The visions which disturbed Marishka Strahni in that dim borderland between sleep and waking persisted in her dreams. And always Goritz predominated—sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning but always cold, sinister and calculating. He made love to her and spurned her by turns, threatened her with the fate of the Duchess, whom she saw dead before her eyes, the victim of a shot in the back. There was a smoking pistol in Marishka's hand, and another figure lying near, which wore the uniform of an Austrian general—the Archduke Franz it seemed, until she moved to one side and saw that the figure had the face of Hugh Renwick. She started up from her couch, a scream on her lips—calling to Hugh——! Was she awake or was this another dream, more dreadful than the last? There followed a conflict of bewildering noises, as though night had mercifully fallen upon a chaos of disaster. She sat up and looked around her. A train.

She gasped a sigh of relief as her gaze pierced the dimness of the elusive shadows. She remembered now. Captain Goritz. But she was still alone. She lay down again, trying to keep awake in dread of the visions, but exhaustion conquered again and she slept, dreaming now of another Hugh, a tender and chivalrous lover who held her in his arms and whispered of roses.

It was daylight when she awoke. Captain Goritz was now sitting by the window smiling at her. She started up drowsily, fingering at her hair.

"You have slept well, Countess?" he asked cheerfully and without waiting for her reply. "It is well. You have probably a trying day before you."

Marishka straightened and looked out of the window past him at the sunlit morning. Could it be possible that this alert pleasant person was the Nemesis of her dreams? The world had taken on a new complexion, washed clean of terrors by the pure dews of the night.

"Thanks, Herr Hauptmann," she smiled at him. "I am quite myself again."

"That is fortunate," he said. "We are nearly at our journey's end—at least this part of it. Our train goes no further than Marburg."

"And then?"

"An automobile—a long journey."

"I am quite ready."

At Marburg they got down, and after Marishka had made a hurried toilet, they breakfasted in comfort at the Bahnhof restaurant. If Captain Goritz nourished any suspicion that they were being followed he gave no sign of it, and after breakfast, to Marishka's surprise, Karl the chauffeur appeared miraculously and announced that their car was awaiting them.

"If I were not sure that you were Herr Lieutenant von Arnstorf," laughed Marishka, "I should say you were the fairy of the magic carpet."

"The magic carpet—ach, yes—if we but had one!" he said genuinely.

The motion of the automobile soothed and satisfied her. At least she was doing what she could to reach Sarajevo before the archducal party arrived, and as her companion hopefully assured her, with a fair chance of success. If Marishka could see Sophie Chotek, all her troubles would be over, for then the Wilhelmstrasse would not care to oppose the dictum of the Duchess in favor of one who whatever her political sins in Germany's eyes, had made endless sacrifices to atone.

If Marishka succeeded! But if she failed?

The morning was too wonderful for thoughts of grim deeds or the authors of them. The poisons distilled in her mind the night before were dispelled into the clear air of the mountainside, over which singing streams gushed joyously down. Birds were calling—mating; wild creatures scampered playfully in thicket and hedge; and the peaceful valleys were redolent of sweet odors.

In the long hours of the afternoon Marishka's thoughts were of Hugh Renwick. Perspective had given him a finer contour, for she had Goritz to compare him with. She loved Hugh. She knew now how much. Her happiness had been too sweet to have had such a sudden ending. She had been unkind—cruel—broken with him even when he was bending every effort to aid her. He was trying to help her now for all that she knew.... She had written him a note from the German Embassy—just a few lines which she had enclosed with the message to her maid at the apartment—warning him that he was in danger and praying that he leave the country and return to England, a kindly note which by its anxiety for his safety conveyed perhaps more of what was in her heart than she would have cared to write had she believed that she was to see him again.

What reason had Captain Goritz for believing that Hugh would follow her in this mad quest? How could Hugh be sure where she had gone and with whom? There had been a quality of the miraculous in the judgment of Captain Goritz. What if even now Hugh Renwick were near her? Her pulse went a little faster. Pride—the pride which asks in vain—for a while had been dashed low, and she had scorned him with her eyes, her voice, her mien, her gestures, all, alas! but her heart. The women of the house of Strahni——! Hugh Renwick had kissed her. And the memory of those kisses amid the red roses of the Archduke was with her now. She felt them on her lips—the touch of his firm strong fingers—the honest gaze of his gray eyes—these were the tokens she had which came to her as evidence that the readings of her heart had not been wrong. A Serbian spy——! She smiled confidently.

In a moment she stole a glance at Captain Goritz, who was bent forward studying his road map. She waited until he gave directions to the chauffeur and then spoke.

"Captain Goritz," she said carelessly, "you manage so cleverly that I am beginning to trust implicitly to your guidance and knowledge. But there is one thing that puzzles me. It must be more than a whim which makes you think that Herr Renwick will follow us to Sarajevo."

"Not us, Countess," he smiled; "I said you."

"But granting that he would follow me—which I doubt—how could he know where I have gone?"

Goritz laughed easily.

"He will find a way."

Marishka's face grew sober.

"I fear Herr Renwick's friendship cannot achieve miracles. The last he saw of me was in a hut in Bohemia. What clew could he have——? What possible——"

"Ah, Countess," Goritz broke in, "you do not realize as I have done the cleverness of the Austrian Secret Service. We have so far eluded them. We were very lucky but it cannot be long before the green limousine will be discovered, and the direction of our journey."

"But even that——"

"To a clever man like Herr Renwick—to a man whose affections are involved," he added slowly, "it would not be difficult to decide where you have gone. He knows the discomforts and dangers you have passed through to achieve your object. He will, of course, seek your apartment and read the meaning of your sending for your clothing just as easily"—he paused a moment and smiled at the back of Karl's head—"just as easily," he repeated slowly, "as though you yourself had written him a note telling him—er—exactly which train you had taken."

Marishka felt the warm color flooding her neck and brows. In writing Renwick she had broken her promise to this man not to communicate with her friends. Goritz watched her pretty distress for a moment with amusement which speedily turned to interest.

"Of course, Countess, you did not write to him?" he said, with sudden severity.

"I owe you an explanation, Captain Goritz——" she said timidly.

"You wrote—Countess?" evincing the most admirable surprise.

"I inclosed a few words in my note to my maid—a warning of danger and a request that Herr Renwick leave at once for England——"

And as Goritz frowned at her, "Surely there is no harm in that."

"Your word of honor——"

"I betrayed nothing of my whereabouts or plans," she pleaded.

"How can I know that you speak the truth?"

"I swear it."

Goritz shrugged lightly.

"It is, of course, a woman's privilege to change her mind. Still, you put me upon my guard. It is unfortunate. How can I be sure that you will not be sending other notes without my permission to the Europa when we reach Sarajevo?"

"The Europa——? I fail to understand."

"The Europa Hotel," he said with a curious distinctness, "where all English people stop, and where of course your friend Mr. Renwick will stop."

Marishka examined him keenly.

"Your prescience cannot be infallible."

"No. But Herr Renwick will come to Sarajevo," he repeated confidently.

He was still studying the road map and she was silent, thinking. But in a moment he raised his head and shrugged again.

"Of course it is nothing to me. As an English subject he has the protection of his Ambassador. Even if my orders demanded his arrest I should be without power to carry them out."

"It is easier to deal with the credulity of women," she said quietly.

"Countess Strahni, you make it very difficult for me—doubly difficult since I have learned how lightly you hold your promise."

"But confession absolves——"

"With me, perhaps, because I could refuse you nothing, but not with those that have sent me."

"But why should you be uneasy at the possibility of Herr Renwick following to Sarajevo?"

"I do not relish the disturbance of my plans."

She smiled a little at that.

"I think I should be a little happier if I knew just what those plans were."

He did not reply at once. Then he went on slowly, choosing his words with care.

"My sentiments of respect must by this time have told you that no harm can come to you. Last night His Excellency, the German Ambassador, informed me that I shall do a great damage to the friendship between your nation and mine, if I presume to take you across the German border without your consent. I have been much moved by his advice. He has already written to the Wilhelmstrasse in your behalf. I cannot yet absolve you from your promise since my own actions in Austria have been far from conventional. Herr Renwick, if he chooses, can make my visit to Sarajevo most unpleasant. But I see no reason, after our purpose has been achieved, why you should not be restored to your friends, even to Herr Renwick, if that is your desire," and then in a lower tone, "I can assure you, Countess Strahni, that I relinquish you to him with an ill grace."

"Herr Renwick is no Serbian spy, Captain Goritz," she said steadily.

He smiled.

"Oh, you do not believe me. Very well. You will discover it for yourself."

"How?" she asked timidly.

He looked at her with every mark of admiration, but his reply did not answer her question.

"Herr Renwick is indeed fortunate in having so loyal a friend—even though, as you say, there is nothing between you in common. I envy him the possession. I hope that he may better deserve it."

She smiled but did not speak for a moment and then, "Why is it that you so dislike a man whom you do not know—whom you—you have never seen?"

Goritz bent forward toward her, his voice lowered while his strange dark eyes gazed full into hers:

"Need I tell you?" he whispered. "You have thought me cruel, because I have done my duty, heartless—cold—a mere piece of official machinery which could balk at nothing—even the destruction of a woman's happiness—because my allegiance to my country was greater than any personal consideration. But I am not insensible to the appeals of gentleness, not blind to beauty nor deaf to music, Countess Strahni, as you have thought. Beneath the exterior which may have seemed forbidding to you, I am only human. Last night I took advantage of your weariness and weakness in telling you, with cruel bluntness, of Herr Renwick's relations with the Serbian government. I learned what you have labored to conceal—that you care for him—that you care for one who——"

"It is not true," she broke in calmly. "I do not care for Herr Renwick."

"It would delight me to believe you," he went on with a shake of the head, "but I cannot. It has been very painful to me to see you suffer, for whatever you have done in a mistaken sense of loyalty to your country, nothing can alter the fact of your innocence, your virtue, and your dependence upon my kindness in a most trying situation. I have told you the facts about Herr Renwick because I have believed it my duty, to you and to Austria. If I have hurt you, Countess Strahni," he finished gently, "I pray that you will forgive me."

Marishka was silent, now looking straight before her down the mountain road which they were descending slowly. The voice of Captain Goritz had a sonorous quality which could not have been unpleasant to the ears of any woman. She listened to it soberly, trying to detect the tinkle of the spurious, but she was forced to admit that beyond and behind the mere phrases which might in themselves mean nothing, there was a depth of earnestness that might have proved bewildering to one less versed in the ways of the world than herself. His eyes, singularly clear and luminous, dominated and held her judgment of him in abeyance. For the moment she was able to forget her terrors of the night before, his enmity for Hugh Renwick, and the threat he had hung over her freedom. She did not dare to trust him. Too much still hung in the balance of her favor or disfavor. And yet she was forced to admit the constraint of his fervor, his kindness and courteous consideration. A woman forgives much to those who acknowledge without question the scepter of her femininity.

At last she turned toward him with a smile and gave nun her hand. Nor did she withdraw it when bending low he pressed it gently to his lips. This was a game that two could play at.

"We are to be friends, then?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," she smiled at him.

Toward six of the afternoon a trifling mishap to the motor delayed them for two hours, and it was long after midnight before they reached Brod and learned that the train of the Archduke had left within the hour. This was a terrible disappointment, which seemed to menace the success of their venture. But Captain Goritz determined to go on as rapidly as possible, trusting to reach their destination before the royal party left its train, hoping that the sight of Countess Strahni by the Duchess would be sufficient to let down any official barriers which might be interposed. But an unforeseen difficulty at Brod still further delayed them, a difficulty which required all of the ingenuity of Captain Goritz to get them once more upon their way. It was three o'clock in the morning, when having made some necessary repairs to the machine, they reached the Austrian end of the great bridge across the Save. Here they were halted by an iron chain across the bridge entrance and a police officer who, it seemed, looked upon their night traveling with suspicion. Captain Goritz protested indignantly and produced his papers, which the officer inspected by the dim light of an ancient lantern held by a subordinate.

"I am sorry," he said firmly, "but no motor cars are permitted to cross into Bosnia until tomorrow morning."

"But, my friend," said Goritz with an air of outraged patience, "I am an officer of the Third Regiment of the Fifteenth Army Corps returning to Sarajevo from a leave of absence which expires at nine in the morning. It is necessary that my party goes through at once."

"I must obey orders, Herr Ober Lieutenant."

"But my papers are correct. They are signed, you will observe, by General von Hoetzendorf himself."

"I am sorry, but you cannot go through. If you choose to take up the matter with my superior officer, you will find the Kaserne in the main street near the mosque. I shall pass you only upon his visÉ. That is final. You will please turn your car and return to the village."

Captain Goritz gazed longingly along the pale beam of the motor lamps into the dark reaches of the bridge, and then at the shadow of the heavy chain. At last with reluctance he gave the order to turn back. There seemed no doubt that the restriction was unusual, and that the visit of the Archduke had much to do with the obstruction of traffic between Sarajevo and central Europe. The car moved slowly back through the darkened village in the direction from which they had come, while Goritz planned what was better to be done. The nearest other crossing at Kobas was twenty miles away, over the road by which they had come, and they knew that the roads upon the Bosnian side of the river were mere cow tracks. If the officer at the bridge refused to pass them, how were they to be certain that they would fare any better at the hands of his superior, probably a crusty village official who would not relish being awakened in the small hours of the morning even by a belated army officer? At the order of Captain Goritz, the chauffeur Karl backed the car into a meadow and put out the lights. Then Goritz lighted a cigarette and smoked rapidly.

"Brod is Serbian for ford. Is the passage above the bridge or below?"

"Below, Herr Hauptmann, but dangerous at this season. I should not risk it."

"Ah, I see." He paused a moment, thinking rapidly. "Is there a chain at the other end of the bridge?"

"I have never seen one, Herr Hauptmann."

"Very good. You will await me here."

And without further words he got down and disappeared into the darkness. Marishka sat trembling with uncertainty, trying to pierce the obscurity in the direction in which her companion had gone. Silence, except for the droning of the insects and the distant rushing of the river. Fifteen, twenty minutes in which Marishka sat tensely waiting, hoping, fearing she knew not what, and then silently, merely a darker shadow of the night itself, a figure appeared and silently mounted into the seat beside the waiting Karl.