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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"The Prisoner of Zenda"

Then we dined, and, wrapping my cloak about
my face, with Fritz leading the way, we went downstairs to our horses
again.
It was but half-past eight, and hardly yet dark; the streets were full
for such a quiet little place, and I could see that gossip was all agog.
With the King on one side and the duke on the other, Zenda felt itself
the centre of all Ruritania. We jogged gently through the town, but set
our horses to a sharper pace when we reached the open country.
"You want to catch this fellow Johann?" asked Fritz.
"Ay, and I fancy I've baited the hook right. Our little Delilah will
bring our Samson. It is not enough, Fritz, to have no women in a house,
though brother Michael shows some wisdom there. If you want safety, you
must have none within fifty miles."
"None nearer than Strelsau, for instance," said poor Fritz, with a
lovelorn sigh.
We reached the avenue of the chateau, and were soon at the house. As the
hoofs of our horses sounded on the gravel, Sapt rushed out to meet us.
"Thank God, you're safe!" he cried. "Have you seen anything of them?"
"Of whom?" I asked, dismounting.
He drew us aside, that the grooms might not hear.
"Lad," he said to me, "you must not ride about here, unless with half a
dozen of us. You know among our men a tall young fellow, Bernenstein by
name?"
I knew him.


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