ZARKA’S PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER
To return to the chapel. When Zarka went down from Prince Roel’s blow
the way of escape seemed cleared, but no time was to be lost. Leaving
the Count to recover as best he might under the care of his servant,
the party, keeping together for safety, made their way along a passage
which they judged would lead them in the direction of the prison-room,
where D’Alquen had been left. But to find this proved no easy business,
and as it turned out, they might have sought the room for hours without
finding it, had not a lucky circumstance shown it to them.
Galabin had, as well as he was able from the information he possessed,
made a plan of the bearings of the room in relation to its position
from the vestibule which led to the chapel and, on the other side, to
the principal entrance of the castle. He had carefully calculated the
distance as well as the direction, and although in that intricately
constructed building it was far from easy to make practical use of the
plan, he judged after they had gone a considerable distance, and had
found themselves in a dark stone corridor, that they were not very far
from the room they sought. Galabin, anticipating its need, had provided
himself with a small lantern, and by the light of this they searched
for the prison chamber. There were three doors on the left-hand side of
the passage; all of these were unfastened, and each led into an empty
room. On the right-hand side there were no doors, the stone wall was
unbroken. At the end was a small door admitting to a winding stairway,
evidently leading up into the tower. Prince Roel seemed to recognize
the neighbourhood of his prison, but his ideas on the subject were
vague, and he was quite unable to point out where the entrance could be
found. His escape from the room had been made in such excitement that
he had noted nothing except the passage that lay in front of him.
Every moment, they felt, was precious, as the delay would give Zarka’s
people time to gather and attack them, which certainly, but for their
chief’s state of collapse, would have happened before this. In their
extremity Galabin ventured to call, “D’Alquen! D’Alquen!” To their
great relief there was an answering cry, coming as it seemed from the
thickness of the wall, and next moment the apparently solid stonework
moved outwards, and a door, the grooves of which were secured from
observation by depressed lines in the masonry, opened, and D’Alquen
backed out, revolver in hand.
“Now, let us get out of this as quickly as we can,” Galabin exclaimed.
But how? A hurried consultation was held, and a plan of escape which
seemed to offer least risk was quickly decided upon. They all passed
into the room, shutting and locking the door behind them. The gaoler,
again held up under the influence of D’Alquen’s pistol, was then
compelled at the muzzle of the same weapon to work back the iron
shutter which concealed the window. This done, he was pinioned and left
securely helpless. Then by the aid of the long strap which had proved
so useful, all the five let themselves down, one by one, from the
window. There was no sound or sign of a pursuing party as they crossed
the moat to the wood beyond, down to the valley, and so along its path
towards Gorla’s Farm. It was imperative that they should push on to the
town which lay a few miles beyond, in order to insure Prince Roel’s
safety, and send word to Gersdorff. Von Tressen took Philippa by the
arm and helped her along the rough ground. For a while the excitement
and reaction were too great to allow her to speak, although there was
in her heart an unspeakable joy at the lifting of the shadow of death
which had lain across it. At length she said in a low voice:
“You understand, now?”
“Hardly,” Von Tressen answered. “But at least this, that I have been
led into a hideous mistake in the suspicions which have been forced
upon me.”
“It was my fault,” Philippa replied, “in not daring to explain. Low
as my opinion was of Count Zarka, I never suspected him of such a
monstrous thing as this, that all this time he was keeping prisoner the
man whose death he persisted at laying at my door.”
“And the duel? That was one of his lies?”
“No,” she answered quietly. “It was the truth.”
He looked at her in blank astonishment.
“The truth? But how----?” He stopped, as unable to see the light of a
happy explanation.
“It is quite true,” she continued, “that Fräulein d’Ivady and I
fought--she for the Count--I for my liberty. It was forced upon me.”
“But how came you there, Philippa?” he asked, hating himself for the
question, yet forced to put it.
“I lost my way in the forest,” she explained. “I was coming to warn
you against the Count, who had let fall evil threats against you, and
I was frightened by Herr D’Alquen and driven by his presence and the
storm under the walls of Rozsnyo.” Then in a few words she related the
story of her encounter with Royda d’Ivady. “I had a terrible dread of
being caught there by the Count,” she concluded, “and preferred to
fight that almost mad girl for a chance of escape. Ah, Osbert, if you
had only known the strange fear with which the Count inspired me you
would see how I must have hated him to have had the courage to refuse
to be his wife.”
“That is all over now,” he said caressingly.
She gave a little shudder.
“If I could think so. But I fear.”
“You need not fear now, dearest,” he said reassuringly.
“It is not for myself, but for you,” she returned. “Zarka is vindictive
and cruel; he will never rest till he has revenged himself for his
defeat to-night.”
“He is utterly discredited now,” Von Tressen urged. “When this is known
he will be a criminal and a fugitive.”
“But a desperate one.”
“Perhaps. But you will not make me afraid of him.”
They had now reached the farm, and giving the astonished Harlberg in a
few words an account of what happened at Rozsnyo, the four men made
for the encampment, harnessed the horse, and pushed forward to the
town. Having seen Prince Roel safely to the principal inn of the place,
and leaving Galabin and D’Alquen with him, Von Tressen drove back to
Gorla’s Farm.
All was quiet; there seemed to have been no further attempt on Zarka’s
part, although, in his present desperate position, this had been
far from unlikely. Securing his horse by the gate, Von Tressen kept
watch over the place until well into the morning, when the inmates
of the house were astir. Then he went in to talk over with Harlberg
and Philippa the arrangements for their immediate departure from the
forest. The General was in good spirits, rejoicing in his freedom to
resume his real name and at the prospect of release from his exile,
and quite content to accept the engagement between Von Tressen and
Philippa, since the Count was now an impossibility.
After breakfast Von Tressen drove off to the encampment in order to
have their things packed, as he intended to make the journey with
Harlberg and Philippa. He had arranged to meet Galabin there, and as he
drove up found his friend awaiting him.
The preparations for their departure were set about quickly. The
servant, Bela, was busy filling a basket with cooking utensils while
Von Tressen and Galabin were packing their valises inside the tent.
Suddenly the light was intercepted. Both men turned quickly, to see
standing in the entrance the figure of Count Zarka. His lowering face
was hideously disfigured by a great dark swelling across the cheek and
forehead; his eyes, notwithstanding that one was half closed, seemed
to sparkle with hate, and the teeth were displayed in a set grin.
Neglecting all his customary parade of salutation he stood there quite
still, moving nothing but his lip as he said:
“Good-morning, gentleman. I have come to settle an account with you.
Before we proceed further will you have the goodness to send your man
away?”
For a moment neither replied. Then Galabin said: “We can have nothing
more to do with you, Count, and as our servant is busy we cannot
interrupt his work.”
Zarka gave a shrug and came two steps into the tent. “As you will.
It makes little difference. Last night, Lieutenant Von Tressen,” he
continued, keeping back as he spoke the corners of his mouth so that
the rows of white teeth seemed to snap out the words as though a wolf
had found speech, “you refused to fight me. You will not refuse again.”
The last words were not a question, but the expression of a purpose.
The Lieutenant faced him sternly.
“Indeed I shall,” he retorted. “I have too great a respect for my
honour and that of my uniform to meet the man you have shown yourself
to be.”
“So!” Zarka snarled. “You refuse finally?”
“Finally.”
“Then I tell you you are a coward!” Von Tressen laughed. “That I will
proclaim you a coward all over Europe!” Zarka proceeded, his voice
rising with each sentence. “That I will flog you in public whenever I
shall meet you. That is nothing to you, my swaggerer, eh?”
“Nothing,” Von Tressen answered quietly, “from the man in Russia’s
pay who kidnapped Prince Roel and planned a dastardly outrage on a
defenceless lady.”
Zarka gave no sign that the words stung him. In a tone as quiet as Von
Tressen’s he continued: “No; that is nothing to you, my brave fellow.
But when I tell you,” and here his voice sank to a hissing whisper,
“that unless you consent to face my pistol now, I will kill you, yes,
kill you as assuredly as there is a sun in the sky, kill you within a
month, you will perhaps, knowing something of my character and that
there is nothing on earth I dare not do, when once I am resolved, I
say perhaps you will see the desirability of meeting me in fair fight
without further delay.”
Von Tressen laughed scornfully. “Not even on the flattering grounds
that I am afraid of you,” he replied. “And I must ask you, Count, to
leave the tent, as we are busy.”
For an instant Zarka’s eyes blazed. Galabin watching keenly, saw the
evil light and drew a step nearer. But the murderous impulse, for such
it surely must have been, was stifled for the moment, and the Count
stood silent as meditating his parting words. However, Galabin spoke
first.
“I fancy, Count, instead of threatening honourable men you will have
enough to do to look after your own safety. If you do not immediately
quit this tent we shall consider it our duty to arrest you, in
anticipation of those whom the law will have put upon your track in a
few hours’ time.”
Zarka, who had not appeared to notice him before, now turned his savage
glance from the Lieutenant. “You too, Herr Galabin,” he said with the
same ugly grin. “You must pardon me if I seemed to ignore you. When
I have settled accounts with your friend I shall have an opportunity
of meting out to you the reward of--a spy. I will not detain you,
gentlemen. The short time before you should be yours. The future and a
certain lady are for me. _Au revoir_, gentlemen.” He turned abruptly,
and next moment was gone.
Galabin laughed, though not very confidently. “The sooner we are out
of this forest, and the Herr Graf is in the safe keeping of the law,
the better for us all, my friend. Bela,” he called, “which way did the
Count go?”
“Towards Rozsnyo, mein Herr.”
“Then let us lose no time in making for Gorla’s and so for
civilization,” Galabin observed to Von Tressen. “The man is desperate,
and the symptoms are none the less dangerous for being suppressed.”
* * * * *
Meanwhile Count Zarka had mounted and ridden back to Rozsnyo. He knew
that, for a time at any rate, the dangerous game he had been playing
was up; his only chance now was to put the mountains and the frontier
between himself and Gersdorff’s long arm. The mere failure of the
political side of the business would have troubled him but little; he
was a gambler who knew how to lose as well as win, and at most this
discomfiture would mean but a year or two’s exile till the affair was
forgotten, or crowded out of attention by more engrossing international
movements. What made him clench his wolfish teeth, scowl as he rode
along, and startle the forest denizens by loud ejaculations of rage,
was the maddening thought of failure nearer to his heart, that he had
been worsted in the fight for Philippa Carlstein. It was that which
made him vow and curse, and dig his heels savagely into the roan’s
flanks.
On reaching Rozsnyo he went in by his private door, and for an hour
was busy making secret preparations for his flight. Having put things
in order and destroyed certain papers, he took a gun and went out. As
he crossed the bridge he could see that he was being watched from a
window; he waved his hand carelessly to Royda, cursing her in his heart
all the while as the indirect cause of his discomfiture. The action,
almost brutal in its perfunctoriness, nevertheless brought a flush to
the pale face, which watched him till the wood hid him from sight. For
she knew nothing of the last night’s fierce doings, and if she had
known she might have welcomed the crisis as putting her rival out of
reach.
Zarka’s way was one he had often traversed, that leading to the pass
over the mountains. The afternoon was still brilliant as he reached the
snow line, and turned to take breath after his rapid climb. For he had
set forth in a state of vicious excitement for which action and waste
of energy were the only safety-valves. Even when he had halted on the
lower plateau he could not keep still, but restlessly paced to and fro
in irregular strides, now stopping, now starting forward again as his
thoughts seemed to whip him into action.
The disfigurement of his face showed plainer now; the swelling and
discoloration adding ugliness of feature to that of temper which blazed
malignantly from his eyes.
He lighted a cigar and walked on scowling; his progress was slower now,
for the track was rough and tortuous.
Suddenly in his walk he stopped, and flung out his arms with a cry of
“Hail!” The giant shadow of the mountain had appeared with startling
abruptness, and now towered with weird vastness above him, seeming to
rise from the chasm below. The suddenness of the apparition seemed for
a moment to have shaken his nerves, but it was merely a flash of fear.
“An omen!” he cried. “Ah, my good genius, have you come again to
give me courage? Zarka of the cloud and storm, help this fettered,
passion-tossed Zarka of blood and clay. Give me my heart’s desire, or
at least a sign that I shall gain it. God or demon, do with me what
thou wilt so thou grant me this. Zarka of the mist and mountain, give
me my prayer. I have never known defeat, my guardian genius, let me
never know it!”
Up from the profundity of the yawning abyss before him came a great
suppressed sighing as the wind swept through the fissured depths. A
big bird of the vulture family flew suddenly down to the mouth of the
chasm, circled about, and sighting the man there, wheeled off with a
cry of angry surprise. The spectre of the mountain slowly faded as the
sun dipped behind the topmost peak; the mist began to rise and roll,
and the cloud to assert its sway.
Zarka, who had stood since his apostrophe in lowering meditation,
started forward as though with a suddenly formed determination. His
disfigured face lighted up with diabolical triumph, and he laughed
aloud as he hastened back along the path. Such a laugh! The laugh of
a gambler who throws his last coin on the green table, a laugh that
flings defiance at God and man, and utters the old invocation, “Evil
be thou my Good!” A laugh that was echoed back from across the abyss,
and reverberated on and on through the rocky walls and chasms of the
mountain, on and on, after the human voice that had uttered it was
silent for ever. For the laugh had been crushed out of those lying lips
into a scream by the rush of a sudden “_lavine_,” or avalanche, which
swept with terrific swiftness down the sloping wall of rock, bounded on
to the ledge which just perceptibly checked its sheer descent, then,
crashing over the precipice, flung itself into the abyss with a thunder
which the echoes prolonged and redoubled till it seemed as though the
very mountain would be rent.
And the path was empty. Count Zarka was never more to know failure as
he lay a thousand feet below, swept out of the world by a force that
would have annihilated a regiment. And as the echoes of the fall died
away they were followed by that of a scream, the cry of the vulture,
swooping back and hovering in baffled voracity over the grave of his
human brother.
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