At last it was over. The intolerable evening had dragged itself to
an end. Topham had laughed and joked and made merry far beyond his
custom or his nature, trying to dull the sting at his heart and to
conceal from Stites and his companions the misery that oppressed him.
He had met scores of men and women; had received dozens of informal
invitations from the men; and had laid the foundations of many
friendships.
But all the while he was longing to be alone--to get time to think
what was portended by this amazing apparition of the woman he loved.
At last, when the throng had thinned; when the last of his new-made
friends had nodded himself away; when even Stites had left him with
a warning that on the morrow he would “show him some stunts”, Topham
wandered to the edge of the broad terrace in front of the hotel and sat
down to think.
The night was redolent of perfume. The gardens--the wonderful Japanese
gardens where all sense of distance is lost and one wanders through
miles of woodland, climbs mountains, and crosses lakes, all in the
space of a few yards--stretched around him, limitless and mysterious.
No moon shone, but the planets globed themselves in the star-dusted
heavens and cast a pale radiance over meadow and wood. A soft night
wind, warm and caressing, whispered of the age-old mystery of the east.
From far away rose the murmur of the city stirring in its invisible
homes. The night birds called from the bushes.
Insensibly the calm stole on Topham’s senses, and his whirling thoughts
composed themselves. The Countess had reached Tokio before him; from
what Stites said she had been there for several weeks at least; most
likely she had left Berlin almost as soon as he had, and had come by
way of Russia and Port Arthur.
Why was she there? Had she come because of him or for some reason of
her own? Had she known that he was under orders for Tokio before she
met him in Berlin and could her kindness have concealed some plan to
use him--him a naval officer in the United States service? Or was
she really ignorant that he was bound for the east. He could not
remember having told her, and she might very well not have known his
destination--might have understood him to be permanently attached
to the Nevada. Remembering what she had said of a task that she was
working out, he could not but think that her presence in Japan had to
do with that task.
If she were on an errand of her own, what was it? He remembered that
Rutile had believed that the Kaiser would set conditions for the
restoration of the lost duchy; probably the countess was trying to
fulfill these conditions.
But what were the Kaiser’s conditions. Shrink as he might from
questioning the acts of the woman he loved, he could not forget the
role that Stites had ascribed to her. Putting beside this her own
assertions that association with her spelled peril to his honor the
obvious explanation was that she was engaged in some proceeding
inimical to his country--some conspiracy that it was his duty as an
officer of the United States to discover and to crush.
He set himself to studying out the possible objects of a possible
conspiracy. Clearly it involved Japan. But how? The obvious explanation
was that it had to do with trade--the open door--Manchuria--China; but
somehow Topham doubted whether the obvious explanation were the true
one. He remembered Stites’s assertion that Japan was preparing for war
with the United States. But what had Germany to do in such a war, even
if it should be contemplated? What could she possibly gain that would
balance even the loss that would result from the disturbance of trade?
The Kaiser had been angry when the United States seized the Philippines
years before, but having held his wrath then, how could he hope to
profit by it now? If Japan got the better of the struggle, the spoils
would go to her and not to Germany. On its face, a Japanese-German war
conspiracy against the United States was preposterous.
Yet he could not doubt that Germany was in some way for some reason
involved. But how? But how? Mortified self pride played no part in
Topham’s reflections. Although the Countess had “cut” him in the
dining-room, decidedly, unmistakably, the fact had almost ceased to
trouble him. She might have very good reasons for not desiring to seem
to know him at that moment; he was content to wait for an explanation.
Besides, he had more important things to think about.
A clatter of clogs on the stones of the terrace and a rustling of
garments aroused him and he looked around to find a Japanese maid
bowing profoundly in the starlight just behind his right shoulder.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, startled. “What want?”
The girl closed her fan with a clash just as he had seen her sisters do
it many a time on the stage in America.
“Ees thees the honorable Meester Topham?” she asked in a high harsh
voice.
Topham nodded. “Yes!” he said, briefly. “You look for me, eh?” he
questioned, inanely.
“He-e-e-sh!” The girl giggled. It struck Topham that there was
something artificial about that giggle. It sounded stagy. Besides there
was nothing for the girl to laugh at--unless it were himself. He moved
uncomfortably.
“The honorable meester want to see honorable lady?”
“Ah!” Topham drew in his breath sharply. So this was it!
“Yes! Yes!” he answered, eagerly. “You come from her? Where is she?
“You love--honorable lady?” squeaked the girl.
Topham was past caution now. “More than life,” he cried. “Take me to
her! Quick!”
The girl bowed humbly. “Honorable gentleman follow,” she commanded and
turned away down a white path that led into the depths of the garden.
Topham followed eagerly. All around him the grasses rustled in the
night breeze. The crossed branches of the trees rubbed softly against
each other. The scent of the water lilies grew sweeter.
So she brought him to the margin of a tiny lake set in the midst of
turf that sank like velvet beneath his feet. There beside a carved
statue of an unknown god she paused, and he paused, too, waiting for he
knew not what.
Tiny wavelets broke on the white pebbles. The lily pads rocked on them,
rising and sinking, shimmering white in the starlight. Suddenly the
girl stood up, rising for the first time to her full height.
“Walter!” she cried. “Walter! Walter!”
Topham did not speak. He could not. But he held out his arms and drew
her to his heart. “Elsa!” he murmured, after a while, and again, “Elsa!
Elsa!”
She stirred in his arms. “I love you! I love you!” she murmured. “Ah!
Do you know that I nearly fainted when you faced me there tonight!
Cruel! Cruel! Not to give me warning!”
Topham drew her closer. “I did not know!” he breathed. “I did not
know. And yet how could I not know?”
Gently the countess freed herself. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Here!
Where I can touch you, but not where I can look into your eyes. I--I
could not trust myself else. Do you know dear, you have wonderful eyes.”
Topham laughed. “I! Nonsense! You mean that _you_ have!”
“No! I mean you have. There is enchantment in them, if you like. How
else could a single glance from them across a crowded street bring
me--me--Elsa de Ouro Preto--to your feet. My face burns when I think
how I fell into your arms--and yet I would not have it otherwise. Dios!
Walter! What have you done to me?”
“Not more than you have done to me--”
“Hush! There is no time. I shall be missed and then--”
“Missed. Who--”
“Now! Now! Now! No one you need trouble your head about. But let me
talk. I am here on a political mission--you must have guessed that.
I cannot let you become involved in it. There are reasons--you will
not ask me for them--but there are good reasons why you must not be
suspected of any association with me or my work.”
Topham’s eyes grew troubled. “Tell me one thing,” he begged. “Tell me--”
“No! No! I can tell you nothing. I will not lie to you and I can not
tell you the truth. You may suspect what you please. It is your right.
But you may not ask me anything. It would do no good and might do
much harm. That is why I pretended not to know you in the dining-room
tonight. That is why I have slipped out to you in this guise. I could
not come in any other. It is best that no one should know that you know
me!”
“May I not meet you? May I not be presented? May I not--”
The countess’s breath came faster. “No! No!” she gasped. “No! No! I
could not bear it. Besides there will be no chance. I leave tomorrow.”
The blood flowed back to Topham’s heart. Unconsciously his grasp upon
the girl tightened until she could have screamed from very pain.
“Tomorrow!” he muttered. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”
“I must.” The woman was sobbing. “I must! Duty calls. I have to leave
for America--for Washington--for your own country, where I must work
out my task. Where it will lead--what its consequences will be--God
knows! I would give it up if I could, but I am bound by a promise to
the dead. Dead lips can not give back the spoken word and I must go on.
Ah!”--she turned and flung her arms fiercely around the man--“Ah! I am
mad!--insane! But I love you! I love you!”
Over the shadowy pool the night mist hung, wavering in the starlight.
A distant cataract--or was it a near-by rill--thundered away off in
the night. The stones and grass were wet with dew. Topham saw them
sparkling iridescent on the black island that rose in the middle of the
lake.
Suddenly the woman sprang up. “They will miss me,” she cried. “I must
go. There--there is danger.”
“Do not go. Not yet. Stay a little--only a little. It is so long--so
long--”
“I must! I--I cannot see. There is a mist over my eyes--”
“It is a cloud! No, it your hair! No! it is my lips--”