Wanda stood by her father, still clinging to his arm as though she feared he might be torn from her again. She alone had spoken no word of thanks, but her eyes had sought Waldemar's as she turned to him on his entrance, and their glance must have been more eloquent than words. He seemed satisfied, and made no attempt to approach her more directly.
"The danger is not quite over yet," he said, turning to the Count again. "We have it unfortunately in black and white that even here you are threatened with imprisonment and extradition. At the present moment you are safe at Wilicza. Frank has promised to keep watch for us, and you have urgent need of a few hours' rest, but to-morrow morning must see us on the road to S----.
"You will not take the direct route to France or England then?" said the Princess.
"No, time is too precious, and that is precisely the route they will expect us to choose. We must make for the sea. S---- is the nearest port--we can be there by to-morrow evening. I have arranged everything. An English ship has been lying in harbour for the last month, of which I have secured to myself the sole disposal. She is ready to put to sea at any moment, and will take you straight to England, uncle. From thence, France, Switzerland, Italy may easily be reached. You can take up your abode where you will. Once out on the open sea, and you are safe."
"And you, my dear Waldemar?" His uncle now addressed him in the affectionate tone he had so long reserved for his younger brother. "Will you pay no penalty for your boldness? Who can tell whether the secret of my escape will be strictly kept? There are so many in it."
Waldemar smiled. "I certainly have been forced to give the lie to my nature on this occasion, and to make confidences right and left. Nothing could be done without it. Happily, all my confidants have become my accessories; they cannot betray me without exposing themselves. The rescue will be laid to my mother's charge, and if, at some future time, reports of the truth get wind, well, we live here on German territory. Count Morynski was neither accused nor sentenced in this country, his rescue cannot therefore be here accounted as a crime. It will seem natural enough that, in spite of our political differences, I should stretch out my hand to save my uncle--particularly when it is known that to that relationship another has been added--that he has become my father also."
A quiver passed over Morynski's face at this reminder. He tried to repress it, but in vain--it told of a pain he was unable to master. He had long known of this love, which to him, as to his sister, had appeared as a misfortune, almost as a crime. He, too, had fought against it with all the means in his power, and, quite lately, had endeavoured to withdraw Wanda from its influence. He had acquiesced when she resolved on going with him to almost certain destruction; he had accepted her offer with the one view of preventing this marriage. It was a heavy sacrifice--it cost him a great struggle with those national prejudices, that national hatred, which had been the ruling principle of his life--but he looked at the man whose hand had led him forth out of prison, who had risked life and freedom in order to win back both for him--then he bent down to his daughter.
"Wanda," he said in a low voice.
Wanda looked up at him. Her father's face had never appeared to her so weary, so sorrowful, as at this moment. She had been prepared to find him altered, but she had not expected so terrible a change, and, as she read in his eyes all that it cost him to give his consent, her own personal wishes receded into the background, and the daughter's passionate love burned up brightly within her.
"Not now, Waldemar," she implored, with a trembling voice. "You see what my father has suffered, what he is still suffering. You cannot ask me to leave him now when we have but just met. Let me stay with him for a time, only for one year! You have preserved him from the worst of all; but he has to go out among strangers, into banishment. Shall I, can I let him go alone?"