To find conveyance to the inn was not an easy task. No one wanted to
take the drive. Finally I secured a horse. There was no haggling over
the price. And soon I was loping through the snowdrifts in the
direction of the old inn. The snow whirled and eddied over the stubble
fields; the winds sang past my ears; the trees creaked and the river
flowed on, black and sluggish. It was a dreary scene. It was bitter
cold, but I had no mind for that. On, on I went. Two miles were left
in the rear. The horse was beginning to breathe hard. Sometimes the
snow was up to his knees. What if the old man was not there? The
blood sank upon my heart. Once the horse struck a slippery place and
nearly fell, but I caught him in time. I could now see the inn,
perhaps a mile away, through the leafless trees. It looked dismal
enough. The vines hung dead about it, the hedges were wild and
scrawny, the roses I knew to be no more, and the squirrel had left his
summer home for a warmer nest in the forest. A wave of joy swept over
me as I saw a thin stream of smoke winding above the chimney. Some one
was there. On, on; presently I flew up the roadway. A man stood on
the porch. It was Stahlberg. When I pushed down my collar his jaw
dropped. I flung the reins to him.
"Where is the innkeeper?" I cried with my first breath.
"In the hall, Herr. But--"
I was past him and going through the rooms. Yes, thank God, there he
was, sitting before the huge fireplace, where the logs crackled and
seethed, his grizzled head sunk between his shoulders, lost in some
dream. I tramped in noisily. He started out of his dream and looked
around.
"Gott!" he cried. He wiped his eyes and looked again. "Is it a dream
or is it you?"
"Flesh and blood!" I cried. "Flesh and blood!"
I closed the door and bolted it. He followed my movements with a
mixture of astonishment and curiosity in his eyes.
"Now," I began, "what have you done with the proofs which you took from
your wife--the proofs of the existence of a twin sister of the Princess
Hildegarde of Hohenphalia?"