AFTER THE PERIL
He drew a step nearer to her and fixed his dark eyes piercingly on her
face. His manner was not rough; hardly, in its outward form, uncivil;
yet there was in it a suggestion of a wild purpose, a strong reckless
will that overmastered her. Still she fought against her fear and his
indefinable mastery, facing him boldly for the explanation which she
dreaded.
“Yes; I will tell you.” As he spoke there came through the wood the
sound of an approaching presence. Both looked quickly round, and
D’Alquen caught up his gun. It was, however, no wild animal this time,
but a man, Osbert Von Tressen.
He greeted them in surprise. “Fräulein Harlberg! Herr D’Alquen!” he
exclaimed.
There was genuine relief on the girl’s face, a lowering annoyance on
her companion’s, who, however, met the situation unhesitatingly.
“You are well met, Herr Lieutenant,” he cried with a half sneer. “But
you would have come too late. You are surprised at finding us here
together. The explanation lies there.”
With a slightly theatrical action he pointed to the boar. “I have had
the honour of relieving the honoured Fräulein from the too pressing
attentions of that fellow,” he continued, in reply to Von Tressen’s
exclamation of surprise. “Half an hour ago three were better company
than two; that exigency is past, and now two are preferable to three. I
bid you good-day.”
He raised his hat, made them each a ceremonious bow, turned abruptly,
and walked resolutely away. For some moments they both watched him in
astonished silence; although his face had betrayed no feeling, his
manner of leaving them was altogether strange; very soon the depth of
the wood hid him from sight, and they could look round inquiringly at
each other.
“I am so glad you came,” Philippa said.
“I came?” Von Tressen returned a little ruefully. “No; he. He saved you
from that ugly brute.”
She nodded. “Yes; he saved my life. And frightened me horribly
afterwards.”
“He did? Yes, I can understand it. He is a queer fellow.”
“You know him?”
He told her of their meeting on the previous day.
“Neither Galabin nor I could make him out,” he added. “How did he
frighten you?”
“Oh, perhaps I ought not to have been afraid,” she answered with a
laugh. “Only he asked me questions in such a fierce, strange way.”
“Ah! As he did yesterday when he was with us. If he did not frighten
us, at least he puzzled us horribly. I fear that, what with that fellow
and this,” pointing to the boar, “and Count Zarka, you will be glad
when your stay in the forest comes to an end, Fräulein.”
“Perhaps. And yet, how lovely it would be if one might only enjoy it
unmolested.”
“By man and beast,” he laughed. “I would take your hint, Fräulein, if I
did not consider it my duty to stay near for your protection.”
“I did not mean it as a hint,” she replied simply.
“Then you do not wish me to go?”
“No,” she said, “stay. At least, no; it is getting late, and I must go.”
“Not for a few minutes,” he urged. “You are hardly recovered from the
shock of your danger. Sit down here and rest first.”
A bank rising to the gnarled tree-roots made an inviting couch, and
they sat down.
“I wish,” Von Tressen said, “I had come along this way half an hour
earlier.”
“I, too, wish you had,” she replied frankly. “Still I ought to be
thankful that some one was at hand to save me.”
“And may I not be thankful, too?” he said warmly. “Only, if it had
been my luck to have been the man, it might have expiated the wound I
inflicted by saving you from a worse.”
“I have told you that your act is already expiated,” she said softly.
“It might have been wiped out, forgotten.”
“If I do not want to forget it?”
“Fräulein! You like to remember that I gave you pain?”
“Are we not told that pain often brings good in its train?”
“Ah, if you thought that!”
“A sting on my fingers has brought me a friend.”
“More than that, if you will see it.”
“More than a friend?”
He took her hand. “Much more, unless that is enough.”
She let her hand stay in his, although her head was turned from him
as she sat looking away into the thick phalanx of trees. A weasel ran
out into the little open space before them, looked inquiringly at
Philippa, as though wondering what her answer would be, and then with a
zig-zag flash vanished into covert again. Every added moment of silence
strengthened Von Tressen’s hope.
“Philippa,” he pleaded, drawing her hand to him, “may I be no more than
that?”
Now that she turned her face to him he was sure of her answer, for he
could see nothing but love in her eyes. Next instant he was on his
knees by her side kissing her.
“You love me, Philippa? You must tell me that.”
“I love you,” she whispered; “could I help loving you?”
Then suddenly she rose and stretched out her hands to keep him from
her. “Ah, but this is madness,” she cried. “The passing romance of a
forest holiday.”
“No, no,” he protested. “Philippa, my love, how can you say that?”
“What could you do,” she went on, “but make love to me, after our
first strange encounter and our meetings in the glamour of the forest.
And then under the shadow of the dragon’s castle of Rozsnyo. Is not
Perseus bound to imagine himself in love with Andromeda? Ah, Osbert Von
Tressen, do not deceive yourself.”
So fearing, questioning, protesting, she kept him, all to prove his
love, at arm’s length, till at last conviction was so insistent that
she could no longer even pretend a doubt.
“Ah, love me, dear one,” she whispered, as his arms were round her
again, “for my love is more than I can tell.”
“Not the romance of the forest,” he murmured slily.
“Ah, darling, yes; for that is you. I should hate the forest instead
of loving it had you not been in it. Now, dear,” she continued with a
serious face, “our love must be a secret--hush! only for a little time;
just while we are here.”
“A secret?” he exclaimed in surprise. “From your father?”
“Yes, even from him. It is only for a little while. You will not mind,
dear?”
He was troubled at the idea of a secret where no mystery should be.
Galabin’s suspicions about Philippa and her father came to his mind;
and yet, when he looked into her eyes they seemed to give the lie to
any suggestion of wrong or deceit.
“Of course, dearest,” he replied, “it shall be as you wish.” She gave
him a little grateful nod and smile. “Shall I not be allowed to know
why?”
Rather to his surprise Philippa did not withhold a reason. “My father,”
she answered with a touch of diffidence, “has views for my future; he
makes plans----”
“Is Count Zarka comprised in them?”
She laughed. “My father likes the Count better than I do. There! is not
that enough, Osbert? We need only keep our secret till we leave here.
In the city Count Zarka’s power will go for little.”
“I do not allow him to be omnipotent even in the forest.”
“Ah, but,” she remonstrated with fearfulness, “you do not know how
great his power for evil is.”
“No more than any other man’s.”
“No, and yes,” she replied. “For he is false and unscrupulous, and lets
nothing stand against his will. Osbert,” she laid her hand beseechingly
on his shoulder, “you must promise not to be rash, not to offend Count
Zarka. I know you are brave and care nothing for him, but your very
straight-forwardness makes you no match for his methods. Promise me,
dearest. You must not run into hidden danger like that.”
Impatient as he was to lay bare the mystery, he yet felt that patience
was the wiser course, and he could but give his word not to come to
open defiance of the Count. So the promise was given and sealed.