The Witch of Prague | Page 7

the darkness. At the minute, the slight, girlish figure rose
swiftly and passed like a shadow before the heavy marble monument.
The Wanderer saw that the pew was open at the other end, and without
heeding the woman who stood in his way, he sprang upon the low seat,
passed her, stepped to the floor upon the other side and was out in the
aisle in a moment. Many persons had already left the church and the
space was comparatively free.
She was before him, gliding quickly toward the door. Ere he could
reach her, he saw her touch the thick ice which filled the marble basin,
cross herself hurriedly and pass out. But he had seen her face again, and
he knew that he was not mistaken. The thin, waxen features were as
those of the dead, but they were hers, nevertheless. In an instant he
could be by her side. But again his progress was momentarily impeded
by a number of persons who were entering the building hastily to attend
the next Mass. Scarcely ten seconds later he was out in the narrow and
dismal passage which winds between the north side of the Teyn Kirche
and the buildings behind the Kinsky Palace. The vast buttresses and
towers cast deep shadows below them, and the blackened houses
opposite absorb what remains of the uncertain winter's daylight. To the
left of the church a low arch spans the lane, affording a covered
communication between the north aisle and the sacristy. To the right
the open space is somewhat broader, and three dark archways give
access to as many passages, leading in radiating directions and under
the old houses to the streets beyond.
The Wanderer stood upon the steps, beneath the rich stone carvings
which set forth the Crucifixion over the door of the church, and his
quick eyes scanned everything within sight. To the left, no figure
resembling the one he sought was to be seen, but on the right, he
fancied that among a score of persons now rapidly dispersing he could
distinguish just within one of the archways a moving shadow, black
against the blackness. In an instant he had crossed the way and was

hurrying through the gloom. Already far before him, but visible and, as
he believed, unmistakable, the shade was speeding onward, light as
mist, noiseless as thought, but yet clearly to be seen and followed. He
cried aloud, as he ran,
"Beatrice! Beatrice!"
His strong voice echoed along the dank walls and out into the court
beyond. It was intensely cold, and the still air carried the sound clearly
to the distance. She must have heard him, she must have known his
voice, but as she crossed the open place, and the gray light fell upon her,
he could see that she did not raise her bent head nor slacken her speed.
He ran on, sure of overtaking her in the passage she had now entered,
for she seemed to be only walking, while he was pursuing her at a
headlong pace. But in the narrow tunnel, when he reached it, she was
not, though at the farther end he imagined that the fold of a black
garment was just disappearing. He emerged into the street, in which he
could now see in both directions to a distance of fifty yards or more. He
was alone. The rusty iron shutters of the little shops were all barred and
fastened, and every door within the range of his vision was closed. He
stood still in surprise and listened. There was no sound to be heard, not
the grating of a lock, nor the tinkling of a bell, nor the fall of a footstep.
He did not pause long, for he made up his mind as to what he should do
in the flash of a moment's intuition. It was physically impossible that
she should have disappeared into any one of the houses which had their
entrances within the dark tunnel he had just traversed. Apart from the
presumptive impossibility of her being lodged in such a quarter, there
was the self-evident fact that he must have heard the door opened and
closed. Secondly, she could not have turned to the right, for in that
direction the street was straight and without any lateral exit, so that he
must have seen her. Therefore she must have gone to the left, since on
that side there was a narrow alley leading out of the lane, at some
distance from the point where he was now standing--too far, indeed, for
her to have reached it unnoticed, unless, as was possible, he had been
greatly deceived in the distance which had lately separated her from
him.

Without further hesitation, he turned to the left. He found no one in the