THE HARIM
Dreams, colorful and strangely vivid, but not unpleasant. It seemed that
Marishka lay upon a couch so soft that she sank deliciously without end
to perfect rest. Above, about, below her, perfumed darkness, spangled
with soft spots of light, which came and went curiously. She tried to
fix her gaze upon one of them, but it was extinguished immediately and
appeared elsewhere. She found another--and another, but they fled from
her like _ignes fatui_. She heard the whir of a machine, fast and then
slow again, near and then at a distance. Was it an automobile or an
aeroplane? The notion of an automobile speeding in space was
incongruous, the milky way--a queer concept! She smiled in her
dreams.... Then suddenly a bright sunlight peopled with strange figures
in fez and turban, faces that leered at her, lips that howled in
excitement, arms that moved threateningly, dust, noise, commotion, from
which she was trying in vain to escape.... And then darkness again and
the subdued murmur of voices, one voice familiar, one gruff and
unfamiliar.
"Ten thousand _kroner_--that is a large sum," said the gruff voice.
"Yours, Effendi, if the thing is accomplished."
"It should not be difficult. You may reply upon me."
"And you are to show the lady every attention--every comfort----"
"_Zu befehl_----"
There was a recurrence of the changing lights and the voices receded.
Presently she seemed to hear them again.
"She is to be kept in seclusion of course, but otherwise you will accede
to all her requests--all, you understand----Should she care to
write--you will send a message. There are more ways than one to kill a
goose. And this one lays the golden egg, Effendi----"
"I understands--a golden egg."
"Very good--perhaps tonight----We shall see."
"I shall be prepared, Excellency."
The voices died away and melted into the murmur of a crowd, which merged
curiously into the whir of an automobile. But it was dark again and the
spots of light in the darkness reappeared. One, two, three, a dozen she
counted and then they vanished. She was alone, an atom in the expanse of
infinity, but the darkness and the perfume now oppressed, suffocated
her, and she tried to escape. But she moved her limbs with difficulty,
and a weight sealed her eyelids. She struggled up against it and managed
to rise upon one elbow and look about her.
She was awake. Slowly memory returned, the memory of things which seemed
to have happened a long while before, and time and distance seemed to
have robbed them of their sting. She was awake and alone in a dark room,
lying on a low couch, upon which were spread a number of pillows of
strange design. A latticed window was near, and outside, the shadows of
a tree branch fell across the barred rectangle, cutting the lines of
light into broken lozenges of shadow. The room was furnished somberly
but richly with heavy hangings and teakwood furniture decorated with
mother-of-pearl. A lantern of curious design depended from the ceiling.
There was a figure standing in the corner. She raised herself upon one
elbow and examined the figure attentively, not frightened yet, but
merely curious.
It was a suit of ancient armor of a period with which she was
unfamiliar. She moved her limbs painfully and sat up. Her head throbbed
for a few moments but she found that she was able to think clearly
again. Slowly she realized where she was and what had happened. The blue
door in the wall--this the house that adjoined the garden. She had
slept--how long she did not know, but the beams of sunlight were orange
in color and made a brilliant arabesque upon an embroidered hanging on
the opposite wall. She must have slept long. Her dreams returned to her,
fleeting and elusive, like the _ignes fatui_ which had been a part of
them. The whir of wheels, the vision of the vari-colored crowd, the
murmur of voices speaking--these too had been a dream. She tried to
recall what the voices had murmured. Phrases came to her. "Ten thousand
_kroner_--the goose that lays the golden egg----" It was all like a
story from a fairy tale. She looked about her--a dream--of course. Who
could have been speaking of _kroners_ and golden eggs here?
There were two doors to the apartment in which she lay, one, ornate with
Turkish fretwork, which had in its center panel what seemed to be a
small window, covered by a black grille. At the other end of the room
another door, open, from which came a flicker of cool light, the soft
pad of footsteps and the sound of a voice humming some curious Oriental
air. Marishka did not get up at once, but sat among the pillows, her
fingers at her temples as she tried to collect her thoughts. She knew
that she must think. Everything seemed to depend upon the clearness with
which her mind emerged from the fog of dreams. Slowly, the happenings of
the last few days recurred--the flight, the wild ride down the ravines
of the Brod, Sarajevo, the tragedy, the car of Death! She put her
fingers before her eyes and then straightened bravely. And what now?
Goritz! What was he going to do with her? She tried to judge the future
by the past. She had given herself unreservedly into his hands in the
hope of reaching Sophie Chotek before--before what had happened. Their
interests had been identical--the saving of life--and if they had
succeeded, there would have been no need for anxiety as to her own
future. But now the situation seemed to have changed. Failure had marked
her for its own, an unbidden guest in a strange country in which she was
for the present at the mercy of her captor. She could not forget that
she was his prisoner, and the terms of her promise to him came to her
with startling clearness. His recantation, his courtesy, his ardent
looks had allayed suspicion, but had not quite removed the earlier
impression. In this hour of awakening and depression there seemed to be
room for any dreadful possibility.
Was she a prisoner? If so, the window was not barred, and she saw that
it let upon the tiny garden fifteen feet below. If she could gather the
strength, it might not be difficult to lower herself from the window
sill--drop to the garden and flee. But where? To whom? She turned
quickly, listening for the sounds of the footsteps in the adjoining
room, her hand at her breast, where her heart was throbbing with a new
hope. Hugh! Hugh in Sarajevo! And yet why not? It came to her in a throb
of joyous pride that in spite of all that she had done to deter him, he
had persisted in helping and protecting her, oblivious of her denial of
him and of her cutting disdain. But would the frail clew of her flight
through Vienna be enough to point her object and destination? The memory
of his cleverness and initiative in their night ride to Konopisht gave
her new hope. Why should he not come to Sarajevo? Between the lines of
the note she had written him he must have read the tenderness that had
always been in her heart. He was no coward, and the idea of fleeing to
England when danger threatened her would, of course, be the last that
would come into his mind. It was curious that she had not thought of
this before. He would come to Sarajevo if he could--perhaps he was here
now----
A heavy figure stood in the doorway regarding her. She could not at
first decide whether it was a man or a woman for the wide, baggy
trousers resembled a skirt, and the short, sleeveless jacket was similar
to that worn by the male Moslems she had seen in the Carsija. But in a
moment, a voice of rather low pitch spoke kindly, in atrocious German.
"The Fräulein is at last awake. Does she feel better?"
"Ah, thanks, yes," said Marishka, at last deciding that it was a woman.
"I have slept long."
"Seven hours at least, and like the dead. But you must be hungry. I will
prepare something at once."
"Thank you. And if I could wash my face and hands."
"It shall be as you wish. If you will but come with me----"
Marishka rose, and as she did so, the door with the black grille opened
from within, and a girl came into the room. Like the older woman she
wore baggy trousers and slippers, but above the waist, typifying the
meeting of East and West, a somewhat soiled satin blouse which might
have been made either in Paris or Vienna. The face was very pretty,
regular of feature and oval in contour, but the effect of its beauty was
marred by the hair above it, which was dyed with henna a saffron red.
But she wore a flower at her breast, and in spite of her artificialities
exhaled the gayety of youth. She smiled very prettily and came forward
with a confiding air, giving Marishka her hand.
"I have been waiting for you to wake up," she said in a soft voice. "I
have never known anyone to sleep so soundly."
She laughed like a child who is very much pleased with a new toy, and
holding Marishka's hand, looked at her curiously from head to foot.
There was something very genuine in her interest and kindliness, and
Marishka found herself smiling.
"I must have been very tired," she said.
"I am sorry. You are feeling better now?"
"Yes, but very dirty----"
"Come with me. Zubeydeh will bring food."
She led the way through the door of the black grille, down a short
passage into a large room at the end of the house. The apartment was
strewn with rugs, and its furniture was a curious mixture of the color
of the East and the utility of the West--a French dressing stand beside
a stove of American make, a Bosnian marriage chest, a table which might
have come out of the Ringstrasse, a brass tray for burning charcoal, a
carved teakwood stand upon which stood a nargileh, a box of cigars, some
cigarettes, and two coffee cups still containing the residue of the last
draught. There were latticed windows in _meshrebiya_, which overlooked
the garden and street, and piled beside them were a number of pillows
and cushions. The room was none too clean, but there were evidences here
and there of desultory attempts at rehabilitation.
The girl with the red hair led Marishka to one of the window recesses,
where she bade her sit upon a pile of pillows, bringing a basin and an
ewer of water which she put upon the rug beside her.
"Ah, I was forgetting," said the girl, and going to the corner of the
room produced with much pride Marishka's suitcase. "His Excellency left
it for you this afternoon."
The sight of water and a change of clothing did much to restore
Marishka's confidence and self-respect, and she opened the bag with
alacrity, bringing forth from its recesses soap, clean linen and a
washcloth.
While Marishka ate and drank, the girl with the red hair crouched upon
her knees beside the suitcase, sniffed at its contents eagerly, and with
little cries of delight touched with her fingers the delicate articles
which it contained.
"How pretty! How soft to the touch!" And then rather wistfully, "It is a
pity that one cannot get such things in Bosna-Seraj."
"You like them?" asked Marishka, reveling in the delight of being free
from the dust of her journey.
"Oh, they are so beautiful!"
For all her years, and she must have been at least as old as Marishka,
she had the undeveloped mind of a child.
"You, too, are beautiful," she sighed enviously, "so white, your skin is
so clear. Your hair is so soft." And then as an afterthought, "But I
think it would look just as pretty if it were red."
Marishka laughed.
"What is your name, my dear?" she asked.
"I am called Yeva--they say after the first woman who was born."
"Eve--of course. It becomes you well."
"You think so. Was she very beautiful?"
"Yes--the mother of all women."
"The ugly ones?"
"Yes. We cannot all be beautiful."
"It must be dreadful to be old and ugly like Zubeydeh."
As Marishka brought out brush and comb and a towel, Yeva ran quickly and
procured a mirror--a small cheap affair with tawdry tinsel ornaments.
"You will let me brush your hair, Fräulein. It will be a great
privilege."
"Of course, child--if you care to."
And while Yeva combed and brushed, Marishka questioned and she answered.
The house in which she lived was near the Sirokac Tor. Her lord and
master was of the Begs of Rataj, once the rulers of a province in
Bosnia, where his father's fathers had lived, but now shorn of his
tithes and a dealer in rugs. He was an old man, yes, but he was good to
her, giving her much to eat and drink, and many clothes. She must ask
him to get some of these pretty soft undergarments from Vienna. And the
Excellency. She had seen him twice, some months before through the
_dutap_, when he had conversed with the Effendi in the adjoining room.
And was the beautiful Fräulein in love with the Excellency?
Marishka answered her in some sort, listening to the girl's chatter,
meanwhile thinking deeply of the plan that had come into her mind.
Scraps of suggestion that she had gleaned from her talks with Goritz
gave her at least a hope that she might be successful in reaching Hugh
Renwick by messenger. "The English always go to the Europa," he had
said. There, if Hugh Renwick had come to Sarajevo, was the place where a
note would find him. And so, the hair brushing having been successfully
accomplished, she asked the girl if there was someone by whom she could
secretly send a note.
A message! To an Excellency--a Herr Hauptmann--or perhaps a
General--yes. She was sure that it could be managed. She herself perhaps
could take it. Had not the Effendi told her that the Fräulein was to
want for nothing? And greatly excited at the thought of intrigue,
brought a tabourette which she placed before Marishka, then found paper,
ink and envelopes and squatted upon a pillow, watching eagerly over
Marishka's shoulder. But the girl's scrutiny troubled Marishka. Was she
in the confidence of Captain Goritz? And if not, could she be persuaded
to hold her tongue? Instead of writing at once, Marishka relinquished
the pen and took Yeva's hand.
"It is very necessary for my peace and happiness that the contents of
this note should be only seen by the person to whom it is delivered----"
"Ah, Fräulein, it shall be as you say. By Allah, I swear----"
"Do you care enough? I will give you anything I possess if you will keep
my secret."
"Ah!" her eyes were downcast and her tone was pained. "That the Fräulein
should not believe in my friendship----"
"But I _do_ believe in it----"
"Still," broke in Yeva smiling craftily, "I should very much like to
have something by which to remember the Fräulein--the pink sleeping
garment which is so sweetly smelling and soft to the touch."
"It is yours, Yeva. See," and Marishka took it from the valise, "I give
it to you."
The girl gurgled delightedly, and crooned and kissed the garment like a
child with a new doll. She was for trying it on at once and, thus for
the moment relieved of Yeva's scrutiny, Marishka bent over the
tabourette, pen in hand. But before she wrote she called Yeva again.
"There is no entrance to this house except by the garden, Yeva?" she
asked.
"Oh, yes, to the _selamlik_, the _mabein_ door and this----"
She walked to the side of the room and thrusting aside a heavy
Kis-Kelim, showed Marishka a door cunningly concealed in an angle of the
wall.
"That leads--where?" Marishka asked.
"To a small court of the next house."
"And the street below?"
Yeva nodded and renewed the inspection of her new present in the mirror,
so Marishka wrote:
HUGH,
I am a prisoner in a house near the Sirokac Tor beyond the
Carsija--a house with a small garden the gate of which has a blue
door. I am treated with every courtesy, but I am frightened. Come
tonight at twelve to the small court at the left of the house and
knock twice upon the door. I will come to you. Forgive me.
MARISHKA.
While Yeva was scrutinizing her new adornment in the small mirror
Marishka reread the note. She did not wish to alarm her lover unduly,
for perhaps after all there were no need for grave alarm.
The intentions of Captain Goritz were perhaps of the best, his given
word to liberate her, to free her from her promise and return her to her
friends, had been spoken with an air of sincerity, which under other
conditions might have been impressive. But some feminine instinct in her
still doubted--still doubted and feared him. And in spite of his many
kindnesses, his few moments of insensibility to her weariness and
distress there in the motor in the flight from Konopisht, and in the
railway carriage when he had spoken of Hugh Renwick's connection with
hated Serbia--these memories of their association lingered and
persisted. She feared him. The failure of their mission would perhaps
have made a difference; and the promise of a man whose whole existence
was a living lie, was but a slender reed to hang upon.
She straightened abruptly and gazed before her in sudden dismay. Her
word of honor--as a Strahni! She was breaking her promise--had already
broken it. For she had pledged herself to Goritz--to go with him whither
he pleased, if he would enable her to save the life of Sophie Chotek.
But he had failed! _But he had failed!_ She clutched at the sophistry
desperately. Goritz had failed. Under such conditions should she
consider her promise binding? It had been conditional. Liberty, there in
the street below, just at her elbow, and Hugh Renwick within reach! She
came to this conclusion with desperate speed, and quickly addressed and
sealed the envelope.
Yeva, before the mirror, was wrapped in admiration of her new
possession.
"Am I not beautiful in it, Fräulein?" she was asking as she twisted and
turned, examining herself at every angle.
"Yes, Yeva," said Marishka quietly, "but it is not a garment in which
one goes out upon the street."
"The street!" Yeva laughed deliciously. "I would make a sensation in
Bosna-Seraj, I can tell you, attired only in this and a _yashmak_."
And then seeing the note lying upon the tabourette, she came running
with little childish footsteps. "Ah, you have sealed it! And you are not
going to let me see?"
"It is nothing, Yeva."
"But I thought----" peevishly.
"How can you be interested in my little affairs?"
"I hoped that he might come and I should see him through the _dutap_."
"Perhaps he may!" said Marishka with an inspiration. "Could you be
trusted to keep this message a secret? To tell no one?"
"I have already promised----"
"Not even to Zubeydeh----?"
"Of course not. Zubeydeh is old and ugly. She would not understand what
a young girl thinks about."
"And can you go out without her knowing?"
"By the private stairway. Of course. There is another door below,
locked, but I can procure a key."
"Then I too----" Marishka paused and Yeva turned, reading her thoughts.
"Ah, I understand. You wish to go to him. It is a pity, but it is
impossible."
"Impossible! Why?"
"I can do the Fräulein a favor, since she has been kind to me, but to
disobey the commands of my lord and master--I would call upon myself the
curses of Allah."
Marishka pondered for a moment. "The Effendi desires that I remain
here?" she asked.
"That is his command, Fräulein."
"I see."
If Marishka had had any doubts as to the intentions of Captain Goritz,
the Beg of Rataj had now removed them. How much or how little of what
the girl revealed had been born of innocence or how much of design,
Marishka could not know, but it hardly seemed possible that the child
could be meshed so deeply in this intrigue. Marishka felt sure that Yeva
had promised to deliver her note, because the situation amused and
interested her, as did her visitor, and because of the pink garment Yeva
was now so reluctantly laying aside.
Marishka took another garment from the valise, a dainty drapery of silk
edged with fine lace, and held it up temptingly.
"Yeva," she said.
"Yes, Fräulein."
"This, too, is very beautiful, do you not think so?"
Yeva sighed wistfully.
"Yes. It is very beautiful."
"And would you care to have this too?"
"Would I----? Oh, Fräulein! I cannot believe----"
Yeva came forward with arms outstretched, brown fingers curling, but as
she was about to touch the garment Marishka swept it away and put it
behind her back.
"I will give it to you----"
"Yes----"
"If you will take me out with you by the secret door to the Europa
Hotel."
"Fräulein!" The girl stopped aghast and then slowly turned away.
"You would have me disobey the commands of my lord and master?" she said
in an awed whisper.
"I am asking only my rights," urged Marishka desperately. "I am an
Austrian with many friends. I have believed that I was a guest in this
house, welcome to come and to go as I choose. If the Effendi desires to
keep me against my will he runs a great risk of offending the government
of Austria and my friends."
"As to that I do not know----" said Yeva plaintively.
"It will do you no harm to be my friend."
"I am your friend. But to disobey the command of one's lord and
master----"
"It is worse to disobey the laws of Bosnia."
"But what can I do?" asked the girl, helplessly weaving her fingers to
and fro.
"You need do nothing but go out to deliver my message. Then you shall
appear to lock the door below, but the bolt shall not catch. That is
all. When you are gone I shall follow into the street."
"And I shall not see you--and your lover through the _dutap_?"
"You shall see us there--yonder. I promise you."
"It is a terrible thing that you ask."
"Yeva!" Marishka held the silk garment up before the childish gaze of
the girl. "Look, Yeva."
It was enough. With a cry, Yeva seized the garment in both hands and
carried it to her lips, kissing it excitedly.
"And if I do what you ask--you will never tell?"
"Never."
Marishka had won. It was with difficulty that she restrained her
companion from disrobing again and putting on the new garment, but at
last by dint of much persuasion she succeeded in getting Yeva to put on
her own garments, her head dress, veil and _yashmak_, and in a short
while they were both attired for the street. With a last look around the
room, a short vigil at the _dutap_ for sounds of watchful Zubeydeh, Yeva
timorously found the key of the lower door, pushed the hanging aside,
and with a last rapturous look at the draperies upon the dressing stand,
vanished into the darkness of the door.
Marishka, her heart beating high with hope, quickly packed a few of her
belongings into a small package and followed. It was very dark upon the
narrow stair, but with a hand upon the wall to steady herself, she
slowly descended. Feeling for the steps with her feet, at last she
reached the floor below, and stepping cautiously forward came upon a
blank wall. She turned to the left and found her egress stopped--to the
right--yes, there was a door. She fingered for the latch and found it,
opening the door, which let in the daylight. But just as she was about
to step out, she started back in sudden consternation. Upon the step,
grim and forbidding, dressed in fez, white shirt, and wide breeches,
stood a man with folded arms facing her. He made no sign of greeting,
nor did he change his posture by so much as a millimeter, but she heard
his voice quite distinctly, though he spoke in a low tone.
"You will be pleased to return at once."
"But I----" It was the courage of desperation--short-lived, alas!
"At once," the man repeated, unfolding his arms. "At once--or shall
I----"
Marishka waited no more upon the order of her going but went at once,
finding her way up the dusty stairs, terrified, again a prey to the most
agonizing fears.
Would Yeva find Hugh at the Hotel Europa?