The longest month in Lorry's life was that which followed his romantic
flight from the Tower. To his impatient mind the days were irksome
weeks. The cold monastery was worse than a prison. He looked from its
windows as a convict looks through his bars, always hoping, always
disappointed. With each of the infrequent visits of Captain Quinnox, his
heart leaped at the prospect of liberty, only to sink deeper in despair
upon the receipt of emphatic, though kindly, assurances that the time
had not yet come for him to leave the haven of safety into which he had
been thrust by loving hands. From his little window he could see the
active city below, with the adored castle; to his nostrils came the
breath of summer from the coveted valley, filling him with almost
insupportable longing and desire. Cold were the winds that swept about
his lofty home; ghastly, gruesome the nights, pallid and desolate the
days. Out of the world was he, dreary and heartsick, while at his feet
stretched life and joy and love in their rarest habiliments. How he
endured the suspense, the torture of uncertainty, the craving for the
life that others were enjoying, he could not understand. Big, strong and
full of vigor, his inactivity was maddening; this virtual captivity grew
more and more intolerable with each succeeding day. Would they never
take him from the tomb in which he was existing? A hundred times had
he, in his desperation, concluded to flee from the monastery, come
what might, and to trust himself to the joyous world below, but the
ever-present though waning spark of wisdom won out against the fierce,
aggressive folly that mutinied within his hungry soul. He knew that she
was guarding him with loving, tender care, and that, when the proper
time came, the shackles of danger would drop and his way would be
cleared.
Still there was the longing, the craving, the loneliness. Day after day,
night after night went by and the end seemed no nearer. Awake or asleep,
he dreamed of her, his heart and mind always full of that one rich
blessing,--her love. At times he was mad with the desire to know what
she was doing, what she was thinking and what was being done for her
down there in that busy world. Lying on his pallet, sitting in the
narrow window, pacing the halls or wandering about the cold courtyards,
he thought always of her, hoping and despairing with equal fervor. The
one great question that made his imprisonment, his inactivity so irksome
was: Was he to possess the treasure he longed so much to call his own?
In those tantalizing moments of despair he felt that if he were free and
near her he could win the fight against all odds. As it was, he knew not
what mischief was working against his chances in the world from which he
was barred.
The prior was kind to him; everything that could be done to provide
comfort where comfort was a stranger was employed in his behalf.
He lived well--until his appetite deserted him; he had no questions try
answer, for no one asked why he was there; he had no danger to fear, for
no foe knew where he lived. From the city came the promise of
ultimate escape; verbal messages from those who loved him; news of
the world,--all at long intervals, however. Quinnox's visits were like
sunbeams to him. The dashing captain came only at night and in disguise.
He bore verbal messages, a wise precaution against mishap. Not once did
he bring a word of love from the Princess, an omission which caused the
fugitive deep misery until a ray of intelligence showed him that she
could not give to Quinnox the speeches from her heart, proud woman that
she was.
Anguish sent words of cheer, with commands to be patient. He never
failed to tell him, through Quinnox, that he was doing all in his power
to find the real murderer and that he had the secret co-operation of the
old police captain. Of course, the hidden man heard of the reward
and the frenzied search prosecuted by both principalities. He laughed
hysterically over the deception that was being practiced by the
blue-eyed, slender woman who held the key to the situation in her
keeping.
It was not until the night of the eighteenth of November that Quinnox
confirmed his fears by telling him of the conditions imposed by Prince
Bolaroz. For some reason the young officer had deceived Lorry in regard
to the all-important matter. The American repeatedly had begged for
information about the fatal twentieth, but on all previous occasions
his visitor doggedly maintained a show of ignorance, vowing that he knew
nothing of the circumstances Finally Lorry, completely out of patience
and determined to know the true state of affairs, soundly upbraided him
and sent word to the Princess that if she did not acquaint him with the
inside facts he would leave the monastery and find them out for himself.
This authoritative message brought Quinnox back two nights later with
the full story of the exciting conference. She implored him to remain
where he was, and asked his forgiveness for having kept the ugly truth
from him. Quinnox added to his anguish by hastily informing him that
there was a possibility of succor from another principality. Prince
Gabriel, he said, not knowing that he was cutting his listener to the
heart, was daily with the Princess, and it was believed that he was
ready to loan Graustark sufficient money to meet the demand of Bolaroz.
The mere thought that Gabriel was with her aroused the fiercest
resentment in Lorry's breast. He writhed beneath the knowledge that she
was compelled to endure his advances, his protestations of love, his
presence.
As he paced his narrow room distractedly a horrid thought struck him so
violently that he cried aloud and staggered against the wall, his eyes
fixed on the face of the startled soldier. Perhaps she might submit to
Gabriel, for in submitting she could save not only Graustark, but the
man she loved. The sacrifice--but no! he would not believe that such
affliction could come to her! Marry Gabriel! The man who had planned
to seize her and make her his wanton! He ground his teeth and glared at
Quinnox as if he were the object of his hatred, his vicious jealousy.
The captain stepped backward in sudden alarm.
“Don't be afraid!” Lorry cried, savagely. “I'm not crazy. It's your
news--your news! Does she expect me to stay up here while that state of
affairs exists down there? Let me see: this is the eighteenth, and day
after to-morrow is the twentieth. There is no time to be lost, Captain
Quinnox. I shall accompany you when you leave St. Valentine's to-night.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Quinnox. “I cannot allow that, sir. My
instructions are to--”
“Hang your instructions! All the instructions on earth can't compel me
to sit up here and see this sacrifice made. I am determined to see her
and put a stop to the whole affair. It is what I feared would come to
pass. She is willing to sacrifice herself or half her kingdom, one or
the other, in order that I may escape. It's not right, captain, it's not
right, and I'm going to stop it. How soon can we leave this place?”
He was pacing the floor, happy in the decision he had reached,
notwithstanding the danger it promised.
“You are mad, sir, to talk like this,” protested the other,
despairingly. “Edelweiss swarms with Axphain soldiers; our own men are
on the alert to win the great reward. You cannot go to the city. When a
safe time comes, you will be taken from this place, into the mountains
instead of through the city, and given escort to Dassas, one hundred
miles east. That step will not be taken until the way is, perfectly
clear. I tell you, sir, you cannot hope to escape if you leave the
monastery now. The mountains are full of soldiers every night.”
“I didn't say anything about an escape, did I? On the contrary, I want
to give myself up to her. Then she can have Gabriel thrown over the
castle wall and say to Bolaroz, 'Here is your man; I've gained the ten
years of grace.' That's the point, Quinnox; can't you see it? And I want
to say to you now, I'm going whether you consent or refuse. I'd just as
soon be in jail down there as up here, anyhow. The only favor I have to
ask of you is that you do the best you can to get me safely to her. I
must talk with her before I go back to the Tower.”
“God help me, sir, I cannot take you to her,” groaned Quinnox, trying to
control his nervous apprehension. “I have sworn to her that I will keep
you from all harm, and it would be to break faith with her if I led you
into that mob down there.”
“I respect your oath, my friend, but I am going, just the same. I'll see
her, too, if I have to shoot every man who attempts to prevent me. I'm
desperate, man, desperate! She's everything in the world to me, and I'll
die before I'll see her suffer.”
Quinnox calmly placed his hands on the other's shoulders, and, looking
him in the eye, said quietly:
“Her suffering now is as nothing compared to what it will be if you go
back to the Tower. You forget how much pain she is enduring to avoid
that very suffering. If you care for my mistress, sir, add no weight to
the burden she already carries. Remain here, as she desires. You can be
of no service down there. I implore you to be considerate.”
It was an eloquent appeal, and it struck home. Lorry wavered, but his
resolution would not weaken. He argued, first with Quinnox, then with
himself, finally returning to the reckless determination to brave all
and save her from herself. The soldier begged him to listen to reason,
implored him to reconsider, at last turning in anger upon the stubborn
American with a torrent of maledictions. Lorry heard him through and
quietly, unswervingly announced that he was ready to leave the monastery
at any time his guide cared to depart. Quinnox gave up in despair at
this, gazing hopelessly at the man he had sworn to protect, who insisted
on placing his head in the lion's jaw. He sat down at the window and
murmured dejectedly:
“What will she say to me--what will she say to me?”
“I shall exonerate you, captain. She can have no fault to find with your
action after I have told her how loyal you are and how--how--well, how
unreasonable I am,” said Lorry, kindly.
“You may never live to tell her this, sir. Then what is to become of me?
I could not look her in the face again. I could only die!”
“Don't be so faint-hearted, Quinnox!” cried Lorry, stimulated by the
desire to be with her, recognizing no obstacle that might thwart him in
the effort. “We'll get through, safe and sound, and we'll untangle a few
complications before we reach the end of the book. Brace up, for
God's sake, for mine, for hers, for your own. I must get to her before
everything is lost. My God, the fear that she may marry Gabriel will
drive me mad if I am left here another night. Come! Let us prepare to
start. We must notify the Abbot that I am to go. I can be ready in five
minutes. Ye Gods, think of what she may be sacrificing for me!”
The distracted captain gloomily watched the nervous preparations for
departure, seeing his own disgrace ahead as plainly as if it had already
come upon him. Lorry soon was attired in the guard's uniform he had worn
from the Tower a month before. His pistol was in his pocket, and
the bunch of violets she had sent to him that very night was pinned
defiantly above his heart. Quinnox smiled when he observed this bit
of sentiment, and grimly informed him that he was committing an act
prohibited in Dangloss's disciplinary rules. Officers on duty were not
to wear nosegays.
“Dangloss will not see my violets. By the way, the moon shines brightly,
doesn't it?”
“It is almost as light as day. Our trip is made extremely hazardous
for that reason. I am sorely afraid, rash sir, that we cannot reach the
castle unseen.”
“We must go about it boldly, that's all.”
“Has it occurred to you, sir, that you are placing me in a terrible
position? What excuse can I have, a captain of the guard, for slinking
about at night with a man whom I am supposed to be tracking to earth?
Discovery will brand me as a traitor. I cannot deny the charge without
exposing Her Royal Highness.”
Lorry turned cold. He had not thought of this alarming possibility. But
his ready wit came again to his relief, and with bright, confident eyes
he swept away the obstacle.
“If discovered, you are at once to proclaim me a prisoner, take the
credit for having caught me, and claim the reward.”
“In that case, you will not go to the castle, but to the Tower.”
“Not if you obey orders. The offer of reward says that I must be
delivered to the undersigned. You will take me to her and not to the
Tower.”
Quinnox smiled and threw up his hands as if unable to combat the quick
logic of his companion. Together they made their way to the prior's
cell, afterward to the Abbot's apartment. It was barely eleven o'clock
and he had not retired. He questioned Quinnox closely, bade Lorry
farewell and blessed him, sent his benediction to the Princess and
ordered them conducted to the gates.
Ten minutes later they stood outside the wall, the great gates having
been closed sharply behind them. Above them hung the silvery moon, full
and bright, throwing its refulgent splendor over the mountain top with
all the brilliancy of day. Never had Lorry seen the moon so accursedly
bright.
“Gad, it is like day,” he exclaimed.
“As I told you, sir,” agreed the other, reproof in his voice.
“We must wait until the moon goes down. It won't do to risk it now. Can
we not go somewhere to keep warm for an hour or so?”
“There is a cave farther down the mountain. Shall we take the chance of
reaching it?”
“By all means. I can't endure the cold after being cooped up for so
long.”
They followed the winding road for some distance down the mountain,
coming at last to a point where a small path branched off. It was the
path leading down the side of the steep overlooking the city, and
upon that side no wagon-road could be built. Seven thousand feet below
stretched the sleeping, moon-lit city. Standing out on the brow of the
mountain they seemed to be the only living objects in the world. There
was no sign of life above, below or beside them.
“How long should we be in making the descent?” asked Lorry, a sort
of terror possessing him as he looked from the dizzy height into the
ghost-like dimness below.
“Three hours, if you are strong.”
“And how are we to get into the castle? I hadn't thought of that.”
“There is a secret entrance,” said Quinnox, maliciously enjoying the
insistent one's acknowledgment of weakness. “If we reach it safely I can
take you underground to the old dungeons beneath the castle. It may be
some time before you can enter the halls above, for the secret of that
passage is guarded jealously. There are but five people who know of its
existence.”
“Great confidence is placed in you, I see, and worthily, I am sure. How
is it that you are trusted so implicitly?”
“I inherit the confidence. The captain of the guard is born to his
position. My ancestors held the place before me, and not one betrayed
the trust. The first-born in the last ten generations has been the
captain of the guard in the royal palace, possessing all its secrets. I
shall be the first to betray the trust--and for a man who is nothing to
me.”
“I suppose you consider me selfish and vile for placing you in this
position,” said Lorry, somewhat contritely.
“No; I have begun the task and I will complete it, come what may,”
answered the captain, firmly. “You are the only being in the world for
whom I would sacrifice my honor voluntarily,--save one.”
“I have wondered why you were never tempted to turn traitor to the
Princess and claim the fortune that is represented in the reward.”
“Not for five million gavvos, sir!”
“By George, you are a faithful lot! Dangloss, Allode and Ogbot and
yourself, four honest men to whom she trusts her life, her honor. You
belong to a rare species, and I am proud to know you.”
The stealthy couple found the cave and spent an hour or more within its
walls, sallying forth after the tardy darkness had crept down over the
mountain and into the peaceful valley. Then began the tortuous descent.
Quinnox in the lead, they walked, crawled and ran down the narrow path,
bruised, scratched and aching by the time they reached the topmost of
the summer houses along the face of the mountain. After this walking was
easier, but stealthiness made their progress slow. Frequently, as they
neared the base, they were obliged to dodge behind houses or to drop
into the ditches by the roadside in, order to avoid patroling police
guards or Axphain sleuth-hounds. Lorry marveled at the vigil the
soldiers were keeping, and was somewhat surprised to learn from the
young captain that prevailing opinion located him in or near the city.
For this reason, while other men were scouring Vienna, Paris and even
London, hordes of vengeful men searched day and night for a clew in the
city of Edelweiss.
The fugitive began to realize how determined was the effort to capture
him and how small the chance of acquittal if he were taken. To his
fevered imagination the enmity of the whole world was shaping itself
against him. The air was charged with hatred, the ground with vengeance,
the trees and rocks with denouncing shadows, while from the darkness
behind merciless hands seemed to be stretching forth to clutch him. One
simple, loyal love stood alone antagonistic to the universal desire to
crush and kill. A fragile woman was shielding him sturdily, unwaveringly
against all these mighty forces. His heart thrilled with devotion; his
arm tingled with the joy of clasping her once more to his breast; his
wistful eyes hung upon the flickering light far off in the west. Quinnox
had pointed it out to him, saying that it burned in the bedchamber of
the Princes Yetive. Since the memorable night that took him to the
cell in St. Valentine's, this light had burned from dusk to daylight.
Lovingly, faithfully it had shone for him through all those dreary
nights, a lonely signal from one heart to another.
At last, stiff and sore, they stole into the narrow streets of
Edelweiss. Lorry glanced back and shivered, although the air was warm
and balmy. He had truly been out of the world. Not until this instant
did he fully appreciate the dread that possesses a man who is being
hunted down by tireless foes; never did man's heart go out in gratitude
and trustfulness as did his toward the strong defender whose sinewy arm
he clasped as if in terror.
“You understand what this means to me,” said Quinnox gravely, as they
paused to rest. “She will call me your murderer and curse me for my
miserable treason. I am the first to dishonor the name of Quirinox.”