Morton’s sleep was heavy but restless. He had thrown himself down,
glad of the chance to rest, with his mind still busied over the day’s
happenings, and doubting if he had done right in relying on his host,
Toni, to keep a careful watch during the night. He had not “sworn” the
man, so that he was uncertain if the fellow would keep his word. He
fell asleep with the question and he awoke with it. It had kept his
mind working even in his slumbers. He sat up quite wide awake with all
his faculties keenly alert. The sonorous breathing of Donald jarred on
his ears. In the distance he heard the baying of a hound. Had they been
followed? They were but a little way from the border, and a quick raid
could undo all that had been done. He determined to satisfy himself
that all was right.
Dressing hurriedly he seized his rifle and throwing a rug over his
shoulders slipped out of the room quietly, withdrew the heavy bolts of
the entrance door and locked it after him. It was a beautiful moonlight
night. As he stepped into the open, the faithful house dog came
bounding towards him and licked his hand. Morton stroked the animal’s
head affectionately as it followed him in the tour he made round the
house. As he had suspected, he found no one on the lookout. Toni had,
evidently, preferred the comforts of a warm bed to breathing the cold
night air.
Well, there was nothing for it but to keep watch himself. He found a
wooden bench opposite the garden, and wrapping the rug about him, sat
down with his rifle across his knees. The stillness and the glory of
the night soothed his tired mind. Now and again he would doze off,
but he quickly roused himself. Once again he thought of the strange
adventure of the past days. If anyone had told him a month ago that he
would be acting the part of a knight-errant he would have laughed in
scorn. That he of all men should have done this thing!
He could not help smiling at the situation in which he now found
himself. And yet--why not? Would he be deserving the name of a man
if he had left these two helpless creatures to their fate? Two--nay,
one! And his heart filled with tenderness as he thought of Helène--the
beautiful child-woman; so lovely a being, so lovable a girl, so noble
a woman. How brave she had been; how splendid in her self-sacrificing
devotion to her friend, the Princess! Surely, there was no other like
her in this wide world!
What did it mean? Was this love? If it was, then, certainly it had been
love at first sight. Strange that he, the practical man of the world,
should have so easily succumbed to this mysterious power! What would
his father have said to him?
The question was but a natural one, but he did not know that however
experienced and worldly-wise a man may be, the heart of him ages less
than does the mind. And he had kept his heart pure in spite of the
world of business in which his father lived. To the young and pure in
heart Love is the one power which must be obeyed; for that is nature’s
wonderful way of preserving her own. That is the meaning of woman.
Strive as we will in our efforts to escape, unless some ignoble passion
such as the craving for gold or power deadens the soul within us, we
must serve God; and we can only serve him through Love.
Morton had taken Helène’s photograph out of his pocket and was gazing
raptly at the face in the moonlight that shone fully where he was
sitting. Should he speak to her in the morning--the last day before
they parted? No--he could not take the advantage her helplessness gave
him. He must wait until she was free to think and decide--free of the
sense of obligation which she might now feel.
Replacing the photograph he rose from the bench, and looking at
his watch found that it was still three hours before the dawn. He
let himself in the house and tried the chimney seat. But he was
restless--he was too far from where the girls were sleeping. It would
be better if he lay down in the room adjoining theirs. He found the
place empty of any couch or bed, but spreading his rug on the floor he
used his coat as a pillow and was soon at peace in what the Easterns
call “the outer court of the Seven Heavens”--the deep sleep of tired
limbs and a clear conscience.
Helène and the Princess had enjoyed the evening fully. Before retiring
to bed they had exchanged glad expressions at this happy issue out of
their afflictions. Their hearts were full to overflowing with gratitude
towards their deliverer. They realized now fully what Mr. Morton had
done for them, and could find no words in which sufficiently to express
their feelings. The Princess began to quiz Helène about him, but by
that time the two were in bed and the light lowered, and Helène was
glad of the darkness. She managed, however, to reply to her friend’s
remarks in a voice of cold indifference. She thought him rather curt
and domineering she said. The Princess laughed quietly and told Helène
to go to sleep and dream of knights of old.
Helène said nothing and pretended to go to sleep. It was long, however,
before she did sleep. When she awoke, after what seemed to her but a
few minutes later, she heard a cock crowing lustily outside. In the
low light of the lamp her watch told her that it would soon be daybreak
and time to begin making preparations for continuing their journey. Mr.
Morton would be punctual, she was sure. She would get up and dress now.
Throwing aside the voluminous quilts she stepped out of bed, though not
without some pain, for her limbs were still sore and aching from the
previous day’s exertions, and in a few minutes had clothed herself in
the garments of the stout Rossika.
Stepping softly so as not awaken her companion, she left the room,
walked into the outer room in which Morton lay, and stood looking
through the window. In the darkness behind her Morton, who slept
lightly, had heard her soft footsteps. He looked up from where he lay
and saw her head and slender neck silhouetted against the lattice-work
of the window. He could but faintly distinguish her outline, but, faint
as it was, it was enough to cause his heart to leap to his throat and a
wave of exquisite emotion to surge over him.
Quickly rising he put on his coat and, before Helène had become aware
of his presence, he was by her side.
“Is that you, Comtesse?” he whispered.
“Oh, Mr. Morton, I--I hope I didn’t disturb you. I am so sorry. I was
not aware that anyone was up yet----”
“I am afraid I frightened you, Comtesse. I have been around the house
and found that our host has been remiss in his duty. Instead of
watching he is sound asleep in his bed. Have you had a good rest? I see
you are all prepared.”
“Oh, yes, I feel splendidly and I--I am so happy. But, please, Mr.
Morton, go back to your sleep. You must be very tired. I’ll go to my
room.”
“Don’t go, Comtesse. The day will be breaking soon and we shall have to
make ready for our next stage. Besides--I--am glad of this opportunity
to be alone with you.”
The mist was clearing and above the dark timber a golden expanse was
heralding the coming of the life-giving sun. Small, fleecy clouds of
amethystine hues floated above the snow-clad tops of the Divide, now
flushing rose. They seemed like flower petals that had been blown
across the sky. In the bare autumnal garden the last flowers, slender
feathery stalks of cosmos, stood greeting the dawn in colors matching
the coming glory and tiny dew-drops reflected the golden sheen as they
glinted on leaves and petals trembling in the morning’s breeze.
Helène’s eyes sought the distant enchantment, not daring to look at the
man who had now approached her so closely that he almost touched her.
She felt her hand being taken in a gentle grasp. Her heart beat fast;
she could feel the pulse beat in her throat.
“Comtesse,” and Morton’s voice was very tender, “the few days of
our common purpose, the hardships that brought us together, are now
ended. To-morrow you will be in Vienna and with your friends. You
will, I hope, soon forget the trials you have endured, the days of
anxiety in which I have come to know you. To me they will remain ever
unforgettable. You have your way to go and I mine--duties await you as
they do me. May I hope that we shall meet again?”
Helène knew not what to say. Her hand trembled in his and her head was
bent away from his ardent gaze. She felt his eyes though she could not
see them.
“Comtesse, may I ask you to think of me as your friend? I shall come
back in this part of the world soon, and if I knew the door of your
friendship would still be open for me it would make me very happy.”
Helène had raised her head and was now gazing at the ever brightening
horizon.
“Mr. Morton--the Princess and I owe you our freedom, our honor and,
perhaps, our lives. Not only my friendship but my eternal gratitude is
yours.”
She found courage to turn and look at him, but quickly looked away
again.
“Comtesse, it is not gratitude I care for. Will you do me a favor--will
you make me a promise?”
Helène looked at him with wide, questioning eyes.
“I want you to tell me--that you will take no important step in the
near future until I see you again. Promise me that you will call on me
if you need help? Will you do this, for me, Comtesse?”
The deep, resonant tones in which he uttered these words swept over her
like the music from a fine-stringed instrument. It brought from her
responsive chords which found expression in involuntary sighs. She felt
a curious pride and realized that she was happy and inexplicably glad
to obey when that voice commanded.
“I promise,” she whispered. Then her voice gathering strength she
went on: “I do not know why you should value the friendship of an
inexperienced girl, but I am proud that you ask for it.”
Reverently Morton bowed over the little hand he had been holding,
afraid to trust his eyes to look at her face, and kissing it softly,
released it.
“Thank you--and God bless you.”
Gathering up his rug and rifle he hurriedly left the room. Helène
remained motionless for a time, then she slowly turned to the window,
on her lips a happy smile and in her eyes a new lustre. The first rays
of the now risen sun shot through the serrated tops of the forest
and found their straight paths into the embrasure of the window,
casting a wondrous light on her dreamy face. Her heart felt light as
thistledown. She saw the flowers opening--how beautiful they were!
Unconsciously her eyes fell upon the hand he had held--she still felt
the lingering imprint of his lips on it, and her face took on a color
that rivalled the rosy tints of the dawn. The great secret of nature
had been imparted to her. She could not speak of it in words, even
to herself, for the power of it had overcome her. Instead, her hands
mutely unfolded like a flower opening under the morning’s sunlight, and
her face shone as if transfigured.