He put her gently aside and went for a while and listened at the doors, and then came back to her.

"Silence. But we will wait a little longer," he whispered.

Marishka caught him by the shoulders and looked up into his eyes.

"Hugh, what you have said frightens me. You mean that you--that we are enemies--you and I--because our nations are at war----!"

She drew away and held him at arm's length while she scrutinized him in the light of the guttering candle.

"You--my enemy, Hugh? I--yours?" A wan smile came proudly to her lips.

"If I am your enemy, beloved, then love and loyalty have perished from the earth. And you, who have risen from the grave to come to me----!"

"Sh----, dear," he whispered. "You must know the truth. Whatever happens--here in the castle, the Austrian troops are all around us. Herr Windt, too. There is no escape for me unless the Russians come through.

That is why I hope----"

Marishka put her arms around his shoulders quickly and kissed him on the lips.

"Then I, too, pray that they may come through," she whispered fervently.

"Marishka! I do not ask you to give up your allegiance----"

"No, Hugh. I give without asking. Beloved, I want you to understand,"

she said solemnly. "Those that are your enemies are my enemies. You would have died for me--and I, can I do less for you?"

"Sh----, Marishka," he murmured, "there is no death----"

"Death can be no worse for me than the horrible utter loneliness without you; but whatever comes, I am yours, Hugh--in life--in death. I owe no allegiance, no fealty, but to you, and I have kept the faith, Hugh, even here. I can have no country that you may not share, no compatriots that are not yours also. My kingdom is in your heart, beloved, there to live while you will have it so."

"Marishka!" He caught her in his arms and held her long in his embrace, and she clung close to him, her lips on his in this final test of their plighted troth. About them the thunder of battle, ever approaching nearer; the rumble and din of groaning wagons on the road below; the hoarse cries of men; the whine and sputter of laboring motors trying to pass in the narrow road--confusion, disorder, chaos; but now they heard nothing. For them the earth stood still. Nations might totter and crash, but their Empire was in each other....

Renwick raised his head at last. "Marishka," he whispered, "it is time that we made a move." He released her suddenly, listened at the doors, and then moved to the table beside her.

"First, we had better put out the light--then perhaps we can see if there is anyone outside."

Marishka snuffed the candle, and they went to a window overlooking the courtyard, drew the hangings and peered out. The din in the valley below them was increasing, a hurrying of wagons, horses and guns in the narrow road. Were more Austrian reinforcements coming up? It seemed so. From the mountains beyond, the rattle of small-arm fire had risen to a steady roar, but the detonations of heavy ordnance were less frequent.

"The Austrians--may be winning," he said calmly.

She pressed his hand. "I am sorry," she said bravely.

But there was a world of meaning for Renwick in the way she whispered it.

"Your people shall be my people," she murmured again. "And your God, my God."

He could only return her pressure in silence.

He would have been little happy if he could have said how much.

Together they peered through the slip of the silken hanging to the rampart below. Flashes of reflections from the end of the Pass played like sheet lightning, and in the fitful illuminations they could see the figure of the old man, Strohmeyer, reclining in the shadow by the postern gate. The drawbridge was still raised, and beyond it they could see in the flashes, the length of the causeway stretching out into the darkness of the mountainside beyond. Strohmeyer did not move. It almost seemed as though he were asleep.

"What makes you think that Herr Windt is here?" asked Marishka suddenly.

"I saw him with Spivak yonder," and he pointed to the north beyond the gorge.

Marishka was silent, her eyes eagerly searching the shadows. Her hand was trembling a little with the excitement of their situation, but her voice was firm as she whispered:

"Perhaps tonight my eyes are uncertain, Hugh. But do you not see something moving in the shadow of the wall?"

"Where?"

"Of the causeway--there, beyond the chain of the drawbridge----"

He peered eagerly in the direction she indicated.

"A shadow----?" he questioned. "I can't--no--yes--it moves--there!"

"Yes--another and still another. And they are carrying something."

Renwick watched again for a tense moment.

"Windt--and his men," he said with conviction. "They are going to try to span the abyss."

"Strohmeyer----"

Here at least was a community of interest with Goritz. "They will win their way across, unless he wakes," said Renwick tensely.

"What is it that they are carrying?"

"Timbers--see! There are at least four men to each. They are putting them in the shadow of the wall. Will the man never wake up?"

"What can we do?" she whispered desperately. "I could call out to him."

"No----" he said, "I don't want to arouse Goritz yet. Ah! They have slunk away again to get more timbers, I think."

"And if they should succeed----?"

"They must not. One man could hold the place indefinitely from the protection of the gate. If the man would only wake!"

But Strohmeyer slept on.

"And Goritz?" she said anxiously. "Surely tonight he cannot be sleeping."

"Perhaps he is so sure of himself--yes--in the passage below I heard--there was to be a signal--one stroke of the postern bell----"

"But if the man sleeps----"

"If they come again--no matter what happens, we must warn him," he decided.