So, with a laugh which had more meaning in it than the priest comprehended, he rode on.
CHAPTER XXVI
A DESPERATE STROKE
“They tell me I am dying. I must see you. Come. You need not fear. R. d’I.”
These words scrawled in a note had been brought to Philippa. She had hesitated; then, in an access of grief and consternation, determined to go to Rozsnyo. She seemed to have no fear of Zarka now. The great joy of her life was gone, and she could defy this man at last, careless of consequences. So, telling her step-father that she was going to Rozsnyo to see the Count’s cousin, who was ill, she set out along the valley. Harlberg made no objection; the plan did not affect him, and he was, if anything, rather pleased at any sign of greater friendliness between Zarka and Philippa. Half an hour’s walk brought her to Rozsnyo.
As she approached the castle a man suddenly appeared in her path, and accosting her with a bow addressed her by name, and begged her to allow him to conduct her to Fräulein d’Ivady. He was dressed in plain livery and had the air of a confidential body-servant, and, although instinctively mistrusting his keen, crafty face, Philippa could not do otherwise than follow him. He deferentially led the way across the bridge to the private door where Philippa had been surprised, thence into the castle and to the room which Royda used as a boudoir.
In answer to Philippa’s inquiry he told her that Fräulein d’Ivady was, he thought, asleep; but would the honoured Fräulein wait, and he would ascertain? If the gracious Fräulein would take some refreshment after her walk? He indicated a tray on which were some dainty cakes and a flask of Tokay. Without waiting for an answer he poured out a glass of wine, and with a ceremonious bow quitted the room.
Left alone, Philippa walked to the window and looked out upon the great valley beneath, fenced in by vine-clad hills, above which again, in darker contrast, stretched away the magnificent pine forests, then, still beyond, the snow-capped heights of the Carpathians. It made her unutterably sad to think that a life was ebbing away from a world that was so beautiful: that the young girl lying a few yards from that room might never look on that glorious scene again, nor roam through that fairyland. Done to death through a moment’s madness, and by her. How bitterly she regretted the chance that had taken her to Rozsnyo that night, and led to her attracting Royda’s attention. Just as a ray of hope seemed to have pierced through the mist of danger which had enveloped her, a black cloud had shut it out again, and there seemed now nothing for her but despair. She leaned her face against the window in an agony of grief. Then she suddenly became aware that some one had entered the room. She turned; it was Zarka.
“I came,” Philippa said, “to inquire after Fräulein d’Ivady; if possible, to see her. How is she?”
She asked the question apprehensively, noticing that he looked very grave. He shook his head. His eyes, however, were at variance with his demeanour; the sight of Philippa always brought a peculiar glitter into them. It was there now.
“How can I tell you?”