CHAPTER XXIII
WILFRID’S ABDUCTION
It was past five o’clock when Wilfrid sprang from the coach on the Viborg Road and disappeared down the narrow path that wound through a forest of pines, while the vehicle continued on its way northwards.
After a few hundred paces the path opened out into a little clearing, in the middle of which stood a rough log cabin, such as the Russian peasant raises with his own hand. Ornamental carving marked the eaves and doorposts, and on the straw thatch rested heavy stones, placed there to prevent the cottage from being unroofed by tempest.
The tenant was already at work preparing a pile of timber for charcoal burning. Wilfrid liked the look of the man, and felt that any trust placed in him would not be betrayed.
First hailing the fellow with a cheery “Good-morning,” Wilfrid went on to speak of the Baroness Runö, at the mention of whose name the peasant’s eyes glistened with a grateful light. It was clear that if he could do anything to serve her or her friends he would do it. So Wilfrid in a few words explained the object of his visit, without, however, mentioning the name of his august opponent.
“Now, good Ruric, you understand my position. The Baroness’s father, who is my second, advised me to leave the city before him lest the authorities should stop the duel by arresting me.”
“Surely, surely,” nodded the man. “’Twas wise.”
“To keep a clear head and eye I must have two hours’ sleep. But while I sleep what is to prevent my enemies from coming upon me?”