“Come, Lilian, let me help you up,” said Cyril briskly, handing the little King to Fräulein von Staubach, and mounting into the cart. “I can make you and Tommy a most comfortable nest in the straw, and there is a rug for Julie as well. Give me your hand, and Carlo will show you where to put your foot.”
The Queen, with the tears still in her eyes, allowed herself to be helped in, and sat silent as Cyril lifted the child and laid him in her arms; but when Fräulein von Staubach had been established beside her, and Paschics had produced a piece of tarpaulin, which he fastened to the sides of the cart so as to shelter the inmates, she put out her hand suddenly and laid it on Cyril’s.
“Don’t think I am ungrateful,” she said; “it is all so strange. I feel as if I were in a dream. But I will do all I can to avoid being a trouble to you.”
CHAPTER XI.
WAYFARING.
When in after-days Cyril looked back to the events of that night, they seemed to him like the course of a bad dream. The first part of the journey was easy enough, for the road was good, and he occupied the driving-seat with Paschics, exchanging a word with him occasionally, and keeping him supplied with cigars, for the Queen had entreated them to smoke. But when some ten English miles had been covered without interruption, it became necessary to leave the road for an old and almost disused cart-track, leading through rough and hilly country. By this means the first three posting-stations on the road would be missed altogether, a step which was imperative unless the fugitives were simply to be traced from point to point along their way; but time was so precious that Cyril would have been inclined to try whether it was impossible to slip past them unnoticed, if it had not been that the hill-track, though rough, was far shorter than the post-road. There was no more easy driving now. Cyril and Paschics spent the greater part of the night in walking up and down interminable hills, sometimes dragging the horses on, sometimes holding them back, and varying these occupations by pushing at the cart behind, or lifting the wheels out of pits of mud. The two women and the child were so completely tired out that they were scarcely awakened even by the most tremendous jolts, and descents which would have appeared impossible in daylight were attempted confidently by the light of the lantern which Paschics carried, and which was constantly in request for the purpose of consulting the map or the compass. At length the worst and longest hill, having been successfully passed, proved to be the last one, and the two men and the worn-out horses stumbled painfully into the highroad. Looking at one another, in the grey light of the March morning, Cyril and Paschics became aware that they both presented a very disreputable appearance, and the short interval which was granted to the horses for rest and refreshment was utilised by their masters in getting rid of as much mud as possible from their own persons and the wheels of the cart. This was to avoid attracting attention by the amount of soil they were carrying with them, as the mud on the highroad differed in colour from that of the hill-track, besides being much less abundant.
This necessary operation finished, the weary horses were urged on again, Cyril taking his turn of driving, purely for the purpose of keeping himself awake. Happily there was little chance of meeting any one on the road, for the traffic between Tatarjé and other large towns was now carried on almost entirely by means of the railway, and there were no isolated houses or small hamlets to be passed. In the districts nearer to the capital the confidence born of a settled government showed its results in the shape of scattered farms and country houses; but in the province of which Tatarjé was the centre things were not so far advanced, and the fortified villages still occupied points of vantage on the hillside, or hid themselves in secluded valleys, as they had done in the days of Roumi domination. After a time Cyril gave up the reins again to Paschics, and was actually sleeping on his uncomfortable seat, when a voice from behind aroused him.
“Oh, how funny!” it said. “What is we doing, Herr Graf?”
Looking round, he saw the little King kneeling on the straw, and peering up at him from under the edge of the tarpaulin. Thinking that it would be a good thing to caution the child, for fear of his betraying the party, Cyril turned and held out his arms.
“Take hold of my hands, Majestät, and you shall come and sit between us here. Don’t make a noise, or you will wake your mother. That’s it!”
“But where’s nursie—and everybody? And there’s no breakfast. And why are we driving in this funny thing? And the escort has got left behind; but we aren’t going very fast.”