From the moment that Mr. Brockford took Max to live with him the
latter's lot in life seemed to change. Hitherto, apparently, no one had
been aware of his existence; now scarcely a day passed in which he did
not receive some sort of invitation from people who, as a rule, prided
themselves upon their exclusiveness. Their favour may possibly have been
due to the fact that he was of a different type to that to which they
were accustomed. At any rate, his handsome face, charming manners, tall
graceful figure, and _insouciant_ cavalry swagger, possessed a
fascination for them which they seemed incapable of resisting. It was
not long before he had made himself extremely popular, not only with the
English portion of the population, but also with the Spanish.
"Be careful, Mortimer, my boy," Brockford would say to him, when he
greeted him on his return from a ball or similar social function. "When
you have seen as much of this little corner of the world as I have, you
will know how dangerous women can be, and how they have it in their
power to mar a man's career at its commencement. Many an excellent young
fellow have I seen out here, only too anxious and ready to make his way
in the world; then he has fallen in love, been egged into matrimony,
only to find himself shelved and done for by all save his wife's
relations, as soon as the knot was tied. I don't want that to happen to
you."
"You needn't have any fear on my account," answered Max with a laugh.
"I'm not very likely to fall in love. I have been inoculated, and I
fancy I am proof against the infection."
"No man is proof against it," replied Brockford solemnly. He was well
acquainted with the traps and pitfalls of Rio society, and he did not
want the man, to whom he had taken such a liking, to make a _fiasco_ of
his life, just when there seemed a good chance of his succeeding in it.
He need not have bothered himself about it just then, however, for
another factor had been imported into the problem, and, before the week
was over, Max was down with fever. For some time he lay at death's door,
but, thanks to his wonderful constitution, he managed in the end to pull
through. It was a near enough chance, however, to cause his friends a
considerable amount of anxiety.
Indeed, from what I have since learned, there was one period in the
course of the fever when the gravest apprehensions were entertained for
his safety. All things considered, it was perhaps as well for him that
Brockford was with him during his delirium. Although even then, he did
not altogether reveal his secret, he said enough to show his friend
that, in his old life, he had been something more than the mere cavalry
officer he pretended.
"From the very first I felt sure there was some mystery about him," said
the latter to himself one evening, when he had left the sick-room for a
well-earned rest. "I don't fancy, however, that I have quite got to the
bottom of it yet. But there, it's his secret and not mine, and, if he
doesn't care to tell me, why should I bother myself?"
So saying, the kindly old fellow returned once more to the sick-room to
minister as patiently to the wants of his restless patient as if he had
been a nurse all his life. Strangely enough, as Brockford has since told
me, it was of myself that Max talked most. "His constant cry," said the
latter, "was something to this effect: 'As I cannot win her for myself,
I will not spoil Paul's life. No! Paul shall have his chance with her!'
and so he would continue for hours at a time. Sometimes he would vary it
by informing the world that 'Paul should have her, for he could make her
happier than I could ever do.' Then he would suddenly sit up in bed and
call wildly for a horse, adding that he had made an appointment to meet
the Princess in the Park, and must not, on any account, keep her
waiting."
At last consciousness returned, and little by little he grew stronger,
until, in due course, he was pronounced to be out of danger. Some time,
however, elapsed before he was in a position to return to his duties. He
had now been in Brazil upwards of eighteen months, and was beginning to
regard himself as an old inhabitant.
On the day that he was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to
the office he was invited to dine in the evening at the house of his
employer.
It was a jovial party that sat down to dinner. The old merchant kept a
liberal table, and he and the Senora, between them, did the honours with
regal dignity. The two pretty daughters of the house laid themselves out
to be charming, the younger, Estrella, taking care that Max wanted
nothing. After dinner they adjourned to the verandah, where a lovely
view of the city, stretched out on the plain below, and of the harbour
was obtainable. Max was in the best possible spirits, and seemed to be
thoroughly enjoying the society of the pretty Estrella, who was seated
beside him, fanning herself, as only a Spanish girl can, with a
coquettish lace fan, and airing her scanty knowledge of the English
language. The elder sister, Maraquinha, who was an accomplished
musician, was playing a variety of dreamy melodies in the room behind
them. The Senora had gone to sleep, according to custom, and Brockford
and the merchant were smoking like volcanoes, and talking politics, at
the further end of the verandah.
When a young man, whose heart has once been shattered, is willing to
admit that he has admired another young woman, ever since he set eyes on
her, it is only natural to suppose that his heart is still capable of
feeling some emotion. Though Max was not in the least in love with the
pretty Senorita, he could not but confess that he entertained a sincere
regard for her. A great love, such as he had felt for the Princess
Ottilie, for instance, could never come to him again; but he asked
himself why, if it were true that he had decided never to return to his
old life, he should not choose a wife from the people with whom he had
thrown in his lot, and settle down to a quiet married life in his new
home? Moreover, he was quite aware that Montezma was anxious that his
daughters should marry, and he felt confident enough of the old man's
liking for himself to be sure that, in spite of the difference in
nationality, the union would be far from distasteful to him. On the
contrary, it was just possible that--but there he came to a sudden stop.
He had got on to dangerous ground, where it behoved him to walk warily.
At last it became time for Brockford and himself, if they wished to get
back to the island before midnight, to bid the family good-bye. They
accordingly entered the house to take a stirrup cup, and it was then
that an event occurred which was destined to cause Max more uneasiness
than anything that had happened since his arrival in Brazil, the fever
excepted. They were standing beside the table in the dining-room, when
Maraquinha, who, as I have already explained, had hitherto been occupied
at the piano in the drawing-room, made her appearance, carrying in her
hand an illustrated newspaper.
"Senor Mortimer," she cried, with a smile upon her face, "are you aware
that we are fortunate enough to possess a portrait of yourself?"
At first Max did not realise the importance of her words. She was of a
jocular disposition, and his first thought was that, following her
favourite pastime, she had made a caricature of himself.
"I am honoured indeed, Senorita," he said. "I trust the likeness is a
flattering one."
"You shall judge for yourself," she answered. "Here it is."
So saying, she opened the paper she had brought with her, and placed it
on the table before him. One glance was sufficient to show him that it
was a reproduction of an old photograph of himself, taken by a London
firm of photographers shortly after he had joined his regiment.
Underneath was printed "_The Missing Crown Prince of Pannonia_."
As Max looked at it, he felt himself grow deadly pale. A great fear lest
it should be noticed swept over him, and for a moment, do what he would,
he could not recover his self-control. At last, almost by a superhuman
effort, he managed to get himself in hand, and, while pretending to look
more closely at the picture, said:
"All things considered, it is not a bad likeness, is it? I wonder if I
were to go to England, and pretend to be the original, whether they
would let me take his place in society. He does not look so tall as I
am, but the likeness is certainly remarkable."
"So like that, without a very great stretch of imagination, we might
even take it to be the same person," said Maraquinha suspiciously.
"Permit me to see it?" said Brockford, stretching his arm across the
table.
The paper was accordingly handed to him, and he studied it attentively.
"What do you think of it?" asked Max, who felt as if a cold hand were
being placed upon his heart.
"I'm afraid the likeness doesn't strike me as being such a good one," he
answered, more to shield Max, I fancy, than for any other reason.
"Judging from this picture, I should say the eyes of the Crown Prince
must have been of a different colour to yours, and his hair would
certainly not be so dark. However, dark or fair, it is time we were
thinking of making a start for the island. Good-night, Senor Montezma;
Senora and Senoritas, I have the honour to bid you good-night; your
hospitality has charmed us."
Max followed his example, and five minutes later they were on their way
back to the beach.
The journey back to the island that evening was a silent one. Max, for
one, had more than sufficient wherewith to occupy his mind. The
existence of the portrait had come to him as a decided shock. It had
roused suspicions in other people's minds that years might not be able
to allay. He had begun to think himself free of the old life and to feel
convinced that it would never influence him again. And now, here it was,
rising like a ghost of the past, to confront him at the very moment when
a life of peaceful happiness seemed within his grasp.
When they reached the island they left the launch and walked up to the
house, still in silence. For the first time since they had known each
other, a dark shadow lay between them. As soon as they reached the
verandah, however, Brockford placed his hand upon Max's shoulder.
"You and I have got to have a talk together before we go to bed
to-night," he said. "There are things that must be settled once and for
all."
"I am at your disposal, of course," Max replied, but not with too much
grace. "What is it you want to say to me?"
"There is nothing I _want_ to say to you," Brockford answered, with an
accent on the _want_. "It's what I feel I _must_ say, both in your
interests and my own. Don't think I am going to pry into your private
affairs. My sole desire is to help you, if I possibly can. It's a
delicate position for a man to be placed in; for, you see, I have only
my suspicions to go upon, and I may give you pain without intending it.
I think, however, that those suspicions are strong enough to bear the
weight of what I'm going to say to you. The picture you saw to-night
came to you as a painful surprise, did it not? And yet it did not
astonish me, for I had seen it before. That you were not best pleased to
be confronted with it, I gathered from your face, and, as I looked at
it, I remembered certain things you had let slip in your delirium. No!"
he cried, seeing that Max was about to speak, "let me finish before you
begin. I have a young friend, I might even go so far as to say, a dear
young friend, who came to me eighteen months ago, in rather an
extraordinary fashion. He had been in an English cavalry regiment, he
informed me; so, I reflected, had the Crown Prince of whom we have been
speaking. He informed me in my own dining-room, by accident I will
admit, that he had been a guest at Osborne; I believe the Crown Prince
enjoyed a similar honour; the latter, so report says, has black hair and
dark eyes, his height is about six feet one, and he is slimly built. If
I wanted to carry the coincidence further, I might add that, when my
friend, Max Mortimer, was ill, he spoke continually of a certain
beautiful princess. 'Paul loves her and I will not stand in his way,' he
cried. Now, strangely enough, the Crown Prince has an only brother whose
name is Paul. I happen to know this, because the very next morning,
while you were still lying at death's door, the newspapers announced the
fact that Prince Paul of Pannonia had been betrothed to the Princess
Ottilie, daughter of Prince Ferdinand of Lilienhoehe."
Whether Brockford intended his information to come as a surprise to Max
I cannot say, but there is no doubt that the news of my engagement took
the latter wholly aback. He clutched at the verandah rail, and for a
moment seemed stunned by the intelligence. The only explanation I can
furnish for his not having heard it before is, that while it was
impossible for him to see any newspapers during his illness, he had not
bothered to look up the back files afterwards, to see what had been
going on in Europe during the time he was cut off from the world.
"That settles it," said Brockford to himself, as he watched him. "He is
the Crown Prince, as I thought, and he left England in order that his
brother might be in a position to marry the woman he loved. I thought
such chivalry had vanished from the world."
A few moments later, when Max had recovered somewhat from the shock he
had received, he turned to Brockford and held out his hand, which the
other took.
"Forgive me," he said. "I was not quite myself a few moments ago. I am
all right now, however. As you say, it is best that we should come to an
understanding with each other. What is it you wish me to say or do?"
"Nothing," answered Brockford. "I have been reproaching myself for
having said so much already. I am a meddlesome old fool, but I had not
the least intention of hurting or offending you. I hope you will believe
that. My only desire is to let you see plainly that you possess a friend
in me, upon whom you can rely, happen what may."
"I am quite aware of that," returned Max. "You don't surely think I
doubted it for a moment. You have proved yourself one of the best
friends a man could possibly have, and I should be the meanest hound on
earth if I did not remember that, and be grateful to you for it all the
days of my life."
"Tut, tut! you must not talk like that," said Brockford. "I did no more
for you than I should have done for anyone else. I helped you because I
liked your face. But we are wandering away from the point. What I want
to say to you is that, come what may, the Crown Prince's secret, if he
has one, poor fellow, is quite safe with me. Not a hint concerning it
shall pass my lips."
With that the kind-hearted old fellow shook Max heartily by the hand
once more, and then, bidding him a hurried good-night, hastened into the
house, and was seen no more.
Next morning when he and Mr. Brockford met at breakfast, they conducted
themselves towards each other as if no such conversation as that I have
described had taken place between them on the previous night. At the
allotted hour they crossed the bay to the city and made their way to
their respective places of business, parting at the same street corner,
and with the usual commonplace farewell.
That week, on the other side of the globe, I received information that
Max was alive, and that Rio de Janeiro was the name of his hiding-place.