ON THE WAY TO ST. VALENTINE'S
"By Jove, I like that fellow's coolness," said Lorry to Harry Anguish,
after the meeting. "He's after my own heart. Why, he treats us as though
we were the suppliants, he the alms-giver. He is playing a game, I'll
admit, but he does it with an assurance that delights me."
"He is right about that darned old fort," said Anguish. "His knowledge
of such things proves conclusively that he is no ordinary person."
"Yetive had a bit of a talk with him just now," said Lorry, with a
reflective smile. "She asked him point blank if he knew who she was. He
did not hesitate a second. 'I remember seeing you in the audience
chamber recently.' That was a facer for Yetive. 'I assure you that it
was no fault of mine that you saw me,' she replied. 'Then it must have
been your friend who rustled the curtains?' said the confounded
bluffer. Yetive couldn't keep a straight face. She laughed and then he
laughed. 'Some day you may learn more about me,' she said to him. 'I
sincerely trust that I may, madam,' said he, and I'll bet my hat he was
enjoying it better than either of us. Of course, he knows Yetive is the
princess. It's his intention to serve Beverly Calhoun, and he couldn't
do it if he were to confess that he knows the truth. He's no fool."
Baldos was not long in preparing plans for the changes in the
fortress. They embodied a temporary readjustment of the armament and
alterations in the ammunition house. The gate leading to the river was
closed and the refuse from the fort was taken to the barges by way of
the main entrance. There were other changes suggested for immediate
consideration, and then there was a general plan for the modernizing of
the fortress at some more convenient time. Baldos laconically observed
that the equipment was years behind the times. To the amazement of the
officials, he was able to talk intelligently of forts in all parts of
the world, revealing a wide and thorough knowledge and extensive
inspection. He had seen American as well as European fortifications. The
Graustark engineers went to work at once to perfect the simple changes
he advised, leaving no stone unturned to strengthen the place before an
attack could be made.
Two, three weeks went by and the new guard was becoming an old story to
the castle and army folk. He rode with Beverly every fair day and he
looked at her window by night from afar off in the sombre barracks. She
could not dissipate the feeling that he knew her to be other than the
princess, although he betrayed himself by no word or sign. She was
enjoying the fun of it too intensely to expose it to the risk of
destruction by revealing her true identity to him. Logically, that would
mean the end of everything. No doubt he felt the same and kept his
counsel. But the game could not last forever, that was certain. A month
or two more, and Beverly would have to think of the return to
Washington.
His courage, his cool impudence, his subtle wit charmed her more than
she could express. Now she was beginning to study him from a standpoint
peculiarly and selfishly her own. Where recently she had sung his
praises to Yetive and others, she now was strangely reticent. She was to
understand another day why this change had come over her. Stories of his
cleverness came to her ears from Lorry and Anguish and even from
Dangloss. She was proud, vastly proud of him in these days. The Iron
Count alone discredited the ability and the conscientiousness of the
"mountebank," as he named the man who had put his nose out of
joint. Beverly, seeing much of Marlanx, made the mistake of chiding him
frankly and gaily about this aversion. She even argued the guard's case
before the head of the army, imprudently pointing out many of his
superior qualities in advocating his cause. The count was learning
forbearance in his old age. He saw the wisdom of procrastination. Baldos
was in favor, but someday there would come a time for his undoing.
In the barracks he was acquiring fame. Reports went forth with unbiased
freedom. He established himself as the best swordsman in the service, as
well as the most efficient marksman. With the foils and sabers he easily
vanquished the foremost fencers in high and low circles. He could ride
like a Cossack or like an American cowboy. Of them all, his warmest
admirer was Haddan, the man set to watch him for the secret service. It
may be timely to state that Haddan watched in vain.
The princess, humoring her own fancy as well as Beverly's foibles, took
to riding with her high-spirited young guest on many a little jaunt to
the hills. She usually rode with Lorry or Anguish, cheerfully assuming
the subdued position befitting a lady-in-waiting apparently restored to
favor on probation. She enjoyed Beverly's unique position. In order to
maintain her attitude as princess, the fair young deceiver was obliged
to pose in the extremely delectable attitude of being Lorry's wife.
"How can you expect the paragon to make love to you, dear, if he thinks
you are another man's wife?" Yetive asked, her blue eyes beaming with
the fun of it all.
"Pooh!" sniffed Beverly. "You have only to consult history to find the
excuse. It's the dear old habit of men to make love to queens and get
beheaded for it. Besides, he is not expected to make love to me. How in
the world did you get that into your head?"
On a day soon after the return of Lorry and Anguish from a trip to the
frontier, Beverly expressed a desire to visit the monastery of
St. Valentine, high on the mountain top. It was a long ride over the
circuitous route by which the steep incline was avoided and it was
necessary for the party to make an early start. Yetive rode with Harry
Anguish and his wife the countess, while Beverly's companion was the
gallant Colonel Quinnox. Baldos, relegated to the background, brought up
the rear with Haddan.
For a week or more Beverly had been behaving toward Baldos in the most
cavalier fashion. Her friends had been teasing her; and, to her own
intense amazement, she resented it. The fact that she felt the sting of
their sly taunts was sufficient to arouse in her the distressing
conviction that he had become important enough to prove
embarrassing. While confessing to herself that it was a bit treacherous
and weak, she proceeded to ignore Baldos with astonishing
persistency. Apart from the teasing, it seemed to her of late that he
was growing a shade too confident.
He occasionally forgot his differential air, and relaxed into a very
pleasing but highly reprehensible state of friendliness. A touch of the
old jauntiness cropped out here and there, a tinge of the old irony
marred his otherwise perfect mien as a soldier. His laugh was freer, his
eyes less under subjugation, his entire personality more arrogant. It
was time, thought she resentfully, that his temerity should meet some
sort of check.
And, moreover, she had dreamed of him two nights in succession.
How well her plan succeeded may best be illustrated by saying that she
now was in a most uncomfortable frame of mind. Baldos refused to be
properly depressed by his misfortune. He retired to the oblivion she
provided and seemed disagreeably content. Apparently, it made very
little difference to him whether he was in or out of favor. Beverly was
in high dudgeon and low spirits.
The party rode forth at an early hour in the morning. It was hot in the
city, but it looked cold and bleak on the heights. Comfortable wraps
were taken along, and provision was made for luncheon at an inn half way
up the slope. Quinnox regaled Beverly with stories in which Grenfall
Lorry was the hero and Yetive the heroine. He told her of the days when
Lorry, a fugitive with a price upon his head, charged with the
assassination of Prince Lorenz, then betrothed to the princess, lay
hidden in the monastery while Yetive's own soldiers hunted high and low
for him. The narrator dwelt glowingly upon the trip from the monastery
to the city walls one dark night when Lorry came down to surrender
himself in order to shield the woman he loved, and Quinnox himself
piloted him through the underground passage into the very heart of the
castle. Then came the exciting scene in which Lorry presented himself as
a prisoner, with the denouement that saved the princess and won for the
gallant American the desire of his heart.
"What a brave fellow he was!" cried Beverly, who never tired of hearing
the romantic story.
"Ah, he was wonderful, Miss Calhoun. I fought him to keep him from
surrendering. He beat me, and I was virtually his prisoner when we
appeared before the tribunal."
"It's no wonder she loved him and--married him."
"He deserved the best that life could give, Miss Calhoun."
"You had better not call me Miss Calhoun, Colonel Quinnox," said she,
looking back apprehensively. "I am a highness once in a while, don't you
know?"
"I implore your highness's pardon!" said he gaily.
The riders ahead had come to a standstill and were pointing off into the
pass to their right. They were eight or ten miles from the city gates
and more than half way up the winding road that ended at the monastery
gates. Beverly and Quinnox came up with them and found all eyes centered
on a small company of men encamped in the rocky defile a hundred yards
from the main road.
It needed but a glance to tell her who comprised the unusual
company. The very raggedness of their garments, the unforgetable
disregard for consequences, the impudent ease with which they faced
poverty and wealth alike, belonged to but one set of men--the vagabonds
of the Hawk and Raven. Beverly went a shade whiter; her interest in
everything else flagged, and she was lost in bewilderment. What freak of
fortune had sent these men out of the fastnesses into this dangerously
open place?
She recognized the ascetic Ravone, with his student's face and beggar's
garb. Old Franz was there, and so were others whose faces and
heterogeneous garments had become so familiar to her in another day. The
tall leader with the red feather, the rakish hat and the black patch
alone was missing; from the picture.
"It's the strangest-looking crew I've ever seen," said Anguish. "They
look like pirates."
"Or gypsies" suggested Yetive. "Who are they, Colonel Quinnox? What are
they doing here?" Quinnox was surveying the vagabonds with a critical,
suspicious eye.
"They are not robbers or they would be off like rabbits" he said
reflectively. "Your highness, there are many roving bands in the hills,
but I confess that these men are unlike any I have heard about. With
your permission, I will ride down and question them."
"Do, Quinnox. I am most curious."
Beverly sat very still and tense. She was afraid to look at Baldos, who
rode up as Quinnox started into the narrow defile, calling to the escort
to follow. The keen eyes of the guard caught the situation at once. Miss
Calhoun shot a quick glance at him as he rode up beside her. His face
was impassive, but she could see his hand clench the bridle-rein, and
there was an air of restraint in his whole bearing.
"Remember your promise," he whispered hoarsely. "No harm must come to
them." Then he was off into the defile. Anguish was not to be left
behind. He followed, and then Beverly, more venturesome and vastly more
interested than the others, rode recklessly after. Quinnox was
questioning the laconic Ravone when she drew rein. The vagabonds seemed
to evince but little interest in the proceedings. They stood away in
disdainful aloofness. No sign of recognition passed between them and
Baldos.
In broken, jerky sentences, Ravone explained to the colonel that they
were a party of actors on their way to Edelweiss, but that they had been
advised to give the place a wide berth. Now they were making the best of
a hard journey to Serros, where they expected but little better
success. He produced certain papers of identification which Quinnox
examined and approved, much to Beverly's secret amazement. The princess
and the colonel exchanged glances and afterwards a few words in subdued
tones. Yetive looked furtively at Beverly and then at Baldos as if to
enquire whether these men were the goat-hunters she had come to know by
word of mouth. The two faces were hopelessly non-committal.
Suddenly Baldos's horse reared and began to plunge as if in terror, so
that the rider kept his seat only by means of adept horsemanship. Ravone
leaped forward and at the risk of injury clutched the plunging steed by
the bit. Together they partially subdued the animal and Baldos swung to
the ground at Ravone's side. Miss Calhoun's horse in the meantime had
caught the fever. He pranced off to the roadside before she could get
him under control.
She was thus in a position to observe the two men on the
ground. Shielded from view by the body of the horse, they were able to
put the finishing touches to the trick Baldos had cleverly
worked. Beverly distinctly saw the guard and the beggar exchange bits of
paper, with glances that meant more than the words they were unable to
utter.
Baldos pressed into Ravone's hand a note of some bulk and received in
exchange a mere slip of paper. The papers disappeared as if by magic,
and the guard was remounting his horse before he saw that the act had
been detected. The expression of pain and despair in Beverly's face sent
a cold chill over him from head to foot.
She turned sick with apprehension. Her faith had received a stunning
blow. Mutely she watched the vagabonds withdraw in peace, free to go
where they pleased. The excursionists turned to the main road. Baldos
fell back to his accustomed place, his imploring look wasted. She was
strangely, inexplicably depressed for the rest of the day.