But, away, away! was his one desire, until he was in the carriage. Learning caution by the words of Wroblewski, he chose a way that took him out of the province quickly, going through Southern Hungary to Fiume, and thence by steamer to Ancona. What comforts money could secure they had. A courier travelled in advance, caring for everything. But, nevertheless, it was a dreary journey, over snowy roads and through barren, thinly populated mountainous districts, and no amount of money could make the miserable inns comfortable.
The travelling was slow, not only because of the almost impassable roads, but also because of Judith's state of health. She was so weak and pale, and her thin face looked so tired and sad. "If we were only at Klausenberg!" she kept sighing. He had told her this was the place where they could first expect letters from home. When they were there, how could he comfort her for not having a letter from her father?
Wroblewski wrote that Raphael had begun an action for abduction, and had bribed the judges to extraordinary energy. He hoped to pacify them, but it would demand great sacrifices. The count sent him the sum he demanded, but asked himself, nervously, "Will it do any good?"
At the commencement of the journey he had assumed the name of Count Nogile; quite a proper name, as it was one of the minor titles of the Baranowskis. He gave orders to his attendants, however, never to betray his new name to Judith or his old one to strangers. Accidentally, Judith discovered it during their stay in Klausenberg, and inquired the reason. To her surprise, he had no answer ready, and he was not accustomed to lying. Her anxiety was very apparent, and at length he said: "You shall know all. We hoped in vain for a letter from your relatives; but they are angry, and are prosecuting me for having made you my wife while you are still under age. The punishment will not be heavy, but you cannot wonder if I wish to avoid it for the sake of all."
Again she believed him; her tears proved it, and her despairing cry, "Then we must be homeless forever."
He reassured her by saying that such would be the case only until her people's anger was pacified, which he hoped would be soon.
"Perhaps God will be merciful!" she answered. "How dreadful would be my lot, and how could I endure life, if I knew you had sacrificed home, peace, and happiness for me!"
This plaint cut him to the heart even more than her suspicions. She was speaking the truth, and it was all his own fault. Again, there was the necessity of lying, daily and hourly, and the incessant dread of discovery. Once during their journey they were overtaken by a snow-storm, and forced to seek shelter in a castle by the wayside, where they were kindly welcomed by the proprietress, an old Hungarian aristocrat.
"What is your name?" she asked Judith, in the course of conversation after supper. Judith blushed deeply.
"Nogile," she stammered.