THE frowning and forbiddingly gloomy slope of the hillside across the gorge to the East showed clear against the sulphur streak in the sky, when the lumbering vehicle drew up before the porch and the order came to start.

Morton in short serviceable sheep furs that set off his square shoulders and powerful chest, helped the ladies into their wagon-recess. The horses strained and pulled; the sled-runners squeaked and scratched but luckily held; the drivers, by turns, coaxed and threatened, prayed and swore, until at last the vehicle was gotten under way. Papiu walked at the head of the horses, Donald handled the reins while the younger of the brothers, astride the leader, encouraged the animals in the subtle, mysterious ways which only the experienced teamster knows. As they emerged from the protection of the firs and the thick undergrowth the road became brighter and sloped perceptibly towards the narrow valley which marked the location of the mountain road leading to the West.

John, who was following on behind the vehicle which had now become in reality a sled on wheels, aided the runners, with the help of a stout stick. There was no opportunity for conversation.

The girls, snugly wrapped in furs, sat in silence observing the mighty efforts of the men and after a while picked up sufficient courage to inquire if they could not aid the poor animals by walking. Morton shook his head and begged them to remain where they were, for the present. Later on, when the climb would begin, he might ask them to do what they had suggested.

With many oaths and imprecations on the part of the men and with not a few misgivings on the part of the girls, the valley was finally reached. They then removed the appended runners and hid their tracks as best they could. They followed the fairly firm road-bed winding along the banks of a noisy mountain stream, and struck off to the North.

The stars were shining brightly, the narrow crescent of the pale moon had risen high and clear above the mountain slopes and timber, the rattle and clatter of the wagon had ceased and instead was heard the crunching of crisp snow on frozen ground.

The road wound through densely wooded inclines, over rocky bare stretches without a semblance of cultivation or a sign of human dwelling. From time to time an owl would flit across their path. Their progress was accompanied by the sound of rushing waters, the heavy breathing of the laboring horses and the occasional creak of a breaking twig.

HelÈne had noticed that John’s rifle was lying across the opening at the rear of the wagon and saw that he himself had fastened his cartridge belt over his fur coat. The other men also had their rifles ready and their pistols in their belts. Papiu, she saw, had been sent forward, as a scout. With trepidation she asked Morton if he expected an attack.

John smiled and reassured her. At the same time, he told her, it was best to be prepared for any emergency. The wires had all been cut from Padina and the South, and as they were traveling on the only road leading to the Aluta Valley, they must be on the alert.

At that moment, a short sharp call rang out in the distance and the horses were halted. John rushed hurriedly away. HelÈne was left in anxious expectation, but he returned after a few minutes’ absence and explained that the delay was due to a tree which had fallen across the road, and which had now been removed. If she wished, she and the Princess could now leave the wagon and walk.

The Princess was too tired, but HelÈne was delighted at the suggestion. She clambered out of the vehicle and joined Morton.

The moon had now reached the high heavens and spread its gentle light silvering the entire snow-covered landscape. Looking back on the road they were traveling she saw the deep furrows made by the wheels of the wagon edged with glinting crystals. The rare mountain air sent the blood tingling through her veins. She experienced a sense of renewed strength and her supple and strong limbs marched to the musical rhythm of her thoughts. A delightful feeling of comradeship with this man by whose side she was walking pervaded her. She felt content, quite happily content that it should be so. How strange it was that she should be so perfectly at ease with one whom she had known but three days!

As for John his heart beat time to her steps. He was ever ready to help her over a tree-stump or a stone. He chatted ceaselessly of his hunting expeditions in America, of his enjoyment of the present adventure, of the beauty of the Carpathian landscape. And all the time HelÈne noted his eyes were everywhere, taking in everything, noting the least untoward sound. A capital companion and a chivalrous protector, surely, was this stranger from America! Unconsciously, his bearing transmitted its spirit to her. The noble blood in her asserted itself and she walked more erectly and felt a new desire steal into her heart, to help and be of service to others. Thus did they climb together the rocky ascent, each thinking of the other and both happy in their thoughts.

The moonlight which had grown paler and more mysterious now gradually gave way to the first hazy drab of the dawn. They had reached the more rugged parts of the mountains where the ribbed cliffs lay exposed, uncovered by snow. Sparse brown patches of grass and withered ferns showed on the small open spaces. A bleak wind which had risen and was sweeping over the unfriendly landscape made the air bitingly cold. John threw occasional glances at the girl by his side and noted with pain her pale, haggard face, the eyes bright from the exercise, the parted lips almost blue with the cold. But he also saw that she was happy. What a splendid, noble-hearted creature, he thought, was this! And then the longing arose in him again to tell her of what he felt—to speak to her of his heart’s desires; but he restrained himself, although it cost him a great effort to do so. HelÈne, all unconscious of the emotions she had excited in Morton, would look at him, from time to time, silently thank him with a smile and a grateful glance, gladly accepting the helping arm he proffered. Her little hand rested there with easy confidence, the while her silvery laughter rang out in the clear air when the obstacle had been overcome or avoided. And all the way John kept thinking: “I have found the pearl of the land—I have found her and am taking her home—home to comfort and love. Do you love me, my queen? Shall I win you in the end?”

At that moment, a low exclamation of warning came from Mihai who was leading the tired horses. John and HelÈne looked anxiously before them and saw the advance guard holding up his rifle and waving his hand. Donald also was motioning to Morton to come forward. Urging HelÈne gently into the wagon, John seized his rifle and bounded forward. He found the men crouching behind a rock and learned that Papiu had gone on to investigate.

The girls, in the meantime, sat huddled close together in the wagon, wondering what had happened. They listened intently, but could hear nothing but a sound like the loud cracking as of a whip, which was repeated several times and then ceased altogether. The Princess was trembling from fear. She begged her companion to let her go out, but HelÈne kept her back.

In a few minutes Morton appeared at the opening of the wagon and nodded to them smilingly. He was holding a compass and a map in his hands. He informed them that they were about to take a branch road and that there was nothing to fear.

Morton seized the leader of the horses by the hand while the men pulled at the wheels. In a short pace of time the wagon was turned round and the party retraced the road they had traversed.

Soon they entered the branch road and found it to be but a woodsman’s run. It was thickly carpeted with pine needles and wound its narrow way through a dense growth of hemlock, as far as the eye could see. They drove for some time in silence, crossing a few shallow streams and arrived at last at the foot of a rocky height which rose sheer. Here they came to a halt, and Morton informed HelÈne and the Princess that they were to stop here for rest and refreshment.

Baskets were quickly unpacked and a substantial repast was spread out before the weary travelers. The girls ate in anxious silence while Morton explained to them that the men had gone merely to clear the road. They could hear, from where they were sitting, the sound of wood being sawn and the occasional breaking of branches. After what seemed to the girls an endless time, the men returned and Morton announced that they would shortly continue their journey—but this time on foot. The men knew of a foot-path over the mountains along which it would be more prudent to travel than on the highway, and a tramp of nine or ten kilometers would bring them to the main road along the Aluta and across the divide into Transylvania. Morton explained all this cheerfully and said they must travel with light baggage—the most necessary things only.

The girls gladly assented and in a short time they had made their preparations for the journey. Mihai, who had left a short time before, now returned and mounting the wagon, drove off following the woodsmen’s road. As soon as he was out of hearing Papiu rose and in response to a nod from Morton, struck out to the right, carefully skirting the ledge. Donald followed with the girls behind him and John brought up the rear. In this Indian-file fashion they advanced through the timber, slipping occasionally over the thick carpet of pine needles, but making good progress and always mounting higher and higher.

HelÈne, whom the events of the morning had filled with vague doubts and to whom the climb thus far had been quite easy, waited impatiently for a favorable opportunity to question Morton. The halt and the return as well as the men’s disappearance had puzzled her.

The opportunity came when they arrived at a relatively level stretch, a small plateau bordered on their left by the dense timber and gradually losing itself in the opposite direction into the forbidding rocky expanse of the mountain. She waited for Morton to get up to her and then asked him what the sudden change in their route betokened. Had he suspected any danger?

Morton met her honest eyes with a perfectly assumed innocence of gaze in his own and explained quietly that they had encountered a small patrol of a few men on foot, who had ordered them to halt. To avoid being questioned too closely they had started to withdraw when one of the gendarmes had fired. This fire they had returned and had put the patrol to flight. One of the soldiers, unfortunately, had been hit and left behind. Mihai, pretending to be a peasant casually passing by, had gone forward and had bandaged the man’s slight wound. He had left him in a protected spot, with food and water, where he would be easily found by his returning comrades. It was from this soldier that Mihai had received the information which prompted them to turn back and take this new path. Very few people knew of a passage or road crossing the slopes of the dreaded “Caineni”—his own military map did not show it—Papiu and Mihai were well acquainted with the path, and....

“You haven’t killed one of those poor soldiers, have you, Mr. Morton?” exclaimed HelÈne in awestruck tones.

Morton smiled and assured her that no one had been killed. The shots were intended to frighten them only. Mihai had reported that the soldier who had been wounded would be all right—his mates would be certain to find him. Miss HelÈne need have no anxiety. All her strength was now needed for the climb that was before them. He begged her to keep up heart and cheer the Princess.

They had now reached the narrow gully from which the spring descended. HelÈne could not repress a slight shudder as she saw the native guide turn and pointing upward begin the precipitous ascent.

It needed all the strength the girls possessed to follow. Don gave a helping hand to the Princess and John supported HelÈne’s faltering steps. It was a long, tedious and heart-breaking climb. The Princess, again and again, begged to be allowed to rest, saying that it was impossible for her to continue much longer. But Donald would put his arm around her and almost carry her up bodily. HelÈne, pale and staggering, found Morton’s ever ready arm to aid her and his quiet cheerful smile to encourage her.

The climb once begun they dared not stop. So up, up they went and after an hour or two the sun became visible through the light haze which an icy wind was dissipating. Before them appeared a horizontal ledge and on this the exhausted girls lay down, panting for breath. Morton decided to remain here for a space so as to allow them to recover themselves. He was deeply distressed to witness their prostrated condition. He ordered the men to unroll and spread the rugs on the ground for the better comfort of the Princess and HelÈne.

From his blouse he drew the soft, fur-lined boots the girls had worn in the cabin, and displaying them, said with as much cheer as he could muster: “Here, brave ladies—here is comfort for your feet!” With faint glad cries they seized them and managed with a little difficulty to exchange them for the hard leather boots which had sorely rubbed their delicate feet. Soon the color had returned to their pale faces and Morton was rewarded by seeing them embrace each other with tearful smiles. He seized the opportunity to further encourage them by telling them that the worst of the journey was over. “Another ascent of 160 meters,” he said, “and then the easy descent to the smiling plains below. Let me know when you are sufficiently rested and we will start.”

Princess Marie tried to smile through tears which were now freely coursing down her pale cheeks. “You ought not to be burdened by me, sir. I feel I shall be the cause of your being overtaken—I am putting all of you into jeopardy!” Crying, HelÈne put her arms about the Princess and begged her to be of good courage. All would be well, soon.

Morton waited in silence, knowing that HelÈne would succeed where he must fail. When he saw that the Princess had somewhat recovered, he said: “Dear lady, I assure you the worst is over. It is my duty and my honor to protect you and lead you both to safety. As soon as Mihai rejoins us we shall make better progress. There, upon that little ridge,” pointing ahead, “we shall rest once more and before long we shall be at the divide. You have done nobly, Princess.”

Helped by HelÈne, Marie rose, smiling through tears, and finding her limbs would support her, said bravely: “Thank you, Mr. Morton, I shall manage now.”

The men rolled up the rugs, and the party, taking the same order of march as before, resumed the climb.

Patiently and silently the girls trudged along; the path had become almost undistinguishable, but the footing was much firmer and easier. The ascent, however, was steeper.

After great difficulty, Donald and Mihai, half carrying the Princess between them, the party at last succeeded in reaching the ridge Morton had indicated. By this time the Princess could scarcely stand on her legs. She collapsed on the rug spread on the rock. Although suffering acutely, she begged Morton, in a whisper, to forgive her for her weakness. Her strength seemed to have gone from her.

Morton remained cool, though somewhat alarmed. He forced some brandy from his flask between the girl’s lips and wrapped her carefully in his robe. HelÈne, tired and worn out as she also was, assisted him in his ministrations. He could not help admiring the splendid courage of this girl—the brave daughter of a brave man. When he had satisfied himself that both were resting he stood up and with a light laugh, remarked: “There is not the slightest need for worry now! We have any amount of time—we can wait here for hours, if necessary. Not a soul will dispute our path any more; and Papiu will have no difficulty in guiding us down even after dark.”

He turned and paced the ledge with short steps. The men sat removed, rifles in hand, eagerly scanning the downward slope and the distant valley all about them; utter quiet reigned.

A scarce half hour had thus passed when HelÈne, looking up, saw that Morton’s face wore an anxious expression. She noted that he was consulting his watch and glancing frequently and impatiently about him with an evidently carefully suppressed concern. She dared not ask any questions, and besides, she was too tired and worn out to summon the necessary energy.

Just then the thrice-repeated call of a partridge followed by a peculiar, long-drawn whistle, broke into the dead silence of the desolate fastness, and from the left, behind some gigantic boulders, Mihai was seen approaching with long swinging stride, bearing on his back two stout poles and what looked like a tent-cover. The brothers exchanged a few whispered words, and Papiu hastened back to Mr. Morton and reported that his orders had been executed. Mihai had not encountered any guards or militia, and he was now awaiting further instructions. They were on the right path and there was no snow to speak of on the divide.

John went forward with Papiu, and receiving from Mihai confirmation of Papiu’s statement, he hurried back to the resting girls, and in a voice of renewed cheer, said: “Mihai’s report is most satisfactory. About a thousand feet from here our path crosses a road, which leads from the state-chaussÉ toward the western country. He had been over it and found neither patrols nor any signs of the enemy. And here is a conveyance which will mean relief to you, Your Highness.”

The girls turned their eyes to where Morton had pointed and saw to their astonishment that what they had thought were tent and poles had been unfolded and converted into a strongly constructed stretcher—a heavy canvas sheet suspended between two stout bars.

John spread a rug over it, and, folding another for a cushion at the head, led the Princess to it. In this wise they began the last stage of their ascent.

Mihai took the lead, rifle in the crook of an arm, his older brother and Donald bore the crude palankin; and, as before, HelÈne and Morton brought up the rear.

The sun was now nearing the western slope, the wind had died down, the air had grown colder, but was bracing and refreshing. They reached the crossroad so dreaded by Morton, advanced over it for some hundreds of paces, and then once more Mihai struck off due north—the continuation of the indistinctly marked path that was to lead them to safety.

They followed this difficult road for a considerable distance silently, every man observing carefully the place in which his predecessor had put his foot. In this manner they at last reached a rounded plateau beyond which the eye saw but the unobstructed sky, clear and cloudless, stretching its blue vault as if with a benign promise of freedom.

From time to time HelÈne had stolen a glance at Morton, who untiring and ever present guided her steps and aided her progress by silent encouragement. She noticed that his face had gradually cleared, the eyes had lost their grim expression, the deep furrow between the brows had vanished, and his step seemed more elastic and confident. Catching one of her looks he smiled and pointing ahead of them, said, “There is the divide—the boundary line!”

HelÈne’s head swam and her limbs shook. John sprung to her support. Timidly glancing up at him she whispered, “Are you sure? You are not saying that just to cheer me, Mr. Morton, are you?”

“No, Comtesse, I am not. Look at our guide!”

Mihai had stopped upon the crest of the saddlelike bare expanse of smooth rock they had now attained. He had lifted his cap and was standing grinning. He was pointing straight ahead—toward the hazy deep green valley that had unfolded itself to their view.

Morton reluctantly released the girl’s arm and hurried forward. In a voice in which he could not hide his deep emotion he announced to Princess Marie that they were on Transylvanian soil. A quick, happy flush came to the haggard cheeks and glad tears filled the soft eyes. HelÈne stood nearby, her bosom heaving in happy sympathy and her eyes shining brightly. Reverently she bent and kissed her companion’s cold wrist. To Morton she raised a look of mingled gratitude and admiration, the tribute of a thankful heart that gladly acknowledged noble merit.

The red ball of the sinking sun threw their elongated shadows grotesquely on the rocks gleaming in rosy reflection. The steep parapet of the deep gorge to their left was lit up, showing the fiery glinting narrow ribbon of the river Aluta, winding in a wide sweeping curve beneath them. To their right stretched forth and loomed overpoweringly the commanding peak of snow-capped Negoi against the delicate gloam of the east. And straight before them unrolled hill after hill—slope after slope—the welcome sight of deep evergreen, of rustic brown and sere yellow, the purplish plowed fields and darkening meadows spread out like a checker-board. A needlelike white spire and little bright red-capped dots of houses in the midst told of human life, of comfort and safety.

Mihai had stepped aside from the path so as to allow Papiu and Donald to put down the stretcher and permit the Princess to alight. He was all smiles and bubbling over with happiness.

The girls stood together in close embrace and followed with eager looks the arm of their guide, who was pointing back and downward.

“El Tornu Ros!”—and they beheld the deeply cut “Red Tower Pass,” the connecting link between the turbulent Balkans and the well-ordered country into which at last they had entered, opening before them like a wondrous gate. It seemed to them that they had conquered fate.

Morton, quietly exultant, approached Papiu and shook the man’s rough and soiled hand. “You have made good, and you are all true and brave men. I freely acknowledge your fine devotion, your quick wit and splendid performance. In addition to the agreed amount each of you will receive two thousand florins. I shall never forget your services. Tell your brother what I have said, and I shall write to Father Moskar at the earliest opportunity.”

The brothers looked proud and glad, and beamed sheepishly at each other. The words of the “gospodar” had made them happy—the sum they had gained meant independence to them.

John left the men to talk the good news over among themselves, and approached the two girls, who were now resting against a boulder. Cap in hand, his damp hair straggling over his forehead, he looked down and suddenly found himself shy and awkward. The journey over he was no longer their guide. These ladies were noble women—and one a Princess. His words came stammeringly: “Your Highness—Comtesse Rondell—all danger is past——”

HelÈne was the first to speak: “Mr. Morton, we cannot tell you how much we feel ourselves beholden to you. I hope that a more fitting occasion will offer itself to express our deep appreciation and gratitude for the service you have rendered us.” Her words sounded strained to his ears; but he smiled and bowed. “The Princess feels herself strong enough to walk,” continued the Comtesse, “we are ready when you are.” Morton bowed without a word and turned to the guides with orders.

They resumed their downward march, and entered the protecting woods of pink-tipped trees. At dusk they reached the highway, broad and smooth in gleaming gray, silently following the guides, who were laughing and chatting with careless ease, as they munched their bread and cheese.

Soon they came to a neatly gravelled path which led to a low, rambling cottage some hundred feet back from the highway. Here they stopped and Papiu announced that their journey’s end had been reached.

It was the house of Toni Brasic, a God-fearing man and the husband of their good sister Amuska. The gracious Gospodinas and Gospodar Morton would be in good hands here and very welcome.

A loud call accompanied by the growling of a sheep dog brought to the door a strapping young woman, whom the brothers greeted with sounding smacks as their beloved niece Rossika, and who was told to hurry and call her mother.In the cheerfully lighted and warm room the girls sank gratefully into stiff tulip-painted chairs and greedily drank the clear cool water offered them. A roaring fire through the open door of an ovenlike brick stove lit up the place and spread comfort all around. In its warmth the girls brightened and their faces shone with happiness. The comely stout hostess with the leathery weather-beaten face stood looking at them with open mouth and adoration in her eyes. In the next room could be heard Rossika busy with her preparations for the supper, and in a few minutes she rushed in with a shy, smiling mien to inform the “Gospodinas” that their rooms were ready for them. Here they found warm water, clean linen and garments, and soft red “saffian” boots for their tired feet. The girl helped them, blushing and shy at the honor of serving the noble ladies.

Dressed at last in their hostess’s best gowns, which were so ample as to envelop them, they reappeared in the living room, where they were immediately joined by the men, and where a plentiful repast had been spread. The natives sat at one end of the long table, close together, whispering to each other of their adventures and glorifying their deeds.

At the upper end of the table sat the two girls, their faces flushed, their tired, deep-sunken eyes sparkling in wondering happiness. Morton sat opposite them in deep thought.

The Junolike Rossika flitted from chair to chair piling goodies upon their plates, filling their glasses and constantly throwing glances of intense admiration at the girls. How different they were from the girls she knew. They were Princesses or perhaps Queens—beautiful as the pictures of the angels in lace-paper borders in her prayer book.

Supper over, everybody expressed themselves as being too tired to sit up. The girls withdrew to their rooms, and the men retired to the kitchen for a smoke and a talk with their relatives. Morton, however, remained to consult with Don about the program for the next day. Soon, even these were too wearied to stay awake, and retired to their beds.

The low-burning night-lamp was placed in the chimney corner, and the house locked up for the night. Peace and quiet soon reigned in the house where our worn-out travelers had found their well-earned rest.