A VISITOR
The two minutes permitted by the doctor had come and gone. There had
been much to say with too little time to say it in. For Beth, admonished
that the patient must be kept quiet, and torn between joy at Peter's
promised recovery and pity for his pale face, could only look at him and
murmur soothing phrases, while Peter merely smiled and held her hand.
But that, it seemed, was enough, for Beth read in his eyes that what had
happened had merely set an enduring seal upon the affection of both of
them.
With the promise that she could see him again on the morrow, Beth went
back to her room. She had wanted to return to the village, but McGuire
had insisted upon her staying where she was under the care of the doctor
until what they were pleased to call the shock to her system had yielded
to medical treatment. Beth said nothing. She was already herself and
quite able to take up her life just where she had left it, but she
agreed to stay in McGuire's house. It seemed to make him happier when
she acquiesced in his wishes. Besides, it was nice to be waited on and
to be next to the room where the convalescent was.
But the revelation as to Peter's identity could not be long delayed.
Brierly had brought the tale back from the lumber camp, and the village
was all agog with excitement. But Beth had seen no one but Mr. McGuire
and Aunt Tillie, and Peter had requested that no one should tell her but
himself. And so in a day or so when Beth went into Peter's room she
found him with a color in his cheeks, and wearing a quizzical smile.
"I thought you were never coming, Beth," he said.
"I came as soon as they'd let me, Peter. Do you feel stronger?"
"Every hour. Better when you're here. And you?"
"Oh, I'm all right."
He looked at her with his head on one side.
"Do you think you could stand hearing something very terrible about me,
Beth?"
She glanced at him anxiously and then a smile of perfect faith responded
to his. She knew that he was getting well now, because this was a touch
of his old humor.
"H-m. I guess so. I don't believe it can be so _very_ terrible, Peter."
"It is--_very_ terrible, Beth."
But the pressure of his fingers was reassuring.
"I'm listenin'," she said.
"Well, you know, you told me once that you'd marry me no matter what I'd
been----"
"Yes. I meant that, Peter. I mean it now. It's what you are----"
Peter Nichols chuckled. It was his last chuckle as Peter Nichols.
"Well, I'm not what you thought I was. I've been acting under false
colors--under false pretenses. My name isn't Peter Nichols. It's Peter
Nicholaevitch----"
"Then you _are_ all Russian!" she said.
Peter shook his head.
"No. Only half of me. But I used to live in Russia--at a place called
Zukovo. The thing I wanted to tell you was that they fired me out
because they didn't want me there."
"You! How dared they! I'd like to give them a piece of my mind," said
Beth indignantly.
"It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that."
"And wouldn't they listen?"
"No. They burned my--my house and tried to shoot me."
"Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You _have_ had
troubles, haven't you?"
"I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and I
wouldn't have found you."
"So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out," she said
gently.
"But aren't you curious to know _why_ they did?"
"I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care
_what_ you did, Peter."
He took her fingers to his lips.
"It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did as
what my--er--my family had done that made them angry."
"Well, _you_ weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did."
Peter laughed softly.
"_They_ seemed to think so. My--er--my kin-folks were mixed up in
politics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job--too big a
job for _him_ and that's the truth." A cloud passed for a moment over
Peter's face and he looked away.
"But what did _his_ job have to do with _you_?" she asked.
"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related--at
least that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot of
things the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of other
things that they thought he _ought_ to have done, they believed that I
was just the same sort of man that he was."
"How unjust, Peter!"
He smiled at the ceiling.
"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could to
straighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen.
Instead they burned my--my house down and I had to run away."
"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house,
Peter?"
"Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house--in the midst of
a forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned that
house, Beth, because I loved it."
"Poor dear! I'm _so_ sorry."
"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures,
books, music----"
"All burned! Land's sakes alive!"
"And a wonderful grand piano."
"Oh, Peter!" And then with a flash of joy, "But you're goin' to have
another grand piano just like it soon."
"Am I? Who's going to give it to me?"
"_I_ am," said Beth quietly. "And another house and pictures and books
and music."
He read her expression eagerly.
"Mr. McGuire has told you?" he asked.
She nodded. "You knew?"
"Yes," he replied. "He told me yesterday."
"Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered. And then went on rapidly, "So you
see, Peter, maybe I can be some good to you after all."
He pressed her fingers, enjoying her happiness.
"I can hardly believe it's true," she gasped, "but it must be, because
Mr. McGuire had his lawyer here yesterday talkin' about it----"
"Yes. It's true. I think he's pretty happy to get all that off his
conscience. You're a rich girl, Beth." And then, with a slow smile,
"That was one of the reasons why I wanted to talk with you about who _I_
was. You see, I thought that now that you're going to have all this
money, you might want to change your mind about marrying a forester
chap who--who just wants to try to show the trees how to grow."
"Peter! Don't make fun of me. _Please._ And you hurt me so!" she
reproached him. "You know I'll never want to change my mind ever,
_ever_--even if I had all the money in the world."
He laughed, drew her face down to his and whispered, "Beth, dear. I knew
you wouldn't want to--but I just wanted to hear you say it."
"Well, I _have_ said it. And I don't want you ever to say such a thing
again. As if I cared for anythin'--anythin' but _you_."
He kissed her on the lips and she straightened.
"I wanted to hear you say _that_ too," he said with a laugh.
And then, after a silence which they both improved by gazing at each
other mutely, "But you don't seem very curious about who I am."
Beth pressed his fingers confidently. What he was to _her_ mattered a
great deal--and she realized that nothing else did. But she knew that
something was required of her. And so, "Oh, yes. Indeed I am,
Peter,--awfully curious," she said politely.
"Well, you know, Beth, I'm not really so poor as I seem to be. I've got
a lot of securities in a bank in Russia, because nobody knew where they
were and so they couldn't take them."
"And they would have taken your money too?"
"Yes. When this cousin of mine--his name was Nicholas--when Nicholas was
killed----"
"They killed him! Who?"
"The Bolsheviki--they killed Nicholas and his whole family--his wife,
son and four daughters----"
"Peter!" Beth started up and stared at him in startled bewilderment, as
she remembered the talks she had had with him about the Russian
Revolution. "Nicholas----!" she gasped. "His wife--son--daughters. He
had the same name as--as the Czar--!" And as her gaze met his again she
seemed to guess.... "Peter!" she gasped. "What--what do you mean?"
"I mean that it was the Little Father--the Czar--who was my cousin,
Beth."
She stared at Peter in awe and a kind of fear of this new element in
their relations.
"And--and you----? You're----?"
"I'm just Peter Nichols----," he said with a laugh.
"But over there----"
"I'm nothing. They chucked us all out, the Bolsheviki--every last one of
us that had a handle to his name."
"A handle----?"
"Yes. I used to be Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch of Zukovo and
Galitzin----"
"G-Grand Duke Peter!" she whispered in a daze. And then, "Oh--how--how
_could_ you?" she gasped.
Peter laughed.
"I couldn't help it, Beth. I was born that--way. But you _will_ forgive
me, won't you?"
"Forgive----? Oh--it--it makes such a difference to find--you're not
_you_--but somebody else----"
"No. I _am_--_me_. I'm not anybody else. But I had to tell
you--sometime. You don't think any the less of me, do you, Beth?"
"I--I don't know _what_ to think. I'm so--you're so----"
"What?"
"Grand--and I'm----"
Peter caught her hands and made her look at him.
"You're the only woman in the world I've ever wanted--the only
one--and you've promised me you'd marry me--you've promised, Beth."
Her fingers moved gently in his and her gaze, wide-eyed, sought his.
"And it won't make any difference----?"
"No, Beth. Why should you think that?"
"I--I was afraid--it might," she gasped. And then for a while Peter held
her hands, whispering, while Beth, still abashed, answered in
monosyllables, nodding from time to time.
Later the nurse entered, her glance on her wrist-watch.
"Time's up," she said. And Beth rose as one in a dream and moved slowly
around the foot of the bed to the door.
* * * * *
Jonathan K. McGuire had been as much astonished as Beth at the
revelation of Peter's identity, and the service that Peter had rendered
him made him more than anxious to show his appreciation by doing
everything he could for the wounded man's comfort and happiness. He
visited the bedside daily and told Peter of his conversation with Beth,
and of the plans that he was making for her future--which now, it
seemed, was Peter's future also. Peter told him something of his own
history and how he had met Jim Coast on the _Bermudian_. Then McGuire
related the story of the suppression of the outbreak at the lumber camp
by the Sheriff and men from May's Landing, and the arrest of Flynn and
Jacobi on charges of assault and incendiarism. Some of the men were to
be deported as dangerous "Reds." Brierly had been temporarily put in
charge at the Mills and Jesse Brown, now much chastened, was helping
McGuire to restore order. Shad Wells was technically under arrest, for
the coroner had "viewed" the body of the Russian Committeeman before it
had been removed by his friends and buried, and taken the testimony. But
McGuire had given bail and arranged for a hearing both as to the
shooting of and the death of Hawk Kennedy, when Peter was well enough to
go to May's Landing.
The death of Hawk had produced a remarkable change in the character and
personality of the owner of the Black Rock Reserve. His back was
straighter, his look more direct, and he entered with avidity into the
business of bringing order out of the chaos that had resulted from the
riot. His word carried some weight, his money more, and with the
completion of his arrangements with Beth Cameron, he drew again the
breath of a free man.
But of all this he had said nothing to Peggy, his daughter. He had
neither written to her nor telephoned, for he had no desire that she
should know more than the obvious facts as to the death of Hawk Kennedy,
for conflicting reports would lead to questions. Since she had suspected
nothing, it was needless to bring that horror to her notice, now that
the threat had passed. McGuire was a little afraid of his colorful
daughter. She talked too much and it had been decided that nobody,
except the lawyer, Peter, Beth and Mrs. Bergen should know the source of
Beth's sudden and unexpected inheritance. The girl had merely fallen
heir to the estate of her father, who had died many years before, not
leaving any record of this daughter, who had at last been found. All of
which was the truth, so far as it went, and was enough of a story to
tell Peggy when he should see her.
But Jonathan McGuire found himself somewhat disturbed when he learned
one morning over the telephone that Peggy McGuire and a guest were on
their way to Black Rock House for the week-end. The message came from
the clerk of the hotel, and since Peggy and her friend had already
started from New York, he knew of no way to intercept them. There was
nothing to do but make the best of the situation. Peter had the best
guest room, but Beth had decided the day before to return to the
cottage, which was greatly in need of her attention. And so McGuire
informed Mrs. Bergen of the impending visit and gave orders that Miss
Peggy's room and a room in the wing should be prepared for the
newcomers.
Beth had no wish to meet Peggy McGuire in this house after the scene
with Peter in the Cabin, when the young lady had last visited Black
Rock, for that encounter had given Beth glimpses of the kind of thoughts
beneath the pretty toques and _cerise_ veils that had once been the
apple of her admiring eyes. But as luck would have it, as Beth finished
her afternoon's visit to Peter's bedside and hurried down to get away to
the village before the visitors arrived, Miss Peggy's low runabout
roared up to the portico. Beth's first impulse was to draw back and go
out through the kitchen, but the glances of the two girls met, Peggy's
in instant recognition. And so Beth tilted her chin and walked down the
steps just beside the machine, aware of an elegantly attired lady with a
doll-like prettiness who sat beside Peggy, oblivious of the sharp
invisible daggers which shot from eye to eye.
"_You_ here!" said Peggy, with an insulting shrug.
Beth merely went her way. But no feminine adept of the art of give and
take could have showed a more perfect example of studied indifference
than Beth did. It was quite true that her cheeks burned as she went down
the drive and that she wished that Peter were well out of the house so
long as Peggy was in it.
But Peggy McGuire could know nothing of Beth's feelings and cared not at
all what she thought or felt. Peggy McGuire was too much concerned with
the importance of the visitor that she had brought with her, the first
live princess that she had succeeded in bringing into captivity. But
Anastasie Galitzin had not missed the little by-play and inquired with
some amusement as to the very pretty girl who had come out of the house.
"Oh--the housekeeper's niece," replied Peggy, in her boarding school
French. "I don't like her. I thought she'd gone. She's been having a
_petite affaire_ with our new forester and superintendent."
Anastasie Galitzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine,
remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at her
hostess.
"Ah!" she said. "_Vraiment!_"
By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and the
downstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying the
luggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy's
noisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and the
introduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire was
permitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, and
of the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of the
guest of honor.
"H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him _here_!"
"It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently.
Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be taken
anywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."
"Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut in
rather sharply.
"_Pierre!_" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty broken
English, "You say, Monsieur, it is he--Pe-ter Nichols--who 'as been
badly 'urt?"
"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad--shot through the breast----"
"_Sainte Vierge!_"
"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so,
the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"
Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathing
with some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face,
found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, the
Princess recovered herself with an effort.
"No--yes, Monsieur. It--it is nothing. But if you please--I should like
to go at once to my room."
And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way up
the stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of the
house, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case.
At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her,
pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forced
to relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there to
meditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why was
Anastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of Peter
Nichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in the
past--in England--in Russia? What was he to her?
But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her and revealed the identity of
his mysterious forester and superintendent. At first Peggy was
incredulous, then listened while her father told a story, half true,
half fictitious, which had been carefully planned to answer all the
requirements of the situation. And unaware of the cyclonic disturbances
he was causing in the breast of his only child, he told her of Beth and
Peter, and of the evidences of their devotion each to the other in spite
of their difference in station. Peggy's small soul squirmed during the
recital, but she only listened and said nothing. She realized that in a
situation such as this mere words on her part would be superfluous. The
Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch! Here at Black Rock! Her pop's
superintendent! And she had not known. She had even insulted him. It was
hideous!
And the Princess? The deep emotion that she had shown on hearing of the
dangerous wound of the convalescent was now explained. But only partly
so. The look that Peggy had surprised in Anastasie Galitzin's face meant
something more than mere solicitude for the safety of one of Russia's
banished Grand Dukes. It was the Princess who had been shocked at the
information, but it was the woman who had showed pain. Was there--had
there ever been--anything between Anastasie Galitzin and this--this
Peter Nichols?
Facts about the early stages of her acquaintanceship with Anastasie
Galitzin now loomed up with an unpleasant definiteness. She had been
much flattered that so important a personage had shown her such
distinguished marks of favor and had rejoiced in the celerity with which
the intimacy had been established. The thought that the Princess
Galitzin had known all the while that the Grand Duke was living
incognito at Black Rock and had merely used Peggy as a means to bring
about this visit was not a pleasant one to Peggy. But the fact was now
quite obvious. She had been making a convenience of her. And what was
now to be the result of this visit? The Princess did not yet know of the
engagement of His Highness to the scullery maid. Who was to tell her?
The snobbish little heart of Peggy McGuire later gained some
consolation, for Anastasie Galitzin emerged from her room refreshed and
invigorated, and lent much grace to the dinner table, telling father and
daughter something of the early life of the convalescent, exhibiting a
warm friendship which could be satisfied with nothing less than a visit
on the morrow to the sick-room. And His Highness now very much on the
mend, sent word, with the doctor's permission, that he would be charmed
to receive the Princess Galitzin at ten in the morning.
What happened in the room of the convalescent was never related to Peggy
McGuire. But Anastasie emerged with her head erect, her pretty face
wearing the fixed smile of the eternally bored. And then she told Peggy
that she had decided to return to New York. So after packing her
belongings, she got into Peggy's car and was driven much against the
will of her hostess to the Bergen cottage. Peggy wouldn't get out of the
car but Anastasie went to the door and knocked. Beth came out with her
sleeves rolled above her elbows, her fingers covered with flour. The
Princess Galitzin vanished inside and the door was closed. Her call
lasted ten minutes while Peggy cooled her heels. But whether the visit
had been prompted by goodness of heart or whether by a curiosity to
study the lady of Peter's choice at close range, no one will ever know.
Beth was very polite to her and though she identified her without
difficulty as the heliotrope-envelope lady, she offered her some of the
"cookies" that she had made for Peter, and expressed the warmest thanks
for her kind wishes. She saw Anastasie Galitzin to the door, marking her
heightened color and wondering what her fur coat had cost. Beth couldn't
help thinking, whatever her motive in coming, that the Princess Galitzin
was a very beautiful lady and that her manners had been lovely. But it
was with a sigh of relief that she saw the red car vanish down the road
in a cloud of dust.
* * * * *
His convalescence begun, Peter recovered rapidly and in three weeks more
he was himself again. In those three weeks many interesting things had
happened.
Jonathan K. McGuire had held a series of important conferences with
Peter and Mrs. Bergen who seemed to have grown ten years younger. And
one fine day after a protracted visit to New York with Mrs. Bergen, he
returned laden with mysterious packages and boxes, and stopped at the
door of the cottage, where Peter was taking a lunch of Beth's cooking.
It was a beautiful surprise. Mrs. Bergen whispered in Beth's ear and
Beth followed her into the kitchen, where the contents of one or two of
the boxes were exposed to Beth's astonished gaze. Peter, of course,
being in the secret, kept aloof, awaiting the result of Mrs. Bergen's
disclosures. But when Beth came back into the plush-covered parlor, he
revealed his share in the conspiracy by producing, with the skill of a
conjurer taking a rabbit from a silk hat, a minister and a marriage
license, the former having been hidden in the house of a neighbor. And
Jonathan K. McGuire, with something of an air, fully justified by the
difficulties he had been at to secure it, produced a pasteboard box,
which contained another box of beautiful white velvet, which he opened
with pride, exhibiting its contents. On the soft satin lining was a
brooch, containing a ruby as large as Beth's thumbnail.
With a gasp of joy, she gazed at it, for she knew just what it was, the
family jewel that had been sold to the purser of the _Bermudian_. And
then she threw her arms around McGuire's neck and kissed him.
* * * * *
Some weeks later Beth and Peter sat at dusk in the drawing-room of Black
Rock House, for McGuire had turned the whole place over to them for the
honeymoon. The night was chilly, a few flakes of snow had fallen during
the afternoon, so a log fire burned in the fireplace. Peter sat at the
piano playing the "Romance" of Sibelius, for which Beth had asked, but
when it was finished, his fingers, impelled by a thought beyond his own
control, began the opening rumble of the "Revolutionary Etude." The
music was familiar to Beth and it stirred her always because it was
this gorgeous plaint of hope and despair that had at the very first
sounded depths in her own self the existence of which she had never even
dreamed. But to-night Peter played it as she had never heard him play it
before, with all his soul at his finger tips. And she watched his
downcast profile as he stared at vacancy while he played. It was in
moments like these that Beth felt herself groping in the dark after him,
he was so far away. And yet she was not afraid, for she knew that out of
the dreams and mysticism of the half of him that was Russian he would
come back to her,--just Peter Nichols.
He did presently, when his hands fell upon the last chords and he sat
with head still bowed until the last tremor had died. Then he rose and
turned to her. She smiled at him and he joined her on the divan. Their
fingers intertwined and they sat for a long moment looking into the
fire. But Beth knew of what he was thinking and Peter knew that she
knew. Their honeymoon was over. There was work to do in the world.
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
| |
| Page 9 Nicolaevitch changed to Nicholaevitch |
| Page 12 Vasil changed to Vasili |
| Page 39 reassuring changed to reassuring |
| Page 90 rigidily changaed to rigidly |
| Page 94 seee changed to see |
| Page 158 Andy should read Jesse |
| Page 164 the changed to he |
| Page 188 Well's changed to Wells's |
| Page 353 musn't changed to mustn't |
| Page 355 Its changed to It's |
| Page 362 Lukovo changed to Zukovo |
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