CHAPTER XXX.
THE END OF THE DAY.
Ludwig was found dead in the hall, slain on the spot by the explosionof the petard which had driven in the door. His two comrades, lessfortunate, were taken alive, and, with the hag who kept the house,were hanged within the hour on the elms in St. Austin's churchyard.The Waldgrave and Neumann, both wounded, the former by the explosionand the latter in his desperate resistance, were captured and held fortrial. But Tzerclas, the chief of all, arch-tempter and arch-traitor,vanished in the confusion of the assault, and made his escape, no oneknew how. Some said that he went by way of a secret passage known onlyto himself; some, that he had a compact with the devil, and vanishedby his aid; some, that he had friends in the crowd who sheltered him.For my part, I set down his disappearance to his own cool wits andiron nerves, and asked no further explanation.
For an hour the little dark court behind the ill-omened house seethedwith a furious mob. No sooner were one party satisfied than anotherswept in with links and torches and ransacked the house, tore down thepanels, groped through the cellars, and probed the chimneys; all withso much rage, and with gestures so wild and extravagant, that anindifferent spectator might have thought them mad. Nor were those whodid these things of the lowest class; on the contrary, they weremostly burghers and traders, solid townsfolk and their apprentices,men who, with wives and daughters and sweethearts, could not sleep atnight for thoughts of storm and sack, and in whom the bare idea thatthey had amongst them wretches ready to open the gates, was enough tokindle every fierce and cruel passion.
I stood for a time unnoticed, gazing at the scene in a kind of stupor,which the noise and tumult aggravated. Little by little, however, thecool air did its work; memory and reason began to return, and, withanxiety awaking in my breast, I looked round for Herr Krapp. PresentlyI saw him coming towards me with a leather flask in his hand.
'Drink some of this,' he said, looking at me keenly. 'Why so wild,man?'
'The girl?' I stammered. I had not spoken before since my release, andmy voice sounded strange and unnatural.
'She is safe,' he answered, nodding kindly. 'I was at my window whenshe swung herself on to the roof by the rope which you left hanging.Donner! you may be proud of her! But she was distraught, or she wouldnot have tried such a feat. She must inevitably have fallen if I hadnot seen her. I called out to her to stand still and hold fast; and myson, who had come upstairs, ran down for a twelve-foot pike. We thrustthat out to her, and, holding it, she tottered along the pike to mywindow, where I caught her skirts, and we dragged her in in a moment.'
I shuddered, remembering how I had suffered, hanging above the yawningstreet. 'I suppose that it was she who warned you and sent you here?'I said.
'No,' he answered. 'This house had been watched for two days, though Idid not tell you so. We had been suspicious of it for a week or more,or I should not have helped you into a neighbour's house as I did.However, all is well that ends well; and though we have not got thatbloodthirsty villain to hang, we have stopped his plans for thistime.'
He was just proposing that, if I now felt able, I should return to mylady's, when a rush of people from the house almost carried me off myfeet. In a moment we were pushed aside and squeezed against the wall.A hoarse yell, like the cry of a wild beast, rose from the crowd, ahundred hands were brandished in the air, weapons appeared as if bymagic. The glare of torches, falling on the raging sea of men, pickedout here and there a scared face, a wandering eye; but for the mostpart the mob seemed to feel only one passion--the thirst for blood.
'What is it?' I shouted in Herr Krapp's ear.
'The prisoners,' he answered. 'They are bringing them out. Your friendthe Waldgrave, and the other. They will need a guard.'
And truly it was a grim thing to see men make at them, striking overthe shoulders of the guard, leaping at them wolf-like, with burningeyes and gnashing teeth, striving to tear them with naked hands. Downthe narrow passage to the churchyard the soldiers had an easy task;but in the open graveyard, whither Herr Krapp and I followed slowly,the party were flung this way and that, and tossed to and fro--thoughthey were strong men, armed, and numbered three or four score--like acork floating on rapids. Their way lay through the Ritter Strasse, andI went with them so far. Though it was midnight, the town, easilyroused from its feverish sleep, was up and waking. Scared faces lookedfrom windows, from eaves, from the very roofs. Men who had snatched uptheir arms and left their clothes peered from doorways. The roar ofthe mob, as it swayed through narrow ways, rose and fell by turns, nowloud as the booming of cavern-waves, now so low that it left the airquivering.
When it died away at last towards the Burg, I took leave of HerrKrapp, and hurried to my lady's, passing the threshold in a tumult ofmemories, of emotions, and thankfulness. I could fancy that I hadlived an age since I last crossed it--eight hours before. The house,like every other house, was up. Herr Krapp had sent the news of myescape before me, and I looked forward with a tremulous, foolishexpectation that was not far from tears to the first words two womenwould say to me.
But though men and women met me with hearty greetings on thethreshold, on the stairs, on the landing, and Steve clapped me on theback until I coughed again, _they_ did not appear. It was aftermidnight, but the house was still lighted as if the sun had just set,and I went up to the long parlour that looked on the street. My heartbeat, and my face grew hot as I entered; but I might have sparedmyself. There was only Fraulein Max in the room.
She came towards me, blinking. 'So Sancho Panza has turnedknight-errant,' she said with a sneer, 'as well as Governor?'
I did not understand her, and I asked gently where my lady was.
She laughed in her gibing way. 'You beg for a stone and expect bread,'she said. 'You care no more where my lady is than where I am! Youmean, where is your Romanist chit, with her white face and wheedlingways.'
I saw that she was bursting with spite; that Marie's return and thestir made about it had been too much for her small, jealous nature,and I was not for answering her. She was out of favour; let her spit,her venom would be gone the sooner. But she had not done yet.
'Of course she has had some wonderful adventures!' she continued, herface working with malice and ill-nature. 'And we are all to admireher. But to a lover does she not seem somewhat _blandula, vagula?_Here to-day and gone to-morrow. _Dolus latet in generalibus_, theCountess says'--and here the Dutch girl mimicked my lady, her eyesgleaming with scorn. 'But _dolus latet in virginibus_, too, MasterMartin, as you will find some day! Oh, a great escape, a heroicescape,--but from her friends!'
'If you mean to infer, Fraulein----' I said hotly.
'Oh, I infer nothing. I leave you to do that!' she replied, smirking.'But pigs go back to the dirt, I read. You know where you found herand the brat!'
'I know where we should all be to-day,' I cried, trembling withindignation, 'if it had not been for her!'
'Perhaps not worse off than we are now,' she snapped. 'However, keepyour eyes shut, if it pleases you.'
My raised voice had reached the Countess's chamber, and as FrauleinMax, giggling spitefully, went out through one door the other openedand stood open. My anger melted away. I stood trembling, and looking,and waiting.
They came in together, my lady with her arm round Marie, the two womenI loved best in the world. I have heard it said that evil runs to evilas drops of water to one another. But the saying is equally true ofgood. Little had I thought, a few weeks back, that my lady would cometo treat the outcast girl from Klink's as a friend; nor I believe werethere ever two people less alike, and yet both good, than these two.But that one quality--which is so quick to see its face mirrored inanother's heart--had brought them close together, and made each torecognise the other; so that, as they came in to me, there was not aline of my lady's figure, not a curve of her head, not a glance ofher proud eyes, that was not in sympathy with the girl who clung toher--Romanist stranger, low born as she was. I looked
and worshipped,and would have changed nothing. I found the dignity of the one asbeautiful as the dependence of the other.
Not a word was spoken. I had wondered what they would say to me--andthey said nothing. But my lady put her into my arms, and she clung tome, hiding her face.
The Countess laughed, yet there were tears in her voice. 'Be happy,'she said. 'Child, from the day you were lost he never forgave me.Martin, see where the rope has cut her wrist. She did it to save you.'
'And myself!' Marie whispered on my breast.
'No!' my lady said. 'I will not have it so! You will spoil both himand my love-story. _Per tecta, per terram_, you have sought oneanother. You have gone down _sub orco_. You have bought one anotherback from death, as Alcestis bought her husband Admetus. At the firstit was a gold chain that linked you together, soon----'
I felt Marie start in my arms. She freed herself gently, and looked atmy lady with trouble in her eyes. 'Oh,' she said, 'I had forgotten!'
'What?' the Countess said. 'What have you forgotten?'
'The child!' Marie replied, clasping her hands. 'I should have toldyou before!'
'You have had no time to tell us much!' my lady answered smiling. 'Andyou are trembling like an aspen now. Sit down, girl. Sit down atonce!' she continued imperatively. 'Or, no! You shall go to your bed,and we will hear it in the morning.'
But Marie seemed so much distressed by this that my lady did notinsist; and in a few minutes the girl had told us a tale so remarkablethat consideration of her fatigue was swallowed up in wonder.
'It was the night I was lost,' she said; 'the night when the alarm wasgiven on the hill, and we rode down it. I clung to my saddle--it wasall I could do--and remember only a dreadful shock, from which Irecovered to find myself lying in the road, shaken and bruised. Fearof those whom I believed to be behind us was still in my mind, and Irose, giddy and confused, my one thought to get off the road. As Istaggered towards the bank, however, I stumbled over something. To myhorror I found that it was a woman. She was dead or senseless, but shehad a child in her arms; it cried as I felt her face. I dared notstay, but, on the impulse of the moment--I could not move the woman,and I expected our pursuers to ride down the hill each instant--Isnatched the child up and ran into the brushwood. After that I onlyremember stumbling blindly on through bog and fern, often falling inmy haste, but always rising and pushing on. I heard cries behind me,but they only spurred me to greater exertions. At last I reached alittle wood, and there, unable to go farther, I sank down, exhausted,and, I suppose, lost my senses, for I awoke, chilled and aching, inthe first grey dawn. The leaves were black overhead, but the whitebirch trunks round me glimmered like pale ghosts. Something stirred inmy arms. I looked down, and saw the face of my child--the child Ifound in the wood by Vach.'
'What!' the Countess cried, rising and staring at her. 'Impossible!Your wits were straying, girl. It was some other child.'
But Marie shook her head gently. 'No, my lady,' she said. 'It was mychild.'
'Count Leuchtenstein's?'
'Yes, if the child I found was his.'
'But how--did it come where you found it?' the Countess asked.
'I think that the woman whom I left in the road was the poor creaturewho used to beg at our house in the camp,' Marie answered, hesitatingsomewhat--'the wife of the man whom General Tzerclas hung, my lady. Isaw her face by a glimmer of light only, and, at the moment, I thoughtnothing. Afterwards it flashed across me that she was that woman. Ifso, I think that she stole the child to avenge herself. She thoughtthat we were General Tzerclas' friends.'
'But then where is the child?' my lady exclaimed, her eyes shining. Iwas excited myself; but the delight, the pleasure which I saw in herface took me by surprise. I stared at her, thinking that I had neverseen her look so beautiful.
Then, as Marie answered, her face fell. 'I do not know,' my girl said.'After a time I found my way back to the road, but I had scarcely setfoot on it when General Tzerclas' troopers surprised me. I gave myselfup for lost; I thought that he would kill me. But he only gibed at me,until I almost died of fear, and then he bade one of his men take meup behind him. They carried me with them to the camp outside thiscity, and three days ago brought me in and shut me up in that house.'
'But the child?' my lady cried. 'What of it?'
'He took it from me,' Marie said. 'I have never seen it since, but Ithink that he has it in the camp.'
'Does he know whose child it is?'
'I told him,' Marie replied. 'Otherwise they might have let it die onthe road. It was a burden to them.'
The Countess shuddered, but in a moment recovered herself. '"Whilethere is life there is hope,"' she said. 'Martin, here is more workfor you. We will leave no stone unturned. Count Leuchtenstein mustknow, of course, but I will tell him myself. If we could get the childback and hand it safe and sound to its father, it would be---- Perhapsthe Waldgrave may be able to help us?'
'I think that he will need all his wits to help himself,' I saidbluntly.
'Why?' my lady questioned, looking at me in wonder.
'Why?' I cried in astonishment. 'Have you heard nothing about him, mylady?'
'Nothing,' she said.
'Not that he was taken to-night, in Tzerclas' company,' I answered,'and is a prisoner at this moment at the Burg, charged, along with thevillain Neumann, with a plot to admit the enemy into the city?'
My lady sat down, her face pale, her aspect changed, as thecountryside changes when the sun goes down. 'He was there' shemuttered--'with Tzerclas?'
I nodded.
'The Waldgrave Rupert--my cousin?' she murmured, as if the thingpassed the bounds of reason.
'Yes, my lady,' I said, as gently as I could. 'But he is mad. I amassured that he is mad. He has been mad for weeks past. We know it. Wehave known it. Besides, he knew nothing, I am sure, of Tzerclas'plans.'
'But--he was _there!_' she cried. 'He was one of those two men theycarried by? One of those!'
'Yes,' I said.
She sat for a moment stricken and silent, the ghost of herself. Then,in a voice little above a whisper, she asked what they would do tohim.
I shrugged my shoulders. To be candid, I had not given the Waldgravemuch thought, though in a way he had saved my life. Now, the longer Iconsidered the matter, the less room for comfort I found. Certainly hewas mad. We knew him to be mad. But how were we to persuade others?For weeks his bodily health had been good; he had carried himselfindoors and out-of-doors like a sane man; he had done duty in thetrenches, and mixed, though grudgingly, with his fellows, and goneabout the ordinary business of life. How, in the face of all this,could we prove him mad, or make his judges, stern men, fighting withtheir backs to the wall, see the man as we saw him?
'I suppose that there will be a trial?' my lady said at last, breakingthe silence.
I told her yes--at once. 'The town is in a frenzy of rage,' Icontinued. 'The guards had a hard task to save them to-night. PerhapsPrince Bernard of Weimar----'
'Don't count on him,' my lady answered. 'He is as hard as he isgallant. He would hang his brother if he thought him guilty of such athing as this. No; our only hope is in'--she hesitated an instant, andthen ended the sentence abruptly--'Count Leuchtenstein. You must go tohim, Martin, at seven, or as soon after as you can catch him. He is ajust man, and he has watched the Waldgrave and noticed him to be odd.The court will hear him. If not, I know no better plan.'
Nor did I, and I said I would go; and shortly afterwards I took myleave. But as I crept to my bed at last, the clocks striking two, andmy head athrob with excitement and gratitude, I wondered what was inmy lady's mind. Remembering the Waldgrave's gallant presence and manlygrace, recalling his hopes, his courage, and his overweeningconfidence, as displayed in those last days at Heritzburg, I couldfeel no surprise that so sad a downfall touched her heart. But--wasthat all? Once I had deemed him the man to win her. Then I had seengood cause to think otherwise. Now again I began to fancy that hismishaps might be crowned with a happiness which fo
rtune had denied tohim in his days of success.