He told her of certain good fellows there whose acquaintance he had made in the guard-room, and who, he was sure, would be ready to risk their lives in this service for her.
“If all goes well, they shall not be losers for standing by me in my extremity. At least they are human; Rollmar is a fiend.”
They came to the three horses—bitter suggestion of their failure—mounted, and made their way towards the spot where the men were encamped. Ompertz’s thoughts were divided between admiration for this courageous girl and sadness at the thought of how small was her chance of success.
But the affair, he told himself, was too difficult for his poor brain; he could see no light through the darkness; only hope that chance, after leaving them so terribly in the lurch, might once again stand their friend and accomplish what seemed beyond the scope of every imaginable plan.
By a difficult path they arrived presently, after many a hindrance from wood and rock, within a stone’s throw of where the troops lay encamped. Leaving Ruperta in a place of safety, or, at least, in concealment, Ompertz went forward to find his men for the purpose.
Half an hour later he, with many misgivings, had taken leave of the Princess who, with an escort of three stout fellows, started off through the forest to strike the nearest point of the main road to Beroldstein. Ruperta had supplemented Ompertz’s explanation by an appeal to the men to stand by her in her distress. She knew, she said, the risk her escort would be running; how those who guarded her flight would do so at the peril of their lives, and she would accept no service that, with this knowledge, was not freely given. But Ompertz, a shrewd judge of, at any rate, certain characters, had made no mistake in choosing the men. Their records were not, perhaps, of the best repute, but they were three staunch dare-devils, who would think no more of giving up their prospects and lives at a word from the Princess than of passing their mug of beer to a thirsty comrade. They had instantly and heartily sworn to see her through her long ride, or give their lives in her service, and she felt she need have no fear of their failing her. So they set off.
The first part of the journey was slow and difficult enough; however, one of the men knew the country and was confident that they could not lose their way. Nevertheless, the darkness of the forest hampered their progress, but, with the dawn, the track, too, grew lighter as the party emerged upon a hilly stretch of heath.
“We are now but a mile from the great road,” said the man who knew the way.
They could push on now at a smart pace; time, Ruperta felt, was everything, and all through the long hours of darkness her impatience had been torture. It was not many minutes before the broad coach-road came in sight beyond a belt of woodland which fringed it. Just before they reached it, hastening over the grassy road, one of the men, who was riding a few paces ahead, held up a warning hand.
As they reined up, the ring of horses’ hoofs fell upon their ears. The man quickly threw himself from the saddle and crept forward to the corner whence he could get a view of the road. Next instant he came rushing back, motioning them to turn aside among the trees.