Instantly I thought of Gareth and raised my hand, hoping to still the Colonel's angry, strident tone lest it should reach her.
"He is a villain," he repeated. "I care not now who hears me say it. He lured her from me, planned to make me do murder, and now would have me join in dishonouring my child. You must hear this, Miss von Dreschler, for you know much—and shall know the rest."
"For Gareth's sake, Colonel, she is in that room and may hear," I protested.
"Let her come and let her decide this," said Gustav.
"No. This is for me. I will tell all. I have kept my secret long enough—for your sake, as you know—and will keep it no longer. You came here," he said, turning to me, "to clear your father's memory of the charge brought against him. I can prove it false, and will. He was charged with having murdered the young Count Stephen. It was a lie. This scoundrel here knows it was a lie. Ask him if he dare deny that."
There was no need to ask the question; Count Gustav's face gave the answer, clear and unmistakable.
"You will ruin everything, Colonel Katona," he said. "Not me only, but the Duke, your master, and the great cause—everything."
"To hell with any cause which would sacrifice my child's honour. I will tell the Duke to his face," was the hot reply, very fiercely spoken.
"I am here ready to listen, Colonel Katona."
We all started and turned to find the Duke himself had come out.
"What is this lie which threatens ruin to everything, sir?" he asked very sternly, after a pause.
Colonel Katona drew himself up.
"It is right that I should tell it to you. It was for you and your family that the lie was planned; that you might have the Throne when the time came; and it was continued that this man—your son—might succeed you. Your son, who has rewarded me for my fidelity to your house by stealing my child. It was for you and yours that I consented to dishonour my friend—this lady's father; and have kept the secret inviolate through years of remorse and sorrow."
"Enough of yourself," said the Duke, with a contemptuous wave of the hand. "Speak plainly."
"The scheme has failed, and through this villain's dastardly conduct. The man whom Colonel von Dreschler was accused of having murdered, and whose death would have cleared the way for you and yours to the Throne—Count Stephen—is living, a close prisoner in my house."
"Thank God for that!" I cried, fervently, understanding all now.
Then a gasp of pain, or rage, or fear, or of all three, escaped the Duke's pallid lips. He staggered so that his Excellency put out his hand to help him.
"Is this true?" fell in a whisper from the Duke, his eyes on his son's face, now as white and tense as his own.
There was no answer, and in the silence, I heard the door behind me opened softly, and Gareth came out.
"Ah!" The soft ejaculation, born partly of gladness at the sight of Gustav and her father, and partly of fear at the wrought looks of both, drew all eyes upon her. The silence seemed to deepen suddenly; as though a common instinct of mercy inspired all to attempt to keep what was passing from her knowledge.
A look of bewilderment came over her face as she gazed from one to the other; tender but questioning for the Duke; half fearful anxiety for her father; and infinite love and yearning for her husband. She glanced at him last; but her first word was for him, and it was toward him she moved, murmuring his name and stretching out her hands.
Her father drew his breath quickly, with a sound between a gasp and a sigh; and I thought he was going to step between them, but the Duke glanced at him and raised his hand.
"She is his," he said, his tone no more than a whisper, but distinct to all of us.
The Colonel drew back a pace and put his hand to his forehead.
Gareth passed him. She had no eyes for any but her husband in that moment.
I waited with fear-wrought anxiety to see how he would greet her, for his face had given no sign which we could read.
But she had no fear for him as she had no thought of us. Her faith in him was as staunch and patent as the love which lighted her face and sparkled in her clear shining eyes. Our presence gave her no embarrassment; I believe that we were all forgotten in the absorbing delight of that one supreme moment.
He played the man for once. As she placed her hands in his with just a simple—"I am so glad," he took them, and bending down kissed her on the lips before us all.
But this was more than her father could bear. With an angry "Gareth," he turned to part them.
Scared by his stern look and tone, she shrank back with a little piteous cry: "Father, he is my husband;" as if indeed she would defend him.
I saw the cloud on his face deepen and the words of a harsh reply were already on his lips, when the Duke, who had been watching intently, intervened.
"Colonel Katona, the rest is for us men to settle," he said, waving his hand to the room behind him.
His Excellency glanced at me and motioned toward Gareth, and I crossed to her.
"For a few minutes, Gareth," said the Duke.
She hesitated, and then, as her father was moving away in obedience to the Duke's command, she stepped past me and seized his hand. "Father, you forgive us?"
Just a little yearning plea, pathetic enough to have touched the hardest heart, I thought it. But he had no ears for it. His passion was too hot and fierce against the man whom she included in the appeal.
He turned and looked upon her quite unmoved—his face hard like a rock, and his voice rough and harsh as he answered: "No. You have to choose between us; and if you choose him, you are no longer my child;" and shaking her hand off, he went into the room.
Gareth gave one soft, piteous cry, like a stricken fawn, as I put my arm round her.
I hated him for the merciless cruelty of the rebuff; and I believe all shared that feeling, as we saw how it had cut deep into her tender heart. I know that Karl and his Excellency did, by the glances of pity they cast upon her as they passed me to follow the Duke.
Count Gustav hesitated, seemingly at a loss what to do. I thought he would have taken her from my arms to his; and much as I detested him, I think I would have forgiven him everything had he done so. But, after a second's hesitation, he shrugged his shoulders, passed on and closed the door behind him.
I led her away upstairs to her room, and by the time we reached it she was clinging to me feebly and helplessly. She sank down on her bed with a deep-drawn sigh, and lay there deathly pale and trembling violently.
I hoped that the tears would come to relieve her; but they did not. The shock had been too sudden. The suspense of the separation had worn her down; then the joy of the meeting with Gustav had wrought upon her nerves so that her father's stern and almost brutal repulse had been a blow struck just at the moment when she was at the weakest. The sorrow was too deep for tears, the suffering too acute and numbing.
I threw a rug over her and bent and kissed her, as I whispered: "I think it will all come right, Gareth, dear."
She took no notice; and feeling I could do no more then but just let her grief have its way, I sat down by the bedside, wondering whether I believed my own words; whether, in such a tangle, all could possibly come right; or whether in striving to right things in my own way, I had only succeeded in creating just an impossible bungle.
My thoughts were soon down in the room below. What was occurring there? Far bigger things were in the doing, or undoing, than the breaking of poor Gareth's heart. Fate had bound up that issue with others of much greater import.
If Count Stephen was alive, the whole of the Duke's plans and Count Gustav's scheming were shattered. Would Colonel Katona insist upon making his story public—or would some means be devised to prevail upon him to keep that secret still inviolate? On that question would hinge the future of the Patriots' cause; and so possibly the future of the whole Empire.
In such a balance what weight was the mere happiness of two girls like Gareth and myself likely to have? None; absolutely none. Nor could I bring myself to think it should have, considering the critical consequences there might be to thousands, aye even millions in the Dual Empire.
The Colonel was a hard man, however, how hard he had shown himself within the last few minutes; and I believed he would hold on to his purpose like a steel clamp. If he did, what would result? Either the leadership of the Patriot cause would pass from the Duke to Count Stephen, or the Duke's enemies would seize the occasion to promote a schism which would ruin the cause irreparably.
In that case the main obstacle to Count Gustav's open acknowledgment of Gareth as his wife would be removed; but her husband and father must remain open and bitter enemies; and her choice must be made between them. Poor Gareth!
And so I sat in long, weary suspense, tossed hither and thither by my distracted thoughts, while I waited, my nerves high-strung, to learn the result of the conference below stairs.
I was roused by a long, shuddering sigh from Gareth.
"I am here, dear," I said, bending over her.
"I am so cold, Christabel," she cried, shivering. I felt her hands; they were as cold as stones; but when I laid my fingers on her brow, it was hot with the burning heat of a fever. In much concern I called up Mrs. Perry, and together we applied such remedies as we could devise.
She was quite passive in our hands. Thanked us with sweet smiles, doing just what we told her like a submissive child.
"What has caused this, Miss Christabel?" asked Mrs. Perry. "She is really ill, and should see a doctor."
"She has had a shock," I replied; and the good soul shook her head dismally.
"She is just the sweetest girl that ever happened, but not weather proof against much shock," she said.
Then I heard sounds below; and my pulse quickened. The conference was ended,—how? "Stay here and watch while I am away," I said, and went downstairs.
His Excellency and Count Gustav were in the hall speaking together eagerly.
"Where is Gareth?" asked the Count.
"Upstairs, in her room."
"I will take her away with me. A wife must go with her husband," he answered; his tone curt and bitter.
"She is ill. A case for a doctor, I fear."
"She was well enough just now. Is this another trick? Tell her I am waiting for her. She has cost me enough. I may as well have as much of her as I can."
"You will have her life if you take her away now. But that may be your object." I could not help the taunt, his manner so enraged me.
"Thank you," he said, with a curl of the lip.
"It is no case for harsh words," put in his Excellency.
"And more certainly none for harsh deeds. Gareth cannot go until a doctor has seen her," I declared firmly.
"But for your meddling none of this would have happened," declared Gustav. "Let me see her."
"In your present mood, no. The shock of her father's cruel rebuff has quite unnerved her," I said to his Excellency. "Tell me what doctor to send for, please."
He wrote down the name of a Dr. Armheit and his address, and I sent off James Perry at once. "What has been decided?" I asked next. "Where is the Duke? He should be told of Gareth."
"I will speak to you presently," said the General, very kindly.
Count Gustav laughed maliciously. "You have made a mess of things for yourself as well as for the rest of us, thank heaven. It serves you right. Karl has——"
"Stop, if you please, Count Gustav, this is for me to explain," broke in the General very angrily. "Be good enough to leave it to me."
"Why? What do I owe to you or to this meddler here that I should hold my tongue at your bidding? She has set herself against us, and must take the consequences. The Duke has about as much affection for you, as I have; and neither of us relishes the honour you would do us by becoming a member of our family."
"Silence, sir," exclaimed the General, hotly.
"Not at your bidding, or that of any other man."
"Nothing that this—this gentleman can say can affect me, General," I said, smoothly.
The words seemed to add fuel to Count Gustav's anger. "My wife shall not stay in your house and in your care," he said with great heat.
"The moment the doctor says she may leave the house, she can go—but not before."
"Oh, it's only another lie," he cried, passionately; and raising his voice he called loudly: "Gareth, Gareth. I am waiting for you. I, Gustav; Gareth, I say, Gareth."
"You may kill her," I murmured, wringing my hands.
As if gloating over my trouble, he sneered: "You act well; but we'll see;" and he called again loudly: "Gareth, Gareth, come to me."
I caught the sound of her footsteps above. The door of her room opened and she answered: "I am coming, Gustav;" and a moment later she came down the stairs and threw herself into his arms.
"She told me you were too ill to come to me, but I knew it was false. You feel well enough to come away with me?"
"Yes, of course, if you wish it. I must go with him, Christabel; he is my husband," she cried, wistfully. "He called me."
The General saw her condition as plainly as I.
"She is more fit to be in bed than to leave here," he said.
"Do you suppose I cannot take care of my own wife, sir?" cried Gustav, fiercely. "Get your hat, Gareth."
She left his arms and began to climb the stairs.
"Mrs. Perry will bring it, Gareth," I said, hastily.
But there was no need for it. She clung to the balustrade feebly and turned back to look at Gustav.
"I'm afraid—I'm—I'm——" No more; for the next instant he had to catch her in his arms to save her from falling. She smiled to him as if trying to rally her strength. "My head," she murmured; and then the hand which was pressed to it dropped, and she fainted.
"You had better carry her up to bed," said his Excellency, practically.
"She has only fainted and will be better in a minute," answered the Count. "She shall not stay here;" and he carried her into one of the rooms and laid her on a couch, standing between me and her to prevent my approach. Every action appeared to be inspired by hatred of me instead of care for her.
Happily the doctor soon came, and his first words after he had examined her were that she must be carried at once to bed.
"I wish to remove her from the house," said Count Gustav.
"It is impossible," was the brusque, imperative reply.
"It is necessary."
"It is for me to say what is necessary in such a case," declared the doctor; and being a strong as well as a masterful man, he picked Gareth up in his arms and told me to show the way to her bedroom.
And in this way she was given back into my care.
It was more than an hour before I could go down to General von Erlanger, and I carried a heavy heart and a bad report of Gareth's condition.
"She is very ill," I told him. "The doctor fears brain fever. At best but fragile, recent events have so preyed upon her that the climax to-day found her utterly broken in nerve and strength. I have left her muttering in half-delirious terror of her father's anger. Where is Count Gustav?"
"Gone away with the doctor, to return later. And now of yourself, Christabel?"
"In the presence of this I feel I do not care. I gathered the gist of all from what Count Gustav said. What was decided? Did the Duke know that Count Stephen was living?"
"No. The thing was planned by his supporters, as he told you last night, to make sure of his leadership being secure at a time when, owing to the Emperor's illness, it seemed that the hour was at hand for the Patriots' cause to be proclaimed. They meant to kill the Count, but some one saved him, and then Katona was persuaded to undertake his guardianship."
"What is to be done?"
"The Duke is a broken man. The knowledge of his favourite son's guilt; the break-up of his plans; the bitterness of the loss of virtually everything he cared for in life has completely unstrung him. He has sent Katona to take Count Stephen to him; he has given Gustav the option of voluntary exile or public exposure; and he has reinstated Karl in his position as elder son and his heir."
"It is only right. I am glad," I said.
"Glad?" he echoed, with a meaning glance.
"Yes, very glad."
"Your tone is very confident. You know what it carries with it—for you, I mean?"
"I do not care what it means to me. It is right."
"The Duke is very bitter against you, Christabel."
"He would scarcely be human if he were not. In a sense this is all my doing. I have brought it about, that is. But he cannot harm me, nor prevent my dear father's memory from being cleared. True, it seems he can influence Count Karl."
His Excellency smiled with deliberate provocation. "Possibly; yet Karl, although not a Patriot, is still a rebel."
"He has gone with his father," I answered, with a shrug.
"That is not fair. The Duke was too ill to go alone."
"He came with you, General."
He shook his head. "Christabel! If matters were not so sad here, I might almost be tempted to put that forbidden question."
"If you were so minded, I might not now forbid it, perhaps."
"I think I am glad to hear you say that. The girl in you can perhaps scarcely help resenting Karl's going away just now; but then any girl can be unjust at such a moment."
"Are you pleading for him?"
"Oh, no; there is no need. You will do that very well yourself when you are alone."
"You are very provoking."
"All I mean is that"—he paused and smiled again—"Karl is and will remain a rebel."
"I must go to Gareth now," I said.
I gave him my hand and he held it. "I am going with the news of her to the Duke; and when there I shall see—the rebel. Shall I give him any message?"
"No—except that I am glad," I answered steadily.
"That, of course; and—that he had better come as soon as he can for the reasons;" and with a last meaning glance he was leaving, when I asked him to let the Colonel know of Gareth's serious condition.
I was full of anxiety for Gareth, and I had been so greatly wrought upon by the events of the day that, as I had assured the General, my own concerns seemed too small to care about; and yet I could not put them away from me. "Karl was a rebel; Karl was a rebel." Over and over again the words came back to me, and all that they meant, as I stood by the window at a turn of the staircase, looking out and wondering.
Yes, it had hurt me that at such a time he had left the house without waiting to see me; but—he was a rebel. He had gone at the stern old Duke's bidding; but—he was a rebel and would come again. The Duke hated me, and as Gustav had said would never sanction our union; but then—Karl was a rebel.
The sun might shine, or the rain might fall; political plans might succeed or they might fail; great causes flourish or be overthrown; Karl was a rebel—and we should find our way after all to happiness. Love must have its selfish moments; and to me then that was just such a moment, despite all the troubles in the house.
For Gareth we could do nothing but watch, and nurse, and wait. She was very restless; very troubled in mind as her wayward mutterings showed; very weak—like a piece of delicate mechanism suddenly over-strained and broken.
An hour later Count Gustav returned, and I went down to him. The doctor had convinced him of the seriousness of Gareth's condition, and I was glad to find him less self-centred and more concerned for her.
"While Gareth is here, Count Gustav, there must be a truce between us," I said. "And she cannot possibly be moved."
"I know that now," he agreed.
"Then there must be a truce. For her sake all signs of the strife between us must be suppressed. She may ask me about you; and you about me. She has grown to care for me in the last few days; and it will help her recovery if we can make her believe the trouble that divides us all is ended. It rests with us to give her this ease of mind."
"I am not quite the brute you seem to think," he answered.
"I have my own opinion of you and am not likely to alter it—but for her sake I am willing to pretend."
"You are very frank."
"The terms of our truce are agreed, then?"
"Just as you please," he said, with a shrug.
"There is another thing to be done, somehow. Her father must be brought to agree also."
"Shall I go on my knees to him?" he sneered.
"I care not how it is done so long as it is done. But her mind is distracted by the thought of the breach between you two—and of her need to choose between you."
"That was not my doing," he rapped out.
"I see no need for a competition as to who has done the most harm," I retorted, coldly. "The question now is how that harm can best be repaired. Gareth is very ill—but worse in mind than in body; and she will not recover unless her mind is eased."
"Not recover?" he cried, catching at the words. "There is no need to talk like that. Dr. Armheit does not take any such serious view as that."
"Could Dr. Armheit be told all the facts?"
"My God!" he cried under his breath; and turning away looked out of the window.
In the silence I heard a carriage drive up to the door. "Here is the doctor, I expect. You can tell him and get his opinion when he knows."
But it was not the doctor. It was Karl with Colonel Katona; and James Perry showed them in.
On the threshold the Colonel, catching sight of Gustav, stopped abruptly, with a very stern look, and would not have entered the room had I not gone to him and urged him.
"There is something to be done here which is above all quarrels, Colonel. You must come in, please."
"I have told him that Gareth is ill," said Karl.
"What do you mean, Miss von Dreschler?" asked the Colonel, with a very grim look at me.
I struck at once as hard as I could. "Gareth's life is in danger, and it rests largely with you whether she shall live or die."
He pressed his lips tightly together for a moment. "In plainer terms, please."
"Dr. Armheit, who knows only that she has had a shock and has something on her mind, says that she is very ill. We who know what the cause is, know how much graver her condition really is. He will tell you that her chances of recovery depend upon her ease of mind; and that ease of mind can only be secured in one way. It rests with you for one and Count Gustav for the other, to secure it and save her."
He began to see my meaning and he glanced with an angry scowl at Gustav who, I am bound to say, returned the look with interest. Neither spoke, but waited for me to finish.
"I have just arranged a truce with Count Gustav to last until Gareth is strong enough to be told the facts. You two must do the same."
The Colonel drew himself up stiffly and shook his head, and Gustav quick to take fire, was about to burst in, when I continued: "Are you to think of Gareth or of yourselves? Is she to die that you may glower at one another in your selfish passion? Will it profit either of you to know that her life was sacrificed because you could not mask your tempers over her sick bed? Is this what you call love for her? You, her father; and you, her husband?"
I was beginning to win. I saw that from the slight change in the bearing of both. Hot indignation began to give place to mutual sullenness. "It is your quarrel which may kill her; your apparent reconciliation that may save her. Her mind is restless, fevered, and distraught with the horror of the cruel choice which you, her father, laid upon her. You can hear it in every murmur of her half-delirious fever as she lies tossing now. The terror of you, love born as it is, will kill her unless together you two can succeed in removing it."
With a groan the Colonel fell on to a chair and covered his face with his hands, while Gustav turned back again to the window.
I was winning fast now, and I went on confidently: "You can see this now, I hope. What I would have you do is to wait here until she is calmer, and then together go to her, and let her see for herself that the fear which haunts her is groundless. Let your hate and your quarrel stay outside her room; do your utmost while you are inside to make her feel and believe that you are reconciled. That will do more to win her back to health and strength than all the doctors and nurses in the empire. The trouble is in the mind, not the body. Happiness may save, where misery will kill her."
Neither answered, and in the pause some one knocked at the door. It was Mrs. Perry, come to tell me that Gareth was calmer and conscious, and was asking for me.
I told them the good news and added: "May I go and tell her you are both here waiting to see her—together?"
Neither would be the first to give way.
"I will take the risk," I said. "I will go and tell her, and then whichever of you refuses shall have the responsibility;" and without giving them time to answer I went upstairs to Gareth.
She was looking woefully wan and ill, her face almost as colourless as the linen on which she lay. She welcomed me with a smile and whispered my name as I bent and kissed her.
"I am feeling so weak, Christabel," she murmured. "Am I really ill? Or why am I here?"
"Not ill, dearest—but not quite well. That is all; and I have such news for you that it will soon make you quite well."
Her sensitive face clouded and her lips twitched nervously. "About Karl—I mean Gustav,—and—oh, I remember," and clasping her hands to her face turned away trembling.
"Remember what, dear?"
"My father—his look, oh——"
"You have been dreaming, Gareth. Tell me your dreams," I said, very firmly. "I know you have been dreaming because you spoke of your father's anger. And he is not angry with you."
She looked round and stared at me with wondering eyes.
"Not angry? Why, when I—oh, yes,—when Karl—oh, Christabel, I can't get his look out of my eyes. He said...."
I smiled reassuringly, and kissed her again. "Gareth, dear, what do you mean? Why your father and Gustav—Gustav, not Karl, dearest—are together downstairs. We have been talking about you; and they are both waiting to come and see you together."
I think I must have told the half-lie very naturally, for the change in her face was almost like a miracle.
"Is it all a dream, then?" she asked, her voice awed, her eyes bright with the dawning of hope.
"It depends what it is you dreamt, dearest. You have frightened yourself. Tell me all." I was making it hard for the two who were to come up presently; but the change in her rendered me somewhat reckless as to that.
"Has Duke Ladislas been here?"
"Oh, yes. He is Gustav's father."
"He petted me, and said I was like his own lost Gareth, and that now I was his daughter. Then I came to you to fetch Gustav to him; and after that——"
"You saw Gustav and he kissed you—and then in your delight you fainted, and I brought you up here."
"But my father——"
"You have not seen your father yet, Gareth. He is eager to see you." I told the flat lie as sturdily as I had told the other, and didn't stop to consider whether it was justified or not. I just told it.
"But he was there, and he—all but cursed me, Christabel; and oh, his eyes...."
"You have only dreamt that part, Gareth," I said, using a sort of indulgent tone. "You have been frightening yourself, dearest. You have always been afraid of what he might say to you, and—you have been imagining things."
She found it difficult to believe me, strong as her desire was to do so.
"But it was all so real, Christabel."
"It is more real that they are both waiting for me to say if I think you are strong enough to see them."
"Do you mean—oh, Christabel, how happy you have made me;" and with that, thank Heaven, she burst into tears.
She was still weeping when the doctor came; and noting the change in her, he gave a ready consent to her seeing Gustav and the Colonel for a short interview.
I took him down with me to fetch them. I told them what I had said to Gareth, and that they were to insist upon it that she had fainted when in Gustav's arms, and that everything after that was no more than her imagination.
They could not quarrel before the doctor; could indeed only look rather sheepish, as even strong and stern men can at times; so I carried my point and led them upstairs.
"Gustav and your father, dearest," I said, as I opened the door and stood aside for them to pass.
I saw her face brighten and her eyes light with a great gladness at the sight of them together and apparently friendly; and then I closed the door and left them to carry out their part of the agreement in their own way.
My face was glad too, and my heart light as I ran down to my "rebel."
Why do we women like to tease the men we love? Is the sense of coquetry innate and irresistible in some of us? Or is it merely a defensive instinct warning us of the danger of being won too easily?
I knew quite well how the interview with Karl would end; I knew he loved me and that I loved him; I was hungry for the feel of his arms about me and the touch of his lips on mine; and yet my face wore a quite aggrieved look as I met him with words of somewhat petulant reproach on my lips.
"I am glad you were able to go with the Duke," I said.
He gave a start at my tone and then laughed. "It was very fortunate. I am glad that—you are glad, Christabel."
"I am afraid you must have found it inconvenient to leave him so soon."
"Are you?"
"Had you not better hurry back to him?"
"Yes. I am going straight back from here."
"Don't letmekeep you, pray."
"Very well."
What can you do with a man who refuses in this way to be teased, but just accepts what you say with preposterous good humour? I shrugged my shoulders. "Why don't you go then?"
"That is exactly it. Why? Of course you can't guess such an abstruse problem! It's altogether beyond you; but try. I should like to hear you making a number of ingeniously wrong guesses. Now, what reason can I possibly have for being here?"
"It is not worth the trouble."
"Well, then, try the obvious. That won't be much trouble."
"You wish to know the latest news of Gareth, you mean, to take to the Duke."
"That's not the obvious, Christabel; that's only an ingeniously wrong one. I'm afraid I've disappointed you a little."
"In coming away from the Duke so—soon?"
"Not a bit of it. In not letting you tease me just now. I ought to have taken you seriously and fired up, and all the rest of it. But I didn't. I didn't misunderstand you in the least. You see—but shall I tell you why?" and he came close to me.
"Youdidgo away with the Duke," I persisted; rather feebly, I fear.
"And who would have been the first to blame me if I had not, when he was ill and could not go alone? You see you can't plague me because, for one thing, I know you too well; and for another—I've had a chat with the General. Didn't he tell you I was—a rebel?"
"I always understood you had no sympathy with patriots," I answered, looking up innocently, but prepared for defeat and surrender.
"It won't do, Christabel," he laughed. "You're looking too innocent. The General gave you away, I mean, and you know that I mean I am a rebel against my father's latest act of tyranny."
He paused; but somehow I couldn't meet his eyes. I tried, and at my failure he was very tactful. He seemed to guess that it would have hurt me, if he had laughed then. Instead of laughing he took my hand.
"I am not going to give you up, Christabel, just because the Duke is unreasonably angry. Not all the dukes and princes in the empire shall make me do that. We may perhaps, have to wait a little longer yet; but even that's for you to decide. You see, I'm so sure of you, dear. There's where it is."
"I would not come between you two," I whispered.
"Nor shall he come between us two. I was only a shiftless sort of ne'er-do-well till you came here and helped me to be strong again. I was going down the hill full speed with no brakes on; and, as you know, I didn't care. But I care now and have a will again—as you'll find out if you try to cross me in this; and having found my right mind again I made it up. You mean to side with the—rebel, don't you?"
He proved that he had a will then; for without giving me time to reply, he just put his arm about me and made me kiss him on the lips. And after that, what was the use of protesting, even if I had the wish? But I hadn't. At the touch of his lips, the Duke and his opposition and his dislike of me, and everything else in the world was blotted out, save only—my love for Karl and his for me.
*****
I wish that this story of the chapter of my life could end with that pledge-kiss of ours; and that I could say all ended as happily for others as for Karl and myself. But I cannot.
I had done my utmost to gather happiness for Gareth from the seeds of trouble which her loving but thoughtless hands had sown so innocently.
The deception I had contrived and had caused her father and husband to continue was successful in its first object. They did their part well in the short strange interview by her bedside; and when the doctor called them away, she was entirely happy, holding a hand of each of them in hers in perfect belief in their reconciliation.
The doctor told me that the risk of brain fever which he had seen was at an end, and that she would soon recover her strength, unless that occurred which was in all our thoughts.
And it did occur.
A crisis came in the night. I was dozing by her bedside, for she had fallen asleep, when her cries of pain roused me. I called Mrs. Perry, the doctor was summoned at once; and everything that his skill and our care could do for her was done. But there was no doubt of her imminent danger now.
In the grey of the dawn the life, which was yet never full life, came only to be snatched away instantly by the remorseless Reaper, who lingered by the bedside as if to garner with one sweep of the sickle the mother as well as the child.
Fearing the end I sent news at once to the Duke, to Count Gustav, and to Colonel Katona. Both the latter came hurrying to the house; but by the time they arrived, the doctor was able to announce a respite. There was danger, grave danger, but just a faint hope that all might yet be well.
Long, anxious, wearing hours followed while we watched the flame of life flicker up and down as she lay, white as wax and death's very counterfeit for stillness.
More than once I thought she had passed; and held the mirror to her mouth to catch just the faintest dew of breath.
Both Gustav and her father came up to see her, creeping into the room to gaze and sigh, and turn away despairing.
She knew none of us; but just lay as though she had done with all the matters of earth: hovering on the edge of the thinnest line that can part death from life.
The two men stayed in the house: nursing I know not what angry thoughts each of the other; but both afraid to leave lest the moment of consciousness should come to her and find them absent.
I scarcely spoke to either of them, except to carry a brief message of her condition. If Gustav had brought this all about by his selfishness, it had been the Colonel who had made matters so desperately worse by his ill-timed harsh looks and words on the preceding day. And toward both I felt too hardly on her account to do other than leave them to the bitterness of their belated, unavailing remorse.
That both suffered acutely I could tell by their looks when I carried my brief news. But pity for them I could not feel. It was all absorbed by the gentle girl whom between them they had brought to the threshold of the grim portal.
All through the hours of that long autumn day, the coma continued, until the doctor confessed his fear that she would pass away without even a minute's lapse into consciousness.
"If she should be conscious may I bring them to her?" I asked him when he was going away at nightfall.
"There is risk either way; but if she asks for them, bring them—for a minute only, however."
"There is no hope?
"If she lives through the night—yes; but..." and he shook his head very gravely.
In the evening the last solemn pathetic offices of the Church were solemnized; and through it all she remained unconscious—mercifully, as it seemed to me, since it would have roused her to the knowledge that she was dying.
I went back to my chair by the bed with a heart full of foreboding. I recalled the General's words—so sadly prophetic—"Whom the gods love, die young." The saying had galled me as he quoted it; but it did so no longer.
She looked so frail and fragile in her sickness; a tender floweret so utterly unable to bear up against the rough cross winds of anger and strife which, held in restraint only by her weakness, would assuredly burst forth to blight her life, that one could only feel with sad resignation that the dark verdict was the best for her happiness.
And yet so loving and passing sweet she was that with resignation to the will of Heaven was an irresistible, almost passionate, regret that she should go.
Hours passed with that solemn slowness one knows in a sick room. The time was broken by my errands to the two watchers below stairs, to whom I carried news of her condition. More than once during the night Karl came also, as he had come frequently during the day, sent by the Duke in his anxiety for tidings of Gareth.
It was some time past midnight when I noticed a change. She took the nourishment I gave her, and when I laid her back on the pillow, she sighed and made an effort to open her eyes.
I took her hand and held it and, after some time, I felt a slight pressure of her fingers upon mine.
"Gareth, dearest," I whispered.
At first there was no response; but when I called her again, the pressure of the fingers was distinct; and a little later she opened her eyes and looked at me.
That was all then, and she was so still afterwards, that I thought she was once more unconscious. She was not, however; and presently her eyes opened again and her lips moved.
I bent down over her, and caught the faintly whispered words:
"Am I dying?"
"No, dearest, no. You will soon be strong again."
She looked at me, and tried, I think, to smile.
"Poor Karl." Just a soft, sighing whisper, and she was silent.
"He is here, dearest. Would you like to see him?"
She made no reply, but I told Mrs. Perry to bring both Gustav and the Colonel to the door of the room. Then I went back and gave her some stimulant, as the doctor had told me.
It lent her a measure of strength.
"Karl is here, Gareth, and your father—shall I bring them?"
"Yes—both."
I went to the door and opened it, and they crept across the room to the bedside. Gustav knelt down on one side and took her hand and pressed his lips to it. The Colonel stood on the other side; and I lifted her other hand from beneath the bed clothes and laid it where her father could hold it.
She thanked me with a look, and whispered: "Kiss me, Christabel."
I bent and kissed her; and the tears were standing thick in my eyes as I drew away.
"Father!"
Just the word and the look of entreaty; and he stooped down and kissed her too.
Her eyes lingered on him a moment, and then she turned her face slowly round to Gustav, whose head was still bowed over the hand he held:
"Husband!"
He did not catch the faint whisper; and I touched him on the shoulder. He started up to find her eyes on him, and then understood; and he too kissed her. She kept her eyes on him; and he kissed her again.
"My darling wife," he murmured.
She looked at him intently.
"I am so sorry, Karl."
It was her last word. The flickering remnant of her strength was spent in a smile of love to him; and as it died slowly from her face, she closed her eyes, and her spirit passed into eternal peace.
As soon as I realized that she was gone, I whispered to Mrs. Perry and hurried out of the room, to find Karl there. He had come for news. He read it in my face and by the tears in my eyes, as he put his arm about me and led me away.