IN THE GROTTO
The next morning a royal messenger came to Count Marlanx. He bore two
sealed letters from the princess. One briefly informed him that General
Braze was his successor as commander-in-chief of the army of Graustark.
He hesitated long before opening the other. It was equally brief and to
the point. The Iron Count's teeth came together with a savage snap as he
read the signature of the princess at the end. There was no
recourse. She had struck for Beverly Calhoun. He looked at his watch. It
was eleven o'clock. The edict gave him twenty-four hours from the noon
of that day. The gray old libertine despatched a messenger for his man
of affairs, a lawyer of high standing in Edelweiss. Together they
consulted until midnight. Shortly after daybreak the morning
following. Count Marlanx was in the train for Vienna, never to set foot
on Graustark's soil again. He was banished and his estates confiscated
by the government.
The ministry in Edelweiss was not slow to reopen negotiations with
Dawsbergen. A proclamation was sent to the prime minister, setting forth
the new order of affairs and suggesting the instant suspension of
hostile preparations and the restoration of Prince Dantan. Accompanying
this proclamation went a dignified message from Dantan, informing his
people that he awaited their commands. He was ready to resume the throne
that had been so desecrated. It would be his joy to restore Dawsbergen
to its once peaceful and prosperous condition. In the meantime the Duke
of Mizrox despatched the news to the Princess Volga of Axphain, who was
forced to abandon--temporarily, at least--her desperate designs upon
Graustark. The capture of Gabriel put an end to her transparent plans.
"But she is bound to break out against us sooner or later and on the
slightest provocation," said Yetive.
"I daresay that a friendly alliance between Graustark and Dawsbergen
will prove sufficient to check any ambitions she may have along that
line," said Ravone significantly. "They are very near to each other now,
your highness. Friends should stand together."
Beverly Calhoun was in suspense. Baldos had been sent off to the
frontier by Prince Dantan, carrying the message which could be trusted
to no other. He accompanied the Graustark ambassadors of peace as
Dantan's special agent. He went in the night time and Beverly did not
see him. The week which followed his departure was the longest she ever
spent. She was troubled in her heart for fear that he might not return,
despite the declaration she had made to him in one hysterical moment. It
was difficult for her to keep up the show of cheerfulness that was
expected of her. Reticence became her strongest characteristic. She
persistently refused to be drawn into a discussion of her relations with
the absent one. Yetive was piqued by her manner at first, but wisely saw
through the mask as time went on. She and Prince Dantan had many quiet
and interesting chats concerning Beverly and the erstwhile guard. The
prince took Lorry and the princess into his confidence. He told them all
there was to tell about his dashing friend and companion.
Beverly and the young Princess Candace became fast and loving
friends. The young girl's worship of her brother was beautiful to
behold. She huddled close to him on every occasion, and her dark eyes
bespoke adoration whenever his name was mentioned in her presence.
"If he doesn't come back pretty soon, I'll pack up and start for home,"
Beverly said to herself resentfully one day. "Then if he wants to see me
he'll have to come all the way to Washington. And I'm not sure that he
can do it, either. He's too disgustingly poor."
"Wha's became o' dat Misteh Baldos, Miss Bev'ly?" asked Aunt Fanny in
the midst of these sorry cogitations. "Has he tuck hit int' his haid to
desert us fo' good? Seems to me he'd oughteh--"
"Now, that will do, Aunt Fanny," reprimanded her mistress sternly. "You
are not supposed to know anything about affairs of state. So don't ask."
At last she no longer could curb her impatience and anxiety. She
deliberately sought information from Prince Dantan. They were strolling
in the park on the seventh day of her inquisition.
"Have you heard from Paul Baldos?" she asked, bravely plunging into deep
water.
"He is expected here tomorrow or the next day, Miss Calhoun. I am almost
as eager to see him as you are," he replied, with a very pointed smile.
"Almost? Well, yes, I'll confess that I am eager to see him. I never
knew I could long for anyone as much as I--Oh, well, there's no use
hiding it from you. I couldn't if I tried. I care very much for him. You
don't think it sounds silly for me to say such a thing, do you? I've
thought a great deal of him ever since the night at the Inn of the Hawk
and Raven. In my imagination I have tried to strip you of your princely
robes to place them upon him. But he is only Baldos, in spite of it
all. He knows that I care for him, and I know that he cares for me.
Perhaps he has told you."
"Yes, he has confessed that he loves you, Miss Calhoun, and he laments
the fact that his love seems hopeless. Paul wonders in his heart if it
would be right in him to ask you to give up all you have of wealth and
pleasure to share a humble lot with him."
"I love him. Isn't that enough? There is no wealth so great as
that. But," and she pursed her mouth in pathetic despair, "don't you
think that you can make a noble or something of him and give him a
station in life worthy of his ambitions? He has done so much for you,
you know."
"I have nothing that I can give to him, he says. Paul Baldos asks only
that he may be my champion until these negotiations are ended. Then he
desires to be free to serve whom he will. All that I can do is to let
him have his way. He is a freelance and he asks no favors, no help."
"Well, I think he's perfectly ridiculous about it, don't you? And yet,
that is the very thing I like in him. I am only wondering how we--I
mean, how he is going to live, that's all."
"If I am correctly informed he still has several months to serve in the
service for which he enlisted. You alone, I believe, have the power to
discharge him before his term expires," said he meaningly.
That night Baldos returned to Edelweiss, ahead of the Graustark
delegation which was coming the next day with representatives from
Dawsbergen. He brought the most glorious news from the frontier. The
Duke of Matz and the leading dignitaries had heard of Gabriel's capture,
both through the Bappo boys and through a few of his henchmen who had
staggered into camp after the disaster. The news threw the Dawsbergen
diplomats into a deplorable state of uncertainty. Even the men high in
authority, while not especially depressed over the fall of their
sovereign, were in doubt as to what would be the next move in their
series of tragedies. Almost to a man they regretted the folly which had
drawn them into the net with Gabriel. Baldos reported that the Duke of
Matz and a dozen of the most distinguished men in Dawsbergen were on
their way to Edelweiss to complete arrangements for peace and to lay
their renunciation of Gabriel before Dantan in a neutral court. The
people of Dawsbergen had been clamoring long for Dantan's restoration,
and Baldos was commissioned to say that his return would be the signal
for great rejoicing. He was closeted until after midnight with Dantan
and his sister. Lorry and Princess Yetive being called in at the end to
hear and approve of the manifesto prepared by the Prince of
Dawsbergen. The next morning the word went forth that a great banquet
was to be given in the castle that night for Prince Dantan and the
approaching noblemen. The prince expected to depart almost immediately
thereafter to resume the throne in Serros.
Baldos was wandering through the park early in the morning. His duties
rested lightly upon his shoulders, but he was restless and
dissatisfied. The longing in his heart urged him to turn his eyes ever
and anon toward the balcony and then to the obstinate-looking castle
doors. The uniform of a Graustark guard still graced his splendid
figure. At last a graceful form was seen coming from the castle toward
the cedars. She walked bravely, but aimlessly. That was plain to be
seen. It was evident that she was and was not looking for
someone. Baldos observed with a thrill of delight that a certain red
feather stood up defiantly from the band of her sailor hat. He liked the
way her dark-blue walking-skirt swished in harmony with her lithe, firm
strides.
She was quite near before he advanced from his place among the trees. He
did not expect her to exhibit surprise or confusion and he was not
disappointed. She was as cool as a brisk spring morning. He did not
offer his hand, but, with a fine smile of contentment, bowed low and
with mock servility.
"I report for duty, your highness," he said. She caught the ring of
gladness in his voice.
"Then I command you to shake hands with me," she said brightly. "You
have been away, I believe?" with a delicious inflection.
"Yes, for a century or more, I'm sure." Constraint fell upon them
suddenly. The hour had come for a definite understanding and both were
conquered by its importance. For the first time in his life he knew the
meaning of diffidence. It came over him as he looked helplessly into the
clear, gray, earnest eyes. "I love you for wearing that red feather," he
said simply.
"And I loved you for wearing it," she answered, her voice soft and
thrilling. He caught his breath joyously.
"Beverly," as he bent over her, "you are my very life, my--"
"Don't, Paul!" she whispered, drawing away with an embarrassed glance
about the park. There were people to be seen on all sides. But he had
forgotten them. He thought only of the girl who ruled his heart. Seeing
the pain in his face, she hastily, even blushingly, said: "It is so
public, dear."
He straightened himself with soldierly precision, but his voice trembled
as he tried to speak calmly in defiance to his eyes. "There is the
grotto--see! It is seclusion itself. Will you come with me? I must tell
you all that is in my heart. It will burst if I do not."
Slowly they made their way to the fairy grotto deep in the thicket of
trees. It was Yetive's favorite dreaming place. Dark and cool and
musical with the rippling of waters, it was an ideal retreat. She
dropped upon the rustic bench that stood against the moss-covered wall
of boulders. With the gentle reserve of a man who reveres as well as
loves, Baldos stood above her. He waited and she understood. How unlike
most impatient lovers he was!
"You may sit beside me," she said with a wistful smile of
acknowledgment. As he flung himself into the seat, his hand eagerly
sought hers, his courtly reserve gone to the winds.
"Beverly, dearest one, you never can know how much I love you," he
whispered into her ear. "It is a deathless love, unconquerable,
unalterable. It is in my blood to love forever. Listen to me, dear one:
I come of a race whose love is hot and enduring. My people from time
immemorial have loved as no other people have loved. They have killed
and slaughtered for the sake of the glorious passion. Love is the
religion of my people. You must, you shall believe me when I say that I
will love you better than my soul so long as that soul exists. I loved
you the day I met you. It has been worship since that time."
His passion carried her resistlessly away as the great waves sweep the
deck of a ship at sea. She was out in the ocean of love, far from all
else that was dear to her, far from all harbors save the mysterious one
to which his passion was piloting her through a storm of emotion.
"I have longed so to hold you in my arms, Beverly--even when you were a
princess and I lay in the hospital at Ganlook, my fevered arms hungered
for you. There never has been a moment that my heart has not been
reaching out in search of yours. You have glorified me, dearest, by the
promise you made a week ago. I know that you will not renounce that
precious pledge. It is in your eyes now--the eyes I shall worship to the
end of eternity. Tell me, though, with your own lips, your own voice,
that you will be my wife, mine to hold forever."
For answer she placed her arms about his neck and buried her face
against his shoulder. There were tears in her gray eyes and there was a
sob in her throat. He held her close to his breast for an eternity, it
seemed to both, neither giving voice to the song their hearts were
singing. There was no other world than the fairy grotto.
"Sweetheart, I am asking you to make a great sacrifice," he said at
last, his voice hoarse but tender. She looked up into his face
serenely. "Can you give up the joys, the wealth, the comforts of that
home across the sea to share a lowly cottage with me and my love? Wait,
dear,--do not speak until I am through. You must think of what your
friends will say. The love and life I offer you now will not be like
that which you always have known. It will be poverty and the dregs, not
riches and wine. It will be--"
But she placed her hand upon his lips, shaking her head
emphatically. The picture he was painting was the same one that she had
studied for days and days. Its every shadow was familiar to her, its
every unwholesome corner was as plain as day.
"The rest of the world may think what it likes, Paul," she said. "It
will make no difference to me. I have awakened from my dream. My dream
prince is gone, and I find that it's the real man that I love. What
would you have me do? Give you up because you are poor? Or would you
have me go up the ladder of fame and prosperity with you, a humble but
adoring burden? I know you, dear. You will not always be poor. They may
say what they like. I have thought long and well, because I am not a
fool. It is the American girl who marries the titled foreigner without
love that is a fool. Marrying a poor man is too serious a business to be
handled by fools. I have written to my father, telling him that I am
going to marry you," she announced. He gasped with unbelief.
"You have--already?" he cried.
"Of course. My mind has been made up for more than a week. I told it to
Aunt Fanny last night."
"And she?"
"She almost died, that's all," said she unblushingly. "I was afraid to
cable the news to father. He might stop me if he knew it in time. A
letter was much smarter."
"You dear, dear little sacrifice," he cried tenderly. "I will give all
my life to make you happy."
"I am a soldier's daughter, and I can be a soldier's wife. I have tried
hard to give you up, Paul, but I couldn't. You are love's soldier, dear,
and it is a--a relief to surrender and have it over with."
They fell to discussing plans for the future. It all went smoothly and
airily until he asked her when he should go to Washington to claim her
as his wife. She gave him a startled, puzzled look.
"To Washington?" she murmured, turning very cold and weak. "You--you
won't have to go to Washington, dear; I'll stay here."
"My dear Beverly, I can afford the trip," he laughed. "I am not an
absolute pauper. Besides, it is right and just that your father should
give you to me. It is the custom of our land." She was nervous and
uncertain.
"But--but, Paul, there are many things to think of," she faltered.
"You mean that your father would not consent?"
"Well,--he--he might be unreasonable," she stammered. "And then there
are my brothers, Keith and Dan. They are foolishly interested in me.
Dan thinks no one is good enough for me. So does Keith. And father, too,
for that matter,--and mother. You see, it's not just as if you were a
grand and wealthy nobleman. They may not understand. We are southerners,
you know. Some of them have peculiar ideas about--"
"Don't distress yourself so much, dearest," he said with a
laugh. "Though I see your position clearly--and it is not an enviable
one."
"We can go to Washington just as soon as we are married," she
compromised. "Father has a great deal of influence over there. With his
help behind you you will soon be a power in the United--" but his hearty
laugh checked her eager plotting. "It's nothing to laugh at, Paul," she
said.
"I beg your pardon a thousand times. I was thinking of the
disappointment I must give you now. I cannot live in the United
States--never. My home is here. I am not born for the strife of your
land. They have soldiers enough and better than I. It is in the
turbulent east that we shall live--you and I." Tears came into her
eyes.
"Am I not to--to go back to Washin'ton?" She tried to smile.
"When Prince Dantan says we may, perhaps."
"Oh, he is my friend," she cried in great relief. "I can get any favor I
ask of him. Oh, Paul, Paul, I know that my folks will think I'm an awful
fool, but I can't help it. I shall let you know that I intend to be a
blissful one, at least."
He kissed her time and again, out there in the dark, soft light of the
fairy grotto.
"Before we can be married, dearest, I have a journey of some importance
to take," he announced, as they arose to leave the bower behind.
"A journey? Where?"
"To Vienna. I have an account to settle with a man who has just taken up
his residence there." His hand went to his sword-hilt and his dark eyes
gleamed with the fire she loved. "Count Marlanx and I have postponed
business to attend to, dearest. Have no fear for me. My sword is honest
and I shall bring it back to you myself."
She shuddered and knew that it would be as he said.