Colonel Moore met her at a side entrance, and they hurried across the courtyard and over the bridge to where, a little way down the avenue, were waiting De Coursey and Marsov, with Jessac and the horses. They had thought to send the old man in a carriage, but he would have none of it; so they let him have his way, when he assured them he could ride twice the distance without fatigue—and he proved it that night.
In calm persistence of purpose Dehra was a typical Dalberg; she had determined that the Archduke should not expose his life in Lotzen’s castle, and so she was assuming the risk, without the least hesitation; just as the same Dalberg spirit sent the Archduke to recover the Book, heedless of the peril entailed. And so now, after a word of inquiry as to the general arrangements and the time required to reach the postern gate, she made no further reference to the business in hand. Instead, she chatted with Moore as unconcernedly as though she rode for her pleasure, and not upon a desperate mission where death was likely waiting for them all.
There was no moon, but the stars burned with double brilliancy in the wonderful mountain heavens; the road lay fair before them; and far off to the front the lights of Lotzen Castle beckoned. And as they crossed the valley, the lights gradually grew fewer, until presently there was but one remaining, which Jessac said was the big lamp on the bridge in front of the gate-arch, and which always burnt until sunrise.
A little way from the Lotzen road they met Colonel Bernheim, alone. He bent forward in sharp scrutiny.
“Thank God, Moore, you persuaded her not to come!” he exclaimed, as they drew up.
The Princess’ light laugh answered him, and he actually cried out in distressed disappointment, and forgot the eternal salute.
“I wasn’t to be persuaded, Colonel,” said she. “Is everything arranged?”
This time the salute came.
“The dispositions are made as Your Highness ordered,” he answered.
She thanked him, and he rode beside her to the cross-roads.