"It is a pity that I have already gauged your capacity for devotion," she said bitterly.
"I had to tell, Marishka–"
"Herr Renwick, I am already much in your debt. Add to my burden, if you will, by keeping silence on a matter so painful–"
"Forgive me–"
"Never. You have betrayed me."
"I'll never give you up."
"You must. Circumstances have placed me in this false position. I am at your mercy. I beg you to be silent."
"You will marry me, some day, Marishka," he asserted cheerfully.
"Never," scornfully. "Never. The House of Strahni, Herr Renwick, holds honor high and loyalty even higher than honor–"
"There is another precept of the House of Strahni," he broke in calmly. "Their women—where they give their lips–"
"Oh, you are intolerable! I abominate you!"
"And I—I still adore you," he whispered. "I shall always adore—and serve."
"Thank God, the hour of your service nears its end," she said chokingly.
"Who knows?" he muttered.
But he made no further attempt to break through her reserve. She was too greatly in his power. And so he drove in silence, passing through the silent streets of Budweis without challenge and soon found himself upon the main highroad to Prague, over which the two had traveled less than a week ago in their hurried flight to Vienna. The moon had long since set, but when they climbed the hills along the Moldau faint gray streaks upon their right hand proclaimed the coming of the dawn. If Marishka was weary she gave no sign of it, for she sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes wide open, staring along the thin yellow ribbon which marked their road. To the few questions as to her comfort she answered in monosyllables, and at last he made no further effort to engage her in a conversation. He felt no anger at her rebuffs—only tenderness—for in his heart he could not altogether blame her for her repudiation of him.
Broad daylight found them on the Prague highroad, not three miles from Konopisht Schloss. Here Renwick decided to desert the car and go afoot through the forest to the castle. He hid the machine in a thicket and led the way, Marishka following silently, content to trust herself to a judgment which until the present moment had seemed unerring. He glanced at her from time to time, aware of the pallor of her face and the fatigue of her movements. Once when he turned he fancied that her lips were smiling, but when he spoke to her she answered him shortly. The wounds to her pride were deep, it seemed, but he armed himself with patience and smiled at her reassuringly as they paused at the edge of the wood.
"The Schloss is just beyond these woods, I think. Some smoke is rising yonder. We must avoid the village. I think we may reach the garden by the lower gate. And there I will await you, Countess Strahni," he finished quietly.
It seemed as though in giving her her title, that he was accepting without further plea any conditions of formality in their relations which she might impose.
She waited a long moment without moving or replying. And then she turned toward him with a smile.
"Herr Renwick," she said gently, "whatever the personal differences between us, I owe you at least a word of gratitude for all that you have done. I thank you again. But I do not wish you to wait for me. I shall not trouble you longer."
"I will wait for you," he repeated.
"It is not necessary. I shall not return."
"You might, you know," he smiled. "I don't mind waiting at all. I shall breakfast upon a cigarette."
"Oh," she cried, her temper rising again, "you are–you are impossible."
With that she turned and strode ahead, reaching the gate before him and entering.
"Au revoir, Countess Strahni," he called after her.
But she walked rapidly toward the rose garden without turning her head, while Renwick, after lighting his cigarette, strolled slowly after her, sure that the world was very beautiful, but that his path of love even amid the roses did not run smoothly.
He reached the hedge just in time to see a man, one of the gardeners he seemed to be, come forward along the path from the direction of the castle and stand before Marishka bowing. He saw the girl turn a glance over her shoulder, an appealing glance, and Renwick had just started to run forward when from each tree and hedge near him figures appeared which seemed to envelop him. He struck out to right and left, but they were too many. He felt a stinging blow at the back of his head, and had the curious sensation of seeing the garden path suddenly rise and smite him tremendously.
CHAPTER VI
HERR WINDT
When Renwick managed again to summon his wits, he found himself lying in the dark where somebody was bathing his brows with a damp cloth. His head ached a great deal and he lay for a moment without opening his eyes, aware of soft fingers, the touch of which seemed to soothe the pain immeasurably. He opened his eyes to the semi-obscurity of a small room furnished with the cot on which he lay, a table and two chairs. It was all very comfortable and cozy, but the most agreeable object was the face of Marishka Strahni, not a foot from his own. Through eyes dimmed by pain he thought he read in her expression a divine compassion and tenderness, and quickly closed them again for fear that his eyes might have deceived him. When he opened them again he murmured her name.
"Marishka," he said gently, "you—you have forgiven me?"
But she had moved slightly away from him and was now regarding him impassively. It was too bad for his vision to have played him such a trick. It was so much pleasanter to sleep with Marishka looking at him like that.
"You have had a blow upon the head, Herr Renwick," her voice came as from a distance. "I hope you are feeling better. It was necessary for me to bathe your head with cold compresses."
Necessary! Of course. But it would have been so much pleasanter to know that she had done it because she wanted to.
"So it was au revoir, after all?" he smiled, struggling to a sitting posture.
"You had better lie still for a while," she said briefly.
His head was throbbing painfully, but he managed to make light of it.
"Oh, I'm quite all right, I think," he said looking around the room curiously. "Would you mind telling me what happened and where we are?"
"They struck you down and brought us here. It's one of the gardener's cottages on the estate."
"And you?"
"They were very polite but we are prisoners—for how long I don't know. I've failed, Herr Renwick–" she finished miserably.
"Perhaps it isn't too late–"
"There are men outside. They intend to keep us here for the present."
"There ought to be a way–" said Renwick, putting his feet to the ground. "I could–" He stopped abruptly, for at that moment he discovered that the captured weapon had been removed from his pocket.
"I'm afraid it's hopeless," said Marishka bitterly.
Renwick glanced at his watch. "Only eight o'clock. Even now we could–"
He rose and walked to the window, peering through a crack in the shutter, but an attack of vertigo caused him to sink into a chair. She regarded him dubiously, pride and compassion struggling, but she said nothing.
"Beastly stupid of me," he groaned. "I might have known they'd spare no detail–"
There was a knock upon the door, and at Marishka's response, a turning of the key, and a man entered. In spite of a discolored eye and a wrinkled neckband, he was not difficult to identify as their friend of the railroad train. His manner, however, was far from forbidding, for he clicked his heels, swept off his cap and smiled slowly, his gold tooth gleaming pleasantly.
"Herr Renwick is, I trust, feeling better," he said politely.
Renwick