“My God!” gasped the Marquis, more startled than ever. “Is _that_ the lady?” “None other. Now you see why this duel must not be.” CHAPTER XXIII WILFRID’S ABDUCTION It was past five o’clock when Wilfrid sprang from the coach on the Viborg Road and disappeared down the narrow path that wound through a forest of pines, while the vehicle continued on its way northwards. After a few hundred paces the path opened out into a little clearing, in the middle of which stood a rough log cabin, such as the Russian peasant raises with his own hand. Ornamental carving marked the eaves and doorposts, and on the straw thatch rested heavy stones, placed there to prevent the cottage from being unroofed by tempest. The tenant was already at work preparing a pile of timber for charcoal burning. Wilfrid liked the look of the man, and felt that any trust placed in him would not be betrayed. First hailing the fellow with a cheery “Good-morning,” Wilfrid went on to speak of the Baroness Runö, at the mention of whose name the peasant’s eyes glistened with a grateful light. It was clear that if he could do anything to serve her or her friends he would do it. So Wilfrid in a few words explained the object of his visit, without, however, mentioning the name of his august opponent. “Now, good Ruric, you understand my position. The Baroness’s father, who is my second, advised me to leave the city before him lest the authorities should stop the duel by arresting me.” “Surely, surely,” nodded the man. “’Twas wise.” “To keep a clear head and eye I must have two hours’ sleep. But while I sleep what is to prevent my enemies from coming upon me?” “Little father, they shall not do that. I will keep watch for you.” “Good! Well, then, while I rest in your hut, do you from the shelter of the trees keep an eye upon the road near the eighth verst-post, and should anything suspicious occur come at once and rouse me. You shall have roubles for your trouble.” “It is enough reward for me,” returned Ruric, “to know that I am serving a friend of the Lady Pauline.” He led the way into his hut, which consisted of one room only, with furniture of a primitive type. Ruric lived all alone, it seemed, having neither wife nor child. Left to himself Wilfrid sat down upon a wooden bench and soon dropped off into unconsciousness. He was roused from sleep by the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. Lifting his head he was startled to see, standing around him, nine men. Their flat features and peculiar dress seemed to bespeak a Finnish origin, a remark not applicable to the one who acted as chief, for he was a man of handsome and aristocratic appearance, middle-aged, and wearing a costume that might have belonged to a French gentleman of the old _régime_. “You are Lord Courtenay, I presume?” said this gentleman, bowing politely and speaking in French. “That is a name I never deny.” “I am Dr. Beauvais, physician at one time to his late majesty Louis XVI.”