"Now, good rowers," she said, breathing quickly, "keep within the shadow of the bank until we are sure to have escaped espionage, then I shall have further instructions, and remember that if you work well and silently I shall reward you beyond your hopes."
"May that prove true in my case," said Rodolph to himself.
The huge Palace seemed to float to the west; the moon shone brightly, but there was shadow enough thrown by the low bank to conceal the voyagers not only from chance wayfarers, should there be any, which was unlikely, but also from each other. The summer night was warm, and not a breath of wind rippled the surface of the river. Now and then some waterfowl, disturbed by their approach, plashed two or three times, beating wing against water, until it rose with a cry and soared away into the night.
They had made down the river for nearly an hour when Conrad began murmuring to Hilda, who sat next him.
"The Countess does not know how swift this river is," he said. "We will not get back in a week if we go much further. If it had been up the stream time would matter little, but down----"
"He fears we cannot return betimes if we go further. The current is fleet to row against."
"Conrad," said the Countess, bending towards him, "we go not back, but forward. Seek the speediest part of the river, and guide the boat into it. I am on my way to Castle Thuron near the Rhine."
Both Hilda and Conrad gave utterance to exclamations of astonishment and alarm.
"The Archbishop will follow us in hot haste when he finds us gone, Hilda, which will be some time before noontide to-morrow, therefore must Conrad persuade the swift stream to aid his stout arms."
"The boat is not mine," said Conrad, "and I have left my master without his sanction."
"I will amply reward your master for the losing of his boat, and you for the guiding of it. Both you and your comrade will I take into my employ, and neither shall lose by the transfer."
"Will you stand for me against my master as you did before, my Lord," cried Conrad, in great alarm at the possible consequences of his desertion from a master who brooked no excuse.
"My Lord!" cried the Countess, half-rising and looking round for the first time at the second boatman, on whom the moonlight now fell, showing that he had removed his cap, and was bowing to her.