Meanwhile, Arthur and Eugénie had ridden on in silence. Perhaps the common danger they had just passed through had linked them more closely together, for their horses went on side by side, and Arthur still held Afra's rein, though the widening path would now have afforded them room enough, though there was nothing more to fear, and all further care of so consummate a horsewoman was plainly superfluous.
"Do you understand the danger of to-day's excursion now?"
"Yes, and also the danger of your situation."
"I must bear it. You see yourself what blind obedience Hartmann can command. One word from him, and they let us ride on; not a man ventured to murmur, yet they were only waiting a sign from him to turn against us."
"But he did not give the sign," said Eugénie emphatically.
Arthur turned the same strange, searching gaze upon her.
"No, not to-day. He knows best what held him back, but it may happen to-morrow, or the next day, or whenever we meet. I am quite prepared for it."
Leaving the wood now, they set their horses into a trot and arrived a quarter of an hour later at the terrace before the château. Arthur swung himself from his saddle--with what elasticity compared with his former languid movements! He offered his hand to help his wife dismount. Her face was still deadly pale, and she trembled a little as he placed his arm round her, trembled still more as it held her firmly a second longer than was usual on such occasions.
"Were you frightened?" he asked softly, as he took her arm to lead her into the house.
Eugénie gave no answer. Yes, she had been a prey to mortal terror all through that scene, but she would rather he should think her a coward than let him guess it was for his sake she had felt alarm. A suspicion of this seemed, however, to dawn upon him.