"How long have you been here?" asked Pembroke.
"Two weeks, Your Highness." Doubtless he thought us to be high
personages to be inquiring for the Princess.
"Is Stahlberg here?" I asked.
"He is visiting relatives in Coberg," was the answer.
"Do you know where Her Highness is?"
"No." It occurred to me that his voice had taken to sullen tones.
"When will the innkeeper be back?"
The fellow shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot say, Your Highness. The
inn is not open for guests till March."
"Jack," said Pembroke in English, "it is evident that this fellow has
been instructed to be close-lipped. Let us return to the village. The
castle is left." He threw some coins to the servant and they rattled
along the porch. "Come." And we wheeled and trotted away.
I cannot tell how great was my disappointment, nor what I did or said.
The ride back to the village was a dreary affair so far as conversation
went. At the castle we found not a soul.
"It is as I expected," said Pembroke. "Remember that Her Highness is
accustomed to luxury, and that it is not likely for her to spend her
winter in such a deserted place. You're a newspaper man; you ought to
be full of resources. Why don't you telegraph to all the news agencies
and make inquiries? She is a personage, and it will not be difficult
to find her if you go at it the right way."
I followed his advice, and the first return brought me news. Gretchen
was at present in Vienna. So we journeyed to Vienna, futilely. Then
commenced a dogged, persistent search. I dragged my cousin hither and
thither about the kingdom; from village to train, from train to city,
till his life became a burden to him and his patience threadbare. At
Hohenphalia, the capital, we were treated coldly; we were not known;
they were preparing the palace for the coronation of Her Serene
Highness the Princess Elizabeth; the Princess Hildegarde might be in
Brussels. At Brussels Her Highness was in Munich, at Munich she was in
Heidelberg, and so on and so on. It was truly discouraging. The
vaguest rumor brought me to the railway, Pembroke, laughing and
grumbling, always at my heels. At last I wrote to Phyllis; it was the
one hope left. Her reply was to the effect that she, too, did not know
where her sister was, that she was becoming a puzzle to her, and
concluded with the advice to wait till the coronation, when Gretchen
would put in appearance, her presence being imperative. So weeks
multiplied and became months, winter passed, the snows fell from the
mountains, the floods rose and subsided, summer was at hand with her
white boughs and green grasses. May was blooming into June. Still
Gretchen remained in obscurity. Sometimes in my despair I regretted
having loved her, and half resolved to return to Phyllis, where (and I
flushed at the thought!) I could find comfort and consolation. And
yet--and yet!