Helène awoke the next morning wild-eyed and distraught. She had had
a most frightening dream. She had dreamed that she was bound and
enveloped in a coarse rug, carried like the captive of some barbarian
soldiery. Two terrible looking men in shaggy furs and great turbans
were taking her down a narrow winding step-way hewn in a steep rock.
She saw the slimy walls dripping with water and felt the heavy, damp
air weighing on her chest so that she could scarcely breathe. She tried
to scream in her terror. She heard the roaring of the surf beating
against a door into which she realized she would soon be carried a
prisoner. She must act at once--cry aloud for help. Straining at the
thongs that bound her cruelly she gave a groan. It was then she awoke.
Her throat felt dry and almost parched. Trembling in every limb, she
passed her hands over her face and took courage to look about her. Her
eyes caught a purplish color against yellow boards; irregular cracks
and knot holes let in faint streaks of light. Where was she? She pushed
aside a heavy braid of hair that had fallen across her face and tried
to collect herself. A grating noise from without drew her attention
to the wall, where she saw a partly opened broad low window across
which floated a purple scarf. Gradually she remembered. One by one the
events of the past hours came back to her. She recalled the last words
the young American had addressed to her. He had asked her to leave the
window open, and she remembered carrying out his suggestion to put
something over the opening so as to keep out the morning’s light. He
had left her a lamp and a clock. Yes, the lamp was still there, its
pale yellow flame flickering feebly now. The clock also was by the
bedside ticking quickly. Its “tick-tock, tick-tock,” somehow comforted
her; there was a human quality in the almost impudent carelessness with
which it was doing its business--so regardless of her own feelings. How
silly of her to be frightened by a dream!
By her side lay the Princess, her face and hair almost pansy-tinted
in the light that filtered through the improvised purple-colored
scarf-curtain. She was breathing regularly in a sleep that would be
strengthening in its refreshing rest. And then came thoughts of the
dangers yet to be endured and overcome. Would they once again be free
and happy? Would it be granted to them to see their loved ones again?
The questions brought a longing hope shot through with pain. But come
what may she would play her part as her father would have wished her to
play it.
Stepping out of bed so as not to arouse her companion, she dressed
herself in the rough peasant’s costume she had worn the day before, and
crept on tip-toe to the window.
Pushing aside the scarf, she leaned out to inhale the cool, balmy air.
But the sight that met her eyes made her start back. Surely this was
fairyland! Through majestic tree trunks and spreading boughs of noble
firs, shafts of sunlight shot down on an earth white with snow. In
the golden light the crystals shone and glittered again. The light
wind blew the flakes and showered them abroad so that they seemed like
floating diamonds as they dropped noiselessly to the ground. High up
through the branches she caught a vista of a deep-blue sky, crossed and
recrossed by the gleaming white bars of branches and making a pattern
of lace work as intricate as it was wonderful. She felt as if she had
been transported by some genii into a palace of snow and stalactites.
And through it all--through this indescribable maze of virgin
whiteness--floated and vibrated a bluish haze, an azure atmosphere
that seemed as if it could be felt--pulsating light and living
shadows playing a bewildering dance. Helène could scarcely breathe,
so entranced was she. She leaned over the window-sill and watched the
downy snow as it fell, released from its hold on the branches under the
redeeming influence of sunlight. The blood coursed rapidly through her
veins; her heart quickened and a new courage and hope came to her. She
forgot her anxiety, she forgot the dangers, she thought of nothing but
fairies and flowers and the sweet visions of her childhood. She was all
compounded of wonder and worship, and happy, happy, happy!
A clear shrill whistle, the intimate call of a bird, drew her attention
to the mysterious depths of the lower foliage. A little crossbill was
hopping and flitting back and forth; and then she remembered that
it was still autumn in the valleys below. And with this remembrance
she was brought back to the reality of her present situation--of her
escape from the palace with the Princess; of Mr. Morton--how brave and
gentle he was! Of the terrible journey through the storm--how kind
and considerate he had been!--of their arrival at this place--how
encouraging and courteous he had proved himself! Who and what was this
man? The little bird flew off with a whirr, and a knock sounded on the
door. Helène jumped back quickly.
“Good morning, ladies!” came Morton’s voice through the closed door,
“it is a lovely morning and breakfast will be ready as soon as you are.”
Ah, what a friendly sound his words carried with them! She stepped
quickly to the door and called out heartily:
“Good morning, Mr. Morton. I am already dressed, and the Princess soon
will be. Isn’t it glorious outside?”
“Glorious, indeed. Don’t hurry. Call out the moment you are ready. We
are just in the next room.”
“Thank you; we shall be with you in ten minutes.”
She listened to his firm steps and heard the outer door being closed.
For a moment she stood smiling at the wooden partition.
“Helène, Helène, where are we?”
She turned quickly and found the Princess sitting up in bed, her hair
in disorder and her great dark eyes staring frightened at her.
“Oh, my darling,” she cried, running up to her, “get up and dress at
once. It’s so lovely and beautiful outside. I have just been speaking
with Mr. Morton, who came to tell us that breakfast would soon be
ready. I am so hungry that I could eat all Roumelia.”
“I didn’t know where I was when I woke up,” sighed the Princess, “and
when I found you were not by my side I got frightened.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of now. Mr. Morton says we are quite
safe. Come, let me be your maid this morning,--we must put on pleasant
faces if only to show Mr. Morton that we have confidence in him.”
“You are right, dear Helène. I am afraid I’ve been a bit of a kill-joy.
But, oh, you don’t know what I’ve suffered.”
“I do know, dear Princess, and I feel for you in all my soul. But the
danger is passed now, and you will soon be with your friends.”
Thus comforting and cheering her companion Helène helped her to dress.
In a little more than the ten minutes they were both ready, and with
fresh, smiling faces walked timidly into the adjoining apartment.
They found no one there; but a table all laid out with tablecloth,
plates and eating utensils was in the center of the room, giving it a
homelike and inviting air. Helène walked to the door, and in her clear,
ringing voice called out:
“We are ready, Mr. Morton!”
Instantly, almost, it seemed to her, John appeared, and greeting both
girls, he led them to their places at the table. Papiu entered with
a bountifully loaded tray, and the meal was begun under his grinning
waiting. He beamed on them all as if there were no higher duty than
service. John took the occasion to tell the girls of their present
situation.
“We are quite safe here,” he assured them. “The men and I were out at
daybreak exploring the country, and I was glad to find that the tracks
of the wheels have been quite covered up. We took the precaution,
however, to cut the telegraph wires on the other side of the valley, so
that no communication can be sent to the border on the northwest, for
which we are bound. I am sure we have nothing further to fear. All that
it needs now is to be patient. There may be a few difficulties; but
these can easily be overcome.”
The Princess smiled at Morton graciously. “You have placed us, Mr.
Morton,” she said, “under a debt of gratitude which we can never repay.
I must ask you to forgive me for my seeming lack of faith in you; but
you will, I am sure, appreciate the circumstances of my position.”
“Please, Your Highness, say no more. I quite understand. In my
eagerness to help you, I forgot that I was a total stranger to you.
Count Rondell made it so imperative--I was not to leave you to the
mercy of the new government, at any cost. That was why I begged your
friend, the Comtesse Helène, to see you again and do her utmost to
persuade you and to inform you of the political conditions about which
you might, perhaps, be in ignorance.”
“You were very kind and thoughtful, Mr. Morton. I assure you I can
never forget what you have done.”
Helène looked delighted at the happy outcome of this the first real
meeting between her beloved Princess and Mr. Morton. Her face was all
roses and her eyes beamed the emotions she was feeling.
“And now everything will be all right, won’t it?” she asked jocularly.
They all laughed, as they rose from the table.
John explained that it was necessary for him to leave them now for an
investigation as to the next stage of their journey, but he would see
that Donald and Papiu remained behind to keep guard. He would go with
Mihai. If they liked they could sit on the porch running along the
south side of the cabin, but in that case they must be careful to wear
their fur coats. He then shouldered his rifle and was soon seen to
disappear in the close timber.
Helène and the Princess, only too eager to enjoy the freedom of the
open air, put on their coats and sat sunning themselves under the
sheltering wing of the house, drinking in the pine-laden air and
filling their souls with the silent, imposing beauty of the forest-clad
mountains. What a change from the rooms in the castle! Surely nature
was kinder than man! She gave so freely of her bounteous treasures
and asked nothing in return--nothing but the heart to feel and the
spirit to enjoy her gifts. Helène looked at her companion and saw that
her face had become clouded again. With a quick movement she drew
close to her and put her arms about her, and thus they sat for many
minutes in silent sympathy with each other. Nature is kind, but she is
sadness-breeding even in her most generous moods, and it is then that
the heart sends out its tendrils feeling for another heart. Perhaps
that is why people are happier and simpler in the country than they are
in the city.
Their meditations were disturbed by the sound of footfalls on the mushy
snow. It was Donald emerging from the wood, rifle under his arm.
The girls greeted him smilingly.
“Fine morning, ladies, but kind o’ mean under-foot,” and he smiled a
little sheepishly as he stood before them. They relieved him of his
shyness by encouraging nods.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Mr. Morton told me to look after
you.”
“Nothing, thank you,” replied Helène; “we are quite comfortable and
enjoying the splendid air.”
Both, however, were hoping he would not go away. They longed for
some companionship rather than their own--some other human being who
would speak to them and tell them things--anything. Helène caught the
Princess’s eyes and saw the same desire in them.
“Please, Mr. McCormick, won’t you sit down?” she asked in her soft,
seductive voice. “Sit down and talk to us.”
“Thank you, miss, I don’t mind if I do.”
Donald’s social instincts, like those of all true Americans, were
very strong in him. Moreover, he had not had many opportunities of
exercising his English-speaking tongue since he had left Brindisi.
His intercourse with Papiu and Mihai had been in the deaf and dumb
language, mostly. Laying aside his rifle, he brought out a roughly
made stool, and sitting down, cap in hand, faced the girls.
“Ah, it does a fellow like me good to see your sweet faces, ladies. And
how did you like my breakfast?”
Of course it was delicious. So was he, they thought.
“Well, now, miss, that’s awful kind of you. But I would have done
better if I’d had some time and things, and less strictness.”
“Strictness? What does that mean?”
“Why, miss, I wasn’t allowed to build a fire until the sun was way up.
Mr. Morton didn’t want no smoke about.”
“Your friend is a very cautious man.”
“My friend? Oh, I see, you mean Mr. Morton. Well, he’s a friend all
right, and a very good one; but he’s really my boss, you know--my
master, I guess you’d call it.”
“Oh! I thought you were comrades.”
“Well, bless your pretty eyes, miss, we’ve been pals and comrades many
a year and in many a land; but as I get paid for my part of it, I guess
it’s a job with me. With Mr. Morton, it’s sport and study. A mighty
good sport he is, and a fine student, too.”
Don was warming up.
“You interest us greatly--please go on.”
Donald’s leathery face creased itself into numerous wrinkles as he
smiled.
“There ain’t much to tell, I guess. I’ve known Mr. John ever since he
was a boy of ten or twelve, and a finer youngster never lived. His
father, old Dan Morton, used to come every summer to the Upper Lakes
for the fishin’, and when the boy got old enough to travel he took him
along. In those days, I used to work as a guide in summer and fall and
did loggin’ in winter and spring. After the great catch of 1874, the
old gentleman had me for guide regularly; and when young John started
to come up alone, I always rowed and cooked for him.”
Don paused for a moment; mechanically, his hand slipped into a side
pocket of his coat to reappear with a pipe in it. He glanced at it,
then recollecting himself, he quickly put it back. The Princess smiled:
“Please, Mr. McCormick, don’t deprive yourself. Light your pipe.”
Don looked queerly dubious and hesitated. “You are very kind, but I’m
afraid my tobacco ain’t a cigar.” The girls laughed and assured him
they would enjoy the aroma. Don nodded and lit up; but as he puffed
he was careful to blow the smoke so that the wind would carry it away
from where the girls were sitting. These girls were all right, he said
to himself--nice and pretty and considerate. He began to feel quite at
home with them. Puffing serenely he took up his narrative with added
zest.
“Mr. John wasn’t very strong as a youngster; he had some fever when a
baby that left him kind o’ delicate. But he was fearless, quick and
mighty steady. After a couple o’ years he started to pick up--and
now--there ain’t a logger in Minnesoty that can beat him in rowing or
wrestling or at huntin’. I took to him from the start, and I love him
as I would if he were my own son. The Lord don’t make ’em any better
than John Morton--let me tell ye!”
“It is fine of you to say so, Mr. McCormick,” said Helène; “and I’ve no
doubt Mr. Morton thinks very highly of you, too.”
“I guess he does. He took me to the city, gave me all kinds of chances;
but somehow or other I never could cotton to straight town life. Always
wanted to go back to the woods and the water--I am satisfied to end my
days there.”
A pause for a few more puffs.
“Well, about two years ago, Mr. Morton comes up to his camp pretty late
in the season and wants me to go huntin’ and fishin’ with him. It was
kind o’ late for fish, and Mr. John is a queer hunter, he is. He would
just watch the game, follow them up, maybe--but shoot? You can’t get
him to kill anything. He has all the trophies he wanted, he said--and
as long as we had grub there wasn’t no need of killing God’s creatures.
“He was quieter than usual, and he says to me that he wants me to go
with him to Africa--doing some exploration work, some observing--and
says he, ‘Don,’ he says, ‘you come with me and we’ll have a good time;
you’ll learn some new things, see new kinds o’ game, and get fine
experience; and I can do something I wanted to try for years.’ It was
kind o’ sudden like, but I agreed. And so, the week after Christmas we
went to London and Paris and from there to Egypt--and there we stuck
out for nigh on twenty months. I ain’t seen snow in two years--’most
forgot how real cold feels--and I’m mighty glad to get a taste of both
once more! And to think that some ten days or so ago I was in the
hottest part of the world--now, would you believe it?”
“Where was that, Mr. McCormick?”
“Why, bless your pretty face, Miss, in Egypt and the Red Sea. Hot?--two
minutes of that climate, and there wouldn’t be a trace o’ this snow
left!”
Helène could barely suppress showing her keen interest. Now, perhaps,
would come what she had been longing to know. “And was it in Egypt that
you met my father? Did Mr. Morton know my father very long?”
“I don’t know anything about that, Miss; Mr. John didn’t tell me much.”
“Then you and Mr. Morton--you are not officers or soldiers in our--the
Roumelian Army?”
“Why, bless your hearts, miss, so far as I am concerned, I didn’t know
such a place as Roumelia was on the map ten days ago; and it’s very
little more that I know now! Mr. John, he came to me the night we got
to Suez, saying I should get ready to take the midnight train, go to
Brindisi and act under written orders--and I went. From there I took
a train to Kronstadt; and four days ago I drove the teams down to
Padina with the dagoes--that’s all I know. When Mr. Morton gives you
orders you ain’t askin’ no useless questions, I guess. He knows what he
wants--and you are supposed to go ahead and do what you’re told. But
you needn’t worry, young ladies, there ain’t no better man living than
Mr. John--and few have as level a head as he’s got!”
“You are a great admirer of your master, Mr. McCormick,” remarked the
Princess, who till now had sat very quietly, quite willing to leave the
conversation to her friend. It took her some time to become accustomed
to the peculiar drawl of the lanky foreigner; but when once she caught
the quaint humor of the man she enjoyed him greatly. She wondered also
at the simple directness of his manner, which was deferential without
being in the least subservient. This must be due to the democratic
spirit of his country.
“I don’t know if it’s admiration, young lady, but I have learned that
Mr. Morton knows what’s right. There isn’t a man anywheres that can
teach him much! You can build on him and never get left. If he says a
thing--it’s so; and if he stands up for you you’re all right. And then,
he ain’t putting the load on the other fellow, either! When it comes to
hard knocks, he takes his share--and takes it without a murmur. He is
square, is Mr, John--and white all through! You can bet on that!”
“White all through? What does that mean, please?”
“It means, miss, that he is good and true and fair all over. Not a
yellow streak in him! Why, out in the desert--the niggers and them
Arabs--they found it out quick enough--and Mr. Morton, he had the run
of the country and their good-will pretty soon after we got settled
there and they had a chance to see what kind of a man he was! After we
had a little ruction with them once--why, after that, they would eat
out of our hands!”
“Eat out of your hands?”--The Princess’s eyes were big with inquiry.
Helène gave a little laugh--equally at loss. “Now, Mr. McCormick,
please tell us what that means.”
“Oh--I guess my talk ain’t just the easiest for you to get on to. I
always forget that not all people come from America. Why, after these
natives found out we were square, that Mr. John wasn’t afraid of them
or anyone else, for that matter, that he wouldn’t stand for any crooked
deal--why, they were just good--that’s all! I remember it as if it
was yesterday; out there in the Soudan--a God-forsaken country that
I can’t see why people will insist on living in--when Mr. Morton got
to investigate our store tent one mornin’--he found a tripod and some
instruments missin’. We looked ’round, found tracks in the dust and
sand proving that some barefooted rascals had stole in over night. Mr.
Morton, he just throws his rifle over his shoulder, says, ‘Come along,
Don, we must see about this.’ Well, we got our Arab driver to bring
the horses and rode over across the valley to a camp of Wadi-Arabs
we know’d were stoppin’ there. Mr. John rides up and asks for the
Chief. And when this feller--a fine-looking old chap with whiskers
like Moses--comes up--‘Can I talk to all o’ your people for about five
minutes?’ says he. The Chief just stares, asks Achmed--that’s our
servant--a thing or two--and then gives a call like a foghorn. Out come
a crowd o’ men, big and small, old and young, and they all lined up
behind him without sayin’ a word.
“And then John Morton asks them to step up to the hollow into the shade
of the rock--it was gittin’ mighty hot by that time--he just stands
up on a boulder, leans on his rifle not caring any more than if he
were in Euclid Park--in Cleveland, you know--and he says to the Chief:
‘I’ll say what I got to say in English, and I want you to translate
it to your people.’ And the old man nods and grunts somethin’, an’
my boss--he goes on. And he tells ’em all right! ‘I have come here a
stranger,’ says he, ‘to be a neighbor to you; I am peaceful. I don’t
bother about you and I mind my own business. Now I want you to do
to me as I am doin’ to you! Somebody, last night, took my tools and
instruments, and I need them in my work--and I want ’em back! If any of
you men is in need--you can come to me and if I can help ye--I will! If
you need food--I’ll share mine with you. If you are in trouble and I
know a way out--you can have my assistance. But I won’t allow any man
to steal my things, and I am a feller you want to leave alone. I never
wronged anybody--but neither will I permit any man living to do a wrong
to me.’--Then he motions to the Chief and the old man he translates it
to his people.”
Don stopped out of sheer breathlessness; his enthusiasm had carried
him at a rapid pace, while the girls, fascinated, bent over, devouring
every word. He paused long enough to relight his pipe and send out a
few mouthfuls of his beloved golden-leaf smoke. Its pungent odor came
to the girls’ nostrils and added to the reality of the mental pictures
they had built out of his narrative.
“You ought to have seen him--standin’ there among those savage people,
alone against a hundred--but as steady as a rock and as cool as a
cucumber! Not an eyelash did he move! I wasn’t sure what would come
next--but I guess Mr. Morton, he knew. He looked fine! I wish his
father could ha’ seen him! The old man always was proud of his boy--as
he had a right to be. He used to say to me: ‘Don, I want my boy to be
a man first and a gentleman after!’ And I guess Mr. John is both, and
both to the limit.”
He paused and gave a reminiscent stare into the infinite space above
him. A few thoughtful pulls at the pipe followed by a copious discharge
of saliva and he proceeded with his tale:
“Well--after the Chief had finished, two young fellers just drawed
their burnooses a bit tighter over their faces and sneaked off. A
minute later they brought the instruments, laid them down before Mr.
John, and, walking with their heads bent in shame, they passed before
the Chief. The old priest he just looked dark and grieved and waved
them off without a word. Then he up and walks to John, hands him bread
and salt and says: ‘Noble stranger, my people and me are humbled by
your just complaint. Hereafter you needn’t lose sleep over my men;
none of ’em will ever wrong you again, none of my people will do
anything toward you that he don’t want you to do toward us. If we can
do anything to please you--say the word--we are your slaves. And Mr.
John--he took the bread and salt. Then we mounted the horses and rode
home. Our servant, he carried the instruments and after that--none of
them fellers came within a big spell of our camp! Those Arabs know a
man when they see him pretty damn quick, I guess!’”
He shifted uneasily in his seat and shut his mouth tight. In his
excitement he had forgotten he was speaking to ladies. “I guess I’m
talking too much. I must apologize. But you’ve been so interested that
I couldn’t help myself.”
The girls assured him that they had enjoyed his story extremely and
begged him to tell them some more of his interesting adventures. But
Don was too cautious now to be caught a second time.
Morton now appeared, followed by Mihai. He looked up at the porch and
took the situation in at a glance. Don approached his master looking as
if he had been caught, like a child in a naughty act. A few whispered
words passed between them, and Don walked off without even giving the
girls a glance.
“I suppose Donald has been chattering,” remarked Morton as he stepped
on to the porch, “he’s a great yarn-spinner and doesn’t know when to
stop. I hope he has not bored you.”
“Oh, no--not at all! He was telling us some of the incidents of your
life in the desert----” Helène was attempting to shield the fellow.
“A-h--then I guess he’s been sounding my praises. But you must not
believe everything he says. He’s a true Yankee, and knows how to drag
the long bow. Have you rested?”
Both the girls assured him that they had and that Mr. McCormick had
entertained them immensely. Morton smiled, and excusing himself, left
them to themselves. The Princess, however, was tired; the bracing air
had made her drowsy. She begged Helène to remain while she lay down in
her room.
Morton was really disturbed about Don’s chatter; he was afraid he might
have spoken of Count Rondell’s illness. He would find out, and warn
the man to say nothing about that matter to the Comtesse.
Helène sat for a long time thinking over what she had learned from
Don’s narrative. Instead of clearing up the situation it had only
aroused in her more questionings. She could not explain Mr. Morton’s
presence in Roumelia. Why had he undertaken this mission? It was true
that her father had written begging her to place implicit confidence
in him--but why this man, this American of all men? Even if it were
dangerous for him to come himself, could he not have sent one of his
own friends? It was more than she could understand. And yet--and
yet--she was glad it had been this man. He was so different from the
men she had met. He came from a country where there were neither kings
nor nobles and yet, he knew how to command and be obeyed. His father
wanted him to be a man first--yes, he was that--the equal to the best
she had known. She felt herself blushing at her thoughts. No, no, no,
she must not let herself think like this. Rising suddenly she crossed
the open space before the cabin, and with quickened steps passed under
the firs, to where a rushing stream was frothing its way down a deep
gorge.