"Why? You're the best officer I had. Why the devil did you go into the
Constabulary without talking to me?"
Stormont's upper lip seemed inclined to twitch but he controlled it and
scowled at space.
"Go to bed, you darned fool," said Darragh, carelessly. "You'll find dry
things ready. Ralph will take care of your uniform and boots."
Then he went into his own quarters to read two letters which, conforming
to arrangements made with Mrs. Ray the day he had robbed Emanuel Sard,
were to be sent to Trout Lodge to await his arrival.
Both, written from the Ritz, bore the date of the day before: the first
he opened was from the Countess Orloff-Strelwitz:
"Dear Captain Darragh,
"--You are so wonderful! Your messenger, with the _ten_ thousand
dollars which you say you already have recovered from those
miscreants who robbed Ricca, came aboard our ship before we
landed. It was a godsend; we were nearly penniless,--and oh,
_so_ shabby!
"Instantly, my friend, we shopped, Ricca and I. Fifth Avenue
enchanted us. All misery was forgotten in the magic of that
paradise for women.
"Yet, spendthrifts that we naturally are, we were not silly
enough to be extravagant. Ricca was wild for American
sport-clothes. I, also. Yet--only _two_ gowns apiece, excepting
our sport clothes. And other necessaries. Don't you think we
were economical?"
"Furthermore, dear Captain Darragh, we are hastening to follow
your instructions. We are leaving to-day for your chateau in the
wonderful forest, of which you told us that
never-to-be-forgotten day in Riga.
"Your agent is politeness, consideration and kindness itself. We
have our accommodations. We leave New York at midnight.
"Ricca is so excited that it is difficult for her to restrain
her happiness. God knows the child has seen enough unhappiness
to quench the gaiety of anybody!
"Well, all things end. Even tears. Even the Red Terror shall
pass from our beloved Russia. For, after all, Monsieur, God
still lives.
"VALENTINE."
"P. S. Ricca has written to you. I have read the letter. I have
let it go uncensored."
Darragh went to the door of his room:
"Ralph! Ralph!" he called. And, when Wier hurriedly appeared:
"What time does the midnight train from New York get into Five Lakes?"
"A little before nine----"
"You can make it in the flivver, can't you?"
"Yes, if I start _now_."
"All right. Two ladies. You're to bring them to the _house_, not
_here_. Mrs. Ray knows about them. And--get back here as soon as you
can."
He closed his door again, sat down on the bed and opened the other
letter. His hand shook as he unfolded it. He was so scared and excited
that he could scarcely decipher the angular, girlish penmanship:
"To dear Captain Darragh, our champion and friend--
"It is difficult for me, Monsieur, to express my happiness and
my deep gratitude in the so cold formality of the written page.
"Alas, sir, it will be still more difficult to find words for it
when again I have the happiness of greeting you in proper
person.
"Valentine has told you everything, she warns me, and I am,
therefore, somewhat at a loss to know what I should write to
you.
"Yet, I know very well what I would write if I dare. It is this:
that I wish you to know--although it may not pass the
censor--that I am most impatient to see you, Monsieur. _Not_
because of kindness past, nor with an unworthy expectation of
benefits to come. But because of friendship,--_the deepest,
sincerest of my_ WHOLE LIFE.
"Is it not modest of a young girl to say this? Yes, surely all
the world which was once _en regle_, formal, artificial, has
been burnt out of our hearts by this so frightful calamity which
has overwhelmed the world with fire and blood.
"If ever on earth there was a time when we might venture to
express with candour what is hidden within our minds and hearts,
it would seem, Monsieur, that the time is now.
"True, I have known you only for one day and one evening. Yet,
what happened to the world in that brief space of time--and to
us, Monsieur--brought _us_ together as though our meeting were
but a blessed reunion after the happy intimacy of many years....
I speak, Monsieur, for myself. May I hope that I speak, also,
for you?
"With a heart too full to thank you, and with expectations
indescribable--but with courage, always, for any event,--I take
my leave of you at the foot of this page. Like death--I
trust--my adieu is not the end, but the beginning. It is not
farewell; it is a greeting to him whom I most honour in all the
world.... And would willingly obey if he shall command. And
otherwise--_all_ else that in his mind--and heart--he might
desire.
"THEODORICA."
It was the most beautiful love-letter any man ever received in all the
history of love.
And it had passed the censor.