THE PRINCESS GOES GALLOPING
A week passed--an interesting week in which few things happened openly,
but in which the entire situation underwent a subtle but complete
change. The mail steamer had come and gone. It brought disconcerting
news from London. Chase was obliged to tell the islanders that notice of
a contest had been filed. The lineal heirs had pooled their issues and
were now fighting side by side. The matter would be in chancery for
months, even years. He could almost feel the gust of rage and
disappointment that swept over the island--although not a word came from
the lips of the sullen population. The very silence was foreboding.
He did not visit the château during that perplexing week. It was hard,
but he resolutely kept to the path of duty, disdaining the pleasures
that beckoned to him. Every day he saw and talked with Britt and
Saunders. They, as well as the brisk Miss Pelham, gave him the "family
news" from the château. Saunders, when he was not moping with the ague
of love, indulged in rare exhibitions of joy over the turn affairs were
taking with his client and Bobby Browne. It did not require
extraordinary keenness on Chase's part to gather that her ladyship and
Browne had suddenly decided to engage in what he would call a mild
flirtation, but what Saunders looked upon as a real attack of love.
"If I had the nerve, I'd call Browne good and hard," said Britt, over
his julep. "It isn't right. It isn't decent. No telling what it will
come to. The worst of it is that his wife doesn't blame him. She blames
her. They disappear for hours at a time and they've always got their
heads together. I've noticed it for a month, but it's got worse in the
last week. Poor little Drusilla. She's from Boston, Chase, and can't
retaliate. Besides, Deppingham wouldn't take notice if she tried."
"There's one safeguard," said Chase. "They can't elope on this island."
"They can't, eh? Why, man, they could elope in the château and nobody
could overtake 'em. You've no idea how big it is. The worst of it is,
Deppingham has got an idea that they may try to put him out of the
way--him and Drusilla. Awful, isn't it?"
"Perfect rot, Britt. You'll find that it turns out all right in the end.
I'd bank on Lady Deppingham's cool little head. Browne may be mad, but
she isn't."
"It won't help me any unless both of 'em are mad," said Britt, with a
wry face. "And, say, by the way, Saunders is getting to dislike you
intensely."
"I can't help it if he loves the only stenographer on the island," said
Chase easily. "You seem to be the only one who isn't in hot water all
the time, Britt."
"Me and the Princess," said Britt laconically. Chase looked up quickly,
but the other's face was as straight as could be. "If you were a real
gentleman you would come around once in a while and give her something
to talk to, instead of about."
"Does she talk about me?" quite steadily.
"They all do. I've even heard the white handmaidens discussing you in
glowing terms. You're a regular matinee hero up there, my--"
"Selim!" broke in Chase. The Arab came to the table immediately. "Don't
put so much liquor in Mr. Britt's drinks after this. Mostly water."
Britt grinned amiably.
They sipped through their straws in silence for quite a while. Both were
thinking of the turn affairs were taking at the château.
"I say, Britt, you're not responsible for this affair between Browne and
Lady Deppingham, are you?" demanded Chase abruptly.
"I? What do you mean?"
"I was just wondering if you could have put Browne up to the game in the
hope that a divorce or two might solve a very difficult problem."
"Now that you mention it, I'm going to look up the church and colonial
divorce laws," said Britt non-committally, after a moment.
"I advise you to hurry," said Chase coolly. "If you can divorce and
marry 'em inside of four weeks, with no court qualified to try the case
nearer than India, you are a wonder."
Chase was in the habit of visiting the mines two or three times a week
during work hours. The next morning after his conversation with Britt,
he rode out to the mines. When he reached the brow of the last hill,
overlooking the wide expanse in which the men toiled, he drew rein
sharply and stared aghast at what lay before him.
Instead of the usual activity, there was not a man in sight. It was some
time before his bewildered brain could grasp the meaning of the puzzle.
Selim, who rode behind, came up and without a word directed his master's
attention to the long ridge of trees that bordered the broken hillsides.
Then he saw the miners. Five hundred half-naked brown men were
congregated in the shade of the trees, far to the right. By the aid of
his glasses he could see that one of their number was addressing them in
an earnest, violent harangue. It was not difficult, even at that
distance, to recognise the speaker as Von Blitz. From time to time, the
silent watchers saw the throng exhibit violent signs of emotion. There
were frequent gesticulations, occasional dances; the faint sound of
shouts came across the valley.
Chase shuddered. He knew what it meant. He turned to Selim, who sat
beside him like a bronze statue, staring hard at the spectacle.
"How about Allah now, Selim?" he asked sententiously.
"Allah is great, Allah is good," mumbled the Moslem youth, but without
heart.
"Do you think He can save me from those dogs?" asked the master, with a
kindly smile.
"Sahib, do not go among them to-day," implored Selim impulsively.
"They are expecting me, Selim. If I don't come, they will know that I
have funked. They'll know I am afraid of them."
"Do not go to-day," persisted Selim doggedly. Suddenly he started,
looking intently to the left along the line of the hill. Chase followed
the direction of his gaze and uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise.
Several hundred yards away, outlined against the blue sky beyond the
knob, stood the motionless figure of a horse and its rider--a woman in a
green habit. Chase could hardly believe his eyes. It did not require a
second glance to tell him who the rider was; he could not be mistaken in
that slim, proud figure. Without a moment's hesitation he turned his
horse's head and rode rapidly toward her. She had left the road to ride
out upon the crest of the green knob. Chase was in the mood to curse her
temerity.
As he came up over the slope, she turned in the saddle to watch his
approach. He had time to see that two grooms from the stables were in
the road below her. There was a momentary flash of surprise and
confusion in her eyes, succeeded at once by a warm glow of excitement.
She smiled as he drew up beside her, not noticing his unconscious frown.
"So those are the fabulous mines of Japat," she said gaily, without
other greeting. "Where is the red glow from the rubies?"
His horse had come to a standstill beside hers. Scarcely a foot
separated his boot from her animal's side. If she detected the serious
look in his face, she chose to ignore it.
"Who gave you permission to ride so far from the château?" he demanded,
almost harshly. She looked at him in amazement.
"Am I a trespasser?" she asked coldly.
"I beg your pardon," he said quickly. "I did not mean to offend. Don't
you know that it is not safe for you to--"
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I am not afraid of your shadows. Why should
they disturb me?"
"Look!" He pointed to the distant assemblage. "Those are not shadows.
They are men and they are making ready to transform themselves into
beasts. Before long they will strike. Von Blitz and Rasula have sunk my
warships. You _must_ understand that it is dangerous to leave the
château on such rides as this. Come! We will start back together--at
once."
"I protest, Mr. Chase, that you have no right to say what I shall do
or--"
"It isn't a question of right. You are nearly ten miles from the
château, in the most unfrequented part of the island. Some day you will
not return to your friends. It will be too late to hunt for you then."
"How very thrilling!" she said with a laugh.
"I beg of you, do not treat it so lightly," he said, so sharply that she
flushed. He was looking intently in the direction of the men. She was
not slow to see that their position had been discovered by the miners.
"They have seen us," he said briefly. "It is quite possible that they do
not mean to do anything desperate at this time, but you can readily see
that they will resent this proof of spying on our part. They mistake me
for one of the men from the château. Will you come with me now?"
"It seems so absurd--but I will come, of course. I have no desire to
cause you any uneasiness."
As they rode swiftly back to the tree-lined road, a faint chorus of
yells came to them across the valley. For some distance they rode
without speaking a word to each other. They had traversed two miles of
the soft dirt road before Chase discovered that Selim was the only man
following them. The two men who had come out with the Princess were not
in sight. He mentioned the fact to her, with a peculiar smile on his
lips. They slackened the pace and Chase called Selim up from behind. The
little Arab's face was a study in its display of unwonted emotion.
"Excellency," he replied, in answer to Chase's question, his voice
trembling with excitement, "they left me at the bend, a mile back. They
will not return to the château."
"The dogs! So, you see, Princess, your escort was not to be trusted,"
said Chase grimly.
"But they have stolen the horses," she murmured irrelevantly. "They
belong to the château stables."
"Which direction did they take, Selim?"
"They rode off by the Carter's highway, Excellency, toward Aratat."
"It may not appeal to your vanity, your Highness, but it is my duty to
inform you that they have gone to report our clandestine meeting."
"Clandestine! What do you mean, sir?"
"The islanders are watching me like hawks. Every time I am seen with any
one from the château, they add a fresh nail to the coffin they are
preparing for me. It's really more serious than you imagine. I must,
therefore, forbid you to ride outside of the park."
They rode swiftly for another mile, silence being unbroken between them.
She was trying to reconcile her pride to the justice of his command.
"I daresay you are right, Mr. Chase," she said at last, quite frankly.
"I thank you."
"I am glad that you understand," he said simply. His gaze was set
straight before him, keen, alert, anxious. They were riding through a
dark stretch of forest; the foliage came down almost to their faces;
there was an almost impenetrable green wall on either side of them. He
knew, and she was beginning to suspect, that danger lurked in the
peaceful, sweet-smelling shades.
"I begin to fear, Mr. Chase," she said, with a faint smile, "that Lady
Deppingham deceived me in suggesting Japat as a rest cure. It may
interest you to know that the court at Rapp-Thorberg has been very gay
this winter. Much has happened in the past few months."
"I know," he said briefly, almost bitterly.
"My brother, Christobal, has been with us after two years' absence. He
came with his wife from the ends of the earth, and my father forgave him
in good earnest. Christobal was very disobedient in the old days. He
refused to marry the girl my father chose for him. Was it not foolish of
him?"
"Not if it has turned out well in the end."
"I daresay it has--or will. She is delightful. My father loves her. And
my father--the Grand Duke, I should say--does not love those who cross
him. One is very fortunate to have been born a prince." He thought he
detected a note of bitterness in this raillery.
"I can conceive of no greater fortune than to have been born Prince Karl
of Brabetz," he said lightly. She flashed a quick glance at his face,
her eyes narrowing in the effort to divine his humour. He saw the cloud
which fell over her face and was suddenly silent, contrite for some
unaccountable reason.
"As I was saying," she resumed, after a moment, "Lady Deppingham has
lured me from sunshowers into the tempest. Mr. Chase," and her face was
suddenly full of real concern, "is there truly great danger?"
"I fear so," he answered. "It is only a question of time. I have tried
to check this uprising, but I've failed. They don't trust me. Last night
Von Blitz, Rasula and three others came to the bungalow and coolly
informed me that my services were no longer required. I told them to--to
go to--"
"I understand," she said quickly. "It required courage to tell them
that." He smiled.
"They protested friendship, but I can read very well as I run. But can't
we find something more agreeable to talk about? May I say that I have
not seen a newspaper in three months? The world has forgotten me. There
must be news that you can give me. I am hungry for it."
"You poor man! No newspapers! Then you don't know what has happened in
all these months?"
"Nothing since before Christmas. Would you like to see a bit of news
that I clipped from the last Paris paper that came into my hands?"
"Yes," she said, vaguely disturbed. He drew forth his pocketbook and
took from its interior a small bit of paper, which he handed to her, a
shamed smile in his eyes. She read it at a glance and handed it back. A
faint touch of red came into her cheeks.
"How very odd! Why should you have kept that bit of paper all these
months?"
"I will admit that the announcement of the approaching nuptials of two
persons whom I had met so casually may seem a strange thing to cherish,
but I am a strange person. You have been married nearly three months,"
he said reflectively. "Three months and two days, to be precise."
She laughed outright, a bewitching, merry laugh that startled him.
"How accurate you would be," she exclaimed. "It would be a highly
interesting achievement, Mr. Chase, if it were only borne out by facts.
You see, I have not been married so much as three minutes."
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
She went on: "Do you consider it bad luck to postpone a wedding?"
Involuntarily he drew his horse closer to hers. There was a new gleam in
his eyes; her blood leaped at the challenge they carried.
"Very bad luck," he said quite steadily; "for the bridegroom."
In an instant they seemed to understand something that had not even been
considered before. She looked away, but he kept his eyes fast upon her
half-turned face, finding delight in the warm tint that surged so
shamelessly to her brow. He wondered if she could hear the pounding of
his heart above the thud of the horses' feet.
"We are to be married in June," she said somewhat defiantly. Some of the
light died in his eyes. "Prince Karl was very ill. They thought he might
die. His--his studies--his music, I mean, proved more than he could
carry. It--it is not serious. A nervous break-down," she explained
haltingly.
"You mean that he--" he paused before finishing the
sentence--"collapsed?"
"Yes. It was necessary to postpone the marriage. He will be quite well
again, they say--by June."
Chase thought of the small, nervous, excitable prince and in his mind
there arose a great doubt. They might pronounce him cured, but would it
be true? "I hope he may be fully recovered, for your sake," he managed
to say.
"Thank you." After a long pause, she turned to him again and said: "We
are to live in Paris for a year or two at least."
Then Chase understood. Prince Karl would not be entirely recovered in
June. He did not ask, but he knew in some strange way that his
physicians were there and that it would be necessary for him to be near
them.
"He is in Paris now?"
"No," she answered, and that was all. He waited, but she did not expand
her confidence.
"So it is to be in June?" he mused.
"In June," she said quietly. He sighed.
"I am more than sorry that you are a princess," he said boldly.
"I am quite sure of that," she said, so pointedly that he almost gasped.
She was laughing comfortably, a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. His
laugh was as awkward as hers was charming.
"You _do_ like to be flattered," he exclaimed at random. "And I shall
take it upon myself to add to to-day's measure." He again drew forth his
pocketbook. She looked on curiously. "Permit me to restore the lace
handkerchief which you dropped some time ago. I've been keeping it for
myself, but----"
"My handkerchief?" she gasped, her thoughts going at once to that
ridiculous incident of the balcony. "It must belong to Lady Deppingham."
"Oh, it isn't the one you used on the balcony," he protested coolly. "It
antedates that adventure."
"Balcony? I don't understand you," she contested.
"Then you are exceedingly obtuse."
"I never dreamed that you could see," she confessed pathetically.
"It was extremely nice in you and very presumptuous in me. But, your
highness, this is the handkerchief you dropped in the Castle garden six
months ago. Do you recognise the perfume?"
She took it from his fingers gingerly, a soft flush of interest
suffusing her cheek. Before she replied, she held the dainty bit of lace
to her straight little nose.
"You are very sentimental," she said at last. "Would you care to keep
it? It is of no value to me."
"Thanks, I will keep it."
"I've changed my mind," she said inconsequently, stuffing the fabric in
her gauntlet. "You have something else in that pocketbook that I should
very much like to possess."
"It can't be that Bank of England--"
"No, no! You wrapped it in a bit of paper last week and placed it there
for safe keeping."
"You mean the bullet?"
"Yes. I should like it. To show to my friends, you know, when I tell
them how near you were to being shot." Without a word he gave her the
bullet that had dropped at his feet on that first day at the château.
"Thank you. Oh, isn't it a horrid thing! Just to think, it might have
struck you!" She shuddered.
He was about to answer in his delirium when a sharp turn in the road
brought them in view of the château. Not a hundred yards ahead of them
two persons were riding slowly, unattended, very much occupied in
themselves. Their backs were toward Chase and the Princess, but it was
an easy matter to recognise them. The glance which shot from the
Princess to Chase found a peculiar smile disappearing from his lips.
"I know what you are thinking," she cried impulsively "You are
wrong--very wrong, Mr. Chase. Lady Deppingham is a born coquette--a born
trifler. It is ridiculous to think that she can be seriously engaged in
a--"
"It isn't that, Princess," he interrupted, a dark look in his eyes. "I
was merely wondering whether dear little Mrs. Browne is as happy as she
might be."
Genevra was silent for a moment.
"I had not thought of that," she said soberly.