Ruperta entreated him to follow her lover and free him. He felt the urgency of the move, yet hesitated.
“I dare not leave you, Princess, and if we go together”—he gave a shrug—“I am only one to defend you against this gang of bandits. It were better to see you into safety first.”
But she would not hear of abandoning Ludovic while there was a chance of rescue. She too would go back; she had no fear.
Ompertz saw the true courage in her eyes, and no longer opposed her wish. The two men had skulked away; they were scarcely worth consideration now. The soldier gave his hand to Ruperta, and, sword in the other, led her quickly along the passage to the stone door. It was closed and fast bolted; the men had clearly taken their prisoner through, and now had him safely lodged. Ompertz gave a kick at the unyielding barrier.
“No hope of opening that fellow from outside,” he remarked, with a baffled shake of the head. “And, Highness, let me tell you the sooner for your sake we get out of this ugly trap the better. We should not have a chance if these rascals took it into their heads to drop a few lumps of rock down on ours.”
Although Ruperta had little fear of that awkward contingency, she recognized the futility of staying there. Her heart was full of indignation and a terrible anxiety for her lover. But hers was a nature which rage and fear simply stirred into action; she would never bow to the inevitable or confess herself beaten.
“Yes. Come back with me quickly,” she said, with sudden resolution.
Ompertz glanced at her and knew that the move was not prompted by fear, at least for herself. They hurried back along the passage of rock and into the wood.
“The horses are close by,” Ompertz said, in a tone of doubtful suggestion.
“That is well; we may want them,” Ruperta replied, and he saw that she had in her mind a plan of action.