XXIII
A WOMAN AND A GHOST
For the history of this night from the enemy's side, thanks are due tothe memory, and to the unabashed courtesy, of Lieutenant Rastatz, whocame alive, if not with a whole skin, out of the encounter, and lived toreach middle age under a new _regime_ so unappreciative of his servicesthat it cashiered him for getting drunk within a year from this date. Heended his days as a billiard-marker at the Golden Lion--a fact agreeableto poetic justice, but not otherwise material. While occupying thatcapacity, he was always ready to open his mouth to talk, provided hewere afforded also a better reason for opening it.
Stafnitz and his men felt that their hard work was done; they werewithin touch of Slavna, and they had no reason, as they supposed, tofear any attack. The Colonel had indulged them in something approachingto a carouse. Songs had been sung, and speeches made; congratulationswere freely offered to the Colonel; allusions were thrown out, not toocarefully veiled, to the predicament in which Stenovics found himself.Hard work, a good supper, and plentiful wine had their effect. Save thesentries, all were asleep at ten o'clock, and game to sleep till thereveille sounded at six.
Their presence was a surprise to their assailants, who had, perhaps,approached in too rash a confidence that they were first on the ground;but the greater surprise befell those who had now to defend the bargesand the guns. When the man who had found the dead sentry ran back andtold his tale, all of them, from Stafnitz downward, conceived that theattack must come from Stenovics; none thought of Sophy and herVolsenians. There they were, packed in the barn, separated from theirhorses, and with their carbines laid aside. The carbines were easilycaught up; the horses not so easily reached, supposing an active,skilful enemy at hand outside.
For themselves, their position was good to stand a siege. But Stafnitzcould not afford that. His mind flew where Sophy's had. Throughout, andon both sides, the guns were the factor which dominated the tactics ofthe fight. It was no use for Stafnitz to stay snug in the barn while theenemy overpowered the bargees (supposing they tried to fight), disposedof the sentry stationed on each deck, and captured the guns. Let theassailant carry them off, and the Colonel's game was up! Whoever the foewas, the fight was for the guns--and for one other thing, no doubt--forthe Colonel's life.
"We felt in the deuce of a mess," Rastatz related, "for we didn't knowhow many they were, and we couldn't see one of them. The Colonel walkedout of the barn, cool as a cucumber, and looked and listened. He calledto me to go with him, and so I did, keeping as much behind his back aspossible. Nothing was to be seen, nothing to be heard. He pointed to therising ground opposite. 'That must hide them,' he said. Back he went andcalled the first half-company. 'You'll follow me in single file out ofthe barn and round to the back of it; let there be a foot between eachof you--room enough to miss. When once you get in rear of the barn, makefor the barges. Never mind the horses. The second half-company willcover the horses with their fire. Rastatz, see my detachment round, andthen follow. We'll leave the sergeant-major in command here. Now, quick,follow me!'
"Out he went, and the men began to follow in their order. I had to standin the doorway and regulate the distance between man and man. I hadn'tbeen there two seconds before a dozen heads came over the hill, and adozen rifles cracked. Luckily the Colonel was just round the corner.Down went the heads again, but they'd bagged two of our fellows. Ishouted to more to come out, and at the same time ordered thesergeant-major to send a file forward to answer the fire. Up came theheads again, and they bagged three more. Our fellows blazed away inreply, but they'd dropped too quickly--I don't think we got one.
"Well, we didn't mind so much about keeping our exact distances afterthat--and I wouldn't swear that the whole fifty of us faced the fire; itwas devilish disconcerting, you know; but in a few minutes thirty orfive-and-thirty of us got round the side of the barn somehow, and forthe moment out of harm's way. We heard the fire going on still in front,but only in a desultory way. They weren't trying to rush us--and I don'tthink we had any idea of rushing them. For all we knew, they might betwo hundred--or they might be a dozen. At any rate, with the advantageof position, they were enough to bottle our men up in the barn, for themoment at all events."
This account makes what had happened pretty plain. Half of Sophy'sforce had been left to hold the enemy, or as many of them as possible,in the barn. They had dismounted, and, well covered by the hill, couldmake good practice without much danger to themselves. Lukovitch was incommand of this section of the little troop. Sophy, Dunstanbury, andPeter Vassip, also on foot (the horses' hoofs would have betrayed them),were stealing round, intent on getting between the barges and any menwhom Stafnitz tried to place in position for their defence. Afterleaving men for the containing party, and three to look after thehorses, this detachment was no more than a dozen strong. But they hadstarted before Stafnitz's men had got out of the barn, and, despite thesmaller distance the latter had to traverse, could make a good race ofit for the barges. They had all kept together, too, while the enemystraggled round to the rear of the barn in single file. And they had onegreat, perhaps decisive, advantage, of whose existence Peter Vassip,their guide, was well aware.
Forty yards beyond the farm a small ditch ran down to the Krath; on theside near the farm it had a high, overhanging bank, the other side beingnearly level with the adjoining meadow. Thus it formed a natural trenchand led straight down to where the first of the barges lay. It wouldhave been open to an enfilade from the river, but Stafnitz had only onesentry on each barge, and these men were occupied in staring at theiradvancing companions and calling out to know what was the matter. As forthe bargees, they had wisely declared neutrality, deeming the matter nobusiness of theirs; shots were not within the terms of a contract fortransport. Stafnitz, not dreaming of an attack, had not reconnoitredhis ground. But Lukovitch knew every inch of it (had not GeneralStenovics remembered that?), and so did Peter Vassip. The surprise ofPraslok was to be avenged.
Rastatz takes up the tale again; his narrative has one or two touchesvivid with a local color.
"When I got round to the rear of the barn, I found our fellows scatteredabout on their bellies. The Colonel was in front on his belly, with hishead just raised from the ground, looking about him. I lay down, too,getting my head behind a stone which chanced to be near me. I lookedabout me too, when it seemed safe. And it did seem safe at first, for wecould hear nothing, and deuce a man could we see! But it wasn't verypleasant, because we knew that, sure enough, they must be pretty near ussomewhere. Presently the Colonel came crawling back to me. 'What do youmake of it, Rastatz?' he whispered. Before I could answer, we heard abrisk exchange of fire in front of the barn. 'I don't like it,' I said.'I can't see them, and I've a notion they can see me, Colonel, andthat's not the pleasantest way to fight, is it?' 'Gad, you're right!'said he, 'but they won't see me any the better for a cigarette'--andthen and there he lit one.
"Well, he'd just thrown away his match when a young fellow--quite a ladhe was--a couple of yards from us, suddenly jumped from his belly on tohis knees and called out quite loud--it seemed to me he'd got a sort ofpanic--quite loud, he called out: 'Sheepskins! Sheepskins!' I jumpedmyself, and I saw the Colonel start. But, by Jove, it was true! When youtook a sniff, you could smell them. Of course I don't mean what thebetter class wear--you couldn't have smelt the tunic our lamentedPrince wore, nor the one the witch decked herself out in--but you couldsmell a common fellow's sheepskin twenty yards off--ay, against thewind, unless the wind was mighty strong.
"'Sheepskins it is!' said the Colonel with a sniff. 'Volsenians, by gad!It's Mistress Sophia, Rastatz, or some of her friends, anyhow.' Then heswore worthily: 'Stenovics must have put them up to this! And where thedevil are they, Rastatz?' He raised his head as he spoke, and got hisanswer. A bullet came singing along and went right through his shako; itcame from the line of the ditch. He lay down again, laughed a little,and took a puff at his cigarette before he threw it away. Just then oneof our sentries bellowed from the firs
t barge: 'In the ditch! In theditch!' 'I wish you'd spoken a bit sooner,' says the Colonel, laughingagain."
While this was passing on Stafnitz's side, Sophy and her party wereworking quietly and cautiously down the course of the ditch. Under theshelter of its bank they had been able to hold a brief and hurriedconsultation. What they feared was that Stafnitz would make a dash forthe barges. Their fire might drop half his men, but the survivors, whenonce on board--and the barges were drawn up to the edge of thestream--would still be as numerous as themselves, and would command thecourse of the ditch, which was at present their great resource andprotection. But if they could get on board before the enemy, theybelieved they could hold their own; the decks were covered with_impedimenta_ of one sort or another which would afford them cover,while any party which tried to board must expose itself to fire to aserious and probably fatal extent.
So they worked down the ditch--except two of them. Little as they couldspare even two, it was judged well to leave these; their instructionswere to fire at short intervals, whether there was much chance ofhitting anybody or not. Dunstanbury hoped by this trick to make Stafnitzbelieve that the whole detachment was stationary in the ditch thirtyyards or more from the point where it joined the river. Only ten strongnow--and one of them a woman--they made their way towards the mouth ofthe ditch and towards the barges which held the prize they sought.
But a diversion, and a very effective one, was soon to come from thefront of the barn. Fearing that the party under Sophy and Dunstanburymight be overpowered, Lukovitch determined on a bold step--that ofenticing the holders of the barn from their shelter. He directed his mento keep up a brisk fire at the door; he himself and another man--oneOssip Yensko--disregarding the risk, made a rapid dash across the lineof fire from the barn, for the spot where the horses were. The firedirected at the door successfully covered their daring movement; theywere among the horses in a moment, and hard at work cutting the bandswith which they were tethered; the animals were half mad with fright,and the task was one of great danger.
But the manoeuvre was eminently successful. A cry of "The horses! Thehorses!" went up from the barn. Men appeared in the doorway; thesergeant-major in command himself ran out. Half the horses were loose,and stampeded along the towing-path down the river. "The horses! Thehorses!" The defenders surged out of the barn, in deadly fear of beingcaught there in a trap. They preferred the chances of the fire, andstreamed out in a disorderly throng. Lukovitch and Yensko cut loose asmany more horses as they dared wait to release; then, as the defendersrushed forward, retreated, flying for their lives. Lukovitch came offwith a ball in his arm; Yensko dropped, shot through the heart. The menbehind the hill riddled the defenders with their fire. But now they wereby their horses--such as were left of them--nearer twenty than tendotted the grass outside the barn-door. And the survivors weredemoralized; their leader, the sergeant-major, lay dead. They releasedthe remaining horses, mounted, and with one parting volley fled down theriver. With a cry of triumph, Lukovitch collected the remainder of hismen and dashed round the side of the barn. The next moment ColonelStafnitz found himself attacked in his rear as well as held in checkfrom the ditch in his front.
"For a moment we thought it was our own men," said Rastatz, continuinghis account, "and the Colonel shouted: 'Don't fire, you fools!' But thenthey cheered, and we knew the Volsenian accent--curse them! 'Sheepskinsagain!' said the Colonel, with a wry kind of smile. He didn't hesitatethen; he jumped up, crying: 'To the barges! To the barges! Follow me!'
"We all followed: it was just as safe to go with him as to stay whereyou were! We made a dash for it and got to the bank of the river. Thenthey rose out of the ditch in front of us--and they were at us behind,too--with steel now; they daren't shoot, for fear of hitting their ownpeople in our front. But the idea of a knife in your back isn'tpleasant, and in the end more of our men turned to meet them than wenton with the Colonel. I went on with him, though. I'm always for thesafest place, if there's one safer than another. But here there wasn't,so I thought I might as well do the proper thing. We met them right bythe water's-edge, and the first I made out was the witch herself, insheepskins like the rest of them, white as a sheet, but with thatinfernal mark absolutely blazing. She was between Peter Vassip and atall man I didn't know--I found out afterwards that he was theEnglishman Dunstanbury--and the three came straight at us. She cried:'The King! the King!' and behind us we heard Lukovitch and his lotcrying: 'The King! the King!'
"Our fellows didn't like it, that's the truth. They were uneasy in theirminds about that job of poor old Mistitch's, and they feared the witchlike the devil. The heart was out of them; one lad near me burst outcrying. A witch and a ghost didn't seem pleasant things to fight. Oh, itwas all nonsense, but you know what fellows like that are. Their cry of'The King!' and the sight of the woman caused a moment's hesitation. Itwas enough to give them the drop on us. But the Colonel never hesitated;he flung himself straight at her, and fired as he sprang. I just sawwhat happened before I got a crack on the crown of the head from thebutt-end of a rifle, which knocked me out of time. As the Colonel fired,Peter Vassip flung himself in front of her, and took the bullet in hisown body. Dunstanbury jumped right on the Colonel, cut him on the arm sothat he dropped his revolver, and grappled with him. Dunstanbury droppedhis sword, and the Colonel's wasn't drawn. It was just a tussle. Theywere tussling when the blood came flowing down into my eyes from thewound on my head; I couldn't see anything more; I fainted. Just as Iwent off I heard somebody cry: 'Hands up!' and I imagined the fightingwas pretty well over."
The fighting was over. One scene remained which Rastatz did not see.When Colonel Stafnitz, too, heard the call "Hands up!" when the firingstopped and all became quiet, he ceased to struggle. Dunstanbury foundhim suddenly changed to a log beneath him; his hands were already on theColonel's throat, and he could have strangled him now withoutdifficulty. But when Stafnitz no longer tried to defend himself, heloosed his hold, got up, and stood over him with his hand on therevolver in his belt. The Colonel fingered his throat a minute, sat up,looked round, and rose to his feet. He saw Sophy standing before him; byher side Peter Vassip lay on the ground, tended by Basil Williamson andone of his comrades. Colonel Stafnitz bowed to Sophy with a smile.
"I forgot you, madame," said Stafnitz.
"I didn't forget Monseigneur," she answered.
He looked round him again, shrugged his shoulders, and seemed to thinkfor a moment. There was an absolute stillness--a contrast to thepreceding turmoil. But the silence made uncomfortable men whom the fighthad not shaken. Their eyes were set on Stafnitz.
"The Prince died in fair fight," he said.
"No; you sent Mistitch to murder him," Sophy replied. Her eyes wererelentless; and Stafnitz was ringed round with enemies.
"I apologize for this embarrassment. I really ought to have beenkilled--it's just a mistake," he said, with a smile. He turned quicklyto Dunstanbury: "You seem to be a gentleman, sir. Pray come with me; Ineed a witness." He pointed with his unwounded hand to the barn.
Dunstanbury bowed assent. The Colonel, in his turn, bowed to Sophy, andthe two of them turned and walked off towards the barn. Sophy stoodmotionless, watching them until they turned the corner; then she fell onher knees and began to talk soothingly to Peter Vassip, who was hardhit, but, in Basil Williamson's opinion, promised to do well. Sophy wastalking to the poor fellow when the sound of a revolver shot--a singleshot--came from the barn. Colonel Stafnitz had corrected the mistake.Sophy did not raise her head. A moment later Dunstanbury came back andrejoined them. He exchanged a look with Sophy, inclining his head as aman does in answering "Yes." Then she rose.
"Now for the barges and the guns," she said.
They could not carry the guns back to Volseni; nor, indeed, was thereany use for them there now. But neither were Monseigneur's guns for theenemies of Monseigneur. Under Lukovitch's skilled directions (his woundproved slight) the big guns were so disabled as to remain of littlevalue, and the barges taken out into mid-stream
and there scuttled withtheir cargoes. While one party pursued this work, Dunstanbury made theprisoners collect their wounded and dead, place them on a wagon, and setout on their march to Slavna. Then his men placed their dead onhorses--they had lost three. Five were wounded besides Peter Vassip, butnone of them severely--all could ride. For Peter they took a cart fromthe farm to convey him as far as the ascent to the hills; up that hewould have to be carried by his comrades.
It was noon before all their work was done. The barges were settling inthe water. As they started to ride back to Volseni, the first sank; thesecond was soon to follow it.
"We have done our work," said Lukovitch.
And Sophy answered, "Yes."
But Stafnitz's men had not carried the body of their commander back.They left it in the barn, cursing him for the trap he had led them into.Later in the day, the panic-stricken lock-keeper stole out from thecellar where he had hidden himself, and found it in the barn. He and hiswife lifted it with cursings, bore it to the river, and flung it in. Itwas carried over the weir, and floated down to Slavna. They fished itout with a boat-hook just opposite Suleiman's Tower. The hint to CaptainSterkoff was a broad one. He reported a vacancy in the command, and sentthe keys of the fort to General Stenovics. It was Sunday morning.
"The Colonel has got back just when he said he would. But where are theguns?" asked General Stenovics of Captain Markart. The Captain had bynow made up his mind which turn to take.
But no power ensued to Stenovics. At the best his fate was a softfall--a fall on to a cushioned shelf. The cup of Kravonia's iniquity,full with the Prince's murder, brimmed over with the punishment of theman who had caused it. The fight by the lock of Miklevni sealedKravonia's fate. Civilization must be vindicated! Long columns offlat-capped soldiers begin to wind, like a great snake, over the summitof St. Peter's Pass. Sophy watched them through a telescope from the oldwall of Volseni.
"Our work is done. Monseigneur has mightier avengers," she said.
XXIV
TRUE TO HER LOVE
Volseni forgave Sophy its dead and wounded sons. Her popularity blazedup in a last fierce, flickering fire. The guns were taken; they wouldnot go to Slavna; they would never batter the walls of Volseni intofragments. Slavna might be defied again. That was the great thing toVolseni, and it made little account of the snakelike line which crawledover St. Peter's Pass, and down to Dobrava, and on to Slavna. LetSlavna--hated Slavna--reckon with that! And if the snake--or anotherlike it--came to Volseni? Well, that was better than knuckling down toSlavna. To-night King Sergius was avenged, and Queen Sophia had returnedin victory!
For the first time since the King's death the bell of the ancient churchrang joyously, and men sang and feasted in the gray city of the hills.Thirty from Volseni had beaten a hundred from Slavna; the guns were atthe bottom of the Krath; it was enough. If Sophy had bidden them, theywould have streamed down on Slavna that night in one of those fierceraids in which their forefathers of the Middle Ages had loved to swoopupon the plain.
But Sophy had no delusions. She saw her Crown--that fleeting phantomornament, fitly foreseen in the visions of a charlatan--passing from herbrow without a sigh. She had not needed Dunstanbury's arguments toprove to her that there was no place for her left in Kravonia. She wascontent to have it so; she had done enough. Sorrow had not passed fromher face, but serenity had come upon it in fuller measure. She hadstruck for Monseigneur, and the blow was witness to her love. It wasenough in her, and enough in little Volseni. Let the mightier avengersdo the rest!
She had allowed Dunstanbury to leave her after supper in order to makepreparations for a start to the frontier at dawn. "You must certainlygo," she had said, "and perhaps I'll come with you."
She went at night up on to the wall--always her favorite place; sheloved the spaciousness of air and open country before her there. BasilWilliamson found her deep in thought when he came to tell her of theprogress of the wounded.
"They're all doing well, and Peter Vassip will live. Dunstanbury hasmade him promise to come to him when he's recovered, so you'll meet himagain at all events. And Marie Zerkovitch and her husband talk ofsettling in Paris. You won't lose all your Kravonian friends."
"You assume that I'm coming with you to-morrow morning?"
"I'm quite safe in assuming that Dunstanbury won't go unless you do," heanswered, smiling. "We can't leave you alone here, you know."
"I shouldn't stay here, anyhow," she said. "Or, at any rate, I should bewhere nobody could hurt me." She pointed at a dim lantern, fastened tothe gate-tower by an iron clamp, then waved her hand towards thesurrounding darkness. "That's life, isn't it?" she asked. "If I believedthat I could go to Monseigneur, I would go to-night--nay, I would havegone at Miklevni; it was only putting my head out of that ditch a minutesooner! If I believed even that I could lie in the church there and knowthat he was near! If I believed even that I could lie there quietly andremember and think of him! You're a man of science--you're not apeasant's child, as I am. What do you think? You mustn't wonder thatI've had my thoughts, too. At Lady Meg's we did little else than try tofind out whether we were going on anywhere else. That's all she caredabout. And if she does ever get to a next world, she won't care aboutthat; she'll only go on trying to find out whether there's still anotherbeyond. What do you think?"
"I hardly expected to find you so philosophically inclined," he said.
"It's a practical question with me now. On its answer depends whether Icome with you or stay here--by Monseigneur in the church."
Basil said something professional--something about nerves and temporarystrain. But he performed this homage to medical etiquette in a ratherperfunctory fashion. He had never seen a woman more composed or moreobviously and perfectly healthy. Sophy smiled and went on:
"But if I live, I'm sure at least of being able to think and able toremember. It comes to a gamble, doesn't it? It's just possible I mightget more; it's quite likely--I think it's probable--I should lose evenwhat I have now."
"I think you're probably right about the chances of the gamble," he toldher, "though no doubt certainty is out of place--or at least one doesn'ttalk about it. Shall I tell you what science says?"
"No," said Sophy, smiling faintly. "Science thinks in multitudes--andI'm thinking of the individual to-night. Even Lady Meg never made muchof science, you know."
"Do you remember the day when I heard you your Catechism in the avenueat Morpingham?"
"Yes, I remember. Does the Catechism hold good in Kravonia, though?"
"It continues, anyhow, a valuable document in its bearing on this life.You remember the mistake you made, I dare say?"
"I've never forgotten it. It's had something to do with it all," saidSophy. "That's how you, as well as Lord Dunstanbury, come in at thebeginning as you do at the end."
"Has it nothing to do with the question now--putting it in anyparticular phraseology you like?" In his turn he pointed at the smokylantern. "That's not life," he said, growing more earnest, yet smiling."That's now--just here and now--and, yes, it's very smoky." He waved hishand over the darkness. "That's life. Dark? Yes, but the night willlift, the darkness pass away; valley and sparkling lake will be there,and the summit of the heaven-kissing hills. Life cries to you with asweet voice."
"Yes," she murmured, "with a sweet voice. And perhaps some day therewould be light on the hills. But, ah, I'm torn in sunder this night. Iwish I had died there at Miklevni while my blood was hot." She paused along while in thought. Then she went on: "If I go, I must go while it'sstill dark, and while these good people sleep. Go and tell LordDunstanbury to be ready to start an hour before dawn; and do you and hecome then to the door of the church. If I'm not waiting for you there,come inside and find me."
He started towards her with an eager gesture of protest. She raised herhand and checked him.
"No, I've decided nothing. I can't tell yet," she said. She turned andleft him; he heard her steps descending the old winding stair which ledfrom the top of the wall down into th
e street. He did not know whetherhe would see her alive again--and with her message of such ambiguousmeaning he went to Dunstanbury. Yet curiously, though he had pleaded sourgently with her, though to him her death would mean the loss of one ofthe beautiful things from out the earth, he was in no distress for herand did not dream of attempting any constraint. She knew herstrength--she would choose right. If life were tolerable, she would takeup the burden. If not, she would let it lie unlifted at her quiet feet.
His mood could not be Dunstanbury's, who had come to count her presenceas the light of the life that was his. Yet Dunstanbury heard the messagequietly, and quietly made every preparation in obedience to her bidding.That done, he sat in the little room of the inn and smoked his pipe withBasil. Henry Brown waited his word to take the horses to the door of thechurch. Basil Williamson had divined his friend's feeling for Sophy, andwondered at his calmness.
"If I felt the doubt that you do, I shouldn't be calm," saidDunstanbury. "But I know her. She will be true to her love."
He could not be speaking of that love of hers which was finished, whoseend she was now mourning in the little church. It must be of anotherlove that he spoke--of one bred in her nature, the outcome of hertemperament and of her being the woman that she was. The spirit whichhad brought her to Slavna had made her play her part there, hadwelcomed and caught at every change and chance of fortune, had neverlaid down the sword till the blow was struck--that spirit would preserveher and give her back to life now--and some day give life back to her.
He was right. When they came to the door of the church, she was there.For the first time since Monseigneur had died, her eyes were red withweeping; but her face was calm. She gave her hand to Dunstanbury.
"Come, let us mount," she said. "I have said 'Good-bye.'"
Lukovitch knew Dunstanbury's plans. He was waiting for them at the gate,his arm in a sling, and with him were the Zerkovitches. These last theywould see again; it was probably farewell forever to gallant Lukovitch.He kissed the silver ring on Sophy's finger.
"I brought nothing into Kravonia," she said, "and I carry nothing out,except this ring which Monseigneur put on my finger--the ring of theBailiffs of Volseni."
"Keep it," said Lukovitch. "I think there will be no more Bailiffs ofVolseni--or some Prince, not of our choosing, will take the title by hisown will. He will not be our Bailiff, as Monseigneur was. You will beour Bailiff, though our eyes never see you, and you never see our oldgray walls again. Madame, have a kindly place in your heart for Volseni.We sha'n't forget you nor the blow we struck under your leadership. Thefight at Miklevni may well be the last that we shall fight as free men."
"Volseni is written on my heart," she answered. "I shall not forget."
She bade her friends farewell, and then ordered Lukovitch to throw openthe gate. She and the three Englishmen rode through, Henry Brown leadingthe pack-horse by the bridle. The mountains were growing gray with thefirst approaches of dawn.
As she rode through, Sophy paused a moment, leaned sideways in hersaddle, and kissed the ancient lintel of the door.
"Peace be on this place," she said, "and peace to the tomb whereMonseigneur lies buried!"
"Peace be on thy head and fortune with thee!" answered Lukovitch in thetraditional words of farewell. He kissed her hand again, and theydeparted.
It was high morning when they rode up the ascent to St. Peter's Pass andcame to the spot where their cross-track joined the main road over thepass from Dobrava and the capital. In silence they mounted to thesummit. The road under their horses' feet was trampled with the march ofthe thousands of men who had passed over it in an irresistible advanceon Slavna.
At the summit of the pass they stopped, and Sophy turned to look back.She sat there for a long while in silence.
"I have loved this land," at last she said. "It has given me much, andvery much it has taken away. Now the face of it is to be changed. But inmy heart the memory of it will not change." She looked across thevalley, across the sparkling face of Lake Talti, to the gray walls ofVolseni, and kissed her hand. "Farewell, Monseigneur!" she whispered,very low.
The day of Kravonia was done. The head of the great snake had reachedSlavna. Countess Ellenburg and young Alexis were in flight. Stenovicstook orders where he had looked to rule. The death of Monseigneur wasindeed avenged. But there was no place for Sophy, the Queen of atempestuous hour.
They set their horses' heads towards the frontier. They began thedescent on the other side. The lake was gone, the familiar hillsvanished; only in the eye of memory stood old Volseni still set in itsgray mountains. Sophy rode forth from Kravonia in her sheepskins and hersilver ring--the last Queen of Kravonia, the last Bailiff of Volseni,the last chosen leader of the mountain men. But the memory of the RedStar lived after her--how she loved Monseigneur and avenged him, how herface was fairer than the face of other women, and more pale--and how theRed Star glowed in sorrow and in joy, in love and in clash of arms,promising to some glory and to others death. In the street of Volseniand in the cabins among the hills you may hear the tale of the Red Staryet.
As she passed the border of the land which was so great in her life, bya freak of memory Sophy recalled a picture till now forgotten--a woman,unknown, untraced, unreckoned, who had passed down the Street of theFountain, weeping bitterly--an obscure symbol of great woes, of thetribute life pays to its unresting enemies.
Yet to the unconquerable heart life stands unconquered. What danger hadnot shaken not even sorrow could overthrow. She rode into the futurewith Dunstanbury on her right hand--patience in his mind, and in hisheart hope. Some day the sun would shine on the summit of heaven-kissinghills.
THE END
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