The path led on and on, first uphill and then down, through patches of forest in sheltered spots and again over bare uplands; and still Cyril kept on his way, with occasional halts for the purpose of consulting the map, and still the Queen toiled on with the great bundle in her arms, although she could scarcely drag one foot after the other for weariness. Cyril was provoked by her obstinacy, and determined not to make any further advances. If she chose to behave like a sulky child, and punish herself, she should be allowed to do so. It was growing dusk by this time, and when the path led down into a wood larger than any they had passed hitherto, the trees overhead made it almost dark; but Cyril’s spirits rose, for he knew that they must be approaching the charcoal-burner’s hut. Coming to a spot where the fall of an old tree had brought down two or three others with it, making a little break in the blackness overhead, he advised the ladies to sit down and rest, while he went on to reconnoitre. There was no reason to suspect the loyalty of old Minics, since Paschics had declared him worthy of trust; but it was just possible that he might have visitors, whose discretion could not be so comfortably relied upon.
Still following the path, which was now barely distinguishable, Cyril came out at last on the edge of a cleared space, sloping down to a small lake. Close in front of him was a hut built rudely of logs and branches, and before it a large fire, beside which an old man was sitting with his dog. As he came forward, they both rose and looked at him, the dog suspiciously, the man with a good deal of interest.
“You are Yosip Minics, I think?” asked Cyril. “We are travellers who have been recommended to your kindness by your cousin’s son, Lyof Paschics.”
The old man nodded. “I have been looking out for you,” he said. “I went down into Ortojuk this morning to buy my week’s supplies, and I had word by a sure hand that Lyof might be here soon wanting help. When I heard what they were all saying in the town about the King, I knew what the message meant,” and he glanced not unkindly at King Michael, who, awakened by the voices, was now almost overbalancing himself in his efforts to reach down and pat the dog.
“But what do you know about us?”
“Only this,” and the charcoal-burner brought out a dirty envelope from his hut, and held the stamp towards Cyril in the firelight. “One can’t very well go wrong when his Majesty’s portrait is so close at hand, can one?”
“You certainly have an advantage there,” said Cyril with a laugh. “It’s a good thing for us that other people haven’t thought of it.”
“Oh, I had my message from Lyof’s mother to help me, you see. But what have you done with the lad?”
“I am sorry to say he was arrested in Ortojuk this afternoon.”
“But the royal party are safe? That is all right, then. He has done his duty, and God and the saints will see that he comes to no harm. But put the child down on this wolfskin here—I will look after him—and fetch the women. They are not far off, I suppose?”