Baum hesitated. He wanted to say that he was not allowed to leave the countess, but he could not muster courage enough to do so.
"Why do you hesitate? Don't you understand me?" said Irma harshly. "Ride back immediately."
Baum was scarcely out of sight, when Irma whipped her horse, leaped over the ditch at the side of the road, hurried across the mountain meadow and into the woods. She rode at full gallop, over the very road Bruno had taken a few days before. The horse was spirited and fresh, and proud of its beautiful rider. They knew each other, and it galloped on right merrily, as if in the chase. And there really is a chase; for hark! there's a shot. But Pluto stands fire, and is not so easily frightened. Away he dashed, more wildly than before. The rays of the setting sun shone through the forest shades, lighting up the trees and mosses with their roseate glow. And still she rode on, ever urging her horse to greater speed.
She had reached the crest of the mountain ridge; below, lay the broad lake, glowing with purple.
"There!" cried Irma. "There thou art, cold death!"
Pluto stopped, thinking that his mistress had spoken to him. "You're right," said she, patting his neck; "it's far enough."
She alighted and turned the horse's head. He looked at her once more, with his large, faithful eyes, for she had thrown back her veil.
"Go home. You're to live; go home!"
The horse did not move. She raised her whip and struck it. It started off, with mane and tail fluttering in the evening breeze, as it hurried away along the mountain crest.
Irma paused and looked after it. Then she sat down on the edge of a projecting rock and gazed at the vast prospect and the setting sun.