most of his time searching for the fiddler. At first he had hunted for
him, on the impulse of his anger, more for the mere relief of upbraiding
him and of railing to some one upon the perversity of his bride, than
for the sake of counsel. But later, as temper gave place to more serious
thought, and the young man's better nature asserted itself, he longed
for his friend that he might discuss with him the means of meeting this
most untoward trick of fate, of safeguarding the headstrong child they
both loved from the danger of her surroundings.
It was chiefly the old quarters of the town that saw his disconsolate
roaming. There was not a homely wine-garden, not a poor beer-house,
where he did not stop and inquire. Had he been in the mood to notice
such things, he might have been struck by the strange atmosphere of
ferment brooding everywhere, especially in the purlieus beyond the
river. There was a buzz about Cassel, like the hum of the swarming
hive; as yet inarticulate, but ominous of wrath. It was perhaps,
however, this very unconsciousness that preserved him from some danger
on his vain quest. Once or twice he was followed; in most places he was
looked at askance. One truculent host met his question with another:
what did he want of Geiger-Hans? But the simplicity of the answer
disarmed suspicion:
"He is my friend; I want his help."
The master of "The Great Tun" became immediately pleasant and
conversational.--No, Geiger-Hans had not been about here for many weeks,
more was the pity; he was wanted.
Disheartened and tired out, at last Steven returned to his hotel; but
not to rest. He indited a letter to the Burgrave, demanding his wife in
the name of the law of every country, and ending up with a scarcely
veiled threat as to his power of making himself unpleasant to the Lord
of Wellenshausen. Then, after having devoted some special attention to
his attire, he again sought the palace gates. When he had left his
letter with the porter, together with a gratuity so noble that it could
not fail to buy the promptitude of delivery he desired, he demanded
audience of one of the chamberlains.
On receipt of the fine coroneted card, the distinguished traveller was
courteously entertained by Jerome's official, who volunteered to send
him a formal invitation to the court concert on the morrow. Steven
accepted with alacrity, and the urbane chamberlain further promised
personally to introduce Count Waldorff-Kielmansegg to his royal master
on the occasion. They parted with civilities on both sides, and Steven,
feeling that the way was unexpectedly smoothed before him, passed the
evening in more cheerful mood. Some instinct, rather than any set
reason, had kept him from mentioning his connection with the Lord of
Wellenshausen.
The next day he had the trivial, yet by no means easy, task to
accomplish of procuring fitting garments for a court function. A
misgiving at the non-appearance of the promised invitation began to
press upon him as the day waned; and though he rated himself for being
as nervous as a woman, and found a thousand good reasons to explain away
the omission, it was with a boding heart that he set out, full early,
for the palace. The Burgrave had treated his letter with contemptuous
silence. Was it possible that there was a connection here with the
non-fulfilment of the chamberlain's offered civility? If so, Steven had
mightily blundered.
The uninvited guest had planned to march boldly into the palace without
further ado. But, somewhat to his surprise, and much to his
discomfiture, there was an unusual and severe watch at Jerome's doors
to-night. He was checked, questioned, his card was demanded of him, and
on the representation that he had been verbally invited by the
chamberlain, he was sent from pillar to post, and finally landed in a
small ante-room, at the door of which a couple of lackeys presently
stationed themselves as if to keep watch upon him. With burning
indignation and an inexpressible sense of helplessness, he heard the
music strike up far away; heard the gay passage of luckier guests
without; in the intervals, the whispers and muffled laughter of the
servants.
After prolonged delay, a majestic individual, with a gilt chain round
his neck, entered and informed _M. le Comte_ that his excellency the
chamberlain deeply regretted his error of the previous day, but that the
lists had already been closed. It had been deemed that, not receiving
the card, _M. le Comte_ would have fully understood.
Steven rose to his feet, turned a white face and blazing eyes on the
official; the amazing slight to himself, conveyed by the flimsy and
improbable excuse, sank into insignificance before the sense of the
trickery that must have prompted it.
"Fetch me ink and paper," he demanded; "the matter does not end here."
With that suavity which, opposed to passion, becomes impertinence, the
old man bowed and disappeared. Shortly afterwards the same porter whom
Steven had interviewed the day before sidled into the room, bearing the
required writing materials. As he bent across the young man, he
whispered in friendly tones, one eye warily upon the watchers at the
door:
"The gracious one would do well to be gone at his best speed. Should he
give more trouble he may be arrested; odd orders are given at the palace
to-night, please his graciousness."
It did not need long reflection to show Steven the wisdom of taking the
hint. He had a sudden maddening vision of himself imprisoned, helpless,
and Sidonia unprotected here. No one attempted to stop him; he passed
out, unmolested, into the wet night. Long and restlessly he roamed the
park, and then the streets, revolving endless and impossible plans of
action. No plan, no solution, reached, he at last took his moody way
back to the Friedrich's Platz.
Perhaps Geiger-Hans might have been inspired of their need! Perhaps,
faint hope, he might find him waiting at the Aigle Imperial.
A very different personality sat in expectation of his return, feeding
patience with cognac in the public room. It was General d'Albignac, the
King's Master of the Horse.
At sight of Steven this worthy sprang to his feet and saluted with a
great air of cordiality, running over the Austrian's name and title, and
announcing his own in French, all glib affability.
"We have met before, sir," sternly said Steven, who was in fine humour
for destruction.
"I think not," answered the equerry. His eyes had a red glitter which
denied his smile. "I think not, _M. le Comte_. Nay, I am positive it
is the first time I have had the pleasure of addressing you."
Steven shrugged his shoulders.
"Have it so," he said contemptuously, and glanced at the cheek against
which his hand had once exulted. "After all, it is you who had the more
striking cause to remember.--What do you want with me?" he added, with
British bluntness.
D'Albignac's smile was stiff over his white teeth; his fingers twitched
upon the bundle of papers he had pulled out of his sabretasche. But the
Master of the Horse had no illusions as to the length of Jerome's power;
and, on the other hand, that document, once properly endorsed, meant his
own future prosperity. It was worth a minute's urbanity towards one
whom otherwise it would have been relief to hew down.
"I have business with you--business of delicacy, sir; I trust, easily
despatched. A short private conversation between us." He cast a
meaning look at the French officers playing piquet and tric-trac in
their proximity.
"I can conceive no business," said Steven, "between us, sir, but one.
Nevertheless, come to my room. I can promise you that my answer will be
of quick despatch."
So he walked up the ill-lit stairs, with d'Albignac clanking at his
heels, and pushed his way into his bed chamber before him--the creature
should not be treated otherwise than as the dog he was.
"Shut the door," said he, "and say your say."
Again d'Albignac successfully fought his own fury.
"A matter of delicacy, as I said, my dear sir.... _Mademoiselle de
Wellenshausen_ is, you are aware, now at the palace?"
"Are you speaking of Countess Waldorff-Kielmansegg?" put in Steven,
threatening.
"Immaterial, now!" deprecated the other. "The marriage, I understand,
is regretted on both sides. Your signature here, and we see to the
rest."
Steven listened with outward calmness.
"We?" echoed he. "What have you to say to this, Colonel d'Albignac?"
It is not always by weight of hand or stroke of sword that man can have
his sweetest vengeance upon man. D'Albignac, as he replied, knew that
he was at last paying off scores:
"The King," he said--"my King, His Majesty Jerome, takes an interest in
the lady."
Jerome...! This then explained all, explained the non-appearance of the
card, the hostile reception at the palace. Sidonia, the child who had
lain in his arms, and Jerome! Steven felt suddenly as if the clasps of
his cloak were strangling him. He tore them apart, falling back two or
three steps, that he might fling the burden on the bed. After that
first flaming revelation there came to him a deadly calmness. He did
not in the least know what he was about to do; it was quite possible
that he might have to execute justice upon Jerome's dog before reaching
Jerome himself; in any case, he must have his limbs free. The grating
voice went on:
"It is my sovereign's desire that the young heiress of Wellenshausen
should espouse a member of his own household. And his Majesty's choice
has fallen upon your servant here. I may say the charming creature
herself is not unwilling."
In that dangerous white mood of passion which can simulate highest
composure, Steven heard without wincing.--Mechanically he gathered his
cloak into a bundle and laid his hand on the curtain of his bed.--Then
he stood silent, as if stricken, staring through the narrow opening of
the damask folds, his back turned to his enemy.
D'Albignac rubbed his hands and chuckled. Was not all this better than
the most sounding return slap in the face? Better even than feeling the
easy steel run through flesh, grate against bone?
"And when my royal master," he pursued, "has a notion in his head,
_mille tonnerres_, he is no more to be kept back than his Imperial
brother from victory. Oh, he is of an impetuosity; _d'une fougue, d'une
verve!_ ... more eager even than myself, the lucky bridegroom, to have
these papers executed. 'If you wait till to-morrow, d'Albignac, my
friend,' he said to me, 'the count may be gone, and that may mean
delay.... Intolerable!' Hence, _M. le Comte_, my unceremonious visit,
and at this undue hour--already excused, no doubt! Your signature,
please, here. I can be witness. One stroke of the pen, and you make
three people happy ... not to speak of yourself!"
The cloak glided from Count Kielmansegg's arm on to the floor. He
closed the curtains delicately and faced his visitor.
"If you will leave the deed, General," said he, "I will peruse it
to-night, and you can have it back in the morning."
He took the paper with marked courtesy from d'Albignac's hand. His face
was paler than before, but there was a singular smile upon it, a
singular light in the eyes. The youth's composure completely deceived
and imposed upon d'Albignac, who, indeed, was none of the subtle-witted.
"An annulment is easier to secure than a divorce, and makes less of a
scandal, does it not?" he said, with an insufferable air of
intelligence.
"I am quite of your opinion," answered Steven.
"_Sacrebleu_, and the girl is the greatest heiress in Westphalia! What
a morgue these Austrians have! ... The merest hint, it is enough with
them!" thought the General as he drew a noisy breath of laughter and
relief. "Enchanted," he went on aloud, "enchanted, my young friend, to
find you so reasonable. I see you take me---- Ah, yes; these are sad
times; and the soldier of fortune (such as I am) cannot afford to be
squeamish. Hey! the King sups with Countess Kielmansegg.... Nay, shall
we not say ... _Mademoiselle de Wellenshausen?_ ... to-night, at this
very moment!"
Steven's smile flashed broadly a second. "He would grin on the rack,"
thought d'Albignac.
"_A demain_, General," said Steven, "but not before noon, please."
His tone was quiet, even soft. He advanced without hurry towards his
visitor, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and pointed to the door.
The two stood looking, eye into eye; and the fighting brute rose again
clamouring in d'Albignac's huge body. But something inscrutable in
Steven's glance, its fire, almost its gaiety, made him quail. He felt
that here he was more than matched, and broke ground with a clumsy
bow--failure for irony. His great boots resounded down the wooden
stairs.
* * * * *
Steven parted the curtains and stood looking down upon the sleeping
figure.
So the bird had come home, after all! Sidonia lay like the weary child
she was, wrapped in so profound a slumber, the slumber of exhaustion,
that even d'Albignac's noisy presence had failed to disturb her. Her
slender arms were outflung, her hands faintly curled in an attitude of
utter relaxation. Through parted lips her breath came as placidly as an
infant's. The yellow hair sprang in tangled masses round the little
pale face. Never had her extreme youth so utterly betrayed itself. But
how wan she seemed; how worn out through all the placidity of her
repose! The narrow satin skirts were frayed and sodden; one little
silk-clad foot out-thrust, shoeless, was stained with mud--aye, and
streaked with blood.
His child-wife...!
Over what rough ways had she come to him? Skirting what chasm, blacker,
deeper, more relentless than the Burgrave's _oubliette_! Slowly, hardly
wotting what he did, Steven went down on his knees beside her,
unconsciously still clutching d'Albignac's paper. Over and above the
old protective tenderness, an infinite tide of love flooded his whole
being.--His child-wife!
The watchman was chanting the tale of the first morning hour, when,
close upon a peremptory knock at the door, Geiger-Hans broke hurriedly
into the room. He halted, though his mission was urgent, at sight of
Steven's countenance.
[Illustration: _His child-wife...! The watchman was chanting the tale
of the first morning hour, when, close upon a peremptory knock,
Geiger-Hans broke into the room._]
"Aha, all is well, then," he cried sharply, as the young man rose from
his knees and came forward to meet him, and his own haggard features
were suddenly illumined as by a reflection of the joy marked in the
other's eyes. And then, it was no surprise to him that Sidonia, waking,
should presently thrust out her rosy face between the curtains: he had
already known, through Steven's eyes, that the children he loved were
together.
"Steven!" cried Sidonia.
"Ah, Sidonia...!"
He ran to her. And, regardless of Geiger-Hans, they clasped each other,
the deed of annulment dropping between them.
* * * * *
"Now, children!" said Geiger-Hans, briskly--he was laughing, but the
tears, which few had ever seen before in them, glittered in his
eyes--"you will have plenty of time by and by; now it is haste, haste,
haste! I have a carriage for you waiting below. Ha, little Madame
Sidonia, laugh with me! It is the Burgravine's own carriage--nothing
less! Nay, German wives do not so easily escape their husbands, even at
Jerome's court. My Lady Burgravine makes no journeying to-night, or
ever, if I may prophesy, away from her lord! A _berline_ and four good
posthorses ... 'twere pity to waste them! Quick, children! For I tell
you night may not be over ere the storm break on this town!"
Sidonia had little preparation to make. She put on her cloak. From the
depths of her hood, her happy eyes looked inquiringly at the fiddler.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Where?" replied the wanderer, "where, but to the forest, to the green
arms that will hold your love so safely, so discreetly? To the quiet
and peace of the forest, before you shape your way together, children,
into the great noisy world. To the simplicity of the forest, you, young
magnate, that you may for ever afterwards have a memory of love as the
breath of nature itself to haunt you in your grandeur. To the Forest
House, you, little madam, whither I once brought a youth who was missing
his springtime and had lost his way, that he might find them both."
* * * * *
The fiddler sat on the box, and the horses went roundly. The rain had
given place to a heavy autumnal mist, soaking, all encompassing. It
muffled every sound, the drumming of the hoofs in the mud, the roll of
the wheels, the very clack of the whip. But he drove with extraordinary
sureness and speed in spite of the gloom, and the lamps of the _berline_
soon cast their flashes out upon the flying ghosts of the poplars on the
desert country road. It seemed as if the night, the whole world,
connived at the lovers' flight, gathered round them in screening mystery
and silence.
Sidonia lay on her husband's shoulder, half dreaming again in happy
weariness, lulled by the monotonous movement and rhythm. It was from a
profound sleep that she started suddenly with a faint cry:
"What was that?"--A dull boom was still droning in her ears.
"That was cannon," said Steven.
At this moment the carriage drew up, and they could hear the fiddler
calling to them. Steven put his head out of the window and saw the dark
face with its sardonic smile, lit up by the carriage-lamp, looking down
at him.
"Did you mark that, comrade?--and again! Ha, there goes little brother
Jerome's little throne! Hey, what a scuttle there be yonder now! My
children, you have not run away together one hour too soon. That will
no doubt be Csernischeff and his Cossacks; they have made good use of
the first autumn fog. It is in with them by the Leipzig gate, no
doubt--of ill omen! And few of our honest Westphalians will care to
turn out to-night and be spitted or shot for the sweet eyes of Jerome.
It is the end this time--meet that it should be our friends the Huns
that do the scavenging.... You remember them, Count Steven, the carrion
crows on the trail...?"
Sidonia pulled her husband back that she might look out in her turn.
The red glow of some distant conflagration was beginning to be faintly
perceptible behind them in the pall of fog. She had heard the fiddler's
explanation, and rejoiced in her young, unforgiving heart. Yet already
Cassel and its terrors were fading from her mind. She sniffed the wet
air as a doe might; and while the fiddler gazed down at her, an air of
tender amusement driving the scorn from his face, she strained her ear
as though to catch some secret sounds.
"Yes, child," said he, nodding at her; "yes, it is the woods you smell,
the trees you hear. Yonder is the inn of The Three Ways, and presently
we shall turn into the forest road."
Sidonia sank back beside Steven, a smile upon her lips. Then they both
became aware that they could see each other in a strange glimmer that
was scarcely yet light. Without, the mist was now white, torn ever and
anon by swaying streaks of faint blue.
"It is the new day," said she under her breath.
"The day that is ours," said Steven. And as they kissed, the horses'
hoofs struck upon the ascent and the great trees sprang up about them.
By sunset they reached the Forest House.
And when the Forest-Mother beheld them, she clapped her hands and
laughed, and called on heaven and all the saints, and then kissed them
all three--a freedom she never could recall afterwards without
amazement--and, finally, she flung her blue embroidered apron over her
head and wept aloud in gladness.
But nothing could hamper the preparation of the finest supper that ever
the Forest House had seen; and about it there drew together such a happy
company as even its happy walls had never held before.
By and by they sat round the great hearth. Some one asked Geiger-Hans
for music. But he shook his head. And spells of silence ever more
frequent and prolonged began to fall between the talking and laughing;
the great peace of the forest was drawing about the lovers and holding
them close even as he had prophesied. As the light of the fire played
upon the musician's face it showed a great serenity. It was a blessed
evening.
"You will always live with us, dear Geiger-Hans," said Sidonia over and
over again. And each time he made no answer, but smiled as if content.
* * * * *
Now, in the wonderful dawn of the forest, Steven awoke; and though his
heart was as a bird's in spring for happiness, yet was there a sense of
trouble, of anxiety, upon him which had seemed woven into his dreams.
They had left their window open to the moonlight, and it had flooded in
upon them, but the dawn mystery without held aloof, veiled from sight
like an Eastern bride. Thin grey vapours hung as a curtain before the
open casement. Steven sat up, his pulses beating fast. He strained his
ear; heard flutter of leaves, drip of dew, chirp of awakening birds ...
then a faint strain of music that seemed as if it passed through a
dream. The melody grew more distinct, though still subdued; it rose,
softly plaintive; it was joyous and yet sad, secret and yet an appeal.
And through it all there was a rhythm as of restless feet:--it was a
melody of love, of farewell, of wandering. Fainter it grew, and was
lost once more in the whispers of the woods. At last it was silent, yet
still it seemed to sing.
A sudden pain gripped Steven's heart. He knew that Geiger-Hans had gone
out of their lives for ever.
[Illustration: _The End_]
The End
* * * * * * * *
*THE PRIDE OF JENNICO*
_Being a Memoir of Captain Basil Jennico_
By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE
*YOUNG APRIL*
By EGERTON CASTLE
Author of "The Pride of Jennico"
_Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell_
*HEART'S DESIRE*
THE STORY OF A CONTENTED TOWN, CERTAIN PECULIAR
CITIZENS, AND TWO FORTUNATE LOVERS
By EMERSON HOUGH
Author of "The Mississippi Bubble," etc., etc.
_With Illustrations by F. B. Masters_
*YOLANDA*
MAID OF BURGUNDY
By CHARLES MAJOR
Author of "Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall,"
"When Knighthood was in Flower," etc.
_Illustrated by Charlotte Weber Ditzler_
*LADY BALTIMORE*
By OWEN WISTER
Author of "The Virginian," etc., etc.
_With Numerous Illustrations_
*FAIR MARGARET*
A PORTRAIT
By F. MARION CRAWFORD
Author of "Saracinesca," "Whosoever Shall Offend,"
"In the Palace of the King," etc., etc.
_With six full-page Illustrations by Horace T. Carpenter_
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
By Agnes & Egerton Castle
ROSE OF THE WORLD
FRENCH NAN
THE STAR DREAMER
THE PRIDE OF JENNICO
THE SECRET ORCHARD
THE BATH COMEDY
INCOMPARABLE BELLAIRS
THE HOUSE OF ROMANCE
By Egerton Castle
YOUNG APRIL
THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY
CONSEQUENCES
MARSH FIELD the OBSERVER
LA BELLA AND OTHERS
SCHOOLS AND MASTERS OF FENCE
ENGLISH BOOK-PLATES
THE JERNINGHAM LETTERS
LE ROMAN DU PRINCE OTHON