The sound of the sledge brought out the innkeeper attended by a beanpole of an ostler with heavy clogs on his feet, both bowing low at the sight of such evidently well-to-do travellers. Marianne had just descended and was about to enter the inn when she was jostled aside by a tall, red-headed individual coming out. He was singing loudly, evidently the worse for drink, and the song he was singing was an Irish air.
'Hie! Pardon me!' this person remarked, gently removing the human obstacle from his path.
Marianne would have known him anywhere.
'Craig!' she cried with amazement. 'Craig O'Flaherty! What in heaven's name are you doing here?'
He had been on the point of walking on, but at the sound of his name he paused and screwed up his eyes like someone peering through a fog.
'Craig!' she repeated rapturously. 'It's me! Marianne!'
He bent down at that and picking up a handful of snow rubbed it energetically over his face and head. Then he looked again.
'So it is, by St Patrick!'
Uttering a joyful bellow, he swept her bodily up off the ground and held her, like a little girl, at arms' length before setting her down, none too gently, and depositing a couple of smacking kisses on either cheek.
'Glory be! It can't be true! Sure and if this doesn't beat all! You! You here, me darlin', I can scarce believe it! But come away with you, into this thieves' kitchen here. You'll be perished with cold – and we have to celebrate this!'
In another moment, while Barbe went with the landlord to take possession of a well-appointed bedchamber looking out over the harbour, Marianne, regardless of the soldiers and sailors drinking and smoking their clay pipes all around them, was sitting with Craig beside the big white porcelain stove that was roaring like a furnace. The Irishman was calling loudly for brandy.
'I'd rather have tea,' Marianne said hastily. 'But tell me, Craig, tell me quickly – are you here alone, or did you find Jason?'
He shot her a swift glance that suddenly held no trace of inebriation in it.
'I found him,' he said briefly. 'He's on board just now. But tell me about yourself. I want to know—'
But Marianne was not listening. Her heart was banging like a demented gong within her and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. So she had been right! Her premonitions had not been deceiving her, nor those dreams which had so often seemed like nightmares: something had been waiting for her at Danzig, and that something was Jason! She clasped Craig's hand with both hers where it lay on the table while he rummaged with the other for his pipe.
'I want to see him. At once! Tell me where he is. What ship is this?'
'There, there! Keep calm! You'll see him, but for God's sake don't get excited. I'll tell you all about it. Sure, it won't take long.'
Nor did it, for there was little enough to tell. Craig had reached St Petersburg without much difficulty, thanks to the name of Krilov which he brandished like a passport whenever he fell in with Russian troops. In this way he had accomplished the entire journey on horseback, with an official escort into the bargain, since he had been obliged to pass through the lines of Wittgenstein's defending army to reach the capital. Once there it had been a simple matter to find the Krilovs' house and Beaufort.
The two of them had stayed in the little palace on the bank of the Neva until they were able to find a ship to take them out of Russia. This was no easy matter because Russian ships no longer plied through the Denmark Straits since the beginning of the war with France, and there could, of course, be no question of an American citizen taking a passage on one of the occasional English ships that dropped anchor in the roadstead since those two countries were also at war.
In the end, they had found berths on a Swedish vessel which, owing to the double game played by the Swedish crown prince, Bernadotte, was equally immune from the effects of the continental blockade and from difficulties with the Tsar. The master of the Smaaland had agreed to carry Beaufort and O'Flaherty as far as Anvers, from which port they should find it comparatively simple, despite the French occupation, to get a ship for America.
'We ought not to be here at all by rights,' the Irishman concluded. 'We only called at Danzig to make good the storm damage we suffered after leaving Königsberg. Our vessel broke a mast and we were forced to run for port. We've been here three days now and while she's refitting—'
'You are making a study of the local hostelries,' Marianne finished for him merrily. 'I see it all! But now, please won't you take me to Jason? I can't wait to see him.'
'Sure, you can spare a moment yet. Tell me what became of yourself.'
'That can wait, but I cannot! Oh, Craig, can't you see what this means to me? It's like a miracle finding him again when I had thought him gone for ever! Have mercy on me and take me to him. You can see I'm dying of impatience.'
It was quite true. Incapable of sitting still a moment longer, she had jumped up, forgetting all about the hot tea that a maidservant had just set before her, and was already half-way to the door. O'Flaherty was obliged to follow. Tossing a few coins on to the table, he followed her outside but the look on his face might have done something to cool her ardour had she paused to look at him. But Marianne was carried away by an emotion stronger than herself, by a joy so delirious that it came close to madness. Regardless of the freezing wind in her face and of the foreign city all about her, she had eyes for nothing but that one familiar figure that was dearer than all else to her. The doubts, the half-promises wrung from her by Napoleon were all gone and all that mattered was that she had found her love again.
Hardly knowing even where she was going, she ran on, skidding perilously over patches of frozen snow, hurrying down the long waterfront in the gathering purple dusk. The Smaaland, Craig had said, and she was searching for a vessel with that name and a broken mast. She wanted to shout out loud and call to Jason, to proclaim in triumph that the moment had come when they could be together for always. Meanwhile, Craig pounded breathlessly after her, shouting: 'Marianne! Marianne, for God's sake, wait for me! Let me explain!'
But she neither heard nor saw. She was all instinct and joy and passionate eagerness and with the sureness of a compass needle swinging magnetically to the north, she went straight to that ship that she had never seen.
Then, all at once, he was there, the man she had loved more than her own life. She saw him walking easily, with his long, loose-limbed stride, down the gangway connecting a big, swag-bellied vessel with the quay. The cry that burst out of her then rang like a paean of victory.
'Jason!'
He heard and gave a start of surprise. One glance was enough to tell him and they met at the foot of the gangway. Laughing and crying at once, Marianne flung herself into his arms with such enthusiasm that she all but tumbled into the water. Jason caught her in a strong grip and as she clung to him on the verge of hysteria led her gently away from the edge, but without letting go his hold.
'You!' he uttered. 'Is it really you?'
A trickle of icy water came to damp down the blaze of joy. There had been amazement in his voice and something very close to disbelief, but no real gladness. It was not the welcome she had hoped for.