amazement. His generosity was inexplicable.
The Princess Hilda stood silent for a time, plunged in deep thought. Then
she said firmly:
“Give me your revolver, Herr Bennett.”
He removed the weapon from his pocket and placed it carefully in her
outstretched hand.
“A wasp is harmless without his sting,” muttered the baron under his
breath. Count von Reibach, more generous than his colleague, placed his
hand upon the latter’s mouth and whispered to him to remain silent.
The Princess Hilda had retreated toward her apartment. Before she dropped
the curtain she turned and looked at the little group behind her. In one
hand she held the pistol, while with the other she drew the curtains
aside. The picture that she made at that moment in the flickering light,
with the fitful gleams playing on her golden hair, while heavy shadows
behind her threw the outlines of her tall figure into strong relief,
Bennett never forgot. Suddenly she dropped the curtain and disappeared.
The deep gloom of the apartment seemed to return on the instant, and
the American turned sadly toward his foes. Deprived of weapon, he had
determined to sell his life, if the struggle were forced upon him, as
dearly as he might. To his astonishment, however, he saw Count von
Reibach approaching him with an outstretched hand.
“You are a gentleman, Herr Bennett,” said the count cordially, “in spite
of the fact that you go to extremes.”
“_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_,” muttered Bennett coldly, not accepting
the count’s hand. “You must acknowledge, sir, that by going to extremes I
took the only course open to me at the moment.”
Count von Reibach smiled grimly. “The fact is, Herr Bennett, that we
had formed no diabolical design, the baron and myself. For certain
reasons—reasons of state, as our unhappy king would say—we felt that your
presence here was inopportune, and we had decided to—to——”
“Assassinate me,” remarked Bennett curtly.
“Not at all. You do us grave injustice, I assure you. It is just possible
that, had you not checked our impetuosity at the right moment, we might
have imprisoned you in an empty wine-cask somewhere in the cellar,
but we had no wish to take your life. The Count von Reibach and Baron
Wollenstein are not cut-throats, Herr Bennett. And let me assure you we
appreciate your generosity in refusing to accuse us to the princess.”
The Baron Wollenstein had listened sullenly to his comrade’s rather lame
apology. He gazed with stubborn enmity at Bennett, and then said to the
count:
“Come, von Reibach, let’s get some sleep. The fact is. I’m
_ausgespielt_. As for this—gentleman, let me assure him that we have no
further intention of interfering with his liberty. Come, count.”
The two courtiers retired toward a dark corner of the room, not far
from the entrance to Princess Hilda’s apartment. Here they stretched
themselves upon a dilapidated piece of furniture that had once served as
a regal couch for a reigning Schwartzburger. Bennett could hear their
guttural voices as they talked together in low tones for a time. Then
silence, broken only by the king’s labored breathing and the occasional
snores of the exhausted courtiers, reigned in the old lumber-room, made
barely habitable by Cousin Fritz’s efforts.
The Princess Hilda, upon her return to the inner room, had thrown herself
fully dressed upon the improvised bed prepared for her by the dwarf, and
had vainly attempted to forget her woes in sleep. The horrors of her
situation forced themselves persistently upon her mind and the events
of a long and dreadful day allied themselves in opposition to peaceful
slumber. It seemed an age since she had stood beside King Rudolph in
the morning and had attempted to impress him with the seriousness of
the crisis that confronted them. The downfall of her uncle, and their
undignified flight, had occurred with such suddenness that she had
not yet been able to grasp their full significance. Then a strange,
inexplicable feeling stole over her and she realized, with a sensation
of shame, that in this dark hour she took comfort in the presence of
Herr Bennett. Annoyed by this discovery, she turned restlessly upon her
pillow and again attempted to forget her woes and weariness in sleep.
The lower regions of the castle of the Schwartzburgers were not wholly
under the control of Cousin Fritz. His sway was disputed by the rats,
liberty-loving creatures having no respect for the rights of property
nor reverence for royalty. A rat-hole, running clear through the wall,
opened like a speaking-tube just where the shapely ear of the Princess
Hilda rested as she lay quiet, fervently praying for sleep. Suddenly her
wandering thoughts were recalled from the borderland of oblivion by the
stern realities of her surroundings. She heard distinctly the guttural
voice of Baron Wollenstein as he said to Count von Reibach:
“You are too soft-hearted, Count. Our only safety lies in Herr Bennett’s
death. Mark my words, it is his life or ours in the end. This is no time
for gentle deeds and kindly words. We’ll be captured in this hole, as
sure as Wilhelm reigns. If we kill Bennett and conceal his body, we can
prove to Wilhelm that we followed Rudolph in the interest of the new
_régime_. Verstehen Sie? Am I not right?”
The horrified princess could not catch the count’s answer. She strained
her ear in vain, but the rat-hole no longer served her purpose as an
eavesdropper. How long she lay motionless she knew not, but after a time
the snoring of the conspirators convinced her that they had ceased their
plotting for a time and were plunged in sleep.
The princess arose softly, grasped the revolver that she had placed on
the floor near her bed, and stole toward the entrance to the chamber.
As she pulled aside the curtains and glanced furtively around the larger
room she saw that one candle still burned dimly in a corner near the main
entrance. By its flickering gleams she could make out the figure of the
exhausted American as he lay, sprawled in broken slumbers, in an antique
chair near the door through which he expected the return of Cousin Fritz.
As she approached Bennett a feeling of mingled tenderness and repentance
came over her. This man had been in peril of his life, and she had
harshly accused him of a crime. Was it not more than possible that
she had always misjudged him; that he had found it impracticable to
fulfil the oath he had sworn to her in the Hall of Armor? Surely he had
not promised to leave the castle before the morning, and the morning,
she imagined, was only just breaking. She glanced down at his white,
clear-cut face, rendered almost ghastly by the dim light in contrast with
his black, luxuriant hair.
“Herr Bennett,” she whispered gently, bending forward and placing a hand
upon his shoulder. He awoke on the instant and their eyes met.
“Take your pistol,” she said simply. “You are still in grave danger. I
did you an injustice.”
He had sprung to his feet, a mournful smile playing across his face.
“Your royal highness,” he said, “I thank you from my heart—not for the
weapon but for your words.”
A flush arose to her cheeks and there came into her eyes a light as sweet
as the dawn that drove the shadows from the hills outside.
CHAPTER IX.
The Princess Hilda opened her eyes wearily. She had slept for several
hours, but her first sensation as she woke was one of utter misery. Sleep
had brought with it no refreshment, no exhilaration. The mere joy of
living, that so often thrilled her in the morning, she seemed to have
lost forever. The twilight that reigned in this subterranean apartment,
the sudden recollection of the grim disasters of the previous day, the
discomfort that resulted from sleeping fully dressed, and the sensation
of utter loneliness that came over her, combined to render her awakening
painful. She turned impatiently upon her couch. Suddenly a smile of joy
lighted her sad face. Fraulein Müller, her favorite attendant, a plump,
red-cheeked young woman of twenty, was seated by her side.
“Good morning, your highness,” cried the maiden cheerily. “You seem glad
to see me.”
“I am indeed,” said the princess warmly. “This has been, Gretchen, oh,
such an awful night! I feel as if, somehow, my youth had gone forever;
that I shall always be an old, old woman.”
Fraulein Müller laughed gayly. “It is not so bad as that, my princess.
Lie quiet for a while and I will make you young again. See, I have
brought with me many things that you need. I was heart-broken until
Cousin Fritz, who can crawl through cracks in the floor or fly through
the ceiling, stood suddenly by my side and told me to dry my tears and
make ready to attend you. There were wild doings in the castle last
night, and I sat with the other women in your apartments trembling at the
awful sounds we heard. When Cousin Fritz appeared and told us that you
were safe, we took him in our arms and kissed him until he kicked and
swore and called us hard names. Then we dropped the wicked little angel
and I got a few of your things into a bundle and followed him into the
bowels of the earth. It wasn’t much fun, your highness, to creep through
the darkness with that crazy little villain at my side, laughing wildly
at my fears and pinching me now and then to hear me cry out with fright.
But when I saw you lying here alone, I felt that I could hug Cousin
Fritz. His head is queer enough, but he has a heart of gold.”
As she thus talked on, while she loosened the Princess Hilda’s hair and
brushed out the golden-brown locks, the feeling of despair that had come
over the royal fugitive departed. The princess was by temperament a
sanguine, sunny-natured girl, cold and haughty toward those she could not
trust, but cordially affectionate with her intimates. Her attendants had
been recruited from the best families in the kingdom, and it was known
throughout Hesse-Heilfels that the Princess Hilda, in spite of her proud
bearing, was a very lovable creature.
“Tell me, Gretchen,” she said, glancing anxiously at Fraulein Müller,
who was at that moment spreading a morning dress upon the bed, “tell me
what has happened up above? Are the people—my people, as I loved to call
them—really thirsting for my blood?”
Fraulein Müller laughed aloud. She was one of those rare creatures whose
gayety cannot be suppressed by the most dismal surroundings.
“It was rumored when I came away, your royal highness, that your Uncle
Wilhelm was bitterly disappointed at your disappearance. He is, it is
said, anxious to get word to you that his plans did not include any
change in your status at court. He has spread abroad the impression that
he has deposed King Rudolph simply to save Hesse-Heilfels from ruin.
He has no intention, it is reported, of altering your position in the
kingdom. Somebody told me that he had made the remark that your uncle
would still be king, but sane instead of mad.”
“Hush, Fraulein Müller,” said the princess sternly. “These walls are not
to be trusted—as I well know—and I would not have King Rudolph hear what
you have just said for worlds. How little Uncle Wilhelm knows my heart!
King Rudolph has been to me a father since my childhood. Sane or mad,
king or exile, he deserves my loyalty and love. Listen, Gretchen! I would
die with Rudolph in this rat-hole sooner than return to Wilhelm’s court
and countenance his treachery by silent acquiescence. I have striven to
prevent this awful crisis. I have labored to turn my Uncle Rudolph from
his mad ways. I have failed. But let it not be said that the Princess
Hilda of Hesse-Heilfels changes her colors with the fortunes of her
house. If loyalty to Rudolph means imprisonment, or even death, I shall
follow his banner to the end.”
She stood there, flushed, defiant, beautiful, her eyes dark with the
fervor of her passion; a girl no longer, for the stern discipline of evil
fortune had made her a woman in a night. Never again would her heart
dance merrily with the mere gayety of youth. She had lost something of
the precious vivacity of girlhood, but in its place had come the strength
and firmness that add a touch of grandeur to maturity.
Fraulein Müller gazed at her mistress with admiration. Never before had
the maiden she had served seemed so thoroughly a queen as at this moment
when she stood, a fugitive skulking in a cellar, bereft of everything
that makes royalty impressive, and voiced to a single listener the
noblest sentiments of loyalty. Above her shone the bright light of the
summer sun, awakening a people who would gladly welcome her return to
the pomp and state that had been hers throughout her life. Above her
reigned a king who would place her by his side and reward her allegiance
to his cause with power and dominion. In contrast with all this, what was
offered her? An existence of wretched discomfort in the damp darkness of
a rat-haunted chamber. A miserable present and an uncertain future. The
companionship of ruined men, of a king whose crazy folly had hurled him
from the pinnacle of power into the abysmal depths of despair and ruin.
Here was a girl of eighteen, upon whom nature had lavished all her gifts,
and to whom the world bowed down in loving homage, confronted by a
choice from which the boldest man would have shrunk back in dismay. And
the Princess Hilda gave up the sunshine for the darkness, the light of
day for the gloom of night, the pleasures of the gladsome world for the
grim shadows of a living tomb! Is it strange that in Hesse-Heilfels you
should hear it said that in the Schwartzburger blood there is a strain of
heroism that breaks out now and then, as the generations come and go?
Something of all this passed through Fraulein Müller’s mind as she gazed
at the princess with eyes that looked upon her royal mistress with
new reverence. She bent forward and kissed Hilda’s hand with loving
deference. There were tears on the Fraulein’s cheeks as she smiled up at
her mistress, from whose face the flush of excitement had departed.
“Ah, Gretchen,” said the princess wearily, “you must not weep! Surely,
nothing can be gained by tears. But to be a woman is so hard! How
powerless we are! Oh, for a man’s arm to-day, Gretchen! Were I a prince,
do you know what I would do? If they had driven me down into this hole, I
would find the powder magazine and blow those rebels into bits.”
Fraulein Müller laughed merrily. The ludicrous side of a situation always
appealed first to her mind.
“Would it not be a grim revenge?” she cried. “But I fear, your highness,
we would not live to enjoy it.”
At that moment a knock at the door recalled them to the exigencies of the
hour. Fraulein Müller ran merrily toward the entrance.
That she and her mistress were not wholly alone was a reassuring thought.
“Who’s there?” she cried, smoothing back her hair from her brow and
rearranging her skirts. The habits of a court are not quickly lost, even
in a cellar.
“Cousin Fritz, my Lady Müller. An envoy from the reigning King of
Hesse-Heilfels, Rudolph XII. I crave audience of the Princess Hilda.”
Fraulein Müller, smiling at the madcap’s pompous words, threw back the
door. The dwarf instantly rushed in, turned quickly and pinched her arm
with mischievous force, and then hurried forward, to throw himself upon
one knee before the princess, the feather of his jaunty cap trailing on
the floor.
“Your royal highness,” said he ceremoniously, his harsh voice penetrating
to the furthest corners of the room. “Your liege lord, the King of
Hesse-Heilfels, commends himself to you with loving words and commands
your immediate presence in the dining-hall. Such is the message he
ordered me to give you. Personally let me add, your royal highness, that
this morning we draw to a full larder, and, if your appetite is good, I
should advise you to take a hand in the game.”
The Princess Hilda could not restrain a smile at the dwarf’s words, but
she felt a pang of annoyance at hearing again the poker jargon that had
become synonymous, to her mind, with ruin and disgrace.
“Tell the king, Cousin Fritz,” she said, rising and moving toward the
door, “that I will be with him at once.”
CHAPTER X.
Wilhelm IX., King of Hesse-Heilfels by the divine right of grand larceny,
gazed from a window in the castle at the rising sun; emblematic, as he
reflected, of himself and his fortunes. He was a younger, better built
man than his brother, Rudolph the Deposed. His legs were much longer
than his brother’s, thus making his head cooler. There was an old saying
in Hesse-Heilfels to the effect that “a Schwartzburger with short legs
always toddles into trouble.” His superiority in length of limb had
had much to do toward rendering Wilhelm’s usurpation successful. The
impressionable and somewhat superstitious people of Hesse-Heilfels
possessed an hereditary conviction that the longer the legs of a
Schwartzburger the better fitted he was to rule the kingdom. When,
therefore, it was whispered that Wilhelm plotted to seize the sceptre
the Heilfelsans were drawn irresistibly to his cause. They preferred a
long-legged Schwartzburger, of good habits, as king, to a short-legged
gambler who was over-fond of wine.
Wilhelm’s face, pale and drawn from the stress of an exciting night, wore
a smile of triumph as he looked forth upon the picturesque domain that he
had so easily made his own. Backed by the people of Hesse-Heilfels, and
sure of recognition at Berlin, he felt that he was safely seated upon a
throne that he had long wished to occupy. Presently he turned from the
window, and beckoned to a man who had recently entered the room and stood
awaiting the pleasure of royalty.
“What news, Herr Schmidt?” asked Wilhelm eagerly, “is there any clew
to my lost relatives? My brother can’t perform miracles. He must be
concealed somewhere in the castle.”
“We have searched the building from top to bottom, your majesty, but can
find no trace of Rudolph, the Princess, nor the Yankee. But a strange
story has come from the Princess Hilda’s waiting-women. How much truth
there is in it, I do not know.”
“We’ll find out at first hand,” said King Wilhelm, seating himself in a
chair by the side of a small round table. “Summon all her women to my
presence.”
Herr Schmidt hurried from the room.
“Carl Eingen, a word with you,” said Wilhelm, and the handsome baritone
approached the king and deferentially bent the knee.
“As I understand it,” said Wilhelm, “the capture of this American
adventurer was left to you, Carl Eingen. Why did you fail to obey orders?”
The tall youth turned pale, but answered firmly:
“The failure cannot be laid at my door, your majesty. I obeyed in detail
the instructions I received. The weak spot in our scheme lay in the fact
that we put too little stress upon the cleverness of Cousin Fritz.”
“Cousin Fritz?” cried the king in astonishment. “The madcap dwarf? Surely
he could not have foiled you all! What had he to do with the affair?”
“An hour or so before we made the general advance upon the castle, your
majesty, Cousin Fritz was seen—I saw him myself—dancing wildly on the
balcony in front of the American’s apartment. The dwarf is the only man
in the kingdom who knows all the underground secrets of this ancient
castle. I have no doubt that he has led Rudolph and the rest to a place
of, at least, temporary secrecy.”
“Just who are missing, Herr Eingen?” asked Wilhelm.
“Rudolph, the Princess Hilda, Baron Wollenstein, Count von Reibach, Herr
Bennett, and Cousin Fritz.”
“That is all?”
“So far as I can learn, no one else has disappeared from the castle since
our entrance.”
“It is strange,” mused the usurper. “So large a party, it seems to me,
could not vanish in one instant without leaving some clew behind them.
You say, Herr Eingen, that the cellars have been thoroughly explored?”
“Yes, your majesty. I led the exploring party myself. There is, beneath
this castle, a labyrinth of passages, cellars, dungeons, and lumber rooms
that taxed our patience severely, but we groped into every nook and
corner, and found nothing to reward our search.”
At this moment Herr Schmidt returned, followed by a group of young women
whom the events of the night had rendered hysterical. At a sign from
Wilhelm, Herr Schmidt led his bevy of distraught maidens toward the
usurper.
“Now understand me,” said Wilhelm sternly, “I shall imprison you in a
body if you all insist upon talking at once. Furthermore, I object to
tears. You have nothing to cry about if you will obey your king. Do you
comprehend me? Your king, Wilhelm IX., by the grace of God monarch of
Hesse-Heilfels. You there, in front, answer my questions! What is this
wonderful tale that I hear has been spread abroad from your corner of the
castle?”
Carl Eingen, his countenance disturbed, was anxiously glancing from face
to face of the trembling women, seeking some one he could not find. In
answer to Wilhelm, a maiden standing nearer to royalty than the others
said, her voice tremulous with emotion:
“This morning, your majesty, about four o’clock, Cousin Fritz suddenly
appeared, as if by magic, among us. He ordered us to make a bundle of
things most necessary for the Princess Hilda’s comfort. Then he went
away, accompanied by her royal highness’ favorite attendant.”
Carl Eingen gazed at the speaker earnestly, while Wilhelm said:
“Her favorite attendant? Who may that be?”
“The Fraulein Müller, your majesty.”
Carl Eingen’s face turned white. He had long loved Fraulein Müller, and
her non-attendance upon Wilhelm had filled him with dismay. “Weren’t you
in the cellars at that hour, Herr Eingen?” asked Wilhelm sternly.
“I was, your majesty—with twenty men with torches.”
“And you heard no sound—no footsteps—no echoes?”
“None, your majesty, that the vastness of the vaults would not explain.”
The usurper sat silent for a time, deep in thought. Now and again one of
the waiting-women would sob hysterically. Carl Eingen’s impatience grew
apace. He longed for action, for some physical outlet for the anxiety
that oppressed him. He had seen little of Fraulein Müller since she had
been taken into the household of the Princess Hilda, but his boyhood had
been spent in her companionship. He could not remember the time when he
had not loved her. Her bright face and sunny nature had been to him for
years a solace and a hope. That she had been lured into the perils that
surrounded the path of the royal fugitives, he could not now doubt. The
conviction filled him with dismay. He longed to begin at once a renewal
of the fruitless search he had made in the early morning. He watched the
changing expressions on Wilhelm’s face anxiously. Presently the usurper
spoke:
“Come here, Herr Schmidt,” said Wilhelm, a cruel tone in his deep voice.
“Seat yourself at this table and write as I direct. Are you ready? Go
on then. ‘To the people of Hesse-Heilfels, greeting: I, Wilhelm IX., by
the grace of God king of Hesse-Heilfels, do call upon you to render up
to me, dead or alive, the person of one Cousin Fritz, a dwarf, who has
held, under my predecessor, the office of Court Jester. To the man or
men who shall bring to my castle the body of said Cousin Fritz shall be
paid the sum of five hundred marks. Given under my hand and seal, at the
castle of Heilfels, this tenth day of August, 189—.’ There, I think that
may be effective in crushing out the last sparks of rebellion in this
afflicted land. Have a hundred copies of that proclamation made at once,
Herr Schmidt. See to it that they are exposed in every wine-shop in the
kingdom. Take a few of them, Herr Eingen, and affix them to the walls in
the most remote corners of the cellars under us. Oh, one moment, Herr
Schmidt; add to the proclamation that a full pardon will be granted to
any one who has been in rebellion against Wilhelm IX., in case he aids
in the capture of Cousin Fritz. That may have an effect upon Reibach and
Wollenstein, if they should see the notice. As I remember them, those
two men are among the worst products of Brother Rudolph’s worm-eaten
vineyard. And now, gentlemen, let us break our fast. Ladies, I bid you
good-morning. It is my fondest hope that you may have your mistress with
you again at the earliest possible moment.”
Wilhelm arose and the audience was at an end. With a heavy heart, Carl
Eingen joined Herr Schmidt and prepared for another descent to the weird
regions beneath the castle. Meanwhile the people of Hesse-Heilfels
had begun the day under a new _régime_, and the whisper went abroad
throughout the kingdom that indulgence in the game of draw-poker would be
construed as the crime of _lese majesté_.
CHAPTER XI.
Carl Eingen had searched, as he believed, the most remote corner of the
wine-cellar. He had taken with him no companion upon his subterranean
bill-posting expedition, and, courageous though he was, he could not
control a feeling of nervous discomfort as he fastened the grewsome
proclamation of King Wilhelm to what he imagined was the last outpost
in this tortuous hole in the ground. He had affixed type-written copies
offering a reward for the capture of Cousin Fritz, dead or alive, to wine
casks, stone walls, and wooden pillars in various parts of the cellar,
and he breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that his grim task was at
an end. Suddenly a harsh, shrill voice, just above his head, cried out:
“Ha Carl Eingen, I’m worth five hundred marks, eh? I’ll throw you double
or quits for my body. What say you?”
Carl started in affright, and dropped the hammer he held in his hand.
Perched upon a huge hogshead sat Cousin Fritz, his feathered cap upon his
head, smiling down mischievously at the astonished youth.
“Will you come up and take me?” asked the dwarf maliciously, moving
his short sword in the air and then making a few defiant passes at his
antagonist. “Do you need money, Carl? Five hundred marks! It is a large
sum.”
Carl Eingen remained silent, but he could not suppress a smile as the
ludicrous features of the situation impressed him. Suddenly the dwarf’s
mood changed.
“You’re a good fellow, Carl Eingen, in spite of your rebellious nature,”
he said gently. “I don’t believe you’d murder me in cold blood. That’s
more than I could say of several men I know. As times go, Carl, it’s high
praise.”
“I think, Cousin Fritz,” said Carl quietly, “that you’d better come with
me without more ado. You’re sure to be captured down here and you might
be run to earth by somebody who would think it less trouble to take you
dead than alive. I promise you that I’ll do my best to make easy terms
for you with the king.”
“What king, Carl?” asked the dwarf mockingly. “You may not know it, but I
am the real, the only king of Hesse-Heilfels. In the long run I dictate
my own terms—and they are always accepted, Carl Eingen. Do you call
Brother Wilhelm king? Nonsense! He’s only an upstart who struts about up
above for a time and then falls to sleep like the rest. Hesse-Heilfels
has only one king—and he never dies. But enough of this, Carl! I won’t
come to you and you can’t capture me. Nevertheless, I prefer you as an
ally to a foe. I’ll make you a proposition.”
Carl Eingen frowned and strode nervously up and down, almost within
reach of the dwarf’s pointed shoes. He felt absurdly conscious of his
momentary impotence. He was keenly alive to the possibility that he would
be obliged to return to Wilhelm and confess that he had been outwitted by
the dwarf. Furthermore, Cousin Fritz was in possession of a secret that
Carl Eingen longed to solve. Upon the hogshead above him sat the captor
of Fraulein Müller, and her lover burned to get word of her. He knew,
right well, that only by diplomacy could he make Cousin Fritz reveal the
truth concerning her abduction.
“Go on,” said Carl smoothly, “let me hear your proposition, Cousin Fritz.”
The dwarf chuckled with inward merriment. Then he bent forward, his hand
still upon his sword, and said:
“You think me mad, Carl Eingen, but you’d do well to back my hand at this
crisis in the game. In this case one king beats a royal flush. I’m the
king, and I know my power. Let me tell you, Carl Eingen, that you will
never see again a face that you love nor hear a voice that has grown dear
to you unless you heed what I shall say. It has come to a contest between
your loyalty and your love. If you remain true to Wilhelm, you will be
false to your love. If you place your mistress above your king in your
heart, you must forswear Wilhelm. Do you follow me?”
There was a sane intensity in the dwarf’s manner that Carl Eingen had
never observed before. It impressed him even more than the madcap’s words.
“And if I abandon Wilhelm, Cousin Fritz?” asked Carl earnestly.
“You shall see your love again, Carl Eingen.”
“And otherwise?”
“The sweet face of Gretchen Müller shall smile upon you only from the
shadows of the night, when memory haunts your pillow and drives sleep
routed from your couch.”
Carl Eingen looked about him restlessly. The dark mysteries of this
weird cellar appeared to cast upon him an uncanny spell. He seemed to
be plunged into a shadow-haunted realm in which laws that were new to
him prevailed. The dwarf, smiling with conscious power, seemed to exert
a hypnotic influence over the impressionable youth, whose artistic
sensibilities rendered him extremely sensitive to the influences of a
romantic environment.
Furthermore, the threat uttered by the dwarf had had its effect. Carl
Eingen longed passionately to gaze once more upon a face that had been
for years the fairest sight earth held for him. The possibility—remote
and unreasonable as it seemed—that this little mischief-maker could
remove Gretchen Müller forever from his ken thrilled him with unspeakable
dread. Instinctively he seemed to realize that Cousin Fritz was not
wholly a vain boaster, that he was not without some portion of the
boundless power he claimed.
“Well, Cousin Fritz,” said Carl at length, his voice hoarse and unsteady,
“I will go to this point, and no further. If you will lead me at once to
Fraulein Müller, I give you my word that I will take no advantage of what
I have learned, that neither Wilhelm nor any of his people shall know
that I have met you down here.”
The dwarf laughed mockingly and sprang to the floor. “It’s unconditional
surrender, even on those terms,” he cried. “What I have left undone,
Fraulein Müller will accomplish. Look here, Carl Eingen! See how
powerless you were.”
Cousin Fritz skipped merrily toward the proclamation that offered a
reward for his capture. Removing it from the wall he playfully tore it
into small pieces. Suddenly, to Carl’s amazement, a black hole gaped at
them where the paper had rested but a moment before.
“In here, Carl,” cried the dwarf, scrambling through the aperture.
“You thought you had reached the end of the cellar. This is merely the
entrance, my friend.”
For a moment the youth hesitated. When, after much squeezing and a good
deal of discomfort, he stood beside Cousin Fritz, his guide’s figure was
almost lost in the deep gloom.
“Come on,” said the dwarf, seizing Carl’s hand. “We have not far to go;
we are taking a short cut to my apartments—the real centre of royalty in
Hesse-Heilfels.”
A moment later they stepped out into a passageway that soon led them to
the main entrance of the rooms in which the dwarf had ensconced Rudolph
XI. and his small suite. Cautiously opening the heavy door, Cousin Fritz
tightly gripped Carl Eingen’s arm and silently pointed to the scene
before them.
In the centre of the hall the deposed king was seated at a table, at
the opposite side of which Count von Reibach shuffled a pack of cards.
Between them were small piles of pebbles that roughly served as chips.
Baron Wollenstein, with a surly expression upon his heavy face, appeared
to watch the game, but his restless eyes constantly turned toward a
group at the farther corner of the room. The Princess Hilda, attended by
Fraulein Müller, was seated in an antique chair of state, against the
back of which her head rested as she gazed upward at Herr Bennett. The
American, oblivious of the threatening glances of Baron Wollenstein, was
bending forward talking earnestly to the golden-haired princess. A smile
played across her face as she listened to his words.
“There, Carl Eingen,” whispered the dwarf mischievously, “is the game as
it stands. Will you draw cards?”
“Yes,” answered the youth hoarsely as he met the eye of Fraulein Müller,
who turned white with amazement as she caught sight of him.
CHAPTER XII.
There was nothing in the topic upon which Bennett was discoursing to the
Princess Hilda to arouse the jealousy of Baron Wollenstein. The American
was speaking eloquently, but impersonally, of his native land. The events
of the night and the ominous inaction of the morning had rendered the
princess a willing listener to the voice of a man to whom, she felt, she
had shown great injustice. Woman-like, having reached the conclusion
that she had not treated him with fairness, she now went to the extreme
of trusting Bennett fully. Her discovery of the utter baseness of
Wollenstein and von Reibach added to the longing she felt to prove that
the American was not unworthy of her regard.
“It is true,” said Bennett smilingly, “that my beautiful country is not
made picturesque by antique castles, but, your Royal Highness, you must
admit that I have no cause to hold it in contempt for that reason.” He
glanced around the gloomy apartment meaningly.
The princess understood him, and her eyes were sympathetic as they met
his. “But an old castle has its advantages,” she remarked, with forced
gayety. “It is crystallized history, is it not? Furthermore, it may offer
a place of refuge in time of trouble.”
“Ah,” said Bennett, loyal to his American prejudices, “that is just
the point. In my country, we need no underground cellars to escape
the wrath of man. We use them for another purpose. But don’t think
me narrow-minded, Your Highness. I appreciate the advantages your
country offers to the tourist, to the lover of romance, but, as a
place of residence, I must admit that I prefer Litchfield County to
Hesse-Heilfels.”
The Princess Hilda sat silent for a moment. Her mind dwelt upon the
ruin this man had wrought in the land she loved. She had been forced to
the conclusion that the disaster he had brought to Hesse-Heilfels had
been the outcome not of malice, but of mischance. Nevertheless, he had
been the motive force, at the outset, that had overthrown the _régime_
of which she was a part. How far was it becoming for her to accept
his friendship? She could not answer. Of her own free-will she had
thrown down the barrier between them, and it was too late, perhaps, to
reconstruct it.
The Princess Hilda was only eighteen years of age. The full significance
of the political revolution of which she was a victim had not yet come
to her. Had she possessed a wider and deeper experience of the ways of
the world, the embarrassments that surrounded her would have impressed
her more deeply. But she was very young, and, it is the peril and the
privilege of youth to make light of difficulties that appear insuperable
to the eyes of maturity. Furthermore, the princess was undergoing a novel
experience that possessed for her a dangerous fascination. The rigid
etiquette of the old-fashioned court in which she had spent her girlhood
had precluded the possibility of frank and sympathetic intercourse
with young men. An American girl of eighteen is apt to be as wise as a
serpent, though harmless as a dove. She is sure of herself. She takes
pride in the conviction that she understands men. What she has failed
to learn of the peculiarities of human nature from experience, she has
derived from literature and the drama. She makes her _début_ in society
a full-fledged woman of the world. If she is clever, her epigrams are as
pointed at eighteen as they will be at twenty-eight.
But a German princess develops more slowly. She is hedged around by
safeguards erected on the theory that there should be no royal road to
worldliness. She is moulded by ceremonies and fashioned by precedents.
She is deprived by birth of the divine right to choose a husband. At
eighteen she has become merely a more or less ornamental piece in a royal
game of chess. The American girl of the same age is years older than the
German princess.
Let it not be imagined, however, that Jonathan Edwards Bennett found the
Princess Hilda of Hesse-Heilfels too young and unsophisticated to be
interesting. While her recent experiences may not have assumed in her
mind their ultimate significance, they had had, nevertheless, a marked
effect in changing her mental attitude toward many subjects. At one blow
she had been thrust into an entirely new relationship to the universe at
large. Heretofore, she had been led to believe that the sun rose and set
merely for her own royal pleasure and profit. Suddenly even the light
of that luminary had been denied to her. The immediate effect of this
deprivation had been educational. For the first time in her life she had
been brought face to face with the fact that royalty itself is subject to
the chastisement that fate so freely bestows upon lesser mortals.
“Tell me, Herr Bennett,” she said after a time, glancing significantly at
the poker-players in the centre of the room, “what will be the outcome of
all this? We can’t live here all our days. I should become an old woman
in a year if I could never see the sun, never hear the wind among the
trees.”
A smile played across her shapely mouth, but her eyes were sad as they
looked up at the pale, handsome face above her.
“Do you know, your royal highness,” said Bennett, lowering his voice,
confidentially, “I have come to the conclusion that the solution of
the puzzle rests with Cousin Fritz. It is a novel experience for me
to suspend my own judgment and trust to another man to get me out of
difficulties, but the little madcap’s cleverness and loyalty have had a
hypnotic effect upon my will. More and more do I find myself inclined to
follow his lead, to await his commands, and to trust to his ingenuity to
get us out of this amazing scrape.”
The Princess Hilda assented. “Cousin Fritz,” she said, “has become, I
fear, our only hope. What he can do for us now I can’t imagine, but, Herr
Bennett, there is some satisfaction in the thought that we can never be
worse off than we are at present.”
The American uttered a few words of perfunctory acquiescence. He envied
her the undismayed optimism of extreme youth. The conviction had come
upon him that they might easily be placed in a more undesirable position
than they occupied at that moment.
“Herr Bennett,” said the princess, a slight flush of embarrassment coming
into her cheeks. “I was pleased to hear you speak so kindly of Cousin
Fritz, but let me urge you to beware of the others. Cousin Fritz is your
friend. The others hate you.”
Bennett smiled gently. “Thank you for your warning, Princess Hilda. I
know well that they seek my life. But I have no fear of them. Some years
ago, your royal highness, I was mining in Colorado, and,——”
It was many a long day before the Princess Hilda heard the conclusion
of the anecdote Bennett was about to relate. Something in her face had
caused him to turn and glance toward the entrance. He caught a glimpse of
Cousin Fritz making a gesture toward them, and then his eyes rested in
dismay upon the tall, martial figure of Carl Eingen.
“Good God, we are betrayed!” exclaimed Bennett, stepping forward and
placing his hand upon the handle of his revolver.
At that instant a groan, wrung from a strong man in physical agony, arose
from the centre of the room, and King Rudolph, who had sprung up from the
poker table as Fritz and Carl appeared at the doorway, fell senseless
into the arms of Baron Wollenstein.
“Put up your pistol, Herr Bennett,” piped Cousin Fritz, excitedly. “This
man is our friend. Here, put the king on this couch! Get some wine,
Fraulein Müller. Hurry. Baron Wollenstein, put his head down! There!
Are you all paralyzed? Can’t you make haste? Will you take a bluff from
death? I won’t. There, see! Cousin Rudolph opens his eyes! Give him
wine! That’s right! He’ll be every inch a king before long! Come, now,
stand back and let him sleep! That’s right. Sleep, Rudolph! Sleep!”
Without dissent or hesitation they had all obeyed the dwarf’s directions
to the letter, and as they stood grouped around the couch, upon which
Rudolph lay breathing stertorously, the thought suddenly flashed through
their minds, in sympathetic accord for the moment, that Cousin Fritz was
no vain boaster when he claimed to be the real ruler of Hesse-Heilfels.
CHAPTER XIII.
“Frankly, your royal highness,” said Herr Bennett to the princess fifteen
minutes later, “there are symptoms in the case that worry me. At first, I
thought his majesty was attacked by a simple fainting fit, caused by his
sudden rising at the table. His breathing, however, and other indications
lead me to believe that he is in a very precarious condition.”
They stood together apart, while Fraulein Müller and Carl Eingen,
conversing in low whispers, watched beside the prostrated king.
Count von Reibach and Baron Wollenstein, not unnoticed by Cousin Fritz,
had left the apartment together.
“We must have a talk at once, Count,” Wollenstein had said to his
fellow-conspirator. “Come into the cellars with me. We won’t be missed at
this moment.” Unknown to them, the dwarf had stolen into the dark vaults
by their side so close to them that he could hear every word they said.
“Is he hard hit, Baron?” asked Count von Reibach. “It looks to me like
apoplexy.”
“I think it is,” answered Wollenstein, taking his companion by the arm
and groping toward a better lighted portion of the cellar that lay beyond
them. “He’s been a sick man for some time back, Count. I’m inclined to
think that the suddenness of his overthrow has precipitated an attack
that could not have been long delayed.”
“And what, to your mind, is our best play at this juncture, Baron?”
asked von Reibach impressively. The serious nature of the crisis that
confronted them had suddenly broken upon his not very active mind. His
companion made no answer, but stood still, his head turned to one side.
“The very thing,” whispered Wollenstein hoarsely. “Read that, Count! How
it got here I can’t imagine, but it’s a wonderful stroke of luck at this
juncture.”
Count von Reibach followed his companion’s gaze and saw before them
a type-written placard, the contents of which the reader has already
learned.
The count indulged in a weak whistle to relieve his astonishment. “Dead
or alive!” he exclaimed. “It ought to be easy, Baron. I could put the
dwarf in my pocket—if I could get my hands on him.”
Wollenstein grunted deprecatingly, “We cannot afford to take any chances,
Count,” he said emphatically. “We are in a desperate position. Our heads
are forfeit to the state unless we can take our fatted calf with us when
we go above as returning prodigals. It’s all very well to talk about
capturing the dwarf alive, but you can’t catch rats in this infernal
cellar by chasing them. Our only chance lies in seizing Cousin Fritz
and rendering all opportunity of escape impossible at one stroke. It’s
easily done. Let me get hold of the little imp once and Wilhelm shall
have a court jester, dead or alive, as the case may be.” There was a
cruel menace in the baron’s voice that was carefully noted by a dwarfish
eavesdropper.
“What was that?” asked the count, starting nervously and gazing into the
shadows with straining eyes.
“Ach Gott! Are you scared by rats?” muttered the baron sarcastically.
“Now come to the point, Count! Do you understand me? We must act, and act
immediately. Our only hope lies in the capture of the dwarf. We must set
about it at once, and take him—dead or alive.”
“Yes, dead or alive,” repeated Count von Reibach mechanically, seizing
his companion’s arm and turning to retrace his steps.
There came a snapping sound, as though a trap had been sprung somewhere
in the darkness. The floor slipped away in creaking grooves and at the
edge of the abyss stood Cousin Fritz, smiling maliciously as he gazed
down into the blackness. A dull sound, as if huge rubber balls had struck
the centre of the earth, came up through the grewsome hole.
“Two of a kind!” cried the madman, in a shrill, penetrating voice. “Two
of a kind—and I’ve discarded them!”
He whistled gayly as he scurried back toward his apartments. Now and then
he would break into song and his keen voice would startle the bats from
slumber in the furthermost recesses of the great vaults.
“Two of a kind! Two of a kind! Two of a kind!” he cried with hysterical
energy now and again. “Two of a kind, but a very small pair! Ha, ha! I
had no use for two of a kind, two of a kind, two of a kind!”
Suddenly he stood still and listened intently. “The King is dead, long
live the King!” he shouted, and the cellar re-echoed the weird cry. “The
King is dead! Live the King!”
At that moment Bennett had placed a detaining hand upon the Princess
Hilda’s arm. The cumulative force of the adventures through which they
had passed together had rendered ceremoniousness out of place at this
juncture.
“The need of aid from above has passed, your highness,” said Bennett
gently. “I beg you to remain here. The King is——”
“Is dead,” added the princess sadly.
At that instant far down the cellar they heard the dwarf’s voice crying
shrilly: “The King is dead! Live the King!”
Bennett gazed at the princess in amazement.
“’Tis Cousin Fritz’s voice. But how did he know? How did he know?”
CHAPTER XIV.
“Are you very tired, your highness?”
Bennett peered down at the pale face at his side. He held a candle in his
hand as they groped slowly forward in a tunnel that Cousin Fritz ascribed
to the Romans. Beyond them gleamed another unsteady light, carried by
Carl Eingen. Now and then they could hear a penetrating voice raised in
song or lowered in soliloquy as Cousin Fritz guided them toward their
goal.
The Princess Hilda and Fraulein Müller had laid aside their court attire
and had donned peasant costumes, of a very antique cut, which Cousin
Fritz had obtained from his collection of old-fashioned trumpery, a
collection from which the social history of Hesse-Heilfels for several
generations could have been reconstructed by an imaginative writer.
The princess looked up at Bennett, a merry gleam in her dark blue eyes:
“I’m tired, yes; but not of action. I am weary of imprisonment. I long
to reach the end of this tunnel. I feel as though I were approaching the
sunlight after being buried alive for centuries.”
“But, tell me,” he persisted, his voice low and vibrant, “will you
never regret your decision? Think of what you have given up. When you
donned that peasant’s dress you laid aside a future that shone with
the splendors of high state. That simple cap upon your head replaces a
queen’s diadem. The sacrifice, your highness, is more than I can ask.”
“Why will you tease me?” she cried with petulant playfulness. “When I put
off my court dress, I gave up forever the title of ‘your highness.’ What
has that title brought to me? Nothing but weariness and pain.”
Just beyond them she could see Carl Eingen with his arm around the waist
of Fraulein Müller. “Do you think,” asked Hilda, her eyes dancing as they
met Bennett’s, “do you think that Gretchen would wish to return to my
court with the knowledge that Carl Eingen was forever an exile from the
kingdom?”
Bennett trembled with a sensation of ecstatic triumph. His mind recalled
the thought that had inspired him when he followed the Princess
Hilda into the cellar on the night of the king’s overthrow. In this
subterranean realm there would be no kings and princesses. They would all
be fugitives, placed upon a plane of equality by the levelling power of
misfortune. Beyond his wildest dreams, that thought had been prophetic.
By no conscious effort upon his part, he had won the confidence, perhaps
the love, of this woman at his side. The hand of sorrow had laid its grip
upon her young heart, and in the hour of her misfortune she had looked at
life with eyes that saw all things from a new point of view.
“It is strange,” she whispered as they stole forward through the damp and
narrow passageway, “it is strange that I should feel for my old life no
regret, no desire to return to the tawdry glories of a court. But do you
know, Herr Bennett, I feel that I would rather die in this old cellar
than go back to my people, to be stared at by the gaping crowds, to hear
the murmur of their senseless chatter as they told each other the tale of
my burial and resurrection. Ugh! The very thought of it is horrible.”
They hurried on in silence for a time.
“I shall live with Carl and Gretchen,” she said musingly, when they had
turned a corner in the tunnel and had again caught sight of the candle
in Eingen’s hand. “We will go to some quiet spot and till the soil and
forget the treachery that drove us from our fatherland. I shall be happy
in their happiness—and forget—forget—forget!”
Bennett bent down until his face almost touched hers.
“You must not forget,” he whispered, “that there lives a man whose only
wish on earth is to know that your heart is light, that your eyes are
bright with the joy of life, that no shadows fall across your path.”
Suddenly through the tunnel came the shrill voice of the dwarf, chanting
mischievously the refrain, “Two of a kind.” Then a mocking laugh followed
the words into the echoing vaults far behind the fugitives.
The Princess Hilda shuddered, and placed a light hand upon Bennett’s arm.
“Do you know what he did to them?” she asked nervously.
“He won’t tell me,” answered Bennett; “all that he will say is that they
were ‘a small pair’ and he ‘discarded’ them.”
Again the princess shuddered, and quickened her steps. Suddenly the
candle carried by Carl Eingen flickered vigorously, and almost succumbed
to a damp draught. The princess glanced up at Bennett joyfully.
“Look at Carl’s candle,” she exclaimed. “Do you know what that means,
Herr Bennett? We are near the entrance, or rather, the exit to the
tunnel. The Rhine, Herr Bennett, the dear, old Rhine is waiting to take
us to its heart.”
Her voice trembled with excitement and she stumbled as she darted ahead.
By a quick movement Bennett’s arm caught her as she fell forward.
Forgetful of everything but his burning love, he held her pressed against
him as he rained passionate kisses upon her lips and cheeks.
“I love you, Hilda, I love you! I love you!” he whispered wildly. “You
are my queen! my queen! Do not tremble so! See, I will be gentle! Just
one more kiss, my darling! One more kiss! One more kiss!”
“Two of a kind, two of a kind, two of a kind,” cried a harsh voice, close
at hand. “There, Carl Eingen, is the river, and here’s the boat! Pull it
up close to the wall. That’s right. Ha, ha! I must discard again! This
time it’s two pair! Two pair! Ha, ha!”
Carl Eingen had entered the flat-bottomed boat and had placed the oars in
the rowlocks, after seating Fraulein Müller in the stern.
The Princess Hilda and Herr Bennett stood upon the stone-work that jutted
out from the tunnel’s opening. The breeze that swept across the bosom
of the Rhine caressed their cheeks and made free with Hilda’s golden
locks. Behind them stood Cousin Fritz, cap in hand, as though he did the
honors of his mansion to home-going guests. Bennett gave his hand to the
princess and she seated herself by Fraulein Müller’s side.
“Come, Cousin Fritz,” cried Bennett, his voice vibrant with the joy
that filled his soul, “into the boat! Quick! We can afford to take no
risks—Wilhelm’s sentinel may have sharp eyes. Quick, I say!”
Cousin Fritz stepped back into the tunnel. His small, white wizened face
became a ghostly vision against the black depths behind him.
“Farewell,” he cried in his thin, mocking voice, “farewell! My
kingdom needs its king, and I return! Remember Cousin Fritz, King of
Hesse-Heilfels for a thousand years! Farewell!”
Bennett pushed the boat into the current and jumped aboard. With powerful
strokes Carl Eingen urged the clumsy craft toward the centre of the
stream. Suddenly across the black waste of waters between them and the
shore came a piercing voice as they heard the disjointed words:
“Two pair! Discard two pair! Draw to kings! Ha, ha! Draw to kings! Ha,
ha!”
CHAPTER XV.
September in the Berkshire hills makes Litchfield, Connecticut, an
attractive place to people of leisure who like to watch nature as she
doffs her summer garb of green and yellow and dons the purple and scarlet
raiment that autumn provides for her.
Upon the broad piazza of a hotel commanding a wide view of a hill
country unrivalled for beauty in the new world sat several men and women
indulging in the idle gossip that falls from the lips of people who have
nothing more serious confronting them than a game of golf or a drive
through the woods.
“Anything interesting in the _Trumpet_, Hal?” asked a youth, attired in
a most unbecoming golf costume, glancing at a young man who held in his
hands a copy of the latest issue of Litchfield’s weekly newspaper.
“Calvin Johnson has put a new coat of paint on his barn,” answered the
news-reader solemnly. “Mrs. Rogers spent Sunday with friends in Roxbury.”
“Oh, stop it, Hal,” cried a vivacious young woman, putting up her hand
imperiously. “You’ll drive us all away if you keep on.”
“Wait a moment! Let me read you something of more interest,” said the
young man with the newspaper impressively. “This is the _pièce de
résistance_ of the week’s _Trumpet_:
“‘We take pleasure in informing our readers that Jonathan Edwards
Bennett, an old resident of Litchfield, has returned from a long sojourn
in Europe and has reopened the Bennett homestead on Main Street. Mr.
Bennett is accompanied by his wife. Rumor has it that Mrs. Bennett is a
daughter of one of the oldest and most aristocratic families in central
Europe. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are entertaining their friends, Mr. and Mrs.
Eingen, of Germany, who will remain in Litchfield until late in the fall.
The _Trumpet_ is informed that Mr. Bennett will take up his residence
permanently in Litchfield. It is understood that he will devote much
time to politics. We congratulate our fellow-townsmen upon Mr. Bennett’s
return to his native heath and take pleasure in bidding him welcome.’”
“That explains it, then!” exclaimed the vivacious young woman excitedly.
“That must have been Mrs. Bennett we saw yesterday, Marion. She is really
a beautiful woman, with magnificent golden hair and the dearest blue
eyes! She’s a perfect love! Isn’t she, Marion?”
“She is, indeed,” answered the girl appealed to.
“Jonathan Edwards Bennett,” repeated one of the men who had listened to
the _Trumpet’s_ choice tid-bit. “He was in my class at Yale. A clever
fellow, but restless. They used to say of him that he would be famous or
a failure before he had been out in the world five years.”
“And has he been a success?” drawled the youth in the golf suit.
“Of course he has,” cried the vivacious young woman, “hasn’t he married
a beautiful girl with golden hair and blue eyes? Surely, he could ask
nothing better of life than that.”
Could Jonathan Edwards Bennett have heard these words he would have
acknowledged that the vivacious young woman spoke the truth.
THE END.
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