“I am glad to hear it,” said the Queen, looking round at him with a rigid face; “for it would be impossible for me to mount that ladder without your help.”
“She still suspects something, worse luck!” said Cyril to himself, as he restored the King to the care of Fräulein von Staubach and sent her up the ladder after the old man. The Queen followed, with more ease than might have been expected after her confession of weakness, and Cyril brought up the rear. At the top they found themselves in a kind of loft, and as soon as they had all ascended, the old man rushed to a windlass, and by its means drew up the ladder, which he placed on the floor where it could not be seen from below. Then he left them, taking the lantern with him, and they traced his progress by his frequent stumbles over pieces of old ironwork, for the roar of the water drowned the noise of his footsteps on the shaking boards, until he suddenly flung open a large shutter, and called to them to come and look out. A gasp of astonishment escaped them when they obeyed, for they found themselves apparently in the middle of the waterfall. A square stone tower was here built out into the stream, and the cascade, dashing down some four feet below the window, flung its spray in their faces.
“We are caught like rats in a trap!” was Cyril’s reflection; but before he could utter a word the old man turned upon him.
“You see that I have you in my power?” he said. “I know you do, and I know also that you do not trust me. You believe that I have brought you here to take your choice of deaths between the falls and the enemy. Well, be it so; suspicion deserves only disloyalty.”
“What does he say?” asked the Queen of Fräulein von Staubach, who, shaking with terror, translated the words. To her astonishment her mistress stepped forward, and taking the little King from her, placed him in the old man’s arms.
“Make him understand,” she said authoritatively. “I do trust you, Father Giorgei; and I give you the best proof of my trust by confiding to you the safety of my son, your King.”
Cyril trembled lest the old man should fling the child into the torrent; but as Fräulein von Staubach translated the Queen’s words, Giorgei’s face relaxed, and he turned from the window with something like delight.
“You and your child and your servants are safe with me, lady,” he said, “for trust begets loyal service. Without your trust I could not save you, for our only way of escape, if your enemies track you here, is a terrible one, which will demand the most complete confidence in me from all of you. But now I do not fear to try it.”
He closed the shutter again and restored the King to his mother, then turned to a heap of rubbish, and began to draw out of it some pieces of rope, old and frayed, and to knot them together.
“You have more faith in human nature than I, madame,” observed Cyril to the Queen, in German.