However, the long days as they went by brought with them nothing but the delight of lovers’ existence, without sign of a disturbing element. Their heaven was without a cloud and they began to reproach themselves with having failed to enjoy its glory through vain fears of a tempest. So, as the time slipped by, the startling events they had passed through seemed nothing more than the recollection of a troubled dream, now fading in the light and joyousness of day. The venerable stronghold which was, for many a month now, to be their home, imparted to their hearts its sense of calm security. It was fairy-land they had reached at last; the gloom of the demon’s night had been left far behind.

Yet on the bright sky of confident happiness a little fleck was soon to appear, the precursor of cloud and danger.

CHAPTER XXIX
A PORTENT

ONE evening the monotony of the Herriard’s delightful existence under the shadow of the grey old Schloss was broken by the appearance of a company of poor strolling players. They were, it appeared, a band of humble comedians and pantomimists who, in the more rural and remote districts, went from village to village, to gain a precarious livelihood by giving a crude medley of melodrama and farce, interspersed with singing and acrobatic feats. To gain permission for a short performance at a great house naturally was, when such an opportunity presented itself, much to be desired. It meant probably less work for a greater reward, compared with the two or three hours’ toil, required to conjure kreutzers from the thrifty peasants’ pockets. Alexia knew this, and persuaded her husband to join with her in sanctioning the humble show. Herriard had at first shown himself a little dubious as to the wisdom of inviting strangers within the precincts of the castle. But Alexia quickly laughed away his doubts; these strolling mummers were familiar visitors. They had made their appearance there at more or less regular intervals ever since she could remember; she would like to hear their bombastic nonsense and the old songs once again for the sake of old times, and she called Gollmar, the ancient steward, to bear witness that there was no harm in the poor fellows.

So it came that Herriard readily fell in with Alexia’s wish; he ordered the troupe to be admitted to the inner courtyard, and for an hour they laughed together at the strange, half-incomprehensible performance of the strollers.

Certainly they were, for the most part, a strange, weird, almost forbidding dozen of human beings; but then in stage-struck peasants from the wild regions of Austro-Hungary one would scarcely expect to find the graces of players drawn from more civilized surroundings. When the performance was over, Herriard sent them a liberal fee, and they were given a substantial meal under the superintendence of Gollmar, who was directed to keep his eye upon them until they were once more outside the gates.

“It was, perhaps, as well, gnädiger Herr,” the old man observed afterwards, “to keep the fellows under observation. Our countrymen have a saying, ‘One coat suffices to keep warm a player and a thief.’ Not but what these scoundrels are good honest mountebanks for their sort; still, there was no harm in keeping them from the temptation to pilfer. Old Karonsek, the leader, I have known for well-nigh forty years: he has, naturally, a reputation to preserve, since he boasts he has never seen the inside of a prison; but the younger men—” he gave a shrug, “what would you have? A man does not often turn player till every respectable calling is closed to him, and our proverb says a man who has no home has no neighbours to call him thief when he steals. But,” he added, by way of softening his strictures upon the average morality of theatrical strollers, “your honour’s kindness has given untold pleasure to the household. Few amusements come our way in this remote spot, and in the late Count’s time we always made the humblest strollers welcome.”

Two nights later Herriard was roused from his sleep by the furious barking of a dog, followed by a man’s angry cry. Snatching up his revolver, he ran downstairs, and, guided by the sounds, rushed into the library. The moonlight, streaming in through the half-open window, showed him one of the men servants, Jan Martin, leaning over a writing table, his hand held to his chest, while he was almost inarticulate with rage and fear. As Herriard’s approach he pointed excitedly to the window. “There! He has gone that way. A robber, Excellency: the wretch has stabbed me. Quick! he cannot be far away. Fritz has gone after him.”

With a word to the wounded man, Herriard passed out by the window. He could hear Fritz, the wolf-hound, still barking savagely, but now there came from him a howl of pain, and then all was silent. He hurried forward, and about a hundred yards away came upon the poor animal bleeding, and quite disabled. No sign of the midnight robber was to be seen, although Herriard ran in pursuit of him. But the plantation at which he had arrived was large, its paths devious; unless he came upon him by chance it was almost hopeless to expect to overtake the man. Herriard stopped and listened. Not a sound was to be heard except presently that of running footsteps of men from the castle who, headed by Gollmar, were coming in pursuit. But half-an-hour’s energetic search by the party brought no result; the miscreant, whoever he was, had made good his escape.

As Herriard took his way back to the castle his apprehensions, which had been lulled, returned in full strength. In the courtyard the poor dog, Fritz, lay moaning in pain. Herriard examined his hurt, which he found to be a punctured wound just below the throat. On the ground beside him lay an object which Herriard eagerly picked up and scrutinized. It was a small piece of coarse cloth, evidently torn by the dog from the intruder’s coat. He showed it to Gollmar.