"It's been a sort of battle since morning," the portier said. "There will be some crashes and cataracts8 to-night." That was what The Rat had thought when they had sat in the Fountain Garden on a seat which gave them a good view of the balcony and the big evergreen9 shrub2, which they knew had the hollow in the middle, though its circumference10 was so imposing11. "If there should be a big storm, the evergreen will not save you much, though it may keep off the worst," The Rat said. "I wish there was room for two."
He would have wished there was room for two if he had seen Marco marching to the stake. As the gardens emptied, the boys rose and walked round once more, as if on their way out. By the time they had sauntered toward the big evergreen, nobody was in the Fountain Garden, and the last loiterers were moving toward the arched stone entrance to the streets.
When they drew near one side of the evergreen, the two were together. When The Rat swung out on the other side of it, he was alone! No one noticed that anything had happened; no one looked back. So The Rat swung down the walks and round the flower-beds and passed into the street. And the portier looked at the sky and made his remark about the "crashes" and "cataracts."
As the darkness came on, the hollow in the shrub seemed a very safe place. It was not in the least likely that any one would enter the closed gardens; and if by rare chance some servant passed through, he would not be in search of people who wished to watch all night in the middle of an evergreen instead of going to bed and to sleep. The hollow was well inclosed with greenery, and there was room to sit down when one was tired of standing12.
Marco stood for a long time because, by doing so, he could see plainly the windows opening on the balcony if he gently pushed aside some flexible young boughs13. He had managed to discover in his first visit to the gardens that the windows overlooking the Fountain Garden were those which belonged to the Prince's own suite14 of rooms. Those which opened on to the balcony lighted his favorite apartment, which contained his best-loved books and pictures and in which he spent most of his secluded15 leisure hours.
Marco watched these windows anxiously. If the Prince had not gone to Budapest,—if he were really only in retreat, and hiding from his gay world among his treasures,—he would be living in his favorite rooms and lights would show themselves. And if there were lights, he might pass before a window because, since he was inclosed in his garden, he need not fear being seen. The twilight16 deepened into darkness and, because of the heavy clouds, it was very dense17. Faint gleams showed themselves in the lower part of the palace, but none was lighted in the windows Marco watched. He waited so long that it became evident that none was to be lighted at all. At last he loosed his hold on the young boughs and, after standing a few moments in thought, sat down upon the earth in the midst of his embowered tent. The Prince was not in his retreat; he was probably not in Vienna, and the rumor18 of his journey to Budapest had no doubt been true. So much time lost through making a mistake—but it was best to have made the venture. Not to have made it would have been to lose a chance. The entrance was closed for the night and there was no getting out of the gardens until they were opened for the next day. He must stay in his hiding-place until the time when people began to come and bring their books and knitting and sit on the seats. Then he could stroll out without attracting attention. But he had the night before him to spend as best he could. That would not matter at all. He could tuck his cap under his head and go to sleep on the ground. He could command himself to waken once every half-hour and look for the lights. He would not go to sleep until it was long past midnight—so long past that there would not be one chance in a hundred that anything could happen. But the clouds which made the night so dark were giving forth19 low rumbling20 growls21. At intervals22 a threatening gleam of light shot across them and a sudden swish of wind rushed through the trees in the garden. This happened several times, and then Marco began to hear the patter of raindrops. They were heavy and big drops, but few at first, and then there was a new and more powerful rush of wind, a jagged dart23 of light in the sky, and a tremendous crash. After that the clouds tore themselves open and poured forth their contents in floods. After the protracted24 struggle of the day it all seemed to happen at once, as if a horde25 of huge lions had at one moment been let loose: flame after flame of lightning, roar and crash and sharp reports of thunder, shrieks26 of hurricane wind, torrents27 of rain, as if some tidal-wave of the skies had gathered and rushed and burst upon the earth. It was such a storm as people remember for a lifetime and which in few lifetimes is seen at all.
Marco stood still in the midst of the rage and flooding, blinding roar of it. After the first few minutes he knew he could do nothing to shield himself. Down the garden paths he heard cataracts rushing. He held his cap pressed against his eyes because he seemed to stand in the midst of darting28 flames. The crashes, cannon29 reports and thunderings, and the jagged streams of light came so close to one another that he seemed deafened30 as well as blinded. He wondered if he should ever be able to hear human voices again when it was over. That he was drenched31 to the skin and that the water poured from his clothes as if he were himself a cataract7 was so small a detail that he was scarcely aware of it. He stood still, bracing32 his body, and waited. If he had been a Samavian soldier in the trenches33 and such a storm had broken upon him and his comrades, they could only have braced34 themselves and waited. This was what he found himself thinking when the tumult35 and downpour were at their worst. There were men who had waited in the midst of a rain of bullets.
It was not long after this thought had come to him that there occurred the first temporary lull36 in the storm. Its fury perhaps reached its height and broke at that moment. A yellow flame had torn its jagged way across the heavens, and an earth-rending crash had thundered itself into rumblings which actually died away before breaking forth again. Marco took his cap from his eyes and drew a long breath. He drew two long breaths. It was as he began drawing a third and realizing the strange feeling of the almost stillness about him that he heard a new kind of sound at the side of the garden nearest his hiding-place. It sounded like the creak of a door opening somewhere in the wall behind the laurel hedge. Some one was coming into the garden by a private entrance. He pushed aside the young boughs again and tried to see, but the darkness was too dense. Yet he could hear if the thunder would not break again. There was the sound of feet on the wet gravel37, the footsteps of more than one person coming toward where he stood, but not as if afraid of being heard; merely as if they were at liberty to come in by what entrance they chose. Marco remained very still. A sudden hope gave him a shock of joy. If the man with the tired face chose to hide himself from his acquaintances, he might choose to go in and out by a private entrance. The footsteps drew near, crushing the wet gravel, passed by, and seemed to pause somewhere near the balcony; and then flame lit up the sky again and the thunder burst forth once more.
But this was its last great peal38. The storm was at an end. Only fainter and fainter rumblings and mutterings and paler and paler darts39 followed. Even they were soon over, and the cataracts in the paths had rushed themselves silent. But the darkness was still deep.
It was deep to blackness in the hollow of the evergreen. Marco stood in it, streaming with rain, but feeling nothing because he was full of thought. He pushed aside his greenery and kept his eyes on the place in the blackness where the windows must be, though he could not see them. It seemed that he waited a long time, but he knew it only seemed so really. He began to breathe quickly because he was waiting for something.
Suddenly he saw exactly where the windows were—because they were all lighted!
His feeling of relief was great, but it did not last very long. It was true that something had been gained in the certainty that his man had not left Vienna. But what next? It would not be so easy to follow him if he chose only to go out secretly at night. What next? To spend the rest of the night watching a lighted window was not enough. To-morrow night it might not be lighted. But he kept his gaze fixed40 upon it. He tried to fix all his will and thought-power on the person inside the room. Perhaps he could reach him and make him listen, even though he would not know that any one was speaking to him. He knew that thoughts were strong things. If angry thoughts in one man's mind will create anger in the mind of another, why should not sane41 messages cross the line?
"I must speak to you. I must speak to you!" he found himself saying in a low intense voice. "I am outside here waiting. Listen! I must speak to you!"
He said it many times and kept his eyes fixed upon the window which opened on to the balcony. Once he saw a man's figure cross the room, but he could not be sure who it was. The last distant rumblings of thunder had died away and the clouds were breaking. It was not long before the dark mountainous billows broke apart, and a brilliant full moon showed herself sailing in the rift42, suddenly flooding everything with light. Parts of the garden were silver white, and the tree shadows were like black velvet43. A silvery lance pierced even into the hollow of Marco's evergreen and struck across his face.
Perhaps it was this sudden change which attracted the attention of those inside the balconied room. A man's figure appeared at the long windows. Marco saw now that it was the Prince. He opened the windows and stepped out on to the balcony.
"It is all over," he said quietly. And he stood with his face lifted, looking at the great white sailing moon.
He stood very still and seemed for the moment to forget the world and himself. It was a wonderful, triumphant44 queen of a moon. But something brought him back to earth. A low, but strong and clear, boy-voice came up to him from the garden path below.
"The Lamp is lighted. The Lamp is lighted," it said, and the words sounded almost as if some one were uttering a prayer. They seemed to call to him, to arrest him, to draw him.
He stood still a few seconds in dead silence. Then he bent45 over the balustrade. The moonlight had not broken the darkness below.
"That is a boy's voice," he said in a low tone, "but I cannot see who is speaking."
"Yes, it is a boy's voice," it answered, in a way which somehow moved him, because it was so ardent46. "It is the son of Stefan Loristan. The Lamp is lighted."
"Wait. I am coming down to you," the Prince said.
In a few minutes Marco heard a door open gently not far from where he stood. Then the man he had been following so many days appeared at his side.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Before the gates closed. I hid myself in the hollow of the big shrub there, Highness," Marco answered.
"Then you were out in the storm?"
"Yes, Highness."
The Prince put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I cannot see you—but it is best to stand in the shadow. You are drenched to the skin."
"I have been able to give your Highness—the Sign," Marco whispered. "A storm is nothing."
There was a silence. Marco knew that his companion was pausing to turn something over in his mind.
"So-o?" he said slowly, at length. "The Lamp is lighted, And you are sent to bear the Sign." Something in his voice made Marco feel that he was smiling.
"What a race you are! What a race—you Samavian Loristans!"
He paused as if to think the thing over again.
"I want to see your face," he said next. "Here is a tree with a shaft47 of moonlight striking through the branches. Let us step aside and stand under it."
Marco did as he was told. The shaft of moonlight fell upon his uplifted face and showed its young strength and darkness, quite splendid for the moment in a triumphant glow of joy in obstacles overcome. Raindrops hung on his hair, but he did not look draggled, only very wet and picturesque48. He had reached his man. He had given the Sign.
The Prince looked him over with interested curiosity.
"Yes," he said in his cool, rather dragging voice. "You are the son of Stefan Loristan. Also you must be taken care of. You must come with me. I have trained my household to remain in its own quarters until I require its service. I have attached to my own apartments a good safe little room where I sometimes keep people. You can dry your clothes and sleep there. When the gardens are opened again, the rest will be easy."
But though he stepped out from under the trees and began to move towards the palace in the shadow, Marco noticed that he moved hesitatingly, as if he had not quite decided49 what he should do. He stopped rather suddenly and turned again to Marco, who was following him.
"There is some one in the room I just now left," he said, "an old man—whom it might interest to see you. It might also be a good thing for him to feel interest in you. I choose that he shall see you—as you are."
"I am at your command, Highness," Marco answered. He knew his companion was smiling again.
"You have been in training for more centuries than you know," he said; "and your father has prepared you to encounter the unexpected without surprise."
They passed under the balcony and paused at a low stone doorway50 hidden behind shrubs. The door was a beautiful one, Marco saw when it was opened, and the corridor disclosed was beautiful also, though it had an air of quiet and aloofness51 which was not so much secret as private. A perfect though narrow staircase mounted from it to the next floor. After ascending52 it, the Prince led the way through a short corridor and stopped at the door at the end of it. "We are going in here," he said.
It was a wonderful room—the one which opened on to the balcony. Each piece of furniture in it, the hangings, the tapestries53, and pictures on the wall were all such as might well have found themselves adorning54 a museum. Marco remembered the common report of his escort's favorite amusement of collecting wonders and furnishing his house with the things others exhibited only as marvels55 of art and handicraft. The place was rich and mellow56 with exquisitely57 chosen beauties.
In a massive chair upon the hearth58 sat a figure with bent head. It was a tall old man with white hair and moustache. His elbows rested upon the arm of his chair and he leaned his forehead on his hand as if he were weary.
Marco's companion crossed the room and stood beside him, speaking in a lowered voice. Marco could not at first hear what he said. He himself stood quite still, waiting. The white-haired man lifted his head and listened. It seemed as though almost at once he was singularly interested. The lowered voice was slightly raised at last and Marco heard the last two sentences:
"The only son of Stefan Loristan. Look at him."
The old man in the chair turned slowly and looked, steadily59, and with questioning curiosity touched with grave surprise. He had keen and clear blue eyes.
Then Marco, still erect60 and silent, waited again. The Prince had merely said to him, "an old man whom it might interest to see you." He had plainly intended that, whatsoever61 happened, he must make no outward sign of seeing more than he had been told he would see—"an old man." It was for him to show no astonishment62 or recognition. He had been brought here not to see but to be seen. The power of remaining still under scrutiny63, which The Rat had often envied him, stood now in good stead because he had seen the white head and tall form not many days before, surmounted64 by brilliant emerald plumes65, hung with jeweled decorations, in the royal carriage, escorted by banners, and helmets, and following troops whose tramping feet kept time to bursts of military music while the populace bared their heads and cheered.
"He is like his father," this personage said to the Prince. "But if any one but Loristan had sent him—His looks please me." Then suddenly to Marco, "You were waiting outside while the storm was going on?"
"Yes, sir," Marco answered.
Then the two exchanged some words still in the lowered voice.
"You read the news as you made your journey?" he was asked. "You know how Samavia stands?"
"She does not stand," said Marco. "The Iarovitch and the Maranovitch have fought as hyenas66 fight, until each has torn the other into fragments—and neither has blood or strength left."
The two glanced at each other.
"A good simile," said the older person. "You are right. If a strong party rose—and a greater power chose not to interfere—the country might see better days." He looked at him a few moments longer and then waved his hand kindly67.
"You are a fine Samavian," he said. "I am glad of that. You may go. Good night."
Marco bowed respectfully and the man with the tired face led him out of the room.
It was just before he left him in the small quiet chamber68 in which he was to sleep that the Prince gave him a final curious glance. "I remember now," he said. "In the room, when you answered the question about Samavia, I was sure that I had seen you before. It was the day of the celebration. There was a break in the crowd and I saw a boy looking at me. It was you."
"Yes," said Marco, "I have followed you each time you have gone out since then, but I could never get near enough to speak. To-night seemed only one chance in a thousand."
"You are doing your work more like a man than a boy," was the next speech, and it was made reflectively. "No man could have behaved more perfectly69 than you did just now, when discretion70 and composure were necessary." Then, after a moment's pause, "He was deeply interested and deeply pleased. Good night."
When the gardens had been thrown open the next morning and people were passing in and out again, Marco passed out also. He was obliged to tell himself two or three times that he had not wakened from an amazing dream. He quickened his pace after he had crossed the street, because he wanted to get home to the attic71 and talk to The Rat. There was a narrow side-street it was necessary for him to pass through if he wished to make a short cut. As he turned into it, he saw a curious figure leaning on crutches against a wall. It looked damp and forlorn, and he wondered if it could be a beggar. It was not. It was The Rat, who suddenly saw who was approaching and swung forward. His face was pale and haggard and he looked worn and frightened. He dragged off his cap and spoke72 in a voice which was hoarse73 as a crow's.
"God be thanked!" he said. "God be thanked!" as people always said it when they received the Sign, alone. But there was a kind of anguish74 in his voice as well as relief.
"Aide-de-camp!" Marco cried out—The Rat had begged him to call him so. "What have you been doing? How long have you been here?"
"Ever since I left you last night," said The Rat clutching tremblingly at his arm as if to make sure he was real. "If there was not room for two in the hollow, there was room for one in the street. Was it my place to go off duty and leave you alone—was it?"
"You were out in the storm?"
"Weren't you?" said The Rat fiercely. "I huddled75 against the wall as well as I could. What did I care? Crutches don't prevent a fellow waiting. I wouldn't have left you if you'd given me orders. And that would have been mutiny. When you did not come out as soon as the gates opened, I felt as if my head got on fire. How could I know what had happened? I've not the nerve and backbone76 you have. I go half mad." For a second or so Marco did not answer. But when he put his hand on the damp sleeve, The Rat actually started, because it seemed as though he were looking into the eyes of Stefan Loristan.
"You look just like your father!" he exclaimed, in spite of himself. "How tall you are!"
"When you are near me," Marco said, in Loristan's own voice, "when you are near me, I feel—I feel as if I were a royal prince attended by an army. You ARE my army." And he pulled off his cap with quick boyishness and added, "God be thanked!"
The sun was warm in the attic window when they reached their lodging77, and the two leaned on the rough sill as Marco told his story. It took some time to relate; and when he ended, he took an envelope from his pocket and showed it to The Rat. It contained a flat package of money.
"He gave it to me just before he opened the private door," Marco explained. "And he said to me, 'It will not be long now. After Samavia, go back to London as quickly as you can—AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN!'"
"I wonder—what he meant?" The Rat said, slowly. A tremendous thought had shot through his mind. But it was not a thought he could speak of to Marco.
"I cannot tell. I thought that it was for some reason he did not expect me to know," Marco said. "We will do as he told us. As quickly as we can." They looked over the newspapers, as they did every day. All that could be gathered from any of them was that the opposing armies of Samavia seemed each to have reached the culmination78 of disaster and exhaustion79. Which party had the power left to take any final step which could call itself a victory, it was impossible to say. Never had a country been in a more desperate case.
"It is the time!" said The Rat, glowering80 over his map. "If the Secret Party rises suddenly now, it can take Melzarr almost without a blow. It can sweep through the country and disarm81 both armies. They're weakened—they're half starved—they're bleeding to death; they WANT to be disarmed82. Only the Iarovitch and the Maranovitch keep on with the struggle because each is fighting for the power to tax the people and make slaves of them. If the Secret Party does not rise, the people will, and they'll rush on the palaces and kill every Maranovitch and Iarovitch they find. And serve them right!"
"Let us spend the rest of the day in studying the road-map again," said Marco. "To-night we must be on the way to Samavia!"
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1
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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43
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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53
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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hyenas
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| n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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72
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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81
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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82
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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