"Nothing can happen. No one at Konopisht can know. I am sure of that—sure."
Perhaps the moment of danger that had threatened their happiness had made each more considerate, and the two great secrets that they possessed, their own and the other more terrible one had strengthened the bond between them.
"I will wait until you have been to Schönbrunn," he decided.
"Until I give you permission," she insisted.
He kissed her. She believed it to be a promise and the tight pressure of her hand rewarded him. In that moment of rapprochement, the destinies of nations seemed a matter of little moment to them.
"You will marry me soon, Marishka?" he murmured.
"Perhaps," she whispered gently.
Morning brought the pair in a fiacre into the Schottenring, Marishka weary but resolute, Renwick somewhat dubious as to their appearance at this early hour alone in the streets of Vienna. But at his suggestion that they drive first to the house of Marishka's aunt and guardian, Baroness Racowitz, where some excuse could be made for the girl's unexpected visit, Marishka only shook her head and gave the town address of Prince Montenuovo, who, as she knew, was still in residence, the Emperor not being expected at Ischl until the middle of July. Nor would she permit Renwick to accompany her within the house, and so he sat alone in the humble fiacre for what seemed an interminable time, until a man in livery came down the steps and gave him a note in Marishka's hand.
"I have succeeded in getting an audience. Go to the Embassy and await word from me. Silence."
And so at last he drove away to his hotel, sure at least that for the present he had done his duty to Marishka. But this was no boy-and-girl matter. The lives of nations, perhaps, hung upon his decision. In a weak moment he had promised Marishka an impossible thing. He did not know what danger hung over him. If anything happened to him England might never know until it was too late. The vision of Marishka's pale face haunted him, but he decided to take no further chances, and locking himself in his own rooms, he wrote a long statement, in which he accurately recounted his experience in the garden the day before. This letter written, sealed, addressed, and given to a trusted servant to be delivered into the hands of the Ambassador at a given time, Renwick breathed a sigh of relief, then bathed, dressed, and waited.