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〃At three o'clock they start in a carriage on the road to Linzthey
have bad horsesthe Herr also rides a white horse。〃
Swithin at once hailed a carriage and started at full gallop on the
road to Linz。 Outside the Mirabell Garden he caught sight of
Kasteliz and grinned at him。 'I've sold him anyway；' he thought；
'for all their talk； they're no good； these foreigners！'
His spirits rose； but soon fell again。 What chance had he of
catching them？ They had three hours' start！ Still； the roads were
heavy from the rain of the last two nightsthey had luggage and bad
horses； his own were good； his driver bribedhe might overtake them
by ten o'clock！ But did he want to？ What a fool he had been not to
bring his luggage； he would then have had a respectable position。
What a brute he would look without a change of shirt； or anything to
shave with！ He saw himself with horror； all bristly； and in soiled
linen。 People would think him mad。 'I've given myself away；'
flashed across him； 'what the devil can I say to them？' and he stared
sullenly at the driver's back。 He read Rozsi's letter again； it had
a scent of her。 And in the growing darkness； jolted by the swinging
of the carriage； he suffered tortures from his prudence； tortures
from his passion。
It grew colder and dark。 He turned the collar of his coat up to his
ears。 He had visions of Piccadilly。 This wild…goose chase appeared
suddenly a dangerous； unfathomable business。 Lights； fellowship；
security！ 'Never again！' he brooded； 'why won't they let me alone？'
But it was not clear whether by 'they' he meant the conventions； the
Boleskeys； his passions； or those haunting memories of Rozsi。 If he
had only had a bag with him！ What was he going to say？ What was he
going to get by this？ He received no answer to these questions。 The
darkness itself was less obscure than his sensations。 From time to
time he took out his watch。 At each village the driver made
inquiries。 It was past ten when he stopped the carriage with a jerk。
The stars were bright as steel； and by the side of the road a reedy
lake showed in the moonlight。 Swithin shivered。 A man on a horse
had halted in the centre of the road。 〃Drive on！〃 called Swithin；
with a stolid face。 It turned out to be Boleskey； who； on a gaunt
white horse； looked like some winged creature。 He stood where he
could bar the progress of the carriage； holding out a pistol。
'Theatrical beggar！' thought Swithin； with a nervous smile。 He made
no sign of recognition。 Slowly Boleskey brought his lean horse up to
the carriage。 When he saw who was within he showed astonishment and
joy。
〃You？〃 he cried； slapping his hand on his attenuated thigh； and
leaning over till his beard touched Swithin。 〃You have come？ You
followed us？〃
〃It seems so；〃 Swithin grunted out。
〃You throw in your lot with us。 Is it possible？ Youyou are a
knight…errant then！〃
〃Good God！〃 said Swithin。 Boleskey； flogging his dejected steed；
cantered forward in the moonlight。 He came back； bringing an old
cloak； which he insisted on wrapping round Swithin's shoulders。 He
handed him； too； a capacious flask。
〃How cold you look！〃 he said。 〃Wonderful！ Wonderful！ you English！〃
His grateful eyes never left Swithin for a moment。 They had come up
to the heels of the other carriage now； but Swithin； hunched in the
cloak； did not try to see what was in front of him。 To the bottom of
his soul he resented the Hungarian's gratitude。 He remarked at last；
with wasted irony：
〃You're in a hurry； it seems！〃
〃If we had wings；〃 Boleskey answered； 〃we would use them。〃
〃Wings！〃 muttered Swithin thickly； 〃legs are good enough for me。〃
X
Arrived at the inn where they were to pass the night； Swithin waited；
hoping to get into the house without a 〃scene；〃 but when at last he
alighted the girls were in the doorway； and Margit greeted him with
an admiring murmur； in which； however； he seemed to detect irony。
Rozsi； pale and tremulous； with a half…scared look； gave him her
hand； and； quickly withdrawing it； shrank behind her sister。 When
they had gone up to their room Swithin sought Boleskey。 His spirits
had risen remarkably。 〃Tell the landlord to get us supper；〃 he said；
〃we'll crack a bottle to our luck。〃 He hurried on the landlord's
preparations。 The window of the； room faced a wood； so near that he
could almost touch the trees。 The scent from the pines blew in on
him。 He turned away from that scented darkness； and began to draw
the corks of winebottles。 The sound seemed to conjure up Boleskey。
He came in； splashed all over； smelling slightly of stables； soon
after； Margit appeared； fresh and serene； but Rozsi did not come。
〃Where is your sister？〃 Swithin said。 Rozsi； it seemed； was tired。
〃It will do her good to eat；〃 said Swithin。 And Boleskey； murmuring；
〃She must drink to our country；〃 went out to summon her； Margit
followed him； while Swithin cut up a chicken。 They came back without
her。 She had 〃a megrim of the spirit。〃
Swithin's face fell。 〃Look here！〃 he said； 〃I'll go and try。 Don't
wait for me。〃
〃Yes；〃 answered Boleskey； sinking mournfully into a chair； 〃try；
brother； try…by all means； try。〃
Swithin walked down the corridor with an odd； sweet； sinking
sensation in his chest； and tapped on Rozsi's door。 In a minute； she
peeped forth； with her hair loose； and wondering eyes。
〃Rozsi；〃 he stammered； 〃what makes you afraid of me； now？〃
She stared at him； but did not answer。
〃Why won't you come？〃
Still she did not speak； but suddenly stretched out to him her bare
arm。 Swithin pressed his face to it。 With a shiver； she whispered
above him； 〃I will come；〃 and gently shut the door。
Swithin stealthily retraced his steps； and paused a minute outside
the sitting…room to regain his self…control。
The sight of Boleskey with a bottle in his hand steadied him。
〃She is coming；〃 he said。 And very soon she did come； her thick hair
roughly twisted in a plait。
Swithin sat between the girls； but did not talk； for he was really
hungry。 Boleskey too was silent； plunged in gloom； Rozsi was dumb；
Margit alone chattered。
〃You will come to our Father…town？ We shall have things to show you。
Rozsi； what things we will show him！〃 Rozsi； with a little appealing
movement of her hands； repeated； 〃What things we will show you！〃 She
seemed suddenly to find her voice； and with glowing cheeks； mouths
full； and eyes bright as squirrels'； they chattered reminiscences of
the 〃dear Father…town；〃 of 〃dear friends；〃 of the 〃dear home。〃
'A poor place！' Swithin could not help thinking。 This enthusiasm
seemed to him common； but he was careful to assume a look of
interest； feeding on the glances flashed at him from Rozsi's restless
eyes。
As the wine waned Boleskey grew more and more gloomy； but now and
then a sort of gleaming flicker passed over his face。 He rose to his
feet at last。
〃Let us not forget；〃 he said； 〃that we go perhaps to ruin； to death；
in the face of all this we go； because our country needsin this
there is no credit； neither to me nor to you； my daughters； but for
this noble Englishman； what shall we say？ Give thanks to God for a
great heart。 He comesnot for country； not for fame； not for money；
but to help the weak and the oppressed。 Let us drink； then； to him；
let us drink again and again to heroic Forsyte！〃 In the midst of the
dead silence； Swithin caught the look of suppliant mockery in Rozsi's
eyes。 He glanced at the Hungarian。 Was he laughing at him？ But
Boleskey； after drinking up his wine； had sunk again into his seat；
and there suddenly； to the surprise of all； he began to snore。
Margit rose and； bending over him like a mother； murmured： 〃He is
tiredit is the ride！〃 She raised him in her strong arms； and
leaning on her shoulder Boleskey staggered from the room。 Swithin
and Rozsi were left alone。 He slid his hand towards her hand that
lay so close； on the rough table…cloth。 It seemed to await his
touch。 Something gave way in him； and words came welling up； for the
moment he forgot himself； forgot everything but that he was near her。
Her head dropped on his shoulder； he breathed the perfume of her
hair。 〃Good…night！〃 she whispered； and the whisper was like a kiss；
yet before he could stop her she was gone。 Her footsteps died away
in the passage； but Swithin sat gazing intently at a single bright
drop of spilt wine quivering on the table's edge。 In that moment
she； in her helplessness and emotion； was all in all to himhis life
nothing； all the real thingshis conventions； convictions； training；
and himselfall seemed remote； behind a mist of passion and strange
chivalry。 Carefully with a bit of bread he soaked up the bright
drop； and suddenly he thought： 'This is tremendous！' For a long time
he stood there in the window； cl