"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 vise. 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.

CHAPTER XIII

TRAGEDY

She heard a few phrases pass between them and then, without lights, the machine suddenly moved forward. The explosions of the engine, muffled though they were, seemed like rifle shots to ears newly accustomed to the silences of the night. But the speed of the motor increased rapidly, and she felt the damp of the river fog brushing her cheek. She could see nothing though she peered into the blackness eagerly. The car was rushing to destruction for all that she knew, yet Karl was driving straight and hard for the entrance of the bridge. Marishka saw the dim gleam of a lantern, heard a hoarse shout, and then the sound of shots lost in the crashing of the timbers of the bridge as they thundered over, the throttle wide, past the bridge house at Bosna-Brod upon the other side of the river, and on without pause through the village into the open road beyond. All this in darkness, which had made the venture the more terrible.