Far away twinkled the lamps of the Lido, where Byron and Shelley used to

ride on the lonely sands. Near-by, on the Piazzetta where the twin

columns towered against the silver sky, white bunches of lights

glimmered like magic night-blooming flowers, with bright roots trailing

deep down into the river.

We talked of the countless great ones of the world who had lived and

died in Venice, and loved it well; of Byron, who slept in Marino

Faliero's dreadful cell before he wrote his tragedy; of Browning, whose

funeral had passed in solemn state of gondolas down the Grand Canal; of

Wagner, who found inspiration in this sea and sky, and died looking upon

them from his window in the Palazzo Vendramin. But through our talk I

could hear Aunt Kathryn in her gondola close by, saying how like the

Doge's palace was to a big bird-cage she once had; and the Prince was

continually turning his head to see if we were near, which was

disturbing. We had nothing to say that all the world might not have

heard, yet instinctively we spoke almost in whispers, the Chauffeulier

and I, not to miss a gurgle of the water nor the dip of an oar, which in

the soft darkness made the light flutter of a bird bathing.

I remembered suddenly how Sir Ralph had said one day, "You'll like Terry

in Venice." I did like Terry in Venice; and I liked him better than ever

at the moment of our return to the hotel, for there began a little

adventure of which he became the hero.

As I stepped out of the gondola there was a flash and a splash. "Oh my

gold bag!" I exclaimed. "Your present, Aunt Kathryn. It's in the canal;

I shall never see it again."

"Yes, you will," said Mr. Barrymore. "I--"

"If there was much money in it, you had better have a professional diver

come early to-morrow morning from the Arsenal," the Prince broke in.

"I know an amateur diver who will get back the bag to-night--now, within

the next half-hour I hope," went on the Chauffeulier.

"Indeed? Where do you propose to find him at this time?" asked the

Prince.

"I shall find him inside the hotel, and have him out here, ready for

work in ten minutes," said Mr. Barrymore.

"What fun!" exclaimed Beechy. "We'll wait here in the moonlight and see

him dive. It will be lovely."

Mr. Barrymore was gone before she finished.

It was nearly eleven o'clock. The music-barges had gone; the hotel

garden was deserted, and scarcely a moving star of light glided over the

canal. Our three gondolas, drawn up like carriages at the marble steps

of the Britannia, where the water lapped and gurgled, awaited the great

event. The Prince pooh-poohed the idea that Mr. Barrymore could find a

diver, or that, if he did, the bag could be retrieved in such an

amateurish way. But I had learned that when our Chauffeulier said a

thing could be done, it _would_ be done, and I confidently expected to

see him returning accompanied by some obviously aquatic creature.

What I did see however, was a great surprise. Something moved in the

garden, under the curtain of creepers that draped the nearest

overhanging balcony. Then a tall, marble statue, "come alive," vaulted

over the iron railing and dropped into the lagoon.

It didn't seem at all strange that a marble statue should "come alive"

in Venice; but what did seem odd was that it should exactly resemble Mr.

Barrymore, feature for feature, inch for inch.

"Hullo, Terry, I didn't know you meant to do that!" exclaimed Sir Ralph.

"You _are_ a lightning change artist."

For it was the Chauffeulier, in a bathing suit which he must have

hurriedly borrowed from one of the landlord's tall young sons, and he

was swimming by the side of my gondola.

"I meant nothing else," laughed the statue in the water, the moon

shining into his eyes and on his noble white throat as he swam. "Now,

Miss Destrey, show me exactly how you stood when you dropped your bag,

and I think I can promise that you shall have it again in a few

minutes."

"If I'd dreamed of this I wouldn't have let you do it," I said.

"Why not? I'm awfully happy, and the water feels like warm silk. Is

this where you dropped it? Look out for a little splash, please. I'm

going down."

With that he disappeared under the canal, and stayed down so long that I

began to be frightened. It seemed impossible that any human being could

hold his breath for so many minutes; but just as my anxiety reached

boiling point, up he came, dripping, laughing, his short hair in wet

rings on his forehead, and in his hand, triumphantly held up, the gold

bag.

"I knew where to grope for it, and I felt it almost the first thing," he

said. "Please forgive my wet fingers."

"Why, there's something red on the gold. It's blood!" I stammered,

forgetting to thank him.

"Is there? What a bore! But it's nothing. I grazed the skin of my hands

a little, grubbing about among the stones down there, that's all."

"It's a great deal," I said. "I can't bear to think you've been hurt for

me."

"Why, I don't even feel it," said the Chauffeulier. "It's the bag that

suffers. But you can have it washed."

Yes, I could have it washed. Yet, somehow, it would seem almost

sacrilegious. I made up my mind without saying a word, that I would not

have the bag washed. I would keep it exactly as it was, put sacredly

away in some box, in memory of this night.

XXI

A CHAPTER OF STRANGE SPELLS

"Never since Anne Boleyn has a woman so lost her head over a man with a

title as Mamma over Prince Dalmar-Kalm," said Beechy, after our week at

Venice was half spent. And I wished that, in fair exchange, he would

lose his over Aunt Kathryn instead of wasting time on me, and casting

his shadow on beautiful days.

Roses and lilies appeared on my writing-desk; they were from him.

Specimens of Venetian sweets (crystallized fruits stuck on sticks, like

fat martyrs) adorned large platters on the table by the window--gifts

from the Prince. If I admired the little gargoylish sea-horses, or the

foolish shell ornaments at the Lido, I was sure to find some when I came

home. And the man hinted in whispers that the attentions of the Comte

and Contessa were for me.

All this was annoying though he put it on the grounds of friendship; and

I didn't like the Corraminis, although their influence opened doors that

would otherwise have been closed. Through them we saw the Comte de

Bardi's wonderful Japanese collection of the Palazzo Vendramin, the

finest in the world; through them we had glimpses of the treasures in

more than one old palace; they gave us a picnic dinner in their lighted

gondola, on the lagoon, with many elaborate courses cooked in

chafing-dishes, which the gondoliers served. They took us to Chioggia on

their steam yacht which--it seemed--they must let half the year to

afford the use of it the other half.

The "County" (as Aunt Kathryn pronounces him) must have been handsome

before his good looks were ravaged by small-pox. As it is, Beechy

compares his dark face to a "plum cake, from which somebody has picked

out all the plums;" and the black eyes, deep set in this scarred mask,

gaze out of it with sinister effect. Yet his manner is perfect, witty,

and gracious. He speaks English fluently, and might be of any age

between thirty-five and fifty. As for the Contessa, she has the profile

of a Boadicea (with which I could never feel thoroughly at home if it

were mine) and the walk of a bewitched table, so stout she is, and so

square. Her principal efforts at conversation with me were in praise of

Prince Dalmar-Kalm, so I scarcely appreciated them. Indeed, the

Corraminis repelled me, and I was glad to spare all their distinguished

society to Aunt Kathryn.

Each day in Venice (not counting the hours spent with them and the

Prince) was more wonderful, it seemed, than the day before.

First among my pictures was San Marco, which I went out to see alone

early in the morning, but met Mr. Barrymore as I inquired my way. I

could have wished for that, though I wouldn't have dreamed of asking him

to take me. As we went through the narrow streets of charming shops, we

played at not thinking of what was to come. Then, Mr. Barrymore said

suddenly, "Now you may look." So I did look, and there it was, the

wonder of wonders, more like a stupendous crown of jewels than a church.

Like a queen's diadem, it gleamed in the grey-white Piazza, under the

burning azure dome of the sky.

"Oh, we've found the key of the rainbow, and come close to it!" I cried.

"What a marvel! Can human beings really have made it, or did it make

itself as gems form in the rocks, and coral under the sea?"

"The cornice does look as if it were the spray of the sea, tossing up

precious stones from buried treasures beneath the waves," he answered.

"But you're right. We've got the key of the rainbow, and we can go in."

I walked beside him, awe-struck, as if I were passing under a spell.

There could be no other building so beautiful in the world, and it was

harder than ever to realize that man had created it. The golden mosaic

of the domed roof, arching above the purple-brown of the alabaster

walls, was like sunrise boiling over the massed clouds of a dark

horizon. Light seemed generated by the glitter of that mosaic; and the

small white windows of the dome gained such luminous blues and pale gold

glints, from sky without and opal gleams within, that they were changed

to stars. The pavement was opaline, too, with a thousand elusive tints

and jewelled colours, waving like the sea. It was all I could do not to

touch Mr. Barrymore's arm or hand for sympathy.

We didn't speak as we passed out. I was almost glad when the spell was

broken by the striking of the great, blue clock opposite San Marco, and

the slow procession of the life-size mechanical figures which only open

their secret door on fête days, such as this chanced to be.

Watching the stiff saints go through their genuflexions put me in a good

mood for an introduction to the pigeons, which I longed to have for

friends--strange little stately ruffling things, almost as mechanical in

their strut as the figures of the clock; so metallic, too, in their

lustre, that I could have believed them made of painted iron.

Some wore short grey Eton jackets, with white blouses showing behind;

these were the ladies, and their faces were as different as possible

from those of their lovers. So were the dainty little coral feet, for

alas! the masculine shoes were the pinker and prettier; and the males,

even the baby ones, were absurdly like English judges in wigs and gowns.

It was charming to watch the developments of pigeon love-stories on that

blue-and-gold day, which was my first in the Grand Piazza of San Marco.

How the lady would patter away, and pretend she didn't know that a

rising young judge had his eye upon her! But she would pause and feign

to examine a grain of corn, which I or some one else had thrown, just

long enough to give him a chance of preening his feathers before her,

spreading out his tail, and generally cataloguing his perfections. She

would pretend that this demonstration had no effect upon her heart, that

she'd seen a dozen pigeons within an hour handsomer than he; but the

instant a rival belle chanced (only it wasn't chance really) to hop that

way and offer outrageous inducements to flirtation, she decided that,

after all, he was worth having--and, alas! sometimes decided too late.

That same afternoon Mr. Barrymore took me to the little church of San

Giorgio degli Schiavoni to see the exquisite Carpaccios, because he was

of opinion that Aunt Kathryn and Beechy would prefer to go shopping.

Yet, after all, who should appear there but Beechy and Sir Ralph!

Beechy thought the dragon a delightful beast, with a remarkable eye for

the picturesque, judging from the way in which he had arranged the

remains of his victims; and she was sorry for him, dragged into the

market-place, so pitifully shrunken, beaten, and mortified was he. She

wanted to live in all the mediæval castles of the picture-backgrounds,

and was of opinion that the basilisk's real intentions had been

misunderstood by the general public of his day. "I should love to have

such a comic, trotty beast to lead about in Central Park," said she.

"Why the octopi that the people cook and sell in the streets here now,

are ever so much horrider. One might run away from them, if you like.

Loathsome creatures! I do draw the line at an animal whose face you

can't tell from its--er--waist. And only think of _eating_ them! I'd a

good deal rather eat a basilisk."

Beechy was also convinced--before she crossed the Bridge of Sighs--that

many people, especially Americans, would pay large sums or even commit

crimes, in order to be put in prison at Venice. "Such a lovely

situation," she argued, "and lots of historical associations too." But

afterwards, when she had seen where Marino Faliero lay, and the young

Foscari, she was inclined to change her mind. "Still," she said, "it

would be an experience; and if you couldn't afford to stop at a hotel,

it might be worth trying, if you didn't have to do anything very bad,

and were sure of getting a cell on the canal."

Neither Beechy nor Aunt Kathryn cared much for the churches or the

pictures, so they and Sir Ralph bargained for Venetian point or the lace

of Burano, or went to the glass makers', or had tea at the Lido with the

Corraminis, while Mr. Barrymore took me to the Frari, the Miracoli, and

other churches that he loved best, or wandered with me among the

glorious company of artists at the Accademia, and in the Doges' Palace.

But Beechy did join in my admiration and respect (mingled with a kind of

wondering pity) for the noble army of marble lions in Venice.

Oh, those poor, splendid lions! How sad they look, how bitter is the

expression of their ponderous faces. Especially am I haunted by the

left-hand lion in the Piazza degli Lioni, hard by San Marco. What can

have happened to him, that he should be so despairing? Whatever it was,

he has never got over it, but has concentrated his whole being in one,

eight-century-long howl ever since. He is the most impressive of the

tribe; but there are many others, big and little, all gloomy, sitting

about in Piazzas, or exposed for sale in shops, or squatting on the

railings of balconies. When I think of that fair city in the sea, I

shall often want to run back and try to comfort some of those lions.

Beechy was with me in this; and as for Aunt Kathryn, even the flattering

attentions of the Corraminis did not please her more than our experience

at the antiquaries', which we owed to Mr. Barrymore.

We hadn't been in Venice for twenty-four hours before we saw that the

Chauffeulier knew the place almost as if he had been born there. He was

even well up in the queer, soft Venetian _patois_, with hardly a

consonant left in it, so well up that he announced himself capable of

bandying words and measuring swords with the curiosity-shop keepers, if

we liked to "collect anything."

At first Aunt Kathryn thought that she wouldn't bother; there would be

too much trouble with the custom house at home; but, when Beechy

happened to say what a rare thing a marble well-head or a garden statue

five hundred years old would be considered in Denver, she weakened, and

fell.

The idea popped into Beechy's head just as our gondola (it was towards

the end of our week in Venice) was gliding by a beautiful, shabby old

palace in a side canal.

A canopy of grape-vines, heavy with hanging clusters of emeralds and

here and there an amethyst, shadowed a carved water-gate. Under the

jade-green water gleamed the yellow marble of the steps, waving with

seaweed like mermaids' hair; and in the dim interior behind the open

doors there were vague gleams of gilded chairs, pale glints of statuary,

and rich streaks of colour made by priests' vestments or old altar

hangings.

"I don't believe even Mrs. Potter Adriance has got anything like this in

her house, though they call it so elegant," remarked Beechy.

That speech was to Aunt Kathryn what valerian is to a pussy cat; for

Mrs. Potter Adriance (as I've often heard since I made acquaintance with

my relations) is the leader of Denver society, and is supposed once to

have said with a certain emphasis: "_Who_ are the Kidders?"

"Perhaps I'll just step in and see what they've got here," said Aunt

Kathryn.

"It isn't a cheap place," replied Mr. Barrymore. "This man knows how to

charge. If you want any marbles, he has some fine ones; but for other

things I'll take you somewhere else, where I promise you shall be amused

and not cheated."

"I think our yard at home is big enough for two or three statues; and a

marble well-head and a sundial would be lovely," exclaimed Aunt Kathryn.

"We'll look at some," said Mr. Barrymore, motioning to the gondolier.

"But now, unless you're to pay six times what everything's worth, you

must put yourselves in my hands. Remember, you don't care to glance

either at statues, well-heads, or sun-dials."

"But that's what we're here for!" cried Aunt Kathryn.

"Ah, but the man mustn't guess that for the world! We appear to be

searching for--let's say, mirrors; but not finding the kind we want, we

_may_ deign to look at a few marbles as we pass. We don't fancy the

fellow's stock; still, the things aren't bad; we may decide to save

ourselves the trouble of going further. Whatever you do, don't mention a

price, even in English. Appear bored and indifferent, never pleased or

anxious. When I ask if you're willing to pay so and so, drawl out 'no'

or 'yes' without the slightest change of expression."

As we landed on the wet marble steps and passed into the region of

gilded gleams and pearly glints, our hearts began to beat with

suppressed excitement, as if we were secret plotters, scheming to carry

through some nefarious design.

Immediately on entering, I caught sight of two marble baby lions sitting

on their haunches side by side on the floor with ferocious expressions

on their little carved faces.

"I must have those for myself," I murmured to Mr. Barrymore in a

painfully monotonous voice, as we passed along a narrow aisle between

groves of magnificent antique furniture. "They appeal to me. Fate means

us for each other."

But at this moment an agreeable and well-dressed Italian was bowing

before us. He was the proprietor of the antiques, and he looked more

like a philanthropic millionaire than a person with whom we could haggle

over prices. Without glancing at my lions (I knew they were mine; and

wanted them to know it) or Aunt Kathryn's statues and well-heads, Mr.

Barrymore announced that he would glance about at paintings of old

Venice. What had Signore Ripollo of that sort? Nothing at present? Dear

me, what a pity! Lacquered Japanese temples, then? What, none of those?

Very disappointing. Well, we must be going. Hm! not a bad well-head,

that one with the procession of the Bucentaur in _bas relief_. Too

obviously repaired; still, if Signore Ripollo would take three hundred

lire for it, the thing might be worth picking up. And that little pair

of lions. Perhaps the ladies might think them good enough to keep a door

open with, if they didn't exceed fifteen lire each.

Signore Ripollo looked shocked, but laughed politely. He knew Mr.

Barrymore, and had greeted him on our entrance as an old acquaintance,

though, in his exaggerated Italian way, he gave the Chauffeulier a title

more exalted than Beechy had bestowed.

"Milord will always have his joke; the well-head is two thousand lire;

the lions fifty each," I thought I understood him to remark.

But not at all. Milord was not joking. Would the Signore sell the things

for the price mentioned--yes or no?

The philanthropic millionaire showed now that he was hurt. Why did not

Milord ask him to give away the whole contents of his shop?

After this the argument began to move at express speed, and I would have

lost track of everything had it not been for the gestures, like danger

signals, all along the way. Mr. Barrymore laughed; Signore Ripollo

passed from injured dignity to indignation, then to passion; and there

we sat on early Renaissance chairs, our outward selves icily regular,

splendidly null, our features as hard as those of the stone lions, our

bodies in much the same attitudes, on our uncomfortable seats. But

inwardly we felt like Torturers of the Inquisition, and I knew by Aunt

Kathryn's breathing that she could hardly help exclaiming, "Oh, _do_ pay

the poor man whatever he asks for everything."

"Will you give five hundred lire for the well-head?" Mr. Barrymore

finally demanded, with a reminder of past warnings in his eye.

"Yes," answered Aunt Kathryn languidly, her hands clenched under a lace

boa.

"And will you give twenty lire each for the lions? They are very good."

(This to me, drawlingly.)

"Ye-es," I returned, without moving a muscle.

The offers were submitted to Signore Ripollo, who received them with

princely scorn, as I had felt sure he would, and my heart sank as I saw

my lions vanishing in the smoke of his just wrath.

"Come, we will go; the Signore is not reasonable," said Mr. Barrymore.

We all rose obediently, but our anguish was almost past hiding.

"I can't and won't live without the lions," I remarked in the tone of

one who says it is a fine day.

"I will _not_ leave this place without that well-head, the statue of

Neptune, and the yellow marble sundial," said Aunt Kathryn in a casual

tone which masked a breaking heart.

Nevertheless, Mr. Barrymore continued to lead us towards the door. He

bowed to Signore Ripollo; and by this time we were at the steps of the

water-gate. The gondoliers were ready. Driven to desperation we were

about to protest, when the Italian, with the air of a falsely accused

Doge haled to execution, stopped us. "Have your way, milord, as you

always do," he groaned. "I paid twice more for these beautiful things

than you give me, but--so be it. They are yours."

True to our instructions we dared not betray our feelings; but when the

business had actually been arranged, and our gondola had borne us away

from the much-injured antiquary, Aunt Kathryn broke out at the

Chauffeulier.

"How _could_ you?" she exclaimed. "I never was so sick in my life. That

poor man! You've made us rob him. I shall never be able to hold up my

head again."

"On the contrary, he's delighted," said Mr. Barrymore jauntily. "If we'd

given him what he asked he would have despised us. Now we've earned his

respect."

"Well, I never!" gasped Aunt Kathryn inelegantly, forgetful for the

moment that she was a Countess. "I suppose I can be happy, then?"

"You can, without a qualm," said Mr. Barrymore.

"Where's that other place you spoke of?" she inquired, half-ashamed.

"There's a--a kind of excitement in this sort of thing, isn't there? I

feel as if it might grow on me."

"We'll go to Beppo's," replied the Chauffeulier, laughing.

Beppo was a very different man from Signore Ripollo, nor had he a palace

with a water-gate to show his wares. We left the gondola, and walked up

a dark and narrow rioterrà with coquettish, black-shawled grisettes

chatting at glowing fruit-stalls and macaroni shops. There, at a barred

iron door, Mr. Barrymore pulled a rope which rang a jangling bell. After

a long interval, a little, bent old man in a shabby coat and patched

trousers appeared against a background of mysterious brown shadow. Into

this shadow we plunged, following him, to be led through a labyrinth of

queer passages and up dark stairways to the top of the old, old house.

There, in the strangest room I ever saw, we were greeted by a small

brown woman, as shabby as her husband, and a supernaturally clever black

cat.

A grated window set high up and deep in the discoloured wall, allowed a

few rays of yellow sunlight to fall revealingly upon a motley collection

of antiquities. Empire chairs were piled upon Louis Quinze

writing-desks. Tables of every known period formed a leaning tower in

one corner. Rich Persian rugs draped huge Florentine mirrors; priests'

vestments trailed from half-open chests of drawers. Brass candlesticks

and old Venetian glass were huddled away in inlaid cabinets, and

half-hidden with old illuminated breviaries and pinned rolls of lace.

A kind of madness seized Aunt Kathryn. She must have thought of Mrs.

Potter Adriance, for suddenly she wanted everything she saw, and said

so, _sotto voce_, to Mr. Barrymore.

Then the bargaining began. And there was nothing Dog-like about Beppo.

He laughed high-keyed, sardonic laughter; he scolded, he quavered, he

pleaded, he was finally choked with sobs; while as for his wife, she,

poor little wisplike body, early succumbed to whatever is Venetian for

nervous prostration.

Surely the Chauffeulier could not bear the strain of this agonizing

scene? Our consciences heavy with brass candlesticks and Marquise sofas,

we stood looking on, appalled at his callousness. Beppo and Susanna

cried weakly that this would be their ruin, that we were wringing the

last drops of blood from their hearts, we cruel rich ones, and in

common humanity I would have intervened had the pair not suddenly and

unexpectedly wreathed their withered countenances with smiles.

"What has happened? Are you giving them what they wanted?" I asked

breathlessly; for long ago I had lost track of the conversation.

"No; I promised them twenty lire over my first offer for that whole

lot," said Mr. Barrymore, indicating a heap of miscellaneous articles

reaching half-way to the ceiling, for which, altogether, Beppo had

demanded two thousand lire, and our offer had been seven hundred.

I could have prayed the poor old peoples' forgiveness, but to my

astonishment, as we went out they beamed with pleasure and thanked us

ardently for our generosity.

"Is it sarcasm?" I whispered.

"No, it's pure delight," said Mr. Barrymore. "They've done the best

day's work of the season, and they don't mind our knowing it--now it's

over."

"Human nature is strange," I reflected.

"Especially in antiquarians," he replied.

But we arrived at the hotel feeling weak, and were thankful for tea.

XXII

A CHAPTER BEYOND THE MOTOR ZONE

We all felt when we had said good-bye to Venice that we had a definite

object in view, and there was to be no more pleasant dawdling. It was ho

for Schloss Hrvoya! Aunt Kathryn had suddenly discovered that she was

impatient to see the ancient root from which blossomed her cherished

title, and nothing must delay her by the way.

I should have wondered at her change of mood, and at the Prince's new

enthusiasm for the Dalmatian trip--which, until our arrival in Venice,

he'd tried to discourage--but Beechy explained frankly as usual. It

seemed that Count Corramini (said by Prince Dalmar-Kalm to possess vast

funds of legal knowledge) had intimated that the Countess Dalmar-Kalm

was not rightfully a Countess until every penny was paid for the estate

carrying the title. That same day, without waiting to be asked, she had

given the Prince a cheque for the remaining half of the money. Now if

she finds scarce one stone left upon another at Schloss Hrvoya, she

can't cry off her bargain, so it's easy to understand why the Prince is

no longer anxious. Exactly why he should seem so eager to get us to our

destination is more of a puzzle; but perhaps, as Beechy thinks, it's

because he hopes to influence Aunt Kathryn to rebuild. And certainly he

has influenced her in some way, for she could hardly wait to leave

Venice at the last.

We went as we had come, by water, for we wouldn't condescend to the

railway; and at the landing-place for Mestre our grey automobile stood

waiting for us, so well-cared for and polished that it might just have

come from the makers, instead of having charged at full tilt "up the

airy mountains and down the rushy glens" of half Europe.

It was goddess-like to be in the car again, yet I regretted Venice as

I've regretted no other place I ever saw. Even when there, it seemed too

beautiful to be real, but when we lost sight of its fair towers and

domes, in bowling northward along a level road, I grew sadly convinced

that Venice was a fairy dream.

We saw nothing to console us for what we had lost (though the scenery

had a soft and melancholy charm) until we came to old fortified Treviso,

with its park, and the green river Dante knew, circling its high walls.

At Conegliano--where Cima lived--we ran into the town between its

guardian statues, gave a glance at the splendid old castle which must

have given the gentle painter many an inspiration, and then turned

eastward. There was a shorter way, but the route-book of the Italian

Touring Club which the Chauffeulier pinned his faith to in emergencies,

showed that the surface of the other road was not so good. Udine tried

to copy Venice in miniature, and I loved it for its ambition; but what

interested me the most was to hear from Mr. Barrymore how, on the spot

where its castle stands, Attila watched the burning of Aquileia. That

seemed to take me down to the roots of Venetian history; and I could

picture the panic-stricken fugitives flying to the lagoons, and

beginning to raise the wattled huts which have culminated in the queen

city of the sea. From Udine we went southward; and at the Austrian

custom house, across the frontier, we had to unroll yards of red tape

before we were allowed to pass. Almost at once, when we were over the

border, the scenery, the architecture, and even the people's faces,

changed; not gradually, but with extraordinary abruptness, or so it

seemed to me.

Just before dark we sailed into a great, busy town, with a surprising

number of enormous, absolutely useless-looking buildings. It was

Trieste, Austria's biggest port; and the Prince, who had kept near us

for the hundred and thirty miles from Venice, began to wear an air of

pride in his own country. He wanted us to admire the fine streets and

shops, and made us notice how everywhere were to be seen Greek, Russian,

Polish, French, German, Italian, and even English names. "That proves

what a great trade we do, and how all the world comes to us," he said.

Our hotel was close to the quay, and there were a thousand things of

interest to watch from the windows when we got up next morning, as there

always are in places where the world "goes down to the sea in ships."

At breakfast there was a discussion as to our route, which, owing to

suggestions and counter-suggestions from the Prince, hadn't been

decided. The Chauffeulier wanted to run through Istria and show us

Capodistria (another copy of Venice), Rovigno, and Pola, which he said

had not only a splendid Roman amphitheatre, but many other sights worth

making a détour for. I was fired by his description, for what I've seen

of Northern Italy has stimulated my love for history and the

architecture of the ancients; but Prince Dalmar-Kalm persuaded Aunt

Kathryn that, as the neighbourhood of Cattaro is our goal, it would be a

waste of time to linger on the threshold of Dalmatia.

"Why, a little while ago you thought it stupid to go into Dalmatia at

all," said Beechy. "You warned us we'd have trouble about petrol, about

roads, about hotels, about everything."

"I have been talking since with Corramini," replied the Prince

unruffled. "He has motored through the country we are going to, and I

see from his accounts, that the journey is more feasible than I had

thought, knowing the way as I did, only from a yacht."

"Funny he should be more familiar with the country than you, as you've

got a castle there," Beechy soliloquized aloud.

"I make no secret that I have never lived at Hrvoya," the Prince

answered. "Neither I, nor my father before me. The house where I was

born is at Abbazzia. That is why I want you to go that way. It is no

longer mine; but I should like you to see it, since you cannot at

present see Schloss Kalm, near Vienna."

"You seem so fond of selling your houses, why don't you offer Mamma the

one near Vienna, if it's the best?" persisted naughty Beechy.

"I could not sell it if I would," smiled the Prince, who for some reason

is almost always good-natured now. "And if I offer it to a lady, she

must be the Princess Dalmar-Kalm."

I felt that a glance was thrown to me with these words, but I looked

only at my plate.

The conversation ended by the Prince getting his way, as he had made

Aunt Kathryn think it _her_ way: and we gave up Istria. Soon after ten

we were _en route_ for Abbazzia--close to Fiume--slanting along the neck

of the Istrian peninsula by a smooth and well-made road that showed the

Austrians were good at highways.

It was but thirty miles from sea to sea, and so sweetly did the car run,

so little were we troubled by cantankerous creatures of any sort, that

we descended from high land and before twelve o'clock ran into as

perfect a little watering place as can exist on earth.

Aunt Kathryn was prepared to like Abbazzia before she saw it, because it

was the scene of Prince Dalmar-Kalm's birth, and also because she'd been

told it was the favourite resort of Austrian aristocracy. I hadn't

listened much, because I had clung to the idea of visiting historic

Pola; but Abbazzia captured me at first glance.

Everywhere was beauty and peace. The Adriatic spread itself pure and

clean as a field of spring flowers, and as full of delicate changing

colour. Away on a remote horizon--remote as all trouble and worry

seemed, in this fair spot--hovered islands, opaline and shimmering, like

a mirage. Nearer rose a stretch of green hills, travelling by the

seashore until they fell back for Fiume, a white town veiled with a

light mist of smoke.

But for Abbazzia itself, it seemed the most unconventional pleasure

place I ever knew. Instead of a smart "parade" all along the rocky

indentations which jutted into or receded from the sea, ran a winding

rustic path, tiny blue waves crinkling on one side; on the other,

fragrant groves of laurel, olives, magnolias, and shady chestnut-trees.

We walked there, after lunching at quite a grand hotel, which, the

Prince told Aunt Kathryn, was full of "crowned heads" in winter and

earlier spring. Nowhere else have I seen the beauty of sea and shore so

exquisitely mingled as on this path overhanging the Adriatic, nor have I

smelled more heavenly smells, even at Bellagio. There was the salt of

the sea, the rank flavour of seaweed, mingled with the sharp fragrance

of ferns, of young grass, of budding trees, and all sweet, woodsy

things.

Along the whole length of the gay, quaint town, ran the beautiful path,

winding often like a twisted ribbon, but never leaving the sea. Behind

it, above and beyond, was the unspoiled forest only broken enough for

the cutting of shaded streets, and the building of charming houses,

their fronts half windows and the other half balconies.

The dark rocks starred with flowers to the water's edge, looked as if

there had been a snow-storm of gulls, while the air was full of their

wistful cries, and the singing of merry land birds that tried to cheer

them.

Each house by the sea (the one where Prince Dalmar-Kalm first saw the

light, among others) had its own bathing place, and pretty young girls

laughed and splashed in the clear water. Up above, in the town, were

public gardens, many hotels, theatres, and fascinating shops displaying

embroideries and jewelry from Bosnia, which made me feel the nearness of

the East as I hadn't felt it before, even in Venice.

We could not tear ourselves away in the afternoon, but spent hours in a

canopied boat, dined in the hotel garden, and bathed in the creamy sea

by late moonlight, the Chauffeulier giving me a lesson in swimming. Aunt

Kathryn grudged the time, but we overruled her, and atoned by promising

to go on each day after this to the bitter end, whatever that might be.

Next morning, by way of many hills and much fine scenery we travelled

towards a land beyond the motor zone. Though the roads were good enough,

if steep sometimes, judging by the manners of animals four-legged and

two-legged, automobiles were unknown. Only children were not surprised

at us; but then, children aren't easily surprised by new things, I've

noticed. They have had so few experiences to found impressions on, that

I suppose they would think a fiery chariot nothing extraordinary, much

less a motor-car. The costumes began to change from ordinary European

dress to something with a hint of the barbaric in it. Here and there we

would see a coarse-featured face as dark as that of a Mongolian, or

would hear a few curious words which the Chauffeulier said were Slavic.

The biting, alkaline names of the small Dalmatian towns through which we

ran seemed to shrivel our tongues and dry up our systems. There was much

thick, white dust, and, to the surprise of the amateurs of the party, we

once or twice had "side slip" in it.

How we hated the "mended" roads with their beds of stone, though near

rivers they were not so bad, as the pebbles instead of being sharp were

naturally rounded. But Aunt Kathryn wouldn't hear a word against the

country, which was _her_ country now. Once, when the cylinders refused

to work, for some reason best known to themselves or the evil spirits

that haunt them, we were "hung up" for twenty minutes, and surrounded

with strange, dark children from a neighbouring hamlet, Aunt Kathryn

insisted on giving each a coin of some sort, and received grinning

acknowledgments with the air of a crowned queen. "I daresay I shall have

tenants and retainers like these people," said she, with a wave of her

hand.

For a part of our journey down the narrow strip of strange coast, we had

on one side a range of stony mountains; on the other, only a little way

across the sea, lay desolate islands rising in tiers of pink rock out of

the milk-white Adriatic. But before long we lost the sea and the lonely

islands; for at a place named Segna our road turned inland and climbed a

high mountain--the Velebit--at whose feet we had been travelling.

As we were trying to make a run of more than a hundred and twenty-five

miles--a good deal for a heavily-loaded car of twelve horse-power--the

Chauffeulier kept the automobile constantly going "for all she was

worth." He had planned that we should spend the night at the sea-coast

town of Zara--that place so inextricably tangled up in Venetian

history--for there we might find a hotel fit to stop at.

About midday we lunched at a mean town called Gospic, and vast was the

upheaval that our advent caused.

As we drove in, looking right and left for the cleanest inn, every

able-bodied person under seventy and several considerably over ran to

follow, their figures swarming after us as a tail follows a comet. At

the door of our chosen lunching-place they surged round the car,

pressing against us, and even plucking at our dresses as we pushed

through into the house. Spray from this human wave tossed into the

passage and eating-room in our wake, until the burly innkeeper, his

large wife, and two solid handmaidens swept it out by sheer weight.

Mr. Barrymore was afraid to leave the car, lest it should be damaged, so

he sat in it, eating bread and cheese with imperturbable good humour,

though every mouthful he took was watched down his throat by a hundred

eager eyes.

The landlord waited upon us himself, and could speak German and Italian

as well as his own Croatian or Slavish dialect. We were surprised at the

goodness of the luncheon, and Sir Ralph was surprised at the cheapness

of the bill. "It will be different when they've turned this coast into

the Austrian Riviera, as they 're trying to do," he said.

When we appeared at the door again, ready to go on, there fell a heavy

silence on the Chauffeulier's audience. Not only had they had the

entertainment of watching him feed, but had observed with fearful awe

the replenishing of the petrol and water-tanks and examination of the

lubricators. Now they had the extra pleasure of seeing us put on our

motor-masks and take our places. When all was ready Mr. Barrymore seized

the starting handle, and gave it the one vigorous twist which wakes the

engine when it is napping. But almost for the first time the motor was

refractory. The handle recoiled so violently and unexpectedly that the

Chauffeulier staggered back and trod on the toes of the fat man of the

crowd, while at the same time there burst from the inner being of the

car a loud report. At this sign of the motor's power and rebellion

against him whom it should have obeyed, the audience uttered cries,

scattering right and left, so as to leave a large ring round the

automobile which before had not had room to breathe.

"Misfire, that's all," said Mr. Barrymore, laughing and showing his nice

white teeth in a comforting way he has when anything alarming has

happened. Next instant the motor was docile as a lamb; the engine began

to purr; the Chauffeulier jumped to his seat, and, followed by a vast

sigh from the crowd, we darted away at thirty miles an hour.

The rest of the day was a changing dream of strange impressions, which

made Aunt Kathryn feel as if Denver were at least a million miles away.

We climbed once more up to the heights of the Velebit, seeing from among

the dark, giant pines which draped it in mourning, the great forests of

Croatia, Lika, and Krabava, with their conical mountains, and far off

the chains of Bosnia. Then, at a bound, we leaped into sight of the

Adriatic again and sped down innumerable _lacets_ overlooking the

beautiful land-locked sea of Novigrad, to tumble at last upon the little

town of Obrovazzo. Thence we flew on, over an undulating road, towards

Dalmatia's capital, Zara.

Just as anachronistic electric lights had shown us the way through

curiously Italian streets, with beautifully ornamented windows, past a

noble Corinthian column and out onto a broad space by the sea, without a

warning sigh the automobile stopped.

"Our last drop of petrol!" exclaimed Mr. Barrymore. "Lucky it didn't

give out before, as I began to be afraid it might, owing to the hills."

"By Jove! this doesn't look the sort of town to buy food and drink for

motors!" remarked Sir Ralph ruefully.

The Chauffeulier laughed. "Ours won't starve," said he. "I thought you

knew I'd ordered tins of petrol to meet us at every big town, for fear

of trouble. It will come down by boat, and I shall find the Zara lot

waiting for me at the Austrian Lloyd's storehouse. You'd have remembered

that arrangement if your wits hadn't been wool-gathering a bit lately."

"I wonder if they have?" soliloquized Sir Ralph. "Well, here we are

within three yards of a hotel which, if I've any brains left, is the

very one you selected from Baedeker."

We all got out as if we had stopped on purpose, and the hotel which Fate

and our Chauffeulier had chosen proved very fair, though too modern to

be in the picture.

If the automobile had flashed us to Mars things could hardly have been

more unfamiliar to our eyes than when we walked out next morning to find

ourselves in the midst of a great fête.

Flags were everywhere: in arched windows, rich with sculptured stone;

flying over the great gates of the city; festooned in the charming

little houses with fountain courts surrounded by columns. The peasants

of the country round had flocked to town for the holiday. Dark,

velvet-eyed girls in short dresses of bright-coloured silk heavy with

gold embroidery, their hair hidden by white head-dresses flashing with

sequins, and tall men in long frock coats of dark crimson or yellow,

were exactly like a stage crowd in some wonderful theatre; while

handsome Austrian officers wearing graceful blue cloaks draped over one

shoulder, might have been operatic heroes.

There was strange music in the streets, and a religious procession,

which we followed for some time on our way to the maraschino factory

which Mr. Barrymore said we must see. Of course, some monks had invented

the liqueur, as they always do, but perhaps the cherries which grow only

among those mountains, and can't be exported, had as much to do with

the original success of the liqueur as the existence of the recipe.

If Aunt Kathryn had listened to Mr. Barrymore and me we would have gone

from Zara inland to a place called Knin, to visit the cataract of Krka,

described as a combination of Niagara and the Rhine Falls. But she said

that the very sound of the names would make a cat want to sneeze, and

she was sure she would take her death of cold there. So the proposal

fell to the ground, and we kept to the coast route, the shortest way of

getting to Ragusa and Cattaro.

When we had climbed out of Zara by the old post road, begun by Venice

and finished by Austria, our way lay among the famous cherry-trees which

have made Zara rich. There were miles of undulating country and fields

of wheat, interspersed with vines and almond trees which mingled with

the cherries. The pastures where sheep and goats grazed were blue and

pink with violets and anemones; here and there was an old watch-tower,

put up against the Turks; and the rich peasants drove in quaint flat

chaises, which looked as if the occupants were sitting in large

pancakes.

With a motor it was not far to Sebenico, which called itself modestly a

"little Genoa;" and it was so pretty, lying by the sea, with its

narrowest streets climbing up a hill to an ancient fortress, that I

should have loved to linger, but Aunt Kathryn was for pushing on; and,

of course, it is her trip, so her wishes must be obeyed when they can't

be directed into other channels. We stopped only long enough for an

omelette, and passed on after a mere glimpse of close-huddled houses

(with three heads for every window, staring at the motor) and a

cathedral with an exquisite doorway. Then we were out of the town,

spinning on through the wild, unreal-looking country towards Spalato.

"What new ground for honeymooners!" exclaimed Sir Ralph, enchanted with

everything, in his half-boyish, half-cynical way. "I shall recommend it

in _The Riviera Sun_ for a wedding trip _en automobile_. Shouldn't you

like to do it, Miss Beechy--dawdling, not scorching?"

"I think when I get married," Beechy replied judicially, "I shan't want

to _go_ anywhere. I shall just _stay_ somewhere for a change."

"It's early to decide," remarked Sir Ralph.

"I don't know. It's always well to be prepared," said Beechy, with the

enigmatical look she sometimes puts on, which (in spite of her

ankle-short dresses and knee-long tails of hair) makes her appear at

least sixteen.

Beyond Sebenico the Dalmatian landscape frowned upon us, but we liked

its savage mood. The road, winding inland, was walled with mountains

which might have struck a chill to the heart of Childe Roland on his way

to find the Dark Tower. On a rocky shoulder here and there crouched a

sinister little hamlet, like a black cat huddling into the neck of a

witch. Sometimes, among the stony pastures where discouraged goats

browsed discontentedly, we would spy a human inhabitant of one of those

savage haunts--a shepherd in a costume more strange than picturesque,

with a plait of hair almost as long as Beechy's, hanging down his

back--a sullen, Mongolian-faced being, who stared or scowled as we flew

by, his ragged dog too startled by the rush of the motor even to bark,

frozen into an attitude of angry amazement at his master's feet. One

evidence only of modern civilization did we see--the railway from

Sebenico to Spalato, the first we had come near in Dalmatia; and we

congratulated ourselves that we were travelling by automobile instead.

No tunnels to shut out some wonderful view, just as our eyes had

focussed on it, no black smoke, no stuffy air, no need to think of time

tables!

When at last we sighted the Adriatic again, a surprise awaited us. The

land of desolation lay behind; beyond, a land of beauty and full summer.

We ran beside an azure sea, transparent as gauze, fringing a tropical

strand; and so came into the little town of Trau, which might have been

under a spell of sleep since mediæval days. Its walls and gates, its

ornate houses, its fort and Sanmicheli tower, all set like a mosaic of

jewels in a ring of myrtles, oleanders, and laurels, delighted our

eyes; and the farther we went on the way to Spalato, keeping always by

the glittering sea, the more beautiful grew the scene. The walls along

our road were well-nigh hidden with agaves and rosemary. Cacti leered

impudently at us; palms and pomegranates made the breeze on our faces

whisper of the south and the east. Not a place we passed that I would

not have loved to spend a month in, studying in the carved stones of

churches and ruined castles the history of Venetian rule, or the wild

romance of Turkish raids.

Spalato we reached at sunset, as the little waves which creamed against

the pink rocks were splashed with crimson; and Spalato was by far the

most imposing place Dalmatia had shown us yet. As in Italy, the ancient

and modern towns held themselves apart from one another, as if there

could be no sympathy between the two, though the new houses were pushing

and would have encroached now and then if they could. We stayed all

night; and by getting up at sunrise Beechy and I, with Mr. Barrymore and

Sir Ralph, had time for a glimpse of Diocletian's palace, grand in

ruinous desolation.

Still we went on beside the sea, and from Spalato to Almissa--sheltered

under high rocks at the mouth of a river, was a splendid run leading us

by the territory of an ancient peasant republic--Poljica; one of those

odd little self-governing communities, like San Marino, which have

flourished through troubled centuries under the very noses of great

powers. Poljica had had its Jeanne d'Arc, who performed wondrous feats

of valour in wars against the Turks, and I bought a charming little

statuette of her.

At Almissa we bade good-bye to the blue water for a while to run by the

banks of the Cetina, a big and beautiful river; for the range of the

Biokovo Hills had got between us and the sea; but we threaded our way

out to it again, after switchbacking up and down an undulating road

close to the frontier of Herzegovina; and at the end of a wonderful day

descended upon a harbour in an almost land-locked basin of water. It was

Gravosa, the port of Ragusa, still hidden by an intervening tongue of

land. It was a gay scene by the quay, where native coasting ships were

unloading their queer cargoes. Dark-faced porters in rags carried on

their shoulders enormous burdens; men in loose knickerbockers,

embroidered shirts, and funny little turbans lounged about, and stared

at us as if they were every-day people and we extraordinary. And the

setting for the lively picture was the deeply-indented bay, surrounded

with quaintly pretty houses among vineyards and olive groves, which

climbed terrace after terrace to a mountainous horse-shoe, hemming in

the port.

All this we saw in the moment or two that we halted by the quay, before

turning up the road to Ragusa. It was a mile-long road, and like a

pleasure garden all the way, with the whiteness of wild lilies flung

like snow drifts against dark cedars, and trails of marvellous roses,

strangely tinted with all shades of red and yellow from the palest to

the deepest, clambering among the branches of umbrella pines. There were

villas, too, with pergolas, and two or three dignified old houses of

curious architecture, of which we had a flashing glimpse through

doorways in enormous walls.

We bounded up the saddle of a hill, then down again, and so came to a

charming hotel, white, with green verandahs, set in a park that was half

a garden. We were to spend the night and go on next day, after seeing

the town; but the Chauffeulier said that we should not see it to the

same advantage by morning light as in this poetic flush of sunset. So

after greeting Signore Bari and his sister, who were painting in the

park, we drove on, through a crowded _place_ where music played, crossed

a moat, and were swallowed by the long shadow of the city gate, black

with a twisted draping of ancient ivy.

A throng of loungers, theatrically picturesque, fell back in

astonishment to give us passage, and a moment later we were caught in a

double row of fortifications with a sharp and difficult turn through a

second gate. It was almost like a trap for a motor-car, but we got out,

and sprang at the same instant into the main street of a town that

might have been built to please the fancy of some artist-tyrant.

"It's a delicious mixture of Carcassonne and Verona set down by the sea,

with something of Venice thrown in, isn't it?" said Mr. Barrymore: and I

thought that part of the description fitted, though I had to be told

about splendid, fortified Carcassonne with its towering walls and

bastions, before I fully understood the simile.

"Yes, a Verona and Venice certainly," I answered, "with a sunny coast

like that of the French Riviera, and inhabited by people of the Far

East."

I think one might search the world over in vain to find just such

another fascinating street as that broad street of Ragusa, with its

exquisitely proportioned buildings that gave one a sense of gladness,

the extraordinary great fountain, the miniature palace of the Doges, the

noble churches and the colourful shops brilliant with strange,

embroidered costumes exposed for sale, Eastern jewelry, and quaint,

ferocious-looking weapons. And then, the queer signs over the shops, how

they added to the bewildering effect of unreality! Many of the letters

were more like hooks and eyes, buckles and bent pins, than respectable

members of an alphabet, even a foreign one. And the people who sold, and

the people who bought, were more wonderful than the shops themselves.

There were a few ordinary Europeans, though it was past the season now;

and plenty of handsome young Austrian officers in striking uniforms,

pale blue and bright green; but the crowd was an embroidered, sequined,

crimson and silver, gold and azure crowd, with here and there a

sheepskin coat, the brown habit of a monk, and the black veil of a nun.

Through half-open doorways we peeped into courtyards where fountains

flashed a diamond spray, all pink with sunset, between arcaded columns.

We saw the cathedral planted on the site of the chapel where Richard

Coeur de Lion worshipped; then, wheeling at the end of the street, we

returned as we had come while the rose-pink air was full of chiming

church bells and cries of gulls, whose circling wings were stained with

sunset colour.

Altogether this day had been one of the best days of my life. So good a

day, that it had made me sad; for I thought as I leaned on the rail of

my balcony after dinner, there could not be many days so radiant in my

life to come. Many thoughts came to me there, in the scented darkness,

and they were all tinged with a vague melancholy.

There was no moon, but the high dome of the sky was crusted with stars,

that flashed like an intricate embroidery of diamonds on velvet. From

the garden the scent of lilies came up with the warm breeze, so

poignant-sweet that it struck at my heart, and made it beat, beat with a

strange tremor in the beating that was like vague apprehension, and a

kind of joy as strange and as inexplicable.

Far away in the _place_ some one was singing a wild, barbaric air, with

a wonderful voice that had in its _timbre_ the same quality the lilies

had in their fragrance. For some reason that I didn't understand, my

whole spirit was in a turmoil, yet nothing had happened. What was the

matter? What did it mean? I couldn't tell. But I wanted to be happy. I

wanted something from life that it had never given, never would give,

perhaps. There was a voice down below in the garden--Mr. Barrymore

talking to Sir Ralph. I listened for an instant, every nerve tingling as

if it were a telegraph wire over which a question had been sent, and an

answer was coming. The voice died away. Suddenly my eyes were full of

tears; and surprised and frightened, I turned quickly to go in through

my open window, but something caught my dress and drew me back.

"Maida!" said another voice, which I knew almost as well as that other I

had heard--and lost.

Prince Dalmar-Kalm had come out of a window onto a balcony next mine,

and leaning over the railing had snatched at a fold of my gown.

"Let me go, please," I said. "And that name is not for you."

"Don't say that," he whispered, holding me fast, so that I could not

move. "It must be for me. _You_ must be for me. You shall. I can't live

without you."

His words jarred so upon my mood that I could have struck him.

"If you don't let me go, I'll cry out," I said, in a tone as low as his,

but quivering with anger. "I would be nothing to you if you were the

last man in the world."

"Very well. I _will_ be the last man in your world. Then--we shall see,"

he answered; and dropped my dress.

In another instant, I was in my room and had fastened the shutters. But

the words rang in my ears, like a bell that has tolled too loud.

XXIII

A CHAPTER OF KIDNAPPING

Beechy was ill next morning; nothing serious; but the Prince, it seemed,

had brought her in the evening a box of some rich Turkish confection;

and though she doesn't care for the man, she couldn't resist the sweet

stuff. So she had eaten, only a little, she said; but the box

contradicted her, and the poor child kept her bed.

Aunt Kathryn and I were with her until eleven o'clock. Then she was

sleepy, and told us to go away. So we went, and took a drive to the

pretty harbour of Gravosa, with Mr. Barrymore and Sir Ralph in the

motor, unaccompanied by the Prince, whose car was said to be somehow

disabled.

We expected, if Beechy were well, to get on next day; but the

Chauffeulier was troubled about the road between Ragusa and Cattaro--and

no proper "route-book" existing for that part of the world, unexplored

by motors, he could find out surprisingly little from any one. Prince

Dalmar-Kalm was as ignorant as others, or appeared to be, although this

was his own land; and so it seemed doubtful what would be our next

adventure.

The spin was a very short one, for the day was hot, and we didn't care

to leave Beechy long alone. But when we came back she was asleep still;

and I was getting rid of my holland motor-coat in my own room when Aunt

Kathryn tapped at the door. "Don't take off your things," she said, "but

come out again--that's a dear--for a drive to Gravosa."

"We've just come back from Gravosa," I answered, surprised.

"Yes, but we didn't see the most interesting thing there. You know the

yacht standing out at a little distance in the harbour, that I said

looked like the Corraminis'? Well, it _is_ the Corraminis'. The Prince

wants us to drive with him--not on the automobile, for it isn't mended

yet, but in a cab, and go on board the yacht for lunch with the County

and Contessa."

"Oh, you'd better go without me," I said.

Aunt Kathryn pouted like a child. "I can't," she objected. "The Prince

_says_ I can't, for it would be misunderstood here if a lady drove out

alone with a gentleman. Do come."

"I suppose I shall have to, then," I answered ungraciously, for I hated

going. At the last minute little Airole darted after me, and to save the

trouble of going back I caught him up in my arms. I was rewarded for the

sacrifice I had made by being let alone during the drive. The Prince was

all devotion to Aunt Kathryn, and scarcely spoke a word to me.

At the harbour there was a little boat sent out from the Corraminis'

"Arethusa" to fetch us, so it was evident that we had been expected and

this was not an impromptu idea of the Prince's.

On board the yacht, which we had visited once or twice in Venice, Count

Corramini met us, his scarred face smiling a welcome.

"I am more than sorry that my wife is suddenly indisposed," he said, in

his careful English. "She is subject to terrible headaches, but she

sends messages and begs that Countess Dalmar will take the head of the

table in her absence."

We lunched almost at once, and as it was a simple meal, finished soon.

Coffee was served on deck under the awning, and its shadow was so cool,

the air so fresh on the water, and the harbour so lovely that I was

growing contented, when suddenly I grew conscious of a throb, throb of

the "Arethusa's" heart.

"Why, we're moving!" I exclaimed.

"A short excursion the Prince and I have arranged for a little

surprise," explained Count Corramini. "We hoped it might amuse you. You

do not object, Countess?"

"I think it will be lovely, this hot afternoon," said Aunt Kathryn, who

was radiant with childish pleasure in the exclusive attentions of the

two men.

"But poor little Beechy!" I protested.

"Probably she will sleep till late, as she couldn't lunch," said Aunt

Kathryn comfortably. "And if she wakes, the 'other Beatrice' as she

calls Signorina Bari, will sit with her. She offered to, you know."

I raised no further objection to the plan, as evidently Aunt Kathryn was

enjoying herself. But when we had steamed out of the Bay of Ombla, far

away from Ragusa's towering fortifications, and on for more than an

hour, I ventured to suggest to Count Corramini that it was time to turn

back. "We shan't get to the hotel till after three, as it is," I said,

glancing at my watch.

"Let us consult the Countess," he replied. "Here she comes now."

Aunt Kathryn and the Prince had left us twenty minutes before, to stroll

up and down the deck, and had been leaning over the rail for some time,

talking in low voices, but with great earnestness. As the Count answered

me, they had moved and were coming slowly in our direction, Aunt Kathryn

looking excited, as if the Prince had been saying something strange.

"Don't you think we ought to go back to Beechy?" I asked, as she came

nearer.

She sat down in the deck chair without replying for a moment, and then

she said, in an odd, quavering tone, "Maida, I've just heard a thing

from the Prince, that I'll have to talk to you about. County, can I take

her into the sallong?"

The Count jumped up. "It is for Dalmar-Kalm and me to go, if you wish to

speak with Mees Destrey alone," he exclaimed. And laying his hand on the

Prince's shoulder, the two men walked away together.

My only thought was that Prince Dalmar-Kalm must have told Aunt Kathryn

of my refusal and asked her to "use her influence." But her first words

showed me that I was mistaken.

"I'm very angry with the Prince, but I can't help thinking what he's

done is romantic. He and the County have _kidnapped_ us."

"What do you mean?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, you needn't look so horrified. They're only taking us to Cattaro by

yacht instead of our going by automobile, that's all."

"All?" I echoed. "It's the most impudent thing I ever heard of. Didn't

you tell him that you wouldn't go, that you--"

"Well, I'd like to know what good my saying _'Wouldn't'_ could do? I

can't stop the yacht."

"It's Count Corramini's yacht, not the Prince's," I said, "and whatever

else they may be, they're gentlemen, at least by birth. They can't run

off with us like this against our wills."

Aunt Kathryn actually chuckled. "Well, they _have_, anyhow," she

retorted. "And the Prince says, if only we knew what the road to Cattaro

was like, I'd thank instead of scolding him."

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "We must go back. What's to become of Beechy

left alone in Ragusa ill, with nobody but Mr. Barrymore and Sir Ralph to

look after her? It's monstrous!"

"Yes, of course," said Aunt Kathryn, more meekly. "But Signorina Bari's

there. It isn't so dreadful, Maida. Beechy isn't _very_ sick. She'll be

well to-morrow, and when they find we're gone, which they can't till

late this afternoon, they won't waste time motoring down; they'll take a

ship which leaves Ragusa in the morning for Cattaro. The Prince says

they're sure to. We'll all meet by to-morrow noon, and meanwhile I guess

there's nothing for us to do but make the best of the joke they've

played on us. Anyway, it's an exciting adventure, and you like ad--"

"You call it a joke!" I cried. "I call it something very different. Let

me speak to the Prince."

I sprang up, forgetting poor Airole asleep on my lap, but Aunt Kathryn

scrambled out of her low chair also, and snatched my dress. "No, I'm not

going to have you insult him," she exclaimed. "You shan't talk to him

without me. He's _my_ friend, not yours, and if I choose to consider

this wild trick he's playing more a--a compliment than anything else,

why, it won't hurt you. As for Beechy, she's _my_ child, not yours."

This silenced me for the moment, but only until the men appeared. "Are

we forgiven?" asked the Prince.

"Maida's very angry, and so am I, of course," replied Aunt Kathryn,

bridling, and showing both dimples.

"Dear ladies," pleaded the Count, "I wouldn't have consented to help

this mad friend of mine, if he hadn't assured me that you were too much

under the influence of your rather reckless chauffeur, who would

probably break your bones and his companion's car, in his obstinate

determination to go down to Cattaro by motor."

"Why, lately the Prince has been encouraging it!" I interrupted.

"Ah, you have misunderstood him. A wilful fool must have his way; that

was what he thought of your gentleman chauffeur, no doubt. This will

give the self-willed young man an excuse to take the boat to Cattaro

to-morrow. You will have a run on Dalmar-Kalm's motor (which he has put

on board on purpose) this afternoon from Cattaro to Schloss Hrvoya. It

will not be serious for Miss Beechy. You can wire, and get her answer

that Signorina Bari is playing nurse and chaperon very nicely."

"You must understand, Miss Destrey, as I have made the Countess

understand already," put in Prince Dalmar-Kalm, "that I only chose this

course because I knew it would be useless trying to dissuade Mr.

Chauffeur Barrymore from attempting the trip by road; but this will

effectually stop him."

"You are very, very naughty, Prince," chattered Aunt Kathryn; and I was

so angry with her for her frivolity and vanity that I should hardly have

dared to speak, even if words hadn't failed me.

"At least, we have thought of your comfort," said Count Corramini.

"There are two cabins ready for your occupation, with everything you

will need for the toilet, so that you can sleep in peace after your trip

to Hrvoya."

"I must protest," I said, just able to control my voice. "I think this

an abominable act, not worthy of gentlemen. Knowing that one of us feels

so strongly, Count, won't you order your yacht to turn back to Ragusa?"

He bowed his head, and shrugged his eyebrows. "If I had not given my

word to my friend," he murmured. "For to-day "Arethusa" is his."

"I believe he's bribed you!" the words sprang from my lips, without my

meaning to speak them; but they hit their mark as if I had taken close

aim. The scarred features flushed so painfully that they seemed to

swell; and with the lightning that darted from under the black

thundercloud of his brows, the man was hideous. He bit his lip to keep

back an angry answer, and Aunt Kathryn screamed at me, "Maida! I'm

_ashamed_ of you. You'd better go to your cabin and not come out till

you're in a--a more _ladylike_ frame of mind."

I took her at her word and walked sharply away with Airole trotting at

my heels.

There were six cabins on "Arethusa", as I knew, because I had been shown

them all. I knew also which was Count Corramini's, which his wife's,

which her maid's, and which were reserved for guests. Now I walked into

one of the spare cabins, of which the door stood open, and whether it

was meant for me or for Aunt Kathryn I wasn't in a mood to care.

Various toilet things had been ostentatiously laid out, and there was a

bunch of roses in a glass, which in my anger I could have tossed out of

the window; but I hate people who are cruel to flowers almost as much as

those who are cruel to animals, and the poor roses were the only

inoffensive things on board.

"Oh, Airole," I said, "she takes it as a _compliment_!

Well--well--_well_!"

My own reflections and the emphasis of Airole's tiny tail suddenly

brought my anger down from boiling point to a bubbly simmer; and I went

on, thrashing the matter out in a conversation with the dog until the

funny side of the thing came uppermost. There was a _distinctly_ funny

side, seen from several points of view, but I didn't intend to let

anybody know that I saw it. I made up my mind to stay in the cabin

indefinitely; but it was not necessary to the maintenance of dignity

that I should refrain from enjoying as much of the scenery as the

porthole framed in a picture. Accordingly I knelt on the bed, looking

out, too excited to tire of the strained position.

We had passed a long tongue of land, beaten upon by white rollers of

surf, that seemed as if they strove to overwhelm the old forts set far

above their reach. A rocky island too, rising darkly out of a golden

sea; and then we entered the mouth of a wonderful bay, like the pictures

of Norwegian fords. As we steamed on, past a little town protected by a

great square-towered, fortified castle, high on a precipitous rock, I

guessed by the formation of the bay, which Mr. Barrymore had shown me on

a map, that we were in the famous Bocche di Cattaro.

"Yes," I told myself, "that must be Castelnuovo. Mr. Barrymore said the

bay was like the Lake of Lucerne, with its starfish arms. This can't be

anything else."

The yacht glided under the bows of two huge warships, with officers in

white, on awninged decks, and steamed into a long canal-like stretch of

water, only to wind out again presently into a second mountain-ringed

bay. So we went from one to another, passing several pretty towns, one

beautiful one which I took to be Perasto, if I remembered the name

aright, and two exquisite islands floating like swans on the shining

water, illuminated by the afternoon sun. Then, at last we were slowing

down within close touch of as strange a seaside place as could be in the

world. Close to the water's edge it crept, but climbed high on the rocks

behind the houses of the foreground, with a dark belt of ancient wall

circling the lower town and upper town, and finishing at the top with

fortifications marvellous enough for a dream. In the near background

were green hills; but beyond, towered desolate grey mountains crowned

with dazzling snow, and on their rugged faces was scored a tracery of

white lines seemingly scratched in the rock. I knew that they must mean

the twistings of a road, up and up to the junction of mountain and sky,

but the wall of grey rock looked so sheer, so nearly perpendicular, that

it was impossible to imagine horses, or even automobiles mounting there.

In my interest and wonder as to whether we had arrived at Cattaro

already I had forgotten my injuries for the moment, until I was reminded

of them by Aunt Kathryn's voice.

"It's Cattaro," she called through the door. "Let me in, please. I've

something to say."

I slipped back the bolt and she came in hurriedly, as if she were afraid

of being kept out after all.

"See here, Maida," she said, "to save time the Prince is having his

motor put on shore the minute we get in to the quay, and he'll drive us

up to Schloss Hrvoya this afternoon. It's only four o'clock, and he

says, though it's away up in the mountains and we'll be two hours

getting there, we shall run down in half the time, so we shall be back

soon after seven and can dine on board. It's quite appropriate that I

should be with the Prince, whose ancestral home it was, when I look on

Hrvoya first. He's fully persuaded me of that. I think the whole thing's

most dramatic, and I do hope you won't spoil it by being disagreeable

any longer."

"I think you're the--the _unwisest_ woman I ever saw!" I couldn't help

exclaiming.

"Well, I think _you're_ very rude. I do believe you're jealous of me

with the Prince. That's _his_ idea, anyway, though he'd be vexed if he

thought I'd told you, and I wouldn't if you hadn't aggravated me. Oh

dear, you do make me so nervous and miserable! _Will_ you come to

Schloss Hrvoya or will you not?"

I thought very quickly for a few seconds before answering. Perhaps it

would be better to go than to stay on "Arethusa" without Aunt Kathryn,

especially as I had now made Count Corramini my enemy. Mr. Barrymore and

Sir Ralph and Beechy couldn't arrive at Cattaro by ship till to-morrow,

even if they found out what had become of us, and followed at the

earliest opportunity without waiting to hear. No, there was nothing to

keep me on the yacht, or in the town of Cattaro, and hateful as the

whole expedition was, it would be better to cling to Aunt Kathryn than

be anywhere else alone in a strange place, among people whose language I

neither spoke nor understood.

"Yes, I will come," I said.

"Arethusa" touched the quay as I spoke, and there was a great bustle on

deck, no doubt landing the Prince's motor, which had stood concealed on

the forward deck under an enormous tarpaulin.

Aunt Kathryn, triumphant, hurried off to get ready, and I began slowly

to follow her example.

XXIV

A CHAPTER ON PUTTING TRUST IN PRINCES

When I had put on my hat and coat, which I'd taken off in the cabin, I

went on deck with Airole tucked under my arm, expecting to find Aunt

Kathryn, as I had not made haste. She was not there, but on shore close

to the quay stood the automobile, which had been put off in a kind of

sling; and on the front seat was the familiar, plump figure in its long,

light brown coat, and the mushroom-like mask with the talc window.

I had not brought my mask, but evidently Aunt Kathryn must have had hers

stuffed into one of the big pockets of her coat, as she often did. The

Prince stood talking to her, and seeing that all was ready I crossed the

gang-plank and walked quickly to the car.

Aunt Kathryn neither spoke to me nor turned her head, which scarcely

surprised me, considering the bad terms we were upon, for the first time

in all the months of our acquaintance.

The Prince "hoped that I wouldn't mind sitting in the tonneau," and

explained a pile of rugs on the seat opposite mine by saying that it

would grow chilly as we ascended into the mountains, and he did not wish

his passengers to suffer.

"Where's Joseph?" I asked, addressing him for the first time since

taking him to task on deck.

"I left him in Ragusa," replied the Prince. "He will not be needed."

With this, the tonneau door was shut, the car started, and we bounded

away. A few men and women, in very interesting, Eastern costumes, quite

different from anything we had seen yet, watched our progress in

silence and with imperturbable faces, dark and proud.

Angry as I still was with Prince Dalmar-Kalm for the trick he had so

impudently played upon us, and the part forced upon me for Aunt

Kathryn's sake, I could not be blind to the beauty of this strange

world, or suppress all joy in it.

Cattaro seemed to lie plastered against a tremendous wall of sheer rock

rising behind the ringed town and its fortress; and I saw, soon after

starting, that we must be bound for the mountain with the silken skein

of road, which I had gazed at in wonder from my porthole. We had not

long left Cattaro, when our way began to mount in long zigzags, doubling

back again and again upon itself. Presently we could look down upon the

town, prone at the foot of its fortified hill on the very edge of the

sea, which as we climbed, assumed the shape and colour of a great

shimmering blue silk sleeve.

Mountains towered all around us, mountains in every direction as far as

the eye could reach, many crowned by low, green forts, connected with

the lower world by the lacings of thread-like roads.

Still we mounted, the car going well and the Prince driving in silence.

Though the gradient was steep--sometimes so steep as to be terrible for

horses--we seemed to travel so fast that it was surprising to find

ourselves apparently no nearer the mountain-tops than when we started.

Though we gazed down so far that all things on the sea level had shrunk

into nothingness, and the big warship we had seen in coming was no

larger than a beetle, we gazed still farther up to the line where sky

and mountain met. And always, there were the grey-white, zigzag lines

scored on the face of the sheer rock.

I longed for some one to talk with, some one sympathetic to exclaim to;

in fact, I wished I were driving up this magnificent, this appalling

road, beside the Chauffeulier instead of in Prince Dalmar-Kalm's

tonneau. I wondered that Aunt Kathryn--usually so impulsive--could

restrain herself here, and expected at any moment to have her turn to

me, our differences forgotten. But no, she neither moved nor spoke, and

I realized how angry she must be with me, to visit her vexation upon

herself, and the Prince also.

I had thought the Col di Tenda wonderful, and the way down to Bellagio

over the mountains still more thrilling; but here, they were dwarfed

into utter insignificance. I could have imagined nothing like this feat

of engineering, nothing so wild, so majestic as the ever-changing views

from these incredible heights.

My respect for Schloss Hrvoya and its environment increased with every

ascending mile; but the distance was proving itself so great that I did

not see how it would be possible for the Prince to keep his promise, and

get us back to Cattaro before eight. And we had left summer warmth as

far behind as the level which it enriched with tropical flowers. The

Prince suggested to Aunt Kathryn that she should wrap round her a

shawl-like rug, and though I hated to follow his advice or take any

favours from him, I decided that it would be foolish to make myself a

martyr. So I, too, swaddled myself in woolly folds, and was thankful.

Now the windings of the Bocche di Cattaro revealed themselves

completely. The bay was no longer a silk sleeve; but a vast star,

seemingly cut out of a _lapis lazuli_, was set mosaic-like in the midst

of green and blue-grey mountains that soared up from it--up, up, in

shapes strange as a goblin's dream. Then, the azure star vanished, and

rocky heights shut away the view of the distant sea. Vegetation grew

sparse. At last we had reached the desolate and stony top of the

mountain-range which a little while ago had touched the sky. Clouds like

huge white swans swam in the blue air below us, where we could look down

from some sheer precipice. But where was Schloss Hrvoya? And would Aunt

Kathryn never speak to me?

Almost as if he read my thoughts, Prince Dalmar-Kalm turned his head,

checking the speed of the motor. "Don't be discouraged," he said,

cheerfully. "We shall be going down now, for a time, instead of up; and

shortly we shall be at our journey's end."

"But soon it will be twilight," I answered. "Do you know, it is after

six, and you said we would be back in Cattaro before eight. That's

impossible now; and I'm afraid that there won't be much daylight for

Aunt Kathryn to have a first look at her castle."

"It will be more imposing by twilight," replied the Prince; and though

my words had been a bid for notice from Aunt Kathryn, she made no sign

of having heard.

Once more Prince Dalmar-Kalm turned his attention to driving, and, as he

had prophesied, we began to plunge down heights almost as tremendous as

those we had climbed. The road, though splendidly engineered, was

covered with loose, sharp stones; and the surging mountain-tops on every

side were like the tossing waves of a desolate sea, turned to stone in

some fierce spasm of nature. Then, in the midst of this petrified ocean,

we flashed through a tiny village, and my hopes of reaching Schloss

Hrvoya before nightfall brightened.

From the little group of low, stone buildings, men who must have sprung

from a race of giants, rushed out in answer to the voice of our motor. I

had never seen such wonderful men, unless, perhaps, Mr. Barrymore might

be like them, if dressed as they were. Not one of the splendid band was

under six feet in height, and many were much taller. On their handsome,

close-cropped heads they wore gold-braided turbans over one ear. Their

long coats, falling to the knee, were of green, or red, or white, open

to show waistcoats crusted with gold embroidery. Round their slim waists

were wound voluminous sashes stuck full of sheathed knives and huge

pistols. Some had richly ornamented leather boots reaching half way up

their long, straight legs, while others wore white leggings, with

knitted stockings pulled up over them.

In a moment these gorgeous giants and their mean village were gone for

us; but our road took us past persons walking towards the town; men,

young and old, tall, beautiful boys, and white-clad women driving sheep,

who knitted their husbands' stockings as they walked.

Here and there in a deep pit among the tumbled grey rocks would be a

little vivid green dell, with a fairy ring of cultivated vegetation.

This would be guarded, perhaps, by a hut of stone, almost savage in the

crudeness of its construction. It was as if the proud people of this

remote, mountain world, wishing to owe their all to their own country,

nothing to outsiders, had preferred to make their houses with their own

hands out of their own rocks, hewing the walls and roofing them with

thatch from grass grown in their own pastures.

Impressed, almost terrified by the loneliness of this desolate land of

giants, lit fiercely now by the lurid glow of sunset, I searched the

distance for some towering hill crowned by a castle which might be

Hrvoya. But there were no castles, even ruined castles, in this region

of high rocks and lonely huts, and the red horizon was hemmed coldly in

by a range of ghostly, snow-clad mountains.

"What mountains are those, far away?" I could not resist asking.

"They are the mountains of Albania," the Prince answered.

"Why, but that sounds as if we were at the end of the world!" I cried,

startled.

He laughed over his shoulder. "And I am the last man in it! What did I

say to you yesterday?"

This reminder brought back the anger I was forgetting in my need of

human fellowship, and I did not speak again, but hugged little Airole

the closer, nestled under the warm rug.

At the end of a long, straight road that stretched before us I could see

a single, pale yellow light suddenly flash up in the twilight like a

lonely primrose, and farther on a little knot of other lights blossomed

in the dusk.

"We shall be there now in a few minutes," I was saying to myself, when

suddenly I was startled by a loud report like a pistol-shot. Aunt

Kathryn gave a shriek which was quite hoarse and unlike her natural

voice, but I was silent, holding Airole trembling and barking under my

arm.

The car swerved sharply, and my side of the tonneau seemed to settle

down. I was sure that an invisible person must have shot at us, and

wished sincerely that the Prince would drive on instead of slacking

pace. But he stopped the engine, exclaiming in an angry voice, "A tyre

burst! Thousand furies, why couldn't it have waited twenty minutes

more?"

"Is it serious?" I asked; for we had never had this experience before,

on any of the rough roads we had travelled.

"No," he answered shortly, "not serious, but annoying. We can crawl on

for a little way. I was a fool to stop the motor; did it without

thinking. Now I shall have the trouble of starting again."

Grumbling thus, he got out; but the motor wouldn't start. The engine was

as sullenly silent as Aunt Kathryn. For ten minutes, perhaps, the Prince

tried this device and that--no doubt missing Joseph; but at last he gave

up in despair. "It is no use," he groaned. "I am spending myself for

nothing. If you will sit quietly here for a few moments, I will go ahead

to that house where the light is, to see if I can get you ladies taken

in, and the car hauled into a place where I can work at it."

"What language do they speak here?" I asked, a chill of desolation upon

me.

"Slavic," he answered. "But I can talk it a little. I shall get on, and

you will see me again almost at once."

So saying, he was off, and I was alone with the statue of Aunt Kathryn.

At first I thought that, whatever happened, I wouldn't be the one to

begin a conversation, but the silence and deepening darkness were too

much for my nerves. "Oh, Aunt Kathryn, don't let's be cross to each

other any longer," I pleaded. "I'm tired of it, aren't you? And oh, what

wouldn't I give to be back in sweet Ragusa with Beechy and--and the

others!"

Still not a word. It seemed incredible that she could bear malice so;

but there was no cure for it. If she would not be softened by that plea

of mine, nothing I could say would melt her. I should have liked to cry,

for it was so lonely here, and so dreadful to be estranged from one's

only friend. But that would have been too childish, and I took what

comfort I could from Airole's tiny presence.

A quarter of an hour passed, perhaps, and then the Prince came back

accompanied by a man so huge that the tall Austrian seemed a boy beside

him. They looked at the car, communicating by gestures, and then the

Prince said, if we would walk to the house the woman there would receive

us, while he and his companion pushed the automobile into a shed which

the man had.

I made no further attempt to extract a relenting word from Aunt Kathryn,

as we tramped side by side along the road. Reaching a two-storied stone

box of a house, she dropped behind at the doorway, leaving me to

confront a hard-faced woman in a white jacket, with a graceful

head-dress half-hiding her black hair. In one hand she had a partly

finished stocking with knitting-needles in it; in the other she held a

candle in a quaintly made iron candlestick. Something she said to us in

a strange, but rather soft-sounding language, of which I couldn't

understand one syllable; but seeing my hopelessly blank expression she

smiled, nodded, and motioned us to cross the threshold.

The room was bare, with a floor of pounded earth. There was a wooden

table in it, a few shelves, and a long bench; but beyond was a more

attractive interior, for in an inner apartment she had lighted a fire of

sticks on a rude hearth.

I stood aside to let Aunt Kathryn pass in before me, which she did

without a word. We both stood before the fire, holding out gloved hands

to the meagre blaze, while little Airole ran about, whimpering and

examining everything with unconcealed disapproval.

I had just time to notice how oddly shabby Aunt Kathryn's gloves were,

and to wonder if she didn't intend to take off the "mushroom" (the talc

window of which the firelight transformed into a pane of red glass),

when Prince Dalmar-Kalm appeared. Without asking permission he walked

in, and looking at Aunt Kathryn, said in French, "You may go,

Victorine."

I stared, as bewildered as if the unfamiliar scene were turning to a

dream; but as the cloaked and mushroomed figure reached the door, the

spell broke.

I took a step after it, exclaiming, "Aunt Kathryn--Kittie!"

The door shut almost in my face. "That is not your Aunt Kathryn," said

the Prince, in a voice which, though low, vibrated with excitement. "It

is one of the Contessa Corramini's servants, chosen to play this part

because her figure is enough like your aunt's to resemble it closely in

a motor-coat. All that is of your aunt is that coat, the hat, the mask

of silk. You must hear the truth now, for it is time, and know what you

have to face."

"I don't understand you," I stammered weakly. It was more than ever as

if I were in a dream. I actually told myself that I would wake up in bed

at the Hotel Imperial in Ragusa. And oh, how I wished that I would wake

soon!

"I will _make_ you understand," went on the Prince. "You know--you've

known for many days--how I love you. You have forced me to do this

thing, because you were obstinate, and would not give me yourself,

though I could not live without you. Because I could not, I have done

this. It was planned as long ago as Venice. I confided all to Corramini,

though not to his wife, and he promised to help me because he is in

money difficulties, and I agreed to do something for him. But if you had

been kind last night in Ragusa, when I gave you one more chance to

repent, you might have been spared this. It was only to happen if all

else failed."

"Still I don't understand," I said slowly.

"Then your brain is not as quick as usual, my dear one. I hoped Miss

Beechy would be ill to-day, for she was the one I feared. There was a

little medicine in that pink, Turkish stuff--not to hurt her much, but

enough for my purpose. If I could, I would have got rid of the aunt,

too; only she was needed as the cat's-paw. You would never have come

without her. Contessa Corramini knows nothing of this, though she has a

suspicion that something mysterious goes on. She was not on the

'Arethusa.' At this moment she is in Venice. Victorine was the one

woman beside yourself and the aunt on the yacht, and Victorine has been

well paid for the part she plays. She took the aunt's coat and hat and

mask out of the cabin, when the lady was on deck with Corramini and me,

wrapped in a becoming blue cloak with a hood, left on board by Contessa

Corramini. While the aunt was looking everywhere for her missing things,

you joined the masked lady in the car. Now, we are farther from Schloss

Hrvoya than from Cattaro. You are in Montenegro, where I have brought

you because the Austrian Consul is my friend, and he will marry us."

"He will not!" I cried, choking and breathless.

"He must. It is the only thing for you, now. Let me show you the

situation, in case you do not yet understand all. Your aunt is far away.

She will be enraged with you, and believe you to blame for the

humiliating trick played on her. Never will she forgive you. If there is

a scandal, she will do her best to spread it. I know women well. Don't

you remember, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?' There will be

others, too. Victorine will tell a dramatic tale to the Contessa

Corramini, and Corramini will gossip at his clubs in Venice, Rome,

Florence, Paris, where many of your rich compatriots are members. The

rights of the story will never quite be known, but it will leak out that

you came to Montenegro with me alone, and spent many hours. The only

safeguard is to make it an elopement, and that safeguard I offer you,

with my heart and all that is mine. You must leave this place as the

Princess Dalmar-Kalm, or it would be better for your future that you

should never leave it. See, I am the last man in your world now, and it

is necessary that you take me."

"I didn't know," I answered in the dream, "that men like you existed out

of novels or stage plays. That is why I failed to understand at first. I

was giving you the benefit of the doubt. But I understand now. Let me

go--"

He laughed. "No! And if I did, what good would it do you? It is night;

you are many miles from anywhere, in the wildest mountains of Europe.

You do not speak one word of the language, or any one in this land a

word of yours. Practically, you are alone in the world with me. Even

your wretched little dog is not here to snarl. His curiosity took him

outside, and he cannot get back through the keyhole of the door, small

as he is. Presently the Consul will be at this house. I had meant to go

to his had it not been for the accident, but I will send for him. He is

my very good friend. He will do what I ask."

"But if I do not consent?" I flung at him.

"You will have to consent," he said; "and soon you will see that for

yourself."