Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/204

198 Finding herself thus alone, a little awe crept into Gretchen's heart. The forest she had just passed through had grown so black behind her; she thought with dread of the dark way home.

While she stood thus hesitating, and just preparing to retrace her steps, a far-off sound fell upon her ear, and gave sudden shape to the vague alarm which oppressed her.

She listened attentively; there were footsteps approaching, and they came from the shadow of the gloomy forest. A dark figure could just be distinguished gliding along among the trees. As far as she could see, it was the figure of a tall strong man, certainly a figure that bore not the slightest resemblance to the brother she was looking for. Gretchen possessed a cool head in emergencies, – at least so she always affirmed; she was inclined to be proud of her presence of mind, but her self-possession was not as perfect as usual to-day. The combination of the solitude, the dusk, and the sudden sight of that figure, sent a rush of cold terror to her heart. She hesitated for one moment longer, unwilling to yield to this fear; but when she heard a distinct cry, a sort of halloo, come out of the wood, breaking the silence of the mountain-side and echoing back from the rocks, she did not hesitate longer, but started off running in the opposite direction, firmly convinced that that cry had been the signal of the robber-captain calling together his band. Five minutes ago Gretchen did not believe in the existence of the robbers; but she is not the first philosopher who has discovered that theories will not always hold good in practice. She ran along the path, sending the loose stones flying away from under her feet, whence they leaped over the edge and went bounding down the steep hillside. She felt the evening wind rush past her ears in a current. At every turn of the path she feared to come upon the bandit camp, but yet she dared not turn back; and in the protruding branch of every bush she saw a pistol pointed at her head. The tree-tops, nodding high above her, seemed to be telling each other tales of murder and bloodshed; each white ox-eye daisy, trembling on its stalk like a solitary star, stared at her with a pale and panic-stricken face as she flew past. Her steps slackened at last, and she stood still breathless. Was she being pursued? She listened, holding her breath with difficulty. There was no sound whatever; but the deep shadows round her were closing in as if they would swallow her up among them.

The next thing to do was to collect her thoughts and consider her position from a logical point of view. To go back by the way she had come was out of the question; her courage was not equal to risk meeting that black figure she had seen in the wood. All around her there were scattered rocks; but to the left a stony track dipped down with a steep and sudden curve. According to all reasonable calculations, that track must lead straight back towards the Hercules Baths.

She turned resolutely down it. It was rugged, and steeper than she had at first imagined. "Never mind," thought Gretchen – "if it is so steep, it stands to reason that it must be a short cut." On each side there was a wall of rock, bare, except where some bush pushed its thorny head from, out of a slit high up. There was a narrow strip of evening sky above Gretchen's head, and nothing but rough stones under her feet.

The first few steps had been comparatively easy; but soon the path grew more precipitate, turning and twisting, and taking sud-