It must lie on her right hand, she thought, so, turning in that direction, she set off once more through the black wood.
Happily the guess at her bearings was correct. Ten minutes of rough groping brought her, greatly to her relief, to the end of the trees on that side of the valley and to clear ground. Here progress was comparatively easy, and the darkness not so paralyzing. As she stood debating whether she should make her way up the valley to the Grange and thence try the path again, or attempt to find her way direct to the encampment, she saw before her at some distance a light. It was very small and lasted but a moment or two, like the striking of a match. Was it some one lighting a cigar? she thought. Von Tressen, perhaps, or Count Zarka? If only it were the Lieutenant. It was not unlikely. The spirit of reckless adventure was on her, and she resolved to go forward and see. So she ran cautiously towards the point whence the light had shone, slackening her pace as she calculated she must be near it, and creeping along so as not to attract attention. Presently she stopped and listened. She was certain she heard men’s voices, and fancied she recognized Von Tressen’s. She quickly followed the sound, but progress now was not so easy; the ground rose steeply on the other side of the narrow valley and the wood was thick again. Still she pressed on, with many a stumble, encouraged by the thought that her lover was so near. Soon the wood became as dark and bewildering as that from which she had lately escaped. Still up and up the girl panted, hoping every moment to hear the welcome voice again, but, though she often stopped to listen, she could not be certain that she heard it. Suddenly a strange phenomenon rose before her sight; the forest, thick as it was, seemed now to present a great, black, impassable wall. Philippa stopped in amazement. Then, as the air grew lighter, the explanation flashed upon her. The great black mass in front of her was not wood but stone; she was outside Rozsnyo.
Scarcely had Philippa realized her whereabouts when she saw a dark object moving in the obscurity a few yards away. She was now standing by the slope of the dry moat. Instinctively she crouched down beside one of the shrubs with which it was planted. The moving figure was a man. He came slowly on, passed close to where she was hidden, and so disappeared in the darkness. But an uncontrollable fascination had made her look up in spite of her fear as he passed, and she recognized him even under those conditions. It was D’Alquen.
CHAPTER XXI
FROM FURY TO FURY
The danger of her situation flashed upon her. It was this man, then, who must have struck the light she had seen. What an escape she had had. If he found her there alone would not so apt an opportunity overcome any hesitation in his mind? He would kill her, if only for the impunity with which the deed might be done. Her one thought now was to escape, but how? D’Alquen had cut her off from the valley; she dared not venture into the wood which lay between it and the castle for fear of encountering him. As she crouched there, fearful of the man’s return, desperately reviewing her chances of escape, a vivid flash of lightning, accompanied almost simultaneously by a crashing peal of thunder, announced that the threatened storm had burst over Rozsnyo. In panic the girl rose and fled across to the shelter of the wall, and shrank against it, panting and terrified. The rain now poured down in a deluge, the lightning played round her in almost incessant flashes, and the thunder pealed deafeningly. It was a typical mountain storm of the fiercest kind. Driven both by fear and the pelting rain from the inadequate protection of the bare wall, Philippa looked round in desperation, and seeing what seemed a sheltering buttress at some little distance, made a rush for it. Even this provided but a poor screen against the storm’s fury; a blinding flash seemed to strike the ground but a few feet from the place, and in terror Philippa abandoned her position and ran on, seeking a safer refuge. To her intense relief she came to a deeply recessed doorway, and in this at last she found complete shelter. Here she stayed, recovering from her fright, until the violence of the downpour abated, and she could think of venturing upon her return. A short way from where she stood a bridge spanned the hollow, and seemed to lead to a path through the woodland beyond. To adventure upon it was risky, yet to stay where she was would be to court falling into Zarka’s hands, and of the two she felt she feared D’Alquen the less. The rain had now nearly ceased, although the darkness, save for an occasional flash, was as great as ever. After some hesitation Philippa resolved to make a run for it and trust to chance to find her way home again. Gathering her skirts round her she ran to the bridge, just discernible in the night’s blackness. She was half way across it when a great flash lighted up for a second the open space against the dark background of the wood, and showed her two men on its outskirts, Von Tressen and Galabin.
Philippa’s first impulse was to call to them and run forward. Her second thought checked this, and made her crouch beneath the railing of the bridge, then turn and retreat to the walls again. If her lover found her there what would he think? How could she account for her presence? Easily enough—and yet—. Coupled with the mystery of her relations with Zarka, how could she expect that Von Tressen’s mind would not be full of suspicion? Here she was, coming from the Count’s very door, and her poor excuse was that she had lost her way and been frightened. After having been surprised in that equivocal situation with him that morning she dared not add this compromising evidence to the doubt she felt sure must be in her lover’s mind. No; she must wait till the path was clear. Her life’s happiness was at stake, and Fate was cruelly her foe just then.
So she went back to the doorway, where she could stay securely hidden in its recess without fear of betrayal from a chance flash of lightning. Here she waited for a while, and then, just as she was preparing to set out again, she felt with a thrill of terror that a hand grasped her arm, and a voice said in her ear—
“So! I have caught you!”
With a terrible start Philippa turned. The small, iron-studded door behind her had opened silently, and a woman stood there. Philippa could just see the flash of her eyes; the nervous vicious clutch on her arm told her that the presence was not a friendly one.
“I came here for shelter,” she began.