The waiter and the landlord both showed great concern on hearing of the gracious young lady’s determination to fatigue herself so much before starting on her journey, but she refused to yield to any of their suggestions, accepting only the offer of a boy to carry the parcel of clothes. Even this she would have declined if she had not feared that such persistent ungraciousness would excite suspicion, and she paid and dismissed her attendant as soon as the cottage came in sight. Her plans were already laid, and she walked on boldly, carrying in her arms the bundle, which contained the Thracian peasant-dress that Madame O’Malachy had worn on the fateful night of her accident. On entering the hut she was welcomed with a cry of delight by the sick child, whom she had nursed through a bad attack of bronchitis, and her mother; the father was away with his sheep. Nadia had no time to lose. She had picked up a sufficient knowledge of Thracian to make herself understood, and she plunged into her subject at once.
“I want you to let me change my dress here, Yerma,” she said. “I have a friend in great danger at Bellaviste, and I must go to warn him.” Glancing at the sympathetic faces of the mother and child, she knew that she was safe with them, and went on, “I thought I would wear clothes like yours, because I should attract less attention on the road. My own dress I will leave with you. You will be able to make a winter frock out of it for Ilona.”
The delicacy of the shepherd’s wife and daughter touched and surprised her, for they asked no questions and simply did their best to give her what help they could. Under Yerma’s directions she put on the coarse linen gown and heavy sheepskin-lined pelisse which, in conjunction with high boots reaching to the knee, form the winter dress of the Thracian women. Then she knelt down by Ilona’s bed, that the child might arrange on her head the coloured handkerchief which serves as bonnet and also as veil, and is pulled so far over the face that it is sometimes difficult to see from under it. Ilona called out in delight that no one would recognise the gracious lady now that she was dressed like this, and Yerma, after conjuring her to hide her hands in the long sleeves, agreed with the child. Gloves are never worn in Thracia by the poorer classes, the wide cuffs of the sleeves serving as a protection from the cold of winter. When her toilet was complete, Nadia stooped and kissed the child, and left the cottage with Yerma, who had volunteered to show her the path which led down to the lowlands on this side of the mountain. They spoke little as they ventured cautiously on the slippery descent; but when they had reached the road which led to the distant station, Yerma fell on her knees and kissed Nadia’s hand.
“God and the saints bless you for all your kindness to my little Ilona!” she said. “We shall all pray for you, gracious lady, and for the gracious gentleman at Bellaviste, that you may be in time to warn him, and that you may both be happy.”
“And only yesterday Carlino betrothed himself to the Princess Ottilie!” was the thought in Nadia’s mind, as she turned away with tears in her eyes from the grateful woman, and set out on her long lonely journey. It was fortunate for her that winter had as yet scarcely set in, and that the weather was unusually dry, for in an ordinary season it would have been impossible for a solitary woman to make her way along the road she was following. The cavernous ruts, into a few of which good-sized boulders had been pitched at haphazard, apparently with a view of filling up the holes, showed what the depth of the mud must be in wet weather; and Nadia fancied that perhaps the boulders had not been allowed to take up their present positions entirely by chance, as she had imagined at first, for pedestrians might find them extremely useful, and even necessary, as stepping-stones. She plodded on bravely over the uneven track, knowing that it must eventually lead her to the station, if she only followed it far enough; but it was so long that at times she was ready to sit down in despair, imagining that she had lost her way, for the narrow strip of rough stones and dry mud appeared unending. But she had not cultivated fortitude and endurance all her life for nothing. The temperament which had led her to practise martyrdom as a child was a potent aid to her now, and she toiled on, the remembrance of the mother and child in the shepherd’s hut praying for the success of her mission giving her fresh courage. The few wayfarers she met looked at her curiously as a stranger to the neighbourhood, but the fact that she had no luggage with her, and that she was able to answer their rough but kindly greetings in Thracian, seemed to forbid any shadow of suspicion, and they passed her as a woman making her way from one village to another. Still she pressed on, for the day was advancing, and the train which would reach Bellaviste at noon on the morrow started at four o’clock. An anxious fear seized upon her that after all she might not be in time, and goaded her to fresh efforts. With panting breath and stumbling feet she hurried along, and at last saw far in front of her the collection of wooden sheds which marked the starting-point of the Thracian railway system. Cheered by the sight, she almost lost her feeling of weariness during the last half-mile of the way, although, when the station was once reached and her ticket taken, she was glad to sink upon a bench and do nothing, think of nothing, but rest. When the train came in, she noticed its arrival mechanically, but it did not occur to her to take any active steps with regard to entering it, and had it not been for a warning from her neighbour on the bench, a pleasant-looking elderly woman laden with bundles, she would have been left behind.
Awakened by this friend in need to the fact that the train was just about to start, Nadia insisted on helping her to carry her bundles, and was glad to establish herself on the seat next to her in the carriage, which was constructed on the American pattern. They were the only women present, but the men gathered together at the other end and talked among themselves, and Nadia’s friend arranged her parcels on the bench in front of her, and producing a covered brazier filled with hot charcoal, invited Nadia to put her feet upon it and make herself comfortable. She was a cheerful, talkative person, and beguiled the way with quaint legends relating to the hills and valleys they were passing—legends which would have been full of interest for her hearer if she had not been so tired. Her long walk, the close atmosphere of the train, and the monotonous voice of her companion, all combined to make Nadia overpoweringly sleepy, but she succeeded in dissembling the fact until an irresistible nod brought her head into sudden and violent contact with the good woman’s shoulder.
“Have you heard the story of the young prince and his witch-mother?” the narrator was saying. “There was a learned gentleman from Bellaviste travelling in our parts this summer, who heard me telling it to the children, and he was so pleased with it that he wrote it all down, every word. But you are tired, poor thing! Lie down here, and take this bundle of mine for a pillow, and I will cover you with my cloak. No, don’t thank me. I have a daughter just your age. She is married, and lives at Bellaviste, and I am going to see her now for the first time since the wedding.”
All the time she was talking she was busy arranging a comfortable place on the bench for Nadia, and then tucked her up in the most motherly way. The girl was deeply thankful to be allowed to rest, for mind and body were alike worn out. But the strain upon her was too great to permit of peaceful sleep, and she awoke at last with a start, shivering and trembling, to find her face wet with tears, and her friend laying a warning hand upon her shoulder. “I woke you because you began to scream,” she said. “You have been crying all the time you were asleep, and talking in a language I don’t understand, but I thought some of the men there might hear you if you spoke loud, and know what you were saying.”
“Thank you,” said Nadia, sitting up and pushing back the hair from her face. “It was very kind of you to wake me, for I am in great trouble, and it might have done terrible harm if any one had understood what I said. I will tell you what I am doing here,” she went on, moved to confidence as she looked into the motherly eyes opposite her. “There is a friend of mine in great danger at Bellaviste, and I have information which may save his life if I can only get there in time.”
“But you are not a Thracian?”