When Pembroke and I arrived at the Strasburg inn, on the north road, neither the Prince nor Von Walden were in evidence. I stepped from our carriage and gazed interestedly around me. The scene was a picturesque one. The sun, but half risen, was of a rusty brass, and all east was mottled with purple and salmon hues. The clearing, a quarter of a mile away, where the Prince and I were to settle our dispute, was hidden under a fine white snow; and the barren trees which encircled it stood out blackly. Pembroke looked at his watch.
"They ought to be along soon; it's five after six. How do you feel?" regarding me seriously.
"As nerveless as a rod of steel," I answered. "Let us go in and order a small breakfast. I'm a bit cold."
"Better let it go at a cup of coffee," he suggested.
"It will be more consistent, that is true," I said. "Coffee and pistols for two."
"I'm glad to see that you are bright," said Pembroke. "Hold out your hand."
I did so.
"Good. So long as it doesn't tremble, I have confidence of the end."
We had scarcely finished our coffee when the Prince, followed by VonWalden, entered.
"Pardon me," he said, "for having made you wait."
"Permit me," said I, rising, "to present my second; Mr. Pembroke, HisHighness Prince Ernst of Wortumborg."
The two looked into each other's eyes for a space, and the Prince nodded approvingly.
"I have heard of Your Highness," said my cousin, with a peculiar smile.
"Some evil report, I presume?" laughed the Prince.
"Many of them," was the answer.
The Prince showed his teeth. "Count, these Americans are a positive refreshment. I have yet to meet one who is not frankness itself. At your pleasure!"
And the four of us left the inn and crossed the field. The first shot fell to me. Pembroke's eyes beamed with exultant light. Von Walden's face was without expression. As for the Prince, he still wore that bantering smile. He was confident of the end. He knew that I was a tyro, whereas he had faced death many times. I sighed. I knew that I should not aim to take his life. I was absolutely without emotion; there was not the slightest tremble in my hand as I accepted the pistol. There is nothing like set purpose to still the tremors of a man's nerves. I thought of Hillars, and for a moment my arm stiffened; then I recalled Gretchen's last letter. . . . I fell to wondering where the bullet would hit me. I prayed that his aim might be sure.
"Many persons think that I am a man without compassion," said the Prince, as we were about to step to our places. "I have an abundance of it. You have everything to lose, and I have nothing to gain. If it is your desire, I shall be happy to explain that you wish to withdraw. But say the word."
He knew what my reply would be. "Withdraw," said I, "and have you laugh at me and tell your friends that I acted the poltroon? Really, you do me injustice."
"And do you hate me so very much?" mockery in his eyes.
"Not now. I did hate you, but hatred is a thing we should not waste any more than love. I have taken the bird and the nest from your hands; that is more than enough. You are merely an object for scorn and contempt and indifference now. No; I have no wish to withdraw."
"You read between the lines," he said. "Indeed, I should like nothing better than to have the privilege of calling you a poltroon and a coward and to tell your Princess of it." He sauntered back to his place leisurely.
"Aim the slightest to the left," whispered Pembroke; "the wind will carry it home."
I pressed his hand. A moment later I stood facing the Prince. I lifted the pistol and fired. Had the Prince been ten feet to the right he must have been hit. I threw the smoking pistol aside, let my arms fall and waited. I could see that Pembroke was biting his lip to hide his anxiety and disappointment. Slowly the Prince leveled the weapon at my breast. Naturally I shut my eyes. Perhaps there was a prayer on my lips. God! how long that wait seemed to me. It became so tedious that I opened my eyes again. The pistol arm of the Prince appeared to have frozen in the air.
"It is getting cold," I cried. "Shoot, for God's sake shoot, and end it!"
In reply the Prince fired into the air, took the pistol by the barrel and flung it at my feet. The rest of us looked on dumfounded.
"They are all of the same kidney, Count, these Americans," said he. "They would be dangerous as a nation were it not for their love of money." Then to me: "Go tell your Princess that I have given your life to you."
"The devil take you!" I cried. The strain had been terrible.
"All in good time," retorted the Prince, getting into his coat and furs. "Yesterday morning I had every intention of killing you; this morning it was farthest from my thoughts, though I did hope to see you waver. You are a man of courage. So was your friend. It is to be regretted that we were on different sides. Devil take the women; good morning!"
After the Count had gathered up the pistols, the two walked toward the inn. Pembroke and I followed them at a distance.
"I wonder if he had any idea of what a poor shot you were?" musedPembroke. "It was a very good farce."
"I aimed ten feet to the right," said I.
"What?"
"Yes."
"Then you knew—"
"Pembroke," said I, "I had no intention of killing him, or even wounding him. And I never expected to leave this place alive. Something has occurred during the last twenty-four hours which we do not understand."
"He was taking great risks."
"It shows the man he is," said I; and the remainder of the distance was gone in silence.
The carriages were in the road, a short way from the inn. Pembroke and I got into ours. As the Prince placed a foot on the step of his he turned once more to me.
"Pardon me," he said, "but I came near forgetting to tell you why I did not kill you this morning. In some way your Princess came into the knowledge that we were going to fight it out as they did in the old days. She came to my rooms, and there begged me to spare your life. There was a condition. It was that she get down on her knees to sue—down on her knees. Ah, what was your life compared to the joy of her humiliation! Not in the figure of speech—on her living, mortal knees, my friend—her living knees!" The carriage door banged behind him.
It was only because Pembroke threw his arms around me that I did not leap out of the carriage.
"Sit still, Jack, sit still! If she begged your life, it was because she loves you."
And, full of rage, I saw the carriage of the Prince vanish. As the carriage vanished, so vanished the Prince from the scene of my adventures. It was but recently that I read of his marriage to the daughter of a millionaire money lender; and, unlike the villain in the drama, pursues the even tenor of his way, seemingly forgotten by retribution, which often hangs fire while we live.
"There are some curious people in this world," said Pembroke, when he had succeeded in quieting me.
I had no argument to offer. After a time I said: "To-morrow, cousin, we shall return to America, our native land. When we are older it will be pleasant to recount our adventures."
Arriving at our rooms, we found them in possession of a lieutenant of the guard hussars. He was drumming on the hearthstone with the end of his sword scabbard. As we entered he rose and briefly saluted us.
"Which of you two gentlemen is Herr Winthrop?" he asked.
"I am he," said I.
"His Majesty commands your immediate presence at the palace."
"The King?"
"Yes."
"Have you any idea what his desires are?"
"A soldier never presumes to know His Majesty's desires, only his commands. Let us begone at once, sir. I have been waiting for an hour. His Majesty likes dispatch."
"It cannot be anything serious," said I to Pembroke, who wore a worried frown.
Perhaps the King had heard of the duel. I was in a mood to care but little what the King had heard, or what he was going to do. The thing uppermost in my mind was that Gretchen had begged my life of the Prince—and then run away!
At the palace the Chancellor met me in the anteroom. His face was grave almost to gloominess.
"Have you ever seen a King angry?" he asked. "Ah, it is not a pleasant sight, on my word; least of all, to the one who has caused a King's anger."
"You alarm me," I said. "Have I done aught to bring the anger of theKing upon my head?"
"Ah, but you have! The King is like a bear in his den. He walks back and forth, waving his hands, pulling his mustache and muttering dire threats."
"Might I not take to my legs?" I asked. After all, I cared more than I thought I should in regard to what the King might do to me.
The Chancellor gave my back a sounding thump, and roared with laughter.
"Cheerful, my son; be cheerful! You are a favorite already."
"You bewilder me."
"You have powerful friends; and if the King is angry you need have no fear."
"I should like to know—" I began.
"Ah!" interrupted the Chancellor, "the audience is ended; it is our turn. The Austrian Ambassador," he whispered as a gray-haired man passed us, bowing. There was an exchange of courtesies, and once more I stood before the King.
"I believe you have kept me waiting," said the King, "as Louis once said." He gazed at me from under knotted eyebrows. "I wish," petulantly, "that you had remained in your own country."
"So do I, Your Majesty," I replied honestly. The Chancellor shook with laughter, and the King glared at him furiously.
"What is your name?" asked the King in a milder tone. He was holding a missive in his hand.
"John Winthrop," I answered. I was wondering what it was all about.
"Were you born in America?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Is your family an honored one in your country?"
"It is," I answered proudly.
"Then, why in heaven's name do you scribble?" cried the King.
"In my country one may have an honored name and still be compelled to earn a competence."
"Ah, yes! After all, scribbling is better than owning a shop." This is the usual argument of Kings. "Can you trace your pedigree very far back?" the King proceeded.
"My ancestors came over in the Mayflower," said I.
"The Mayflower?" said the King, puzzled.
"All the Americans," explained the Chancellor, "went over in the Mayflower. The ark and the Mayflower were the largest ships ever put to sea, Your Majesty." To hide his smile, the Chancellor passed over to the window and began drawing pictures on the frosted panes.
Continued the King: "If you loved one of my countrywomen, would you be willing to sacrifice your own country? I mean, would you be willing to adopt mine, to become a naturalized citizen, to uphold its laws, to obey the will of its sovereign, and to take up arms in its defense?"
My knees began to knock together. "I should be willing," I answered, "if I should never be called upon to bear arms against the country in which I was born."
"I should never ask you to do that," replied the King.
"No; His Majesty has too wholesome a respect for America," theChancellor interpolated.
"Prince," said the King, "go and finish your window panes."
The Chancellor meekly obeyed.
"This is your answer?" said the King to me.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then marry the Princess Elizabeth," he said, tossing the missive to me.
"Yes, marry her," said the irrepressible Chancellor; "and some day theKing will put a medal on your breast and make you a baron of the realm.Your Majesty, come and help me with this last pane."
The Princess Elizabeth? I glanced at the writing on the envelope. It was Gretchen's. "And, Your Majesty," I read, "it is true that they love each other. Permit them to be happy. I ask your forgiveness for all the trouble I have caused you. I promise that from now on I shall be the most obedient subject in all your kingdom. Hildegarde." I dropped the letter on the table.
"Your Majesty," I began nervously, "there is some mistake. I do not love Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth."
The King and his Chancellor whirled around. The decorations on the panes remained unfinished. The King regarded me with true anger, and the Chancellor with dismay.
"I love the Princess Hildegarde," I went on in a hollow voice.
"Is this a jest?" demanded the King.
"No; on my honor." For once I forgot court etiquette, and left off"Your Majesty."
"Let me see the letter," said the Chancellor, with a pacific purpose. "There is some misunderstanding here." He read the letter and replaced it on the table—and went back to his window.
"Well?" cried the King, impatiently.
"I forgot, Your Majesty," said the Chancellor.
"Forgot what?"
"The letter was written by a woman. I remember when I was a boy," went on the Chancellor tranquilly, "I used to take great pleasure in drawing pictures on frosted window panes. Women always disturbed me."
"Perhaps, Your Majesty," said I, "it is possible that Her Highness . . . the likeness between her and her sister . . . perhaps, knowing that I have known Her Highness Phyllis . . . that is, the Princess Elizabeth . . . she may believe that I . . ." It was very embarrassing.
"Continue," said the King. "And please make your sentences intelligible."
"What I meant to say was that Her Highness the Princess Hildegarde, believes that I love her sister instead of herself . . . I thought . . . she has written otherwise . . ." And then I foundered again.
"Prince," said the King, laughing in spite of his efforts to appear angry, "for pity's sake, tell me what this man is talking about!"
"A woman," said the Chancellor. "Perhaps Her Highness the Princess Hildegarde. . . . That is, I believe. . . . She may love this man . . . perhaps thinking he loves the other. . ." He was mocking me, and my face burned.
"Prince, do not confuse the man; he is bad enough as it is." The King smoothed away the remnant of the smile.
"Your Majesty is right," said I, desperately. "I am confused. I know not what to say."
"What would you do in my place?" asked the King of the Chancellor.
"I should say in an ominous voice, 'Young man, you may go; but if you ever enter our presence again without either one or the other of the Hohenphalian Princesses as your wife, we shall confiscate your property and put you in a dungeon for the remainder of your natural days.' I put in the confiscation clause as a matter of form. Have you any property?"
"What I have," I answered, my confidence returning, "I can put in my pockets."
"Good," said the King. "What the Chancellor says is but just. See to it that his directions are followed."
"Now, my King," concluded the Chancellor, "put a medal on him and let him go."
"In time," replied the King. "You may go, Herr Winthrop."
"Go and scribble no more," added the Chancellor.
I could hear them laughing as I made my escape from the room. It could not be expected of me to join them. And Gretchen was as far away as ever. Phyllis love me? It was absurd. Gretchen had played me the fool. She had been laughing at me all the time. Yet, she had begged my life of the Prince, and on her knees. Or, was it a lie of his? Oh, it seemed to me that my brain would never become clear again.
In the afternoon at four I was ushered into the boudoir of Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth. It was Phyllis no longer; Phyllis had passed; and I became conscious of a vague regret.
"I am glad," she said, "that you were able to come. I wanted to speak to you about—about my sister."
"Your Highness—"
She laughed. "Our interview shall end at once if you call me by that title. Sir," with a gaiety which struck me as unnatural, "you are witnessing the passing of Phyllis. It will not be long before she shall pass away and never more return, and the name shall fade till it becomes naught but a dear memory. Phyllis has left the green pastures for the city, and Corydon followeth not."
"Phyllis," said I, "you are cutting me to the heart."
"But to the matter at hand," she said quickly. "There is a misunderstanding between you and my sister Hildegarde. She sent me this letter. Read it."
It differed but little from the one I had read in the King's chamber that morning. I gave it back to her.
"Do you understand?"
"I confess that I do not. It seems that I am never going to understand anything again."
Phyllis balanced the letter on the palm of her hand. "You are so very blind, my dear friend. Did you not tell her that there had been another affair? Do you not believe she thinks your regard for her merely a matter of pique, of consolation? It was very kind of her to sacrifice herself for me. Some women are willing to give up all to see the man they love made happy. My sister is one of those. But I shall refuse the gift. Jack, can you not see that the poor woman thinks that you love me?" Phyllis was looking at me with the greatest possible kindness.
"I know not what she thinks. I only know that she has written me that she is sorry for having played with my affections. Phyllis, if she loved me she would not leave me as she has done."
"Oh, these doubting Thomases!" exclaimed Phyllis. "How do you know that she does not love you? Have you one true proof that she does not? No; but you have a hundred that she does."
"But—"
"Do you love her?" demanded Phyllis, stamping her foot with impatience.
"Love her? Have I not told you that I do?" gloomily.
"And will you give her up because she writes you a letter? What has ink to do with love and a woman? If you do not set out at once to find her, I shall never forgive you. She is my sister, and by that I know that you cannot win her by sitting still. Go find her and tell her that you will never leave her till she is your wife. I do not mean to infer," with a smile, "that you will leave her after. Go to her as a master; that is the way a woman loves to be wooed. Marry her and be happy; and I shall come and say, 'Heaven bless you, my children.' I have accepted the renunciation of her claims so that she may be free to wed you. If you do not find her, I will. Since I have her promise to teach me the lesson of being a Princess, she cannot have gone far. And when you are married you will promise to visit me often? I shall be very lonely now; I shall be far away from my friends; I shall be in a prison, and men call it a palace."
"I will promise you anything you may ask," I said eagerly. A new hope and a new confidence had risen in my heart. I wonder where man got the idea that he is lord of creation when he depends so much upon woman? "And you will really be my sister, too!" taking her hands and kissing them. "And you will think of me a little, will you not?"
"Yes." She slowly withdrew her hands. "If you do not find her, write to me."
"Your Highness, it is my hope that some day you will meet a Prince who will be worthy of you, who will respect and honor you as I do."
"Who can say? You have promised the King to become a subject ofHohenphalia."
"Yes."
"Then you will be a subject of mine. It is my will—I am in a sovereign mood—that you at once proceed to find Hildegarde, and I will give her to you."
We had arrived at the head of the stairs. The departing light of the smoldering sun poured through the stained windows. The strands of her hair were like a thousand flames, and her eyes had turned to gold, and there was a smile on her lips which filled me with strange uneasiness. I kissed her hands again, then went down the stairs. At the foot I turned.
"Auf wiedersehen!"
"Good-by!"
My ear detected the barest falter in her voice, and something glistened on her eyelashes. . . . Ah! why could not the veil have remained before my eyes and let me gone in darkness? Suddenly I was looking across the chasm of years. There was a young girl in white, a table upon which stood a pitcher. It was a garden scene, and the air was rich with perfumes. The girl's hair and eyes were brown, and there were promises of great beauty. Then, as swiftly as it came, the vision vanished.
On reaching the street I was aware that my sight had grown dim and that things at a distance were blurred. Perhaps it was the cold air.
Immediately Pembroke and I journeyed to the feudal inn. When we arrived a mixture of rain and snow was falling. But I laughed at that. What if I were drenched to the skin with chill rain and snow, my heart was warm, warmer than it had been in many a day. Woman is infallible when she reads the heart of another. Phyllis said that Gretchen loved me; it only remained for me to find her. Pembroke began to grumble.
"I am wet through," he said, as our steaming horses plodded along in the melting snow. "You might have waited till the rain let up."
"I'm just as wet as you are," I replied, "but I do not care."
"I'm hungry and cold, too," he went on.
"I'm not, so it doesn't matter."
"Of course not!" he cried. "What are my troubles to you?"
"Nothing!" I laughed and shook the flakes from my sleeves. "Cousin, I am the happiest man in the world."
"And I'm the most dismal," said he. "I wish you had brought along an umbrella."
"What! Ride a horse with an umbrella over you? Where is your sense of romance?"
"Romance is all well enough," said he, "when your stomach is full and your hide is dry. If you can call this romance, this five-mile ride through rain and snow, you are gifted with a wonderful imagination."
"It is beautiful here in the summer," defensively.
"I wish you had waited till then, or brought a mackintosh. Your Princess would have kept." He shoved his head deeper into his collar, and began to laugh. "This is the discomfort man will go through for love. If she is a true woman she will feed you first and explain afterward. But, supposing she is not here?"
"Where else can she be?" I asked.
"The world is very large—when a woman runs away from you."
This set me thinking. If she shouldn't be there! I set my teeth and gave the horse a cut, sending him into a gallop, which I forced him to maintain till the end. At length we turned into the roadway. A man I had never seen before came out.
"Where is the innkeeper?" I asked, my heart sinking.
"He is not here," was the answer,
"Is Her Highness the Princess Hildegarde—"
"Her Highness?" he cried, in astonishment. "She has never been here.This is an inn; the castle is in the village."
"How long have you been here?" asked Pembroke.
"Two weeks, Your Highness." Doubtless he thought us to be high personages to be inquiring for the Princess.
"Is Stahlberg here?" I asked.
"He is visiting relatives in Coberg," was the answer.
"Do you know where Her Highness is?"
"No." It occurred to me that his voice had taken to sullen tones.
"When will the innkeeper be back?"
The fellow shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot say, Your Highness. The inn is not open for guests till March."
"Jack," said Pembroke in English, "it is evident that this fellow has been instructed to be close-lipped. Let us return to the village. The castle is left." He threw some coins to the servant and they rattled along the porch. "Come." And we wheeled and trotted away.
I cannot tell how great was my disappointment, nor what I did or said. The ride back to the village was a dreary affair so far as conversation went. At the castle we found not a soul.
"It is as I expected," said Pembroke. "Remember that Her Highness is accustomed to luxury, and that it is not likely for her to spend her winter in such a deserted place. You're a newspaper man; you ought to be full of resources. Why don't you telegraph to all the news agencies and make inquiries? She is a personage, and it will not be difficult to find her if you go at it the right way."
I followed his advice, and the first return brought me news. Gretchen was at present in Vienna. So we journeyed to Vienna, futilely. Then commenced a dogged, persistent search. I dragged my cousin hither and thither about the kingdom; from village to train, from train to city, till his life became a burden to him and his patience threadbare. At Hohenphalia, the capital, we were treated coldly; we were not known; they were preparing the palace for the coronation of Her Serene Highness the Princess Elizabeth; the Princess Hildegarde might be in Brussels. At Brussels Her Highness was in Munich, at Munich she was in Heidelberg, and so on and so on. It was truly discouraging. The vaguest rumor brought me to the railway, Pembroke, laughing and grumbling, always at my heels. At last I wrote to Phyllis; it was the one hope left. Her reply was to the effect that she, too, did not know where her sister was, that she was becoming a puzzle to her, and concluded with the advice to wait till the coronation, when Gretchen would put in appearance, her presence being imperative. So weeks multiplied and became months, winter passed, the snows fell from the mountains, the floods rose and subsided, summer was at hand with her white boughs and green grasses. May was blooming into June. Still Gretchen remained in obscurity. Sometimes in my despair I regretted having loved her, and half resolved to return to Phyllis, where (and I flushed at the thought!) I could find comfort and consolation. And yet—and yet!
"I shall be a physical wreck," said Pembroke, when we finally returned to B——, "if you keep this up much longer."
"Look at me!" was my gloomy rejoinder.
"Well, you have that interesting pallor," he admitted, "which women ascribe to lovers."
Thrusting my elbows on the table, I buried my chin in my hands and stared. After a while I said: "I do not believe she wants to be found."
"That has been my idea this long while," he replied, "only I did not wish to make you more despondent than you were."
So I became resigned—as an animal becomes resigned to its cage. I resolved to tear her image from my heart, to go with Pembroke to the jungles and shoot tigers; to return in some dim future bronzed, gray-haired and noted. For above all things I intended to get at my books again, to make romances instead of living them.
There were times when I longed to go to Phyllis and confide my troubles to her, but a certain knowledge held me back.
One morning, when I had grown outwardly calm, I said to Pembroke:"Philip, I shall go with you to India."
"Here is a letter for you," he replied; "it may change your plans."
My mail, since leaving the journalistic field, had become so small that to receive a letter was an event. As I stretched forth a hand for the letter my outward calm passed swiftly, and my heart spoke in a voice of thunder. I could not recall the chirography on the envelope. The hand, I judged, which had held the pen was more familiar with flays and scythes. Inside of the envelope I discovered only six words, but they meant all the world to me. "She is here at the inn." It was unsigned. I waved the slip of paper before Pembroke's eyes.
"She is found!" I cried.
"Then go in search of her," he said.
"And you will go with me?"
"Not I! I prefer tigers to princesses. By the way, here is an article in the Zeitung on the coming coronation of Her Serene Highness the Princess Elizabeth of Hohenphalia. I'm afraid that I shan't be present to witness the event." He thrust the paper into my hands and approached the window, out of which he leaned and stared at the garden flowers below. . . . "When I asked her why it could not be, she answered that she had no love to give in return for mine." Presently he rapped his pipe on the sill and drew in his head. His brow was wrinkled and his lips were drawn down at the corners. With some shame I remembered that I had thought only of myself during the past few months. "Jack," he said, "I have gone around with you for the excitement of it, for the temporary forgetfulness, and because I wanted to see you well cared for before I left you. The excitement took my mind from my own malady, but it has returned to-day with all its old violence. There is the same blood in our veins. We must have one woman or none. I must get away from all this. We are at the parting of the ways, old man. To-night I leave for India. The jungle is a great place. I am glad for your sake that you are not to go with me. Sometimes one gets lost."
"She may change her mind," I said, putting a hand on his. "Most women do."
"Most admit of exceptions," he replied, regarding me with earnest eyes as if to read what was going on behind mine. "There are some women who never change. Her Highness is one of these. As I remarked before, she has no love to give me; it is gone, and as it is gone without reward, she will make no attempt to recall it to give to another. I love her all the more for that. The game fate plays with our hearts is a cruel one. For one affinity there are ten unfinished lives. Her Highness loves a good man."
My hand fell from his, and I went over to the window. This was the first intimation he had given to me that he knew the secret, the secret which had made me so sad, the secret which I tried not to believe.
"You are determined to go to India?" I said, without turning my head.I could find no other words.
"Yes. It will be the best thing in the world."
"You will promise to write?"
"Whenever I strike the post. Marry and be happy; it is the lot of the few."
That night he started for Bombay, by the way of England, and the next morning I put out for the feudal inn.
I was passing along the highway, a pipe between my teeth. It was the beginning of twilight, that trysting hour of all our reveries, when the old days come back with a perfume as sweet and vague as that which hovers over a jar of spiced rose leaves. I was thinking of the year which was gone; how I first came to the inn; of the hour when I first held her in my arms and kissed her, and vowed my love to her; of the parting, when she of her own will had thrown her arms about my neck and confessed. The shadows were thickening on the ground, and the voices of the forests were hushed. I glanced at the western sky. It was like a frame of tarnished gold, waiting for night with her diadem of stars to step within. The purple hills were wrapping themselves in robes of pearly mists; the flowing river was tinted with dun and vermilion; and one by one the brilliant planets burst through the darkening blues of the heavens. The inn loomed up against the sky, gray and lonely. Behind me, far away down the river, I could catch occasional glimpses of the lamps of the village. Presently there came a faint yellow glow in the east, and I knew that Diana was approaching.
She tosses loose her locks upon the night,And, through the dim wood Dian threads her way.
A wild sweetness filled the air. I was quite half a mile from the inn, yet I could smell the odor of her roses, Gretchen's roses. It was a long and weary year which had intervened. And now she was there, only a short way from my arms. But she did not know that I was coming. A million diamonds sprang into the air whenever I struck the lush grasses with my cane. Everywhere I breathed the perfume of her roses. They seemed to hide along the hedges, to lurk among the bushes, red roses and white. On the hill, across the valley, I saw the little cemetery with its white stones. I arrested my steps and took off my hat. The dust of Hillars lay there. I stood motionless for some time. I had loved the man as it is possible for one man to love another. I had not thought of him much of late; but in this life we cannot always stand by the grave of those who have gone before. He had loved Gretchen with a love perhaps less selfish than mine, for he had sacrificed his life uselessly for her that she might—be mine! Mine! I thought. And who was I that she should love me instead of him? All the years I had known him I had known but little of him. God only knows the hearts of these men who rove or drift, who, anchorless and rudderless, beat upon the ragged reels of life till the breath leaves them and they pass through the mystic channel into the serene harbor of eternity. A sudden wave of dissatisfaction swept over me. What had I done in the world to merit attention? What had I done that I, and not he, should know the love of woman? Why should I live to-day and not he? From out the silence there came no answer; and I continued on. It was life. It was immutable, and there was no key.
The lights of the inn cheered me and lifted the gloom. Should I enter by stealth or boldly? I chose the second method. Gretchen and the innkeeper were in the old hall. I entered and threw my traps into a corner. As they turned and saw me consternation was written on their faces.
"I have found you at last," I said, holding out a hand to each of them. The innkeeper thrust his hands behind his back and sauntered leisurely toward the window. Gretchen showed signs of embarrassment, and her eyes were studiously fixed on the cracks which yawned here and there in the floor. My hands fell unnoticed.
"You have been looking for us?" she asked in even tones. "Why have you?"
Vaguely I gazed at her, at the innkeeper, then at my traps in the corner. It was apparent that I was an intruder. I struck my forehead in anger and despair. Triple fool that I was! I was nothing to her. She had told me so, and I had not believed.
"Yes; why?" asked the innkeeper, turning around.
"I believe," said I, my voice trembling, "that I am an unwelcome guest.Is it not so?"
"Oh, as for that," said the innkeeper, observing Gretchen, "this is a public inn, on the highway. All wayfarers are of necessity welcome."
"Go, then, and prepare me a supper," said I. "I am indeed hungry, having journeyed far." I wanted him out of the room.
The innkeeper appeared not to have the slightest intention of leaving the room to do my bidding.
"Yes, Hermann," said Gretchen, coloring, "go and prepare HerrWinthrop's supper."
"Thank you," said I, with a dismal effort to be ironical.
The innkeeper, a puzzling smile on his lips, passed out.
"Gretchen," I burst forth, "in heaven's name what does this mean? I have hunted for you day after day, week after week, month after month. I have traveled the four ends of the continent. I have lived—Oh, I do not know how I have lived! And when I do find you, it is for this!" My voice broke, and I was positively on the verge of tears.
"And was all this fair to her?" asked Gretchen, coldly.
"To her? I do not understand."
"I mean, was all this fair to my sister?"
"Gretchen," a light piercing the darkness, "has she not written to you?"
"A long time ago. She wanted to see me on an important matter, but I could not change my plans at the time. I shall see her at the palace next week. Ought you not to be with her instead of here?"
"Why should I be with her?"
Gretchen laughed, but the key was false.
"Are you not going to marry her? Surely, it is easy after the King has given his permission. Have you already fallen out of love with her, after all your efforts to make her a Princess? Truly, man is as unstable as sand and water! Ah, but you fooled us all to the top of our bent. You knew from the first that she was a Princess; but you could not find the proofs. Hermann and I were the means to the end. But who shall blame you? Not I! I am very grateful to you for having given to me a sister. And if you fooled me, I returned measure for measure. It is game and quit. Time hung heavy on my hands, and the victory, however short, was amusing."
"I never loved her!" I cried. Where were the words I needed?
"So much the worse for you," disdainfully. "But here comes Hermann to announce your supper."
"I shall not break the bread of inhospitality," said I, in the bitterness of my despair. I gathered up my traps—and then I let them tumble back. The needed words came with a rush to my lips. I went close to her. "Why did you humiliate yourself in begging my life of the Prince? Why, if my life was nothing to you? Answer. Why did you stoop to your knees to that man if I was worthless to you? Why?"
Her cheeks grew red, then white; her lips formed words which she could not speak.
"Herr Winthrop's supper is ready," announced the innkeeper.
"Go and eat it!" I said childishly.
"Your appetite is gone then?" imperturbably.
"Yes, and get you gone with it!"
The innkeeper surveyed me for a space. "Will you kindly tell me from whom you received the information that Her Highness was at the inn?"
I produced the unsigned letter. He read it carefully, while Gretchen looked on nervously.
"Ach!" said the innkeeper, "that Stahlberg! He shall be dismissed."
Unhappily for him, that individual was just passing along the corridor.The innkeeper signaled him to approach.
"How dared you?" began the innkeeper, thrusting the letter underStahlberg's nose.
"Dare?—I?—Herr," said the big fellow, "I do not understand. What is it you accuse me of?"
"This," cried the innkeeper: "You have written to Herr Winthrop and told him that Her Highness was at the inn. And you were expressly forbidden to do so."
Stahlberg looked around blankly. "I swear to heaven, Herr—"
"Do not prevaricate!" the innkeeper interrupted. "You know that you wrote this."
"Stahlberg," I cried excitedly; "tell me why you wrote this note to me and I'll see that you are taken care of the rest of your days."
"I forbid him!" commanded Gretchen in alarm.
"As God hears me, Herr," said Stahlberg stoutly. "I wrote not a line to you or to any one."
"Oh!" cried the innkeeper, stamping. "And you deny that you have written here that you saw Her Highness in the garden three nights ago?"
Gretchen was beginning to grow terrified for some reason. I myself was filled with wonder, knowing well enough that nothing about a garden had been written in the note I had received.
"Do you dare deny," went on the implacable old man, "that you have written here that you saw Her Highness in the garden, and that she was weeping and murmuring this man's name?"
"Oh!" cried Gretchen, gazing wildly at the door.
The innkeeper suddenly took the bewildered giant by the shoulders and pushed him from the room, following him swiftly; and the door closed noisily behind them.
My heart was in flames. I understood all now, though I dare say Gretchen didn't. All at once, her head fell on the back of the chair from which she had but lately risen. She was weeping silently and deeply. I did not move, but stood watching her, drinking in with exultation the loveliness of a woman in tears. She was mine, mine, mine! The innkeeper had not really known her heart till the night in the garden to which he so adroitly referred; then he had made up his mind that things were not as they should be, and had sent me that anonymous note. Mine at last, I thought. Somehow, for the first time in my life I felt what is called masterful; that is to say, not all heaven and earth should take her away from me now. Softly I passed over to her side and knelt at her feet. I lifted the hem of her gown and pressed it to my lips.
"My Princess!" I murmured, "all mine." I kissed her unresisting hand. Then I rose and put my arms around her. She trembled but made no effort to withdraw. "I swear to you, Gretchen, that I will never leave you again, not if the King should send an army against me, which he will never do, since he has commanded that I marry you. Beware! It is a dangerous thing to trifle with a King's will. And then, even if the King should change his mind, I should not. You are mine. I should like to know if I haven't won you! Oh, they do well to call you Princess Caprice. Oh, Gretchen," falling back to humble tones, "what a weary year has been wasted. You know that I love you; you have never really doubted it; you know that you have not. Had you gone to your sister when she wrote to you, she would have told you that it was for you alone that I made her a Princess; that all my efforts were to make you free to wed. Gretchen, you will not send me away this time, will you? You will be kind and bid me to stay?"
"She loves you," whispered Gretchen.
This admitted no reply. I simply pressed my lips to her hair. The sobs were growing audibly less.
"I read it in her eyes," persisted Gretchen.
"Gretchen, answer me: do you love me?"
"Yes."
I placed my hands against her temples, and turned her head around so that those blue-green eyes, humid and tearful, looked into mine.
"Oh, I cannot deny it. If I wrong her in accepting your love, it is because I cannot help it. I love you better than all the world; so well do I love you that—" Her head sank on my heart, and her sobs began afresh.
"That what, Gretchen?" I asked.
"Nothing." By and by she said; "Keep faith with me, and I promise to love as few women can."
Then I kissed her lips. "Gretchen?"
"What is it?"
"I have an idea that we shall be very happy. Now let us go and make terms of peace with the innkeeper."
We found him alone in the barroom.
"Gretchen," said I, "read this note."
As her eyes ran over those six words, she blushed.
"Hermann," she said, "you have betrayed me."
"And when will Your Highness order me out to be shot?" asked he, smiling.
"At sunrise; but I shall blindfold the soldiers and take the charges from their guns. I forgive you."
"Now, Hermann," said I, "fill me up a stein." I held it high above my head. "A health! Long live the King! Long live Her Serene Highness the Princess—"
"Elizabeth," said Gretchen, gently. "I fear she has lost something which is never to be found again."
I drained the stein, and as I set it down I thought: Phyllis is so far away and Gretchen is so near!
"Let us go into the garden," said I.
For a long time we wandered here and there, saying nothing. I was thinking that I had found a castle at last which neither tides nor winds nor sudden awakenings could tumble down.
"Gretchen, you must never take up the sword again."
"Only in my lord's defence." From the movement of her arm, which clung to mine, I knew that she was laughing.
The moon had risen, the round and mellow moon of summer. The silver mists of night wavered and sailed through the aisles of the forests, and from the river came the cool fresh perfume of the river rush.
"And so you really love me?" I asked.
"I do."
"Why do you love me?"
"Because," said Gretchen.