THE ROSE
The next morning Aunt Fanny had a hard time of it. Her mistress was
petulant; there was no sunshine in the bright August day as it appeared
to her. Toward dawn, after she had counted many millions of black sheep
jumping backward over a fence, she had fallen asleep. Aunt Fanny obeyed
her usual instructions on this luckless morning. It was Beverly's rule
to be called every morning at seven o'clock. But how was her attendant
to know that the graceful young creature who had kicked the counterpane
to the foot of the bed and had mauled the pillow out of all shape, had
slept for less than thirty minutes? How was she to know that the flushed
face and frown were born in the course of a night of distressing
perplexities? She knew only that the sleeping beauty who lay before her
was the fairest creature in all the universe. For some minutes Aunt
Fanny stood off and admired the rich youthful glory of the sleeper,
prophetically reluctant to disturb her happiness. Then she obeyed the
impulse of duty and spoke the summoning words.
"Wha--what time is it?" demanded the newcomer from the land of Nod,
stretching her fine young body with a splendid but discontented yawn.
"Seben, Miss Bev'ly; wha' time do yo' s'pose hit is? Hit's d' reg'lah
time, o' co'se. Did yo' all have a nice sleep, honey?" and Aunt Fanny
went blissfully about the business of the hour.
"I didn't sleep a wink, confound it," grumbled Beverly, rubbing her eyes
and turning on her back to glare up at the tapestry above the couch.
"Yo' wasn' winkin' any when Ah fust come into de room, lemme tell yo',"
cackled Aunt Fanny with caustic freedom.
"See here, now, Aunt Fanny, I'm not going to stand any lecture from you
this morning. When a fellow hasn't slept a--"
"Who's a-lecturin' anybody, Ah'd lak to know? Ah'm jes' tellin' yo'
what yo' was a-doin' when Ah came into de room. Yo' was a-sleepin'
p'etty doggone tight, lemme tell yo'. Is yo' goin' out fo' yo' walk
befo' b'eakfus, honey? 'Cause if yo' is, yo' all 'll be obleeged to
climb out'n dat baid maghty quick-like. Yo' baf is ready, Miss Bev'ly."
Beverly splashed the water with unreasonable ferocity for a few minutes,
trying to enjoy a diversion that had not failed her until this morning.
"Aunt Fanny," she announced, after looking darkly through her window
into the mountains above, "if you can't brush my hair--ouch!--any easier
than this, I'll have someone else do it, that's all. You're a regular
old bear."
"Po' lil' honey," was all the complacent "bear" said in reply, without
altering her methods in the least.
"Well," said Beverly threateningly, with a shake of her head, "be
careful, that's all. Have you heard the news?"
"Wha' news, Miss Bev'ly?"
"We're going back to Washin'ton."
"Thank de Lawd! When?"
"I don't know. I've just this instant made up my mind. I think we'll
start--let's see: this is the sixth of August, isn't it? Well, look and
see, if you don't know, stupid. The tenth? My goodness, where has the
time gone, anyway? Well? we'll start sometime between the eleventh and
the twelfth."
"Of dis monf, Miss Bev'ly?"
"No; September. I want you to look up a timetable for me to-day. We must
see about the trains."
"Dey's on'y one leavin' heah daily, an' hit goes at six in de
mo'nin'. One train a day! Ain' 'at scan'lous?"
"I'm sure, Aunt Fanny, it is their business--not ours," said Beverly
severely.
"P'raps dey mought be runnin' a excuhsion 'roun' 'baout Septembeh, Miss
Bev'ly," speculated Aunt Fanny consolingly. "Dey gen'ly has 'em in
Septembeh."
"You old goose," cried Beverly, in spite of herself.
"Ain' yo' habin' er good time, honey?"
"No, I am not."
"Fo' de lan's sake, Ah wouldn' s'picioned hit fo' a minnit. Hit's de
gayest place Ah mos' eveh saw--'cept Wash'ton an' Lex'ton an'
Vicksbu'g."
"Well, you don't know everything," said Beverly crossly. "I wish you'd
take that red feather out of my hat--right away."
"Shall Ah frow hit away, Miss Bev'ly?"
"We--ll, no; you needn't do that," said Beverly, "Put it on my
dressing-table. I'll attend to it."
"Wha's become o' de gemman 'at wo' hit in the fust place? Ah ain' seen
him fo' two--three days."
"I'm sure I don't know. He's probably asleep. That class of people never
lose sleep over anything."
"'E's er pow'ful good-lookin' pusson," suggested Aunt Fanny. Beverly's
eyes brightened.
"Oh, do you think so?" she said, quite indifferently. "What are you
doing with that hat?"
"Takin' out de featheh--jes' as--"
"Well, leave it alone. Don't disturb my things, Aunt Fanny. How many
times must I tell you--"
"Good Lawd!" was all that Aunt Fanny could say.
"Don't forget about the time-tables," said Beverly, as she sallied forth
for her walk in the park.
In the afternoon she went driving with Princess Yetive and the young
Duke of Mizrox, upon whose innocent and sufficiently troubled head she
was heaping secret abuse because of the news he brought. Later, Count
Marlanx appeared at the castle for his first lesson in poker. He looked
so sure of himself that Beverly hated him to the point of desperation.
At the same time she was eager to learn how matters stood with
Baldos. The count's threat still hung over her head, veiled by its
ridiculous shadow of mercy. She knew him well enough by this time to
feel convinced that Baldos would have to account for his temerity,
sooner or later. It was like the cat and the helpless mouse.
"It's too hot," she protested, when he announced himself ready for the
game. "Nobody plays poker when it's 92 in the shade."
"But, your highness," complained the count, "war may break out any
day. I cannot concede delay."
"I think there's a game called 'shooting craps,'" suggested she
serenely. "It seems to me it would be particularly good for
warriors. You could be shooting something all the time."
He went away in a decidedly irascible frame of mind. She did not know
it, but Baldos was soon afterward set to work in the garrison stables, a
most loathsome occupation, in addition to his duties as a guard by
night.
After mature deliberation Beverly set herself to the task of writing
home to her father. It was her supreme intention to convince him that
she would be off for the States in an amazingly short time. The major,
upon receiving the letter three weeks later, found nothing in it to
warrant the belief that she was ever coming home. He did observe,
however, that she had but little use for the army of Graustark, and was
especially disappointed in the set of men Yetive retained as her private
guard. For the life of her, Beverly could not have told why she
disapproved of the guard in general or in particular, but she was
conscious of the fact, after the letter was posted, that she had said
many things that might have been left unwritten. Besides, it was not
Baldos's fault that she could not sleep; it was distinctly her own. He
had nothing to do with it.
"I'll bet father will be glad to hear that I am coming home," she said
to Yetive, after the letter was gone.
"Oh, Beverly, dear, I hate to hear of your going," cried the princess.
"When did you tell him you'd start?"
"Why, oh,--er--let me see; when _did_ I say? Dash me--as
Mr. Anguish would say--I don't believe I gave a date. It seems to me I
said _soon_, that's all."
"You don't know how relieved I am," exclaimed Yetive rapturously? and
Beverly was in high dudgeon because of the implied reflection, "I
believe you are in a tiff with Baldos," went on Yetive airily.
"Goodness! How foolish you can be at times, Yetive," was what Beverly
gave back to her highness, the Princess of Graustark.
Late in the evening couriers came in from the Dawsbergen frontier with
reports which created considerable excitement in castle and army
circles. Prince Gabriel himself had been seen in the northern part of
his domain, accompanied by a large detachment of picked soldiers. Lorry
set out that very night for the frontier, happy in the belief that
something worth while was about to occur. General Marlanx issued orders
for the Edelweiss army corps to mass beyond the southern gates of the
city the next morning. Commands were also sent to the outlying
garrisons. There was to be a general movement of troops before the end
of the week. Graustark was not to be caught napping.
Long after the departure of Lorry and Anguish, the princess sat on the
balcony with Beverly and the Countess Dagmar. They did not talk
much. The mission of these venturesome young American husbands was full
of danger. Something in the air had told their wives that the first
blows of war were to be struck before they looked again upon the men
they loved.
"I think we have been betrayed by someone," said Dagmar, after an almost
interminable silence. Her companion did not reply. "The couriers say
that Gabriel knows where we are weakest at the front and that he knows
our every movement. Yetive, there is a spy here, after all."
"And that spy has access to the very heart of our deliberations," added
Beverly pointedly. "I say this in behalf of the man whom you evidently
suspect, countess. _He_ could not know these things."
"I do not say that he does know, Miss Calhoun, but it is not beyond
reason that he may be the go-between, the means of transferring
information from the main traitor to the messengers who await outside
our walls."
"Oh, I don't believe it!" cried Beverly hotly.
"I wonder if these things would have happened if Baldos had never come
to Edelweiss?" mused the princess. As though by common impulse, both of
the Graustark women placed their arms about Beverly.
"It's because we have so much at stake, Beverly, dear," whispered
Dagmar. "Forgive me if I have hurt you."
Of course, Beverly sobbed a little in the effort to convince them that
she did not care whom they accused, if he proved to be the right man in
the end. They left her alone on the balcony. For an hour after midnight
she sat there and dreamed. Everyone was ready to turn against
Baldos. Even she had been harsh toward him, for had she not seen him
relegated to the most obnoxious of duties after promising him a far
different life? And now what was he thinking of her? His descent from
favor had followed upon the disclosures which made plain to each the
identity of the other. No doubt he was attributing his degradation, in a
sense, to the fact that she no longer relished his services, having seen
a romantic little ideal shattered by his firm assertions. Of course, she
knew that General Marlanx was alone instrumental in assigning him to the
unpleasant duty he now observed, but how was Baldos to know that she was
not the real power behind the Iron Count?
A light drizzle began to fall, cold and disagreeable. There were no
stars, no moon. The ground below was black with shadows, but shimmering
in spots touched by the feeble park lamps. She retreated through her
window, determined to go to bed. Her rebellious brain, however, refused
to banish him from her thoughts. She wondered if he were patroling the
castle grounds In the rain, in all that lonely darkness. Seized by a
sudden inspiration, she threw a gossamer about her, grasped an umbrella
and ventured out upon the balcony once more. Guiltily she searched the
night through the fine drizzling rain; her ears listened eagerly for the
tread which was so well known to her.
At last he strode beneath a lamp not far away. He looked up, but, of
course, could not see her against the dark wall. For a long time he
stood motionless beneath the light. She could not help seeing that he
was dejected, tired, unhappy. His shoulders drooped, and there as a
general air of listlessness about the figure which had once been so full
of courage and of hope. The post light fell directly upon his face. It
was somber, despondent, strained. He wore the air of a prisoner. Her
heart went out to him like a flash. The debonair knight of the black
patch was no more; in his place there stood a sullen slave to
discipline.
"Baldos!" she called softly, her voice penetrating the dripping air with
the clearness of a bell. He must have been longing for the sound of it,
for he started and looked eagerly in her direction. His tall form
straightened as he passed his hand over his brow. It was but a voice
from his dream, he thought. "Aren't you afraid you'll get wet?" asked
the same low, sweet voice, with the suggestion of a laugh behind
it. With long strides he crossed the pavement and stood almost directly
beneath her.
"Your highness!" he exclaimed gently, joyously. "What are you doing out
there?"
"Wondering, Baldos--wondering what you were thinking of as you stood
under the lamp over there."
"I was thinking of your highness," he called up, softly.
"No, no!" she protested.
"I, too, was wondering--wondering what you were dreaming of as you
slept, for you should be asleep at this hour, your highness, instead of
standing out there in the rain."
"Baldos," she called down tremulously, "you don't like this work, do
you?"
"It has nothing but darkness in it for me. I never see the light of your
eyes. I never feel the--"
"Sh! You must not talk like that. It's not proper, and besides someone
may be listening. The night has a thousand ears--or is it eyes? But
listen: to-morrow you shall be restored to your old duties. You surely
cannot believe that I had anything to do with the order which compels
you to work at this unholy hour."
"I was afraid you were punishing me for my boldness. My heart has been
sore--you never can know how sore. I was disgraced, dismissed,
forgotten--"
"No, no--you _were_ not! You must not say that. Go away now,
Baldos. You will ride with me to-morrow," she cried nervously. "Please
go to some place where you won't get dripping wet."
"You forget that I am on guard," he said with a laugh. "But you are a
wise counsellor. Is the rain so pleasant to you?"
"I have an umbrella," she protested. "What are you doing?" she cried in
alarm. He was coming hand over hand, up the trellis-work that enclosed
the lower verandah.
"I am coming to a place where I won't get dripping wet," he called
softly. There was a dangerous ring in his voice and she drew back in a
panic.
"You must not!" she cried desperately. "This is madness! Go down, sir!"
"I am happy enough to fly, but cannot. So I do the next best thing--I
climb to you." His arm was across the stone railing by this time and he
was panting from the exertion, not two feet from where she
crouched. "Just one minute of heaven before I go back to the shadow of
earth. I am happy again. Marlanx told me you had dismissed me. I wonder
what he holds in reserve for me. I knew he lied, but it is not until now
that I rejoice. Come, you are to shield me from the rain."
"Oh, oh!" she gasped, overwhelmed by his daring passion. "I should die
if anyone saw you here." Yet she spasmodically extended the umbrella so
that it covered him and left her out in the drizzle.
"And so should I," responded he softly. "Listen to me. For hours and
hours I have been longing for the dear old hills in which you found
me. I wanted to crawl out of Edelweiss and lose myself forever in the
rocks and crags. To-night when you saw me I was trying to say good-bye
to you forever. I was trying to make up my mind to desert. I could not
endure the new order of things. You had cast me off. My friends out
there were eager to have me with them. In the city everyone is ready to
call me a spy--even you, I thought. Life was black and drear. Now, my
princess, it is as bright as heaven itself."
"You must not talk like this," she whispered helplessly. "You are making
me sorry I called to you."
"I should have heard you if you had only whispered, my rain princess. I
have no right to talk of love--I am a vagabond; but I have a heart, and
it is a bold one. Perhaps I dream that I am here beside you--so near
that I can touch your face--but it is the sweetest of dreams. But for it
I should have left Edelweiss weeks ago. I shall never awaken from this
dream; you cannot rob me of the joys of dreaming."
Under the spell of his passion she drew nearer to him as he clung
strongly to the rail. The roses at her throat came so close that he
could bury his face in them. Her hand touched his cheek, and he kissed
its palm again and again, his wet lips stinging her blood to the tips of
her toes.
"Go away, please," she implored faintly. "Don't you see that you must
not stay here--now?"
"A rose, my princess,--one rose to kiss all through the long night," he
whispered. She could feel his eyes burning into her heart. With
trembling, hurried fingers she tore loose a rose. He could not seize it
with his hands because of the position he held, and she laughed
tantalizingly. Then she kissed it first and pressed it against his
mouth. His lips and teeth closed over the stem and the rose was his.
"There are thorns," she whispered, ever so softly.
"They are the riches of the poor," he murmured with difficulty, but she
understood.
"Now, go," she said, drawing resolutely away. An instant later his head
disappeared below the rail. Peering over the side she saw his figure
spring easily to the ground, and then came the rapid, steady tramp as he
went away on his dreary patrol.
"I couldn't help it," she was whispering to herself between joy and
shame.
Glancing instinctively out toward the solitary lamp she saw two men
standing in its light. One of them was General Marlanx; the other she
knew to be the spy that watched Baldos. Her heart sank like lead when
she saw that the two were peering intently toward the balcony where she
stood, and where Baldos had clung but a moment before.