n his favorite rooms
and lights would show themselves. And if there were lights, he might
pass before a window because, since he was inclosed in his garden, he
need not fear being seen. The twilight deepened into darkness and,
because of the heavy clouds, it was very dense. Faint gleams showed
themselves in the lower part of the palace, but none was lighted in the
windows Marco watched. He waited so long that it became evident that
none was to be lighted at all. At last he loosed his hold on the young
boughs and, after standing a few moments in thought, sat down upon the
earth in the midst of his embowered tent. The Prince was not in his
retreat; he was probably not in Vienna, and the rumor of his journey to
Budapest had no doubt been true. So much time lost through making a
mistake--but it was best to have made the venture. Not to have made it
would have been to lose a chance. The entrance was closed for the
night and there was no getting out of the gardens until they were
opened for the next day. He must stay in his hiding-place until the
time when people began to come and bring their books and knitting and
sit on the seats. Then he could stroll out without attracting
attention. But he had the night before him to spend as best he could.
That would not matter at all. He could tuck his cap under his head and
go to sleep on the ground. He could command himself to waken once
every half-hour and look for the lights. He would not go to sleep until
it was long past midnight--so long past that there would not be one
chance in a hundred that anything could happen. But the clouds which
made the night so dark were giving forth low rumbling growls. At
intervals a threatening gleam of light shot across them and a sudden
swish of wind rushed through the trees in the garden. This happened
several times, and then Marco began to hear the patter of raindrops.
They were heavy and big drops, but few at first, and then there was a
new and more powerful rush of wind, a jagged dart of light in the sky,
and a tremendous crash. After that the clouds tore themselves open and
poured forth their contents in floods. After the protracted struggle
of the day it all seemed to happen at once, as if a horde of huge lions
had at one moment been let loose: flame after flame of lightning, roar
and crash and sharp reports of thunder, shrieks of hurricane wind,
torrents of rain, as if some tidal-wave of the skies had gathered and
rushed a