The Golden Bough

"Where are you going-?"

"Away from here-from the sight of you-"

"You heard-?"

"Yes. You've betrayed us-for money-"

"That is not true, Philippe," she whispered wildly, as she fought to keep his hand from the door knob. "You did not hear what passed-"

"I heard enough-"

"I lied to him, – told him that you had gone. He believes it-"

"But the others. You told-"

"It was merely to gain time. They are far away. We can reach them. It was you that I was thinking of-you-all the time. You-out there on the roof. All that I wanted was for him to go away so that you would not be discovered. I did it to save you-"

"To save me-you!"

"I threw him off his guard. He believes that you are gone. You shall escape now, – I too-we will escape to freedom-in a few days it will be arranged. Herr Markov and the Fräulein will come to no harm even if they are found. He promised. You heard?"

"I've heard enough. Let me go."

He shook himself free of her but she seized him again.

"No-you shall not go. I did what I could to save you. I told him as little … merely that they had gone upon the road … that was all. His eyes were burning into my brain, Philippe. He compelled me. He may not find them. And even if he does, he will not harm them. It is only the money of Nemi that he wants. That will satisfy him. Let the money go. What does it matter now? I do not want the money-I only want-you, Philippe. In a few days I will get you passports and we will leave together. Not tonight, Philippe-wait. I will explain-"

"Out of my way-"

He had pulled the door open and thrust her aside. She stumbled and fell to her knees, still clinging to him.

"I will not-let you go. You will be killed. Just a moment. Listen to me, Philippe. I swear to you that you have misunderstood. I did not- Oh God!"

He drew away and she fell prone upon the floor, trying to follow him. His fury had turned to contempt and now to pity. He turned, picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, releasing himself gently, for she had no more strength to fight him. And then he left her and went slowly down the stairs.

For a while she lay there motionless, her head buried in her arms. Once her shoulders moved convulsively but she made no sound. Her face when she raised it toward the candle light was haggard, but tearless. Her lips were compressed and she even smiled a little. But her eyes were unusually bright. With an abrupt movement of decision she straightened, and getting up went to the door, where she paused a moment, gazing down the stairs. Then went to the landing below, clinging to the railing, and called Frau Nisko. There was no reply. She crept down to the lower floor and out to the kitchen. There was a woman there by the window fanning herself with a newspaper.

"Where is Frau Nisko?" asked Zoya.

The woman turned a heavy bovine gaze.

"She has gone," she replied.

"Where?"

The woman shrugged.

"Did a man come in here a while ago?"

"A man-yes."

"They talked?"

"Yes-yonder," pointing to the door of the dining room.

"Did they stay there long?"

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

"I do not know. He went out yonder," pointing to a rear door.

"There is a gate at the rear?"

"Oh, yes."

"Did you hear what they said?"

The woman laughed mirthlessly.

"What business is it of mine?"

"Where has Frau Nisko gone?"

"Have I not said that I did not know?"

She had merely the politeness of cooks and now turned her back resolutely, faced the window and fanned herself again with a view to ending the discussion.

There was nothing for it but to await Frau Nisko's return and so, leaving word that she wished to see the landlady when she returned, slowly Zoya climbed the stairs again and went into her room, where she sat on the bed in deep thought. After awhile she got up and lighting the lamp, searched for her clothing in the drawers of the dressing stand. She took the garments out one by one, examining them and preening them with her fingers. Then, discarding the old wrapper that she wore, she dressed with some care and attention to detail, and then lay down upon the bed and waited.

But when Frau Nisko knocked some moments later, she straightened and questioned rapidly.

"Herr Rowland has gone?"

The woman was somewhat shaken by the events of the evening and more than surprised at Madame Rochal's appearance.

"Yes, God be thanked! He went safely from my house. It has been almost too much. But the Herr General said nothing when he went out. I can't understand-"

"I explained matters to his satisfaction. He will not bother you-"

"You are very kind-but it mystifies me greatly. You are in terror of your life in one moment and then suddenly-all is well. And now you go somewhere-?"

"Frau Nisko," said Zoya, ignoring the question, "you were sent out with a message to the telegraph, nicht wahr?"

"It was at Herr Rowland's orders-"

"What was the message?"

"I didn't understand. It was written in a code."

"He wrote it-here?"

"Down stairs in the dining room. It was dangerous to be there. I told him so. But he did not care."

"What did the message say?"

"It was about the price of some second-hand furniture to be shipped to Weingarten."

"Yes, yes. Where was it sent?"

"To Weingarten-"

"But to whom?"

"To a Herr Liedenthal at the Zweisler Waldhaus-"

"Ah. You are sure of the names?"

"Positive."

"And Herr Rowland, did he tell you where he was going?"

Frau Nisko's amazement had been increasing.

"Did he not tell you, Madame?"

"No. He-he was frightened at the Herr General and has left me. Where did he go?"

"Into danger, I'm afraid. He seemed reckless. He asked if I knew the time of the night-trains for Lindau-"

"Lindau-and you told him?"

"I found out from a lodger upon the second floor who is in the Railway Service. There is but one train. It leaves the Haupt Bahnhof at thirteen minutes past eleven."

Madame Rochal hesitated a moment, and then:

"Frau Nisko," she said, quickly, glancing at her watch, "I have been given my freedom. I am going out. I do not know when I shall return-"

"But Herr Markov-!"

"I will communicate with him."

She glanced around the room and then went quickly down the stair, Frau Nisko following, still bewildered at the turn of events.

"What shall I say to Herr Markov?" she repeated helplessly.

"That I-I am going to seek him," said Zoya.

"And if the Herr General should send?"

"You need not worry. That has been arranged. He believes that you knew nothing of the others. Good by," she finished at the street door. "You shall be rewarded-"

"Im Himmel," muttered Frau Nisko cynically, as she watched the slim figure of Zoya Rochal go swiftly down the street toward the bridge. "And Matthias Markov-he also."

Then she slowly turned and reëntered the house.

CHAPTER XXII

PILGRIMS

It was with trembling limbs and a heavy heart that Tanya had followed Herr Markov carrying the black bag down the stairs of the house in the Schwaiger Strasse, through the rear door to the small street and the stable which sheltered Fra Umberto and the "instrument of torture" – alas! now the instrument of torture no longer, for all its insides had been removed during the early afternoon and hidden in a box under a pile of hay. Herr Markov had sighed as he gazed at the empty case, but there was no time to be lost and after having assured themselves that they had escaped observation, Tanya had unpacked the black valise, transferring its contents to the body of the machine and concealing the luckless bag in a dusty crib under a pile of lumber. Then as they wished to be well beyond the city before sun-down, Markov had hitched Fra Umberto, Tanya had clambered in, sitting on the pile of bank notes and they had silently driven away.

The escape had seemed simplicity itself, and with the passage of the last post of soldiers at the edge of the city Tanya had gathered hope that their perilous venture would be successful. She had tried not to think of Philippe Rowland. She had hoped when their plan was first spoken of, that Rowland was to impersonate Herr Markov, and using his papers make the desperate effort to get through to Switzerland alone with her. But Herr Markov had willed otherwise (and wisely perhaps) and Philippe had been left there-alone with Zoya-sharing a terrible danger, but yet terrible as the danger was, Tanya could not help thinking that she would much have preferred anyone else to have shared it with Philippe than Zoya Rochal.

During the first night of their pilgrimage Tanya had been very miserable. The confined space had cramped her muscles and the jolting of the vehicle seemed to be jarring every nerve in her body, but Herr Markov had evidently deemed it of the utmost importance to cover as many miles away from Munich in the early hours of the evening and night as was possible for man and beast. Occasionally, when the way was clear, he had conversed with her cheerfully, bidding her keep up her courage and asking after her comfort; and to all of his questions she had answered bravely, changing her position as she could and patiently awaiting the hour of her deliverance. And it had come at last toward midnight when Herr Markov had halted the donkey and invited Tanya to get out of her box. The invitation, welcome though it was, had not been easy of acceptance, and it was only with the help of Herr Markov's long arms that she had been able to climb over the sides of her prison and descend.

She had found herself in a dim country lane which led to a small farm-house. With an encouraging show of confidence Herr Markov had led Fra Umberto toward this building and after some difficulty had succeeded in arousing the occupants, an old man and woman, who had stuck their heads out of the windows in some alarm until they learned the identity of the pilgrims and saw Fra Umberto and the hurdy-gurdy, when they had come down and made the visitors welcome. This house, it appeared, was one of the stopping places of the hurdy-gurdy man, the old farmer and his wife, his good friends, for whom in better times he played his whole repertoire in payment of board and lodging. Tanya's presence Herr Markov had glibly explained-his niece, bound to Leutkirch, to visit a sister who was about to be married, and so Tanya had found a bed of which she was in real need and had slept the sleep of utter weariness.

But Herr Markov had called her at daylight and they were now again upon their way. Fra Umberto's legs were short but they moved rapidly and in the by-roads and in thinly settled places the thoughtful Markov invited Tanya to descend which she did gratefully, glad of the chance to loosen the kinks in her cramped muscles. And when she got down, the donkey, relieved of her weight in the vehicle, frisked along at a rate which showed her that they had lost no time.

They went through Landberg, passed the night in another farm-house on the Igling road and by the following afternoon had reached Memmingen.

It was beyond Memmingen upon the road to Weingarten that Tanya, waiting for the darkness to fall so that she could escape from her hiding place, heard Herr Markov exchanging greetings with a traveler afoot. This was not unusual, for Herr Markov, as she had already discovered, carried his politeness all about the world with him, but Tanya, who had been sitting long in her cramped position, had been hoping to be able to get out and walk beside her fellow pilgrim, for whom she had developed the deepest sympathy and appreciation. But this person to whom he had spoken, it seemed, was bound in the same direction as themselves and all immediate chance of escape from her prison was out of the question. She heard the deep boom of Herr Markov's voice and a reply, quiet and muffled as though at a distance.

"A fine evening-yes" – said Markov. "A rare evening indeed which makes one bless God for a life in the open under the stars. You are bound for Weingarten, Father, or beyond?"

"Beyond," replied the quiet voice.

"Ah, yes-to the monastery at Rothenbach, perhaps? No? You will forgive my impertinent curiosity, but the road is my life and those who walk it are my friends and companions. We are sociable people, Father, Fra Umberto and I, and since one of us is denied the privilege of speech, the other of us must needs make up for the deficiency. You will forgive my wagging tongue?"

"It is my mission in life to grant forgiveness," said the other voice solemnly. "It is my trade, Herr Musician."

Tanya understood now-a priest, a holy man, a vagrant monk.

"Then we are much of the same mind," continued Markov, "for I, too, have forgiven much-my trade too," with a deep laugh, "but there is little profit in it."

"Not to the body, but to the soul-it is that alone which is immortal."

The voice came more clearly now and something in its cadences caused Tanya to listen more intently. It was curiously like one that she had once known; but where-when-?

"Aye, immortal-" went on Markov contemplatively, "but to a hurdy-gurdy man the seat of soul is in the stomach. For without food the stomach sickens and thus, the soul. What becomes of your immortality then, holy Father?"

She heard the priest laugh to himself-that laugh!

"Your philosophy and your theology are from the same piece of goods, my son. If it keeps you warm you are wise to wear it." And then in a change of tone, "You came along the Landberg road?"

"Yes, Father."

"You see many people. Has there been much talk about the rising of the Socialist elements in Munich?"

"You've heard-?" There was a pause, and then:

"Merely that a meeting was broken up-that there was shooting, a fire, people were killed and some of them-my friends-wounded. And you, Father-what have you been told?"

"The facts have been suppressed. The newspapers say nothing. You were not questioned by the police when you left Munich?"

"Oh, no. I merely showed my papers. I am well known in these parts. I-I had nothing to do with the disturbance, though my heart is with those who have rebelled-for I, too, am a Revolutionary."

"And since you left Munich-you have not been questioned?"

"No." And then, "You have heard that the police are after those who escaped?"

"Yes," muttered the voice.

No more for the present. And yet to Tanya what she had heard was enough, for the identity of the voice of the man she could not see had slowly come to her and now with a sickening and terrible certitude she knew that Markov's companion of the road was Gregory Hochwald.

The hurdy-gurdy was now an "instrument of torture" indeed, for in it Tanya sat a prisoner, helpless, while along side her, all unconscious of the secret Markov guarded, walked the one man most disposed to take profit from her misfortunes. And with a sense of an impending disaster she heard Markov talk glibly on, every moment, apparently, gaining more confidence in the integrity of his companion. And yet how was she to warn Markov? The least sound, the least motion would betray her presence and reveal the reasons for their flight. She had a morbid desire to peer out and see-to verify the unpleasant testimony of her ears-but there was no way unless she raised the lid of the machine and that, of course, meant discovery. And so she was forced to sit silent and listen to Markov, who with every moment came nearer to dangerous revelations.

"The end must soon come," the false priest was saying. "The world is weary of blood-letting. Germany is beyond reach-beyond help of the Church. I have done what I could, but I am going beyond its borders to Switzerland-to escape its persecutions. I have had enough."

"And I," said Markov; "it is there that I go too with-with my good Fra Umberto."

"The weather threatens again. Where shall you sleep tonight, my son?"

"At the farm-house of some good friends of mine, a mile or so from here. We have had a long day."

"Good friends of yours? Would they mind if I came with you? I have a purse well filled-"

Tanya was aware of Herr Markov's hesitation and the long moment of silence that followed gave her the hope that he would refuse.

"I am not so sure," he said at last doubtfully. "Have you no other plans?"

"None."

"There is an inn just beyond."

"But there are reasons why I do not wish to go to a public hotel. If you could help me in this-"

"But I can't understand-"

"Is it necessary that you should? I will pay you well for this service-"

Hochwald had struck the wrong note. Herr Markov's voice had a tone of dignity when he replied.

"I would require no pay, Father, for a mere act of Christian duty. But there are private considerations-"

"None so grave as my own need-"

"If you will tell me-"

Another long moment of silence. And then:

"I've told you that my need is great. When I also tell you that I am no priest but a fugitive from the police, you will understand. I was one of those who were at the meeting of the Socialists in the Hall in the Schwaiger Strasse-"

"You!"

"One of its leaders. In the confusion I managed to escape, and with the aid of a friend procured these robes. But I am in danger even now, and must avoid public places-which are, of course, subject to frequent inspection."

"What is your name?"

"That need not matter. If you are a Socialist-a Revolutionary Socialist, we are brothers, and I am in need of a place to rest safely."

Markov's voice fell a note as he replied:

"That puts a different color to the matter. I can help you-yes-if I know that what you tell me is true." Fra Umberto suddenly came to a halt-"How should I know," Markov said, "that you are what you claim-that you are not a member of the secret police of the Empire?"

Tanya heard Hochwald's laugh.

"The police! Then why except for the pleasure of your company, Herr Musician, should I be wasting my time talking to you?"

"H-m! You are frank at least, holy Father. Come-a drop of rain. We must get on. At least for tonight you shall have cover-in safety."

He chirped to Fra Umberto and the machine rumbled on again. Tanya, cold with fear of the consequences of this generosity, sat trying to think what she must do. And the result of her meditations was precisely nothing. To rise and denounce him would do her cause no good. And so she did not move, deciding to wait for what was to happen, trusting that the secret of the money which she and Markov shared would keep her companion silent as to her hiding place in the vehicle.

She heard the two men talking again, a repetition of what had been said before, but Herr Markov, in spite of his acceptance of the statements of Gregory Hochwald, gave her enemy no inkling of the truth and presently the piano-organ was driven into a rough road and at last stopped. She heard Markov calling-voices in reply and then his directions to Gregory Hochwald to go into the house while he drove Fra Umberto and the hurdy-gurdy around to the stable. It was there in the dim light of a lamp that Tanya, a very pallid, frightened but beautiful Jack-in-the-Box, pushed up the lid of the machine and emerged, confronting her weary companion with the specter of his mistaken generosity.

"He! That-Hochwald!" he muttered aghast when she told him. "Fräulein, you must be mistaken."

"No, no," she whispered. "I would know his voice among a thousand. My bitterest enemy-the cause of all our troubles."

"But you did not see his face."

"I did not need to see it, Herr Markov. You must believe what I say," she insisted. "It is the truth."

He only stared at her, as at a damage he had done. She could see that he was very tired. Since early morning, with but one period of rest, he had been upon his feet and the lines of weariness in his face and at his eyes were deeply scored.

"What could I do, Fräulein," he murmured. "I did not know and you-! Herr Gott! What a situation!"

"What had you planned?" she asked more gently after a moment.

"To tell him-yonder in the house," he said guiltily, "but I did not dare until I had spoken to you."

"That is impossible, Herr Markov," she said. "We must go on."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. You shall sit and I shall walk-"

"But it is raining-"

"We must go on-"

"But what shall I tell them yonder?"

"Tell them-nothing. Let us go." She had clambered down and stood beside him. He seemed bewildered by the disaster and when she caught his hand he pressed her fingers gently but aimlessly, as though their common misfortune had robbed him of all initiative. Tanya's voice aroused him. "Come," she urged. "We must go on-further."

"There is no one that I know within ten kilometers-"

"I can walk it. Get in, Herr Markov-"

She had caught up the reins of the unfortunate Fra Umberto and was about to turn the wagon when a heavy shadow from the lamp at one side of the door moved across the stable floor.

"I came to see if I-"

The monk paused and stood staring at Tanya in a kind of awe while she dropped the reins of Fra Umberto and started back, her gaze fixed on the black cowl beneath which was a pale smudge that she knew was Gregory Hochwald's face. Herr Markov looked from the one to the other in dismay and then took a pace forward toward the girl.

"You! Tanya! – " said Hochwald, coming slowly forward. "What are you doing here?"

She seemed unable to reply. The missing mustache revealed ugly lines she had never seen. He glanced quickly at the open top of the piano-organ.

"I see. You were- You heard? You knew that it was I."

"I heard. I beg that you will let us be on our way."

"You were going-where?"

"Further on. Herr Markov has done you a service. Do me another by remaining here."

Hochwald hesitated a moment.

"I seek to do you no harm. Nor could I if I wished. I am at your mercy as you are at mine-"

"I beg your pardon, Herr Hochwald," broke in Markov's deep voice. "The Fräulein is at no man's mercy while she is in my charge."

"A figure of speech," said the other with a smile, "but I do not like to drive the Fräulein forth into the rain. Of course rather than that, I shall go at once-or sleep here with this good donkey in the stable."

Herr Markov and Tanya exchanged quick glances which each read through the gloom. Herr Hochwald asleep within a few yards of the twenty-five millions of Nemi, hidden beneath the blankets in the bottom of the "machine of torture!" It was Tanya who first realized that short of immediate flight nothing but a change in her uncompromising attitude toward Hochwald was possible.

"It-it does not matter. I-I do not fear you, Gregory Hochwald-not now. If you will go to the house I will follow you. Herr Markov can join us when the donkey is fed."

And with a quick glance at Markov she moved toward the door and out into the raining night. Hochwald joined her at once and together they walked toward the lights of the farm-house, leaving Markov alone to attend to the needs of Fra Umberto and hide until the morning the packages of bank notes in the straw of the stable.

Hochwald questioned and she answered frankly, telling him of the manner of her escape which was obvious enough, concealing from him only the secret of the hurdy-gurdy. As to Herr Rowland he was still there in Munich-in great danger.

There were no reproaches on her part-her injury was too deeply seated for that, his venality too surely proven. Nor did Herr Hochwald speak of the events at the Villa Monteori; but Tanya felt that since he had found her and that they must travel on for a way in company, some grounds of mutual agreement or understanding must be found which would disarm her enemy as to the precious freight in the piano-organ. And so when they reached the protection of the portico:

"This situation is none of my choosing, Herr Hochwald," she said. "We are both fugitives from a common enemy-if I denounce you, I denounce myself. But if we are both arrested it is you who will suffer the full extremity-"

"Perhaps-" he broke in quickly. "I don't minimize the danger of my position. In Germany my life hangs by a thread. It is the penalty of my zeal in the cause we both represent."

Contempt and surprise that he should have thought her so dull were what she felt, but she managed to meet his glance calmly, for she had much to gain but still more to lose.