nto the wood, though he could not be
induced to give any more distinct information.

"Forward!" cried Felix. "We have no other choice, and I know the road
through the wood. Undoubtedly, Stephanopulos is also very well
acquainted with the country about here. This region was the classic
site of the May festivals that the artists used to give. Take my word
for it, we shall find our fugitives in the next village."

He urged on his horse, but the heavy darkness now forced them to
moderate their speed. Riding at a walk, they plunged into the blackness
of the little wood which fringes the high bank of the Isar, and which,
in summertime, is the goal of so many weary city-folk. Now, it was so
gloomy that even Felix felt a cold shudder pass through his very bones.
Down in the deep ravines the water roared, and the wind sighed
mournfully through the bare tree-tops. Jansen's animal shied and
reared, but his rider sat in the saddle like the stone Commendatore; he
had hardly spoken a word for an hour.

Suddenly Felix reined in his horse. "Do you see there?" said he, in a
suppressed voice. "I'll wager we have them. It's high time. My horse
has gone lame in its right fore-foot."

Across a cleared patch in the wood they saw the village which the
artists had used as a rallying-point in the picnics of which Felix
had spoken. A house, with a rather high roof, stood out like a
silhouette against the gray sky, showing, in its second story, a
row of brightly-lighted windows.

"Unless they happen to be celebrating a wedding here, other guests must
be in those rooms," said Felix. "Let's ride nearer, and cut across this
field; although there's not much fear that they could escape us now,
even if we should besiege their hiding-place from the open road."

The horses, giving a low neigh--for they scented a crib of
oats--stamped through the slippery mud, and drew up before the fence
that separated the inn court-yard from the street.

"We are right," whispered Felix, who stood up in his stirrups in
order to look over the fence. "The carriage is standing there in the
yard--two people are busy unloading the trunks--the fellow holding the
lantern is probably the coachman. Now for it, in God's name!"

He swung himself from his horse, and stepped up to his friend to help
him out of the saddle. "Come," he said, patting the streaming horse on
the neck. "Whatever you are going to do, do it quickly. You will
probably find the whole company together,