FLIGHT
The visions which disturbed Marishka Strahni in that dim borderland
between sleep and waking persisted in her dreams. And always Goritz
predominated--sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning but always cold,
sinister and calculating. He made love to her and spurned her by turns,
threatened her with the fate of the Duchess, whom she saw dead before
her eyes, the victim of a shot in the back. There was a smoking pistol
in Marishka's hand, and another figure lying near, which wore the
uniform of an Austrian general--the Archduke Franz it seemed, until she
moved to one side and saw that the figure had the face of Hugh Renwick.
She started up from her couch, a scream on her lips--calling to
Hugh----! Was she awake or was this another dream, more dreadful than
the last? There followed a conflict of bewildering noises, as though
night had mercifully fallen upon a chaos of disaster. She sat up and
looked around her. A train.
She gasped a sigh of relief as her gaze pierced the dimness of the
elusive shadows. She remembered now. Captain Goritz. But she was still
alone. She lay down again, trying to keep awake in dread of the visions,
but exhaustion conquered again and she slept, dreaming now of another
Hugh, a tender and chivalrous lover who held her in his arms and
whispered of roses.
It was daylight when she awoke. Captain Goritz was now sitting by the
window smiling at her. She started up drowsily, fingering at her hair.
"You have slept well, Countess?" he asked cheerfully and without waiting
for her reply. "It is well. You have probably a trying day before you."
Marishka straightened and looked out of the window past him at the
sunlit morning. Could it be possible that this alert pleasant person was
the Nemesis of her dreams? The world had taken on a new complexion,
washed clean of terrors by the pure dews of the night.
"Thanks, Herr Hauptmann," she smiled at him. "I am quite myself again."
"That is fortunate," he said. "We are nearly at our journey's end--at
least this part of it. Our train goes no further than Marburg."
"And then?"
"An automobile--a long journey."
"I am quite ready."
At Marburg they got down, and after Marishka had made a hurried toilet,
they breakfasted in comfort at the Bahnhof restaurant. If Captain Goritz
nourished any suspicion that they were being followed he gave no sign of
it, and after breakfast, to Marishka's surprise, Karl the chauffeur
appeared miraculously and announced that their car was awaiting them.
"If I were not sure that you were Herr Lieutenant von Arnstorf," laughed
Marishka, "I should say you were the fairy of the magic carpet."
"The magic carpet--_ach_, yes--if we but had one!" he said genuinely.
The motion of the automobile soothed and satisfied her. At least she was
doing what she could to reach Sarajevo before the archducal party
arrived, and as her companion hopefully assured her, with a fair chance
of success. If Marishka could see Sophie Chotek, all her troubles would
be over, for then the Wilhelmstrasse would not care to oppose the dictum
of the Duchess in favor of one who whatever her political sins in
Germany's eyes, had made endless sacrifices to atone.
If Marishka succeeded! But if she failed?
The morning was too wonderful for thoughts of grim deeds or the authors
of them. The poisons distilled in her mind the night before were
dispelled into the clear air of the mountainside, over which singing
streams gushed joyously down. Birds were calling--mating; wild creatures
scampered playfully in thicket and hedge; and the peaceful valleys were
redolent of sweet odors.
In the long hours of the afternoon Marishka's thoughts were of Hugh
Renwick. Perspective had given him a finer contour, for she had Goritz
to compare him with. She loved Hugh. She knew now how much. Her
happiness had been too sweet to have had such a sudden ending. She had
been unkind--cruel--broken with him even when he was bending every
effort to aid her. He was trying to help her now for all that she
knew.... She had written him a note from the German Embassy--just a few
lines which she had enclosed with the message to her maid at the
apartment--warning him that he was in danger and praying that he leave
the country and return to England, a kindly note which by its anxiety
for his safety conveyed perhaps more of what was in her heart than she
would have cared to write had she believed that she was to see him
again.
What reason had Captain Goritz for believing that Hugh would follow her
in this mad quest? How could Hugh be sure where she had gone and with
whom? There had been a quality of the miraculous in the judgment of
Captain Goritz. What if even now Hugh Renwick were near her? Her pulse
went a little faster. Pride--the pride which asks in vain--for a while
had been dashed low, and she had scorned him with her eyes, her voice,
her mien, her gestures, all, alas! but her heart. The women of the house
of Strahni----! Hugh Renwick had kissed her. And the memory of those
kisses amid the red roses of the Archduke was with her now. She felt
them on her lips--the touch of his firm strong fingers--the honest gaze
of his gray eyes--these were the tokens she had which came to her as
evidence that the readings of her heart had not been wrong. A Serbian
spy----! She smiled confidently.
In a moment she stole a glance at Captain Goritz, who was bent forward
studying his road map. She waited until he gave directions to the
chauffeur and then spoke.
"Captain Goritz," she said carelessly, "you manage so cleverly that I am
beginning to trust implicitly to your guidance and knowledge. But there
is one thing that puzzles me. It must be more than a whim which makes
you think that Herr Renwick will follow us to Sarajevo."
"Not _us_, Countess," he smiled; "I said _you_."
"But granting that he would follow me--which I doubt--how could he know
where I have gone?"
Goritz laughed easily.
"He will find a way."
Marishka's face grew sober.
"I fear Herr Renwick's friendship cannot achieve miracles. The last he
saw of me was in a hut in Bohemia. What clew could he have----? What
possible----"
"Ah, Countess," Goritz broke in, "you do not realize as I have done the
cleverness of the Austrian Secret Service. We have so far eluded them.
We were very lucky but it cannot be long before the green limousine will
be discovered, and the direction of our journey."
"But even that----"
"To a clever man like Herr Renwick--to a man whose affections are
involved," he added slowly, "it would not be difficult to decide where
you have gone. He knows the discomforts and dangers you have passed
through to achieve your object. He will, of course, seek your apartment
and read the meaning of your sending for your clothing just as
easily"--he paused a moment and smiled at the back of Karl's head--"just
as easily," he repeated slowly, "as though you yourself had written him
a note telling him--er--exactly which train you had taken."
Marishka felt the warm color flooding her neck and brows. In writing
Renwick she had broken her promise to this man not to communicate with
her friends. Goritz watched her pretty distress for a moment with
amusement which speedily turned to interest.
"Of course, Countess, you did _not_ write to him?" he said, with sudden
severity.
"I owe you an explanation, Captain Goritz----" she said timidly.
"You wrote--Countess?" evincing the most admirable surprise.
"I inclosed a few words in my note to my maid--a warning of danger and a
request that Herr Renwick leave at once for England----"
And as Goritz frowned at her, "Surely there is no harm in that."
"Your word of honor----"
"I betrayed nothing of my whereabouts or plans," she pleaded.
"How can I know that you speak the truth?"
"I swear it."
Goritz shrugged lightly.
"It is, of course, a woman's privilege to change her mind. Still, you
put me upon my guard. It is unfortunate. How can I be sure that you will
not be sending other notes without my permission to the Europa when we
reach Sarajevo?"
"The Europa----? I fail to understand."
"The Europa Hotel," he said with a curious distinctness, "where all
English people stop, and where of course your friend Mr. Renwick will
stop."
Marishka examined him keenly.
"Your prescience cannot be infallible."
"No. But Herr Renwick will come to Sarajevo," he repeated confidently.
He was still studying the road map and she was silent, thinking. But in
a moment he raised his head and shrugged again.
"Of course it is nothing to me. As an English subject he has the
protection of his Ambassador. Even if my orders demanded his arrest I
should be without power to carry them out."
"It is easier to deal with the credulity of women," she said quietly.
"Countess Strahni, you make it very difficult for me--doubly difficult
since I have learned how lightly you hold your promise."
"But confession absolves----"
"With me, perhaps, because I could refuse you nothing, but not with
those that have sent me."
"But why should you be uneasy at the possibility of Herr Renwick
following to Sarajevo?"
"I do not relish the disturbance of my plans."
She smiled a little at that.
"I think I should be a little happier if I knew just what those plans
were."
He did not reply at once. Then he went on slowly, choosing his words
with care.
"My sentiments of respect must by this time have told you that no harm
can come to you. Last night His Excellency, the German Ambassador,
informed me that I shall do a great damage to the friendship between
your nation and mine, if I presume to take you across the German border
without your consent. I have been much moved by his advice. He has
already written to the Wilhelmstrasse in your behalf. I cannot yet
absolve you from your promise since my own actions in Austria have been
far from conventional. Herr Renwick, if he chooses, can make my visit to
Sarajevo most unpleasant. But I see no reason, after our purpose has
been achieved, why you should not be restored to your friends, even to
Herr Renwick, if that is your desire," and then in a lower tone, "I can
assure you, Countess Strahni, that I relinquish you to him with an ill
grace."
"Herr Renwick is no Serbian spy, Captain Goritz," she said steadily.
He smiled.
"Oh, you do not believe me. Very well. You will discover it for
yourself."
"How?" she asked timidly.
He looked at her with every mark of admiration, but his reply did not
answer her question.
"Herr Renwick is indeed fortunate in having so loyal a friend--even
though, as you say, there is nothing between you in common. I envy him
the possession. I hope that he may better deserve it."
She smiled but did not speak for a moment and then, "Why is it that you
so dislike a man whom you do not know--whom you--you have never seen?"
Goritz bent forward toward her, his voice lowered while his strange dark
eyes gazed full into hers:
"Need I tell you?" he whispered. "You have thought me cruel, because I
have done my duty, heartless--cold--a mere piece of official machinery
which could balk at nothing--even the destruction of a woman's
happiness--because my allegiance to my country was greater than any
personal consideration. But I am not insensible to the appeals of
gentleness, not blind to beauty nor deaf to music, Countess Strahni, as
you have thought. Beneath the exterior which may have seemed forbidding
to you, I am only human. Last night I took advantage of your weariness
and weakness in telling you, with cruel bluntness, of Herr Renwick's
relations with the Serbian government. I learned what you have labored
to conceal--that you care for him--that you care for one who----"
"It is not true," she broke in calmly. "I do not care for Herr Renwick."
"It would delight me to believe you," he went on with a shake of the
head, "but I cannot. It has been very painful to me to see you suffer,
for whatever you have done in a mistaken sense of loyalty to your
country, nothing can alter the fact of your innocence, your virtue, and
your dependence upon my kindness in a most trying situation. I have told
you the facts about Herr Renwick because I have believed it my duty, to
you and to Austria. If I have hurt you, Countess Strahni," he finished
gently, "I pray that you will forgive me."
Marishka was silent, now looking straight before her down the mountain
road which they were descending slowly. The voice of Captain Goritz had
a sonorous quality which could not have been unpleasant to the ears of
any woman. She listened to it soberly, trying to detect the tinkle of
the spurious, but she was forced to admit that beyond and behind the
mere phrases which might in themselves mean nothing, there was a depth
of earnestness that might have proved bewildering to one less versed in
the ways of the world than herself. His eyes, singularly clear and
luminous, dominated and held her judgment of him in abeyance. For the
moment she was able to forget her terrors of the night before, his
enmity for Hugh Renwick, and the threat he had hung over her freedom.
She did not dare to trust him. Too much still hung in the balance of her
favor or disfavor. And yet she was forced to admit the constraint of his
fervor, his kindness and courteous consideration. A woman forgives much
to those who acknowledge without question the scepter of her femininity.
At last she turned toward him with a smile and gave nun her hand. Nor
did she withdraw it when bending low he pressed it gently to his lips.
This was a game that two could play at.
"We are to be friends, then?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," she smiled at him.
Toward six of the afternoon a trifling mishap to the motor delayed them
for two hours, and it was long after midnight before they reached Brod
and learned that the train of the Archduke had left within the hour.
This was a terrible disappointment, which seemed to menace the success
of their venture. But Captain Goritz determined to go on as rapidly as
possible, trusting to reach their destination before the royal party
left its train, hoping that the sight of Countess Strahni by the Duchess
would be sufficient to let down any official barriers which might be
interposed. But an unforeseen difficulty at Brod still further delayed
them, a difficulty which required all of the ingenuity of Captain Goritz
to get them once more upon their way. It was three o'clock in the
morning, when having made some necessary repairs to the machine, they
reached the Austrian end of the great bridge across the Save. Here they
were halted by an iron chain across the bridge entrance and a police
officer who, it seemed, looked upon their night traveling with
suspicion. Captain Goritz protested indignantly and produced his papers,
which the officer inspected by the dim light of an ancient lantern held
by a subordinate.
"I am sorry," he said firmly, "but no motor cars are permitted to cross
into Bosnia until tomorrow morning."
"But, my friend," said Goritz with an air of outraged patience, "I am an
officer of the Third Regiment of the Fifteenth Army Corps returning to
Sarajevo from a leave of absence which expires at nine in the morning.
It is necessary that my party goes through at once."
"I must obey orders, Herr Ober Lieutenant."
"But my papers are correct. They are signed, you will observe, by
General von Hoetzendorf himself."
"I am sorry, but you cannot go through. If you choose to take up the
matter with my superior officer, you will find the Kaserne in the main
street near the mosque. I shall pass you only upon his visé. That is
final. You will please turn your car and return to the village."
Captain Goritz gazed longingly along the pale beam of the motor lamps
into the dark reaches of the bridge, and then at the shadow of the heavy
chain. At last with reluctance he gave the order to turn back. There
seemed no doubt that the restriction was unusual, and that the visit of
the Archduke had much to do with the obstruction of traffic between
Sarajevo and central Europe. The car moved slowly back through the
darkened village in the direction from which they had come, while Goritz
planned what was better to be done. The nearest other crossing at Kobas
was twenty miles away, over the road by which they had come, and they
knew that the roads upon the Bosnian side of the river were mere cow
tracks. If the officer at the bridge refused to pass them, how were they
to be certain that they would fare any better at the hands of his
superior, probably a crusty village official who would not relish being
awakened in the small hours of the morning even by a belated army
officer? At the order of Captain Goritz, the chauffeur Karl backed the
car into a meadow and put out the lights. Then Goritz lighted a
cigarette and smoked rapidly.
"Brod is Serbian for ford. Is the passage above the bridge or below?"
"Below, Herr Hauptmann, but dangerous at this season. I should not risk
it."
"Ah, I see." He paused a moment, thinking rapidly. "Is there a chain at
the other end of the bridge?"
"I have never seen one, Herr Hauptmann."
"Very good. You will await me here."
And without further words he got down and disappeared into the darkness.
Marishka sat trembling with uncertainty, trying to pierce the obscurity
in the direction in which her companion had gone. Silence, except for
the droning of the insects and the distant rushing of the river.
Fifteen, twenty minutes in which Marishka sat tensely waiting, hoping,
fearing she knew not what, and then silently, merely a darker shadow of
the night itself, a figure appeared and silently mounted into the seat
beside the waiting Karl.