A scarce half hour had thus passed when Helène, looking up, saw that Morton’s face wore an anxious expression. She noted that he was consulting his watch and glancing frequently and impatiently about him with an evidently carefully suppressed concern. She dared not ask any questions, and besides, she was too tired and worn out to summon the necessary energy.
Just then the thrice-repeated call of a partridge followed by a peculiar, long-drawn whistle, broke into the dead silence of the desolate fastness, and from the left, behind some gigantic boulders, Mihai was seen approaching with long swinging stride, bearing on his back two stout poles and what looked like a tent-cover. The brothers exchanged a few whispered words, and Papiu hastened back to Mr. Morton and reported that his orders had been executed. Mihai had not encountered any guards or militia, and he was now awaiting further instructions. They were on the right path and there was no snow to speak of on the divide.
John went forward with Papiu, and receiving from Mihai confirmation of Papiu’s statement, he hurried back to the resting girls, and in a voice of renewed cheer, said: “Mihai’s report is most satisfactory. About a thousand feet from here our path crosses a road, which leads from the state-chaussé toward the western country. He had been over it and found neither patrols nor any signs of the enemy. And here is a conveyance which will mean relief to you, Your Highness.”
The girls turned their eyes to where Morton had pointed and saw to their astonishment that what they had thought were tent and poles had been unfolded and converted into a strongly constructed stretcher—a heavy canvas sheet suspended between two stout bars.
John spread a rug over it, and, folding another for a cushion at the head, led the Princess to it. In this wise they began the last stage of their ascent.
Mihai took the lead, rifle in the crook of an arm, his older brother and Donald bore the crude palankin; and, as before, Helène and Morton brought up the rear.
The sun was now nearing the western slope, the wind had died down, the air had grown colder, but was bracing and refreshing. They reached the crossroad so dreaded by Morton, advanced over it for some hundreds of paces, and then once more Mihai struck off due north—the continuation of the indistinctly marked path that was to lead them to safety.
They followed this difficult road for a considerable distance silently, every man observing carefully the place in which his predecessor had put his foot. In this manner they at last reached a rounded plateau beyond which the eye saw but the unobstructed sky, clear and cloudless, stretching its blue vault as if with a benign promise of freedom.
From time to time Helène had stolen a glance at Morton, who untiring and ever present guided her steps and aided her progress by silent encouragement. She noticed that his face had gradually cleared, the eyes had lost their grim expression, the deep furrow between the brows had vanished, and his step seemed more elastic and confident. Catching one of her looks he smiled and pointing ahead of them, said, “There is the divide—the boundary line!”
Helène’s head swam and her limbs shook. John sprung to her support. Timidly glancing up at him she whispered, “Are you sure? You are not saying that just to cheer me, Mr. Morton, are you?”