THE FLIGHT
The journey which the fugitives had before them was one which
necessarily was full of peril and difficulty and, what to Ludovic’s
interest was worse, delay. For to have taken the direct road from one
capital to the other would have been madness. A very few leagues would
have brought their flight to an ignominious end. They would have to
take an unfrequented route, to travel over by-roads, to avoid towns,
to proceed warily, at least till they should have passed the boundary
of the Chancellor’s net-work of spies. For this purpose chance could
not have provided a better pilot than Ompertz. The wandering mercenary
knew the whole region fairly well, while his campaigning experience
would stand them in good stead. He had a rare eye for catching the
sign of unwelcome observation, and knew every trick for avoiding it;
moreover he was full of resource and took danger and difficulty less as
disagreeable episodes than as matters of course.
All through the long, weary night the journey continued without
break or any occurrence to interrupt the monotony of the dark hours.
The Princess, now that the step was taken, had resumed her natural
composure which was in strong contrast to Minna’s feverish anxiety.
Their talk was disjointed and inclined to languish, since all three
seemed preoccupied, and the future seemed dark as the night through
which they drove. Ludovic’s mind was full of serious thoughts; the
stern crisis which had suddenly confronted him was absorbing enough,
the more troubling that he could not share with his companions the
knowledge of his position. Presently the ladies seemed inclined to
sleep. Ludovic made them as comfortable as was possible, and then left
them, to take his seat beside Ompertz on the box. The campaigner had
plenty to say and was glad of a companion and listener. The stories
of his adventures, his remarks on men and things were racy enough,
but they were perhaps hardly appreciated by the man who, with pale,
resolute face, sat beside him trying to pierce the future, inwardly
chafing at the delay their slow progress forced upon him and keenly
sensible of the momentous responsibility of the act in which they were
engaged.
But at last the long night showed signs of passing; black gave way to
dark grey, ever growing lighter till at length the landscape emerged
from its shroud and stood half revealed in the chill mist of morning.
They were still many miles from the frontier when they stopped at a
small town for refreshment and change of horses. But the spirits of
the little party rose with the day and at the thought that, so far,
their venture was successful. Pursuit was, of course, inevitable, but
the chance was that now they had a good many hours’ start, and every
league they had put between them and Waldenthor would have widened the
radius and so increased the difficulty of tracking them. The Princess
and Minna could find consolation now for their hardships in exulting in
Rollmar’s discomfiture. To have defied and checkmated the old fox was
delightful to think of; they could imagine his incredulity, his rage;
and laughed as they pictured his stormy interview with the Duke.
“Poor father! His dignity will be in sore straits to-day. My only hope
is that by the Baron’s temper he will be goaded into taking my part.
Then all may be well; for, after all, father is Duke, not Rollmar.”
It was a poor expectation, Ludovic thought pitifully, that all could
be well with the elopement of a Princess with a simple Lieutenant; he
longed to reveal to her his true position, but still he dared not,
and so long as she continued to see things in a hopeful light, why
should he? Ruperta was rejoicing in the unaccustomed sense of freedom,
delicious in proportion as it had been so longed for and despaired of;
the revelation could well be put off, three words would suffice when
the inevitable moment came, and now every hour their partnership in
this desperate venture lasted must draw tighter the bond between them.
So, masking his own anxieties, he set himself to keep up her spirits,
and in this Ompertz’s bright, buoyant humour was of great help.
But no time was to be wasted; after a hurried meal they had to start
again; at any moment signs of hue and cry might appear, and then their
difficulties would be increased a hundred-fold. So they sped on; along
broken, jolting roads, sometimes across wild tracks of bare country
where road there was none; up tedious hills and down some so steep as
to threaten to dash the carriage to destruction, over crazy bridges,
through doubtful fords, and sometimes under the depressing canopy of
lonely forest tracks; all through the day, which, as it wore on, seemed
more wearisome than the night, they kept on their way, wondering,
doubting, half repenting, yet ever recurringly hopeful. They were
young, and to youth the unknown is delightful; only to age is it a
bugbear.
Ompertz never let his spirits flag through the long hours, nor was it
his fault if depression came upon the others. He sang merrily, and,
when he had a companion, chatted gaily; he was quick of observation,
and had a fund of curious knowledge to illustrate nearly every object
he pointed out. It was a happy moment when he shouted that they were
crossing the frontier, unchallenged, unnoticed, for they had left the
road and taken a rough and devious way between the frontier villages.
So they slipped across and pursued their journey with a feeling
something like relief now that they were beyond Rollmar’s jurisdiction.
But when would safety be reached? Could they hope ever to be safe,
struggling as they were in the toils of an international policy?
Theirs was the security of the mouse with which the cat is playing.
But Ruperta would not allow herself to admit this. She was reckless,
as strong characters bent on desperate enterprises ever will be. To
hesitate, to look back and calculate the chances, when once the boats
are burnt, is the last thing a resolute mind will do; madness or not,
it must be gone through with; what the future has in store is to be met
boldly when it comes, but not anticipated.
When the journey was roughest, the scene most dismal, and Minna’s
sinking heart forced an exclamation of despair, “It is better than
Krell,” Ruperta said resolutely, and that seemed enough. Behind her was
a prison, or at least the hateful monotony of a coerced, circumscribed
existence, in front were liberty and love, room for soul expansion,
sympathy, humanity, everything for which she hungered. And so even
the drear landscape, the fatigues and terrors of the journey, should
never for an instant damp her spirits or make her regret what she had
undertaken. For freedom of soul and body she had thrown every other
consideration to the winds. If she had fallen from her high estate,
smirched her reputation in the eyes of all Europe, she was content so
that it freed her from a hateful bondage, a loathed marriage and gave
her to the man she loved. And him she trusted with her whole soul, so
that she saw no shame in sharing his desperate flight, in facing the
world and danger and death with him.
Evening drew on, and no untoward sign had come to rouse their fears.
But now the character of their route was changing; they were entering
the wild forest and mountainous country which lay like a great rampart
frowning them back from their destination. The high road, upon which
they dared not venture, ran miles away south-west, cutting boldly
through the forest, and that was rugged and gloomy enough. Ompertz,
who knew the district, was confident that he could find his way
across by little used roads where they would be practically safe from
pursuit. The entry to this gloomy region was enough to send a chill
to the travellers’ hearts, and, as though to enhance its forbidding
characteristics, the wind had begun to rise and moan through the trees
and rocky fissures, and the sky to darken with the signs of a coming
storm. Depressing as the prospect was, no turning back was to be
thought of, the environment had to be ignored and the journey pushed
on. Luckily the fresh horses they had lately taken were strong and used
to the rough work they had before them. So they went sturdily forward,
their driver’s spirits seeming in no wise to be damped by the gloom
that had surrounded them.
For a while they would drive through the forest so thick and dark
as to seem impenetrable, the road strewn with a carpet of moss and
pine needles, so that they glided along without noise, the great
trees in their serried myriads seeming to close in upon them with an
oppressiveness which threatened to shut out air as well as light.
The silence was supreme, appalling, in its dominating intensity; it
seemed to enforce itself upon every living intruder on its domain, even
Ompertz’s singing was hushed. Then the wall of trees would open out,
the air would grow lighter, fresher, and the track would pass out upon
an amphitheatre of towering rocks, grim, frowning, majestic, beyond
which the outlet was a defile roofed by the overhanging cliffs so as
to resemble the mouth of a cavern. The terrors of that natural tunnel
made Minna cover her face with her hands and sob for very despair;
Ruperta sat with pale face and compressed lips, keeping her fears at
least from utterance. Ludovic leaned forward and touched her hand. She
looked up quickly with a little shiver, then, as her eyes met his, he
saw what told him she would be brave to the end. Ah, that end! How far
off it was yet, and every tedious minute seemed, instead of bringing
it nearer, to push it farther still. Soon the long archway was passed,
to be succeeded by the steep ascent of a wooded gorge leading to the
very heart of the mountains. Now the storm was beginning to break over
them in its fury. The gale howled and roared in the chasms and ravines,
sweeping with it the rain in blinding scuds. At one moment it would be
light enough just to make out the way, in the next a pall of blackness
would cover them so that even the great walls of rock on either side
could not be seen. They were forced to halt, and Ompertz, still cheery,
dismounted and held counsel with Ludovic.
“We cannot go on through this, Lieutenant,” he declared ruefully, “at
least not up this track. I know these mountain storms too well, we are
comparatively sheltered here, but at every step we take upwards its
fury will increase. We must turn aside and make at all hazards for the
main road. Yes, it is a risk, but it is either that or staying here all
night.”
Delay, which could in any way be avoided, was not to be thought of.
And, indeed, if they were to take to the high road now, the sooner they
struck it the better for their chances of proceeding unmolested. But
how were they to make their way out of that rocky maze? Never admitting
the difficulty, Ompertz turned the horses and made for a cross road he
had noticed some distance back. This proved, when he turned into it,
to be rough and almost impossible for a vehicle to traverse. Nothing
daunted, Ompertz stuck to his task, and, his horses being willing
and sure-footed, the carriage made some progress through the roaring
tempest. The track, as Ompertz had expected, led gradually downwards;
he was confident that a couple of leagues should bring them to the
road, and then all they would have to fear would be Rollmar’s pursuit.
But now their first serious mishap was to occur. The mountain road,
which seemed to be getting smoother so that the horses could increase
their pace, dipped unexpectedly in its winding course, just as a great
squall of wind and rain came roaring over the mountain. Aided by the
declivity, the carriage was now rolling down at a dangerous pace.
Blinded for the moment by the squall, Ompertz was unable to check or
even guide the horses. The carriage swerved from side to side, to
crash at last into a projecting corner of rock, the impact splintering
a wheel and so bringing their progress to an end. With a cry of
discomfiture, Ompertz leapt down and satisfied himself that no one was
hurt.
“Unlucky wretch that I am!” he cried in an agony of regret. “I have
ruined everything now.”
Ludovic, taking in the cause of the accident, was far from blaming him.
“No fault of yours, my friend. Who could hope to drive down such a
place in a night like this?”
As the clouds were swept across the sky, alternating darkness
penetrable and impenetrable, the rain would cease fitfully, and then
pour down and, caught by the wind, sweep horizontally through the
gorge. The carriage certainly afforded shelter, but to Ludovic the idea
of having to stay there all night was maddening. It seemed the very
ruin of their enterprise.
“Stay you with the ladies,” said Ompertz, “while I go and reconnoitre.”
The idea of finding an inn or another carriage in that wild spot seemed
hopeless enough; still, anything was better than inaction.
Chafing with impatience as he was, Ludovic tried to dissuade him. “You
can do nothing till the storm passes, except to get a wet skin, my dear
Captain.”
Ompertz’s only argument was to wrap his cloak tightly round him and
start off on his forlorn hope.
The accident seemed to have strengthened rather than damped Ruperta’s
spirit; it was as though nothing could matter now. So they talked
almost cheerfully, as the wind shrieked round them and the rain lashed
the panes.
Minna was resigned now to her fate; she could laugh with the
recklessness of despair; all hope in her was shattered with the wheel.
Happily, the storm seemed inclined to abate something of its fury; the
rain beat less savagely; the intervals of comparative light lasted
longer. It was but a short half-hour from Ompertz’s departure, when his
voice hailing them sent a thrill of expectation to their hearts. In
an instant Ludovic was outside. Ompertz clambered breathless down the
steep wall of rock.
“There is a great Schloss not a quarter of an hour from here,” he
cried. “We are in luck! There will at least be shelter and food,
perhaps a carriage. Come! The weather is abating. I will show you the
place. Man, you cannot leave the ladies, and one a Princess, out here
all night, and such a night, with a fine house but a few minutes away,”
he protested, as he saw Ludovic hesitate.
A short consultation brought them to the conclusion that something must
be risked. In that wild, desolate place they were not likely to be
recognized, while shelter and rest were urgent, since their progress
was stopped. Wrapping the Princess and Minna in their cloaks, the two
men helped them up the craggy side of the ravine where they could
strike across to the Schloss.
To bring the horses up was a more formidable business, but Ompertz,
whose experience had fitted him for coping with most practical
difficulties, accomplished this without mishap, and the party pushed
forward through the storm. The way was difficult enough; amid rocks and
pit-falls, they had in the darkness to proceed with the greatest care.
After nearly an hour’s walking, they entered a valley running through
a vast pine forest which rose and stretched away on either hand, a
weird expanse of impenetrable blackness. At the top of a slight ascent
Ompertz cried, “Look!”
They could see, a short way before them, a light shining out of the
intense darkness, as through a hole in a black curtain, and when they
had gone a few steps further along the now descending road, the passing
away of a dark cloud brought dimly out against the sky the turrets of
the castle.