Her back against the protecting trunk of an ancient hemlock, whose
exposed gnarled roots gave a good foothold and a secure seat, Helène
sat curled up with her feet tucked under her warm skirt. She was
watching intently the turbulent waters hurrying in the direction that
meant freedom and safety to her, the Princess--and to their escort
also. The child in her felt the longing for refuge, the desire to flee
from the land that had denied her, but that was yet her own land. The
woman in her, the existence of which the girl did not suspect, mingled
with these fears and desires the mysterious feeling of having found a
man who would, with strong arm, come between her and danger.
Helène had never been in so wild a country. She had never been alone
in the woods, and the peacefulness of her surroundings, the grandeur
of it all, impressed her deeply. Her situation seemed so unreal, as
though it were almost impossible to believe in its fact. Was she little
Snow-White with the Seven Dwarfs across the Seven Hills? Was she like
Saint Elizabeth driven into the wild forests by her jealous spouse? It
seemed as if some gnomes or fairies were peeking out from under the
tumbled chaos of roots and boulders; as if every little heap of dried
pine needles were the seat of some good little goblin. No, it really
was true; here she was sitting watching the cataracts of an unknown
mountain stream tumbling and gamboling down hill, dressed in peasant’s
garments, with hobnailed shoes on her feet, provided by a strange man
speaking a foreign tongue, from some most unknown part of a distant
world, and yet, strange to say, she was quite happy! Would anyone
ever believe her if she told the tale? Stowed in a wagon equipped
like a gipsy’s caravan, in the dark storm and driving rain, dreading
discovery every instant! And the arrival at the hidden house under the
whispering trees, still under the calm protection of a strange man who
provided everything and seemed to rule even the elements. It was all so
wonderful! And how good and brave he was!
“Miss Helène, may I sit and talk to you?” Her face turned scarlet as if
he had heard her thoughts. She stammered and attempted to rise. “Pray,
don’t disturb yourself, Miss Helène. You have selected a charming spot,
and if you will permit me, I’ll join you in your retreat. But first
take this robe; the air is damp here.”
Morton came up to her with steady, quick steps. Helène scarcely dared
to look.
A soft rug was laid across her lap, and John stood beside her. “Is
it not fascinating to watch a mountain stream straining and speeding
towards its future? I love it, and it is so long since I have been near
one. A glorious day, Miss Helène, and all the elements in our favor.
May I sit down?”
Helène looked up. “Certainly, Mr. Morton.”
Her gaze sank again and rested on her shoes. How clumsy the boots were!
Looking up she met John’s questioning eyes.
“I am glad your feet are resting on a dry spot, Miss Helène; you must
guard yourself against catching cold.”
“Are you not over cautious, Mr. Morton?”
“Possibly, but you know I have just come from a country where it never
rains, where it is always hot and dry, and it may be I am worrying
about the effects of dampness more than the people here would do. It
seems a crime to ask you to wear those heavy boots, but----”
“Oh, Mr. Morton, I don’t mind them at all. You are very kind and
thoughtful. We are under a deep obligation to you.”
“Please forget the obligation. Just be brave and help the Prin-- I
mean Miss Marie, to keep her courage, and we shall soon be out of
this forsaken land. May I adjust your rug? Ah--now you are snug and
comfortable.”
“Thank you. It is delightful to sit here and watch the brook. Isn’t the
contrast between the pure white on the ground and the deep green of the
trees striking?”
John assented. “This is as beautiful a spot of mountain scenery as
I have ever seen. The Carpathians are far wilder than I imagined. I
have never been in these Eastern sections of Europe. This fine Alpine
landscape equals that of Switzerland and the Tyrol. Do you know this
country well, Miss Helène?”
“Not very well. Three years ago my father took me to Kimpola at the
foot of the Negoi, our highest peak, you know. The mountains there are
covered with snow and ice all the year round; the slopes are very steep
and rocky, devoid of all vegetation. It is far more attractive here.”
It seemed providential that he had come at this time; her doubts could
be satisfied--why not take courage and ask him to explain?
“Mr. Morton--may I ask you some questions?”
She tried to look unconcerned though inwardly she was greatly agitated.
Would he resent her presumption?
“My dear Miss Helène, I am quite at your service.” On his open
countenance she could not read the mental reservation he had registered
in his thoughts; she might ask, but he would tell her only what was
good for her to know.
“First, then, allow me to apologize for my rudeness to you upon our
second interview. I--I was very much agitated and--I felt humiliated
that a stranger had been sent to us to succor the Princess. Even now I
cannot understand why one of our own cavaliers had not come forward on
behalf of his monarch’s niece.”
In the pause that ensued a deep frown puckered the young man’s brow.
Helène continued: “I am in the dark as to what happened at the Capital,
but our army and our court boasted of many a noble devoted to their
King; I--I do not know what to think, what to say!--Mr. Morton--I hope
you are not offended at my foolish questions?”
John looked at her steadily with eyes serious, his face alight with
sympathy. “Pray, Miss Helène, do not disturb yourself about feelings;
but take my advice and let well enough alone! It might be better not
to inquire too curiously. What need you care what happened at the
Capital, or what motives have prompted the inaction of your Roumelian
cavaliers? Be brave and patient--and when we are once across the border
line--why--you may ask all the questions you like. Think now only of
Transylvania and safety.”
“Mr. Morton--how long have you known my father?”
“I have not known the General very long, but I have known him long
enough to have obtained his confidence. Evidently, I was the most
available man for the job--I mean the plan, and--here I am. Are you
dissatisfied with me?”
Helène colored deeply, raising her hand almost as if in supplication.
“Oh, Mr. Morton--please! You have been so kind, so considerate, that
I scarcely know what to say. The Princess feels as I do. But she also
feels so forlorn, so abandoned by her own people that she can only
wonder how you came to be our protector.”
“Comtesse--pardon the slip--Miss Helène, please do not dwell on
that. Of the affairs of Roumelia and the Count I know but little. I
am here but for one purpose, and we are well on the way towards its
accomplishment. Nothing else matters. You may recall, however, I have
never claimed any allegiance to the cause of royalty. All that has been
and still is on my mind is your safety and that of the Princess--” He
broke off with an assumption of impatience. “Your father, dear lady,
felt it was his duty to do all he could to protect Miss Marie--of
course, you were in his thoughts also. It has been my happiness to be
of service to the Count. Please, Miss Helène, do not live in the past,
but look ahead! The world is beautiful, you are young. All happiness
is before you. In a few days you will have forgotten these dark weeks.
You will then be restored to your father. Tell me now about yourself,
Miss Helène. What kind of a life does a lady of a court, a petted and
admired Comtesse, lead?”
His assumed lightness of manner deceived the unsophisticated girl.
Youth does not dwell on misfortunes forever--it is more comfortable to
be irresponsible! Her frown disappeared. How delightfully naïve this
foreigner was!
“There is very little to tell, Mr. Morton. Until six years ago I have
lived at home with my dear parents--very quietly--studying languages, a
little art and music. When my dear mama died--after a dark and lonely
six months--papa sent me to the ‘Seurs de Sacre Coeur’ in Gratz. Last
year he called for me and I joined him in Bucharest. When Princess
Marie and her court left for their annual stay at the Summer Castle in
Padina--her Majesty the Queen proposed that I should join the Princess.
I think father worried about my being left alone, but it seemed to be
the best arrangement for both of us. I have really never been at the
Court itself; indeed, I have not yet been presented!” Her eyes danced
with fun. “This frock would look fine for my _début_--would it not?”
She rose, shook herself free from the folds of the rug and gave him
a deep courtesy, mischief and laughter in her eyes, as she murmured:
“Your Highness--Your obedient servant!”
John, entered into the spirit of the rekindled happy moment, and
holding out his hand to the charming maiden, bowed low and murmured
back: “Your slave, my lady.” Both laughed aloud.
Helène was the first to recover herself. She glanced at the fine frank
face before her, and recalling her neglect of her companion, exclaimed,
with somewhat heightened color: “I must see if the Princess requires my
presence! Permit me to go into the house.”
“Please stay. Before I came here Miss Marie told me that she would lie
down and rest. She is probably asleep.”
“Are you not afraid I shall catch cold, Mr. Morton?” Helène asked
roguishly.
“Now, you are teasing, Miss Helène!”
“Forgive me, Mr. Morton. No, you have been more than kind. I can never
thank you sufficiently. The Princess and I must be a great anxiety to
you. I shall tell my father how good you were. Shall we return to our
old observatory?”
All shyness and timidity had now left the young girl. She was safe with
this strange American. His quiet strength inspired confidence.
Resuming her seat, she snugly wrapped herself up and abandoned herself
to the charm of the view. The warmth of the sun sent her blood coursing
freely through her veins, and she gave a free rein to the happiness of
the moment. Without realizing it, her protector meant more to her than
she would have dared to admit to herself. Certainly he was good to look
upon. His eyes were so frank and gentle and they looked at her with
such protecting glances, in their expression. He was telling her now of
his travels and his home life. He spoke warmly of his father and with
devotion of his mother. He seemed glad of the opportunity to speak of
his people.
“You know, Miss Helène, I have a little sister at home, about your
age--a jolly, fine girl; you would like her, I am sure. And my
mother--you would love her--everybody does. She is tall and very
handsome, with the loveliest gray hair, and the face of a young girl. I
wish you could meet my people some day. You would like them, I think.
And father, oh, he’s a splendid fellow. He is the kind of man who is
everybody’s friend. He’d adopt you as his own, five minutes after he
saw you.”
The Comtesse laughed heartily. “But your sister--how old is she and
what is her name?”
“Ruth is just twenty; she is named after her aunt, my mother’s sister.”
“What a beautiful name--Ruth! I have heard that your country loves the
Bible names. Is she fair?”
“No, Ruth is quite a brunette. Father is dark--Ruth favors him.”
“And when do you expect to see your family again, Mr. Morton?”
“I expect to be in New York toward the beginning of December. I had
some disquieting cables about my father’s health--you know I haven’t
been home in almost two years. He isn’t old, but he has worked hard
all his life. I should have been home earlier, but--but for some things
that had turned up unexpectedly,” he concluded rather lamely.
The girl grew thoughtful; she guessed to what he referred. She began to
realize what a sacrifice it had been for him. What could she say? Dared
she speak her thoughts? With blood mantling to her cheek and brow, she
remained silent.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Helène!”
“We have no pennies in Roumelia, we call them ‘banu.’ And I don’t think
they are worth even a penny.”
“I will take my chances on their value.”
Providence has endowed woman with a sixth sense which, when called
upon, forms a defensive armor of no mean strength. Helène’s intuition
told her she was on dangerous ground, and she changed the subject of
their conversation. Mr. Morton’s eyes had been insistently directed to
her face, not for an instant had they faltered--and the expression in
them was a little disquieting to her.
“Please, Mr. Morton--may I inquire what we are to do next?”
Poor John! He had noticed the heightened color, cursed himself for
an imbecile that could not govern his tongue, saw the glorious eyes
covered by their silken lashes, and perceived the embarrassment. He
took it for a hint.
“The men are clearing the short stretch of lane that leads from the
road to our camp here. The road itself is in very fair state. The moon
rises about midnight, and if sufficiently light we shall start at that
hour. If very cloudy, or if it snows or rains--I wouldn’t care to
travel. It wouldn’t do to light lanterns; we might run into a patrol or
something like that, and would be seen before we had warning. I have
examined the road and country with Mihai, some kilometers to the north
of us; the brothers know the country thoroughly. Still--I would wait
another day, if necessary, rather than risk all by undue haste.”
The thoughtful blue eyes looked confidingly into his, and John decided
that prudence had indeed become a virtue.
“We are quite safe here, Comtesse, and could remain undetected for
days. Still I hope it will be clear to-night and that we can start. As
it is, we shall have to rest the horses about half-way. We must cover
the last stretch in the dusk or at night. Mihai, who is an experienced
woodsman, suggests that even a light cloudiness should not prevent us
from starting. You remember, Comtesse, that the men had a little mishap
with their reserve horses, and that we have no relay between here and
the Pass; and, of course, horses are all-important to us just now.”
Voices from the wood drew their attention.
“Hello, here come the men; I had better see them at once. Do you wish
to go in, Miss Helène? At three o’clock,” consulting his watch, “we
shall call you to dinner. Thank you for a pleasant hour, Comtesse; I
hope I haven’t bored you.”
“I enjoyed our chat immensely--and thank you ever so much, Mr. Morton.”
The afternoon meal was very much like the breakfast, and consisted
mainly of canned meats and fruits.
John sat with the ladies, helpful and cheerful as always, telling tales
of his life in the Soudan. It was his business to keep them in good
spirits, and he acquitted himself admirably.
The sun sank lower, the shadows lengthened, the blue of the sky
deepened; there was not a cloud on the horizon. Helène had begun to
enter into the spirit of the adventure, and felt quite proud of being
in the confidence of their leader.
Towards evening the packing began, and every article was gone over
with great care and deliberation. John was everywhere, calm and quiet,
seemingly seeing everything, the men accepting his absolute authority
as a matter of course.
The fast sinking sun found them ready, their work finished. Papiu went
forward up the lane, taking his place as sentinel. Donald took up his
post as watch in the wood to the north, while Mihai retired to his
quarters to sleep.
John approached the ladies, who had now retired to their cozy sleeping
apartment, and begging permission came to the door.
“We are in good luck, ladies; we shall start shortly after midnight.
Everything is in order. Get some sleep now, as there may not be an
opportunity for another rest for many hours. I will call you at eleven
for a little supper before we start.”
The girls thanked him for his advice, and, after a hearty “Good night,”
John withdrew.
Left alone, the two girls made themselves comfortable and settled down
to sleep and rest, lying together in close embrace. The Princess was
soon fast asleep, but Helène could not sleep. Her thoughts kept her
awake. Through her brain coursed the events that had happened, the
dangers yet before them, and the strange circumstances in which she
now found herself. Where would she meet her father? Where would they
live? How would she find him? The Princess, she knew, would eventually
go to the Court of Saxe-Weimar--but what would she, the daughter of an
ex-Minister, do there? She did not long for life at Court--and what
position could her father occupy in a foreign land--himself a stranger?
What did it mean? And what was Mr. Morton’s relation to her father and
to this affair? These questions puzzled her again and again! She could
not rest.
Stealthily she lowered her limbs to the floor, scarcely disturbing the
covers, and crept from the bed. Slipping into her fur slippers--she
tiptoed into the far corner to the tiny lamp that shed a bright light
upon the diminutive table. She drew up a stool and took from her blouse
the letter from her dear father Morton had delivered to her. She read
it again slowly, studying each sentence. No, there was nothing there of
his plans, and not a word about himself. He simply said he could not
come in person.
During her reading she had not noticed the chill which pervaded the
room. Now she could see her breath as vapor against the still rays of
the lamp. Creeping back to the couch for a rug she wrapped it around
her and curled herself up on the crude parapet of logs running along
the outer wall.
Was her father a prisoner somewhere in a strange land? Was he ill
or--tears gathered in her burning eyes.
What did it mean? And she--without a friend or a relative in the
world--without experience of the world! She recalled the girls at the
convent, and how much more they seemed to know of life than she did;
how astonished they had been on many occasions at her ignorance. They
had dubbed her “Diana the Ingenuous.”
She was without clothes or money! How did people get these things? She
stared into the gloomy recesses of the darkened room and shivered,
oppressed, afraid. The Princess could neither help her nor clear up her
doubts--the poor child knew less than she did herself. Was ever anyone
so forlorn, so abandoned?
Then her pride and her natural energy came to her assistance. She must
think--and she _could_ not think in this prisonlike room. She would go
out, and breathe the night air, and pray--pray for enlightenment. “Oh,
father,” she sobbed, “why do you not come for me?”
With her rug about her she crept to the door and, cautiously opening
it, peered into the darkness of the adjoining space. Not a sound was to
be heard. She closed the door behind her and moved swiftly towards the
exit leading into the open and stepped out onto the porch.
There was light enough by which to distinguish the outlines of beams
and eaves against the bit of sky visible above the tops of the tall
trees. In the deep shadow of the porch her eyes, now accustomed to the
doubtful light, made out the shapes of the bench and the packages with
which it was loaded. She hoped no one would find her there. It was very
cold, but she wrapped herself in the rug, glad of its protection.
Through the firs came the sound of the rushing waters of the stream in
the gully; she could see the stars and a faintly brighter spot in the
heavens toward the east. Leaning against the roughly hewn pillar in an
attempt to rest, she now began to regret her childish flight from the
room.
“Hello!” came in suppressed, but very peremptory tones, “who is there?”
The ever-watchful Morton stepped from the offing towards the gully.
“Oh--Mr. Morton--it is only I!” Her words came in timid gasps. “I
couldn’t sleep. I was restless and unhappy, and I thought I would sit
outdoors a while. I am sorry if I have disturbed or startled you--I
shall go right in!”
Morton threw away his lighted cigar and went towards the house.
“My dear lady, what is the matter?” With quick steps he reached her
and took a limp little hand protectingly into his own. “You haven’t
startled me. Of course--if you could not sleep--I know how stuffy the
room is. Is the Princess asleep?”
“Yes, sound asleep, poor darling; but I couldn’t rest.”
“Come, Miss Helène, let me arrange a seat for you here on the porch.
Sit down and rest yourself.” Suiting his action to his words, he
removed the bundles from the bench, pulling his seat somewhat nearer
to the edge of the flooring, spread the blankets that had covered the
packages over the boards, and leading Helène to it gently urged her to
sit down, and he carefully wrapped her in the rug.
“Now you can sit in comfort. I am sorry you must be here in the dark,
but I do not dare to light the lanterns, and cannot give you a fire in
the room--there is no chimney. In an hour or so our supper--or rather
breakfast--will be ready and shortly after that we shall start. Do you
see that light streak over the hillside, Comtesse? That is where our
friend the moon will appear in sixty minutes or so, and then--we shall
bid good-by to this gloomy place.”
“Oh, Mr. Morton, you are so kind. I ought not to add to your burden by
my foolishness. Please, don’t mind me--don’t let me keep you from your
intended work. I am making your duties only the more arduous.”
Morton gave vent to a hearty though subdued laugh. “I haven’t a thing
to do but to wait until the fixed time arrives. I also couldn’t sleep.
If Donald catches me he will scold me, too. So you see, Miss Helène, we
are culprits together. It is a glorious night--it couldn’t be better
for our plans if we had ordered it. Mihai will ride ahead. The horses
are in fine form, and by daybreak we shall be fully twenty-five miles
up the road. Then, after a good rest we will start out towards the
saddle of the mountain range, and get there just in the right time.
Why, to-morrow at this hour I will have you both in a nice cozy room at
the best hotel in Raros. The morning after you will be in a warm coupé
on the railroad, speeding on your way to your friends! It couldn’t have
gone better in the piping times of peace!”
“You are very good,” murmured the girl. His confident cheerfulness
was infectious. Fear and doubt had vanished, and she resolved to be
obedient to his earlier request and refrain from worrying. But as to
one thing she had made up her mind--she _must_ know about her father.
“Mr. Morton--why doesn’t my father write where I am to meet him? And
why didn’t he at least come to the border?”
Luckily it was dark. “More trouble coming--this young person has a
mania for questioning!” Morton reflected, but he was now thoroughly on
the alert!
“Oh, did I forget to explain that? Why, the General felt that if he
were recognized anywhere near the Roumelian line, the alarm might be
given and then my opportunity to get you two ladies away would be gone.
The only thing to do was to be bold and avoid arousing suspicion. We
were informed as to the conditions in Padina and elsewhere--through
Baron de Haas, who wired from Constantinople, as you know. Where will
he join you? Hm--I am not certain, but I have arranged to wire him the
moment it can be done safely and I think he expects to meet you at
Weimar. He will be there ahead of us, no doubt.”
“Mr. Morton--where did you first meet my father?”
“On his return trip from India. We spent days in each other’s society,
and became quite intimate. I am very proud indeed to be a friend of
the General, whom I admire above all men. I deem the confidence he has
placed in me a great compliment--nay, even a noble condescension!”
There are many workings of the human mind not yet understood--a girl’s
courage seems to expand in direct ratio to the cube of her obscured
sight. The timid Helène knew she could not be observed and suspected
her informant, whom she could not see in the darkness. She was,
therefore, the more determined to find out more of her father.
“Oh, you met him on the steamer from India? How was my father when you
saw him last?”
John was quick in his answer, and took refuge in rapid speech.
“The last time I spoke to the Count was on an evening as lovely as
this. The stars were shining just as bright as they do now. We were
discussing astronomy and kindred subjects. The General is an unusually
well-informed man--and a delightful companion! I asked him if he
admired the much glorified Southern Cross, sung in verse and praised
in prose--and your father surprised me by confessing that he had never
noticed it at all! Then we spoke of the stars of our own latitudes--you
know we in America see the same heavens as you do. He was pleased when
I told him that our own ‘Big Dipper’ was far more beautiful than the
famed southern constellation. I remember well his remark: ‘Give me our
own land, our own stars, our----’”
“The Big Dipper? What is that?”
John was delighted to find he had succeeded in turning the
conversation.
“Why, Comtesse, don’t you know the beautiful constellation of seven
big, bright stars that point to the Polar Star? To men living in
the free air of primitive and thinly settled countries, it is their
guide in their travels--their compass at night. See, Miss Helène,
yonder in the north--that fine group looking like a giant S? That’s
the constellation which we Anglo-Saxons in our practical, non-poetic
way call ‘The Big Dipper.’ In form it looks like a pot with a crooked
handle, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, we call it the ‘Great Bear’--it is the ‘Ursus Major’ of the old
Romans! I--I have always loved it. Astronomy is one of my favorite
studies, Mr. Morton.”
John mentally patted himself on the back; he certainly had managed it
well. He entered with renewed enthusiasm on the subject and allowed
her to instruct him in a science the study of which had taken up many
nights of his life. Never in his life had John Morton, the learned
savant and traveler, enjoyed himself so thoroughly. He was perfectly
happy to sit at the feet of his new teacher.
He turned eagerly towards Helène, and though he could but faintly make
out the outlines of her hooded figure, he yet saw the eyes that shone
intermittently under the protecting shadow. Once more he relapsed into
the stage of adoration. He pictured to himself the glorious eyes, the
temptingly arched lips, the delicate cheeks. His heart went out towards
the lonely, forsaken girl. He longed to take her into his arms--to
comfort and caress her. But--what was he thinking of? He pulled himself
together with a mighty effort.
Helène, all unconscious of the turmoil in the breast of her companion,
leaned towards him and pointed upward.
“You will hardly believe it, Mr. Morton, but I don’t think I ever sat
up as late as this, nor do I remember ever having seen the sky so
beautiful and so full of stars as it is to-night. It is a most glorious
sight.”
“It is, indeed, Miss Helène. Even I, who have lain awake numberless
nights, the entire dome and horizon free and unobstructed above
me--have never seen it more gorgeous. For me the night skies always
have a curious charm--the lure as of a mystery--they fill me with
unknown longings. I believe I could easily become a devotee to the
worship of the starry heavens.”
Without knowing, perhaps without even realizing it, he had taken hold
of the extended hand of the girl, and drew it gently to himself in a
light and tender grasp. Helène was utterly unconscious of his action;
she was so happy.
“They have a strange power over me,” she whispered rather than spoke
the words. “I could sit and look at them and forget everything else.”
Morton’s voice, equally subdued, whispered back: “Is it not your own
famous Queen, the poetic and noble ‘Carmen Sylva,’ who says: ‘The night
has thousands of eyes watching its children’? There is a lovely lady!”
“Oh, Mr. Morton, is she not? Noble and good--and so beautiful! Have you
read her books?”
“Some of them, Comtesse, and I admire them exceedingly. But don’t
forget that for more than two years I haven’t seen a new book. During
those two years I have dreamed of happiness to come, my longings have
become crystallized--and under these stars, I feel, my fate is being
sealed--here or at some other place--who knows? Miss Helène--for two
years I haven’t looked upon--I haven’t spoken to a woman. Meeting you
has shown me so much more clearly the great treasure of a noble woman.
Do not attribute my words to the hour or the stars. Let me plead--plead
for myself. Permit me to tell you that from the bottom of my heart, I
am glad to have known your father; glad he selected me to be the bearer
of his letter; happy to be of service to you. I shall always bless the
fate that let me meet you! And when you are back among your friends, I
hope you will let me still be your friend and grant me the opportunity
to be worthy of your friendship--your regard.”
Rising, he lightly touched the hand he had been holding and gently
released it. Then he added: “And may the ‘Big Bear’ plead for me!”
Helène sat motionless. Her heart was beating wildly. His words filled
her with a curious warmth as though in response to a desired caress.
She blessed the darkness that hid the tell-tale burning in her
cheeks,--she felt she didn’t know what--she knew only that she was
happy, at peace with everything--and above all--she was glad it was
dark!
She rose confusedly and, to his great surprise, said in a low voice,
quite clearly:
“Mr. Morton--I have known few gentlemen other than my father; but
it has been my privilege to meet you. I shall be proud of your
friendship--any time and anywhere.”
She bowed slightly, but suddenly recalling herself to her position, she
became afraid and added: “And the unhappy Princess, I am sure, feels as
I do.”
“I thank you. And now, won’t you go in and waken Miss Marie? I see the
silvery strip over the hill widening; Mihai is scraping in the shed and
breakfast will soon be ready.”
Then to himself he whispered: “God bless you, dear love!”--Aloud, he
added: “Till breakfast, Miss Helène!”