Thereafter his excursions in Hübli's boat were of almost daily occurrence, as were also his meetings with Sophia of Huldenstein in the castle garden.
But there came at last that evening in September—some three weeks after their first meeting—when, as he sat beside her by the river, the full measure of his guilt broke suddenly upon his mind, and silenced his merry tongue. For awhile she endured this mood, then:
"What ails you to-day, Master von Bonau,” she asked, “that you are so dull and sad and full of sighs?"
"Alas, Madame, I have just realised that I am a very miserable knave, and the contemplation of it is none too pleasant."
She glanced at him curiously, and the colour slowly left her cheeks as she watched him sitting there, with a heavy frown between the eyes that looked sternly away across the stream.
"Madame,” he exclaimed suddenly, “at whatever cost, there is something that I must tell you. My name is not Andreas von Bonau, but Andreas von Felsheim. How, Madame? You hear that—you learn that I am the outlaw of Falkensteig, a lawless, godless freebooter, and you do not shrink from me?"
She returned his look of surprise with a steady gaze that puzzled him.
"Have you forgotten, sir, what I said of Felsheim when first we met?” she asked quietly. “That to be as he is, is to be a man?
"Beim Grabe, Madame,” cried Felsheim, “though these be my last words with you, I must say them now—since the hour when I looked into your eyes in the woods of Altenau yonder, and for one brief second held you in my arms as I lifted you into the saddle, my very soul became your slave. I am not a boy, Madame; I am thirty-five years of age, and I have lived more than most men could in twice the time, and when such a man as I am chances to love—"
"Hush, sir,” she cried, “I cannot listen to you."
The pallor of her face, the heaving of her bosom, and the working of her hands, all witnessed to the deep agitation that possessed her.
From the river came the splash of oars, but in the excitement of the moment Felsheim was deaf to the sound.
"Go, Master Felsheim. Quick, begone! You know not the dangers that threaten you here. Ah, do not stand there,” she continued, with tears of intreaty in her eyes. “If, as you say, you love me, prove it by obeying me in this, and go at once."
Then of a sudden her eyes opened wide, and, fixed with horror, they looked past him. Her cheeks grew ashen, and a low moan escaped her lips. “My God!” he heard her whisper, “too late! too late!"
He turned quickly to seek behind him an explanation of her strange words, and the sight that greeted him was little to his taste. A boat which had crept along under cover of the bank, and the approach of which—engrossed as he was—he had not marked, was now drawn up at the foot of the lawn, and in it stood six men-at-arms in cuirasses and headpieces.
Like a hunted beast he turned about, seeking for a road of escape; there was the door that led from the garden. But scarcely had he taken two strides in that direction, when it opened, and through it came another group of soldiers, and a boyish officer, who advanced boldly towards Andreas.
Drawing himself up the outlaw watched his approach with a disdainful eye; albeit he realised that at last his sands were run, and that from this plight there was like to be no extrication.
When within half-a-dozen paces, the officer halted and with a futile endeavour to set a ring of fierceness in his fresh young voice, he called upon Felsheim to yield.
Then he signed to the men who had now gathered round Andreas in a circle full twenty strong, and in obedience to that sign two of them stepped forward, and seizing each an arm they pinioned the outlaw's hands behind him.
As they led him away, he turned his head for a moment, and swept the garden with his dark eyes in the hope of one last look from Sophia of Huldenstein—a look of sympathy the memory of which he might take with him on his last journey. But she was nowhere to be seen.
* * * *
That night he lay in a damp and unclean cell of the prison of Hühnenberg; but at dawn next day they brought him out, and, leaving his arms free so that he might hold the reins, they gave him a horse and started with him for Schwerlingen. They set him in their midst, and, to make him doubly safe, a trooper rode a pace or so behind with a musket poised across his saddle-bow—ready to fire upon him should he be mad enough to attempt an escape.
Notwithstanding the desperate pass to which things had come, the sunshine and the clean perfume of the fields combined with the exercise afforded him, did much to raise Felsheim's spirits from the slough of despondency into which they had fallen the night before. It happened also that having his man safe, the anticipation of the glory which would be his for the great capture he had effected, set Lieutenant Trohldahl—the officer commanding the little troop—in a happy frame of mind.
And presently moved by desire to appear reckless to the end, and to die as he had lived with a smile on his lips and a jest on his tongue, Andreas waxed witty and gay, and it was not long ere the faces of those about him were broadened by the stamp of mirth as they hearkened to the outlaw's merry sallies.
"By the Mass, Sir Outlaw,” exclaimed Trohldahl at length, “you bear your misfortunes with a brave heart."
"Pah! Would you have me sad when this day week I shall be carrion? Nay, sir, since my course is all but run let me at least be merry for the time that's left."
"And yet,” persisted the lieutenant, “there are few men who, taken as you have been, would bear the blow so well."
"Taken as I have been? Surely I could not have desired more honour than to have been seized by a score of men. Had I fallen to a single blade or had I been the victim of treachery—had I been coaxed blindly into a trap, then, indeed, I might have reason for chagrin and bitterness."
Trohldahl stared askance at the outlaw.
"Heilige Jungfrau," he ejaculated, “have you no suspicion even now of how you have been duped, and of the trap which the King baited for you with a woman, and into which you walked willingly and blindly enough for all your vaunted shrewdness?"
Felsheim turned cold at the words, and in a husky voice besought the officer to enlighten him. This Trohldahl did, and at some length he narrated to his captive the story of how Stephanie von Neusch, the famous court beauty, of Schwerlingen, had undertaken that where man's strength and cunning had so often failed, her woman's wit should prevail, and that she would deliver the formidable Felsheim into the hands of the King's men.
He also told the outlaw that Felsheim's first meeting with the lady had not been the mere accident it appeared, but the execution of a plan that she had conceived at the outset, and waited weeks for an opportunity to carry out. Trohldahl and his men had been stationed at Steinau, since to have brought them to Hühnenberg would have been to have scared the outlaw from the neighbourhood. Once she had him safely in her toils, she had dispatched a messenger to them, and they had come down the river reaching Huldenstein at the hour at which she had informed them that she counted upon his presence.
Never a word spake Felsheim in answer, and for nigh upon an hour after the lieutenant had done speaking, he rode in silence with bent head and knitted brows—his erstwhile recklessness all dead within him.
They had reached the summit of the hill of Moritz, which rises so gradually from the valley of Hühnenberg as to appear undeserving of being named a hill until one has gained the highest point, and thence surveys the country below. Of Hühnenberg itself they could but see the housetops in the distance peeping over the woods of Altenau. But the massive, square tower of the castle of Huldenstein stood clear to view, some four leagues from the spot where they now halted.
"Heilige Jungfrau!" ejaculated the lieutenant, shading his eyes with his hand, “what is that?"
So sudden was his exclamation, and so sharp its note, that every man of the company turned in his saddle to look behind him. Above the castle something that in the distance looked like a thick black veil, was soaring skywards with a sinuous, swaying motion.
"Herrgott!" cried one of the troopers, “it is smoke. The castle has taken fire."
The soldiers looked at one another, and a very Babel of voices broke upon the morning air, subsiding, however, at a sign from Trohldahl. In the silence that followed the thud of hoofs could be distinctly heard.
"Someone rides hard this way,” quoth the lieutenant. “We shall learn, perhaps, what is taking place. I like not the look of that smoke; fire suggests pillage, and pillage, Sir Outlaw, suggests your friends. By the Mass, it is a woman! I'll wager a hundred crowns ‘tis your friend Stephanie, Master Felsheim."
Andreas looked down upon the white road, and there, riding, ventre à terre, in a cloud of dust, came, indeed, a woman, as Trohldahl said. And presently as she drew near, he saw that the lieutenant's surmise touching her identity was also correct.
Her face was ghastly pale, her hair dishevelled and overlaid, in common with her garments, by a cloak of thin white dust.
"Himmel!" she gasped “methought I should never come up with you! The outlaws of the Falkensteig are at Huldenstein. They have fired the castle as you may see, and they are pillaging Hühnenberg out of revenge for the capture of their leader. Ride back, sir,” she cried. “Ride like the wind if you would save those poor people."
"'Tis what I feared,” said the lieutenant, a scowl of anger darkening his face. “Know you how many they number, Madame?"
"A score of men, I was told."
"Ah! Then, by the Virgin, we'll find you company on your journey, Master Felsheim. You there, Michael,” he exclaimed, addressing the man with the musket, “remain here to guard this robber, and do you remain also, Weiss; bind him to a tree, and await our return. If by chance any of his infernal followers come upon you, blow his brains out and then make off. You understand me? Good. Now for Hühnenberg. You, Madame, will follow at your leisure."
At his command the men fell into line, then in obedience to his crisp shout of "Vorwärts!" away they went at a gallop towards the valley, leaving Felsheim behind them with the two troopers and the woman who had betrayed him.
Michael—he of the musket—ordered Felsheim harshly to dismount, and Felsheim obeyed him mechanically, avoiding the girl's eyes, which were fixed intently upon him. Weiss dismounted at the same time, and taking the musket from Michael set it against the outlaw's breast, whilst his comrade got down also from his horse. When this was done, and Michael had provided himself with a stirrup leather, he pointed to a tree and bade Felsheim march towards it, he and his fellow following close at his heels.
Silently Michael held out his hand to take back the musket, and as silently Weiss delivered it to him. But just as the weapon was changing hands, Stephanie, who had until now sat watching the proceedings with a curious intentness, suddenly urged her horse forward on to the troopers, who, thus taken unawares, were both knocked over before they could move aside—the musket going off as they fell. Felsheim, who turned upon hearing the report, was just in time to see the girl bend towards him and hold out a petronel urging him to take it and defend himself. For a moment—after overcoming his bewilderment at this unexpected aid—Andreas was on the point of refusing the gift of liberty from her hands. Then remembering that if he did not do so, he would hang before the week was out, he took the pistol, and setting the stock against his breast, he pointed the barrel straight at Michael just as the fellow was in the act of scrambling to his feet. The other trooper lay stunned where he had fallen.
"Halt!” thundered Felsheim. “Things have changed, my friend, since Madame's horse tripped over you. If you would ever see Schwerlingen again obey me quickly and to the letter."
He walked up to the trooper and held out his left hand.
"Give me that stirrup leather. Now turn round. Beim Teufel! Turn, I say, or I'll make you turn in a death spin! So. Place your hands behind you."
Swiftly and deftly Felsheim pinioned his wrists together, then, marching the soldier up to the very tree which a moment ago the fellow had himself selected for Andreas, the outlaw passed the leather round the trunk and bound his captive securely to it.
Next Andreas selected the ablest of the three horses, and vaulted lightly into the saddle. Then he turned towards Stephanie, and for a moment he hesitated, still utterly at a loss to understand her action.
"Madame,” he said at length, “did Lieutenant Trohldahl speak the truth in telling me that your name is Stephanie von Neusch?"
The blood rushed to her face, and her eyes fell as she heard the words which told her that he knew all.
"Yes, Sir,” she faltered, “he spoke truly."
A silence followed, and Felsheim again appeared to hesitate whether he should speak or depart without further parley.
"Madame,” he exclaimed presently, “how am I to understand your present action?"
"Do not ask, sir. Do not seek to understand, but go. Your road is clear. In an hour's time you will be across the river."
"Still, Madame, I am sorely perplexed. Either I have heard too much or not enough. Is it true that our meeting in the woods of Altenau was no chance encounter?"
"Yes,” she answered faintly, “it was planned."
"And your foot was not hurt?"
"No."
"And you promised the King to undertake my capture?"
"Oh Yes, yes. Why will you torture me?"
"Then, Madame, why, in Heaven's name, after your play-acting had succeeded so finely, did you ride over those two men, and place a weapon in my hand."
"I did more than that, sir,” she exclaimed with sudden vigour. "I fired the Castle of Huldenstein with my own hands, so that it might give colour to my story of a raid by your outlaws, and send Lieutenant Trohldahl back to Hühnenberg on a fool's errand, leaving but a couple of men to guard you."
Felsheim's jaw fell, and with eyes wide open he surveyed his companion.
"Herrgott—that was play-acting, too! And you have burnt a castle to make your acting seem more real. But why Madame, why?"
"Oh, you are blind, indeed, sir, if you must be told,” she cried, looking away from him towards the now blazing tower. “Can you not understand that it is because I sought to save you and to undo what I had done? I warned you yesterday in the garden, and urged you to fly, but I was too late. I told the King that by acting to you I would ensnare you, and—and—God pity me,” she added, bursting into tears, “I discovered yesterday that I was no longer acting."
Then, suddenly stemming her emotion:
"Oh! Why do you stand there like a fool,” she cried fiercely, “and put me to the shame of saying all this? Farewell, Master von Felsheim. It is unlikely that we shall meet again. But, perchance, if you remember that, shamefully though I may have dealt with you, I have yet made amends by saving your life, you will not think unkindly of me. Adieu!"
She wheeled her horse suddenly, and before he could frame an answer, she was riding swiftly away in the direction of Steinau.
Felsheim watched her for some moments, then he heaved a monstrous sigh.
"So ends my first love affair,” he muttered, “and I hope—if they be all of the same flavour—my only one.
"Beim Hölle, I wonder indeed what the real Sophie Huldenstein will say to you for making a bonfire of her castle and all for the sake of a sorry knave of my kidney."
He laughed a short, hard laugh, then clapping spurs to his horse, he made off down the hillside towards the river.
THE JEALOUSY OF DELVENTHAL
My Lord of Delventhal smote the table a blow with his fat fist that made the glasses rattle, and for the twentieth time within the hour he proclaimed the King a fool, and the Graf von Bozenhardt a knave.
Hugo von Delventhal was a short, corpulent man of forty, whose broad red face—set in a frame of straggling red hair, and decked by a short, pointed beard of the same hue—could boast scant beauty even when his mind was ruled by happy peacefulness. But on that autumn evening his countenance was rendered hideous by choler, and the sinister glitter of his little blue eyes was a thing to be avoided as
though a blight lay in his glance.
We were in the autumn of the year 1643, and the rebel Duke Leopold of Drüsdau with his Austrian mercenaries was marching upon the frontiers of Sachsenberg.
His Majesty, King Ludwig IV, had commissioned the Count of Bozenhardt to raise a force three hundred strong, and to assume at the head of these command of the town of Kreutzburg. To my Lord of Delventhal had been assigned the subordinate position of Bozenhardt's lieutenant, and by Bozenhardt he had been ordered to proceed to Kreutzburg escorted by myself and half a score of troopers of the guards, to appraise the burgomaster of the King's determination anent his town, and to prepare the place for the arrival of the garrison ‘neath Bozenhardt's command.
He had been at some pains to conceal his indignation and jealousy at the honour thus done to Bozenhardt, and which—rightly or wrongly—he conceived should have been his. But now that we sat alone in the inn of the “Schwarzen Stier,” at Steinau, he cast aside the mask, and disclosed to me without reserve his feelings in the matter.
"This King Ludwig of ours,” he sneered, “is by some fools surnamed ‘the astute.’ If they dub him so after to-day, why then ‘twere flattery to call them fools."
"My lord,” I ventured gently, with a glance towards the closed doors, “in these troublous times methinks ‘tis hardly wise to speak thus of His Majesty. You would do well to bear in mind that there are half a score of troopers out there in the common room, and were they to hear you—"
"Herrgott, Captain Stoffel,” he bellowed, “what care I who hears me? They will hear the truth. ‘Tis my very love for Ludwig that urges me to speak. How is he to suppress the revolt, and lay the rebel duke by the heels, if he sets about it in this fashion? What manner of man is this Bozenhardt that he should be given command of such a garrison as Kreutzburg? A place, moreover, that is cankered with treason. Pah! It makes me sick to think of it."