A FULL STOP.
In after days it seemed to Zoe that the stages of the journey were
marked by the progress of her intimacy with Eirene Smith. There was
that terrible midnight hour when, sleepy and bewildered, she was
called upon by a ferocious German customs officer to explain the
nature and purpose of the note-books in her dressing-bag, and could
reply in nothing but scraps of French, Latin, and Greek, which ought
to have increased the official’s respect for her, but only deepened
his suspicions. Not a word of German would come to her mind, and the
occupant of the other berth, an elderly French lady in an astonishing
nightcap, was not only of no practical use, but was evidently watching
between her curtains with awful joy to see Zoe haled from the train
and arraigned before the authorities. Never was anything more welcome
than the appearance of Eirene from the next cabin in an exquisite
embroidered dressing-gown. She had heard the altercation, and, coming
upon the scene, assumed the direction of affairs. Her German did not
forsake her, and the customs officer went away placated, but grimly
assuring Zoe that she might thank _Ihre Fräulein Schwester_ that she
and her possessions were not detained. The relief was great, and Zoe
thanked Eirene heartily in rather tremulous tones. The French lady,
disappointed of her expected sensation, transferred herself easily to
the side of the victor, and inveighed against the brutality of the
official while eulogising the courage and coolness of Eirene.
“And the prudence also of mademoiselle!” she cried. “She has there
even her jewel-case, not forgetting to snatch it up at a moment of the
greatest tension!”
“I never let it leave me,” said Eirene simply. “See, madame, they are
very precious to me, these jewels. They are of the possessions of my
late dear mother.”
She opened the box, and took out one or two of the trinkets it
contained, handsome and old-fashioned; not at all sufficient, in Zoe’s
opinion, to account for the anxiety she had expressed in speaking of
them to her.
“Ah, very pretty,” said madame, regarding them with greedy eyes. “Too
old in style for a young girl, but you will doubtless have them reset.
But how comes it that all the jewels are yours, mademoiselle, while
your elder sister wears not so much as a pin?”
“We are not own sisters, madame,” returned Eirene, with a fascinating
mixture of truth and audacity. “But that makes no difference to our
love, does it, my Zoe?”
Eirene had the jewel-case with her again when she and Zoe met in the
dressing-room the next morning. They had been charged to make haste,
as the elder ladies desired the room to themselves for the process of
hair-dressing, which could not properly be performed before youthful
eyes, but Eirene fastened the doors and opened her box a second time.
“Now I will show you!” she said gleefully. “You shall see that I trust
you, though you don’t trust me, and that I am willing to confide to
you anything that affects myself alone. Look, then!” and Zoe gazed,
astonished, as the satin lining of the lid fell forward on the
pressure of a spring, revealing a wonderful necklace of huge pearls
fitting into a shallow receptacle evidently constructed for it. In
like manner the sides and trays of the box, judiciously manipulated,
revealed a number of emerald and diamond sprays--the stones
extraordinarily fine--which might either be used separately, or united
to form a necklace or tiara, and a bodice ornament of great rubies in
the shape of a globe flanked by spreading wings, with a deep pendant.
Lastly, Eirene showed that the box had also a false bottom.
“This is my greatest treasure,” she said, exhibiting a number of
golden plaques which could be fastened one to another to form a
girdle. Each plaque was curiously embossed with the figure of a saint,
apparently raised in enamel upon the gold background, while the halo
and portions of the dress were encrusted with precious stones. “I am
obliged to take it to pieces for travelling, but I do it with terror,
for it is old--yes, of an astonishing antiquity, and there is nothing
like it in the whole world.”
“It must be Byzantine work, surely?” asked Zoe, examining it with
intense interest.
Eirene looked at her with something like suspicion. “Yes,” she said
coldly, and, taking the massive clasp from Zoe’s hands, she returned
it to its place and snapped down the false bottom over it. Her
displeasure was so uncalled for that Zoe experienced a return of the
unamiable feelings of the evening before, but before the box had been
restored to its usual appearance the momentary cloud had passed away,
and Eirene was replying with gay defiance to Mrs Smith’s remonstrances
through the closed door on her delay.
The next stage in Zoe’s appreciation of her new friend’s personality
came at breakfast-time, when Eirene remarked with smiling effrontery
to Maurice, whom Zoe had just introduced to her with a formality
intended to show that the acquaintance of the day before was
insufficient--
“It is so kind of Zoe to have arranged everything, so that we need not
enter upon any tiresome explanations. Please be assured of my best
thanks for adopting me as a sister during the journey. Until we part
at Therma I am Eirene, if you please. You, if I am not mistaken, are
Maurice?”
As much astonished as his rightful sister, and conscious of Mrs
Smith’s face of wrathful agony in the background, Maurice had
sufficient presence of mind to accept the situation, and mutter
something about pleasure and honour. The only unembarrassed member of
the party was Eirene herself, who motioned Zoe to the seat beside her
at the table, and Maurice to that opposite, informing her outraged
aunt that she would find her step-nephew _bien gentil_ and truly
conversable. Taking the lead herself as a matter of course, she
insisted on making the talk general, and before long Maurice and Zoe
found their embarrassment fading away. Mrs Smith remained implacable,
and answered only when she was directly addressed; but the other three
were able to laugh and talk quite naturally. From his solitary table
on the other side of the gangway, the man whom Zoe had styled the
King’s messenger watched them with wistful amusement.
“It’s pretty clear the younger girl is only Smith’s step-sister,” he
said to himself, “and the aunt is her private property. I suppose the
aunt married the father’s brother, as her name is Smith too. No, that
would make her their aunt as well. It’s a sort of puzzle in
relationships; but with such a common name it may well be a mere
coincidence. I should say the aunt and the younger girl’s mother were
foreign and noble, and a good deal inclined to look down on the plain
English part of the family. Smith will soon get tired of being
tyrannised over by that little minx, and I could see Miss Smith didn’t
half like it when they came in. It’s the sort of thing that palls
pretty quickly. I suppose they wanted to make the step-sister’s
acquaintance, but why bring the aunt, who has evidently made her the
sun and centre of things? What a pity we can’t eliminate Mrs Smith! If
she was out of the way--a convenient headache, now--I think Smith
might take pity upon my loneliness and ask me to their table. They
sound awfully jolly all together, and with three of us against her, it
would be hard if we couldn’t take Miss Eirene down a peg. Her brother
and sister are much too meek.”
Mrs Smith was not accommodating enough to have a headache--indeed, her
expression implied that heartily as she detested her present position,
wild horses should not drag her from it--but Captain Wylie was not
forbidden the introduction he desired. “My sister, Miss Smith--Miss
Eirene Smith,” said Maurice, bringing him up to the girls after
breakfast, and receiving a smile from Eirene for his adroitness,
though the presentation did not seem altogether to please her,
apparently because her consent had not been secured beforehand. She
gave Wylie the cold shoulder, as though she had read his sentiments
towards her and reciprocated them, but Zoe, who had incited Maurice to
introduce him, was quite satisfied. Wylie was the kind of man she
liked. If he would talk, he could tell her things about India which
might be useful in future; if not, she could look at him and make up
far more wonderful things about him herself. He was not much of a
talker, as it turned out, but sufficiently articulate to answer
informingly when he was questioned, and Zoe was a past mistress in the
art of what she called drawing people out, and Maurice, picking their
brains.
As the day wore on it became evident to Zoe that Eirene was growing
increasingly nervous. She could not rest for a moment, but roamed from
one compartment to another, and up and down the corridor, shaking with
agitation when she came face to face with any of the other passengers
or an official. At last Maurice brought out his travelling chess-board
and induced her to sit down to a game, promising that she should walk
off her restlessness at Vindobona, so far as a stop of twenty minutes
and the limits of the station would allow. But when they were
approaching the Imperial city, and Maurice had gone to get his hat,
she clutched Zoe’s arm convulsively.
“Oh, I dare not leave the train! It is here I shall be recognised if
anywhere. Begin a game, quick; then I can keep my head bent over the
board. May I hold your hand?”
Cold and trembling, her hand gripped Zoe’s under the flap of the
table, and she was arranging the pieces when Maurice was heard
returning. The clutch tightened.
“Don’t let them go far from the carriage. Oh, make them return to us
continually! Couldn’t they stay here with us? No, it would excite
suspicion. But tell them not to go far.”
Maurice and Wylie were much puzzled by the girls’ obstinate absorption
in what appeared a singularly erratic game, and their firm refusal to
walk about on the platform, but they made themselves useful by first
going to the bookstall to see what Tauchnitz volumes were in stock,
then making an expedition to buy one for Eirene, a second to get one
for Zoe, and a third to change Eirene’s, which she discovered she had
read before. Zoe was almost as much excited as Eirene by the time this
point was reached. It was all very well to want to keep Maurice near
at hand, but if Eirene was arrested, as she seemed to fear might be
the case, what did she expect him to do? She could scarcely imagine
that he and Wylie would attempt to rescue her from the Pannonian
police. Of course they would appeal to the British Ambassador; but Zoe
did not now believe that Eirene was even a British subject, and
Maurice would probably have to declare his real name, with what danger
to the purpose of his journey who could tell?
“Oh, Zoe, how carelessly you play! Check!” cried Eirene. “You are
worse than you were months ago.” This for the benefit of a guard who
had approached near enough to hear what they said. “Ah, it is nearly
over!” with a sigh of relief. Zoe, looking up with the hasty idea of
asking Maurice to get her some chocolate, by way of manufacturing
another errand, saw to her delight the passengers returning hurriedly
to the train. The dreaded twenty minutes was at an end.
“You know, I ran away,” said Eirene softly to her, as the train glided
out of the station.
“I thought so,” responded Zoe; “but it can’t have been so very bad, as
you took your aunt with you.”
“But I could never have gone alone!” in horror.
“No, I know it isn’t usual,” drily.
“Some day I will tell you how I did it,” pursued Eirene. “I thought I
was safe, but if any of my precautions had failed, I knew it would be
here they would catch me. Oh, and there is still another station
before we are out of Vindobona! Begin another game, quickly!”
But the second station was comparatively unimportant, and the interval
of terror of the briefest, and Zoe and Eirene released one another’s
hands, and pretended to Maurice that a sudden intense interest in
chess had prevented their having any desire to look out at the city
and its buildings. At dinner, notwithstanding Mrs Smith’s objections,
Wylie was accommodated with a temporary and most uncomfortable seat at
the end of the table, and found himself very graciously treated, owing
partly to Eirene’s sense of relief from her fears, and partly to the
alacrity with which he had assisted Maurice in running her errands at
the station. The night passed without alarm, for though the Thracian
frontier had to be crossed, the Customs examination was considerately
delayed until the morning, though it was necessary to get it over
before reaching Tatarjé, where the passengers for Therma changed into
another train, the Express going on to Czarigrad. As she watched it
out of sight, Zoe sighed that half the romance was gone out of the
journey, for the new train was unknown to fame, and by no means
comparable with the wonderful microcosm which had been their home for
nearly two days. Moreover, it moved as deliberately as the most local
of English local trains, and its rusty engine groaned complaints as it
dragged itself reluctantly out of the station.
Tatarjé naturally called up memories of Count Mortimer, the great
English Minister whom the young King of Thracia had discarded on
attaining his majority, and who was one of Zoe’s heroes. Wylie, who
had heard little of him, was quite willing to be instructed and to
share her enthusiasm, but Eirene was contemptuous. It was easy for any
man to rise to power when he served a Queen who was willing to resign
everything into his hands, she said; dealing with men was another
matter. The discussion which ensued was of the nature of those
parallel lines which can never meet, for it appeared that Eirene’s
information was entirely derived from Scythian sources, and possessed
nothing but the statesman’s name in common with Zoe’s. The crossing of
the Roumi frontier gave a desirable change to the conversation, and
Zoe sprang up to look out at “our own country,” as she whispered to
Maurice. Her own country received her inhospitably, for rain was
falling in torrents, and the general aspect was bare and neglected in
the extreme. A squalid little station reached early in the afternoon,
apparently unconnected with any town or village, was crowded with
Roumi soldiers, and Wylie’s professional interest was aroused. He and
Maurice left the carriage, taking with them all the cigarettes they
possessed, and distributed them to the dripping, patient men. An
elderly non-commissioned officer, who had been in Egypt, and
recognising Wylie as a British officer, stood rigorously to attention
when addressed, answered his questions in Arabic. The detachment had
been ordered up to guard the railway, owing to a report that there was
a band of Thracian revolutionaries in the neighbourhood with designs
upon it. They had been at the station since early morning, without
shelter or food, their uniforms ragged, their boots in holes. The
station buildings were occupied by the Kaimakam of the district, under
whose orders they were acting; he was immersed in business, but when
he had time, would doubtless remember the needs of his troops. Some of
the younger and more impatient spirits had spoken of bribing his
secretary to draw his attention to the matter, but apart from the fact
that with their pay months in arrears they could not offer enough to
tempt so great a man, the sergeant considered that such an attempt
would be an improper interference with the decrees of destiny. He
saluted smartly, and stood back among his men, a stolid, shivering
figure of military virtue in evil case.
“Some of the best material in the world!” said Wylie wrathfully to
Maurice. “What soldiers we could make of them in India! British troops
would have mutinied six hours ago. Look at the two sick men in that
goods-shed, with the rain falling on them--and the Kaimakam, no doubt,
is soothing himself with _hashish_ in the station-master’s quarters!”
“Let’s go and rout him out, and shame him into putting the men in
shelter,” said Maurice.
Wylie shook his head. “I daren’t,” he said. “It would only mean
quartering them upon the Christian inhabitants of the village over
there. That’s what’s bound to be done at last, I suppose, but one
wouldn’t care for the responsibility of hurrying it on.”
He looked over the straggling houses of the place, which was visible
at this point round the shoulder of a hill, flat-roofed, dingy white,
huddled together apparently for the sake of company rather than
protection, then brought his eyes back to the face of the old
sergeant, who had advanced and was saluting again.
“Is the Bimbashi Bey come hither to serve in the new Gendarmerie?” he
asked respectfully.
“No; merely to visit a friend,” answered Wylie.
“God be praised!” responded the old man, with evident satisfaction.
“Now why?” demanded Maurice, when Wylie had translated the question.
“Make him say.”
The sergeant needed some pressing, but at length gave his reason
boldly. “The Bey Effendi’s eyes are of the cruel colour,” he said.
“Never have I beheld eyes more cruel, and I have seen many men.”
Wylie’s disconcerted face made Maurice insist upon a translation,
which delighted him extremely. “Ask the old blighter if he really
believes that rot,” he demanded.
“The Bimbashi Bey’s eyes will indeed strike terror into his enemies,
so that they will flee before him and he will grind them to powder,”
returned the sergeant, anxious to be conciliatory. “But his own men
would fain see his eyes like those of the young Effendi, his friend.”
“There! They think you’re squeezable, you see,” said Wylie in triumph.
“When you’re made High Commissioner of Emathia, you’d better send for
me to be your commander-in-chief, and put a little stiffening into
you.”
“All right. Mind, it’s a bargain!” cried Maurice, returning to the
train at the summons of the guard, and smiling to think how closely
Wylie’s jest had approached the possible truth.
“Oh, Maurice, it’s an omen!” came in an awestruck whisper from Zoe,
who had been at the window.
“A fiddlestick!” responded Maurice lightly. “Now for thrilling
mountain scenery, with revolutionary bands thrown in gratis!”
The train was now entering the mountains, and the four young people
established themselves at the corridor window, which presented the
most extensive views, but Mrs Smith refused to leave the compartment.
Emathia possessed the most brutal and savage scenery in the world, she
declared, and it made her shiver even to look at it. She would
endeavour to forget it, and if a French novel and slumber are aids to
forgetfulness, it was not long before she did so. The prospect from
her side of the carriage was certainly not inspiriting, since it was
limited to the rocky cliff in which the track had been blasted out,
but on the other side there was something like a view, as Maurice
said. From the very edge of the line, dark woods sank down, down, to
depths which the eye could not penetrate, rising again on the other
side of the valley to heights behind which the sun was already
setting, at barely five o’clock on a summer afternoon. In one or two
places there was a glimpse of foaming water, but generally the woods
alone were visible. They made her feel weird, Zoe said; it was like an
enchanted forest. She did not mind going through them in the train,
but to think of venturing into them on foot was enough to make the
bravest heart quail.
“We ought to reach the great viaduct which crosses the river
presently,” said Wylie. “I believe the line winds so much just there
that from this end of the train you see the engine and the first half
apparently at right angles with you as it enters on the bridge.”
“There it is!” cried Eirene presently. She and Zoe were sitting on the
seat below the window, Maurice and Wylie standing behind them. They
all looked out eagerly to see the famous bridge, and withdrew their
heads again laughing, with ruffled hair, for in this narrow valley the
wind was strong. Eirene drew back to adjust a hairpin, the two men
were laughing at one another’s dishevelled aspect, and only Zoe was
still looking out when that happened which she would never forget,
though she could not determine exactly the sequence of the several
events. In anticipation of the appearance of the head of the train,
she was keeping her eyes fixed upon the bridge, when the end nearest
her rose suddenly in the air, suddenly and, as it seemed, quietly. She
had opened her mouth to cry, “Look at the bridge!” when the words were
drowned by the sound of an explosion, which must have been
simultaneous with the upheaval, but seemed to follow at a perceptible
interval. The train rocked and staggered, the glass from the windows
and lamps shivered and fell in showers with a curious tinkling noise,
Maurice and Wylie were thrown violently across the corridor. Zoe found
herself and Eirene on their feet, gazing at one another with dilated
eyes, heard Wylie shout to them angrily to sit down, had a vague idea
that the train had left the metals and was trying to climb the
mountain--or what was the meaning of those agonised jerks which felt
like earthquakes? She knew that she was saying something foolish--“the
hill above the line was not quite so steep here, was it?”--but the
words were frozen on her lips. The floor was slipping away beneath
her, the place where the window had been was somehow rising to the
roof, then there came a great crash, a sensation of falling through
space, and all was silence.