"We shall be awfully out of it, in these clothes," I said.
"I don't think you need worry, Victor, you will always be conspicuous,
whether you like it or not."
He knew my weakness.
Most of the occupants looked up as we entered, and a general hum of
welcome arose.
"May I present to you Monsieur Stevens, who has just bested Goltz in the
prettiest way imaginable; and Monsieur Carruthers, who accounted for two
of our enemies," said Mr. Smith.
The hum of welcome changed to a cry of astonishment.
"Goltz? is he dead? how did it happen?" And a score of other questions
were hurled at him.
"My friends," he said, "listen. This evening I was returning from you
know where; I had just reached Monsieur Ducrot's house, when my
chauffeur stopped the car and came to the door.
"'Hullo,' I said, 'what is wrong, what do you want?'
"'You!' he replied.
"I had my sword-stick in the car with me, and opening the other door I
jumped out. There were three more assailants; so, not wishing to lose
certain papers which I carried, I ran away with all four of them
following. I should certainly have been killed, if these two gentlemen
had not helped me; I slipped, dropping my sword, Monsieur Stevens picked
it up. Monsieur Carruthers stunned one man and engaged with another.
When I regained my wits and my feet, he was kneeling on the fellow, and
Peter, my trusted chauffeur, was trying to get at him with a knife. At
that moment, Monsieur Stevens yelled out to his friend to remember his
revolver. It reminded me that I also carried one. Peter died. Then we
bound the other fellow, and turned to the fencers; to my horror, I saw
that it was Goltz who was opposing my friend in need, but a moment later
I saw who that friend was, recognising him as some one I had known since
his birth, and had myself assisted to teach the use of a sword.
"I was so confident of his skill, that I induced Monsieur Carruthers not
to interfere, and we stood by and watched. In a few moments, Goltz was
on the ground, with a very pretty hole in him. Not dead, oh dear no,
but it will be some time before he is upon his feet. That is the story.
Now look at Monsieur Stevens well; remember the face of the man who
overthrew the best swordsman in Rudarlia. You shall see him again, I
promise you, but now I take him with me."
Before I could say anything, this astonishing man had ushered us both
out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
Baron Sluben was outside too; but he was as puzzled as ourselves, until
Mr. Smith whispered something in his ear which caused him to glance at
us keenly.
Mr. Smith turned to us.
"Victor, and you too, Rupert, you know you have my thanks, you can
understand what I have in my heart. Some day, perhaps, I shall be able
to thank you properly for more than you think, as I had papers of vast
importance with me; and few of these people you have just seen would
have been comfortable, had I lost them. However, you must leave Karena
at once. My car is there; pick up Mr. Neville and your belongings, then
without wasting a minute get out upon the Poiska road, from there to
Orvlov, and then on to Soctia. Wait there at the Ivanoff Hotel until
you hear from me, and speak to no one about this night. You can trust
me to give you good advice. Sluben agrees with me."
"Personally, I should advise getting the other side of the frontier; his
Majesty will be furious now Goltz is out of it for a time," said Baron
Sluben.
"No, I have a reason for keeping them in the country; besides, no harm
will come to them in Soctia. Thank God we still have one place of
refuge. There is a British Consul there, and British ships in the
harbour."
"But look here," said Carruthers, "I for one don't care about tearing
off as if in a funk, you know."
"I hope it won't be for long; and, when I tell you that your going will
make matters easier for me, I'm sure you won't object," said Mr. Smith
soothingly.
"Oh, of course not."
"Thank you; will you remember that it is for the best, and make as much
speed as possible getting out of Karena? And now au revoir, my dear
lads; thank you for my life, and the lives of others."
Without saying anything more, we shook hands; Carruthers and I jumped
into the car, and we were off.
I knew the town fairly well by this time, and had no difficulty in
finding my way to the hotel. Carruthers went to see Mr. Neville and
explain matters to him, while I interviewed the manager and settled our
account. The gratuities I gave were large enough to make the recipients
show their gratitude by doing all within their power to expedite our
departure; to explain which, I informed the manager that sickness had
recalled us to Paris, and that we should go through Bornia, by way of
Agrade, as we had to pick up a friend. There was no malice in these
untruths; but I thought it justifiable to mislead, under the
circumstances.
An hour after reaching the hotel, we drove off; Mr. Neville inside,
Carruthers with me.
Remembering Mr. Smith's advice, we did not waste time, so that soon
after day-break we ran through Poiska; where Mr. Neville took my place,
and we dozed off for a spell inside.
We had breakfast at a small inn, just off the high road; and did not
stop again until we reached Orvlov, where we lunched, and procured a
supply of petrol for the motor.
From there, it was a pleasant run to the coast, through beautiful
country; we did not hurry, the better to appreciate.
For a week or more, we stayed near the Hotel Ivanoff, merely killing
time with bathing and boating; when, however, no message came from
Karena we commenced to go farther afield, and explored the country and
coast.
One day I found my conscience pricking me: there were letters which
should have been answered. So I was left behind, while the others
started for a day's excursion. Now, letter-writing never possessed any
great attraction for me; and, after scribbling two or three, I thought
the day was too fine to be wasted, so I took a book, an ample supply of
smokables, also a luncheon basket, and, walking to a little place a mile
or two from the town, hired a boat.
I worked off a good deal of superfluous energy; and then paddled gently
up a small tributary of the Garude, which watered a beautiful part of
Garace, that fair province which had been Rudarlian until some fifty
years before, when the conquering Bornians had taken it.
I tied up the boat, jumped ashore, and made myself comfortable, with
every prospect of enjoying a quiet afternoon. Having finished my lunch,
and lighted my pipe, I stretched myself luxuriously on the soft grass,
and began to read. The first chapter of the book held my attention, but
the second and third bored me; so I closed the volume, pitched it into
the boat, and settled myself down to think.
Acting on the advice of Mr. Neville, Carruthers and I had not discussed
our experiences with Mr. Smith; we had agreed to wait until we heard
from him, but I had thought a great deal of the incident. I knew now
with certainty that he was a nobleman, that he was working against the
present monarch, and the members of the party we had seen in the house
were in the plot with him. I went over every detail of the evening, and
came to the conclusion that he had had some ulterior motive in wishing
me to get the better of Goltz. What it could be I could not guess,
unless it was that he hoped some day to make me of use in his schemes;
this struck me as the most probable solution to his having taken the
trouble to introduce us to his fellow-conspirators. But why did he wish
us to remain on Rudarlian soil? In Bornia we could have been nearer to
him, if he had wanted us. Perhaps the time was close for him to strike,
and perhaps the rebellion, if he intended to rebel, would start in
Soctia.
What a grand day it was, and how beautiful all this country! It
reminded me somewhat of the river at home: there was the same feeling of
peace, the same silence, only broken by the ripple of the water, or the
buzzing of insects. I closed my eyes for a second.
How many seconds passed before I opened them again, I have no idea, but
I must have slept very soundly; and I awakened slowly from a dream, in
which Carruthers had fallen and hurt himself--he was groaning. So vivid
had the illusion been, that I looked round for him as I awoke; there was
no sign of him, of course, but the daintiest vision, in white, was
sitting where I had thought to see him. The daintiest vision was nursing
her ankle, with many little "ohs!" and "ahs!" For a second I did not
move, the picture was too fascinating. Then I raised my length from the
grass, and took off my hat. It had been very much over my eyes; so in
courtesy I raised it, and put it back at a more becoming angle.
"Can I be of any assistance, mademoiselle?"
"Oh, thank you so much. I've hurt my ankle; if you would be so kind as
to dip my handkerchief in the water----"
She looked up at me with a pair of eyes which she ought to have kept
veiled, and held out a small wisp of white material. It was entirely
inadequate for any purpose whatever, so I dipped my handkerchief
instead.
"Perhaps you will permit me to bind it for you, it is so difficult to do
it oneself."
"Thank you very much."
She removed her shoe and stocking, and a sweet slim foot was placed
hesitatingly out; there was a very nasty scratch which must have been
quite painful. I bound it up with great care, making my handkerchief
nice and tidy, with hers placed over it.
"There, I think you will find that comfortable."
"Indeed, yes; I am extremely grateful to you. Are you a surgeon?"
"No, nothing so useful, I am afraid, merely a passer-by."
"Yes. Are you generally so successful?"
She laughed merrily; and I remembered the pose in which she must have
first caught sight of me.
"I was passing time," I said gravely.
She was an extremely beautiful girl--extremely beautiful. I have
repeated that statement, in order the better to explain why I forgot
about everything, save the fact that she was sitting on the grass near
me. It is so; all thoughts of action to be, all thoughts of things
past, were as nothing compared to the witchery of this young
wood-nymph's company.
It seemed almost as if we had been acquainted for years; there was no
shyness, we simply talked and argued like two friends.
As the afternoon sped on, I began to feel that I had expected to meet
her here, as if my whole being had existed for nothing else.
Unquestionably she filled a space which before had been empty. There
was no reason on my part; I couldn't have argued about my feelings at
all, I had to accept them.
I flatter myself that the wounded ankle had been forgotten as completely
as I had failed to remember that I had to get back to Soctia; until the
lengthening of the shadows drew our attention to the flight of time.
Then, in haste, my companion must be off; she would under no
circumstances hear of my accompanying her, as she lived but a few
hundred yards away.
"And would it be possible for me to find you here to-morrow?" I asked as
I bent over her hand in saying good-bye.
"Why, yes."
"Then expect me, mademoiselle."
We said good-bye. She gave me her hand for a second, and then turned
and hurried up the grassy bank and disappeared; while with a light heart
I untied my boat, and taking a last look in the direction the girl had
gone, pushed off, and sculled towards Soctia.
I was quite happy; my thoughts were in a whirl certainly, but why
trouble, what did anything matter, had I not met this divine creature?
I would be in the same place to-morrow, I should see her again, and
learn her name. Not that I cared who she was; at that moment I would
have proposed marriage to her, had she been a serving maid. I knew she
was not that, of course; only a lady could have carried herself so
perfectly, and her voice was exquisite in its soft melody.
In my youthfulness, I presumed that she on her side would be as ready as
myself to meet again, and learn to know me better. I don't think that
this was conceit on my part; but it had all come about so quickly and
naturally that anything else would have seemed inconceivable to me.
I do not know what coin it was that I gave the man who took the boat
from me; but it must have been of considerable value, to judge by the
thanks he poured upon me.
Little did I dream, as I walked up to the hotel, of the awful news that
awaited me.
Mr. Neville met me as I raced up to the hotel; and the look on his face
checked any exuberance in my greeting.
"My boy," he said as we entered my room, "I have very bad news for you:
your stepfather is, I am afraid, very ill."
He handed me the telegram which had brought the bad news, and I read:
"Your stepfather is dying come."
As if in a dream, I said good-bye to Carruthers, who was to await Mr.
Smith's message; got into the car with Mr. Neville, and we were off.
Of the journey that followed, I have the vaguest remembrance; I was too
miserable. My stepfather had become so much to me; I loved him as well
as though he had been my own father. I think that I have known few men
who could, with so much right, say: "I have lived as a gentleman
should."
Oh, the interminable waits, the stupidity of porters and booking clerks,
the slowness of that short journey from Calais to Dover. I felt as
though we had to travel round the world, and yet we accomplished an
awkward journey in remarkable time.
At our little station, I found Bauen waiting; but he could give us no
reassuring news, the best being that he was still alive.
My mother was in the bedroom when I arrived; and, after kissing her, we
stood together, hand in hand, gazing down upon what had been such a
magnificent specimen of manhood, but which was now the mere husk of what
had been.
He lay without movement, it seemed as though even then he might be dead.
As we stood silently, with all our nerves taut and overstrung, I prayed
that he might open his eyes once more, and speak to me. I think my
prayer was heard, for, just as Mr. Neville came in and stood by us, the
dying man's eyes opened, and, perfectly conscious, he tried to smile at
Mr. Neville. Then to my mother he murmured two words, full of love and
pride, "My wife." When they rested on me, as I stood swallowing down my
tears, he said, "Why, Victor, my boy." His eyes closed for a moment,
then opened again. "God save your Majesty!" he cried; the next moment
he was gone.
Stunned by the suddenness of his departure, I turned to my mother, who
was standing quite still, with the tears streaming down her cheeks. I
put my arms round her, but she broke away and flung herself down with
her arms around the dead man's neck, and cried as though her heart were
broken.
Her grief, or rather the greatness of it, surprised me, for in all my
life until then I had never seen my mother give way. I had had no idea
that her feelings for my stepfather had been so strong; she had always
appeared so calm and cold that I had never given her credit for any deep
feelings, much as I loved her. Her grief for some time was so
overpowering that I could do nothing; but presently, as her sobs grew
less racking I took her in my arms and did my poor best to console her.
Then little by little she seemed to regain control over herself, and I
persuaded her to go to her own room.
I returned to the bed-side, and all alone stood there, indulging my
sorrow. I registered a vow, as I gazed down at the now peaceful face,
that I would do all that I could to live a life as free from stain as
his had been, and to try and act in a way which would have given him
pride in me.
I think the three most miserable days of my life were those that
followed my stepfather's death. He was buried on the third day. How
unhappy I was then, both on account of the loss we had suffered and
other things which followed.
Mr. Smith attended the funeral. I felt no surprise at his appearing
just before we left the house; it had seemed part of the mystery of my
life that he should be there. I did not think of our last meeting, nor
of how he could have come so quickly on our tracks, nor did I wonder at
the first words I heard him speak to my mother: "It is time."
Usually I should have pondered deeply on such things, but now I was too
unhappy.
I was alone in my study, that room which had been my nursery; and I sat
by the window wondering, for I had heard as though in a dream that my
stepfather had been an enormously wealthy man, and had bequeathed me
all. How much it was the solicitor could not tell me, but in England
alone he had invested something over ten millions of pounds, and I
understood that there was more than that sum invested about the world.
It was stupendous, and though I did not realise it, although I did not
understand what my power in the world would be, I groaned at thought of
the endless labour such a vast inheritance would involve.
Heart-sick and weary, I looked out over the sunlit river and recalled
the events of the last few days, sorrowing at the thought that I could
never discuss with my stepfather those things of which I had been full:
our meeting with Quarovitch, the incident of the brigands, my fight with
Goltz, and finally my little friend of the riverside, the girl whose
name even I did not know.
My stepfather's last words came to my mind: "God save your Majesty!"
What could they mean? I supposed that it was some memory of the past,
for I knew he had been in the diplomatic service.
There was a tap at the door, and Mr. Neville entered. My stepfather's
death had affected him very much, for a great friendship existed between
the two. He came to me and placed his hand upon my shoulder.
"Victor, my dear boy, I hate to disturb you, but your mother has asked
me to fetch you; it appears that the time has come when you are to be
told all those things which have so puzzled you. It seems hard that it
should have come just now, but who knows? It may be for the best. Your
future may offer many hard and hateful features; but when it is a case
of duty, you, I know, can be depended on. Always remember that you will
have people who love you to help and direct you, and over them all is
our Maker."
We descended together; but, when we came to the door of the room where
my mother and Mr. Smith were sitting, he turned and would not have
entered, had not my mother insisted upon his being present. I bent to
kiss her as I passed, and her arms went round my neck, as she returned
the caress, murmuring:
"My boy, my dear boy."