“We could see the wolves skulking in the thickets, excellency, and we drew the closer together at the sight, raising our voices and kindling new torches. Yet so great was the hunger which the beasts suffered that presently they became bolder, and began to collect in little groups at the side of the path; while here and there one would leap out, snapping his teeth and shewing us eyes which flashed red in the dim light. And at this some of the grooms began to lose heart and to cry out that our errand could end only in disaster to ourselves. Even the steward was shaking with terror, and alternately reproaching himself and assuring us that we were out on a fool’s business.
“‘Holy Saints,’ he would cry, ‘how they bark; it is like the howling of souls in hell! Did you hear that, Father? The Virgin pray for us. Yet what can we do? That I should go to the Count with such a tale! Think you that she is on the Jajce road? God help her, then. Yet she might as well have looked towards Jézero. Fool that I was to think of coming abroad!’
“‘You speak well, Master Hans,’ cried one of the grooms; ‘this is no errand for men with wives and children to look to them. Not that I am afraid. Who says that lies. I never yet feared man or beast—the Lord have mercy on my soul.’
“A loud amen followed the rogue’s words, and we went on a little further, descending deeper into the gorge and the darkness of the woods. Here the road was very lonely, the trees bridging it over with their branches, and the mountains above seeming to be fleecy vapours hanging in the dome of the heavens. We could hear the pursuing beasts pattering in the thickets at our side, and they howled no longer—a sure sign that they were making ready to spring out upon us. Presently Hans, who was in the van of the company, stopped running altogether, and stood crying to us to listen to him.
“‘One word,’ said he; ‘we are going too fast for Father Mark—I can see it by his step—and this is no place to rest in. It is my advice that we return to the park and then venture a little way down the road to Jézero. Had she passed by here, surely we had overtaken her before this.’
“‘Aye, truly,’ cried another; ‘I am with Master Hans. Go back, say I, and try towards Jézero. It’s here that Gozzo, the shepherd, was torn last year, with his horse. You don’t forget that, Father? Not that I am afraid—who says that lies.’
“They stood now clamouring round the priest, who, be it said to his credit, was the best man among them. I can see him in my mind now, excellency, panting heavily for want of his breath, and raising his stick to bring them to silence.
“‘Who goes back,’ he said presently, ‘him will I bring to account here upon the spot. Louts! do you leave a woman in her peril? What tale will you carry to your master? That I should call such carrion my children! Go on, I say, or you shall feel my cudgel on your shoulders!’
“They were a little shamefaced at this, all hanging very closely together, and cocking their guns in readiness to fire. Even I, to whom the bark of a wolf is no more than the clatter of a pebble in a brook, found some comfort in the fact that I stood at the priest’s side, and was thus in the centre of the group. As for the pack in the thicket, it had become bolder at our halt, and we could now see the brutes, some snarling in the bushes at our side, some jumping before us from the wood to the road, and again from the road to the wood, others dogging our steps and waiting for that moment when one beast more bold than the rest should spring to the attack and a hundred should follow him. So closely did they press upon us at last that we formed a ring in the centre of the path, and fired a rattling volley into them, a great flame of fire lighting the black place of the thicket, and sending them howling and rolling in the depths of the snow. Then, with another loud shout, we ran on through the wood, and found ourselves, to our infinite satisfaction, again upon the open road.
“You may imagine how, in all these trying moments, my thoughts had turned upon Christine. If we, fifteen good men, with torches to light us and guns in our hands, must press together to turn the peril from our path, how, I asked, had it fared with an unarmed girl knowing nothing of the peril or the road. One hope only I had, and it was this—that Christine had passed through the wood while it was yet daylight, and had taken shelter ultimately in the village lying between the great house and Jajce. Yet I knew that this was unlikely; and it was ever in my head that the child had perished already, and that we must go to the Count with the story of her death in our mouths. Nor could I imagine any man so bold that he should bear such news, though it was my consolation that some other than myself must be the messenger.