The last qualm of nervousness left her. She walked the ledge round the skylight and crawled out upon the pointed roof beyond. She drew herself along it until she was above one of the windows projecting from the slope of the roof. She let herself down; she touched the cap of the window; she slid slowly along the outer edge of its frame until she was able to reach round into it.
It was fastened. Clinging to roof and window-frame she unbuckled her sword, and with it broke a pane of glass. She listened; not a sound after the echo of the crash had died away. Then she became conscious that some one else was on that roof.
With heart beating wildly and body trembling she peered round the window-frame. Far away along the ridge of the roof she saw a shape which was unmistakably a man’s. And as she watched, it moved; it was some one coming from the eastern end towards her. Had he seen her, or had he come after she had slid behind the window-frame? She feared he was on his way to intercept her, but she did not lose heart.
She reached through the broken pane and unfastened the window and opened it. Then, with as little noise and as little exposure of herself as the profound quiet and the brightness of the moon permitted, she crawled round the projecting frame and into the window. She ventured to glance out and upward again; the man was creeping along the ridge; he had passed the point where he would have begun to descend towards her if he had seen or heard her; he was moving in the direction from which she had come. With a long sigh she closed the window. “Two minutes later,” she said to herself, “and I should have been taken.”
She was in an empty room, in the attic of the extreme eastern end of the central part of The Castle. She brushed her uniform, straightened her belt and sword, set her helmet well forward on her head, and sallied forth. She went down the stairway, cobwebs clinging to her face and sounds of the movements of disturbed creatures—bats or birds—coming to her through the darkness. At the foot of a second and long flight of stairs she found herself on the landing from which two great corridors branched—the one to the right leading to liberty, the one to the left leading to her cousin Aloyse’s apartments.
Some one was coming towards her in the corridor to the right; she was compelled to take Aloyse’s corridor. The footsteps—they were cautious footsteps—followed her. She shrank into a niche and stood like a statue. As the man passed a window the moonlight revealed him to her—Prince von Moltzahn. He was disregarding her uncle’s prohibition and was coming to see Aloyse. He opened a door so nearly opposite where she stood that she could see into the room—could see Aloyse, in a dressing-gown, seated at a table on which was a tray containing bottles of whiskey and soda.
“Ah! von Moltzahn; you were never so welcome. No; leave the door open. It’s frightful in here. I can’t breathe. Help yourself to the whiskey.”
“I expected to find you ill,” said Moltzahn. “His Royal Highness has given out that you have a fever.”
“Yes; and he’s shut me up here until the wedding. He treats me like a dog. But wait until I’m married and get hold of some cash. He won’t be able to keep his feet on my neck then.”
“But why has he shut you in?”