“What is that?”
“It is that our new acquaintance had as little thought of sport when he came to the forest as had Herr Harlberg or even I myself.”
CHAPTER XI
A STRANGE PRESERVER
Next morning Philippa, taking a book with her, set off for a quiet stroll in the forest. The unaccustomed monotony of her life at the old Grange, shut up with her step-father, whose temper, always inclined to peevishness, the boredom of the situation did not improve, was irksome to her. But beyond and above this negative evil was the positive one of Zarka’s constant visits and veiled persecution. Against the idea that he had any hold over her she fought strenuously; she would not allow it, even to herself, yet she had an uneasy consciousness that the Count’s language was apt to take the form of a scarcely disguised threat. And here, in the vast lonely forest, under the dominating seigniory of Rozsnyo, it seemed difficult to fight against the strong hand backed by the resolute will. Civilization here hardly counted; might was still right as in feudal days, and the only chance of safety seemed to lie in temporizing and not driving the enemy to extreme measures. The oppressive vastness, the weird silence and gloom of the forest lay on her nerves; Zarka seemed to be the evil genius of that great region of mountain woodland, and nature here to be his ally.
Anyhow that morning, she told herself, she would be free from him, and with that object she avoided the open tracks along which he was wont to ride, and kept well within the thickness of the wood where never even a bridle-path was to be found. The Count’s favourite roan would hardly thread its way amid that tangle of brushwood and maze of trees. When Philippa felt she had wandered far enough, she chose an inviting bank with a tree to lean against and sat down to read. She had turned but a few pages when she looked up with a start. There was a stealthy rustling in the undergrowth near. After a few moments of alarmed expectancy Philippa sprang to her feet with a look of terror. Two fierce eyes were glaring at her from behind the fringe of brushwood some ten yards away. She kept sufficient presence of mind, however, to be able to tell that, for good or ill, they were not human eyes. A snarling grunt confirmed this; the intruder was a wild boar. Philippa instinctively gathered up her dress and turned to run; at the movement the animal with a louder growl broke through into the open space. She caught one glimpse of his ugly tusks, his bristling hair and ears, his savage little eyes, and in utter terror rushed in a panic away through the trees. Escape from the brute seemed out of the question; she felt it was coming on in hot pursuit, could hear it brushing through the leaves, and its peculiar savage cry, ever nearer, made her sick with fear. It was close on her; she darted to one side, and, facing the animal, hopelessly tried to dodge it among the trees. Furious at being thus baffled, the boar made deadly charges, running round the trees with head lowered, and hunting the girl viciously from one to another. She was becoming exhausted with the unequal strife; it was a wonder she had avoided the fatal tusks so long, every fresh rush she felt must end the business. She cried out despairingly, sending up shriek upon shriek. Faint with the terror of death, now so imminent, she had actually ceased to try and avoid the brute, when suddenly a man’s voice cried out with startling clearness—
“Get away from him! Quick! I am going to shoot!”
With a supreme effort Philippa made a vigorous spring, by which she put a yard or so between her and the boar just as his tusks had come within striking distance. A shot rang out, the brute rolled over, not killed outright, but at least disabled from further attack.
With a gasping cry of relief and thankfulness Philippa sank down half fainting, as the man who had fired the shot ran quickly forward. It was Abele d’Alquen.
His first act was to satisfy himself that the boar’s power for harm was at an end. Perhaps he forebore giving the animal its coup-de-grâce out of consideration for the girl’s presence. Taking out a flask, he dropped on one knee beside her.
“A narrow escape, Fräulein. Drink this; it will revive you.”