His Excellency had at times some very pretty ways. He stepped through the window now, and, plucking three or four of the finest marguerites, offered them to me.
"You will accept them—in the sense I have just indicated?" he asked.
"You punish tactfully, General. I suppose you think the rebuke is warranted. I would rather you gave them to me—to-morrow, say;" and I turned from the window and sat down.
He laid the blossoms on the table. "We will leave them until our chat is over. I hope you will take them then."
"I think not. There is only half an hour, you know."
"You are resolved not to give Count Gustav the grace he asks? You believe there is some purpose behind this note?" and he held it up.
"That is one of the marguerites, and must wait—until to-morrow."
"You shut me out, then? You are a very resolute, self-reliant little person, you know, Christabel. Is even this letter your doing too?"
"I told you we would wait for the meeting."
"Umph!" he nodded. "Then I suppose it's not much good for me to say anything. I am sorry," and he sighed.
"I should like to tellyousomething," I said; "but it might make you angry; and you have been so kind to me—so much more than kind."
His look relaxed. "You will not make me angry. I am too old to heat quickly."
"I think you should not have been a party to this Duke's scheme. It is not honourable to any one concerned—and to me, dishonourable in the extreme."
"You don't think I would do anything dishonouring you? Why, I would have—but you remember the question you would not let me ask."
"Is it honourable to me to make a pretence of granting the justice I seek for my father's memory, while in reality using that very thing and—and my own feelings, merely as a means of doing yet another wrong to another man? To fool me thus and make a sport of me for these wretched, sordid policy purposes? Why, you yourself spoke of it contemptuously as no more than a Greek gift."
He showed no irritation at my warm words, but on the contrary smiled and pressing his finger tips together said: "I suppose it will sound strangely to you—but I can still, from my side, offer you those marguerites in the sense I indicated."
"Candour?" I almost threw the word at him.
"Are we not at a little disadvantage? We are not calling spades, spades. May I do that?"
"Certainly, so far as I am concerned."
"Then I will. Count Karl has loved you ever since he knew you in New York. You love him now—yes, don't protest; it is quite true. He wishes above all things in the world to make you his wife. The Duke knows this and he consents to the marriage. The Duke knows and consents because—I am going to surprise you—Count Karl himself told him and asked his consent. The Duke came yesterday to see you for himself: deeply prejudiced against you, because of Count Gustav's misrepresentations: but you conquered him; as I told you last night you had. He resolved to grant you what you desired, to have your father's title revived——"
"As a bribe," I burst in impulsively.
"And justice done, that the way might be clear for the marriage. That he told you the truth in regard to Count Stephen's death is itself a proof that he means to keep his word. Now, what is there dishonourable to you in that?"
"What of the Greek gift?" I quoted against him.
"You should look at that dispassionately. Count Karl is impossible as the leader of the Patriots. You tell me he is misunderstood; and very possibly you may be right. But the fact is what I say—the Patriots would not follow his lead: and thus only Count Gustav remains to us. It may be unjust; but there is always some injustice in popular movements. What then remains? Either the whole movement must be wrecked, or Count Gustav must be brought through this trouble. That was the Greek gift."
"And I and my feelings are to be used as a pawn in the game."
"That is the view of a very clever but very young lady who sets great store upon having her way in her own way. But it is not Count Karl's view, Christabel."
"And Gareth?"
"Ah, there has been most extraordinary bungling over that."
"Bungling?" I cried, indignantly, almost contemptuously. "Would you offer me these while speaking in such terms of her?" and I picked up the marguerites and tossed them again down nearer to him.
"Almost you hurt me there," he said with a sigh. "The thing is full of thorns; but of this you may be sure. You would not be asked by me to desert that poor child. What is to be done must be done in the open; but what is best to do—where best seems to mean worst for some one—cannot yet be decided. Frankly I do not yet see the way."
"Does the Duke know of her?"
"I think not—-I almost fear not. His faith in Count Gustav is surprising for a man of his experience. But then he is his father."
"He is a sorry, shoddy hero for the Patriots," I exclaimed, with such bitterness that His Excellency lifted a hand in protest.
"He is the only possible leader after his father, Christabel; and for that reason I am going to ask you to hold your hand. I can offer you these now, may I not?" and he held out the marguerites to me with a smile.
"Yes—but I cannot take them yet."
His face clouded. "You have something in your thoughts, yet."
"It is close to twelve o'clock and he has not come," I replied, significantly.
He lifted the letter from Gustav. "We have this. You will wait—after what I have said?"
"Not a minute unless you make me a prisoner."
"Don't, Christabel. That is unjust. Where are you going?"
"To my own house."
"Who is there?"
"At present, Gareth—only."
"Whom do you expect?"
"Count Gustav——and others."
"For God's sake," he cried, more disconcerted than I had ever seen him; and his white shapely fingers twisted the flowers nervously during the pause that followed. "You have frightened me," he murmured at length.
"The deeds are not of my doing," I said slowly.
"Where is your house?"
"Why do you wish to know?"
"That I may follow you there presently," he answered.
"You have twisted those blooms and wrecked them. Is candour wrecked with the petals, General?"
He looked up and I saw by his glance that he knew I had read his intention.
"You did not mean to come alone," I added.
"It is a case for the Duke himself. You must not take this responsibility alone, Christabel; you must not. The issue of everything is in the balance."
"I may be wrong. Count Gustav may not come."
"You have probably made sure of him. Give me the address. We must know it. You see that, I am sure."
I thought earnestly. "If I give it you, will you wait at home here and do nothing for an hour; and if you bring the Duke will you promise to tell him first of Gareth? I may be back within the hour with nothing done."
"Yes, I give you my word on both points. It will be a trying hour."
I wrote down the address then and handed it to him. "It is twelve o'clock. I must go. If I do not return, I shall look for you in an hour and a-half from now."
"I wish you would let us come at once," he said as he went out to the carriage.
"You might only witness my failure; and I am jealous of my reputation for succeeding."
"I have no smile just now to answer yours," he said, as he handed me into the carriage.
In some respects he had influenced me more than I had let him see during our conversation. Indeed, I scarcely cared to own to myself how differently I viewed the conduct and offer of the Duke.
I was in truth intensely delighted at the news that Karl had asked the Duke's consent to make me his wife. I had known of course that he was willing to set everything else aside if he could prevail upon me to marry him. He had told me no less than that. But I fastened upon this formal request for the Duke's permission almost greedily, as though it gave a fresh practical turn to the position. My heart was indeed only too willing to find any reason or pretext for playing traitor to my resolve.
I told myself over and over again during that drive that the facts were really just what they had been before his Excellency had spoken to me; and that the view which I had taken in those hot, restless, angry hours in the night was the one which I must take.
But I found it increasingly difficult to be consistent. My dear old friend himself would certainly be the last to harbour a single thought in any way dishonouring to me. I trusted him entirely; and he was on the side of my heart's desires. He had also declared dead against the abandonment of Gareth, and had stipulated that whatever was done for her should be done "in the open."
Could I ask more than that? It meant that Count Gustav should not of himself decide what was to be done; but that Gareth and her father should have their part in it. Was I to put myself in her father's place and usurp his duty, merely because I had a fanciful estimate of what was due to me and to my irresponsible opinion of my importance? Temptation can take very subtle forms.
Moreover, was that same estimate of my own infallibility to force Count Karl upon the Patriots when he was obnoxious to them—as his Excellency had declared? Was I to unsettle still further the political disturbances of the country, just because I thought duty required me to be self-denying and miserable and to lose the man I loved?
That such thoughts could occur to me will show in what a chaos of irreconcileable wishes, hopes, and intentions my mind was during that drive, and how my pride, prejudices, and judgment fought and wrestled with the secret desires of my heart.
I was in the worst possible frame of mind for the work that had to be done. Before his Excellency had spoken to me, my course had seemed quite clearly defined; but for the moment I was in that to me most contemptible of all moods—reluctant to go back and yet half-afraid to go forward. I was thus relieved to hear when I reached the house that Colonel Katona and Karl had not yet arrived.
I went up to Gareth. She was flushed with excitement; but when the colour died down, I could not but see how really fragile and delicate and ill she looked. She welcomed me with tears, and kisses and many questions. Why had I not been before? What had I been doing? Why had I wished her to keep in her room? What was the news I brought with me? Who was coming, and when? Was it her Karl? Had I told her to keep in her room for fear of being seen by him before I could prepare him for her presence?
Her own eagerness in putting the questions lessened my difficulty in answering them; and she fussed about me lovingly, making much of me, caressing me, and thanking me; chattering all the time like a child in her eager anticipation of coming happiness; so that my heart alternately glowed with pleasure that I had held on to my resolve and was heavy with fear lest a crushing disappointment was at hand to blight her love and shut out the sunlight from her bright young life for ever.
Her trust in Gustav was absolute, and her faith in his love unshakable.
"He will be so glad. Does he know yet I am here?"
"No, Gareth, not yet."
"I think I am glad of that," she laughed. "What a great start he will give, and how his eyes will open, and what a light of love will be in them when I run up and put my arms round him."
"Pray God he may," was my thought. I still nurtured the hope that what he had once said to me was true; and that so far as there was room for love in his selfish heart, Gareth filled it. It was largely on that hope, indeed, I was building.
"He will be so glad that—do you know what I have thought, Christabel?"
"No, dear."
"I am going to be very cunning. I am going to use that moment of his delight to urge him to take me to my father and tell him everything. Do you think he will do it?"
"It might be better——" I began, when I stopped suddenly as a new thought occurred to me.
"What might be better, Christabel? Tell me; I am so anxious about this. I have been thinking about it ever since I guessed what your news was, and that you were going to bring Karl to me. Tell me, what would be better?"
"I was thinking it would be better if you could first have done something for him; have won his own father to be reconciled to your marriage."
"Oh, I dare not do that," she cried, shrinking like a frightened child. "Besides, I don't know who is his father."
"I do. He is a very great man—Duke Ladislas of Kremnitz."
"I have never seen a Duke in all my life and couldn't speak to one to save it."
I scarcely heard her, for I was thinking what would be the effect of a meeting between this sweet simple-souled child, and that stern, hard-faced, eagle-eyed old man. I pictured the scene if, his Excellency having told the Duke of Gustav's marriage, I were to lead her in to him and say—"This is Gareth."
"You're not thinking a bit of what I'm saying, Christabel," she cried presently. "And you're looking dreadfully solemn. This might be a funeral, instead of one of the happiest days of my life. But don't let us talk any more about dukes—and such people. I couldn't do what you say without telling Karl first."
"Oh, by the way, that's a little mistake about his name you make, Gareth," I said, as if it were a very trifling matter. "He is not called Karl by his friends and his family—but Gustav. The mistake must have been made at first; and I expect he liked you to call him Karl, as the name you first used."
"What nonsense, Christabel. Why we were married as Karl and Gareth." She was almost indignant.
"I suppose he was just humouring you. But his brother's name is Karl. Perhaps they both have that name; and he liked you to call him by it, because no one else did."
For a moment a great doubt clouded her bright eyes. "Do you think you have made a strange mistake, Christabel, and that it is not my Karl who is coming?"
"No dear, I have made no mistake. I could not do that. I only tell you this, that you may not be surprised if you hear others speak to him as Gustav, and look for you to do the same. If I were you, I should call him Gustav before others, and use the other name when you are alone."
"But it is such an extraordinary thing."
At that moment Mrs. Perry knocked at the door and called me.
"I must go now, Gareth."
Her eyes were shining and her face alight with love and nervous anticipation. "Is it Kar—Gustav?"
"No, dearest. Not yet. He may be some little time yet. You will wait here patiently till I come for you?"
"Not patiently," she cried with the rueful pout of a child.
I kissed her. "Courage and a little patience, Gareth," I whispered; my arms about her and her head on my shoulder.
"Yes. I'll try to be patient—but you don't know what it is to wait like this in such suspense."
"I'll come for you the instant I can," I assured her, and went out to Mrs. Perry.
"The two gentlemen are here, Miss Christabel."
"I'll go down to them;" and I ran down, with no very clear thought of what I was to say to either Colonel Katona or to Karl, until I knew for certain that Gustav would really come.
And there was no news yet from James Perry.
As I entered the room Karl came to me with both hands outstretched. Utterly regardless of Colonel Katona's presence, he exclaimed in a tone of intense earnestness; "Thank God, for a sight of you again, Christabel."
"Count Karl," I said, half in protest, as I put my hands into his nervously and glanced at the Colonel.
"Never mind the Colonel. He knows everything," he declared in the most unabashed manner, "even that I have come to recant. I must take back the promise I made the other night."
"Good-morning, Colonel Katona;" and I drew my hands away from Karl, who had held on to them with quite embarrassing pertinacity.
The Colonel's hard eyes were quite soft with the softness of Gareth's as he smiled. "You have a lovely garden here, may I go out into it?"
"Indeed you may not," I replied quickly. If Count Gustav caught sight of him he would be scared right away.
"Count Karl wishes to speak to you alone—that's why I asked," he replied in his blunt, soldierly way.
"I think I am too embarrassed to know what to say or do;" and I sat down helplessly. "I believe it would be best for us all if we were to talk for about a quarter of an hour of nothing but the weather."
Karl laughed. "I can say what I want to say before the Colonel, Christabel," he declared. But Colonel Katona read something in my manner which disturbed him, and he looked at me earnestly, with an eager appeal in his eyes.
"I hope with all my heart it will be fine weather," I said with a meaning look; "but fine or wet I am not yet ready to...." I could think of no word to fit the sentence, and came to an impotent stop.
"I can wait," declared the Colonel, in evident relief; and turning his back to me, he stared resolutely out into the garden.
I glanced at Karl, and was pained to see how really worn and ill he looked. The sunken cheeks, hollow eye sockets, and haggard, drawn features told their tale of the struggle through which he had passed.
He placed a chair close to mine and as he sat down he said, in a low voice: "I have kept my word so far, Christabel, but I can't go through with it. It will beat me."
"You must have courage."
He shook his head with a despairing smile. "You'll think me a miserably weak creature, but I can't help it. I broke down yesterday and I had to do something. I wrote to the Duke and told him how it was with me, and that he must give his consent; and that if he would, I'd give mine."
I didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "You should not have done that."
"If you wish to save me, you must give in, too—and marry me. I don't care about anything else. Gustav is the man they all want. Let them have him. I told you I had no sympathy with the whole thing. I only held out because somewhere in the back of my mind there was an idea that the thing was a mistake, and that if I insisted on retaining my heirship, I might stop it all. But that means losing you again. I can't do that. I can't."
He was so dejected, so worn with the struggle which he had made at my bidding and for my sake, that if I had been in a firmer mood I could scarcely have urged him. And if I tell the truth, I was in anything but that firmer mood. The gates of happiness yawned wide in front of me, and my heart was urging and spurring me to enter them. I was very weak just then.
"You are ill and not yourself," I said.
"Yes, I am ill—but worse in mind than in body. If I had known what it meant when you laid your hand on my arm that day in the Stadtwalchen and I gave that little bottle to you, I wouldn't have done it. I would do it again to win you, Christabel, but not to lose you."
"I saw the Duke last night—or rather he came to see me."
"My father?" he exclaimed, in great surprise.
"Yes, he wished to see what Colonel von Dreschler's daughter was like."
"Did he tell you I had written to him?"
"No. He did not mention your name—but he promised that my father's memory should be cleared, and even that his old title and his estate should be restored."
"Then I've done something to help you, after all, Christabel? I'm glad;" and he smiled. He had no knowledge of all that lay beneath the surface; and I did not tell him. "I wonder what he thought of you," he added, after a pause.
"I think I surprised him," I said, drily.
"I'm sure of that," he agreed in a pleased tone. "I think I see. If he consents to our marriage and helps to secure for you the old title, it will be the best proof he can give the world that he knows your father was innocent of everything. So you see you'll have to marry me, Christabel, if it's only to secure your own purpose. Thank God!" he exclaimed fervently.
"Do you mean you would give up your birthright merely for me?" I asked.
"Why, of course. That's just what I told him," he replied, simply.
"Do you think I would let you?"
He glanced at me with another smile. "I shall give it up in any case. You must do what you please, you can't prevent me. But I——" he hesitated and added hopefully: "I think I'm very sure of you."
"You can't be sure yet of the Duke's consent. There is more to come than you know."
He reached forward suddenly and seized my hand. "I don't care what's going to happen now. You love me. That's enough for me to know."
"You are very confident—almost audacious. Very different from what you were when—Miss Gilmore met you before."
"It's your doing—all of it. You've given me backbone enough to be resolute on one point at any rate—I won't lose you."
"You must wait to see what occurs here to-day," I said.
"I tell you I don't care. What is it?"
The answer came in a very unexpected form. The door opened and I snatched my hand from Karl's as I heard James Perry say: "Will you wait here a minute, my Lord?"
He had mistaken the directions I had given him about the room into which Karl's brother was to be shown; and the next instant, Count Gustav entered and was staring at us all in amazement.
James was a shrewd fellow, and having recognized his blunder did the best thing to cover it. He shut the door behind Count Gustav and thus made his retreat impossible.
"I am afraid you have mistaken the house, Count," I said, drily. "This is not General von Erlanger's. But pray sit down."
He was bitterly chagrined, and shot at me such a glance of hate that I knew he understood I had outwitted him. Then his devil-may-care nature reasserted itself, and he sat down and laughed.
"I suppose this is prepared for me?"
"Yes and no. My servant has mistaken the room into which you were to be shown—that is all. I meant to see you alone first. There will probably be some money to be returned to you—unless he has made another mistake as to that. I told him to be careful to insist upon part payment for his treachery in advance. I'll ring for him."
"What's this, Gustav?" asked Karl, as I crossed to the bell.
"Nothing to do with you," was the surly reply.
"Good morning, Count Gustav," put in Colonel Katona, "Miss von Dreschler, may I not now go and admire your garden?"
"No, Colonel, not yet if you please." At the answer, his face clouded ominously. He glanced from me swiftly to Count Gustav, and back to me with dark suggestiveness.
James Perry came in then.
"Did Count Gustav give you any money this morning, James?"
"Yes, Miss Christabel."
"Give it to me." He handed me a bundle of notes and went out. I passed them on to Count Gustav. "You have made a mistake, Count. American servants are not to be found on the bargain counter."
"There is something here to be explained," said Colonel Katona, abruptly.
"Count Gustav was to have come to me at General von Erlanger's at twelve o'clock to-day; perhaps it might explain matters if he told us why he preferred to come here." I spoke very coldly.
He dropped his eyes to the ground, declining the challenge, and sat swinging his legs moodily in silence.
"What is it all, Christabel?" asked Karl.
"Trouble perhaps for us all, and probably very serious trouble. If Count Gustav will not explain, I will."
I stopped for him to speak.
"You know why I came?" he said.
"Your brother and Colonel Katona do not."
"Hadn't we better speak together alone first?"
"Yes, if you wish."
We went out together into another room.
"You have played me an ugly trick," he began.
"It is rather that you sought to play me one and failed. You came here to steal Gareth from my care."
"Where is she?"
"In this house here."
"My God!" There was no mistaking the intensity of his feelings. He threw himself into a chair and stared down at the carpet, his face wrinkled in lines of thought, perplexity, and fear. "Does Colonel Katona know?" he asked after a long, tense pause.
"Not yet."
"You mean to tell him?"
"I have brought him here for that purpose.
"He mustn't be told."
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders, and left him to interpret the gesture as he pleased.
"You don't know what you are doing. My God, you don't; or you'd never dare. What are your terms now?"
"No more than they were before—and no less."
He took a paper from his pocket. "Here's the first of them—over my father's signature."
"Is this what you were to have brought to the General's house?"
"Yes," he nodded.
"It is not your doing, then, that part?"
"What else do you want?"
"You know quite well—that you make Gareth your wife."
"You're not so clever as you think you are," he jeered. This cheap sneer at me appeared to afford him some relief.
"Have you no thought for her?
"I don't wish to hear about her from you."
"Then her father and yours had better speak of her. The Duke knows the story by now; and the matter has to be settled somehow."
"You are brewing an awful mess and making any settlement impossible. But then you're a woman, and can be trusted to do that."
"Shall I send for Colonel Katona to come to us here?"
"No," he cried quickly, and then gave a desperate sigh.
"Yet you love Gareth," I said.
"I tell you I won't hear of her from you."
"And she has given you all her innocent heart, trusting you, believing in you, loving you, as only such a sweet pure girl as she could."
"I will not hear you," he cried again fiercely.
"If you will not, there is only one alternative." He was silent, so I continued. "I do not plead for her—don't think that. Her cause needs no pleading at my hands; because there are those who will not see injustice done to her. You know that—selfish, reckless, wicked and daring as you are. Her father is equally daring, and knows how to revenge a wrong done to her."
"What do you want to say, then? Can you see any way?"
"When you spoke to me that afternoon at Madame d'Artelle's house about her, I saw that you loved her; and what I would appeal to now is that love of yours for her."
"Go on," he said sullenly.
"You would be neither sullen nor indifferent if you could have seen her when to-day she knew you were coming. You know little of a woman's heart; but I know it—and all Gareth's was in her glad eyes at the thought of being once again with you. She is not well, moreover worried and harassed by suspense; ill with the fever of unrest. She has no strength for the part you have made her play, and the passionate desire to have this tangle straightened and peace made with her father is wearing her life away."
Whether he was touched by this, I cannot say. He gave no sign.
"You wish for a chance to checkmate me," I continued; "and here you can find one. I promised her happiness—you can give that promise the lie; you can break her heart and blight her life, and probably kill her. I have acted in the belief that you cared for her: you can sneer that belief out of existence, and win at least that one success over me. You would have a victory of a sort; but I would not envy your feelings in the hour of triumph."
He took this in silence also. I did not think he had even cared to listen.
"Have you anything more to say?" he asked after a pause.
"If your heart is dead to her, no words are needed—none can do any good. But it will not be well for you."
"Threats now?"
"I leave them for Gareth's father. You know what he can do?"
Something in the words touched him. He looked up with a new, sudden suspicion. "You know that, too?" he asked, sharply. "Is that why you've trapped me here like this?"
"That is not my part of it," I replied, ambiguously, leaving him to make of the answer what he would.
"Can I see Gareth?"
"Yes, when her father knows, and with his consent."
He shrugged his shoulders and sneered again. "You take me for a villain, of course. You said so once."
"I will gladly revise my opinion if you will give me occasion."
"I told you you were not so sharp as you thought. If you were, and if there is what I suppose there is behind those words of yours just now, you would see that I might be as anxious as yourself for Gareth—if only I could see the way."
"I should be glad to think it—for her sake."
"You can. It's true. And if you could see a way I'd forgive you all the rest."
"I have no more to say—to you," I said, rising.
"You are going to tell him?"
"Yes—now. There is no good in delay."
He got up, frowning, his face anxious but resolute. "No; this is my affair. You have done enough mischief. Send him to me. I'll tell him."
"I will not have violence in my house."
He came close to me and stared into my eyes. "Do you know what Colonel Katona can do in this?"
"I know he has sworn to have the life of the man who has wronged his child."
He waved this aside with a shake of the head and a toss of the hand. "Is that all you know?"
"Yes—but it is enough."
"I will tell him myself. Not alone if you say so. Karl can hear it too."
"You had better go to them. You will of course tell him everything. If you do not, I shall."
"You don't understand. This is beyond you now. I shall tell him one thing which you have been too prejudiced and blind to see—that Gareth is already my wife, legally—as you like to insist."
"I don't believe you—nor will he."
"Believe it or not as you please—it is true; if a priest of the Holy Church can make man and woman husband and wife."
He swung away with that, and I watched him cross the hall with quick, firm steps, and enter the room where Colonel Katona and Karl were waiting.
I was glad to be spared the ordeal of that interview, and was still standing thoughtfully at the closed door on the other side of which that scene of the drama was being enacted, when a carriage drove up rapidly.
I knew it was General von Erlanger and the Duke, and I told the servant to show them into one of the larger rooms in the front of the house.
I was in the act of going to the Duke and my fingers were all but on the handle of the door, when I recalled the idea which had flashed upon me an hour before when with Gareth, and instantly I resolved to act upon it.
Running back into the room where I had been with Count Gustav, I wrote two lines to his Excellency.
"I have made one mistake. Count Gustav's marriage is legal. Gareth is really his wife. Let the Duke know this."
I sent James Perry in with this note to the General and a message that I would be with him in one minute.
Then I ran up to Gareth. The poor child was sick from the suspense; but I noticed with intense satisfaction that she had been filling up some of the weary time of waiting by making herself look as pretty as possible.
"Is he here, Christabel? Oh, how my heart beats."
"Yes, dear, he is here. He is with your father now, telling him all; and you are to come with me to the Duke." I put it so intentionally, that she might believe Gustav had expressed the wish.
"What do we not owe you, Christabel?" she cried, kissing me tenderly. "But I'd rather see Kar—Gustav, first. I've been practising that name ever since you left me; but it sounds so strange. The other will come out first."
"Try and remember it with the Duke, Gareth. It doesn't matter with any one else so much."
"Oh, I can't go to him. I can't. He is such a stern and terrible old man, so—Gustav says. I got it nearly right that, time, didn't I?" and she laughed.
"It will soon come quite naturally, dear. Are you ready? He may not like it if we keep him waiting."
I looked at her critically, gave a touch or two to her fair hair, and kissed her. "You look very beautiful, Gareth."
"I feel very frightened," she said, and clung to me as we went down the stairs. I believe I was almost as nervous as she could have been; for I was indeed drawing a bow at a venture. But I dared not let her guess my feelings, lest she should run back upstairs.
So I took her hand and pushed on steadily, and when James opened the door of the room I led her right across to where the Duke sat, and, with my heart thumping against my ribs I said, just as I had thought to say:
"This is Gareth, Duke Ladislas."
His bird-like face was as black as a night-storm. His keen eyes watched us both, glancing swiftly from my face to Gareth's, and from her back to me as we hurried across the room. The heavy brows were pent, and when we stood in front of him there came an ominous pause—like the calm when the storm is to burst.
Gareth was so frightened by this reception that the clutch of her fingers tightened on mine. I felt her trembling and saw her colour go, as she flinched with a little gasping catch of the breath all eloquent of fear.
His Excellency had risen at our entrance, and I saw him stare with a start of astonishment at Gareth, and from her to the stern old Duke; and then he lowered his head and closed his eyes, and I noticed that he clenched his right hand. He feared as much as I did for the result of my experiment.
The silence was almost intolerable; those vulture eyes fixed with deadly intentness upon us both, and the hard unyielding face set in the stern, cold, impassive, expressionless scrutiny.
Bitterly I began to repent my rashness, when a great change came, wrought by Gareth.
With surely one of the happiest instincts that ever came to a child, half helpless as she was with fright, she slipped her fingers from mine and, throwing herself on her knees at the Duke's feet, she caught his hand and held it and looked up frankly in his face and cried:
"Throwing herself on her knees at the Duke's feet.""Throwing herself on her knees at the Duke's feet."
"Throwing herself on her knees at the Duke's feet.""Throwing herself on her knees at the Duke's feet."
"It was all my fault, sir. I pray God and you to forgive him."
Just that; no more. No tears, no wailings, no hysterics. Just the frank statement of what her pure, innocent, simple heart believed to be the truth—the whole truth as it seemed to her; as no one looking down into her eyes could doubt.
The Duke could not. I did not look for emotion from him. He stared down at her; but gradually I saw the furrows on the forehead relax, and the eyes soften. Then the lids shut down over the glitter, his free hand was placed gently on the golden head, and bending forward he kissed her on the forehead.
"Gareth."
Then his Excellency did what I could have kissed him for doing; for I was past thinking what to do just then.
"I wish to speak to you," he whispered to me; and we both crept away out of the room as softly as though we had been two children stealing off in fear from some suddenly discovered terror.
The moment we reached the room where I had spoken to Count Gustav, his Excellency surprised me. "You knew it, of course; but how? You are wonderful, Christabel!"
"Knew what?"
"Do you mean you did not know? Then it is a miracle. I thought you knew and had planned it; and I marvelled that even you had courage enough for such a daring stroke."
"I drew a bow at a venture; and don't understand you."
"Do you tell me that you believed any mere pink and white young girl picked out at random would make an impression upon that crusted mass of self-will, obstinacy, and inflexibility of purpose? You—with your keen wit and sense of humour, Christabel!"
"You could see the impression for yourself, surely," I retorted.
"This is positively delicious! I really must enjoy it a little longer without enlightening you. You do really believe that the Duke was melted because that child is very pretty and has innocent eyes? You must give up reading us humans, Christabel; you really must, after this."
"It seems strange to such a cynic, I suppose, that innocence can plead for itself convincingly to such nature as the Duke's!"
"You intend that to be very severe—but it isn't. Innocence, as innocence, would have no more chance with Duke Ladislas, if it stood in the way of his plans, than a troutlet would have in the jaws of a hungry pike. The humour of it is that you should have thought otherwise, and actually have—have dangled the pretty troutlet right before the pike's nose."
"It has not been so unsuccessful."
"I am sorry for you, Christabel," he answered, assuming the air of a stern mentor; "but it is my unfortunate duty to administer a severe corrective to your—what shall I term it—your overweening self-confidence."
"I have given you considerable enjoyment at any rate."
His eyes were twinkling and he shook his forefinger at me with exaggerated gravity. "I am afraid that at this moment, very much afraid, you are rather puffed up with self-congratulation at the result of this master-stroke of yours."
"It is more to the point to think whether it will succeed."
"Oh yes, it will succeed; but why, do you think? Not because of that child's innocence or pretty pink and whiteness; and certainly not because the Duke was in any mood to be impressed. Now, there is a problem for you. When I gave him those three lines you sent into me, his fury was indescribable. Not against Gustav, mark you: he stands by him through any storm and stress—but against the wife. He was speechless with suppressed rage; and right in the midst of it in you came with your—'This is Gareth'—and you know the rest. There's the riddle; now, what's the answer?"
I thought closely, and then gave it up. There was obviously some influence at work which I did not understand. "You have your wish. You have pricked the bladder of my self-conceit; I've been floating with somebody else's life belt, I see that."
"Do you think you feel sufficiently humble?"
"Yes, quite humiliated," I admitted with a smile.
"Then, I'll tell you. The clue is to be sought for in the years of long ago. The Duke has been married twice; and his first wife was named Gareth, and the only child of the union was Gareth also; just such a girl as that sweet little thing you brought into him to-day—and so like both the idolized dead wife and dead child as to bring right up before him in living flesh the one dead romance of his life. Now you see what you did?"
"What will he do?"
"I should very much like to know. I am afraid you have got your way, and that he'll accept her as his daughter; and then—phew, I don't know what will come next. Only recently a very different sort of marriage had been planned for Gustav; one that would have strengthened the position as much as that child there will weaken it. I don't envy the Duke his decision. How does Gustav feel toward her?"
"I believe he still cares for her—but you know him."
"I wish I could think there was happiness for her. Those whom the gods love, die young—I'm not sure that if I were the gods, I wouldn't choose that solution."
"It is not for you to settle, fortunately, but for the Duke."
"True; but he can only give her Gustav—and that may be a long, long way different from happiness." He paused and with a slow smile added: "This may affect you as well."
"I am thinking of Gareth just now."
"The same thing—from a different angle, Christabel, that's all. If this marriage is publicly recognized, Karl will be again the acknowledged heir; the axis of things will be shifted; and the motive for the Duke's promise to you last night will be gone. It will be hard if you should have done so great a right and yet pay the price. It is well that you are strong."
"I have the Duke's word."
"Can you keep water in an open funnel?"
I turned away with a sigh and looked out of the window. His Excellency came to my side and laid a hand very gently and kindly on my shoulder. A touch of genuine sympathy.
"Almost,Icould hope, Christabel—but thank God, I am not the Duke. I was a very presumptuous old man—only a day or two back—-but you have made me care for you in a very different way. I am presumptuous no longer; and all that I am and all that I have shall be staked and lost before I see injustice done to you."
"I know what a friend you are."
"Pray Heaven, this may not be beyond our friendship."
I could not answer him. I stood staring blankly out into the garden realizing all that was behind his words. I knew he might have spoken no more than the truth; and that in gaining Gareth's happiness, I had ventured my own future.
Not for a moment did I distrust Karl; but I knew the influences which might be brought to bear upon him. If Gustav was no longer to be preferred as the Duke's heir and Karl was not to be allowed to forego his rights as elder son, our marriage became impossible.
I had worked for this, I know; had planned that it should be; had forced it home upon Karl himself; and had even found pleasure in the thought of the sacrifice it involved.
But since then I had taken to my heart such different thoughts. The Duke had with his own hands swept away the barrier to our marriage; and Karl himself had shown me within the past hour how much it was to him.
It is one thing to stand outside the Palace of Delight and, in the knowledge that admission is impossible to you, be firm in a refusal to enter; but it is another and a very different thing, when the gates stand open and your foot is already on the very threshold and loving hands are beckoning to you with sweet invitation to enter, to find the portal closed in your face, and yourself shut again in the outer darkness.
It is little wonder, therefore, if my heart began to ache again in dread of the cold solitude which threatened to be the reward for my share in that day's doings.
It was all quite clear to me, as I stared out into the garden, seeing nothing that was actually there; nothing but the troubled forms which my thoughts assumed. And although I murmured and rebelled against it all, I knew in my heart that at the last neither Karl's desires nor mine would be allowed to decide what should be done.
My kind old friend, discerning the struggle that was taking place in my thoughts, left me at first to fight it out in my own way, but presently came, and in the same sympathetic way laid a hand on my arm.
"You must not take too black a view, Christabel," he said. "It may all be yet for the best. I thought only to prepare you."
"It is over," I said, with a smile. "I have taken my decision. It shall be as the Duke decides."
"I know how it must be with you," he replied, very gently.
The kindness of his manner seemed in some strange way to hurt me almost; at least it made me conscious of the pain of everything; and I lowered my head and wrung my hands in silence.
Then a door opened in the hall.
"Christabel, Christabel!" It was Gareth's voice, sweet and glad.
"Go to her, please, I—I cannot for the moment."
He went at once and did what was of course the best thing to do—he brought her to me.
"The Duke wishes to see Gustav alone," he said. A glance at his face told me my plan had succeeded.
Gareth caught my arm nervously. "I heard angry voices in one of the rooms, Christabel—my father's and Kar—Gustav's. What does it mean?"
"All will be well now that you have seen the Duke, dearest. Stay here a minute until I come for you."
I believed it now and felt very happy as I kissed her and she kissed me in response.
"I owe it you, Christabel," she whispered. "I will wait."
I went out with the General and closed the door upon her.
"You must do all that may have to be done now," I said, weakly. "I have finished, and can do no more. Count Gustav is there with Colonel Katona and Count Karl. Will you fetch him?" and I pointed to the room from which the sounds of voices loud in anger were to be heard.
But even as I spoke, the door was flung open violently, and Colonel Katona and Gustav came out.
"No, by God, no, you are too great a villain," cried the Colonel fiercely, and then seeing who was with me, he stopped abruptly.
In the pause I glanced through into the room and saw Karl staring after the other two.
Our eyes met, and he flung up his hands with a gesture of consternation and despair.