CHAPTER IV.
The broad sheet of ice between the main land and the island had been for many a week an immense bridge. People no longer reflected that they were walking on frozen water, and that the hoofs of the horses were ringing so loud because they were trotting over a vast abyss. What fear they might feel was easily dispersed as they looked at the gigantic blocks of ice which the fishermen had placed as warning-posts around the large holes cut for the fish, provided they did not carelessly drive or walk right into them, which was not likely, at least in the daytime. And as long as the slanting rays of the sun shone on the bright ice, which covered the sound for miles and miles east and west of the town, there were crowds of pedestrians to be seen among numerous sleighs, which were often drawn by two and not unfrequently even by four horses. But when the sun had set and the mists were thickening, the moving black thread which connected by day the town with the little village of Ferrytown became thinner and thinner. The fishermen, who have been out fishing miles away, come in on their low sledges; or, standing upright on their sleighs, and pushing them with a long iron-shod pole, they sweep by, one by one, drifting with marvellous swiftness through the gray fog, like ghosts of the desert, like spirits from the northern regions. And now lights are seen on both sides of the sound: a few on the island, many more on the side of the town; now the stars also, which until now have peeped stealthily here and there only through the dark evening sky, begin to sparkle and shine in groups, so that the eye cannot see enough of their great splendor. But no one minds them. The moving black thread is no longer seen; only here and there a belated wanderer, who hastens his steps, although knowing full well that nothing can happen to him if he but follows the path; or a sleigh, one of those small, light one-horse sleighs which are fitted up in vast numbers during winter by fishermen and ferrymen in order to serve the restless public.
Such a sleigh was just trotting past through the dim twilight as night was sinking lower and lower every moment, and fogs and mists began to cover the fields of ice. There was but a single passenger sitting in the sleigh by the side of the driver; he had a fur cap drawn low over his face, and the collar of his cloak was drawn up high.
As long as they were meeting near the harbor sleighs and foot-passengers on their return, not a word was said by passenger or driver; but when they rode out on the wild desert of ice, when the lights in town were looking dim, and the trot of the crop-eared hack was sounding loud and clear, the gentleman raised himself in his corner and said:
"All in order, Claus?"
"Yes, sir," replied the handsome youth, turning, half round on his seat.
"Have you heard from your cousin?"
"I saw him yesterday myself. He will be on the strand near Barow punctually at five. He has his two best horses. They will trot with you until to-morrow at the same hour."
"That is more than I want, if you know the track to Barow?"
"If I know it? I drive it every day. But I should not advise any one who does not know it as well as I do to drive alone."
"Why not?"
"The Barow people have cut hole upon hole into the ice; and where they stop the Ferrytown holes begin. You see nothing but blue water on your right and on your left. Cheer up, Fox!"
The crop-eared horse went faster, and the two men relapsed into silence. Both listened carefully, but with very different feelings. Claus Lemberg enjoyed the adventure, because it stirred up his strong nerves most delightfully, and brought out his cunning and his courage, the two qualities which he was proudest of in his whole nature. The other man looked at it more thoughtfully. He knew he was taking a step which he could never retrace, a step which was to decide not only his own fate--that mattered little--but also the fate of another being, a woman, who had won a right to his love by her own sacrificing love, a woman who had given up rank and riches, and every advantage which her birth and her social position gave her, for the sole purpose of being his, and who now was waiting for him in anxiety and anguish on yonder shore, from which the lights began to beckon to him. His heart was naturally full of anxious care. He had broken off the bridge behind him; he was hastening toward a future as black as the night by which he was surrounded, but by no means lighted up by as many bright, sparkling stars. But no matter--the die is cast; he cannot go back. Forward then, forward! What is that? A sleigh coming behind us?
Oswald raised himself and listened, but Claus's sharp ears had already discovered the direction from which the sound came.
"It is a two-horse sleigh from over yonder," he said, turning a little to the right. "They have fine horses; they'll be here directly."
Almost at the same moment they saw the sleigh--a dark mass, which slipped through the darkness like a flash of lightning. As they passed each other the driver checked the horses a moment, and a voice asked:
"This is the track, isn't it?"
"Straight ahead?" was Claus's reply.
Then again the same voice:
"The ice is strong enough for two horses?"
"Oh, for four!" replied Claus.
"Thanks!"
"Welcome!"
And the sleigh moved on swiftly again.
"Strange!" murmured Oswald; "I thought I heard Oldenburg's voice. What strange tricks our fancy can play us!"
The rest of the journey to Ferry town was accomplished in silence. They reached it in a few minutes, rights were shining in the houses up on the bluffs. Below, near the ferry, where an inn was standing, there was much life; the windows were bright; music was heard; sleighs were standing before the door.
Claus stopped; Oswald got out.
"I'll drive along the beach as far as our house," said Claus, "and wait for you there. But make haste. In half an hour the moon rises, and then they can see us two miles on the ice."
"Don't be afraid. We shall not keep you waiting."
Oswald went past the inn, up the steep village street; then he turned to the right and hastened along the low cottages, which there line the beach, until he came to the last of the row. Through a crack in the shutters which protected the low window there came a faint ray of light. Oswald gave three measured knocks against the shutter. Immediately the door was opened cautiously. Oswald slipped in. In the hall he was met by an old woman of tall stature and large frame, holding a light in her hand; by her side stood a frail, youthful person, who fell into Oswald's arms as he entered.
"At last! at last!"
"At last! Emily? Why, I come at the minute!"
"Maybe! I am nearly dead with impatience."
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes."
"Did anybody see you when you left?"
"No one, except Jager's wife; she insisted upon coming with me. I could not get rid of her. She is in the room there."
"The fool!"
"Don't scold her. We owe her much; be kind to her!"
"She will show our enemies the way."
"I am not afraid of that. Cloten is quite unsuspicious. I told I him I would not be back till night. Come in!"
Emily drew Oswald into the little low room, where Primula was standing by a table, making tea. As soon as she saw Oswald she rushed into his arms.
"Oswald!" she cried, "this is the last moment! A cup of tea, some rum, and you must go! Be brave and firm!"
"Time is precious," said Oswald, disengaging himself from Primula's embrace. "We must go, Emily."
"Not without having drained this cup," said Primula, pouring the tea into a cup. "You know, Oswald, it is cold without, and in the night air we shiver; even we immortal gods."
Primula's effort to be jocular was a failure; tears drowned her voice, she sat down on a settee, pressed her hand on her face, and sobbed. But a moment and she jumped up again.
"No womanly weakness, Primula," she cried; "we must be strong now. Drink, friends, drink; and then out into the dark night and the star-crowned life!"
"Come, Oswald," said Emily, who stood there ready for the journey; "Mrs. Jager is right; a cup of tea will do no harm, and a few minutes more or less can make no difference."
"I wish we were off," said Oswald, taking the cup she was offering him from her hand.
He had hardly uttered these words when somebody knocked violently against the shutter.
All looked at each other frightened.
"Hallo!" cried a voice.
"For heaven's sake! That is Arthur!" said Emily. "We are lost."
"Farewell, my friends!" cried Primula, and dashed into the adjoining chamber, after having in vain tried to break open the door of a huge wardrobe.
"Hush!" said the old woman. "We are not so easily caught here in Ferry town. Not a word!"
She went to the window and said, "Who is there?"
"Is the Baroness Cloten here? I have important news for her."
The old woman turned round and whispered, "Make haste and get away; I will try to keep him here. What do you want of her?"
Oswald and Emily did not hear the reply. They slipped stealthily, holding each other's hand, through the hall to the back door, which opened upon the sea. A flight of steps led down to the beach. Below was the sleigh. Once in the sleigh they were safe.
"Stay behind me," said Oswald when they came to the door.
The door was closed by an iron clasp. Oswald opened it cautiously. Everything was quiet. The wintry sky looked down with its bright stars.
"There is nobody here," whispered Oswald. "Come!"
They had no sooner stepped out than the door was closed violently and with a bang, evidently by somebody who had been standing behind it, who now, as if to cut off the retreat of the fugitives, was leaning against it with his broad shoulders.
In such moments the mind acts promptly, and Oswald recognized instantly by the aid of the starlight and the sheen of the snow that the broad-shouldered form before him was that of Baron Barnewitz.
"We are betrayed," he whispered; "but they shall pay for it. Quick Emily, step into the sleigh; I'll follow."
"But not just now!" said Barnewitz, leaping upon Oswald, and seizing him by the shoulders with both hands.
Oswald tore himself away, and jumping back a little distance, so as to have elbow-room, he seized one of the iron-shod pikes which the fishermen use in propelling their sleds, and of which several were standing in the corner. He struck his adversary with it so terrible a blow that the latter, in spite of his gigantic size and enormous strength, fell down without uttering a sound.
In an instant Oswald had overtaken Emily, and putting his arm around her waist he bore her down the steep steps.
Below, on the snow of the narrow beach, stood the sleigh.
He put Emily in and followed her.
"We are betrayed, Claus," he said; "drive fast. It is a matter of life and death."
Claus clacked his tongue and the crop-eared hack went off.
"Thought so!" said Claus, turning half round. "A minute ago a sleigh came and stopped not a hundred yards from here. I saw two men get out and climb up the bluff. I was just going to follow them and to warn you, when you were coming out a the door. Now it's all right. I should like to see the horses that can overtake Claus Lemberg and his Fox."
"You might soon have that satisfaction," said Oswald who had been looking behind; "there they are coming. It seems these bulls do not fall at one blow, and want to make the acquaintance of a bullet. Where is the box I gave you, Claus?"
"Just behind you, in the straw."
Oswald opened the box, took one of the two pistols that were in it, and cocked it.
"For Heaven's sake, Oswald, what are you going to do?" said Emily, who had not uttered a word since they were in the sleigh.
"Shoot down the first man who dares touch you."
"Oh, God! oh, God!"
"For whom do you tremble; for me? or for him? You have time yet. He will forgive you, I am sure, if you turn back now;--perhaps lecture you a little in Barnewitz's presence."
"How can you talk so? I turn back? Rather dead at the bottom of the sea!"
"That may come too," murmured Oswald.
Oswald thought the crop-eared hack, however swiftly he cut with his rough-shod shoes into the ice, could certainly not long keep up the speed so as to escape from the two thoroughbreds before the sleigh of his pursuers. He had a start of a few thousand yards, but that could not avail much, as the distance from Ferrytown to the village of Barow was over a mile. There they were to find another sleigh, provided by one of Claus's cousins, who was overseer on one of the Breesen estates, and ready to do and to risk anything in the world for Miss Emily.
"Once more, Emily: what do you want me to do if they overtake us?" asked Oswald, bending down to the little woman, who sat there silently, wrapped up in her furs.
"Defend yourself like a man!"
"And if I succumb?"
"Then I jump into the first air-hole we meet with! Better at the bottom of the sea than in his power!"
"Are you quite sure?"
"As sure as I live, and as I love you."
Oswald bent down and kissed the beautiful, pale face.
"Now it is all right," he said; "now come what may." Those were terrible minutes, and the gloomy surroundings only heightened the impressive character of the situation. All was perfectly silent around them; nothing was heard but the ceaseless striking of hoofs on the ringing ice, and that peculiar sound, resembling a long-drawn sigh, which is produced when an object moves with great rapidity over a plain of ice. As far as the eye reached nothing but the fearful solitude of a plain covered with a thin layer of snow, and the dark night lowering over it like a leaden cover. Even the stars were now hid by a light, drizzling fog, and yet it began to be lighter and lighter every moment. A reddish streak on the gray sky announced the rising moon. The sleigh of the pursuers could already be seen more distinctly, like a great black spot, which grew every instant greater and blacker as the light on the sky grew brighter.
Only a few minutes had passed since they had left Ferrytown, but they appeared to Oswald an eternity. He looked ahead for the shore, but nothing could be seen yet; he looked behind at the pursuers, and the great black spot bad again grown larger and blacker.
"We can't do it, Claus," said Oswald.
"What will you bet, sir?" replied Claus. "I will eat Fox alive if he does not win. Why, sir, there is no such horse to be found far and near. We are some twenty sleigh-owners in Ferrytown, and thirty over in Grunwald, and all of us have good horses in our sleighs, but Fox beats them all. Eh, Fox?"
And, as if Fox had been cheered by the praise of his master, he shook his cropped mane, and cut with his sharp hoofs faster and faster into the clear ice.
"But those are uncommon horses."
Claus laughed.
"And that's exactly why I don't trouble myself. They can't stand it; and then they are afraid of the air-holes. In a few minutes you will see they will fall behind, or I will eat Fox alive."
Perhaps Fox was afraid of the terrible fate with which he was threatened if he should allow himself to be overtaken, and made desperate efforts; perhaps Cloten's horses began really to be tried by this unusual chase on the smooth ice, or to be frightened by the black water of the air-holes; at all events, Clauses prophecy began to become true almost as soon as he had uttered it. Although it was dawning brighter and brighter on the horizon, the black spot became perceptibly smaller and less distinct; and when at last the full moon rose over the gray edge of the ice, and poured her pale light over the vast level plain, the black spot was no longer to be seen on the white surface.
"Well, didn't I tell you?" asked Claus, turning round and showing his white teeth, "that there isn't a horse that can overtake Fox? Up, Fox!"
Claus had turned round towards his horse. On, on they flew, with the swiftness of an arrow, over the low thundering abyss, past the weird glittering of waters, on which the pale moon cast an uncanny sheen. The icy north wind whistled around their ears as it swept mournfully and plaintively over the snow-covered fields. Oswald and Emily held each other in close embrace. Glad to have escaped the danger, they enjoyed the bliss of a love whose sweet flowers they were gathering on the brink of a fearful abyss, and willingly forgot for a few moments how deep that abyss was, and how full of unspeakable horrors.