plyces with for you.... Posies for yer winder. Let 'em grow, till we've
other posies in our 'ome. Yer blushin', Meg. Ha! Ha!... Oh, Gawd, me
'eart's broke.... Forget?... Hit's you, Doc Judson, as will look arter
Captain Carter now. Good-bye, Doc.... Why, there's 'er face again. Damn
you, Meg. Hi hates you, but Hi loves you.... Captain Carter.... Ah-h-h."
His struggle with Love, with Life, and with Death was over. With a
long-drawn sigh of relief his spirit had passed. His head was turned to
the man who had befriended him.
Hand in hand, Trusia and Carter arose and stood over the pulseless form.
Trusia was the first to speak.
[Illustration: "DON'T LET 'IM CARRY YOUR SWEET FACE TO THE GRAVE WITH
'IM UNLESS YOUR LOVE GOES WITH IT"]
"We cannot leave him here, dear. Poor, poor Carrick," and she threatened
to sob. Carter slipped his arm about her comfortingly. As though
returning, birdlike, to its nest, her head cradled itself against his
shoulder, her arm timidly sought his neck and for one brief second she
was content.
"Come," he said almost brutally to dissipate the apathy which death had
thrown upon them both. "I'll carry him." He assisted her to mount, then,
Carrick in his arms, he scrambled into the saddle. As they swung at a
gallop out of the woods, a shot whistled past his head.
"Are you hurt, dear?" she cried.
"No; these woods seem Russianized, though. Pray heaven the road is not,"
and with strained eyes to the front, with word and spur, they raced for
the lane to the castle.
"Something is amiss, dear; I know; I feel it. Still no matter what it
is," she said, turning and laying her hand with a trustful little
movement upon his arm, "I have your love, my King." With one foot on the
flat step of the castle entrance, as she said this Trusia turned to
Carter, a world of capitulated love in her eyes. The wicket opened with
a more ominous creak than was its wont, it seemed. The Sergeant thrust
his shaggy pate through the narrow opening in answer to their knock. On
seeing who it was he stepped out to where he would have ample space for
the full salute he always gave Her Grace. Some perplexity on the simple
face aroused her forebodings anew.
"What is it, Sergeant?" she inquired anxiously. "Who is here?"
"Can't make heads or tails of it, Your Grace; not that I have any right
to, but one gets figuring on what is going on around him when he is
idle. It must be very important, since Colonel Sutphen has been summoned
from the frontier. Count Zulka has not arrived yet, but a courier was
sent for him, too. His Majesty is also here, but it seems that Count
Sobieska sent out all the orders. The courier from Paris arrived about
an hour before the Privy Council was summoned. Then Josef was sent for.
Then, though kept in the office, he was put under arrest. Search has
been made everywhere for Your Grace. My commands were to invite you to
enter as soon as you could be found. I will announce you."
"You must come, also," the girl insisted, turning to Carter.
"But Carrick?" he objected, as he looked down at the lifeless figure in
his arms.
"Bring him in," she replied. "Though too late to do him further
service, Krovitch shall not forget his devotion and his sacrifice."
They opened and entered the door of Sobieska's office. A faint commotion
heralded the sight of Carrick which Carter attributed to natural
surprise; he had no idea that it held a deeper significance. He placed
the blood-stained form upon a leather lounge, folding the hands across
the breast. The pallid features seemed to have taken on a strange
nobility in death.
It needed but a scant glance to prove that something was wrong, an odd
repression filled the air with a myriad silent surmises. Trusia's eyes
were blazing. Then Carter, following their direction, noted that the
Minister of Private Intelligence, against all etiquette, was seated
calmly at his desk, while His Majesty was standing. Josef, at one corner
of the room, was guarded by the pair of soldiers who had been placed to
watch Carter and Carrick the day of their arrival. A strapping young
fellow, pale and mud-splashed, a bandage about his head, his left arm in
a sling, leaned heavily against the wainscoting.
As Trusia courtesied low to Stovik, Sobieska arose, a slight frown
marking a thin line between his brows, to bow sadly in the direction of
the body on the lounge. His back was deliberately turned upon the
Parisian with such studied insolence of action that the Duchess could
not permit it to pass unrebuked.
"The King!" she said.
There followed--silence. Stovik and the courier dropped to their knees
with bowed heads. Sobieska, gloom encircled, stood with bent head and
quivering lips. His sombre eyes were fixed upon the inanimate Cockney as
though to this modern he would recall the miracle of Lazarus. Then out
of the well of his woe, came his voice, deep, and grief-laden. In the
simplicity of life's greatest emotion, he pointed toward the couch.
"The King?" he questioned, looking straight into Trusia's eyes now. "The
King? Does not your blood--your common heritage--tell you that the King
is dead? God rest His Majesty."
She turned from one to the other in total bewilderment; finally, as
though trusting none other, she came to Carter for enlightenment. He had
comprehended in a glance.
"What do they mean?" she begged plaintively. "My poor head is awhirl in
all this gloom."
"Carrick is King," he answered. A single tear, a perfect pearl of pity,
hung abashed upon her cheek.
"It is so," assented the Minister, as she awaited his confirmation.
Gradually her grief dried in the realization of the awful deception
which had been practiced by some one on her country. The flame of her
burning rage shot suddenly into sight.
"What treason brought him here, then?" she asked haughtily, pointing
indignantly at Stovik.
The latter smiled deprecatingly, as Sobieska answered, "Part of a
Russian plot, Highness, of which, so far as we can ascertain, this
gentleman has been the innocent victim. It was by such a plan they
sought to lure all the patriots within the boundaries of our land, then
to draw their net about us. I pray God that we still have time."
"Who was it?" she inquired with lips white and drawn, and brow
contracted.
"Josef."
All eyes were turned upon the accused, whose inscrutable countenance
underwent no shadow of a change, no fear of death was there, no regret
for infamy. If the expression had altered at all, it was to display a
shade more of triumphant insolence. The Duchess turned sternly to him.
"Is this true?" she asked, loathing the necessity of speaking to him.
Yet there was no passion in her voice; the situation was too grave for
that.
He smiled his hateful, unchanging smile, as he bowed a taunting assent.
"You shall die," she said, in the same level tones. She was not cruel,
had not lost an iota of her womanliness. The crushing magnitude of his
falsity to her country made her forget that she was aught else than the
regent for these people and that here was a matter of primitive,
vindictive justice which must be settled by her hand.
"When?" Josef's tone ridiculed the sentence imposed.
"At dawn," she answered, her scornful glance sweeping his colorless
face.
For the first time, his aspect was nearly that of a man. He held his
head erect, the cringe disappeared from his back, the obsequiousness
from his manner. Then while an eye might wink, he took on the appearance
of a snake with high-held head--about to strike.
"In about one hour," he boldly asserted, "the troops of His Imperial
Majesty will have surrounded, yes, and entered this place. If harm comes
to me, you all shall swing. Schallberg, Lore, Bagos are already ours.
What," he continued with a comprehensive sneer, including all present,
"did you think that you had conquered the Bear so handily?"
They felt it was the unwelcome truth he was speaking. All day the
distant booming of guns had sounded in their ears as the "death bells"
ring for the superstitious gude-wife.
"All last night as you laughed and danced," Josef continued, "a Russian
army, unchallenged, passed your gates, and could have taken you all.
Knowing that it had you safe when needed, it pushed on to the bigger
game, the capture of your capital. At daybreak it began battering down
those walls you thought you held so firmly."
The wrath, gathering in a purple cloud on Sutphen's brow, now broke into
a storm. "He must have known," he said pointing at the pseudo-king. "He
appointed you officer of the day," and the outraged Colonel wheeled
about on Josef, who scarcely deigned a smile of commiseration for such
ignorance.
"He knew nothing," he finally volunteered. "I brought him here so that
if Russia won, I could save my dupe. If Krovitch won, a true revelation
of his real status would make him my debtor for life."
"Why?" Sobieska asked amid a stillness freighted with the prophecy of a
startling revelation. All held their breath as Josef, turning slowly
from countenance to countenance, read the disdain which he inspired.
"He has kissed you," he said pointing a bony finger at Trusia, "and
would have married you." Her face crimsoned at the memory of that
betrothal salute, formal and public as it had been. Waiting until the
scene had time to rise before her eyes, he continued that by no chance
should the import of his words be missed, "He is my son." The pride of
the parent snake was in the eyes that he turned upon the Parisian, who
turned his head away, ashamed of such regard.
"May God forgive us both," he whispered, "but I disown you."
For the first time a hint of color appeared in the parchment hue of
Josef's cheek and for the first time a human note sounded in his voice.
"My son," he began with a slight outstretching of his hands, "my son, I
wanted you to be wealthy, great, not the spawn of a hereditary servitor,
not a struggling artist." Slowly, as he realized that the artist would
have none of him, the wonted bitter look crept back into his face,
leaving it wan as ever, while additional defiance increased the grim
lines about his mouth.
There followed a breathless silence. Somewhere, to the actual pain of
all but one present, a bird was singing in the outside world. The sound
came faintly to their ears as from another existence--the shadow sound
of dreams. In the room itself reigned the cold stillness of death. Then
gradually a sigh of sounds crept in. Increasing in volume, it shaped
itself into an approaching medley of shouts, hoof-beats, scattering
rifle shots, a fierce sentry challenge, a reply,--then a steed halted on
the stone flags of the courtyard. They waited breathlessly for the added
disaster all felt was coming. Their senses, cloyed by grief, knew that
whatever it was of ill-omen, it could not touch them now. Still they
listened. The wicket in the entrance door was heard to open. An
irregular, halting, desperate step came up the hall.
With a lunge, the door flung open. Zulka, bleeding, grimy, and gasping,
tottered into the room.
"Schallberg! Schallberg!" he whispered faintly, "Lore! Bagos! all are
taken!" And he fell heavily to the floor.
They pressed forward, excepting Josef, who, in the prevailing excitement
slipped from the room. His escape was unnoticed for the time being, as
Zulka, struggling to his feet, told them the story of the attack upon
the capital and the death blow to their hopes.
"You left your post alive, Paul," said Her Highness reproachfully.
"Don't say that," he begged, raising his hopeless face to read her
condemnation. "With the five survivors of the last assault, I escaped,
Highness, to bring the news, so that you might be saved. My companions
mark the road to Schallberg. The enemy followed me to your very gates. I
wish," he said, with a gulping sob, "that I, too, lay dead with those
brave fellows in the ruins of our ancient capital." He raised his face,
all powder-stained, as he searched the room with eyes that glowed with a
desire for righteous vengeance. No countenance present wore the insignia
of guilt. "Where is the traitor?" he asked. For the first time Josef's
absence was noted.
Sobieska ran to the door. "Stop Josef before he gets to the road," he
cried to the sergeant, who seemed utterly amazed at such a command.
"Excellency," he replied, "Josef never passed me through this door."
Trusia approached the excited Minister.
"It is no use to attempt to stop him," she said with a shake of the
head. "He knows of the secret passage to the inn. Doubtless he has
already joined his comrades."
Sobieska groaned. "He'll give the alarm. We will be cut off."
"If we want to save Her Grace," said Carter, "we will have no time to
lose. We do not wish to be mewed up here. We'd better make a dash for
the forest and trust to God to reach the frontier. Take this, Paul," he
said, thrusting a flask into the hands of the nobleman, who was swaying
upon uncertain legs. "Brace up." He caught his friend as the latter was
about to topple over.
"It must be Trusia first," said the Krovitzer, grasping the American's
hand with a pressure which was fervently returned.
"It will always be Trusia," he replied firmly.
Not yet enlightened, Zulka now approached Delmotte, before whom he
knelt. "Your Majesty absolves me for leaving my post?" he besought.
"I am not your king, Count," said the Parisian, honestly chagrined at
his false position. "He lies dead over there," and he indicated the
temporary bier. "I have unhappily been the victim of an imposture." Then
hurriedly Sobieska recited to Zulka the outline of the conspiracy and
Delmotte's connection with it.
"If you will let me help," said the artist appealing to them all, "I'll
show you that though a bourgeois Frenchman, I know how to die."
Trusia held out her hand impulsively. "I thank you, monsieur," she said
simply. "Forgive me if I have been late in discovering that you are a
brave man."
Divested of his fancied power, Delmotte was again the amiable
boulevardier, as could be seen by the manner in which he received the
plaudits of the men, with whom he now was rated as a comrade-in-arms.
Zulka, meanwhile, having learned how Sobieska had unearthed Carrick's
claims to the crown, had approached and lifted the lifeless hand to his
lips.
"May God rest Your Majesty," he murmured reverently. He arose and spoke
quietly to his companions. "He must be interred before we leave. In a
few days, no doubt, the castle will be razed to the ground. It is not
fitting that a King of Krovitch should be the feast of wolves and
ravens."
So Carrick, with a scanty following, was carried to the little chapel,
behind the throne-room, where the sarcophagi of the ancient kings could
be seen lining the walls.
Upon his head they placed the crown. His hands were crossed upon the
sceptre he had never dreamed of wielding, while, dearer than all to him
in life, upon his breast they placed the heirloom he had prized,--the
grand medal of the Lion.
His body was placed in the mausoleum of the first Stovik, his ancestor.
No royal name was cut, but the place of his burial was deeply graved in
the hearts of all present. Had he lived he had been a farcical king,
but dead he was as imposing as the grandest monarch of them all.
Sorrowfully they turned and left the mortuary. Returning to Sobieska's
office, impelled by the necessities of the moment, they plunged into the
plans for an immediate flight from the castle.
"The highways are already swarming with Cossacks," said Zulka. "Once
gain the shelter of the woods, however, and we can hide by day and
travel at night until we reach the frontier."
"How many have we in the garrison?" inquired Trusia, who had
instinctively placed herself at Carter's side.
"Half a platoon of cavalry," replied Sobieska gravely, thinking of the
meagreness of their force for the occasion.
"One more," said Muhlen-Sarkey entering the room. He bent above Trusia's
extended hand as serenely as though they were both figuring in a court
function and not a congress of death.
"Living nearer Schallberg," he explained, "I saw how matters stood, and
immediately packed off the women folk to the boundaries. I then came
here to offer my services, my sword, if necessary."
"Courageous heart," applauded Trusia, touched by the old fellow's
loyalty. At her commendation his face, as round as a schoolboy's,
lighted up with happiness.
"The roads?" Carter questioned eagerly.
The old nobleman shook his head, regretting that he could furnish no
information concerning their state. "I do not know. Anticipating that
they would be crowded, though," he coughed suggestively, and his eyes
twinkled, "I came through the woods. Met one inquisitive young Russian.
Convinced him it would be impossible for him to tell all he knew." The
Treasurer touched his sword with a gesture which the men understood. "He
contracted an impediment to his speech."
While the horses were being hastily saddled, Trusia had the garrison
assembled in the courtyard and explained to the heart-broken soldiers
that Krovitch's dream of independence was over, giving them free
permission to leave their colors at once if any so desired. When she
called for volunteers to aid in her escape every man sprang forward,
loudly cheering Trusia, then Krovitch.
XXIII
NOBLESSE OBLIGE
"Marie, you are to go with the first detachment. You, Therese, with the
second. Your mistress will ride with the gentlemen of her household."
Clad in the Duchess's clothes, as they had volunteered devotedly, the
better to throw off pursuit from Her Grace, the maids with many tearful
protestations of undying loyalty took their allotted places in the
cavalcade which was forming in the courtyard of the castle.
"First section," rang out the preliminary command, "draw sabres. By
fours, left. March. Trot," and the first of the forlorn hope was
started. The troops swung by the little group which held Trusia in its
centre. As the head of the scanty column came abreast of where she sat
in her saddle, the lieutenant, Casimir, turned on his horse, his voice
husky with emotion, to give a command. "Present sabres," he cried, and a
score of blades were pointed heavenward, perhaps for the last time for
the royal house of Schallberg. Something caught in Trusia's throat as
the gallant band swept by to challenge Death that _she_ might live.
After these had turned into the narrow incline, Marie in their midst,
the second detachment followed, gravely saluting their loved liege lady.
Swords in hand, then, came the grave-faced men who had borne her hopes
for Krovitch in their hearts. Courageous as any knights of old, their
faces betrayed what an awful price they considered this flight to be.
Alone, they would have preferred to have fought it out to the last drop
of blood in their veins, but had yielded to the expedient because the
girl's safety was dearer to them than their most cherished wish. At the
foot of the declivity, the entire force reunited before finally
debouching into the road.
"Should our party be attacked," suggested Sobieska, "it is imperative
that Her Grace should be hurried right on to the frontier without
awaiting the issue of the combat. Some one must accompany her. Will Your
Highness choose?" he turned to her with a deep bow, a wistful light
glowing in his cynical eyes.
"If Major Carter will accompany me," she said almost timidly, "I will
select him." The others pressed forward to wring his hand in silence.
"We are ready, Lieutenant Casimir, advance your men," cried Sutphen.
"Columns of eights. First section to the right, second section to the
left. March. Trot. Gallop," rang out the commands, as, with their last
cheer for Krovitch, the troopers dashed into the highway to clear the
space for Trusia. A wild confusion of sounds apprised those waiting that
at least one party had engaged adversaries.
"Now," shouted Carter rising in his stirrups. With an involuntary cheer,
they bolted for the cover of the woods across the road. They beheld
Casimir's little band hotly engaged with an entire troop of cavalry, but
it was stubbornly, unyieldingly, holding the Cossacks back. On the left
the remaining squad merely awaited the passing of the Duchess to go to
their comrades' assistance.
With such speed as the underbrush and rough ground would permit, the
court party, headed by the white-haired Sutphen, plunged onward to the
lane which led to the charcoal burner's hut. They were soon beyond even
the sounds of the conflict. Carter, riding at Trusia's right, saw the
tears gathering for the devoted heroes they had deserted of such cruel
necessity.
They swept into the narrow lane and reached the crest of that little
hill where sudden sorrow had made mock of sudden joy. Coming toward
them, as if apprised of their neighborhood, they saw a squadron of
Russian cavalry numerically overwhelming. Both parties stopped for the
breathing space preliminary to the death grip.
"We cannot turn back. We'll have to fight, gentlemen," said the fleshy
Treasurer. "Who knows," he said with a quaint smile, "it may reduce my
flesh." He turned back his sleeve very deliberately and carefully until
his arm was bare to the elbow. Drawing his sword, he securely fastened
the thong on the hilt about his wrist that no matter how fierce the
_melee_, he would not be disarmed. Delmotte imitated his example. Giving
the blade a preparatory swing, the doughty Treasurer settled back in his
saddle with a sigh of anticipation.
Zulka and Sobieska rode back to Trusia.
"Just for 'Auf wiedersehn,'" they said smilingly. Trusia held out her
hands to them with sweet impulsiveness. In turn they took them and
carried them to their lips. Sobieska turned to Carter for a parting
word. "The charcoal burner is loyal. He can hide you by day and guide
you by night. None knows better all the byways and secret paths in the
forests. By to-morrow evening you should be safe in Austria. Good-bye,
Highness," he said, turning to Her Grace. "God bring you safe through."
His voice was hoarse with repression.
"Good luck, Carter," said Zulka, and turned away as he spoke.
[Illustration: "FOR TRUSIA!" THEY SHOUTED, AND THEN, "FOR KROVITCH!"]
Bustling good-naturedly in the very jaws of danger, Muhlen-Sarkey made
his adieux with no ruffle disturbing his customary urbanity. "Sorry we
can't have your help," he remarked to Carter; "you have the place of
honor, though. No need to caution you. Go now. Go quickly."
"Wait," said Trusia, holding up a denying hand. "See, they are sending
out a single rider around our flank." A courier detaching himself from
the main body of their foes could be seen making his way past their line
through the wilderness.
"To report that the quarry has been run to earth." Carter gathered up
his reins grimly as he spoke. "Come, Highness," he said to the girl who
was lost in some sad dream.
"I do not wish to leave them. It seems so heartless," she burst forth.
Then she turned to him appealingly as to that one who must henceforth
order all things for her guidance. "Let me stay," she begged, "I can die
like a Krovitzer."
"For you to fall into their hands, sweetheart," he whispered, "might
mean worse than death. Would you leave such a reproach to haunt the
survivors? The enemy is already approaching; come." His insistent hand
was at her bridle and compelled her compliance.
The Krovitzers, with high-bred courage, spurred forward to meet their
opponents, scorning to await the attack of even such superior numbers.
"For Trusia!" they shouted, and then, "For Krovitch!" as they engaged
with a crash which halted the fugitives by its vehemence.
"A short life and a merry one, a stout blade and a noble one," they
heard Muhlen-Sarkey shout as he lunged forward with a laugh into the
thickest of the fray. At the first onslaught they saw Delmotte fall
apparently dead. Carter drew the girl away from the sight of further
carnage.
"He has proven himself a gallant gentleman," said Carter for her
comfort, as once more they entered the protection of the patriarchal
trees.
XXIV
STOLEN SLEEP
Caution is slow-footed. It was already night when they drew in sight of
the little blur of lamp-light in the charcoal burner's window. The girl
at Carter's side straightened herself briskly in her saddle and gave an
involuntary sigh of relief.