“I saw a South American blowpipe once,” I told them, “in Signor Rolipolio’s Exhibition at Clarence Gardens. It very much resembled this. Signor Rolipolio himself was kind enough to demonstrate the art of firing them….Allow me.”

Among the provisions I always carry, a bag of dried peas holds an honored place. I extracted one now, placed it in the mouthpiece of the coach-horn, and took aim at a nearby sapling. The pea flew out and struck the slender trunk full in the center.

“Well, I’ve never seen that done before,” said Grindoff. “That’s a good trick, that is. My master’d like to use it in his act, I’ve no doubt.”

“Oh, Maxie! Do be careful!” said Eliza. “Don’t you get caught by the count and locked in the cellars, will you, my love?”

“Well, I, er…”

“Eliza,” I said, “you must assist me in finding somewhere to camp. We shall meet Mr. Grindoff, when he returns, in some convenient place.”

“We saw a woodcutter’s hut, miss, just a little way back,” she said. “It’s all broken down, but we could put up your tent easy enough. And there’s water from the stream nearby. We’ll see you there, Maxie, my love. All right?”

He opened and shut his mouth once or twice, but evidently the force of his affection for her had rendered him incapable of resistance. He nodded sadly and trudged up the road toward the castle.

“An excellent young man, Eliza,” I said.

“I must confess I fell in love with him in Geneva, miss,” she said, “when I seen him on the coach, all proud, with his harness jingling and his uniform all smart and his trombone glittering in the sun….”

“Yes, yes, I understand, my dear. I am not a stranger to the noble passion. Signor Rolipolio quite stole my heart three years ago….But it was not to be. Fate parted us.”

“Oh, dear, miss,” she said, deeply sympathetic. Anything with a hint of romance in it melted her heart at once—poor simple girl. “How sad for you. And him too. I bet he’s pining his heart away in a foreign land….”

“No doubt, no doubt. He is the only man, Eliza, who was my equal in point of character, audacity, and intellect. But some foolish trouble over passports or papers meant that he had to leave the country, and I fear that there was some political trouble with the government of his native land….Ah well, let us put these melancholy thoughts aside. Duty calls!”

So saying, I accompanied her along the road to the woodcutter’s hut and our prospective campsite.

Charlotte’s Narrative

When that deceitful man, Herr Snivelwurst, seized my wrist with his wet hand, I felt quite faint with Dismay. But, locked in the lumber room below my uncle’s study, some Sternness of Purpose began to return to my Soul.