THE PERSIAN ANGEL
The man called Abou suddenly leaped to his feet, and, with the cry of an
eager animal, sprang to her side. His arms closed about her slender
figure with the unmistakable lust of the victor. A piteous,
heart-rending shriek left her lips as he raised her clear of the ground
and started toward the dense shadows across the road. Her
terror-stricken face was turned to the light; her cries for mercy were
directed to the brute's companions.
They did not respond, but another did. A hoarse, inarticulate cry of
rage burst from Deppingham's lips. His figure shot out through the air
and down the short slope with the rush of an infuriated beast. Even as
the astonished Abou dropped his struggling burden to meet the attack of
the unexpected deliverer, he was felled to the earth by a mighty blow
from the rifle which his assailant swung swift and true. His skull was
crushed as if it were an eggshell.
Lady Agnes struggled to her feet, wild-eyed, half crazed by the double
assault. The next instant she fell forward upon her face, dead to all
that was to follow in the next few minutes. Her glazed eyes caught a
fleeting glimpse of the figures that seemed to sweep down from the sky,
and then all was blank.
There was no struggle. Chase and Selim were upon the stupefied islanders
before they could move, covering them with their rifles. The wretches
fell upon their knees and howled for mercy. While Deppingham was holding
his wife's limp form in his arms, calling out to her in the agony of
fear, utterly oblivious to all else that was happening about him, his
two friends were swiftly disarming the grovelling natives. Selim's knife
severed the cords that bound Bobby Browne's hands; he was staring
blankly, dizzily before him, and many minutes passed before he was able
to comprehend that deliverance had come.
Ten minutes later Chase was addressing himself to the four islanders,
who, bound and gagged, were tied by their own sashes to trees some
distance from the roadside.
"I've just thought of a little service you fellows can perform for me in
return for what I've done for you. All the time you're doing it,
however, there will be pistols quite close to your backs. I find that
Lady Deppingham is much too weak to take the five miles' walk we've got
to do in the next two hours--or less. You are to have the honour of
carrying her four miles and a half, and you will have to get along the
best you can with the gags in your mouths. I'm rather proud of the
inspiration. We were up against it, hard, until I thought of you fellows
wasting your time up here in the woods. Corking scheme, isn't it? Two of
you form a basket with your hands--I'll show you how. You carry her for
half a mile; then the other two may have the satisfaction of doing
something just as handsome for the next half mile--and so on. Great,
eh?"
And it was in just that fashion that the party started off without delay
in the direction of the château. Two of the cowed but eager islanders
were carrying her ladyship between them, Deppingham striding close
behind in a position to catch her should she again lose consciousness.
Her tense fingers clung to the straining shoulders of the carriers, and,
although she swayed dizzily from time to time, she maintained her trying
position with extreme courage and cool-headedness. Now and then she
breathed aloud the name of her husband, as if to assure herself that he
was near at hand. She kept her eyes closed tightly, apparently uniting
every vestige of force in the effort to hold herself together through
the last stages of the frightful ordeal which had fallen to her that
night.
With Selim in the lead, the little procession moved swiftly but
cautiously through the black jungle, bent on reaching the gate if
possible before the night lifted. Chase and Bobby Browne brought up the
rear with the two reserve carriers in hand. Browne, weak and suffering
from torture and exposure, struggled bravely along, determined not to
retard their progress by a single movement of indecision. He had talked
volubly for the first few minutes after their rescue, but now was silent
and intent upon thoughts of his own. His head and face were bruised and
cut; his body was stiff and sore from the effects of his valiant battle
in the cavern and the subsequent hardships of the march.
In his heart Bobby Browne was now raging against the fate that had
placed him in this humiliating, almost contemptible position. He, and he
alone, was responsible for the sufferings that Lady Agnes had endured:
it was as gall and wormwood to him that other men had been ordained to
save her from the misery that he had created. He could almost have
welcomed death for himself and her rather than to have been saved by
George Deppingham. As he staggered along, propelled by the resistless
force which he knew to be a desire to live in spite of it all, he was
wondering how he could ever hold up his head again in the presence of
those who damned him, even as they had prayed for him.
His wife! He could never be the same to her. He had forfeited the trust
and confidence of the one loyal believer among them all.... And now,
Lady Deppingham loathed him because his weakness had been greater than
hers!
When he would have slain the four helpless islanders with his own hands,
Hollingsworth Chase had stayed his rage with the single, caustic
adjuration:
"Keep out of this, Browne! You've been enough of a damned bounder
without trying that sort of thing."
Tears were in Bobby Browne's eyes as, mile after mile, he blundered
along at the side of his fellow-countryman, his heart bleeding itself
dry through the wound those words had made.
It was still pitch dark when they came to the ridge above the park.
Through the trees the lights in the château could be seen. Lady Agnes
opened her eyes and cried out in tremulous joy. A great wave of
exaltation swept over Hollingsworth Chase. _She_ was watching and
waiting there with the others!
"Dame Fortune is good to us," he said, quite irrelevantly. Selim
muttered the sacred word "Allah." Chase's trend of thought, whatever it
may have been, was ruthlessly checked. "That reminds me," he said
briskly, "we can't waste Allah's time in dawdling here. Luck has been
with us--and Allah, too--great is Allah! But we'll have to do some
skilful sneaking on our own hook, just the same. If the upper gate is
being watched--and I doubt it very much--we'll have a hard time getting
inside the walls, signal or no signal. The first thing for us to do is
to make everything nice and snug for our four friends here. You've
laboured well and faithfully," he said to the panting islanders, "and
I'm going to reward you. I'm going to set you free. But not yet. Don't
rejoice. First, we shall tie you securely to four stout trees just off
the road. Then we'll leave you to take a brief, much-needed rest. Lady
Deppingham, I fancy, can walk the rest of the way through the woods.
Just as soon as we are inside the walls, I'll find some way to let your
friends know that you are here. You can explain the situation to them
better than I can. Tell 'em that it might have been worse."
He and Selim promptly marched the bewildered islanders into the wood.
Bobby Browne, utterly exhausted, had thrown himself to the soft earth.
Lady Deppingham was standing, swaying but resolute, her gaze upon the
distant, friendly windows.
At last she turned to look at her husband, timorously, an appeal in her
eyes that the darkness hid. He was staring at her, a stark figure in the
night. After a long, tense moment of indecision, she held out her hands
and he sprang forward in time to catch her as she swayed toward him. She
was sobbing in his arms. Bobby Browne's heavy breathing ceased in that
instant, and he closed his ears against the sound that came to them.
Deppingham gently implored her to sit down with him and rest. Together
they walked a few paces farther away from their companion and sat down
by the roadside. For many minutes no word was spoken; neither could
whisper the words that were so hard in finding their way up from the
depths. At last she said:
"I've made you unhappy. I've been so foolish. It has not been fun,
either, my husband. God knows it hasn't. You do not love me now."
He did not answer her at once and she shivered fearfully in his arms.
Then he kissed her brow gently.
"I _do_ love you, Agnes," he said intensely. "I will answer for my own
love if you can answer for yours. Are you the same Agnes that you were?
My Agnes?"
"Will you believe me?"
"Yes."
"I could lie to you--God knows I would lie to you."
"I--I would rather you lied to me than to---"
"I know. Don't say it. George," as she put her hands to his face and
whispered in all the fierceness of a desperate longing to convince him,
"I am the same Agnes. I am _your_ Agnes. I am! You _do_ believe me?"
He crushed her close to his breast and then patted her shoulder as a
father might have touched an erring child.
"That's all I ask of you," he said. She lay still and almost breathless
for a long time.
At last she spoke: "It is not wholly his fault, George. I was to blame.
I led him on. You understand?"
"Poor devil!" said he drily. "It's a way you have, dear."
The object of this gentle commiseration was staring with gloomy eyes at
the lights below. He was saying to himself, over and over again: "If I
can only make Drusie understand!"
Chase and Selim came down upon this little low-toned picture. The former
paused an instant and smiled joyously in the darkness.
"Come," was all he said. Without a word the three arose and started off
down the road. A few hundred feet farther on, Selim abruptly turned off
among the trees. They made their way slowly, cautiously to a point
scarcely a hundred feet from the wall and somewhat to the right of the
small gate. Here he left them and crept stealthily away. A few minutes
later he crept back to them, a soft hiss on his lips.
"Five men are near the gate," he whispered. "They watch so closely that
no one may go to rescue those who have disappeared. Friends are hidden
inside the wall, ready to open the gate at a signal. They have waited
with Neenah all night. And day is near, sahib."
"We must attack at once," said Chase. "We can take them by surprise. No
killing, mind you. They're not looking for anything to happen outside
the walls. It will be easy if we are careful. No shooting unless
necessary. If we should fail to surprise them, Selim and I will dash off
into the forest and they will follow us, Then, Deppingham, you and
Browne get Lady Deppingham inside the gate. We'll look out for
ourselves. Quiet now!"
Five shadowy figures soon were distinguished huddled close to the wall
below the gate. The sense of sight had become keen during those trying
hours in the darkness.
The islanders were conversing in low tones, a word or two now and then
reaching the ears of the others. It was evident from what was being
said, that, earlier in the evening, messengers had carried the news from
Rasula to the town; the entire population was now aware of the
astounding capture of the two heirs. There had been rejoicing; it was
easy to picture the populace lying in wait for the expected relief party
from the château.
Suddenly a blinding, mysterious light flashed upon the muttering group.
As they fell back, a voice, low and firm, called out to them:
"Not a sound or you die!"
Four unwavering rifles were bearing upon the surprised islanders and
four very material men were advancing from the ghostly darkness. An
electric lantern shot a ray of light athwart the scene.
"Drop your guns--quick!" commanded Chase. "Don't make a row!"
Paralysed with fear and amazement, the men obeyed. They could not have
done otherwise. The odds were against them; they were bewildered; they
knew not how to combat what seemed to them an absolutely supernatural
force.
While the three white men kept them covered with their rifles, Selim ran
to the gate, uttering the shrill cry of a night bird. There was a rush
of feet inside the walls, subdued exclamations, and then a glad cry.
"Quick!" called Selim. The keys rattled in the locks, the bolts were
thrown down, and an instant later, Lady Deppingham was flying across the
space which intervened between her and the gate, where five or six
figures were huddled and calling out eagerly for haste.
The men were beside her a moment later, possessed of the weapons of the
helpless sentinels. With a crash the gates were closed and a joyous
laugh rang out from the exultant throat of Hollingsworth Chase.
"By the Lord Harry, this is worth while!" he shouted. Outside, the
maddened guards were sounding the tardy alarm. Chase called out to them
and told them where they could find the four men in the forest. Then he
turned to follow the group that had scurried off toward the château. The
first grey shade of day was coming into the night.
He saw Neenah ahead of him, standing still in the centre of the
gravelled path. Beyond her was the tall figure of a man.
"You are a trump, Neenah," cried Chase, hurrying up to her. "A Persian
angel!"
It was not Neenah's laugh that replied. Chase gasped in amazement and
then uttered a cry of joy.
The Princess Genevra, slim and erect, was standing before him, her hand
touching her turban in true military salute, soft laughter rippling from
her lips.
In the exuberance of joy, he clasped that little hand and crushed it
against his lips.
"You!" he exclaimed.
"Sh!" she warned, "I have retained my guard of honour."
He looked beyond her and beheld the tall, soldierly figure of a
Rapp-Thorberg guardsman.
"The devil!" fell involuntarily from his lips.
"Not at all. He is here to keep me from going to the devil," she cried
so merrily that he laughed aloud with her in the spirit of unbounded
joy. "Come! Let us run after the others. I want to run and dance and
sing."
He still held her hand as they ran swiftly down the drive, followed
closely by the faithful sergeant.
"You are an angel," he said in her ear. She laughed as she looked up
into his face.
"Yes--a Persian angel," she cried. "It's so much easier to run well in a
Persian angel's costume," she added.