“No, Comtesse, I am not. Look at our guide!”
Mihai had stopped upon the crest of the saddlelike bare expanse of smooth rock they had now attained. He had lifted his cap and was standing grinning. He was pointing straight ahead—toward the hazy deep green valley that had unfolded itself to their view.
Morton reluctantly released the girl’s arm and hurried forward. In a voice in which he could not hide his deep emotion he announced to Princess Marie that they were on Transylvanian soil. A quick, happy flush came to the haggard cheeks and glad tears filled the soft eyes. Helène stood nearby, her bosom heaving in happy sympathy and her eyes shining brightly. Reverently she bent and kissed her companion’s cold wrist. To Morton she raised a look of mingled gratitude and admiration, the tribute of a thankful heart that gladly acknowledged noble merit.
The red ball of the sinking sun threw their elongated shadows grotesquely on the rocks gleaming in rosy reflection. The steep parapet of the deep gorge to their left was lit up, showing the fiery glinting narrow ribbon of the river Aluta, winding in a wide sweeping curve beneath them. To their right stretched forth and loomed overpoweringly the commanding peak of snow-capped Negoi against the delicate gloam of the east. And straight before them unrolled hill after hill—slope after slope—the welcome sight of deep evergreen, of rustic brown and sere yellow, the purplish plowed fields and darkening meadows spread out like a checker-board. A needlelike white spire and little bright red-capped dots of houses in the midst told of human life, of comfort and safety.
Mihai had stepped aside from the path so as to allow Papiu and Donald to put down the stretcher and permit the Princess to alight. He was all smiles and bubbling over with happiness.
The girls stood together in close embrace and followed with eager looks the arm of their guide, who was pointing back and downward.
“El Tornu Ros!”—and they beheld the deeply cut “Red Tower Pass,” the connecting link between the turbulent Balkans and the well-ordered country into which at last they had entered, opening before them like a wondrous gate. It seemed to them that they had conquered fate.
Morton, quietly exultant, approached Papiu and shook the man’s rough and soiled hand. “You have made good, and you are all true and brave men. I freely acknowledge your fine devotion, your quick wit and splendid performance. In addition to the agreed amount each of you will receive two thousand florins. I shall never forget your services. Tell your brother what I have said, and I shall write to Father Moskar at the earliest opportunity.”
The brothers looked proud and glad, and beamed sheepishly at each other. The words of the “gospodar” had made them happy—the sum they had gained meant independence to them.
John left the men to talk the good news over among themselves, and approached the two girls, who were now resting against a boulder. Cap in hand, his damp hair straggling over his forehead, he looked down and suddenly found himself shy and awkward. The journey over he was no longer their guide. These ladies were noble women—and one a Princess. His words came stammeringly: “Your Highness—Comtesse Rondell—all danger is past——”