And when the dead came to life what would she say to him?

Hedged about with difficulties and dangers as he was, the sight of the girl so near him and yet so inaccessible was maddening. Now that he had discovered her, every impulse urged him to the feat of scaling the wall.

And yet, as though fascinated, he still sat, his gaze fixed on the bit of white drapery which was a part of Marishka. He tried to imagine what Goritz was saying to her, for he seemed to know that Goritz was her companion, seemed to hear the murmur of their voices. He waited long and then the white drapery vanished, reappeared, and Marishka's figure stood in the window, leaning with one hand upon the casement, in silhouette against the light. And now quite distinctly against the velvety soft background of the breathless night the sound of her voice, refined by the distance between them, but fearful in its tone and significance.

"_I--I am not afraid to die, Herr Goritz_," it said.

Renwick started to his feet as though suddenly awaking from a dreadful dream into a still more dreadful reality. Marishka still stood in the window motionless, but the words that she had spoken seemed to be ringing endlessly down the silent gorge and in his brain, which was suddenly empty of all but its echoes. He wanted to shout to her a cry of encouragement--and hope, but he remained silent, grimly watching and listening.

Marishka said something else and then turned into the room, while through another window he saw the dark figure of Goritz pass away from her toward the outward wall. Of Marishka he saw no more, but at intervals he saw Goritz pacing to and fro....

How much longer Renwick watched he did not know, but after a while he found himself stumbling along the face of the mountain, descending by the way that he had come, Marishka's words singing their message through and through him. It was as though the words had been meant for him instead of Goritz, that Renwick even in death should know of her danger and come to her aid. He was coming now, not as an avenging spirit, but in the flesh, armed with righteous wrath and a fearful lust for vengeance. He understood what the message meant. Hers was not a cry of despair but of defiance.... What had happened? He had not seen.

"I am not afraid to die." Nor was Renwick--but to live were better--to live at least for tonight. Fury gave him desperation, but for the task before him he needed coolness, too. And realizing that haste might send him hurtling to the bottom of the gorge, he moved more cautiously, stepping down with infinite pains until he reached the brook, which he crossed carefully, and then moved back up the declivity toward the castle.

The night was clear, starlit but moonless, and the cliff as he reached it looked down upon him with majestic and sullen disdain. The ages had passed over and left it scarred and seared but still defiant and inaccessible. Renwick paused a moment to be sure of his ground and then boldly crawled up over the chaos of tumbled bowlders and broken masonry, until he reached the wall of solid rock, where he stopped again to regain his breath and examine the fissure that he had studied earlier in the day. It was a cleft in the rock, the result of some subterranean upheaval which had caused the whole crag to settle into its base; a fissure, originally a mere crack which had been widened and deepened by the erosion of time. Upon closer inspection, it was larger than it had appeared from below, perhaps ten feet in width at the outside, and tapering gradually as it rose.

He entered and ran his fingers along its sides, penetrating to its full depth until there was just room enough in which to wedge his bent body.

Then rising cautiously, seated, so to speak, upon the incline which seemed to be about thirty degrees from the vertical, he dug the iron-shod toes of his peasant's boots into the roughnesses of the wall before him and rose, pushing with elbows and arms where the wall was too smooth for a foothold. It was hard work, and at the end of ten minutes, perspiring profusely, and leg and arm weary, he stopped upon a projecting ledge, where he found a perfect balance for his entire body, and relaxed. But he had gained fifty feet.

Above him was the long streak of pallid light shimmering against the gloom of the rock like the blade of a naked sword, with its point far above him among the stars. For a full five minutes he rested, and then went upward again, feeling with his finger ends while he braced his body, taking advantage of every foothold before and behind. At one spot the fissure widened dangerously, but he struggled inward; at another it went almost straight upward, requiring sheer strength of fingers; but at last he found another ledge and braced himself with his feet for another rest. He did not dare to look downward now, for fear of dizziness, but he knew that he had already come high. The sword blade was shorter, curved now more like a scimitar at its tip, which showed that the angle was greater.

But what if before he reached the rocky platform, the cleft should grow too narrow to admit the passage of his body? It was too late now to think of any such impediment. He struggled upward again, slipping back at times, clawing like a cat, with toes and fingers, fighting for his breath, but always mounting higher, his gaze upward toward a star in the heavens near the point of the scimitar. Would he ever reach the top?

Bits of the rock crumbled, broke off and flew out into space, and once he slipped and slid outward, only saving himself from destruction by the aid of a jutting piece of jagged rock which caught in his clothing. A desperate venture--but successful, for with one final effort, with fingers torn, and knees and elbows bruised and bleeding, he hauled himself up to the level of the flat projection of rock upon which he dragged himself, exhausted and breathless, but so far, safe.

He lay there for a long time, flat on his back, his eyes dimmed with effort, his gaze on the stars, which now seemed to blink in a friendly way upon his venture. To succeed so far--failure was now impossible.

Fearfully he peered over the edge of the cliff upon the velvety tree-tops of the valley below. Three hundred feet, four perhaps, and beyond to the left where the crag fell down to the very bed of the Dukla itself, black void--vacancy.

Above him still was the hazardous climb up the broken face of the rocks, but he did not fear it. His nerves were iron now. There were roots growing here, and small bushes, stunted trees, growing in the interstices of the rocks, and he climbed steadily, always looking upward, toward the breach in the wall now so very near, fifty feet, forty--and then the wall seemed to hang over him smooth and bare. So he hung there by a sturdy branch, one foot clinging, and studied the surface, descending a few feet carefully and then rising again to the left in a fissure, swinging himself along a narrow ledge where the masonry of the bastion joined the rock. Over this he climbed, finding solid footing at last, and then rest and a breathing space within the broken walls.

He lay behind a pile of rocks which had fallen from the walls of the watchtower, recovering his breath again, and the strength of his fingers, every bone of which was crying out in protest. He peered over into the depths below, trying to measure the distance he had come--three hundred feet--perhaps more. Could he find a rope of that length within the castle--? After a while he straightened in the shadow of the wall and peered cautiously up at the dark bulk of the keep and the tower, beyond the ruined chapel, searching its roofs and window for a sign of life. Silence. The ruin was deserted. For half an hour he watched and waited, and then sure that there was no chance that he had been observed, rose to his feet and moved forward stealthily into the shadows of the chapel. The roof had long since fallen in and been removed, but Renwick stumbled over a dusty tomb, toward the fragment of altar with the reredos still showing traces of sculpture, partially protected by a fragment of roof over the apse which had been spared by the wind and storm. To the right of the altar was a Gothic door, which had at one time led into the building adjoining, but upon investigation he found that it had been built in with solid blocks of stone. The other arch of the vaulted structure outside which he had noted from the mountain side was also filled by a wall. So far as Renwick could see, the ruined part of Schloss Szolnok was isolated, with no mode of egress from the habitable part.

Renwick had screened his movements as far as possible from view of the windows in the keep and other buildings, and now discovered that the lowest one was at least fifteen feet above the level of this rampart; and so before planning any action, he investigated the guardhouse, a fallen ruin upon the north bastion. He seemed to make out the forms of what had once been the stone treads of a circular stair in a tumbled mass. At first the appearance of the place discouraged him, for it seemed too far away from the main mass of buildings to furnish any communication with them, but as he peered among the fallen masonry he thought he detected a darker spot in the obscurity, and bending forward was aware of a heavy smell, as of mold and dampness. Upon investigation he discovered an irregular hole under the mass of stone, a little wider than his body.

He dared not strike a match for fear the glow of it might be observed from one of the windows of the keep, but testing the balance of the heavy stone steps, he decided to investigate, and so lowering his legs into the dark aperture he let himself hang from his waist and found that his toes encountered solidity. He tested his footing with his weight, and then let go, descending into the hole, which seemed to be a stairway, leading from the tower into the bowels of the rock. With a touch of fingers upon the efflorescent walls he moved cautiously down, step by step, sure now that this was the ancient corridor by which the men-at-arms passed from the guardhouse to the other rampart. Sixty-two steps down he counted, and then he reached a level, where he paused a moment to look at the vague blotch of gray which was the starlight. Even with eyes that had now grown accustomed to the darkness he could see nothing, and so deeming himself safe from observation, he struck a match, which struggled a moment against the foul air and then went out.

But in the brief moment of partial illumination, Renwick made out a corridor extending straight before him, slightly downward. He followed it cautiously his hands stretched out, his toes feeling for pitfalls, and at last came to a rough wall.

Was this the end--a wall which shut off communication with the ruins?

Emptiness to the right. He turned and followed the wall blindly, down its tortuous way, aware of a difficulty in breathing, and a throbbing at his temples down which the moisture was pouring profusely. In a while which seemed hours, the rough wall stopped, and his fingers encountered a wooden upright--a doorway--open. And testing the stone floor carefully he passed through it, the echoes of footfalls advising him that he was in a larger space. He peered in all directions, seeking a sign of light within, for it seemed that the air had now grown fresher, but he saw nothing, and so striking a third match which burned more brightly, he held it over his head for a moment and looked about him.

It was a kind of crypt in a good state of preservation, octagonal in shape, about twelve feet high, and the ceiling was supported by arches which sprang from dwarf columns of stone at the angles. From the center of the ceiling by a heavy chain hung an ancient iron lamp which still contained the remnants of a candle. There was a heavy wooden table at one side, and two heavy chairs, but Renwick's gaze passed these quickly to a partition of rough boards in one of the walls opposite, and then his match burnt his fingers and expired.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE DEATH GRIP

He stood in the middle of the stone floor, matchbox in hand, trying to decide what he must do next. As nearly as he could judge by his observations during the afternoon, and the direction of the steps and passageways, the vault was somewhere under the main group of buildings, the keep or one end of the Hall, two or three stories below the level of the chapel floor. Part of the corridor through which he had passed was hewn from the solid rock, and part was built of masonry. The wooden partition opposite him was obviously the beginning of the used part of the castle, but admitting that he could pass it, in which direction would it lead him? He feared to strike another match, for beyond the door perhaps someone might be moving. It was now, as nearly as Renwick could judge, about one o'clock in the morning. He crossed the crypt carefully and found the partition, feeling its surface, which was made of rough boards loosely nailed together. He put his eye to one of the cracks and peering in, could see nothing; but a current of warmer air which came through the slits, slightly aromatic in odor, warned him that the space beyond was surely connected with the habitable part of the castle--a wine cellar perhaps, or a storage room. He debated for a moment whether it was wise to use another light and then at last decided to take the risk, and as matches were scarce, found the ancient candle in the iron lamp, which after sputtering feebly for a moment, consented to burn. By its aid he examined the dust upon the floor of the crypt, which showed the imprint of no footsteps but his own; then the walls of the crypt, discovering immediately another door which his eyes had missed in the earlier glow of the match,--a narrow door open to the left, of thick wood, with heavy iron hinges, the flanges of which formed the braces of the door itself. He blew out the candle and put it into his pocket. Peering through the keyhole and seeing nothing, he lifted the latch and tried to open it.

His efforts proved that it had been unused for many years, for the hinges had sagged, and some of its weight rested upon the stone floor.

But with an effort, he managed to move it an inch or so. Another effort swung it clear of its stone sill, and at last he managed to open it wide enough to admit the passage of his body. But with this last attempt the rusty hinges rasped horribly; and so he waited in silence, listening fearfully for any sounds in front or behind him which might indicate alertness above.

Another passage lay before him, a narrower one, which soon developed a straight flight of narrow stairs leading upwards. He stood for a moment staring, for the gloom above him seemed to lighten. He sat upon the lower step and took off his heavy boots, then crept up the stairs noiselessly, reaching a landing dimly lighted by a small slit of a window which looked out upon the night. Pausing here, he was enabled definitely to establish his position within the castle walls. Below him was the narrower gorge, opposite him the cliff upon which he had crouched this afternoon. He was beneath one end of the Hall, and from all indications, in an ancient secret passageway, the existence of which from its condition had for years been forgotten. At the landing there was a heavy wooden door upon his left. This he examined as minutely as possible by the dim light of the loophole, peering through the keyhole, from which exuded a faint odor of gasoline. It must be here that Goritz kept the car. The platform was near the level of the rampart, then.

Renwick did not pause here long for he saw that the stairs turned and mounted again in the opposite direction.

Renwick felt for his automatic, and leaving his shoes on the landing by the window, again climbed into the darkness. Another landing--and before his eyes, now sensitive to the slightest lessening of the gloom, a thin thread of light crossed the narrow passage, terminating at his right in an illuminated spot upon the wall. It did not emanate as he had at first supposed, from a keyhole, but from a crevice between two stones, where the joints had turned to powder. He peered through eagerly, but his range of vision was small, covering merely a section of paneled woodwork, a mullioned window, and a chair or two. He held his breath and listened, for he fancied he heard the sound of footsteps. Yes, there they were again, the slowly moving footsteps of a man pacing to and fro--and then the footsteps halted suddenly and a voice spoke. It was that of Leo Goritz.

"Are you sure that you saw them?"

"There is no mistake. My eyes are good."

"Did they remain long?"

"For twenty minutes or so, but they saw that the thing was impossible and went away."

"The situation becomes interesting," said Goritz.

"Rather too risky, I should say," put in the other. "If the Herr Hauptmann had only taken my advice last week----"

"I never take advice. But you may have been mistaken. I can scarcely believe that Herr Windt had the skill to trace us here--unless----"

"But it was he. I was peering through the slit in the postern, not twenty feet away. I could have killed him easily."

"But twenty feet is a long distance when two hundred feet yawn beneath.

Let him come. We have food enough for a siege--ah, there it is again!"

There was a significant silence between the two men, but Renwick listened the more keenly, for he heard the deep rumble, as of thunder, which had perplexed him in the afternoon--a reverberation, repeated and continued, which seemed to make the very flags beneath him tremble. But since he could hear and feel it within these solid walls, much nearer and louder, he realized now that it meant the roar of artillery--the defiant blasts of the Austrian guns at the end of the Pass, or the triumphant salvos of the Russians. And the voice of Goritz confirmed him.

"The thing has come rather sooner than I expected," he growled.

"_Donnerwetter!_ Why couldn't the Russians have put off the attack for a week!"

"And if they win the Pass----"

"Perhaps it is just as well for us if they do. Herr Windt may neglect us in the general scramble for safety."

"He is not of that sort, Herr Hauptmann."

"Then let him come. Twenty feet is a long jump even for the legs of the Windt."

Goritz laughed at his joke and then yawned sleepily.

"You may go now, Karl. Is Strohmeyer at the gate?"

"Yes, Herr Hauptmann."

"You are sure that he will not go to sleep?"