Chapter XI: Part 11

No great news came from the outside world. In November the Netherlands suffered in some degree from the fierce storm that swept through the Channel, strewing the English shores with wrecks, ripping off trees at the roots, blowing down churches and houses. In the same month also the Archduke Charles passed through Holland _en route_ for England and Spain, to assume in the latter country the sovereignty which was the bone of contention between his father the Emperor and King Louis of France.

Almost the only relaxations in Harry's life were his visits to Madame de Vaudrey's house, where both he and Fanshawe were always welcome guests. They formed with Mynheer Grootz a little house-party there during the New Year week. It happened that on the last day of the year 1703 Sherebiah received a letter from his father: a rare event. One piece of news it contained was much discussed at Madame de Vaudrey's table.

"And now I must tell you," wrote old Minshull, "as Squire hev had a Visiter for a matter of munths. 'Tis a tall blacke Frenchman by his looks and Spache, a tarrible fine gentleman, with a Smile & a twitching Mouthe. Squire & he be alwaies together, moste particler Frendes it do seeme. None of us soules can't abide him, nor the Qualitie neither. For myself, I don't like his Lookes, not me, & 'tis luckie he can't understand English, for being a Man to speake my Minde I say things nowe and again as would turne his blacke Hair white."

Harry had already mentioned having seen Polignac drive away from Breda in company with the squire.

"The odious man!" cried Madame de Vaudrey, when Harry translated the gaffer's letter. "I only wonder that the other man, that insolent captain, is not with them. I wonder where he is?"

"I don't know," said Harry, who had kept his own counsel regarding the last he had seen of Aglionby.

"I hope he will never cross my path," said Mynheer Grootz. "He is truly a villain, a dastard: to inform on his cousin, and to plan the attack on Harry, and to have the insolence to pay court to Madame la Comtesse!"

"Yes, indeed," said the lady, "and my dear husband not four years dead! Who is the squire that your old friend writes of, Harry?"

"He is lord of the manor at my old home, Madame. His son is in one of our foot regiments, and Mr. Berkeley came over to Holland with him: it was then he met Monsieur de Polignac."

"Qui se ressemble s'assemble. What is the name of the bad old man, Harry?"

"Berkeley."

"Berkeley!" Madame de Vaudrey puckered her brow and appeared to be reflecting.

"How ugly your English names are!" exclaimed Adele, "and how difficult to say! I cannot even yet say Rochestair properly."

"You say it better than you say my name," said Fanshawe gloomily.

"But then I have known Monsieur Rochestair longer," returned Adele. "Shall we go into the drawing-room, Mamma? I do so want to hear Monsieur Fanshawe sing that amusing song of his again."

Fanshawe glowered. He knew that Adele was teasing him, and wished with all his heart that he could recall the luckless moment when he had first amused her with the song of "Widdicombe Fair". Harry's eyes twinkled.

"Yes," said Madame de Vaudrey, "you young people can precede us to the drawing-room. I have a little matter of business to talk over with our good friend Mynheer Grootz."

Then Adele's eyes caught Harry's, and they both smiled as at some secret known to them alone.

Time passed away, and at length, when the winter was gone, and the gray Dutch sky was rifted with the blue of spring, came the welcome news that Marlborough had arrived at the Hague and that a great campaign was to open. No one knew what the duke's plans were, but there was a general feeling that stirring events were preparing, and a universal hope that the long series of small engagements, sieges, marches and counter-marches would be brought to an end by a decisive pitched battle. Mynheer Grootz was working night and day at commissariat business, and for weeks there was a continual bustle of preparation: the cleaning of arms, the testing of harness, a thousand-and-one details that employed countless people beside the soldiers.

At length a day came when, all preparations completed, the eager troops were ready to march out. Harry and Fanshawe, accompanied by Sherebiah, rode over to Lindendaal one evening to take farewell of the ladies. Fanshawe was in the dolefullest of dumps. Notwithstanding Adele's refusal of him, he had still nursed a hope that time might prove on his side, but found every hint of a sentimental nature adroitly parried, and now feared that with his absence his last chance would disappear. His spirits were raised a little by the warmth, and indeed effusiveness, with which she bade him good-bye.

"I shall hope to hear great things of you, Monsieur," she said, "and to learn that you have come through the campaign unscathed."

"Your good wishes shall be my talisman, Mademoiselle," said Fanshawe gallantly, bowing over her hand.

Harry meanwhile had taken leave of Madame de Vaudrey, who held both his hands and spoke to him with a quite motherly tenderness. Then he turned to say good-bye to Adele. She had disappeared. Fanshawe had already gone out to the front of the house to see that his horse's girth was rightly strapped, and Harry followed, thinking that Mademoiselle had perhaps accompanied him to the door. But as he passed through the hall, he saw through the open door of the dining-room that Adele was there, standing at the window with her back to him.

"There you are, Mademoiselle," he said, entering the room; "I was looking for you. It is a longer good-bye this time."

She turned round slowly, and her back being to the sunset glow he could scarcely see her features. She held out her hand, and said slowly, with perhaps a little less cordiality than he had unconsciously expected:

"Adieu, Monsieur Harry!"

He took her hand, hesitated for a moment, and then was gone.

As he left the porch he saw Sherebiah coming round from the garden with his arm unblushingly about the waist of Katrinka, the prettiest maidservant of the house. The honest fellow led the girl up to his master.

"I've done it, sir," he said. "Her've said it. Feyther o' mine may think what a' will, but, an't please Them above to bring me through, by next winter there'll be a Mistress Minshull once more to comfort his old aged soul. Eh, Katrinka, lass?"

The girl looked shyly up and dropt a curtsy.

"'Pon my soul, Sherry, you're a lucky fellow," said Harry. "My old friend will be pleased, I promise you. And look 'ee, I'll give you five minutes to say good-bye to Katrinka while Mr. Fanshawe and I ride on."

"Thank 'ee, sir! I'll catch 'ee up, soon as her be done."

"Sherry has had better luck than you, Fanshawe," said Harry with a smile, as they rode off.

"Yes, confound him! But hang it, Harry, I'll not give up hope yet. She was very kind to me when she said good-bye, and, by George! if I only escape a Frenchman's bullet and can manage to come off with flying colours and a neat little sabre-cut--who knows? she may be Mistress Godfrey Fanshawe yet."

Harry was silent. He felt a little surprised, perhaps a little hurt, that Adele should have shown more warmth to Fanshawe, a friend of later date. He did not know what he had expected; he could not, indeed, have put his thoughts into words; but the coldness of Mademoiselle's farewell, so strongly contrasting with Madame's affectionate manner, had left him vaguely dissatisfied and made him disinclined to talk. Fanshawe, however, was in high spirits, and chattered freely as they went side by side at a walking pace along the road to Breda. Sherebiah by and by overtook them, and kept a few yards behind. He too was in capital spirits, and, having no one to converse with, was humming as he rode:

"So Tom Pearce he got to the top o' the hill,
All along, down along, out along lee;
And he seed his old mare a-maken her will,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan
Whiddon, Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all,
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all.

"So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick an' died,
All along, down along, out along lee,
And Tom, he sat down on a stone, an' he cried,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter----"

"Confound you, Sherry!" cried Fanshawe, who had been so busy talking that not till this moment had he recognized the song. "Hanged if you are not always singing that wretched 'Widdicombe Fair'!"

"Beg pardon, sir. No offence. 'Tis a favourite ditty o' mine, and, axin' your pardon, I thowt 'twas one o' yourn too."

"Nay; anything else, anything else, my good fellow, not that, as you love me."

"Very good, sir. I be in a mind to troll a ditty, 'tis true, and if my tenor tones don't offend 'ee, I'll try a stave o' 'Turmut-hoein'."

Next morning, under a bright May sun, the troops in Breda marched out to join the Duke of Marlborough at Ruremond. As Harry's troop passed Lindendaal, and he caught a glimpse of fluttering handkerchiefs at the windows, he could not help wondering whether he should see those kind friends again.

At Ruremond the troops were reviewed by the duke himself; thence they marched to Juliers and Coblentz, where they halted for two days to allow the Prussian and Hanoverian levies in British pay to unite with them. Everybody had expected that the march would be continued up the Moselle, with the purpose of coming to grips with the French army under Marshal Villeroy. But to the general astonishment orders were given to cross that river by the stone bridge, and then the Rhine by two bridges of boats, and to proceed through the principality of Hesse-Cassel. The new orders were eagerly discussed by the officers of all the corps, but Marlborough had kept his own counsel, and indeed at this time his plan was known to scarcely anyone but Lord Godolphin, with whom he had talked it over in outline before leaving England, and Prince Eugene of Savoy, to whom he had entrusted it in correspondence.

The plan must have seemed hazardous, even reckless, to soldiers who held by the old traditions; but it was one that displayed Marlborough's military genius to the full. He had divined the true meaning of the recent movements of the French armies, and determined on a great effort to defeat the aim of King Louis so shrewdly guessed at. Relying on his ally, the Elector of Bavaria, the French king had resolved to make a strenuous attack upon the Emperor in the heart of his own dominions, Vienna. If Austria were crushed in one great battle, Louis had reason to expect a general rising of the Hungarians, by which the empire would be so much weakened that he could enforce peace and secure the triumph of his policy on his own terms. Already a French army under Marshal Marsin had joined forces with the Elector of Bavaria; other armies were rapidly advancing to reinforce them, and the combined host would be more than a match for any army that the emperor could put in the field against it.

Marlborough saw only one way to save the empire: he must prevent if possible the junction of the several French armies, or, if that were impossible, defeat them in a pitched battle. But he knew that the States of Holland would shrink from the risk of an expedition so far from their own borders; he therefore gave out that his campaign was to be conducted along the Moselle, and only when he was well on his way, and it was too late to oppose him, did he reveal his full design. Fortunately the Dutch Government rose to the opportunity; they sent him the reinforcements and supplies he asked for, and were satisfied with the detachment of one or two small forces to keep watch on Villeroy, who had crossed the Meuse and was threatening Huy. For himself, Marlborough intended to press forward with all speed towards the Danube, join Prince Louis of Baden and Prince Eugene of Savoy, and give battle to the combined French and Bavarians on ground of his own choosing.

For Harry this famous march was attended with endless novelty and excitement. Every morning at dawn camp was struck, and for five or six hours, with occasional halts, the troops marched, covering twelve or fifteen miles, and bivouacking about nine o'clock, thus completing the day's work before the sun grew hot. All along the route supplies for man and beast were furnished by commissaries, whose duties were so well organized that everything was on the ground before the troops arrived, and they had nothing to do but pitch their tents, boil their kettles, and lie down to rest. Everything was arranged and carried out with matchless regularity and order; Marlborough himself had a thorough grasp of the details, and showed such consideration for his men that on personal grounds he won their admiration and confidence. The passage of so large and miscellaneous a force, consisting of English, Dutch, Prussians, Danes, and levies from several of the minor German states, might well have been attended by many disorders; but Marlborough always displayed great humanity in his dealings with the people of the country through which he passed, and in these matters an army takes its cue from the commander-in-chief.

After quitting Coblentz, the duke went forward a day's march with the cavalry, leaving the artillery and foot to follow under the command of his brother, General Charles Churchill. Unfortunately rainy weather set in towards the end of May, and the roads were rendered so difficult that Churchill's force lost ground, and by the time Marlborough reached Ladenburg, on June 2, was four or five days behind. This delay gave the duke some little cause for anxiety, for he had learnt that Prince Louis of Baden, a brave but sluggish general of the old school, had allowed reinforcements to reach the Elector of Bavaria, and failed to seize an excellent opportunity of defeating the combined force. Marlborough, wishing on this account to hurry his advance, sent back two troops of Dutch horse to assist his brother with the cannon. One of these happened to be Harry's. The heavy Flemish horses were serviceable in dragging the guns, but the rains were so persistent and the soft roads so cut up that when Churchill reached Maintz he was still some five days' march behind the duke.

Late on the night of June 3, when the camp was silent, a courier reached Maintz with the following despatch from Marlborough at Ladenburg:--

"I send this by express on purpose to be informed of the condition you are in, both as to the troops and the artillery, and to advise you to take your march with the whole directly to Heidelberg, since the route we have taken by Ladenburg will be too difficult for you. Pray send back the messenger immediately, and let me know by him where you design to camp each night, and what day you propose to be at Heidelberg, that I may take my measures accordingly."

General Churchill was roused from sleep to receive the despatch. He at once wrote his reply, but on sending it out to the messenger learnt that he had been suddenly seized with illness, and was unable to ride. Churchill then sent for Captain van der Werff, and asked him, since he had already ridden the Ladenburg road with his troop, to despatch the letter by one of his subalterns. The captain, who knew of Harry's relations with Marlborough, pleased himself with the thought of bringing the two together again, and, to Harry's unbounded delight, ordered him to ride at once to Ladenburg. Before he went he was summoned to the bedside of General Churchill, and saw the tall, thin, battered form of that excellent soldier in the unheroic attire of night-shirt and cap. From him he learnt, in case of accident, the gist of the message, which was that Churchill undertook to arrive at Heidelberg on June 7. Harry started before dawn, and reached the camp at Ladenburg early. He had crossed the Neckar by the bridge of boats used by Marlborough's troops on the previous day, and found the army encamped along the river-side opposite the town. The usual daily march had been pretermitted, in order to allow time for the infantry to make up something of the ground it had lost.

When Harry was taken into the presence of the commander-in-chief, Marlborough was engaged in conversation with Count Wratislaw, the emperor's agent, Colonel Cadogan, his quartermaster-general, and other officers of his staff. The duke had learnt that Prince Eugene of Savoy was on his way to join him, and was anxious that the meeting should take place as soon as possible, so that the plan outlined in their correspondence might be discussed in full detail. He had sent two messengers with letters to meet Prince Eugene, informing him of his whereabouts and urging him to hasten his coming; but neither had returned, and he could not but fear that some mischance had befallen them. But it was a characteristic of Marlborough's that, whatever his difficulties and anxieties, he preserved always the same outward appearance of settled calm--a great factor in his power over men.

He received General Churchill's letter from Harry's hand with a pleasant smile and word of thanks, and bade him wait, to see if it demanded an answer. Then he resumed his conversation, which was conducted in French. Before long Harry, though he remained at a distance too great to allow of his hearing what passed, judged from the glances thrown occasionally in his direction that something was being said about him. Presently Marlborough beckoned him forward.

"Mr. Rochester," he said, "I have an errand for you. I wish to communicate with Prince Eugene of Savoy; two of my officers whom I sent to him have apparently miscarried; I wish to try a third. You have had experience in getting about the country, and I know from one or two incidents in your late career that you have your wits about you and can make good speed. You will carry a letter from me to Prince Eugene. I will inform your colonel that I have employed you on special duty.--Mr. Cardonnel, be good enough to write from my dictation."

He dictated a short note to his secretary.

"You understand French, of course, Mr. Rochester?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then I need not repeat my message. You will keep it in mind in case circumstances should require you to destroy the letter. You may meet with danger on the road; otherwise I am at a loss to know why I am without a reply to my two former letters. You must therefore be on your guard. You will use all dispatch, hiring fresh horses wherever it may be necessary--without, of course, incurring needless expense. I opine that you may meet Prince Eugene at Innsprueck; Colonel Cadogan will furnish you with a map; your best road will lie through Heidelberg, Wisloch, and the Swabian Alb. When you reach the prince you will doubtless be fatigued; his reply may be sent by another messenger, to whom you will give such hints for his guidance as your own journey may suggest. In that case you need not unduly hurry your own return, and on your way back you may find it possible to make enquiries regarding the fate of my missing messengers: they were Lieutenant Fanshawe of the Duke of Schomberg's Horse, and Lieutenant Buckley of Colonel Cadogan's. Do you know either of them?"

"Lieutenant Fanshawe is an old friend of mine, my lord," said Harry, "but I don't know Lieutenant Buckley."

"Very well. His Excellency Count Wratislaw here will, I doubt not, favour you with a letter of safety which will avail you with any of the civil authorities whose assistance you may need _en route_; but since 'tis advisable to attract as little attention as possible, I counsel you to make no use of the letter except on emergency. 'Twill be common knowledge along the road whether the prince has passed on his way to the army, so that you should meet with no difficulty in finding him. Perhaps, the two lieutenants having apparently come to grief, 'twould be well for you to ride incognito. What is your opinion, Colonel Cadogan?"

"Faith, my lord, let him go as a young English milord making the grand tour."

"But he would then need a servant and baggage."

"Give out that his servant has broken his leg or is laid up with the colic, and he is riding post to Venice; his wits will invent a reason."

"I think, sir, I would rather go as I am," said Harry. "My errand would not then be complicated."

"The simpler way is often the best," said the duke. "Very well. Here is the letter; I will send you Count Wratislaw's shortly; you will then set off at once."

Harry bowed and withdrew, feeling highly elated at being entrusted with this mission. It was an expedition on which he would gladly have had the company of Sherebiah; but there was no time to send for him; besides, one might go more safely than two. An hour later, furnished with a supply of money by Colonel Cadogan, he rode off on a fresh horse, passed through Heidelberg without delay, by favour of Count Wratislaw's safe-conduct, and struck into the long straight road that led due south through Leimen and Wisloch.

What had become of Fanshawe, he wondered. It was a friendly country; the enemy were, so far as he could gather, no nearer than Ulm on the Danube, so that it was little likely that Fanshawe had fallen in with French or Bavarian troops. On the other hand, the country was infested with spies, and here and there in out-of-the-way spots bands of outlaws were said to have fixed their haunts, whence they made depredations on neighbouring villages. But it was useless to speculate on what might have happened, and Harry took care not to awaken curiosity or suspicion by any premature enquiries. Stopping merely to change horses at posting inns and to snatch a light meal, he reached Stuttgart about six o'clock in the afternoon, having ridden sixty miles since he left Ladenburg. This, with his previous ride from Maintz, had made him stiff and sore; but, tired as he was, he determined to push on after a short rest, and reach, if possible, the little town of Urach that night.

Soon after leaving Stuttgart he entered the district known as the Swabian Alb, a country of wooded mountains and picturesque, well-watered valleys, now in all their midsummer glory. The road became steeper after he had crossed the river Neckar, and as his horse was labouring somewhat he began to wish that he had remained to sleep in Stuttgart. He was still some miles short of Urach when he came suddenly upon an inn, standing back from the high-road, and nestling among a group of tall, full-leaved beeches. It bore the sign "Zum grauen Baeren". The pleasant situation and the warm colours of this Swabian hostelry were very inviting to a tired man. His mouth was parched with thirst; his horse was panting and steaming; and a short rest would do both of them good. A moment's hesitation; then he wheeled to the left, and was met by the landlord, who rose from a bench before the inn, where he was smoking his evening pipe along with a squat companion looking like a farmer. The landlord was not so attractive in appearance as his inn, but he gave Harry a suave greeting in German, and asked how he could serve the noble Herr. Harry had picked up a word or two of German in Holland, and asked in that tongue for the refreshment he desired; but at the first word the landlord gave him a sharp yet furtive look, immediately effaced by his wonted bland smile. He went into the inn, and soon returned with a cup of wine, while an ostler brought a pail of water for the horse.

Harry was glad to rest his aching limbs on the bench, and to sip the cool Rhenish. The landlord, standing by him, showed a desire to be conversational.

"The noble Herr is for Urach? He will scarcely get there to-night."

He spoke now in a mixture of German and bad French.

"Why, is it so far?" said Harry. "I thought I was nearly there."

"True, Excellency, it is not very far; but the town council has become somewhat timid since the French and Bavarians came prowling along the Danube, and the gates are shut at half-past seven."

"A solitary horseman will not scare them," said Harry with a smile. "They will surely open to me."

"Not so, Excellency. The order is stern. Why, only yesterday a Rittmeister passing to join the forces of the Prince of Baden was refused admittance just after the clock had struck, and had to come back to this very inn. Donner, was he not angry, the noble Herr! But anger cannot pierce stone walls; the gentleman uttered many round oaths, but he came back all the same. Was it not so, Hermann?"

His thickset companion assented with a rough "Jawohl!"

"Well, I can but try," said Harry, thinking of Count Wratislaw's letter as his open sesame. "I shall ride on in a minute or two."

The landlord lifted his eyebrows.

"The noble Herr has perhaps more persuasion than the Herr Rittmeister. But if you find it as I say,--well, there is good accommodation within."

He went into the inn with his companion, leaving Harry on the bench. Harry reflected. It was absurd to tire himself needlessly; he had ridden with brief intervals for nearly eighteen hours since he left Maintz, and felt by no means eager to get into the saddle again. Perhaps it would be best to close with the man's offer, sleep at the inn, and start fresh early in the morning. Yet he hesitated; there was something about the landlord that he did not like; he felt for him one of those unaccountable antipathies that spring up at a word, a look, a touch. But the feeling was vague and unsubstantial; after a moment he dismissed it as unreasonable, and concluded that his best course would be to take his rest now rather than run the risk of having it deferred for some hours.

He went into the inn.

"The noble Herr decides to stay?" said the landlord. "Well! I would not persuade, but I think you are right, Excellency. Johann, take the gentleman's horse to the stable. I will see then that a room is prepared. And you will like supper, Excellency?"

"Yes. Anything will do."

He accompanied the ostler to the stable and saw the horse well rubbed and fed.

"Whose horse is that?" he asked, noticing a sorrel in the next stall.

"He belongs, Excellency, to the gentleman now with the host, by name Hermann Bart, a farmer of the district."

"Oh! he looks a strong beast--the horse, I mean. I shall want to be off at dawn; you'll see that my horse is ready?"

Returning to the inn, he ate the plain supper brought him by an old woman as deaf as a post. While he sat at table the landlord stood opposite him, attentively anticipating his wants.

"I can have a light breakfast at three, landlord?"

"Certainly, Excellency; we are early birds here, though in these times there are few travellers along the road, more's the pity."

"Ah! Is there any news of the armies hereabouts?"

"Why yes. Only yesterday--so it is said--the Elector of Bavaria crossed the river at Ulm, and the Prince of Baden, who 'tis to be hoped will beat him, stands somewhat higher up at Ehingen across the mountains yonder."

"You have not been troubled yourself by the soldiers?"

"Never a whit, Excellency. And I trust I never shall be. They march, you see, along the rivers, and my little place is out of their route. You are travelling far, mein Herr?"

"Not a great distance," replied Harry, thinking it prudent to give no information. The landlord made no attempt to press him, but kept up a desultory conversation until he had finished his supper.

"I will go and take a look at my horse, and then turn in."

He went out to the stable, and noticed that the second horse was gone.

"Your friend the farmer has gone home then?" he said to the ostler.

"Yes, Excellency, some time ago."

"My horse is comfortable, I see; good-night!"

As he left the stable he heard the man behind him whistling as he gave the cobbles a final sweeping for the night. The tune seemed familiar, but Harry was not sufficiently interested to give another thought to it. The landlord met him at the door with a lighted candle and led the way to his room.

"It is a small room, Excellency," he explained apologetically; "not such a room as befits a gentleman of your rank. But the truth is, the heavy rains of late have found out a weak spot in the roof, and my large guest-chamber is consequently very damp. The small room here to the left is, however, very comfortable; it was last occupied by an Austrian nobleman who slept through the night without turning an eyelid."

"Then it will suit me very well," said Harry.

"Breakfast at daybreak, you said, Excellency?"

"Yes."

"You will want nothing more to-night?"

"Nothing. Good-night, landlord!"

Harry shut the door and shot the bolt. He thought the Austrian nobleman must have been easily satisfied. The room was about twelve feet by seven, and contained nothing but a bed and a chair. There was one small window opening on to the courtyard some thirty feet below, the view of the yard being partially obstructed by a projecting wing of the house immediately beneath. The air of the room being very stuffy, he opened the window wide; then he undressed, blew out the light, and got into bed, pulling out the blanket, which seemed somewhat frowsy, and finding enough warmth in the light coverlet.

But he found it impossible to sleep. He was in fact overtired, and bodily fatigue often makes the mind only more active. He fell a-musing, and wondered what it was in the landlord's manner that he disliked. Through the window came the sound of the stableman's whistle as he locked the yard gate, and Harry tried in vain to recollect where he had heard the tune before. The ostler was a happy fellow, evidently; perhaps his master was better than he appeared. The whistling ceased, a door banged, presumably the man had gone to bed; "and he'll sleep as sound as a top," thought Harry. He turned over on to his back and stared at the ceiling, which consisted of thick beams with rough boards between. By and by he noticed a dark square outline in the planking just above him. He could not see it distinctly, for the beams of the rising moon did not fall upon it directly, but across the bed, making the room itself fairly light. For a time he looked idly at the square; it was evidently a trap-door. He began to be curious about it, then was aware of an indefinable, inexplicable sense of uneasiness, of insecurity. He felt that he could neither withdraw his gaze from the trap-door nor put it from his thoughts. He turned on to his right side, away from the window, but in a few moments was on his back again, staring up as before.

"This is ridiculous," he said to himself impatiently. "I wonder whether the thing has a bolt."

He rose, and, standing on the bed, found that with outstretched hand he could just reach the boards. Exploring the edge of the trap-door with his fingers he soon discovered that there was no bolt, though there had evidently been one at some time, for on a second search he felt an iron socket let into one of the adjacent joists. He raised himself on tiptoes and gently pushed at the door. It rose slightly; clearly it was not fastened above. No glimmer of moonlight came through the small gap between the trap and the ceiling; therefore it did not give directly upon the roof, but probably opened into an attic or loft. There was nothing more to be discovered, and indeed he scarcely felt that he needed to discover more, for his uneasiness had already been largely dissipated by action. He lay down again, and tried to sleep.

This time he was successful. How long he slept he did not know. He suddenly awoke, and at the first moment of consciousness remembered the ostler's tune; he identified it now; it was something like Fanshawe's song of "Widdicombe Fair". He was not enough of a musician to decide how close was the resemblance; country songs of different nations were, he supposed, often alike. Glad that his puzzlement was gone, he settled himself once more to sleep.

All at once his senses were roused to full activity by the sound of two or more horses approaching the inn, at a walk, as he knew by the fall of the hoofs. It was very late for travellers; besides, travellers would probably have ridden up at a trot; he wondered who the riders could be, and listened intently. In a few moments the sounds ceased; then through the open window came the murmur of low voices. Springing quietly out of bed, he went to the window and peeped cautiously out. Five men were leading their horses into the copse immediately opposite to the inn. The short squat figure of one of them reminded him of the farmer whom he had seen with the landlord a few hours before; he seemed the shorter by contrast with the next man, a tall massive figure. They went quietly, and disappeared into the copse; soon afterwards four of them emerged from the trees and approached the inn. Not a word was spoken; the men were apparently walking on tiptoe; but there came the slight sound of a door opening and closing, then dead silence again.

By this time Harry was as wide-awake as ever he had been in his life. His uneasiness returned in full force, and was now magnified into suspicion. The landlord's furtive look and unsatisfactory manner; the story of the closing of the gates of Urach; his lame explanation about the room; the absence of a fastening to the trap-door; the disappearance of the landlord's forbidding companion; the reappearance of the same man with a number of others; their stealthy movements, and the fact that they had tied their horses up in the copse instead of bringing them into the courtyard--all these were links in a chain of suspicious circumstance, of little significance singly, but disturbing when taken together. And the stableman's tune--what did that mean? Was it actually the tune of "Widdicombe Fair", and not merely one resembling it? Had the ostler heard it from Fanshawe's lips? Was he on the track of the explanation of the disappearance of one of Marlborough's messengers?

Quickly and noiselessly Harry slipped on his clothes. His first duty was, of course, to deliver the duke's letter; nothing must interfere with that. His suspicions might be utterly groundless, but on the other hand they might be only too well justified. He must be on the safe side; it was necessary to put himself out of harm's way.

Only one staircase led to his room: it sprang from the narrow entrance-hall of the inn, on each side of which were the doors of the rooms on the ground floor. He could scarcely hope to be able to pass down, however stealthily, without being discovered; and even if he did succeed in this and left the inn, he would be immediately seen by the fifth man, who, he guessed, had been left in the copse to keep watch on the front door. The staircase being given up, there remained only the window and the trap-door. By placing the chair upon the bed and mounting it he might manage to swing himself up through the trap-door; but it flashed upon him that if any mischief were intended the midnight visitors would certainly approach through the attic or loft above. He remembered passing, at the head of the stairs, a door which he had taken to be that of a cupboard; it might be the entrance to a stair leading to the loft, and if he tried that exit he would certainly be in an even worse trap.

A glance from the window determined his choice. There was a drop of about fifteen feet from it to the roof of the outbuilding. In the moonlight he caught sight of what appeared to be the top of a drain-pipe from the roof of this lower building to the ground. The drain-pipe would form an easy means of descent could he gain the roof. There was only one way to do that: to descend by aid of a rope. Without hesitation he drew the thin coverlet from the bed, and tore it across the middle. Knotting the two pieces together he rolled up a clumsy but serviceable rope. The window was only two feet from the bed-post. He tied the rope to this, slung his boots round his neck, wrapped his scabbard in a corner cut from the blanket, to prevent its clanking, and prepared to descend.

It was fortunate that the window was already open, for the creaking of the frame might have attracted attention. There was a risk that the man in the copse might see him as he got through the window; but the moon was now above the house, and the overhanging roof cast a deep shadow over all below.

He had his hand on the broad window-sill, preparing to begin the descent, when an idea gave him pause. How ridiculous he must appear if his suspicions turned out to be baseless, and he had slunk like a thief from the house! How humiliating would be his situation if he were caught in the act and treated as a doubtful character! He could not be suspected of stealing; there was nothing to steal; but he might be thought to be running away without paying. He could prevent that, at any rate. He put a gold piece on the chair.

"That's double pay," he thought.

But still he hesitated. No man cares to look a fool, and he would certainly look very foolish if his imagination proved to have run away with him. But what is that? A slight creak on the stairs, then another. Now a faint rustle outside the door. Holding his breath he listens. Yes, the supposed cupboard door is being opened; a moment, then he hears the faint but unmistakable creak of footsteps on the crazy stairs leading to the attic. He hesitates no longer. In two minutes at the most the intruders will have come through the trap-door into the room. Throwing one leg over the window-sill, he grasps his rope with one hand and the sill with the other; over goes the other leg, and now he is hanging by the frail rope. He feels the soft material yield to his weight; it is stretched to its full extent; it holds! He needs it for only a few feet. Down he glides: his feet touch the slates of the outhouse; now he is in full view from the copse save that a chimney-stack on the roof throws a black shadow all around him. Will he escape notice? Keeping the chimney between him and the copse he crawls slowly over the slates and finds as he had hoped that the rain-water pipe is out of sight. He slips over, grasps the pipe, and is half-way down when there is a noise in the room above; and as his feet at last touch the ground he sees two faces at the open window and hears loud shouts.

He had already resolved on a risky experiment; it appeared his only chance of escape. He had noticed that the country around, though hilly, was bare of vegetation except about the inn, where trees had been planted to tempt wayfarers. He knew that as soon as he got away from the buildings his figure would be seen in the bright moonbeams, and he was bound to be ridden down. The shouts from the window might be expected for the moment to hold the attention of the man on the watch. Relying on this, Harry darted across the road in the shadow of the outbuildings and dived into the copse some twenty or thirty yards from the place where the men had entered with the horses. Bending low, moving rapidly, yet with all possible caution, among the trees, he bore to the left towards the single watcher, whom he could now hear on the road shouting in answer to the men in the house. Harry could not distinguish their words, but judged from the vehemence of their tone and his own consciousness of his design that they were bawling to the sentinel to return to the horses he had left. It was a question which should reach them first. The copse was almost dark; a glint of light from the moon filtered through the foliage here and there. Running in his stockings Harry made no noise; but he could already hear the heavy trampling of the man as he plunged through the trees somewhere to his left.

Suddenly he came to a narrow clearing; on the other side he saw the horses tethered to the trees. Keeping just within the edge of the copse he ran round at his utmost speed towards the animals, and just before he reached them saw that their guardian had arrived at the end of the clearing nearest to the road and had stopped in the attitude of listening. There was much hubbub from the direction of the inn, and by the sounds Harry knew that several men were crossing the road towards the copse. The horses were between him and the solitary sentinel. Coming to the nearest, he cast off its bridle, then, vaulting to the saddle, he drew his sword and cut the bridles of the others, which were standing head to head, loosely attached to the projecting branch of a small tree. The man gave a shout and rushed forward when he saw Harry on the horse. It was a moment for quick decision. Smartly hitting the four intervening horses with the flat of his sword, Harry set them scampering through the edge of the copse. The man could not evade them, and in a moment he was knocked down. Harry meanwhile, trusting to the darkness, followed on the heels of two horses which were heading through the clearing towards the inn. At the outer edge of the copse he was encountered by two men who attempted to catch his rein. Toppling one over and cutting at the other he gained the highway; then set his borrowed steed to a gallop and rode on towards Urach. "A near shave!" he thought. He stopped a few hundred yards from the walls to put on his boots, then rode up to the gate.

It was shut, and he had some difficulty in rousing the gatekeeper. When the man came at length to his summons, he refused point-blank to allow the rider to enter.

"I can't wait," cried Harry. "Seek the officer of the watch; I'll not answer for what may happen if you delay me."

The gatekeeper went away grumbling and returned with the lieutenant of the town guard, who held a pistol and asked Harry's business.

"I am on a mission for my lord Marlborough," said Harry. "This letter from his Excellency Count Wratislaw will satisfy you."

The officer tried to read the letter by the light of the moon, but finding this impossible, waited until the gate-keeper had lit his horn lantern. Then, having read the letter, he ordered the man to open the gate.

"Will you ride farther to-night, Monsieur?" he asked.

"No, I am dog tired," replied Harry. "Will you direct me to a lodging?"

"Permit me to offer you the hospitality of my own quarters. The inns are all closed, of course; you are a very late traveller, Monsieur."

"Yes, I have been somewhat delayed on the road. If you will give me sleeping quarters for a few hours I shall be obliged to you."

In less than a quarter of an hour he was fast asleep. At four he was wakened, according to instructions given before he turned in. Stiff and sore as he was, he meant to ride on at once, for the sooner his mission was completed the sooner would he have the opportunity of seeking an explanation with the innkeeper, which he promised himself should be a thorough one. The lieutenant of the guard, a pleasant fellow, had a light breakfast ready, and was eager to give information about the road. From him Harry learnt that the highway to Biberach would lead through the lines of Prince Louis of Baden. Though he had no instructions to avoid the prince's army, he thought it very probable that he would best serve the duke by preventing gossip. So, finding that by diverging somewhat to the right and taking the road by Riedlingen he would pass outside Prince Louis's lines and lose little time, he decided to adopt this course. Thanking his entertainer, and promising to call on him on the way back, he set off on his ride. Not a word had he said about his adventure at the inn. It would be time to deal with that when his duty was done.

Harry rode a hundred miles that day, reaching the town of Immenstadt in the evening. He met with no adventure on the way; he found ready service at the inns at which he stopped to change horses, rest, and eat. But at the day's end he felt all but worn out. The sun had shone brilliantly, scorching his face, neck, and hands, and causing much discomfort to his horses. They suffered, however, less than he, for while the steeds were changed at short stages, the rider was always the same. He got some little relief by walking up the steepest hills along the road. His physical state and his preoccupation made him oblivious of the scenes through which he passed; afterwards he had but the vaguest recollections of hill ridges, bosky dells, blue lakes, and dark masses of rock, with a miry road winding among them, and here and there inns where he was thankful to rest awhile.

He slept that night at Immenstadt, rose reluctantly early next morning, and started for what he hoped was the last stage of his journey. About ten o'clock he arrived at the little village of Obermiemingen. As he rode in, he noted signs of excitement in the street. The whole population seemed to be gathered about the inn. At the door stood a heavy travelling coach with four horses, two of them saddled for postilions. His arrival diverted the attention of some of the peasants to himself, and they parted to make way for him. Dismounting stiffly he went to the inn-door and called for the host. After some time a servant came to him and explained that mine host was engaged at that moment with his Excellency Prince Eugene of Savoy, who had driven up shortly before attended by two officers and thirty troopers.

"Then I am in luck's way," said Harry. "I have a letter to his Excellency: conduct me to his room."

Two minutes later he found himself in the presence of the renowned soldier: the man who, mocked at in the French court as the "little abbe" and refused employment by King Louis, had ever since lived for nothing else but to prove himself a thorn in that monarch's side. He was of somewhat less than the middle height, dark-complexioned, with refined though not small features, and large flashing eyes. Harry presented his letter; the prince having read it, laughed and said:

"My lord Marlborough is anxious, Monsieur. But a few hours ago I received a message from him--dated several days back, it is true: you have had better fortune than the first messenger. The letter was brought to me at Innsprueck by a farmer from the Swabian Alb; the courier, an officer of my lord Marlborough, had fallen from his horse, it appears, and being conveyed to a cottage the children had made free with his wallet while he himself lay insensible and their elders were attending upon him. For myself, I suspect it was the elders who were curious. But the letter contained no more than this one you have brought, so their curiosity reaped but little gratification.--Now, are you to carry my answer to my lord?"

"If your Excellency wishes," said Harry, "but my lord duke told me I might use another hand if I were fatigued."

"And that you certainly are. You must have come at great speed, and I will not tax you further. Very well. I am proceeding to Immenstadt; there I shall await a communication from Vienna, and then go directly forward to my meeting with the duke. I will acquaint him of my design by a messenger of my own. Pray refresh yourself now, Monsieur."

In a few minutes the prince drove off with his escort, and Harry enjoyed a sort of reflected importance. He was given the best the inn could afford, and provided, after some delay and difficulty--his request was almost incomprehensible to the landlord--with the luxury of a bath. He remained in Obermiemingen until the heat of the day had spent itself, then cantered easily back to Immenstadt, where for the first time for many days he slept the round of the clock. Reporting himself to Prince Eugene next morning, he learnt that the expected messenger from Vienna had not yet arrived, and having nothing to detain him there he started on the road back. There was no need for hurry; that day he rode seventy miles, to Riedlingen; then next morning he went on to Urach, where he at once looked up the amiable lieutenant of the guard who had treated him so well on his way through.

"You are back then, Monsieur?" said the lieutenant, greeting him heartily. "I did not tell you before, but the truth is I was not at all sure you would reach your destination safely."

"And you didn't wish to frighten me! But why, Monsieur?"

"There are bands of marauders in the hills; deserters, broken men, and what not, ready to snap up any unsuspecting traveller who promises to be worth it. They have done much damage in the neighbourhood, robbing and plundering undefended farms and hamlets, and though we are strong enough here to beat them off we cannot risk an expedition against them, and Prince Louis of Baden is too much occupied, I suppose, to give any heed to our requests for assistance."

"Well, Monsieur," said Harry, "I was not ignorant of what you have told me. And indeed I want to ask your help in a matter not unconnected with it. Two messengers from my lord Marlborough's army have disappeared somewhere in these parts; I think I have a clue to their fate, and wish to follow it up. Can you procure me the services of a stout, sensible fellow to ride with me?--a man thoroughly to be depended on, and one who will face danger if need be."

"I know the very man," said the officer instantly; "one Max Berens, who was servant to a French officer until the beginning of the war, but, refusing to fight against his own people, is now out of employment. He is a young fellow, strong, honest, intelligent; I know him well. I will send for him."

Harry liked the look of Max Berens when he appeared. He reminded him not a little of Sherebiah, of whom he might have been a younger and a slighter copy. Max readily accepted Harry's offer of a week's service, and promised to be ready with horses at seven o'clock that same evening.

At that hour the two rode north towards the wayside inn. On the way Harry asked Max if he knew anything of the landlord.

"Little enough, Monsieur. He's a sly fellow, and demands high prices; but there, the same could be said of any innkeeper."

As they drew near the inn they made a detour, and, entering the copse from the farther side, tied up their horses and came through the trees. Dusk had already fallen, and as the sky was overcast the evening was blacker than is usual at the time of year. The inn was in darkness except for a light in the kitchen. Followed by Max, Harry emerged from the copse, crossed the road, and rapped smartly on the closed door. It was opened almost immediately by the landlord himself, who, seeing two men on foot, and not recognizing Harry in the darkness, said: