CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW.
After this it fared with us as it fares at last with the driftwoodthat chance or the woodman's axe has given to a forest stream inHeritzburg. After rippling over the shallows and shooting giddily downslopes--or perchance lying cooped for days in some dark bend, untilthe splash of the otter or the spring freshet has sent it dancing onin sunshine and shadow--it reaches at last the Werra. It floats out onthe bosom of the great stream, and no longer tossed and chafed by eachtiny pebble, feels the force of wind and stream--the great forces ofthe world. The banks recede from sight, and one of a million atoms, itis borne on gently and irresistibly, whither it does not know. So itwas with us. From the day we fell in with Count Leuchtenstein and setour faces towards Nuremberg, and in a greater degree after we reachedthat city, we embarked on a wider current of adventure, a fuller andless selfish life. If we had still our own cares and griefs, hopes andperils--as must be the case, I suppose, until we die--we had othercommon ones which we shared with tens of thousands, rich and poor,gentle and simple. We had to dread sack and storm; we prayed forrelief and safety in company with all who rose and lay down within thewalls. When a hundred waggons of corn slipped through the Croats andcame in, or Duke Bernard of Weimar beat up a corner of the Burgstalland gave Wallenstein a bad night, we ran out into the streets to telland hear the news. Similarly, when tidings came that Tzerclas with histwo thousand ruffians had burned the King of Sweden's colours, put ongreen sashes, and marched into the enemy's camp, we were not alone inour gloomy anticipations. We still had our private adventures, and Iam going to tell them. But besides these, it should be remembered thatwe ran the risks, and rose every morning fresh to the fears, ofNuremberg. When bread rose to ten, to fifteen, to twenty times itsnormal price; when the city, where many died every day of famine,plague, and wounds, began to groan and heave in its misery; whenthrough all the country round the peasants crawled and died among thedead; when Wallenstein, that dark man, heedless of the fearfulmortality in his own camp, still sat implacable on the heights andrefused all the king's invitations to battle, we grew pale and gloomy,stern-eyed and thin-cheeked with the rest. We dreamed of Magdeburg asthey did; and as the hot August days passed slowly over the starvingcity and still no end appeared, but only with each day some additionof misery, we felt our hearts sink in unison with theirs.
And we had to share, not their lot only, but their labours. We had notbeen in the town twenty-four hours before Steve, Jacob, and Ernst wereenrolled in the town militia; to me, either out of respect to my lady,or on account of my stature, a commission as lieutenant was granted.We drilled every morning from six o'clock until eight in the fieldsoutside the New Gate; the others went again at sunset to practisetheir weapons, but I was exempt from this drill, that the women mightnot be left alone. At all times we had our appointed rendezvous incase of alarm or assault. The Swedish veterans strolled out of thecamp and stood to laugh at our clumsiness. But the excellent orderwhich prevailed among them made them favourites, and we let themlaugh, and laughed again.
The Waldgrave, who had long had Duke Bernard's promise, received aregiment of horse, so that he lay in the camp and should have been acontented man, since his strength had come back to him. But to mysurprise he showed signs of lukewarmness. He seemed little interestedin the service, and was often at my lady's house in the RitterStrasse, when he would have been better at his post. At first I setthis down to his passion for my lady, and it seemed excusable; butwithin a week I stood convinced that this no longer troubled him. Hepaid scant attention to her, but would sit for hours looking moodilyinto the street. And I--and not I alone--began to watch him closely.
I soon found that Count Hugo was right. The once gallant and splendidyoung fellow was a changed man. He was still comely and a bravefigure, but the spirit in him was quenched. He was nervous, absent,irritable. His eyes had a wild look; on strangers he made anunfavourable impression. Doubtless, though his wounds had healed,there remained some subtle injury that spoiled the man; and often Icaught my lady looking at him sadly, and knew that I was not the onlyone with cause for mourning.
But how strange he was we did not know until a certain day, when mylady and I were engaged together over some accounts. It was evening,and the three men were away drilling. The house was very quiet.Suddenly he flung in upon us with a great noise, his colour high, hiseyes glittering. His first action was to throw his feathered hat onone chair, and himself into another.
'I've seen him!' he said. 'Himmel! he is a clever fellow. He willworst you, cousin, yet--see if he does not. Oh, he is a clever one!'
'Who?' my lady said, looking at him in some displeasure.
'Who? Tzerclas, to be sure!' he answered, chuckling.
'You have seen him!' she exclaimed, rising.
'Of course I have!' he answered. 'And you will see him too, one ofthese days.'
My lady looked at me, frowning. But I shook my head. He was not drunk.
'Where?' she asked, after a pause. 'Where did you see him, Rupert?'
'In the street--where you see other men,' he answered, chucklingagain. 'He should not be there, but who is to keep him out? He is tooclever. He will get his way in the end, see if he does not!'
'Rupert!' my lady cried in wrathful amazement, 'to hear you, one wouldsuppose you admired him.'
'So I do,' he replied coolly. 'Why not? He has all the wits of thefamily. He is as cunning as the devil. Take a hint, cousin; putyourself on the right side. He will win in the end!' And the Waldgraverose restlessly from his chair, and, going to the window, began towhistle.
My lady came swiftly to me, and it grieved me to see the pain and woein her face.
'Is he mad?' she muttered.
I shook my head.
'Do you think he has really seen him?' she whispered. We both stoodwith our eyes on him.
'I fear so, my lady,' I said with reluctance.
'But it would cost _him_ his life,' she muttered eagerly, 'if he werefound here!'
'He is a bold man,' I answered.
'Ah! so was he--once,' she replied in a peculiar tone, and she pointedstealthily to the unconscious man in the window. 'A month ago he wouldhave taken him by the throat anywhere. What has come to him?'
'God knows,' I answered reverently. 'Grant only he may do us no harm!'
He turned round at that, humming gaily, and went out, seeming almostunconscious of our presence; and I made as light of the matter to mylady as I could. But Tzerclas in the city, the Waldgrave mad, or atany rate not sane, and last, but not least, the strange light in whichthe latter chose to regard the former, were circumstances I could noteasily digest. They filled me with uneasy fears and surmises. I beganto perambulate the crowd, seeking furtively for a face; and wasentirely determined what I would do if I found it. The town was full,as all besieged cities are, of rumours of spies and treachery, and ofreported overtures made now to the city behind the back of the army,and now to the army to betray the city. A single word of denunciation,and Tzerclas' life would not be worth three minutes' purchase--a ropeand the nearest butcher's hook would end it. My mind was made up tosay the word.
I suppose I had been going about in this state of vigilance three daysor more, when something, but not the thing I sought, rewarded it. Atthe time I was on my way back from morning drill. It was a littleafter eight, and the streets and the people wore an air bright, yethaggard. Night, with its perils, was over; day, with its privations,lay before us. My mind was on the common fortunes, but I suppose myeyes were mechanically doing their work, for on a sudden I sawsomething at a window, took perhaps half a step, and stopped as if Ihad been shot.
I had seen Marie's face! Nay, I still saw it, while a man might counttwo. Then it was gone. And I stood gasping.
I suppose I stood so for half a minute, waiting, with the blood racingfrom my heart to my head, and every pulse in my body beating. But shedid not reappear. The door of the house did not open. Nothingh
appened.
Yet I had certainly seen her; for I remembered particulars--theexpression of her face, the surprise that had leapt into her eyes asthey met mine, the opening of the lips in an exclamation.
And still I stood gazing at the window and nothing happened.
At last I came to myself, and I scanned the house. It was a largehouse of four stories, three gables in width. The upper stories juttedout; the beams on which they rested were finely carved, the gableswere finished off with rich, wooden pinnacles. In each story, thelowest excepted, were three long, low windows of the common Nurembergtype, and the whole had a substantial and reputable air.
The window at which I had seen Marie was farthest from the door, onthe first floor. To go to the door I had to lose sight of it, andperhaps for that reason I stood the longer. At last I went andknocked, and waited in a fever for some one to come. The street was athoroughfare. There were a number of people passing. I thought thatall the town would go by before a dragging foot at last soundedinside, and the great nail-studded door was opened on the chain. Astout, red-faced woman showed herself in the aperture.
'What is it?' she asked.
'You have a girl in this house, named Marie Wort,' I answeredbreathlessly. 'I saw her a moment ago at the window. I know her, and Iwish to speak to her.'
The woman's little eyes dwelt on me stolidly for a space. Then shemade as if she would shut the door. 'For shame!' she said spitefully.'We have no girls here. Begone with you!'
But I put my foot against the door. 'Whose house is this?' I said.
'Herr Krapp's,' she answered crustily.
'Is he at home?'
'No, he is not,' she retorted; 'and if he were, we have no baggageshere.' And again she tried to shut the door, but I prevented her.
'Where is he?' I asked sternly.
'He is at morning drill, if you must know,' she snapped; 'and his twosons. Now, will you let me shut my door? Or must I cry out?'
'Nonsense, mother!' I said. 'Who is in the house besides yourself?'
'What is that to you?' she replied, breathing short.
'I have told you,' I said, trying to control my anger. 'I----'
But, quick as lightning, the door slammed to and cut me short. I hadthoughtlessly moved my foot. I heard the woman chuckle and go slipshoddown the passage, and though I knocked again in a rage, the doorremained closed.
I fell back and looked at the house. An elderly man in a grave, soberdress was passing, among others, and I caught his eye.
'Whose house is that?' I asked him.
'Herr Krapp's,' he answered.
'I am a stranger,' I said. 'Is he a man of substance?'
The person I addressed smiled. 'He is a member of the Council ofSafety,' he said dryly. 'His brother is prefect of this ward. But hereis Herr Krapp. Doubtless he has been at St. Sebald's drilling.'
I thanked him, and made but two steps to Herr Krapp's side. He was theother's twin--elderly, soberly dressed, his only distinction a swordand pistol in his girdle and a white shoulder sash.
'Herr Krapp?' I said.
'The same,' he answered, eying me gravely.
'I am the Countess of Heritzburg's steward,' I said. I began to seethe need of explanation. 'Doubtless you have heard that she is in thecity?'
'Certainly,' he answered. 'In the Ritter Strasse.'
'Yes,' I replied. 'A fortnight ago she missed a young woman, one ofher attendants. She was lost in a night adventure,' I continued, mythroat dry and husky. 'A few minutes ago I saw her looking from one ofyour windows.'
'From one of my windows?' he exclaimed in a tone of surprise.
'Yes,' I said stiffly.
He opened his eyes wide. 'Here?' he said. He pointed to his house.
I nodded.
'Impossible!' he replied, shutting his lips suddenly. 'Quiteimpossible, my friend. My household consists of my two sons andmyself. We have a housekeeper only, and two lads. I have no youngwomen in the house.'
'Yet I saw her face, Herr Krapp, at your window,' I answeredobstinately.
'Wait,' he said; 'I will ask.'
But when the old housekeeper came she had only the same tale to tell.She was alone. No young woman had crossed the threshold for a weekpast. There was no other woman there, young or old.
'You will have it that I have a young man in the house next!' shegrumbled, shooting scorn at me.
'I can assure you that there is no one here,' Herr Krapp said civilly.'Dorcas has been with me many years, and I can trust her. Still if youlike you can walk through the rooms.'
But I hesitated to do that. The man's manner evidenced his sincerity,and in face of it my belief wavered. Fancy, I began to think, hadplayed me a trick. It was no great wonder if the features which wereoften before me in my dreams, and sometimes painted themselves on thedarkness while I lay wakeful, had for once taken shape in thedaylight, and so vividly as to deceive me. I apologised. I said whatwas proper, and, with a heavy sigh, went from the door.
Ay, and with bent head. The passing crowd and the sunshine and thedistant music of drum and trumpet grated on me. For there was yetanother explanation. And I feared that Marie was dead.
I was still brooding sadly over the matter when I reached home. Stevemet me at the door, but, feeling in no mood for small talk just then,I would have passed him by and gone in, if he had not stopped me.
'I have a message for you, lieutenant,' he said.
'What is it?' I asked without curiosity.
'A little boy gave it to me at the door,' he answered. 'I was to askyou to be in the street opposite Herr Krapp's half an hour aftersunset this evening.'
I gasped. 'Herr Krapp's!' I exclaimed.
Steve nodded, looking at me queerly. 'Yes; do you know him?' he said.
'I do now,' I muttered, gulping down my amazement. But my face was asred as fire, the blood drummed in my ears. I had to turn away to hidemy emotion. 'What was the boy like?' I asked.
But it seemed that the lad had made off the moment he had done hiserrand, and Steve had not noticed him particularly. 'I called afterhim to know who sent him,' he added, 'but he had gone too far.'
I nodded and mumbled something, and went on into the house. Perhaps Iwas still a little sore on my girl's account, and resented the easyway in which she had dropped out of others' lives. At any rate, myinstinct was to keep the thing to myself. The face at the window, andthen this strange assignation, could have only one meaning; but, goodor bad, it was for me. And I hugged myself on it, and said nothingeven to my lady.
The day seemed long, but at length the evening came, and when themen had gone to drill and the house was quiet, I slipped out. Thestreets were full at this hour of men passing to and fro to theirdrill-stations, and of women who had been out to see the camp, andwere returning before the gates closed. The bells of many of thechurches were ringing; some had services. I had to push my way toreach Herr Krapp's house in time; but once there the crowd of passersserved my purpose by screening me, as I loitered, from farther remark;while I took care, by posting myself in a doorway opposite the window,to make it easy for any one who expected me to find me.
And then I waited with my heart beating. The clocks were striking ahalf after seven when I took my place, and for a time I stood in aferment of excitement, now staring with bated breath at the casement,where I had seen Marie, now scanning all the neighbouring doorways,and then again letting my eyes rove from window to window both ofKrapp's house and the next one on either side. As the latter werebuilt with many quaint oriels, and tiny dormers, and had lattices inside-nooks, where one least looked to find them, I was kept expectingand employed. I was never quite sure, look where I would, what eyeswere upon me.
But little by little, as time passed and nothing happened, and thestrollers all went by without accosting me, and no faces save strangeones showed at the windows, the heat of expectation left me. The chillof disappointment took its place. I began to doubt and fear. Theclocks struck eight. The sun had been down an hour. Half that time Ihad been wa
iting.
To remain passive was no longer bearable, and sick of caution, Istepped out and began to walk up and down the street, courting ratherthan avoiding notice. The traffic was beginning to slacken. I couldsee farther and mark people at a distance; but still no one spoke tome, no one came to me. Here and there lights began to shine in thehouses, on gleaming oak ceilings and carved mantels. The roofs weregrowing black against the paling sky. In nooks and corners it wasdark. The half-hour sounded, and still I walked, fighting down doubt,clinging to hope.
But when another quarter had gone by, doubt became conviction. I hadbeen fooled! Either some one who had seen me loitering at Krapp's inthe morning and heard my tale had gone straight off, and played methis trick; or--Gott im Himmel!--or I had been lured here that I mightbe out of the way at home.
That thought, which should have entered my thick head an hour before,sped me from the street, as if it had been a very catapult. Before Ireached the corner I was running; and I ran through street afterstreet, sweating with fear. But quickly as I went, my thoughtsoutpaced me. My lady was alone save for her women. The men weredrilling, the Waldgrave was in the camp. The crowded state of thestreets at sunset, and the number of strangers who thronged the cityfavoured certain kinds of crime; in a great crowd, as in a greatsolitude, everything is possible.
I had this in my mind. Judge, then, of my horror, when, as Iapproached the Ritter Strasse, I became aware of a dull, roaringsound; and hastening to turn the corner, saw a large mob gathered infront of our house, and filling the street from wall to wall. Theglare of torches shone on a thousand upturned faces, and flamed from ahundred casements. At the windows, on the roofs, peering overbalconies and coping-stones and gables, and looking out of doorwayswere more faces, all red in the torchlight. And all the time as thesmoking light rose and fell, the yelling, as it seemed to me, rose andfell with it--now swelling into a stern roar of exultation, nowsinking into an ugly, snarling noise, above which a man might hear hisneighbour speak.
I seized the first I came to--a man standing on the skirts of the mob,and rather looking on than taking part. 'What is it?' I said, shakinghim roughly by the arm. 'What is the matter here?'
'Hallo!' he answered, starting as he turned to me. 'Is it you again,my friend?'
I had hit on Herr Krapp!' Yes!' I cried breathlessly. 'What is it?what is amiss?'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'They are hanging a spy,' he answered.'Nothing more. Irregular, but wholesome.'
I drew a deep breath. 'Is that all?' I said.
He eyed me curiously. 'To be sure,' he said. 'What did you think itwas?'
'I feared that there might be something wrong at my lady's,' I said,beginning to get my breath again. 'I left her alone at sunset. Andwhen I saw this crowd before the house I--I could almost have cut offmy hand. Thank God, I was mistaken!'
He looked at me again and seemed to reflect a moment. Then he said,'You have not found the young woman you were seeking?'
I shook my head.
'Well, it occurred to me afterwards--but at which window did you seeher?'
'At a window on the first floor; the farthest from the door,' Ianswered.
'The second from the door end of the house?' he asked.
'No, the third.'
He nodded with an air of quiet triumph. 'Just so!' he said. 'I thoughtso afterwards. But the fact is, my friend, my house ends with thesecond gable. The third gable-end does not belong to it, thoughdoubtless it once did.'
'No?' I exclaimed. And for a moment I stood taken aback, cursing mycarelessness. Then I stammered, 'But this third gable--I saw no doorin it, Herr Krapp.'
'No, the door is in another street,' he answered. 'Or rather it openson the churchyard at the back of St. Austin's. So you may have seenher after all. Well, I wish you well,' he continued. 'I must begoing.'
The crowd was beginning to separate, moving away by twos and threes,talking loudly. The lights were dying down. He nodded and was gone;while I still stood gaping. For how did the matter stand? If I hadreally seen Marie at the window--as seemed possible now--and ifnothing turned out to be amiss at home, then I had not been trickedafter all, and the message was genuine. True she had not kept herappointment. But she might be in durance, or one of a hundred thingsmight have frustrated her intention.
Still I could do nothing now except go home, and cutting short myspeculations, I forced myself through the press, and with some labourmanaged to reach the door. As I did so I turned to look back, and thesight, though the people were moving away fast, was sufficientlystriking. Almost opposite us in a beetling archway, the bowed head andshoulders of a man stood up above the common level. There was a littlespace round him, whence men held back; and the red glow of thesmouldering links which the executioners had cast on the ground at hisfeet, shone upwards on his swollen lips and starting eyeballs. As Ilooked, the body seemed to writhe in its bonds; but it was only thewind swayed it. I went in shuddering.
On the stairs I met Count Hugo coming down, and knew the moment I sawhim that there was something wrong. He stopped me, his eyes full ofwrath.
'My man,' he said sternly, 'I thought that you were to be trusted!Where have you been? What have you been doing? _Donner!_ Is your ladyto be left at dark with no one to man this door?'
Conscience-stricken, I muttered that I hoped nothing had gone amiss.
'No, but something easily might!' he answered grimly. 'When I camehere I found three as ugly looking rogues whispering and peering inyour doorway as man could wish to see! Yes, Master Martin, and if Ihad not ridden up at that moment I will not answer for it, that theywould not have been in! It is a pity a few more knaves are not wherethat one is,' he continued sourly, pointing through the open door. 'Wecould spare them. But do you see and have more care for the future.Or, mein Gott, I will take other measures, my friend!'
So it had been a ruse after all! I went up sick at heart.
My Lady Rotha: A Romance Page 27
