"I never take advice. But you may have been mistaken. I can scarcely believe that Herr Windt had the skill to trace us here—unless——"

"But it was he. I was peering through the slit in the postern, not twenty feet away. I could have killed him easily."

"But twenty feet is a long distance when two hundred feet yawn beneath. Let him come. We have food enough for a siege—ah, there it is again!"

There was a significant silence between the two men, but Renwick listened the more keenly, for he heard the deep rumble, as of thunder, which had perplexed him in the afternoon—a reverberation, repeated and continued, which seemed to make the very flags beneath him tremble. But since he could hear and feel it within these solid walls, much nearer and louder, he realized now that it meant the roar of artillery—the defiant blasts of the Austrian guns at the end of the Pass, or the triumphant salvos of the Russians. And the voice of Goritz confirmed him.

"The thing has come rather sooner than I expected," he growled. "Donnerwetter! Why couldn't the Russians have put off the attack for a week!"

"And if they win the Pass——"

"Perhaps it is just as well for us if they do. Herr Windt may neglect us in the general scramble for safety."

"He is not of that sort, Herr Hauptmann."

"Then let him come. Twenty feet is a long jump even for the legs of the Windt."

Goritz laughed at his joke and then yawned sleepily.

"You may go now, Karl. Is Strohmeyer at the gate?"

"Yes, Herr Hauptmann."

"You are sure that he will not go to sleep?"

"I think not."

"The signal is one stroke of the postern bell. He understands?"

"Yes, Herr Hauptmann. Any other orders?"

"None except these. That he is on no account to fire unless attacked. But this fact is to be understood. No man is to pass into Schloss Szolnok tonight."

"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann."

The chauffeur, Karl, passed across Renwick's range of vision and the steps of Goritz resumed their pacing of the floor—more slowly now. The Englishman had been kneeling, scarcely daring to breathe, and now he wondered what he had better do next. Taking infinite pains to make no sound he investigated the wall of the Hall with his finger tips. There was a door here, a secret door, he thought, hidden from the interior of the Hall in the paneling of the wainscoting. Did Goritz know of its existence? The floor of the crypt, it was true, had shown no sign of footsteps, and the door below, Renwick was sure, had not been opened for many years. But if Goritz knew of this passage, there was a chance of his entering and finding him. Renwick dared not strike matches now, and determined to go on until he had mastered all the architectural details of the passage, and then devise some plan to reach Marishka. Balked in other directions he could return to this secret door into the Hall, and awaiting the departure of Goritz, force an entrance and trust to luck.

But there might be some other and less dangerous means of reaching Marishka. Even if he entered the Hall, he would have no idea which way to turn. Better to follow the passage to the upper floors, if it were possible, and enter above, thus creating a diversion which might add to the advantage of his surprise. But did the passage mount higher? Or was—? His advancing toes touched something solid. Bending forward, he found steps, and immediately began mounting them on all fours.

The sleeping-rooms, he had supposed, were on the two upper floors of the keep and in the buttressed building toward the south which was a part of it. This was the direction in which he was going now. He reached another landing, as nearly as he could judge by the steps he had taken, almost over the crypt, three levels below. This was the keep, then, upon his left. With pulse beating rapidly he felt for and found a wooden upright—another door. He paused and listened. There was no sound nor any light upon the other side. So he went on slowly until at a distance above him he saw the starlight coming through another loophole, the counterpart of that below the Hall, and mounted noiselessly, peering out upon the wider valley to the south. He had therefore traversed the castle from one side to the other, and was now near the top of the buttressed wing of the keep.

Breathing in deep gasps the keen night air, Renwick waited, listening, and now heard again from outside the thunderous reverberations of the battle at the head of the Pass. He had been so intent upon his mission that he had forgotten it! But now the furious character of the engagement was obvious. It was far distant, perhaps four or five miles away, and yet the wild heavens were aglow with strange flashing fires, the reflections of the bombs and star-shells which paled the ineffectual lights of the firmament. Battle! Schloss Szolnok, too, should see battle—his own with Goritz! But Renwick would take no chances this time.

The heavy reverberations rose and died away, but a fainter spatter of sounds continued, the deadly counter-melody of machine-gun and rifle fire which went on without intermission. Far below the Schloss, in the direction of the road along the Dukla, he heard the clatter of transport, and the calls of men.

All of this Renwick's mind assimilated in his moment of rest and recuperation, but beside the loophole, clearly defined by the flashes in the heavens, his searching glances made out the uprights of another door. Here, perhaps——He bent forward, listening at its cracks, and then knelt, searching for a latch or keyhole. Nothing. But as he turned his back to the loophole, shutting out the starlight, he imagined that he saw something white upon the stone flagging. He leaned forward to pick it up and found that his fingers were softly illuminated. The spot was the reflection of a dim light within the room. He put his face close to the floor and found the aperture, a small hole of irregular shape in the baseboard of the door. A candle. Someone, then, was within? He put his ear to the chink and listened. A muffled sound, faint, but agonizingly definite—a woman's sobs! Renwick straightened and then listened again. Silence. Perhaps he had been mistaken. No. There it was again—fainter now. He ran his fingers softly along the edges of the woodwork, seeking a latch, a handle, but could find none. If there were a secret spring, it was so deftly hidden that he could not discover it. But in the brief moments of his search he had decided that he must enter this room at all costs. And so rising to his feet, he gave up trying to find the secret of admittance and slowly put his weight against the woodwork. It made no sound nor yielded to his pressure. He tried it again with the same results. Then despairing, and desperate, he struck a match and ran it quickly along the jambs. The hinges were concealed, but he found signs of them at the right. To the left, then—another match—a handle, a knob—where? And then just as the third match went out he found it—a flat, iron lever which moved around a swivel, cunningly let into the woodwork. He caught it quickly in his fingers, twisted it down, and then, automatic in hand, he pushed upon the door which opened and swung inward upon its hinges.

Renwick waited for a moment in the doorway, pistol in hand, blinking at the candle upon the table, like a cat emerging from a cellar, searching the vast room for its occupant. A huge room with wainscoted walls, with heavy hangings at the windows, massive furniture, a high canopied bed——

He took a few quick steps forward into the room, for a figure clothed in soft white had started up from the bed and was staring at him with startled eyes—Marishka!

Renwick was hatless, tattered, covered with dust, his face streaked with grime and sweat, and the short beard that he wore still further transformed him. But it seemed that a look of recognition struggled with the terror in her eyes.

"You, Hugh—again!" she whispered.

A pang shot through him at the pitiful sound of her voice and at the words. Had her sufferings——

"Your spirit. It has—has been—with me often, Hugh." She went on dreamily.

"Marishka!" he whispered, crossing to her swiftly. "It is I—Hugh. It is no dream, no vision. Awake!"

She brushed an arm across her eyes like one arousing from a deep sleep, and then straightened suddenly and still uncertainly. But he caught her by the arm and brought her face close to his own so that she might see.

"I didn't die, dear. I am here in the flesh—to protect—to take you away from this place."

"Then I—I have not dreamed?"

"Not now?"

She clasped his wrists, his shoulders, his face with her hands to assure herself of the truth, and he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"Marishka!" he murmured again. And then she seemed to grow heavy in his arms, repeating his name breathlessly.

He was frightened for a moment for her head drooped away from him. She looked so piteously thin and white, and her hands were ice cold.

"Marishka!" he pleaded. "Marishka."

Her eyes opened again and her smile reassured him.

"Forgive me, Hugh. The joy is almost more than I can bear."

"You are safe now," he whispered. "Safe!" And he clasped her close, holding her there in a breathless moment oblivious to their danger.

Then while she still wondered, Renwick suddenly released her, moving quickly to the door by which he had entered, and after examining the mechanism carefully, quietly closed it. Then he turned to Marishka and questioned, while still seated upon the bed, she regarded him with bewildered eyes.

"What men are there at Schloss Szolnok, Marishka?" he asked quickly.

"Goritz—the chauffeur—and Ena's husband," she answered slowly, with an effort.

"Strohmeyer?"

"Yes. The two men—at the farm—are not here—at night."

"Ah, I see——" And then, "That other door," he whispered tensely. "Is it locked?"

"Yes. I—I locked it tonight."

"You feared?"

"Hugh—until tonight——"

She stopped and shuddered, until he came to her and held her for a moment in his arms.

"He will not frighten you again," he muttered between set lips.

"Thank God," she whispered, now starting up as though with the first realization of their position.

"Have you any plan of what you will do?"

"Yes. Goritz is still below in the Hall. I have a plan, but I can do nothing until he goes to bed. Where is his room?"

"In the keep, along the passageway outside."

"I see," thoughtfully; and then, "Do you know where I can find a rope—several ropes, stout ones?"

"I do not know. There is a storeroom."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And you can find it—in the dark?"

"I think so."

"Is there any way of telling when Goritz goes to bed?"

"I hear his steps sometimes in the corridor outside."

He went noiselessly over to the door, listened a moment and then returned.

"No sounds. There isn't much sleep for anyone here tonight. The noise and the knowledge that Herr Windt is somewhere near——"

"Herr Windt!"

"He has followed us here. I think he found a trace of me at Bartfeld—the village beyond the mountain," he whispered.

"But we might go down through the castle and the courtyard—if we could pass the man at the drawbridge. Does it make a noise when it is lowered?"

"Oh, yes, Hugh—a dreadful noise."

"That's awkward." He crossed to the door into the wainscoting and listened there, then at the other door into the corridor, and returned to her.

"For the present, at least, we're safe."

He caught her in his arms and held her silently. Her arms clinging to him, she raised her head and found his lips.

"Beloved," she whispered, "how did you——"

"I followed you here—on a mere fragment of a clew—but it was enough."

"But he shot you——"

"I was well cared for—in a hospital."

"You were wounded—dangerously?"

"Yes, but I don't die easily. I'm quite well again."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed. "Could I be here, else? Your cliffs are steep——"

"You climbed——?"

"Yes, up a fissure and through the ruins. I saw you—there in the window—from across the gorge. I heard you call, Marishka——"

"Call——?"

"That you were not afraid to die."

"But I was afraid, Hugh—it was so far—so dark below." She shuddered.

He pressed her closer to him. "Has he—has Goritz——"

"Until tonight, Hugh—he has not been unkind," she said slowly. "I was sick; he nursed me. But I've feared him—I fear him still——"

He felt her body trembling against his own, and reassured her gently, pausing a moment to listen tensely for sounds at either door. And then——

"Don't worry, dearest. He cannot harm you. I was not spared from death for nothing."

"I am not frightened now, but tonight has been horrible—the noise—my terror of I know not what. It has been like the end of the world to me."

"The beginning of our world, yours and mine," he said confidently.

She straightened, drew away from him and put a hand before her eyes again. "Even yet I cannot believe." She looked up at him with a wide gaze that still held in it something of the reflection of the long days of helplessness and misery—something more deeply spiritual than he had ever seen. "Hugh, dear," she went on softly, "you will think it strange, but I—I have heard you calling to me—speaking to me, like a living presence here in this room. Not as you are now, beloved, but paler.... I thought that you were dead.... And so when you came—at the door—I thought—I must have dreamed——"

"You were frightened, dear."

"Yes—terribly frightened, Hugh," she confessed, "by him—and by the firing. It seemed at times as though the castle were rocking under me. Listen!"

A terrific cannonading began again—louder, more continuous than any that had gone before.

"Yes—they are fighting for the end of the Pass," he muttered; "the Russians——"

"And will they——?"

"God knows. I pray——" he paused and scanned her face anxiously.

"What, Hugh?"

"That the Russians may win."

She started away from him, her eyes widely inquiring.

"Why?"

He smiled slowly.

"It's simple enough. Because if I am taken by the Austrians I shall be shot as a spy."

"You—a spy!"

"No, not really," he said soberly. "But I'm an Englishman, an enemy of Austria armed and in disguise. That is enough——"

"They—my people would shoot you!" She whispered, horror-stricken.

"I have no illusions about my fate—if taken——"

"But you have come here—to help me——"

"Unfortunately that does not change matters."

He put her gently aside and went for a while and listened at the doors, and then came back to her.

"Silence. But we will wait a little longer," he whispered.

Marishka caught him by the shoulders and looked up into his eyes.

"Hugh, what you have said frightens me. You mean that you—that we are enemies—you and I—because our nations are at war——!"

She drew away and held him at arm's length while she scrutinized him in the light of the guttering candle.

"You—my enemy, Hugh? I—yours?" A wan smile came proudly to her lips. "If I am your enemy, beloved, then love and loyalty have perished from the earth. And you, who have risen from the grave to come to me——!"

"Sh——, dear," he whispered. "You must know the truth. Whatever happens—here in the castle, the Austrian troops are all around us. Herr Windt, too. There is no escape for me unless the Russians come through. That is why I hope——"

Marishka put her arms around his shoulders quickly and kissed him on the lips.

"Then I, too, pray that they may come through," she whispered fervently.

"Marishka! I do not ask you to give up your allegiance——"

"No, Hugh. I give without asking. Beloved, I want you to understand," she said solemnly. "Those that are your enemies are my enemies. You would have died for me—and I, can I do less for you?"

"Sh——, Marishka," he murmured, "there is no death——"

"Death can be no worse for me than the horrible utter loneliness without you; but whatever comes, I am yours, Hugh—in life—in death. I owe no allegiance, no fealty, but to you, and I have kept the faith, Hugh, even here. I can have no country that you may not share, no compatriots that are not yours also. My kingdom is in your heart, beloved, there to live while you will have it so."

"Marishka!" He caught her in his arms and held her long in his embrace, and she clung close to him, her lips on his in this final test of their plighted troth. About them the thunder of battle, ever approaching nearer; the rumble and din of groaning wagons on the road below; the hoarse cries of men; the whine and sputter of laboring motors trying to pass in the narrow road—confusion, disorder, chaos; but now they heard nothing. For them the earth stood still. Nations might totter and crash, but their Empire was in each other....

Renwick raised his head at last. "Marishka," he whispered, "it is time that we made a move." He released her suddenly, listened at the doors, and then moved to the table beside her.

"First, we had better put out the light—then perhaps we can see if there is anyone outside."

Marishka snuffed the candle, and they went to a window overlooking the courtyard, drew the hangings and peered out. The din in the valley below them was increasing, a hurrying of wagons, horses and guns in the narrow road. Were more Austrian reinforcements coming up? It seemed so. From the mountains beyond, the rattle of small-arm fire had risen to a steady roar, but the detonations of heavy ordnance were less frequent.

"The Austrians—may be winning," he said calmly.

She pressed his hand. "I am sorry," she said bravely.

But there was a world of meaning for Renwick in the way she whispered it.

"Your people shall be my people," she murmured again. "And your God, my God."

He could only return her pressure in silence.

He would have been little happy if he could have said how much.

Together they peered through the slip of the silken hanging to the rampart below. Flashes of reflections from the end of the Pass played like sheet lightning, and in the fitful illuminations they could see the figure of the old man, Strohmeyer, reclining in the shadow by the postern gate. The drawbridge was still raised, and beyond it they could see in the flashes, the length of the causeway stretching out into the darkness of the mountainside beyond. Strohmeyer did not move. It almost seemed as though he were asleep.

"What makes you think that Herr Windt is here?" asked Marishka suddenly.

"I saw him with Spivak yonder," and he pointed to the north beyond the gorge.

Marishka was silent, her eyes eagerly searching the shadows. Her hand was trembling a little with the excitement of their situation, but her voice was firm as she whispered:

"Perhaps tonight my eyes are uncertain, Hugh. But do you not see something moving in the shadow of the wall?"

"Where?"

"Of the causeway—there, beyond the chain of the drawbridge——"

He peered eagerly in the direction she indicated.

"A shadow——?" he questioned. "I can't—no—yes—it moves—there!"

"Yes—another and still another. And they are carrying something."

Renwick watched again for a tense moment.

"Windt—and his men," he said with conviction. "They are going to try to span the abyss."

"Strohmeyer——"

Here at least was a community of interest with Goritz. "They will win their way across, unless he wakes," said Renwick tensely.

"What is it that they are carrying?"

"Timbers—see! There are at least four men to each. They are putting them in the shadow of the wall. Will the man never wake up?"

"What can we do?" she whispered desperately. "I could call out to him."

"No——" he said, "I don't want to arouse Goritz yet. Ah! They have slunk away again to get more timbers, I think."

"And if they should succeed——?"

"They must not. One man could hold the place indefinitely from the protection of the gate. If the man would only wake!"

But Strohmeyer slept on.

"And Goritz?" she said anxiously. "Surely tonight he cannot be sleeping."

"Perhaps he is so sure of himself—yes—in the passage below I heard—there was to be a signal—one stroke of the postern bell——"

"But if the man sleeps——"

"If they come again—no matter what happens, we must warn him," he decided.

"Sh——"

Renwick felt his arm seized suddenly by Marishka's icy fingers and turned, following her wild gaze into the room behind them listening. The anxieties of the night had made Marishka's senses keen. "The door!" she whispered. "The secret door by which you came!"

Renwick listened. In a brief lull in the commotion outside, he heard a slight sound, near and startlingly distinct like that of a rat in a partition. Then in the blackness of the room, a gray streak appeared, slowly widening. The door into the secret passage had opened, and the starlight from the loophole beyond now showed a dusky silhouette. Renwick felt Marishka's arm clutch his in terror, as Goritz noiselessly stepped forward into the room. Renwick had instinctively drawn the hanging behind him, and he and Marishka were in deep shadow while every move that Goritz made was clearly defined. First he took a pace toward the bed, then paused and turning struck a match and searched for the candle.

He was in shirt sleeves. Renwick had drawn his automatic and could have shot him easily. But murder, in cold blood—even when his life and Marishka's depended upon it! Renwick could not. He saw Goritz turn from the lighted candle and stare toward the empty bed and then quickly search the shadows of the room. It was a long moment before he saw the blaze of the candle beside him reflected in Renwick's eyes which peered down the barrel of his automatic.

"What nonsense is this—Marishka——?" he began.

But Renwick's voice cut the darkness like a steel blade.

"Don't move—Goritz. Hands up—high!"

"Who——?"

"Hands up, I say——" And as he slowly obeyed, "Now turn toward the bed——"

Goritz was now staring at Renwick as though he had seen a ghost, but he knew better than to take his hands down.

"You——" he muttered. "You're——"

"I'm Renwick," said the Englishman crisply. "Now do as I tell you or——"

He paused uncertainly, for at that moment, behind him through the window came the deep boom of a bell.

"The drawbridge!" cried Marishka.

"Ah!" came from Goritz's throat as with an incredibly swift movement he smothered the candle. Renwick fired twice and then threw Marishka to one side, but there was a crash of the door in the wainscoting, and then silence.

"He has gone!" cried Marishka somewhere in the darkness.

"Wait!" shouted Renwick. Some instinct warned him of the trick, and he sprang aside just as Goritz darted at the spot where he had been. He felt the rush of the man's body and turned, but did not dare to fire, for fear of hitting Marishka, so he ran forward toward the window and presently they met, body to body, clutching in primitive combat. The man's hand went at his throat, but he wrenched it away again—again. His arms went around the waist of his adversary low down, in the attempt to raise him and bear him to the ground. Goritz was now striking furiously at his head, and by this token Renwick knew that the man was unarmed. Renwick's furious rush brought them with a thud against the wall, where they fell, oversetting a table to the floor. Amid the broken furniture they struggled, in the pitch blackness, with their bare hands, for Renwick's weapon had been knocked from his fingers. In the rebound from the wall Renwick fell beneath, Goritz with one hand upon his throat with a grip which was slowly tightening, but Renwick managed to tear it away and release himself, striking furiously at the man's face. Goritz was young and strong, and Renwick's struggle up the cliff had taken away some of his staying power, but he fought on blindly in the darkness; grimly, like the bulldog that holds and ever tightens his jaws, no matter what the punishment he suffers. The bulldog against the wolf. Goritz was agile, and his arms were strong and wiry. He struck and tore, but Renwick's arms were cracking his ribs, squeezing the breath from his body. He struggled with an effort to one knee, and in the change of position managed to get the fingers of one hand around Renwick's throat again. They rolled over and over upon the floor, first one uppermost and then the other, but the fingers on the Englishman's throat were strong. Fires flashed before Renwick's eyes and the blood seemed to be bursting from his temples.

His grip was relaxing.... He felt his strength going. Then with his remaining consciousness he was aware of a warm moisture upon one of his wrists. Blood! Goritz had been struck by one of his bullets. With a desperate effort, he let go one arm and struck. The man's grip relaxed and he tore it away, gasping greedily for breath.

Marishka in terror had at first slunk into a corner, listening to the fearful sounds of the combat—following it with her ears from one part of the room to another. What must she do? Gathering courage, she passed the foot of the bed, and grasping for the table found the match box and managed to light the candle.

They were upon the floor near one of the windows over the valley, locked in a deadly grip, breathing in terrible gasps. She must do something to help—something—for as the glow fell upon them they seemed to struggle upward against the wall by the window, upon the sill. She could not make out which was which—but instinctively she seemed to realize their deadly purpose—death for one or both on the rocks below! The hanging at the window came crashing down and enveloped them, but they did not know. They were drunk with the lust of killing—mad!

Out of the confusion she saw Goritz rise smiling, straining with his arms, hauling Renwick over the sill. Death! Hers, too, then! With a cry of despair she reached them, clinging with her arms around Renwick's waist.

Goritz opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. He might have struck her down but he did not. Instead he rose with one foot upon the sill in one supreme effort to throw Renwick over, but the Englishman, already half out of the window, got his right arm loose, and swinging with all the strength left to him, launched a terrible blow at his adversary. It struck him on the point of the chin. Goritz staggered, lost his balance, toppled for a moment in the air, his grip on the Englishman's collar, which tore loose as he fell—out—into the black abyss....

Renwick sprawled half across the wide sill, but Marishka clung desperately, dragging him in—to safety. He toppled in upon the floor and lay motionless while Marishka hovered over him.

"Hugh——!" she cried. "Hugh!"

Renwick struggled up slowly, trying to speak, but his chest heaved convulsively, and he could only gasp meaninglessly.

"All—right," he managed to utter after a moment.

She got water and he drank of it.

"You're hurt—you're covered with blood."

"No, no——" he gasped, "winded."

"But the blood!"

"His. I had shot him—through the body."

Marishka peered toward the window and shuddered.

"His face—Hugh—I can't forget."

Renwick struggled painfully to his feet.

"Nor I. He almost did for me. If it hadn't been for you——"

"You'd have followed him, Hugh!" And then almost inaudibly, "Holy Virgin!" she whispered.

Renwick moved his limbs to be sure that they were sound.

"Close thing, that," he muttered. "Beastly close."



CHAPTER XXVII

BESIEGED

So desperate had been the struggle that they had forgotten the peril of the drawbridge. Shots had already been fired in the courtyard but they had not heard them. Now, as an awed silence fell upon them, at the passing of Goritz and at their relief from immediate danger, they were suddenly aware of the sounds of commotion outside near at hand, the sharp crack of small arms, the cries of men and the booming of the postern bell—calling Goritz—who would never come!

Renwick staggered to the window over the courtyard, Marishka's hand in his, and peered out. Somewhere a great fire was burning, for overhead the sky was copper-colored with its reflections, and below they saw dimly two figures crouching in the shadow of the postern gate. As they looked, three men emerged from the wall of the causeway, carrying a timber with which they approached the abyss, but as they neared the edge a flash darted from the postern and the foremost man fell. The others, with a rush, tried to cast an end of the heavy plank across the intervening space, but it fell short and went crashing down into the void below.

"They may be able to hold out for a time," whispered Renwick, "long enough to let us get away—come, Marishka—the ropes!"

He took the candle, and she opened the door into the corridor which led to the keep. Outside they met the old woman Ena, who was crouched upon the floor by a window, wringing her hands, half dead with fear. But she started up at the sight of Renwick, who led the way, and then looked in astonishment at Marishka.

"Who——?" she gasped, and paused.

"A friend, Ena," said Marishka. "Do not fear."

But she still regarded Renwick in terror, for his appearance, disheveled, torn and bloody, was not one to inspire confidence.

"The Herr Hauptmann——!"

"He is dead," said Marishka quietly.

"Dead! Herr Gott!" And she shrank back into her corner, her head in her hands.

But there was no time to delay. Renwick hurried Marishka down the stone stairway to the Hall, whence they descended to a lower floor to the storeroom.

It was filled with a conglomeration of dusty odds and ends, boxes, barrels, bottles innumerable, the relics of the hospitality of Baron Neudeck, but at first they could see no sign of what they were seeking. Above them shots sounded intermittently, and the roar of the distant battle never ceased. Renwick searched feverishly while Marishka held the candle above his head, overturning the dusty objects, and at last with a cry of triumph found what they sought, a coil of heavy rope in a far corner. He dragged it forth and examined it carefully. It was heavy and long. Was it long enough? There was no way of telling except by measuring in yard lengths, and no time to risk that.

There had been a long interval of silence on the rampart above. Had Windt succeeded in winning his way across?

He raised the coil of rope from his shoulder with an effort and took the candle from Marishka's hand, moving toward an arch to their left, seeking a direct way to the boarded door into the crypt. It should be in this direction—yes, the wine cellar—here it was—the boarded partition. Marishka took the candle from his hand again while he examined the fastenings—nails somewhat rusted, which would not resist leverage. He found a piece of plank which he inserted in the edge of the door and managed to pry it open a little, and then bracing a foot against the stone wall, made an opening wide enough to admit them.

So far, so well. They were within the crypt, but while Marishka waited, Renwick pulled the partition back into place to hide their mode of retreat if the gate above were taken. Then moving rapidly along the tunnel they reached the steps which led to the watchtower, where Renwick snuffed the candle; and they climbed, emerging at last among the ruins with their precious rope. If they could get down they would crawl through the bushes and undergrowth, making their way before daylight to the house of the peasant who had sheltered him last night. Another sum of money would secure their immunity—at least for the present.

To the northward, the sky was vividly aglow with the reflection of the flames of a burning house—fired perhaps by the shells of the Russians, which still seemed to be bursting not far away. And now their acrid fumes were poisoning the clean night-wind from the north. Below them in the valley they still heard the sounds of passing transport, and the hoarse calls of men. The battle for the head of the Pass was desperate—but with such reenforcements, the Austrians would hold it. The crackle of small arms after a slight lull rose in intensity to a continuous roar. And while Renwick was making the end of his rope fast around a huge granite block, there was a tremendous explosion which seemed to tear the bloody sky to tatters.

"A magazine or a mine," muttered Renwick.

She smiled at him bravely, and resumed her watch of the windows of the castle. Here in the open, hidden from the courtyard beyond the bulk of the buildings, they could hear nothing of what was passing at the drawbridge gate. The silence seemed ominous. Had Windt's men succeeded in bridging the gap? As yet there were no signs of light in the castle windows, except the lurid reflections of the northern sky. But in any event there was no time to spare. Renwick tied a large knot and a loop in the end of the rope and then carefully lowered it over the northern wall, measuring its length by his arms, as it went over. Fifty yards, sixty, seventy, eighty—when it stretched taut. Eighty yards! Sick with anxiety, he crawled upon his stomach to the edge of the precipice and peered over into the abyss.

The rope swung like a giant pendulum from side to side. By the luminous heavens he could just see the loop at its end—at least seventy feet from the counterscarp. Seventy feet—or fifty or even twenty-five—for Marishka sure death among the welter of jagged rocks below!

Slowly he rose and faced her. She read the truth in his dejection.

"The rope is too short," he muttered.

She caught him by the hand.

"I can climb down by——"

"No, no," he said in sudden horror, "it is not to be thought of. You, at least, are safe."

"But you——?"

"Perhaps something may happen. We can at least hide in the wall. They may not find us. Come."

He descended into the hole among the broken masonry and lowered Marishka gently beside him, and there for a moment upon the stairs he held her in his arms while they listened again for noise of pursuit along the dark passage. Silence.

She drew his head down until their lips met.

"Your fate, Hugh—whatever it is—shall be mine."

He smiled in the darkness. A love like this was worth fighting for. "We shall win—somehow," he whispered, "we must!"

Together slowly they retraced their steps to the crypt, where they lighted the candle and listened again, and now, faintly above, they heard the sound of a shot.

"They have not won through yet, Marishka," he said. "My cause is Goritz's now. We must hold the gate."

"I am not afraid," she said. "We can still fight."

He looked at her pale face in admiration, for the fire of resolution glowed in her eyes.

"Yes," he muttered grimly, "we can still fight." And then, "Are there any weapons here?"

"In the armory—come!" And she led the way up the stair. But as they searched the Hall, Ena hobbled down the stone stairway from above, shrieking, and threw herself at their feet. They could not make out what she said, but Renwick rushed to the door and peered out toward the postern. Upon the flagging, a figure lay motionless, and the other man was nowhere to be seen. But worse than that, as though aware of their advantage, in the causeway beyond, several men were advancing, bearing another timber. Renwick's eye appraised the situation hurriedly and he planned quickly, for delay would be fatal. As he reloaded the clip of his automatic he ordered quickly.

"Marishka, I have a plan. There are two joists at the foot of the stair—not very heavy. You and Ena must bring them up here. Then get what loaded weapons you can. Bring them here, too. Lose no time. I will return."

And leaving her, he dashed out of the door, and running to the right gained the protection of the rampart, behind which he crawled toward the gate. Where was the other man, the chauffeur, Karl?

In a moment he learned. For as Renwick approached, the men upon the other side succeeded in spanning the abyss, and one of them rushed over. When the man was halfway across, a shot rang out from the gate and the man on the board swayed and fell. Another followed and another shot rang out, but the man still came on.

Renwick, running forward, shouted a word of encouragement. He saw the man Karl rise from his concealment and meet the fellow just as he reached the gate, striking him a blow which made him lose his balance and fall. Then he swung the end of the timber free and it fell into the gorge as he sprang back to safety, but before he reached the protection of the gate, several flashes darted from the causeway and the chauffeur staggered and dropped forward upon his face just as Renwick reached him.

"Your orders, Herr Hauptmann," he gasped. "But they're too many—my cartridges—are gone——" He turned with a groan, and for the first time saw Renwick's face. "You——" he muttered. "You're not——?"

"It doesn't matter who I am. Are you badly hurt?"

"Donnerweiter! Yes—through the breast—I'm done for."

But Renwick stepped past him and found a loophole through which he could watch what was passing upon the other side of the abyss.

The last disaster had robbed the besiegers of some of their enthusiasm, for they had withdrawn to the other end of the causeway where they were holding council. Searching the shadows of the wall for signs of any others concealed near at hand, Renwick took the chance of leaving the gate unguarded, and in the shadow of the wall rushed back to the Hall. There he found Marishka with the two joists, waiting for him.

"They've withdrawn," he said, "but they'll be coming on again in a moment. We are alone, dear, to defend the gate. Can you help?"

She was deathly pale, but she smiled at him bravely. He picked up the two joists and carried them outside while she followed him, listening.

"You on one side of the gate, I on the other. If they succeed in throwing a timber across, we must push it off. In this way neither of us need expose ourselves."

"I understand—and there are rifles and shotguns."

"Good! Can you load them?"

"Strohmeyer loaded them while Karl kept the gate, but Ena was afraid to take them out."

"Then bring them. You're quite safe if you keep below the wall of the rampart. Now go, dear—and God bless you!"

He reached the gate before Windt's men returned to the attack, and put one of his new weapons of defense upon each side of it. But he feared to leave the gate again and crouched, waiting. Below in the valley the commotion had increased and the sounds of firing went on unceasingly. It seemed indeed, as Marishka had said, that the end of the world had come. Beside him, the man Karl was breathing with difficulty. From his post at the loophole, Renwick heard him mutter, and as the road was still clear, he listened.

"You're Renwick—the Englishman?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I am."

"And Herr Hauptmann Goritz?"

"He is dead," replied Renwick.

"Ach—danke," said the man. "It is well then—you too—soon——"

He nodded forward, toppled sideways and lay still.

The situation was desperate, and yet as Renwick thought calmly, he gained courage. With Marishka upon one side and him on the other armed with the joists, it would be difficult for the attackers to get a lodgment for their bridges, for the stone outside the gate was quite smooth, and little effort would be required to push their timbers down. Both Strohmeyer and Karl had lost their lives by exposing themselves unnecessarily. But with the two joists, both sides of the gate could be commanded. In a moment, creeping under the protection of the wall, Marishka joined him, bringing two rifles.

"Are they coming?" she asked.

"Not yet. But they will soon."

He explained his plan more fully, then bade her go back for another rifle, ammunition; and return in the protection of the opposite wall to the post opposite.

"They can do nothing unless they bring artillery," he said confidently. "Don't expose yourself or look out, but if a plank comes over, push it down."

She smiled and slipped away into the darkness, and Renwick returned to his loophole. The sky above was getting lighter, and a glance up the mountain side to his left showed it already in clear profile against the lightening east, which announced the coming of the dawn. And with the dawn—light. Was this what the attackers were waiting for?

He saw the gray figure of Marishka creep along the opposite wall, and in a moment she was there, not ten feet away at her post, crouched in safety and waiting.

"On no account look through the loophole," he ordered. "As the light grows, there will be men to shoot at them. Keep under cover. Understand?"

She only laughed hysterically.

In a moment, as the light grew, he warned her that they were coming again.

"Keep in," he cried. "Don't try to look at the end of the——"

The warning came just in time, for a fusillade of bullets swept the gate and they heard the sounds of many men's voices as they came on the run. Another fusillade which sent dust and fragments of stone flying all about them! Then a timber crashed across, but before it settled into place the two joists had pushed it off the smooth landing. At the same time another volley was fired which would have surely found a mark if Renwick had exposed himself, but Marishka matched her action to Renwick's, crouching low, safe from observation, pole in hand, eagerly watching her half of the gate.

Another timber—which fell harmlessly and crashed down into the gorge, and another volley—alike harmless to the defenders. High hopes rose in Renwick. They could do nothing. Opposite him Marishka, forgetting all her fears, had caught the contagion of successful resistance and crouched, her jaws set, eyes sparkling, her slender hands grasping the rough timber, undaunted and resolute.

"Keep under cover——" he shouted, as another timber came across.

This one was better cast and lodged squarely upon the stone lintel. They both shoved at its end, but a man's weight already upon it made their task difficult.

"It is on my side. Push, Marishka!"

He aimed his automatic past the edge of the gatepost and shot the man—an Austrian soldier—just as he sprang for the landing. He fell upon the stone, hung to the timber a moment, and fell. Renwick sprang further out and emptied his clip at the next man, who gave a cry and dropped. Renwick felt a stinging blow on his left arm, but before another man began to cross Marishka managed to shove the timber clear and it fell into the abyss below.

They were safe for the moment. He looked at Marishka in the gathering light. She was pale as death, but she did not show fear.

"All right?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes—yes," she gasped, "and you?"

"Never better."

His arm burned like a live coal, but the madness of battle was in his blood and he did not care—so long as Marishka did not know of his injury. The firing had ceased for the moment, as he crawled up and peered through the loophole.

"We've beaten them, Marishka," he cried triumphantly. "They've gone back—I see no timbers. They're doing something. I can see quite plainly now—fastening a handkerchief to the muzzle of a rifle." And as she rose to look, "Don't expose yourself. It may be a trick. For God's sake keep down."

He picked up the magazine rifle beside him and thrust it through the loophole, covering the two men who were advancing to the brink of the abyss. In the pale light he marked the figure of Windt quite clearly. The other man wore the uniform of an officer of Austrian infantry. And now he heard the voice of the officer raised in parley.

"Schloss Szolnok—a truce!"

For reply Renwick thrust the muzzle of his rifle further through the loophole.

"In the name of the Emperor of Austria, I command you to deliver Herr Hauptmann Leo Goritz."

Renwick laughed madly.

"I regret that that is impossible."

"I beg that you will listen to reason. Austrian troops are all about you. You cannot resist by daylight. If you will deliver the person of Herr Hauptmann Goritz and Countess Strahni, we will leave you in peace."

Renwick paused. Far below in the valley to his right, a new sound broke the stillness of the early morning—rifle-fire close at hand, rapid volleys, and then a scattering of shots which echoed with a new significance up the mountain side. He peered through one of the crenelations of the rampart beside him and could just see through the morning mists the moving mass of rushing men,—horses—guns in mad confusion.

"Well, what is your reply?" came the voice of the Austrian officer.

Renwick laughed again.

"Why should you leave us in peace if you can take the drawbridge?" he shouted.

"Hauptmann Goritz is wanted on the charge of murder. I give you this chance. Will you take it?"

"I regret that it is impossible," replied Renwick.

"Why?"

"Because Herr Hauptmann Goritz is dead."

"Dead? What assurances can I have that this is the truth?"

"You have only to look at the foot of the cliff below."

The two men consulted for a moment and then Herr Windt's voice was heard. "Is Countess Strahni there?"

"Yes—and quite safe."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Hugh Renwick, Herr Windt——"

"Renwick—the Englishman——" he heard him gasp.

"Precisely. And if you're going to take this gate, you'd better be in a hurry about it—for the Russians are approaching."

"Then you refuse?"

"Positively."

The Austrian officer saluted, and the two men marched up the causeway. Marishka, on the other side of the gate, had started up and was regarding him anxiously.

"What you say, Hugh—it can't be that——"

"It's true, dear," he almost shouted. "The Russians. They're coming below there in the valley. I have just seen. The Austrians are in full retreat. The army has been retreating all night, and we thought there were reenforcements. If we can hold out a short while longer, we will be safe. Are you frightened?"

"No. Will they come again, you think?"

"Yes. They'll hardly give up so easily. But keep down, Marishka, further—in the corner. You can see as well. Ah! I wasn't mistaken. Here they come!"

Into the squad of Austrian soldiers advancing Renwick emptied the magazine of his repeating rifle, and took up the other. Two men fell and the remainder paused, only to be brought on by the Austrian officer who led them, sword in hand. Renwick could have shot him easily, but he held his fire and as the mass of men came on he saw them raise their rifles to their shoulders.

"Keep down!" he shouted to Marishka, "they're going to——"

Dust and mortar flew from the ancient gate and behind in the castle, windows crashed.

"You are safe?" he shouted.

"Yes," her voice replied.

"Now watch the gateway."

A plank came over, but profiting by their earlier experience, they shoved it off before it came to rest. Another, a longer one, and another, both of which found lodgment squarely between the gate posts. Renwick sprang to the loophole; but the volley that followed spattered harmlessly around him.

He was a good shot with a rifle, and aimed deliberately, dropping the first man that put his foot on the hazardous bridge. Gasping with her exertions Marishka pushed the shorter timber over, but the longer one jammed hopelessly against the gate post.

"Hugh," she cried, "we are lost."

But a strange thing happened then. For as the second man approached the bridge and had even put one foot upon it, a shrill call rang out at the other end of the causeway.

"The retreat!" the officer shouted. "To the rear——"

The look of relief upon the face of the brave fellow who was venturing death upon the precarious timber was reflected in Renwick's own heart, for he spared the man who, with a startled glance over his shoulder, presently caught up with the rapidly vanishing Windt. Renwick rushed out and lifting the dangerous timber hurled it down into the gorge.

Then he caught Marishka by the waist and lifted her.

"We're safe, dear—they've gone——" he cried.

She turned one look up at him and then, slowly closing her eyes, sank back helpless in his arms.

"Marishka! It has been too much——"

The blood flowed from a slight cut upon her cheek where she had been struck by a piece of flying stone, but he saw that it was not deep. He laid her gently upon the flagging, and ran to the Hall for water. There he found Ena, crouched in a corner, more dead than alive. But he commanded her to come and bring water and brandy, and she obeyed.

Marishka had only fainted and the brandy soon restored her.

"They've gone?" she asked of him.

"Yes, dear. We're quite safe. Listen. The Russians are driving them down the valley."

He washed the wound in her cheek tenderly.

"It will not scar you, Marishka," he smiled. "But if it does—an honorable scar such as no woman of Austria wears."

She touched it with her fingers and smiled.

"I did not even know——"

And then she saw the blood at his shoulder.

"You're hurt?"

"Only a scratch. It's nothing."

But weak as she was she tore away the sleeve of his shirt, and made him bathe and bind it with linen from her skirt.

"Will the Russians come here, you think?" she asked.

He smiled.

"If they don't come to us," he said soberly, "we will go to them."

She smiled.

"'And your people shall be my people ... '" she murmured softly.

* * * * *

Galenski, Colonel of Russian cavalry, sat on his horse on a slight eminence beside the road which descended from Dukla Pass into the valley beyond, watching through a pair of field glasses the ramparts of an ancient castle perched upon a crag.

Beside him his regiment streamed down the hill at a hand gallop, its gray coats flapping, as it spread out fanwise in the meadow below, its lances lightly poised in pursuit of the fleeing Austrians. As a company captain passed he called out a name, and the officer, with a word to his lieutenant, galloped up and saluted.

"Is not that Schloss Szolnok, Captain Kotchukoff?"

"Yes, sir. You remember—the affair of Baron Neudeck."

"Of course. I have been watching it, as we came down the road. Fighting has been going on there for an hour or more."

"Fighting?"

"Yes. I don't understand. The Austrians were attacking it. I am certain for I clearly made out the kepi of the infantry."

"That is strange."

"Is it possible that some of our advance posts could have occupied it?"

"I should say that that was impossible."

"We must investigate. Detach your company from the command and bring your men up the road yonder. I will join you."

Captain Kotchukoff saluted, wheeled his horse and galloped at full speed down the road into the meadow, while Colonel Galenski trotted slowly down the hill until he found a ford in the stream, and then slowly rode up the hill beyond.

"It is very strange," he muttered.

As he reached the road above, the company of Captain Kotchukoff came riding up, but he gave the command to walk their horses, and slowly, Colonel and Captain riding in front, they approached the end of the long causeway which led to the castle. That he had not been mistaken in his observations was clearly to be seen, for several men lay either dead or severely wounded in the middle of the walled road. As they neared the drawbridge three more prostrate figures were seen, one of them hanging almost on the lip of the abyss.

The drawbridge was raised and beyond the gate another form lay beyond the threshold. But as yet he saw no sign of life. Colonel Galenski reined in his horse sharply, raised his hand, and behind him his captain shouted the loud order to halt.

At the sound a man suddenly appeared in the gate, and beside him a very beautiful young woman. Colonel Galenski was a good officer, but the fact, though of no military importance, was quite clearly to be noted—a very beautiful woman. The man beside the girl was tall, and bore himself well. But he was covered with grime and dust and his clothing was torn and streaked with blood. One sleeve of his shirt was missing, and his bare arm was bandaged just below the arm-pit with a bloodstained cloth. And as he looked, the man smiled and saluted.

Colonel Galenski returned the salute, and spoke in German.

"You will lower the drawbridge if you please. I wish to enter."

The man disappeared for a moment, the girl beside him, and presently, with a loud clatter of rusty chains which made necessary some excellent feats of horsemanship by the men of the company behind him, the drawbridge crashed down, and Colonel Galenski rode forward through the gate, followed by the company of horsemen, who wheeled by fours into line and halted in the courtyard.

Colonel Galenski dismounted, neglecting no detail of the signs of combat, the bullet-scarred flagging, the broken rock, the timbers, the two figures lying in the shadow of the wall of the gate.

"From below, with my glasses, I saw the Austrians attacking your drawbridge," he said. "There were many of them along the road. Your men have well defended the position. Where are they?"

The tall man smiled and took the beautiful young woman by the hand.

"I beg to present you to my garrison," he said with a laugh. "Countess Marishka Strahni—and—er——?"

"Colonel Galenski of the Fifth Regiment—horse," said the Colonel with a bow. "And you, sir—who are you?"

The tall man extended a grimy hand to the immaculate Russian.

"I will tell you that, sir, if"—and he laughed—"if you'll give me a cigarette."



IN REGARD TO THE EVIDENCE IN THE CASE

If the reader of this book is not inclined to accept the prima-facie evidence as presented in the newspapers from official sources with regard to the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg, he is referred by the publishers to the very interesting article by Mr. Henry Wickham Steed called "The Pact of Konopisht," printed in the Nineteenth Century for February, 1916. Mr. Steed, as is well known, was for twenty years the correspondent in Vienna of the London Times, and is also the author of the latest and presumably the most authoritative work in English on the Austro-Hungarian government and the House of Habsburg.

The facts presented in that article beginning with the open breach between Franz Joseph and the Archduke on his marriage to Sophie Chotek; the entente between Kaiser and Archduke at Eckartzau and Potsdam; the seizure of the Archduke's papers by the Austrian government after the assassination; the instructions to the Sarajevo police from the military authorities of Austria-Hungary to make no special arrangements for the Archduke's protection; the fact that no evidence has ever been adduced proving the complicity of the Serbian government; the funeral of the Archduke and Duchess, at which no wreaths were sent by Emperor Franz Joseph, by the Archduke's sister, or any member of the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Family; the inadequacy of the formal arrangements for burial and the obvious intention of the Court authorities to pay as little honor as possible to the dead; the exclamation of the Kaiser, during Kiel week when the news of the assassination was brought to him, "Now I must begin all over again":—these facts must be considered as circumstantial evidence of the most positive sort that the relations between Archduke and Kaiser had been looked on with disfavor and suspicion by the Imperial Family of Austria. What actually happened at Konopisht of course will never be known, but there is strong presumptive evidence that a pact of the character suggested in this story was made in the rose garden of the castle and that Von Tirpitz was a witness to it.

Whatever the police records show with regard to Cabrinovitz and Prinzep, the former, who threw the bomb, the latter who did the killing, no successful effort has been made to show that they were employed by the Serbian government, nor is it probable that Serbia would have promoted a plot which would give Austria Hungary a pretext for assailing her, a pretext that Austria Hungary had already sought. The story of the beginnings of the Great War has shown how she found it.

In the light of the ascertained facts concerning the production of anti-Serbian forgeries employed by Austria during the annexation crises of 1908-9, and exposed during the Friedjung trial of December, 1909, it certainly would not be beyond the power of Austro-Hungarian Secret Service agents to cook up a plot at Belgrade or Sarajevo, were it considered desirable, for reasons of Imperial policy, either to "remove" obnoxious personages or to provide a pretext for war.

The dream of an empire from Hamburg to Saloniki is as yet a dream, but that it was dreamed in Potsdam no one doubts.

* * * * *

Books by George Gibbs

The Secret Witness Paradise Garden The Yellow Dove The Flaming Sword Madcap The Silent Battle The Forbidden Way The Bolted Door Tony's Wife

THE END