And since I have undertaken to record the reconquest of Jennico’s happiness, there remains yet to tell the manner in which it all but foundered in the haven. For this heartwhole ecstasy of mine could not last in its entirety beyond a few brief moments. As I thus grasped my happiness, with a mind free at last from the confusing vapours of haste and excitement, even as the fair world around us emerged sharp and bright from amid the shadows of dawn, all the precariousness of our situation became likewise defined. Between me and the woman I loved, though now I held her locked in my arms, arose the everlasting menace of separation. How long would we be left together? Where could I fly with her to keep her safe? I hoped that amid the feudal state of my castle I could defy persecution, but what could such a life be at best? Thus, in the very first sweetness of our reunion, was felt the bitterness of that hidden suspense that must eventually poison all.
Now as I look back, nothing seems more dreamlike than the way in which my boding thought suddenly assumed the reality of actual event.
“In a little while” (I was saying to myself, as I watched the shadows shorten, and the beams of sunlight grow broader upon the snow), “in a little while the hounds will be started in pursuit, the old persecution will be resumed, more devilish than ever.” And at the thought, against my will, a contraction shook the arm on which my love was resting. She stirred and awoke, at first bewildered, then smiling at me. I let down the glass of the coach, that the brisk morning air might blow in upon us and freshen our tired limbs.
We were then advancing but slowly, being midway up the slope of a great wide dale; the horses toiled and steamed. And then as we tasted keenly the vigorous freshness of the morning air, and looked forth, speechless, upon the beauty of the waking hour of nature—that incomparable hour so few of us wot of—there came into the great silence, broken only by the straining of harness and the faint thud of our horses’ hoofs in the snow, another noise: a curious, faint, little, far-off noise like to no sound of nature. Ottilie glanced at me, and I saw the pupil of her eye dilate. She uttered no word, neither did I. But, all at once, we knew that there was some one galloping behind us.
I thrust my head out. János was already on the alert: standing with his back to the horses, leaning upon the top of the coach, he was looking earnestly down the valley. I can see his face still, all wrinkled and puckered together in the effort of peering against the first level rays of the sun. Now, as I leaned out also, and the horse’s gallop grew nearer and nearer upon my ear, I caught, as I thought, a faint accompaniment of other hoofs, still more distant. I looked at János, who brought down his eyes to mine.
“But three altogether, my lord,” he said. And, reaching as he spoke for his musketoon, he laid it on top of the coach. “And, thank God,” he added, “one can see a long way down this slope.” He bade the driver draw up on one side of the road, and I was able myself to look straight into the valley.
A flying figure, that grew every second larger and blacker against the white expanse beneath us, was rushing up towards us with almost incredible swiftness. In the absolute stillness of the world locked in snow, the rhythm of the hoofs, the squelching of the saddle, the laboured snorting of the over-driven horse, were already audible. There were not many seconds to spare—and action followed thought as prompt as flash and sound. There was only time, in fact, to place the bewildered Anna, just awakened, by my wife’s side at the back of the coach, to pull up the shutter of both windows, and to leap out.
I was hatless. I grasped my still sheathed sword in one hand, and with the other fumbled for my pistols in my coat skirts, whilst with a thrust of my shoulder I clapped the coach door to. There was not time even to exchange a word with Ottilie, but her deathly pallor struck me to the heart and fired me to the most murderous resolve.
And now all happened quicker than words can follow. No sooner had I touched the ground, than out of space as it were, roaring and reeking, hugely black against the sunshine, the horse and his rider were upon me. I had failed to draw my pistol, but I had shaken the scabbard off my sword. There seemed scarce a blade’s length between me and the flying onslaught. Suddenly, however, the great animal swerved upon one side, and was pulled up, almost crouching on its haunches, by the force of an iron hand. The rider’s face, outlined against the horse’s steaming neck, bent towards me: Prince Eugen’s—great indeed would have been my surprise had it been any other—ensanguined, distorted with fury, glowing with vindictive triumph, as once before I had seen it thus thrust into mine.
“Thou dog, Jennico ... ill-slaughtered interloper ... at last I have got thee! Out of my way thou goest this time!...”