While she talked, she watched Marco as if she were always asking herself some question about him. The Rat was sure that she liked him and greatly admired his strong body and good looks. It was not necessary for him to carry himself slouchingly in her presence and he looked glowing and noble. There was a sort of reverence in her manner when she spoke to him. She reminded him of Lazarus more than once. When she gave them their evening meal, she insisted on waiting on him with a certain respectful ceremony. She would not sit at table with him, and The Rat began to realize that she felt that he himself should be standing to serve him.
“She thinks I ought to stand behind your chair as Lazarus stands behind your father's,'' he said to Marco. “Perhaps an aide ought to do it. Shall I? I believe it would please her.''
“A Bearer of the Sign is not a royal person,'' answered Marco.
“My father would not like it--and I should not. We are only two boys.''
It was very wonderful when, after their supper was over, they all three sat together before the fire.
The red glow of the bed of wood-coal and the orange yellow of the flame from the big logs filled the room with warm light, which made a mellow background for the figure of the old woman as she sat in her low chair and told them more and more enthralling stories.
Her eagle eyes glowed and her long neck held her head splendidly high as she described great feats of courage and endurance or almost superhuman daring in aiding those in awesome peril, and, when she glowed most in the telling, they always knew that the hero of the adventure had been her foster-child who was the baby born a great noble and near the throne. To her, he was the most splendid and adorable of human beings. Almost an emperor, but so warm and tender of heart that he never forgot the long- past days when she had held him on her knee and told him tales of chamois-and bear-hunting, and of the mountain-tops in mid- winter. He was her sun-god.
“Yes! Yes!'' she said. “ `Good Mother,' he calls me. And Ibake him a cake on the hearth, as I did when he was ten years old and my man was teaching him to climb. And when he chooses that a thing shall be done--done it is! He is a great lord.''
The flames had died down and only the big bed of red coal made the room glow, and they were thinking of going to bed when the old woman started very suddenly, turning her head as if to listen.
Marco and The Rat heard nothing, but they saw that she did and they sat so still that each held his breath. So there was utter stillness for a few moments. Utter stillness.
Then they did hear something--a clear silver sound, piercing the pure mountain air.
The old woman sprang upright with the fire of delight in her eyes.
“It is his silver horn!'' she cried out striking her hands together. “It is his own call to me when he is coming. He has been hunting somewhere and wants to sleep in his good bed here.
Help me to put on more faggots,'' to The Rat, “so that he will see the flame of them through the open door as he comes.''
“Shall we be in the way?'' said Marco. “We can go at once.''
She was going towards the door to open it and she stopped a moment and turned.
“No, no!'' she said. “He must see your face. He will want to see it. I want him to see--how young you are.''
She threw the door wide open and they heard the silver horn send out its gay call again. The brushwood and faggots The Rat had thrown on the coals crackled and sparkled and roared into fine flames, which cast their light into the road and threw out in fine relief the old figure which stood on the threshold and looked so tall.
And in but a few minutes her great lord came to her. And in his green hunting-suit with its green hat and eagle's feather he was as splendid as she had said he was. He was big and royal-looking and laughing and he bent and kissed her as if he had been her own son.
“Yes, good Mother,'' they heard him say. “I want my warm bed and one of your good suppers. I sent the others to the Gasthaus.''
He came into the redly glowing room and his head almost touched the blackened rafters. Then he saw the two boys.
“Who are these, good Mother?'' he asked.
She lifted his hand and kissed it.
“They are the Bearers of the Sign,'' she said rather softly. “`The Lamp is lighted.' ''
Then his whole look changed. His laughing face became quite grave and for a moment looked even anxious. Marco knew it was because he was startled to find them only boys. He made a step forward to look at them more closely.
“The Lamp is lighted! And you two bear the Sign!'' he exclaimed. Marco stood out in the fire glow that he might see him well. He saluted with respect.
“My name is Marco Loristan, Highness,'' he said. “And my father sent me.''
The change which came upon his face then was even greater than at first. For a second, Marco even felt that there was a flash of alarm in it. But almost at once that passed.
“Loristan is a great man and a great patriot,'' he said. “If he sent you, it is because he knows you are the one safe messenger. He has worked too long for Samavia not to know what he does.''
Marco saluted again. He knew what it was right to say next.
“If we have your Highness's permission to retire,'' he said, “we will leave you and go to bed. We go down the mountain at sunrise.''
“Where next?'' asked the hunter, looking at him with curious intentness.
“To Vienna, Highness,'' Marco answered.
His questioner held out his hand, still with the intent interest in his eyes.
“Good night, fine lad,'' he said. “Samavia has need to vaunt itself on its Sign-bearer. God go with you.''
He stood and watched him as he went toward the room in which he and his aide-de-camp were to sleep. The Rat followed him closely. At the little back door the old, old woman stood, having opened it for them. As Marco passed and bade her good night, he saw that she again made the strange obeisance, bending the knee as he went by.
