"It is at hand. I brought my Arab--my Saladin--with me. You know him and have often ridden him. He flies like a bird, and must do his master achievement this night."
The conversation had been conducted with flying haste, and now the Prince drew out the papers which he had received at headquarters.
"Here is the order of the Commanding General, which puts everything at your disposal when you reach our outposts--and here the dispatch. Give yourself half an hour's rest, for your strength might not hold out, and you will break down on the way."
"Do you think that I need rest and recreation now," cried Hartmut, flashing up. "I shall surely not break down now; it will have to be under the fire of the enemy if I do. I thank you, Egon, for this hour, in which you at last--at last--speak to me free from that base suspicion."
"And in which I send you out into death," said the Prince softly. "We will not shun the truth. It will be a miracle if you get through safely."
"A miracle."
Hartmut's glance wandered to the altar, upon which rested the pale light of the moon. He had forgotten long ago how to pray, yet at this moment he sent up a silent, fervent prayer to the heavens--to the power which could do miracles.
"Only until I have saved my father and his men--only so long guide and keep me!"
In the next second he drew himself up. It was as if Egon had poured glowing life power into the veins of the man who so shortly since was threatened with death through cold and exhaustion.
"And now let us say good-by," whispered Egon. "Farewell, Hartmut."