Part 4

“From the fat gentleman who insulted me in the train yesterday, I presume,” said Ray, with a smile. “He tried to sit on me and then called me names, and I called him Fat-Pig. He had already annoyed everyone in the carriage, and they all sided against him and told him what they thought of him. I am no more a spy than he is, mein Herr.... Stay--here is my return ticket to London dated, as you see, Saturday. My fiancée has been studying in Leipsic here for the last two years. She lived with Frau Helse, 119 Sebastian Bach Strasse. Have you your mother’s letter with you, Lois?”--and she got it out and handed it to the official.

He read it carefully and seemed to weigh each word and seek between the lines for hidden treason.

“And why is Fräulein Dare leaving so hurriedly?”

“Her mother wished her at home and we judged there might possibly be difficulties for a girl travelling alone.”

“Why?”

“When there are rumours of war in the air, mein Herr, one’s best place is in one’s own country. That was how we looked at it.”

“But the war--if it comes to anything--is far enough from here,” and he eyed Ray keenly, as though to penetrate his whole mind on the matter.

“May it remain so!” said Ray earnestly. “But when a fire starts one never knows for certain how far it will spread.”

“And you were going to Munich,--towards the danger in fact.”

“Yes, we were going by Innsbruck and Tirol into Switzerland and so home. The traffic on the direct lines seems disorganised. The booking-clerk refused me a ticket via Cologne.”

“I shall have to keep you awhile till I have made some further enquiries. If they are satisfactory you will be allowed to proceed. If not----”

“Herr Head-of-Police,” pleaded Lois, in her best German, which was very good indeed, and in her prettiest manner, which was irresistible, “It is too ridiculous. Herr Luard is a student of law in London. He is the nephew of Sir Anthony Luard, who lives next door to us at home, and we are fiancés. That is why he came for me. He is no more a spy than I am. And Frau Helse will tell you all about me. Fräulein Luise and Ludwig were across at our home in London last year.”

He nodded somewhat less officially. “I know Frau Helse, and doubtless it is all as you say, Fräulein. But we have to be careful in these days. I trust your detention will not be prolonged.”

He touched a bell and they were ushered into an adjoining room and left alone.

“Looks as if my assistance was not of much use to you, my dear,” laughed Ray. “I wish I’d smashed Fat-Pig’s ugly old head in. It would at all events have put him hors-de-combat for a day or two and would have been a great satisfaction to my feelings as well.”

“Then I should never have seen you at all,” said Lois. “It will be all right, I’m sure. Frau Helse will satisfy him. I’m glad he knows her.”

And an hour later they were released without a word of apology. But it was enough for them to be free, and they made their way back to the station in good enough spirits.

The delay, however, had lost them both the earlier and the later trains, and the time-tables showed that the next one for the south would land them at a place called Schwandorf at four o’clock in the morning, with the remote possibility of reaching Munich six hours later. There was a fast through train a little after midnight, which, barring accidents or delays, would get them there a couple of hours earlier, but after their late experience, and with the chance of running across their fat friend again, and perhaps becoming further victims to his pig-headed venom, Ray thought it best to get out of Leipsic as early as possible, even at cost of a weary night journey in a train that stopped at every station. Every station would at all events be that much between them and Pig-Head.

So they had their mid-day meal in the Station restaurant, and dallied over it as long as possible, and spent the rest of their time in the waiting-room, so that the authorities should have no possible pretext for suspicion.

They were perfectly happy, however, in one another’s company and the new relationship which Ray’s coming had jewelled into accepted family fact. Ray told her all he could think of about home-doings, and was keen to learn the smallest details of her life in Leipsic, and so there was no lack of talk between them and the time did not seem long.

Streams of people passed through the station, mostly men, and mostly in uniform. Ray saw without seeming to notice, and was confirmed in the view that great and grave events were brewing.

Their train was an hour late in starting, and, by reason of many stoppages and much side-tracking to allow other heavily-laden trains to pass, was more than two hours late in reaching Schwandorf.

It was a deadly wearisome journey,--the carriages packed beyond reason, everyone somewhat on edge with anxiety and excitement, senseless disputations and bickerings, jokes that lacked humour but led to noisy quarrelling, no rest for mind or body. They were glad to turn out into the chill morning air at Schwandorf, only to find the express already gone and none but slow trains till the 1 p.m. express which would, if it kept faith, land them in Munich about four in the afternoon.

They had breakfast and then propped themselves into corners in the waiting-room and endeavoured to make up for the loss of their night’s rest.

The express was not quite so crowded, but even it was frequent captive to the sidings, and as their fellow-travellers regarded them with polite but unmistakable suspicion they deemed it wise to keep silence, and so found the journey very monotonous. And everywhere, from such glimpses of the country and stations as their middle seats afforded them, they got the impression of unusual activities and endless uniforms.

“Is it always like this?” whispered Ray into Lois’s ear one time, and she shook her head.

It was after five o’clock when they at last drew into Munich, and as they stood in the carriage to let other eager travellers descend, Lois plucked Ray warningly by the arm, and he saw, rolling along the platform, the Ponderous One who had already got them into trouble in Leipsic.

“Hang the Fat-Pig!” he murmured. “Is there no getting away from him? What a Thing to be haunted by!”

They peered out of the window till they saw him roll through the barrier, and only then ventured to descend and make for the restaurant. For to be delivered over to the police as suspects here, where they knew no one, might involve them in endless trouble and delay. The one thing they desired now, above food or even sleep, was to set foot in a country where English folk were not looked upon as suspicious outcasts.

“Can you go on?” asked Ray. “I’m sure you’re dead tired, but----”

“Oh, let us get on,” she replied, with a touch of the all-prevailing anxious strain in her voice. “Anything to get out of this horrid country. They make me feel like a leper.”

There was a train marked to leave at 5.30 which had not yet started, and without waiting to get anything to eat, though their last meal had been early breakfast at Schwandorf, they climbed into a carriage, thankful at all events at thought of leaving their gross bête-noir behind in Munich.

It was close on 11 p.m. when they reached Innsbruck, and Ray led her straight across to the Tirolerhof, engaged two rooms, boldly registered their names as Raglan and Lois Luard, and ordered supper,--anything they had ready, and they fell upon it with a sixteen-hours’ appetite.

“For the time being,” said Ray, with reference to the name he had conferred upon her, when the sharpest edge of their hunger was blunted, “We are brother and sister to the obnoxious outside public. If you don’t want to be a sister to me you shall tell me so in private. It strikes me, my dear, that we may possibly not get home quite as quickly as they will be expecting over there.”

“If you hadn’t come it looks as though I would never have got home at all. Oh, I _am_ so glad you came, Ray. What does it all mean, do you think?”

“Mighty trouble all round, I fear. They are evidently mobilising here at top pressure. That means an attack on France. And what that may mean to us I can’t quite foresee.... We may have to get home through Italy.... But--Heavens and Earth!--Italy will be into it too. She’s bound to go in with Germany and Austria.... Do you know what _I_ think, my child?”

“No, what? Anything to the point?”

“Seems to me we may be bottled up here--that is in Switzerland, if we ever succeed in getting there--for the rest of our lives. What do you say to getting married as soon as we do get there--if ever, Miss--er--Luard,--and so regularising the position?” and he looked whimsically at her.

“We’ll wait and see, as Mr. Asquith says,” she smiled. “If we really do get bottled up it may have to come to that.”

“H’m! And I was hoping you’d jump at the chance!”

“It’s rather sudden, you see, and a bit overwhelming. We’ve only been really engaged since yesterday morning....”

“Oh ho! That so? But you knew all about it. Now didn’t you?”

“A girl can never really know quite all about it, you know, until she is asked. She may know her own side of the matter----”

“As you did.”

“And she may have every confidence in--er--the other side----”

“As you had.”

“But----”

“But me no buts, my child! I consider my idea an eminently sensible one. You think it over.... And consider all the advantages!--no fuss, no wedding-breakfast, no hideous publicity. Just a quiet wedding and right into the blissfullest honeymoon that ever was. Heavenly!”

“Well, I’ll think it over, and we’ll see how we go on. What time do we start in the morning?”

“There’s a train at 9.45, but it only goes as far as Feldkirch. And there’s a fast train at 1.15 which should land us in Zurich some time after 8.”

“Let us take the 1.15, then we can have a good rest. I’m awfully tired.”

“One-fifteen it is. And you don’t need to get up till ten,--eleven, if you like,” and he escorted her upstairs to her room.

“Do brothers and sisters kiss at your house?” he whispered at the door. “They don’t at ours.”

“Nor at ours,” and she put up her face to be kissed.

Innsbruck was as yet fairly quiet. The garrison had gone and had been replaced by men of the reserve; most of the visitors had taken fright and fled; a few bewildered--or phlegmatic--English and Americans were left, but the empty streets and the anxious and preoccupied looks of the women gave the pleasant little town an unusual and dreary aspect, and our travellers were glad to be en route for a land less likely to be disturbed by alarms and excursions and all the fears of war.

VII

When Lois came down next morning she found Ray on the front doorstep, deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman of most impressive appearance. He was tall and straight, and had white hair and beard and moustache, a very kindly face, and extremely polished manners. When he spoke, an occasional very slight nasal intonation, which none but a well-trained ear would have detected, suggested the United States--most likely Boston, she thought, since it reminded her of a Boston girl with whom she had been friendly at the Conservatorium.

Ray unblushingly introduced her as his sister, and said,

“Our friend here is advising me to change our route, Lois.”

“Oh--why?” she asked, looking up a little anxiously into the pleasant, interested face.

“Because, my dear young lady, I got through from Bâle myself only late last night, and not without difficulty. The situation is becoming worse every hour. Austria declared war against Servia yesterday. What that may lead to no man knows,--unless, perhaps, the Kaiser and his advisers. And even they are not absolutely omniscient. It may all peter out as it has done before, but I am bound to say that this time I fear Germany means business, and if she does it will mean very grim and ghastly business indeed. Mobilisation is going on quietly and quickly, everywhere, even in Switzerland. The clash will come on the French frontier if it comes at all, and I believe it to be inevitable. The Swiss fear for their neutrality, and their fears are justifiable. If it suits Germany’s book she will trample across Swiss or any other territory that happens to be in her way.”

“But--it is too amazing. Why should Germany break out like this?”

“Simply because she thinks her time is ripe. Some of us have been expecting this war for years past. Now it is upon us.”

“And how do you think we ought to go?”

“I was just telling your brother that any attempt to get through on any of the direct routes is quite out of the question. Every carriage and truck on every line is packed with soldiers. Your best way, I think, will be to get across country. Make for the Rhone Valley and get down to Montreux or Geneva, and wait there till things settle down somewhat, when you will be able no doubt to get across France and so home.”

“It means footing it, Lois. How does it strike you?” said Ray.

She knitted her brows prettily while she considered the matter. It was certainly all very disturbing.

“And are you going across country also?” she asked the American gentleman.

“No. I’m going back to my home in Meran. I have lived there for the last five years, and my wife is there. I had to run over to London on some business, and I’m glad to have got back in time. Another day and it might have been impossible.”

“And how long will it take to walk from here to the Rhone Valley?”

“You can still get a train to Landeck. Then strike right up the Lower Engadine Valley,-- Stay! I’ll show you on the map,” and he turned to the one on the wall. “Now,--see!--you go first to Landeck. Then follow up the Inn to Süss. Then strike across by the Flüela Pass to Davos, and then by the Strela Pass to Chur. Then by Ilanz and Disentis to the Gothard. There are no difficulties. The roads are good. It will be an exceedingly fine walk.”

“What about our bags?” asked Lois.

“Get a couple of rucksacs. Pack in as much as you can carry, and the rest.... You could have them forwarded from here. But I should be very doubtful if they’d ever reach you in the present state of matters.... Would you care to leave them in my charge? I will take them to my house and send them on as soon as things settle down.”

And he pulled out his pocket-book and handed Ray his card--Charles D. Lockhart. Schloss Rothstein. Meran.

“I came across a very fine book on Tirol by a Mr Lockhart not long since----” began Ray.

“Quite right! I have written much on Tirol. Since I made my home here I have grown very fond of both the country and the people. I fervently hope we shall have no more than back-wash of the war here. But there’s no telling. Once the spark is in the stubble the flames may spread wide.”

“We are greatly indebted to you, Mr Lockhart,” said Ray, “and since you are so good we will take advantage of your very kind offer. That is--if you can get all you will want till we get to Montreux into a rucksac, Lois.”

“I’ll manage all right.”

So they all had breakfast together, and much talk of the gigantic possibilities the near future might hold if it came to a universal war. Then, under their new friend’s experienced guidance, they made a quick round of the shops, bought rucksacs, alpenstocks, a Loden cloak each, and had their boots nailed in Swiss fashion.

By the time they had packed their rucksacs and repacked their bags it was time for Mr Lockhart to catch his train for Botzen and Meran, and they accompanied him to the station and said good-bye to him and their property.

And when the train had disappeared they looked at one another and burst out laughing.

“I’m sure it’s quite all right,” laughed Lois, “But it does feel odd to send off all one’s belongings like that with a man one never set eyes on till an hour ago.”

“It’s quite all right, my dear. I’d trust that old fellow with all I have--even with you. He’s a fine old boy, and we’ve got to thank him for putting us on to a gorgeous trip. Nothing like padding it for seeing the country!”

And an hour later they had turned their backs on Landeck and the snow peaks of the Lechtaler Alps, and were footing it gaily up the right bank of the roaring Inn, with the northern spurs of the Oetztaler towering up in front of them beyond the dark mouth of the Kaunser-Tal.

It was a gray day and none too warm, but excellent weather for walking, and there was in them an exuberant spirit of relief at having shaken off the trammels of ordinary life and left behind, for the time being at all events, the gathering war-clouds and ominous preparations. If it had rained in torrents they would still have been perfectly happy, for that which was within them was proof against outside assault of any kind whatsoever.

It was a lonely walk, and so the more delightful to them. They desired no company but their own. Beyond an occasional man of the hills hastening towards Landeck, with sober face, coat slung by its arms at his back, and jaunty cock-feathered hat on the back of his head, they did not meet a soul till they came to Ladis.

As a rule these hurrying ones passed them with a preoccupied ‘Grüss Gott!’ and a hungry look which craved news but grudged the time.

One stopped for a moment and asked anxiously, “Is it true, then, Herr? Is it war?”

And Ray answered him, “With Servia, yes! How much more no man knows.”

“War is the devil,” said the man soberly, and hurried on.

They talked cheerfully,--of the folks at home and all the recent happenings there,--dived into happy reminiscence of their own feelings towards one another, and how and when and where these had begun to crystallise into the radiant certainty of mutual love,--and more than once, in the solitude of the little mountain sanctuaries where they stopped at times for a rest, Ray caught her to him and kissed her passionately in the overflowing fulness of his heart.

It was the most entrancing walk Lois had ever had, and the glow in her face and the star-shine in her eyes told their own tale.

They crossed the river where the road wound away into Kaunser-Tal, and again by the bridge at Prutz, and six o’clock found them within sight of the castle of Siegmundsried, with the pretty little village of Ried below.

“We’ll stop the night there,” said Ray. “We’ve done about ten miles and all uphill, and that’s quite enough for a first day. How are the feet?”

“First rate. I feel as if I could go on for ever.”

“If you went on for ever you’d wish you hadn’t next day. We’ve got a long way to go and there’s no great hurry,--unless you feel as if you’d like to get it over and done with.”

“Oh, but I don’t. I’d like it to last for ever and ever.”

“Mr and Mrs Wandering Jew,” laughed Ray. “What would your mother say?”

“She would say, ‘She’ll be all right since she’s with Ray.’”

“See what it is to have a good character,” and they turned into the ‘Post’ and demanded rooms and supper.

Next day they walked on, first on one side of the river, then on the other, loitering on every bridge to watch the gray water roaring among the worn gray rocks below.

They ate their lunch on the terrace of the little inn at Stuben, looking across at Pfunds lying in the mouth of the valley opposite. And when they came to the Cajetan Bridge, instead of crossing it with the high-road, Ray kept to the old path along the left bank, through the narrow Finstermünz Pass, and made straight for Martinsbruck, and so avoided the long bends and steep zig-zags leading to and from Nauders in the mouth of the Stillebach Valley.

It was rough walking, but he explained,

“It cuts off a lot, you see, and when we cross that bridge at Martinsbruck we’re in Switzerland.”

“That sounds like getting near home,” said Lois.

“It’s a neutral country anyway, and maybe we’ll get news there of what’s really happening. But it’s a good long way from home. I believe you’re tired of tramping already.”

“Am I? Do I look it?”

“You do not. But you look as though a kiss would encourage you--to say nothing of me.”...

The tops and sides of the mountains had been wreathed with smoke-coloured clouds all day. It was only as they drew near to Martinsbruck that the evening sun struggled out, and they saw a peak here and there soaring up above the clouds and all aglow with crimson fire,--a wonderful and uplifting vision.

“The Delectable Mountains,” murmured Lois, at this her first sight of the alpen-glüh.

“Our Promised Land lies the other way,” said Ray, “But we’ll carry our own glory-fire with us.”

They stood watching till the red glow faded swiftly up the summits of the cloud-borne peaks and left them chill and ghostly, and Lois heaved a sigh of regret.

“Wait!” said Ray, with his hand on her arm; and in a minute or two the cold white mountain-tops flushed all soft rose-pink, so exquisitely sweet and tender that Lois caught her breath and laid her hand in his, as though she must fain share so exquisite a joy with him.

“How lovely!” she whispered, profoundly moved by the sight and the warm grip of his hand, through which his heart seemed to beat up into hers. “The sun’s last warm good-night kiss! Oh, if they could only be like that always!”

“Then we would not enjoy them half as much. Don’t watch it fade,” and they turned and went. “We will always remember it at its best.... Life is to be like that with you and me, right on and on and on for ever. It is a good omen. And here,”--as they crossed the bridge--“we are in Switzerland, and this little Post Hotel will serve us excellently.”

Those solitary suppers in the common-rooms of the little wayside inns were things to remember. Not so much for the quality of the viands and the wine, though they never had a fault to find with either, but because of the cheerful goodfellowship and delightful camaraderie they engendered. And there was without doubt a subtle crown of joy to it all, in the feeling that here they were doing something out of the common, something that would possibly administer some slight shock to the nerves of Mrs Grundy if she had been aware of it.

Their procedure, however, was not so unusual as they in their innocence imagined.

As they sat over their meal that night in the Post at Martinsbruck, there came in two later arrivals who presently joined them at table,--a strapping young fellow of five-and-twenty and a very pretty girl of a year or two less, with large blue eyes and abundant fair hair coiled in great plaits round her head, and they were soon all chatting together on the friendliest of terms.

These two were tramping also and had come up that day from Süss.

“A good walk that, mein Herr, for little feet!” said the young man, looking proudly at his companion. “Thirty-eight kilomètres, I make it, perhaps a trifle more.”

“Twenty-four miles!” said Ray. “Yes, that’s a good long stretch. Twenty miles,--say thirty, thirty-two kilomètres--is our longest. But then we’re only just beginning.”

“And we are just ending,” sighed the girl. “He has to go to the army. Do you think it will be a bad war, mein Herr?” she asked anxiously.

“All war is bad, mein Frau,” began Ray.

“Fräulein,” she corrected him with a little smile. “I am Anna Santner. He is Karl Stecher. We are of Innsbruck.”

“And in another month--in September--she is to be Frau Stecher,” said Karl with a broader smile. “We are taking a portion of our honeymoon in advance. To see how we get on together, you understand. It is not unusual with us----”

“And I am sure you have got on very well together,” said Lois, with her prettiest smile.

“Oh, yes. You see, we love one another very much,” said Anna. “But now--! What do you think of it, mein Herr?”

“We can all only hope it will not be as bad as some people fear, Fräulein. But, at best, it is bad.”

“Yes, war is bad,” said the young fellow, with gloomy vehemence. “It is devil’s play from beginning to end. Still, those Serbs had no right to shoot our Archduke, you know, and they deserve a whipping.”