said the officer, turning to me, "that so long as I am at that house your personal safety and that of the Countess Minna will be absolutely secure."
"If I doubt it, you have only the acts of your own men to blame," I answered curtly.
"That can be explained. When the Countess Minna was taken away by this"—he was going to say gentleman, but substituted—"by this count, I feared that some further plot might be afloat, and I left instructions that you should be detained until my return from my search for her. If my men exceeded their instructions in any way—I had only time to give them very hurriedly—I beg to tender you my sincerest apologies. But at least the countess here will tell you that while she was in my care complete regard was paid alike to her comfort and safety."
"Certainly I would trust Major Gessler's word," said Minna.
"Will you return to the house?" I asked.
"Yes, if we have his word that we are to be at liberty to leave it. But I would rather go to Gramberg."
"I pledge you my word on that," said the major.
I reflected that we had better not go to Gramberg until I had had an opportunity of explaining the whole position to Minna, and in fact I had another plan in my thoughts.
But while this conversation had been taking place, and our attention had been engrossed, von Nauheim had stolen unobserved to the place where Praga had tethered the horses, and, having cut the reins which tied the two together, he leapt on the back of his own and made off down the road at a hard gallop.
With a furious oath Praga ran to his horse, caught it cleverly, jumped into the saddle, and dashed after the fugitive in mad pursuit. The major told the man who was with him to follow, and we stood and watched the wild race as the three streamed down the hill from us at unequal distances, along a flat stretch of level road at the bottom, and then up a long incline beyond.
Praga was the better horseman or had the better mount, for we saw him gaining fast on the dark figure in front, and then as they neared the top of the incline we heard the report of a pistol shot, followed at a short interval by another.
A moment later the two leading figures passed out of sight, and we were left to conjecture what had happened.
"Had you better not push on to the house?" asked the major. "I will ride back and see the result. It has an ugly look. I shall probably overtake you before long," and with that he wheeled his horse round and galloped off, leaving Minna and myself alone again.
"I think we had better return to that house," I said to Minna. "My horse is close here, and you can ride while I lead him. You must be worn out."
"I will do whatever you think best. I believe Major Gessler is to be trusted."
"Yes, I think so now. I have given him an order from those for whom he is acting that you are to be detained no longer."
"How did you find out where I was?" she asked. "I am longing to hear everything."
"You had better have some rest first. There is much to tell and a weighty decision to make. Let us start."
I led the way to where I had tied the horse, and, having unfastened the reins, I walked him up and down once or twice to see if he showed any signs of lameness as the result of his fall, and whether he was fit to carry the girl. He appeared all right and much the fresher for the rest, so I lifted her into the saddle, and taking the rein in my hand started on the return journey.
"You can tell me as we go along what has happened to you since the ball," I said.
"It has been a terrible experience, but it is simple enough to describe. In the crowd at the ball I got separated from Captain von Krugen, and some one just like him came up and said we had better stand out of the throng a minute; and when we had moved away, he added that you wished me to be in the ante-room instead of the ball-room. I suspected nothing, of course, and went with him, and then some people came pressing round me, and some one said that as a matter of fact they had bad news to break to me—that you had met with an accident and were seriously hurt, and wished me to go at once to you. I did not hesitate an instant when I heard that, and so I fell into the trap. You don't blame me?"
"Blame you for being solicitous about me?" I asked, turning and glancing up to her with a smile. "But it was a cowardly scheme. And had you not seen me in the ball-room?"
"Yes, of course, and I said so. But they told me it had happened only a few minutes before, and that you had been carried at once to the house of a doctor, where you were expecting me. They told me you might die, and at that I was so eager to get to you that I would have gone anywhere."
She paused again here, but this time I would not trust myself to look round.
"In this way," she continued, "I was lured into the carriage, and after that, of course, I was helpless. They took me to some house near Munich, and the place seemed alive with armed men. There, to my surprise, I found aunt Gratz, who told me that Marie had betrayed us all, and that I was in a trap. I felt at first glad in a sense, because I knew then that you were not hurt after all; but presently I grew angry, for she began to tell me all kinds of horrible things about you; I will tell you them some time. And when my anger passed, I was nearly broken-hearted, for, as all our plans were known to the others, I was afraid, horribly afraid, of what might happen to you, and what mischief my foolish credulity might cause you. It was a time crowded with terror," she sighed.
"And after that?" I asked, wishing her to finish her story before I began mine.
"In the early morning Major Gessler sent word that we were to prepare for a journey, and then we thought of writing you. I should not have thought it possible, but aunt Gratz suggested it, and said that she was sure she could get it delivered to you. I wrote it then readily enough; but what I said I do not know—I scarcely knew at the time—it must have read like a wild, incoherent cry—for that's what it was."
"How did you know you were coming to Landsberg? I have been much perplexed by your letter, why your aunt should have spoken in this way of me in regard to it."
"I am afraid I can give you the clew. She knew about Landsberg—she seemed to know everything; and from what I have heard to-night, she was acting in collusion with that man. His object was, as I now know, to let you have the clew where to follow us, so that he could draw you into a snare, for some object I am almost afraid to think of. But something happened to interfere with the plans."
"I know what that was. He learnt, probably from Major Gessler, that I was coming to Landsberg direct from Baron Heckscher, and probably there would be some special reference to him in the baron's message."
"That may have been it. At any rate he came to us in a state of great excitement, declared that he had found out a plot to kill me, that you had communicated with him, and that we three were to set off at once to meet you at a place he named; I forget its name. I was suspicious at first; but when he declared that there was to be a clear-up of everything and a complete understanding between us all, and that all they had said about you was not true, and when aunt Gratz joined in persuading me, I consented. We got away secretly, and I was glad indeed to leave. They all appear to have known that with me your name was the one argument sure to prevail," she said softly.
"It has led you into plenty of perils, Minna," I replied.
"But it will lead me out of them again. You have done it already, and I do not care now what happens. It is good to have some one to trust—and, best of all, to be with him." She paused and sighed contentedly, and then exclaimed: "But why don't you say something? I have not done wrong, have I?"
What could I say, if I spoke at all, but turn and tell her that this trust in me was just the sweetest savor that could be put into my life; and that to hear it from her own lips was enough to set every pulse in my body beating fast with my love? But yet I could not speak this until I had told her all from my side; and so I gripped the bridle rein the tighter and plodded on through the moonlight, keeping my face resolutely turned from her lest the sight of her beauty and the knowledge of her trust should burst the last bonds of my self-restraint.
"No, you have done no wrong, Minna; but tell me the rest."
She waited a second, and then continued:
"In the carriage, to-night, the truth came out. Aunt Gratz and he quarrelled, and with a sort of blunt, brutal frankness he blurted out the truth that we were flying from, not to, you, and that he was carrying me away to make me his wife. In his mad rage against you he heaped all kinds of abuse on you, knowing that it made my blood boil. He is a villain."
"He has paid for his treachery by now, probably," I said, and then there came a longer pause.
"Don't you wish to hear any more?" she asked gently, as if anxious to make me speak to her; and when I told her that I was only too eager to hear it all, she went on: "I thought it best to say nothing, but I made up my mind that I would slip away and seek any one's help rather than stay with them. My great thought was to get back to the house at Landsberg; and I sat as if prostrated with grief and waited, watching for a chance. It came at last, at a town where we stopped to change horses, and he got out of the carriage. There was some delay; and I saw him enter the house. Aunt Gratz was half dead with fatigue, and lay back in the carriage and fell asleep. I opened the door on my side very softly and slipped out, without disturbing her, and then ran off in the thick dusk for my life. I was soon missed, of course, and should not have escaped had it not been that there was a wagon standing not far away, though out of sight of those in the carriage. There was no one in it, and I jumped in and hid myself among some hay and sacks that lay in the bottom. I lay concealed there a long time and heard the hue and cry raised, and people searching for me, though no one thought to look in the wagon. Presently the wagoner came, and we started off at a slow pace. I let him go on for a few miles, and then to his intense astonishment I rose up suddenly from among the sacks and told him I would give him money if he would take me toward Landsberg."
"Poor Minna! What an experience for you."
"I did not care then, for I was free from that man. The wagoner was a good fellow and, though I did not know it, we had been coming in this direction, and he set me down about a mile from here, where his road turned off. I walked on to be frightened again, but this time—by you; and then to feel safe, oh, so safe, again."
"You did splendidly!" I cried warmly; for her pluck and resource had been admirable. And then I walked on in silence thinking how best I could commence my confession.
"Can you hear sounds of any one coming?" she asked.
I stopped the horse directly and stood listening. Turning my head, I glanced in her face and saw a smile there.
"I hear nothing; do you?" I asked.
"No. I didn't expect to. I——" She stopped.
"You what?"
"I've seen nothing but the back of your head for two miles, I should think, at the least. And I thought perhaps the horse might need a rest."
It was a little act of coquetry after all.
"He must be a sorry beast if he tires in carrying such a burden," said I, smiling. "But we have come half the distance, I think. You haven't much farther to go. Aren't you tired?"
I was standing close to the saddle, and she looked down into my face without speaking for a while. Then she said:
"I was thinking—cousin."