“Exactly,” reflected Cyril; “what should he think? No; that further complication is mercifully avoided—although there are moments when one is inclined to wish that it was not.”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE JUDENHETZE.
The hours of that Sunday passed pleasantly enough by the side of the lake in the valley. The charcoal-burner donned his best clothes and started for church, going not to Ortojuk, but to a village on the nearer bank of the river, and Fräulein von Staubach found ample employment in putting the hut tidy and making preparations for dinner, interlarding these occupations with disparaging remarks on their host’s style of housekeeping, addressed to the Queen, who was acting as her assistant. Cyril, who had been peremptorily refused a share in their labours, lay upon the grass and watched them, keeping at the same time a vigilant eye on the little King, who was amusing himself at the water’s edge, and came to him now and then to propound conundrums in physics and natural history.
When the Queen had finished her household tasks she fetched the child away, and sat down with him under a tree at the farther side of the clearing. She produced a book from her pocket, and Cyril gathered that she was telling the King a Bible story and teaching him texts. Presently Fräulein von Staubach joined her, and they read verses alternately out of the Bible and repeated German hymns aloud. Cyril understood perfectly well the timid glance which the Queen cast at him; she felt that it would only be right to ask him to join them, but she was afraid of his sarcasm. The idea pleased him, for it was evident that she had no inkling of the power she possessed over him, and moreover, he much preferred to watch her from this distance “playing at being in Church,” as the little King, with no intention of being profane, designated her occupation. She was very pleasant to look at as she sat there, holding fast one of the child’s chubby hands lest his active little body should escape whither his mind had already gone, to the birds and squirrels in the woods, and Cyril, as he watched her, fell into a day-dream. Suppose that some unimaginable turn of affairs should prevent their returning to what the Queen called “everyday life,” and keep them imprisoned in the forest, how pleasant it would be! He saw himself returning after a hard day’s hunting or woodcutting to this glen (not to the charcoal-burner’s hut, it may well be understood, or at least to a glorified edition of it), and welcomed by Ernestine—this new and friendly Ernestine. He scarcely glanced, even in his dream, at the possibility of marrying her, for it seemed that it would be happiness enough to be permitted to live near her and enjoy her society, provided that her mood did not change. But at the thought his lip curled. If there was anything in past experience, she would be scolding and upbraiding him to-morrow as though she had never called him her friend to-day, nor sworn endless gratitude to him. Such was life! and after this return to hard reality Cyril’s day-dream passed imperceptibly into a real dream, from which he only awoke to find that the little King had been putting beech-nuts (uncomfortable three-cornered things) down his collar, and that the Queen was scolding the child for being so naughty.
Recalled to the prose of life in this practical manner, Cyril returned good for evil by taking his youthful tormentor to look for a squirrel’s nest, an unavailing search that lasted until old Minics returned, overflowing with the gossip gathered from his acquaintances outside the church. It was the general belief that the King and his abductors must have crossed the river, although nothing had come to light as to the means by which the crossing had been accomplished, and search was being made for them all along the stream, and also on the road which they had left to reach the glen. From this it was evident that not only was it unsafe to return to the river in the hope of proceeding by boat; but it was also advisable to start as early as possible on the morrow, lest the search should extend even to their place of refuge.
Shortly after sunrise on the Monday morning, therefore, the wanderers took the road again. Minics accompanied them for some miles, in order to make sure that they were in the right way, as he said; but in reality, as Cyril shrewdly suspected, because he could scarcely bring himself to part from the strangers who had brought so much variety into his lonely life. This feeling was entirely reciprocated by King Michael, who displayed a willingness to return with the charcoal-burner to the “place where all the squirrels were,” which rather wounded his mother. When he was carried off at last on Cyril’s shoulder, he kept his face turned persistently backwards until Minics was out of sight, and continued to wave his hand and blow him kisses as often as the old man looked round. It was not until a further view of his friend had become absolutely hopeless that the King consented to adopt a position more agreeable to the person who had the honour of carrying him, and Cyril was able to address the Queen.
“Do you dislike leaving the wood as much as his Majesty, madame?”
“Very nearly as much,” she said, with a sigh. “I think that when next the doctors order us into the country, I shall make the Court camp out in the woods, instead of hiring houses.”
“It would be quite Arcadian,” observed Cyril, meditatively. “I can imagine Baroness Paula and the other maids of honour enjoying it immensely as long as the weather was fine, with Parisian shepherdess costumes and high-heeled shoes, and gilt crooks with bows of ribbon on them—but the elder ladies, madame! It would be sheer cruelty. Think of Baroness von Hilfenstein!”
“I don’t want the Baroness or any of them,” said the Queen, hastily. “Of course I was thinking of merely the party we have here to-day. Any one else would spoil it—except poor M. Paschics. What do you think they will do to him?”