THE BOND
The habit of domination Stanief assuredly had, however gracefully it
were disguised. Nor was Allard, bruised with conflict, exhausted, dazed,
in the mood to resist. He desired feverishly to speak; to tell his story
and let Stanief, fully informed, decide whether the aid already given
was to be continued further. The idea of a deception, a false belief in
an injustice suffered by him, was intolerable. But Stanief smilingly
imposed silence, and he yielded passively.
The cigars burned out slowly, the tumult on shore died away. A quivering
vibration awoke to delicate life the yacht. Stanief smoked or played
with his coffee-cup, his heavy double fringe of lashes brushing his
cheek; Allard leaned back in his chair, less in reverie than in utter
exhaustion.
Exactly as the bells rang the hour came the metallic clank of anchor
chains. The yacht shuddered under the screw, the glass and china tinkled
faintly, then all settled into regularity as the engines fell into their
gait and the beautiful boat moved down the river.
"And Vasili is out there in poignant distress because he can not come in
'to have the honor to report that we sail,'" remarked Stanief, breaking
the long pause. "It was daringly conceived, Monsieur John, but were you
not a trifle imprudent in speaking before that brilliant visitor of
ours? Your voice?"
Allard aroused himself abruptly.
"Our speech back there was confined to monosyllables," he answered. "No,
your Royal Highness, I think there was no risk."
Stanief did not deprecate the title, perhaps unnoting, perhaps willing
to let the other learn.
"We are on the high seas, and quite free from listeners," he said
composedly. "I ask no questions, demand nothing of you, but if you
indeed wish to speak of the closed episode, Monsieur John, I am ready.
After to-night we shall have other things to occupy us."
Allard leaned forward eagerly, his clear gray eyes baring to the other
man all their tragedy and compelling truth.
"I want you to know, it is your right to know," he answered, with a very
fierceness of pride and sorrow. "I am going to place in your power more
than you have given me to-day. Hand me to those who hunt me, give me the
pistol promised and the word to use it, but keep my confidence. Forgive
me, I am not distrustful, only trying to show what I mean."
"I understand."
Allard looked down at the polished surface of the table, his pallor
deepening if possible, then suddenly brought his eyes back to Stanief's
and began to speak.
It was a very quiet story, very quietly told. It had never occurred to
the Anglo-Saxon Allard to idealize his course into heroism; even
mistaken heroism. Rather, he had learned to see more clearly, to condemn
himself, during those long, bitter months. He bore no resentment for the
punishment inflicted; simply it seemed to him that he had paid enough.
Over the weeks of suffering in the hospital, the bitterness of the
public trial with its torturing dread of recognition, he passed in a few
brief words. Of Theodora he spoke only as his cousin and as Robert's
betrothed; yet dimly he felt that the mute Stanief was reading all he
left untold.
"There was no other way," he concluded, and the phrase was the key-note
to all. "Undoubtedly it was the wrong way, but there was no other I
could find, and I had to take care of them."
So far he had spoken of those he loved merely by their relationship. It
was the final trust that Stanief asked by his next question:
"Will you tell me your name?"
And Allard laid his heart in the other's hand.
"John Leslie Allard," he answered.
There was an instant's pause. Stanief folded his arms on the table and
spoke in his turn with no less quiet sincerity.
"Of the ethics of what you have told me, Monsieur Allard, I am perhaps
not a good judge. I come from one of the world's greatest countries,
where from sovereign to peasant necessity is an excuse for all things. I
have seen the highest officials of the state stoop to accept systematic
bribery; I have seen nobles whose blood was filtered unmixed through
centuries, tricking one another and the Emperor who trusted them; I have
seen the commanders of the army selling for private gain the supplies
which stood between their soldiers and starvation. In what you have done
I confess to realizing nothing but incredible courage and
self-sacrifice, possibly misdirected. But the result has been to leave
you alone, as I stand alone in a different sense, so placing a bond
between us. There is no one in my world to whom I could give the trust I
offer you. Offer merely: I have done for you no more than you did in
warning me against Dancla to-day, and you owe me nothing. You are
absolutely free; will you cast your fortune with me, or shall I set you
down in some one of the European ports at which we shall touch?"
Allard bent forward to lay his hand in the one so frankly extended. He
remembered Stanief's name now, and remembering, comprehended many
things.
"I have no one, nothing," he answered earnestly. "The purpose for which
I gave all is accomplished and laid aside. Your Royal Highness, if you
will let me serve you, take your purpose for my goal, your life for my
empty existence, I will give you all I can."
Stanief's firm clasp closed.
"Agreed. _Soit que soit._"
And Allard repeated the promise as seriously:
"Be what may."
The whistle of a passing tug, laboring through the mists toward
Haverstraw with its train of scows, drew the corresponding blare of the
yacht's siren. Involuntarily Allard started, his over-strained nerves
shrinking. Stanief smiled.
"Let Rome howl, John, I may call you John, since we commenced so? Indeed
I must, after giving you that name in public. You are mine now, and all
America can not take you. Rest so far; it is one of our old sayings at
home: 'A Stanief guards his own!'"
His own! The long loneliness snatched the phrase greedily; worn out,
Allard submitted to protection without resentment. A student of men,
Stanief's eyes smiled behind their lashes as he continued more lightly:
"But now for details. You take the place of my secretary, whom I
dismissed this afternoon and saw on board a train for Albany, very much
against his will and very badly frightened. I have ordered his rooms
prepared for you. His things are there, and I imagine you will probably
find some of them you can use until your own arrive in the morning. I
will send Petro to you; his ideas are confined to doing as he is told,
and I shall tell him that my invitation left you no time for packing. Of
course you will resume your own name."
Allard drew back aghast at such a proposition.
"My own name--"
"Why not?" Stanief demanded. "Could anything be more safe? Masquerades
are always dangerous and to be avoided. John Allard's unquestioned
history, his journey abroad from which he reappears as my secretary,
defy all investigation, where an assumed name and past could only arouse
doubt. If you were challenged now as the escaped prisoner, your safest
course would be to give indignantly your own name, proving it by your
Californian connections and by me. John Allard has stepped back upon his
stage. Write to your brother, if you choose; pick up your old
friendships. The last three years simply do not exist for you; knot the
past and the future together and let the marred strand go."
The logic was unanswerable; with a quivering breath Allard took back all
he had resigned for ever.
"You are right," he yielded, and bent his head to hide what flashed on
his lashes.
Stanief touched the bell and rose.
"You are tired, and I have much to arrange. No doubt," the dark eyes
were amusedly expressive, "Monsieur Allard is familiar enough with
yachting not to be bored to-morrow. You will find Vasili a cheerful
companion, Rosal also. Marzio, show monsieur his rooms and send me
Petro. And tell Captain Delsar that I shall have pleasure in receiving
him. Good night, John."
"Good night, your Royal Highness," was Allard's reply, but his straight
eloquent glance carried its message to the other's heart.
Alone at last in the coquettish suite set apart for him--the jewel-box
luxury of the yacht here manifested in azure and silver daintiness--the
great reaction seized Allard. So few hours since, he was Leroy; it was
hard to grasp this reality. He was weary to exhaustion, but something
very near fever drove him to the round window which swung back at his
touch and let the wet sweet air rush in. Leaning there, the very chaos
of his thoughts left physical torpor.
Petro aroused him an hour later--and still with that curious passivity
Allard allowed himself to be cared for, measured, respectfully
consulted. He even found himself ordering the old dishes for breakfast,
specifying the old hour of service. And with the once familiar comfort
came more restfulness.
Much later he came a second time to the round window and opened it to
the rain and darkness. The April wind passed chill fingers among the
boyish curls still warm from the bath, the tiny cold drops sprinkled the
throat from which the departed Dancla's silken dressing-gown fell back,
but Allard felt nothing. And suddenly his head sank on his arm.
"Desmond," he breathed, "I can forgive you, now. Can you hear out there,
Desmond?"
The yacht slipped on through the mist, monotonously, steadily.