IXIt was early in December. For several days Ruvno had seen neither soldiers nor officers and received news of no kind. This had happened before. Szmul and other Jews in the village circulated the little gossip there was. After the Russians retook Kosczielna Szmul went back to his hovel, whence he had fled when the shells were whistling around, to find food and shelter for himself and his brood under Ian's roof. Then, being frightened to death, he was loud in expression of gratitude, vowing by all the vows Jews make, swearing by his progeny to the fifth and sixth generation that he would never forget how the Count had given hospitality to a poor Jewish factor. If you know much about Hebraic flowers of speech you can imagine what he said; if not, you miss nothing. Having settled himself in the village again, he picked up the gossip of both armies encamped in the neighborhood, for a Jew will get anywhere and talk to everybody, whether Teuton or Slav, man or maid. He knew that the Prussians were within a few versts of Ruvno before Ian or the Countess suspected they had crossed the river in one place, thereby cutting Ruvno off from the Russian lines and putting it at the mercy of the barbarians.On this particular afternoon, after theAve Maria, Father Constantine was locking up the chapel when Szmul hurried up. The priest knew he had tidings by the way he flapped his skinny arms. As usual he smelt horribly of herrings and garlic, and poked his dark thin face against the old man's."What is it?" asked Father Constantine, backing away."The Prussians," he answered, grinning from ear to ear, showing four yellow teeth which were all that the village barber had saved, for he suffered much from toothache."Coming here?""Yes--on this side of the river. They have crossed and fought their way through. Oh, such fine horses and such wonderful shining helmets! Each of their chargers cost a thousand roubles at least, some even...""Nonsense. The army pays----""The Russian army pays miserably," retorted Szmul with scorn. "The Kaiser's with their wonderful----""Hold your tongue! Now you think they are coming you pander to them and lick the dust off their boots," cried the priest, angry, not only because he knew that the Russian cavalry had then the best horses in the world, but because this news of the Prussians being over the river made him fear for the immediate future. Szmul giggled."Think! Iknowthey're coming. Listen!"Father Constantine heard the tramp of horses and a squadron of cavalry swept round the bend in the avenue. They were Prussians right enough. Night was coming on apace, but the day had been fine and frosty; he could see the spikes of their helmets and the hard, red faces of the foremost men.His heart sank; there were more than twenty of them. For weeks Ruvno had heard false alarms. Once they were so near that Ian could see their helmets through his field-glasses. But the Grand Duke beat them back every time and the household had grown to trust that tall, gray-haired Romanov to spare them a visit from their enemies."Who's the owner of this place?" shouted their young officer, pulling up in front of the priest. His face was arrogant and coarse, with choleric eyes."I don't know."He turned to Szmul, who was sweeping the ground with his greasy fur cap, anxious to make a good impression."Jew! Find the owner and bring him here!""At once,Herr General! At once!" He ran off to the house as fast as his spindle legs would carry him. Whilst he was gone the subaltern hurled questions at the priest, in German. How big was Ruvno? How many inmates? Their sex? Ages? He was answered laconically and in Polish. Once or twice the Prussian looked ready to lay his whip about the bent shoulders, but refrained. Szmul was a long time gone. When he came back, he had invented a new title for the German cub."Excellency. The Count is in the palace. He begs your Excellency to do him the honor and step inside."It took him a long time to say this for he was out of breath with haste and excitement. Afterwards, Father Constantine asked Ian what message he had sent; and it was: "If abochewants me he can come and find me." As you see, there was a difference; but Szmul did not stick at exaggerations when he wanted to please a powerful man.The Prussian grumbled something about wasting time and all Poles being servants created to wait upon Teuton pleasure. But he gave a curt order to his troopers and made for the house, Szmul running by his stirrup. Judging by the way he cringed, Father Constantine sadly assessed the Prussian force around Ruvno at thirty thousand men.The old man followed them, not that he could help Ian, but because he had a fond notion that when his dear ones were in danger they would suffer less if he kept near them. He tried to check this idea, but in vain.Arrived at the large entry, the subaltern dismounted, clanked into the hall and looked round with the air of expecting to see Ruvno's master. But there was only Martin, the faithful butler who had nursed Ian on his knee. He led the way to his master's office. Half way there, he noticed Szmul."You're not wanted," he said."I--your old friend----"The Teuton understood Polish right enough, for he wheeled round with:"This man comes with me."Szmul giggled in triumph, and Father Constantine grew suspicious. These two had met before.They trooped into the office which stood at the end of a passage, connecting it with the back of the house in such a way that people could go in and out without passing the hall or the living-rooms. Never in his life had Szmul entered from the large hall; but his elation was not due to that. Four troopers escorted their officer and mounted guard behind him, stiff and pompous as at a review.Ian stood in the middle of the room, a large place, lined with shelves and cupboards where accounts and reports were kept. He looked very like his mother, the priest thought, well bred, dignified, king of himself. The four troopers clinked their heels and went through the contortions common to saluting Prussians; even the surly subaltern put hand to helmet. Szmul hugged the shadow of the door. Father Constantine went beside his old pupil, that fond notion of his uppermost.Ian returned the visitor's greeting with a bow; then he saw Szmul. "I'll send for you if I want you," he said in the dry tones he used when giving orders."That Jew is with me," blurted the Prussian.Ian's gray eyes met his with such cool determination that the other shifted uneasily."He is my servant." This in frozen tones; then, to Szmul: "You heard me?"Szmul looked appealingly at the officer, won no support by word or glance and slunk out. Ian's gaze returned to the Prussian."Your business?""You have food supplies stored here." This angrily, in accusation."I have. To feed my household and the starving peasants.""I hear you have enough to gorge them till the end of the war. Is that so?""I don't know how long the war will last."The Prussian, angry before, became infuriated at this. He stamped his foot and bellowed as if he were drilling recruits."You're bandying words,Herr Graf," he shouted. "I know you're concealing supplies. I'll have them of you,mein Gott, I will!""Your authority?"Ian's eyes were ablaze with suppressed passion; but he controlled himself. His outward calm maddened the subaltern, who danced in his rage. Indeed, if not for the circumstances behind his visit, he would have been quite funny."Authority!" he bawled. "IamAuthority. I am the representative of victorious Prussia! My word is law in this house! Surrender your supplies or I'll burn it down!"Ian went over to the safe, unlocked it with the key which hung by a leather strap he kept in his pocket, and swung back the heavy door.The subaltern whipped out his revolver, strode after him and peered in. The safe was almost empty except for keys."Your plate?" he asked, putting his revolver close to Ian's head. And anxious though he was, Father Constantine could not help thinking the man must be a fool to imagine the safe big enough to hold Ruvno plate."In Warsaw." Ian lied; it was in Moscow. But Father Constantine would gladly have absolved him from murder, were his victim this subaltern."Whereabouts in Warsaw?""The Commercial Bank."The looter turned to one of his men:"Make a note of that," he commanded. The man obeyed, producing paper and pencil from a pocket."Where are your family jewels?" proceeded the subaltern."At the Commercial Bank." Their eyes met again. Ian's mirrored a soul too proud to lie. And yet they say that eyes cannot hide the truth."What are they worth?"Ian did not answer and murder shone from the Prussian's evil face. The old priest's heart stood still. What, oh, what could he do to help? The sergeant scribbled hard, finished, licked his pencil and awaited further orders. The subaltern put his revolver a shade nearer Ian's head. Father Constantine knew he was playing to put the looters off the scent. For if he lost the jewels there would be nothing left to live upon. Ian thought of the moonlight labor on the Plock road, of Szmul's prying eyes, and feared greatly."What are they worth?" repeated the Prussian."I don't know. They have not been valued for fifty years.""But those emeralds ... you must know what they are worth.""They are priceless," said Father Constantine.The man turned to him."Hold your tongue," he said rudely. "You weren't so ready to talk outside." Then to Ian:"Give me the banker's receipt for the jewels and plate.""My lawyers have them.""Who are they? But no matter..." He laughed roughly. "Next week we shall be in Warsaw, and if I find you've been lying, you'll be shot." He withdrew his revolver. Ian gave a slight breath of relief. "Now for the food," said the Teuton.Ian took a bunch of keys from the safe, locked it and rang the bell. Martin appeared, white as a sheet. He had heard what was going on."Take this officer to the store-room; open the cupboards," said his master."You must come," put in the looter. Ian gave him a cold look."My servant will show you where to find the things."The Prussians stalked out and Martin with them. Szmul was still in the passage.Ian did not speak till the sound of their footsteps died away. Then he made sure there were no eaves-droppers, and shut the door, his soul filled with rage, worry and mortification. For a few minutes he gave way and called the looters by names it did the old priest good to hear, for the soutane put a limit on his own language."If not for the women I'd have strangled him at the safe," Ian cried. "But the day may come when I'll have to shoot them, to save them from dishonor.""Mother of God!" Father Constantine gasped. "Are they going to make Poland another Belgium?"The thought of what his Countess and the other women in the house would have to suffer filled him with horror. To shoot her! He could not bear it. Ian tried to comfort him."Cheer up, Father. It hasn't come to that yet." Then angry again: "That swine Szmul has betrayed us.""What are you going to say about the cellars?""Swear I've nothing more. We've no list.""But they'll tear down the walls?""It'll take time. Oh, if only I could get in touch with some Russians! We should have these devils entrapped.""There must be thousands of Germans about. Szmul knows it, or he would not have risked telling about the emeralds and stores," said the priest."I'll punish him when this is over," cried Ian. "After I've sheltered him, too."Here the Countess came in. She had heard all."Give them everything, rather than they should shoot you," she pleaded."They won't shoot me, Mother, not till they've tried the Commercial Bank. Where is Minnie?""Up in the secret room.""Thank God!" He looked relieved. "And now, you go there, too."Martin came in. He was shaking with rage and fear."That Jewish pig has betrayed us," he cried. "They're in the cellar now."They looked at each other in consternation. Martin turned to his mistress."My Lady Countess, it will be well for you to go upstairs ... they are very coarse.""Yes, Mother, I insist.""But perhaps I can do something----"The question was settled by the subaltern, who stalked into the room, followed by two of his henchmen. He was afraid to go about alone. He had already found some of Ian's wine, his face was flushed, and both troopers smelt of it. He did not even salute the Countess, who glared at him in silent rage."Nobody to leave this room!" he bellowed. Then to Ian: "Where are your supplies?""It appears you have them," was the cool answer. "I hear you have already emptied my stores.""But the cellar, dolt!" roared the Prussian. "The Jew says you have bricked up corn and potatoes to feed an army.""My cellar holds wine," put in the Countess. "Judging from your behavior, you have found it without our help."She devoured him with her scornful, angry eyes, and he had the grace to look a little confused. He saluted and lowered his tone."I give you three minutes"--he looked at his watch--"to come down and show me where to find your supplies. If you refuse, I'll not leave one stone upon another in your cellar, but destroy it as soon as my men have removed the stores and wine. You'll be without food, for, if you persist in your obstinate refusal, I will not leave you a week's rations; and you will no longer have a refuge in case of bombardment. You will have no choice then but to leave this place.""Never!" This from the Countess."As you please. We will begin the three minutes."There was silence. He eyed his watch, the Countess looked straight before her; Ian's face was like granite, the priest's eye on the clock in the corner. He almost wished Ian would come to terms with the looter, because perhaps then they would leave enough till Ian could buy more. Then he remembered they were probably cut off from Warsaw, and therefore from grain, and changed his mind."Time is up." He looked at Ian."I repeat," he said very distinctly, though the sweat stood on his upper lip, "I repeat, once and for all, that I have no stores in my cellars.""Then you choose to have your cellars destroyed?" growled his tormentor."You will find nothing but wine. If the loan of my cellar-book can shorten your visit..."The Prussian swung out of the room without waiting for more. Ian rushed to the door, shut it, hurriedly took two acetylene carriage lamps from a cupboard and demanded matches.Knowing what he used those lamps for, Father Constantine tried to dissuade him from signaling to the Russians, for, should the Prussians catch him, his life would not be worth a handful of corn, and there were surely more foes than friends abroad that night. But he only gave a short laugh. He did not believe there were many Prussians about or they would not have sent a subaltern to seize emeralds. Such a prize as Szmul must have promised would have attracted a field-marshal at least. This, he thought, was a chance visit. Any way, better to die of a bullet than see his people die of starvation."If there were guns to arm a dozen men from the village, I could entrap them and hold them down in the cellar," he explained, preparing the lamps. "I thought it out when he gave me his precious three minutes. I could never manage. It's ten minutes to the village, ten to muster them, ten to bring them back. I've only six sporting rifles. They are thirty strong.""But the tower is down," objected the priest"There's the village church. Mother, do you go and tell Martin to follow me. Father Constantine, get me a sheepskin."He was off in a trice. The priest told his mother it was a wild-goose chase."But six armed men against thirty, and only Ian a good shot," she objected. "They would be butchered. After all, they may not find the stores. I hope they will all get drunk first."They tried to get into the cellar, to see how things went. Two Prussians guarded the head of the stairs, two stood lower down, and two at the bottom of the first flight. Ian was right. It would be madness to send six men with sporting rifles against those hardened warriors. They would not let the Countess pass. She took whispered counsel with her chaplain in the kitchen, where some frightened maids were huddled together."Try the other way," he suggested. "I don't suppose they know about it."They made for the library. It was deserted. Szmul had forgotten to tell them of its small door, leading to a passage, at the bottom of which steps led down to the cellars. For generations this entrance was unused, being narrow, steep and dark as the grave. But during their sojourn underground it served as a private access for the family, whilst the refugees and household used the larger staircase.There were two main cellars, connected by a labyrinth of narrow, vaulted passages with smaller ones. Many of these passages, however, were blind alleys, terminating in stout brick walls. Some were solid and five feet thick; others hollow, with a good brick crust on either side. In these recesses, old Hungarian wine was bricked up till some great family event justified its being drunk. In the recesses which were empty at the beginning of the war, Ian bricked up his food, taking out the wine from others and storing it in the large cellars.Once at the bottom of the narrow steps the two had but a few yards to the part Father Constantine had fitted up as an underground chapel. To screen it off he had put a curtain across the narrow passage. The wall of a recess still supported the little altar. They hid behind the curtain. They could hear voices."They are in the big cellar," whispered the Countess."Now Jew, where is this grain? Be quick." It was the subaltern's voice."Oh, Excellency," began Szmul, and his voice was of honey. The Prussian cut him short."No nonsense--speak out.""I was down here one day, when they all thought I had gone out for air, and I heard the Count talking to the silly old priest who----""Goon!""And they were in the chapel, which they have fitted up because they stood in deadly fear of the Prussian shells. And they wondered between themselves if it would not be better to break into the cellar stores in the lower part on account of the damp and use that store as rations for the peasants in the other village, not the village belonging to the Count but the peasants' village, for there are----"There was a thud, as of hard matter against soft, and then a shrill Hebrew squeal."Go on!" roared the subaltern. "If you waste time I'll have you flogged.""It's near the second big cellar," he said promptly. "I heard that."The Countess clutched her chaplain's arm. "They'll find it," she whispered. "Oh, that traitor. And to think we put up with him and his dirty family.""Show the way."It did not take them long to find out which of the two blind alleys off the big cellar was hollow. The listeners heard the officer order his men to begin. Ian's bricklayers were good workmen, though, and gave them plenty to do. The subaltern swore at the thickness of the wall. At last they gave a whoop of delight."Potatoes," cried a voice in German. "Trust them to know a good potato when they see it."Take them all out, every sack. Let the Polish swine starve. I'll make that lying Count smart for this.""Will you?" said the Countess, and so loud that the priest feared they would hear her.There was much running to and fro as they took up their booty."Oh, for ten armed men," whispered the Countess. "I'd teach them to loot us."Father Constantine begged her to keep quiet, but she went on muttering against them. After some minutes a soldier's voice reported all the potatoes upstairs, on a cart. They had taken one of Ian's."And the wine?""Three dozen bottles." Father Constantine squirmed to think of that good wine going down German throats."Get up the rest," ordered the subaltern. "And send me that Jew."Szmul had been wall-tapping on his own account. He appeared breathless."Oh, Excellency ... there is a hollow wall just over there. And it's wider than the others.""Lead the way." Their steps died in the distance."Did you hear what he said about Ian?" she asked."Yes. I'll run over and warn him not to come till they go.""We have plenty of time," she said bitterly. "They have a dozen places yet. Oh, if I were a man!""What would you do?""I'd shoot him," and her voice was deadly calm.Suddenly they heard picks behind the little altar, and sprang up in consternation. Szmul had found Ian's largest grain store."Let us go," she said. There was something in her voice the priest had never heard before.They returned to the library. She shut and locked the door and without another word went to Ian's bedroom. Father Constantine followed, afraid of the look on her face. She took her boy's revolver from a table by the bed."What are you going to do?"She looked him full in the face, white to the lips but her eyes blazing with the passion of protecting motherhood."Shoot him--before he gets Ian.""But you're mad," cried the priest, vainly trying to wrest the weapon from her. "The troopers will avenge themselves on you and on Miss."But she was in no mood to listen. She made sure the revolver was loaded and went to the door. Her chaplain managed to reach it first."You'll shoot me before you leave this room," he cried.They stood glaring at one another and saying many bitter things--they who had been friends for half a century. Then they felt ashamed and were silent, though each was bent on victory. This lull in the quarrel was broken by the sound of horses' hoofs upon the frozen ground."They're off," she cried, and running to the window had opened and cleared it before the priest could get there. And in peace time she walked with a stick!He followed her as best he could, but alas! when he reached the ground she had disappeared. The place was deserted, the night dark. He ran hither and thither looking for her, his one thought to snatch away the revolver. He remembered all the terrible things they had done to women in France and Belgium for less than killing a Prussian officer. And she was a good shot. He had seen her hit the bull'seye over and over again, in the little shooting-range behind the shrubbery.A shot rang through the air--it came from the kitchen side. He was too late! He could no longer save her from herself! Ah, they were already on her, for he could hear hoarse German oaths and a woman's screams. Yes, that was her voice. Oh, my God, that he should come to this! They were torturing her, subjecting her to unspeakable martyrdom, wreaking vengeance for the death of their chief.In the kitchen entry he stumbled over a Prussian helmet. Its owner lay near by, on his face ... he hurried on...The huge room resounded with the clash of steel, women's screams, men's oaths. There was a struggling mass of humanity in the gloom. Ian, his face bleeding, was fighting for his life with a trooper. Father Constantine butted at them, to catch the German in his big paunch. But something sharp and cold hit his head and he knew no more.When he recovered his senses he was lying in a cold, dark place. His head ached greatly. Somebody was bathing it with water."The Countess? The Countess?" He tried to rise, but could not."She is safe. Please lie still, Father Constantine." This in English. It was Minnie."Are you sure?""Quite.""And Ian?""A flesh wound. He'll be well in a week; but you----""And that Prussian?""Dead.""She killed him?""No. The Russians came up just in time. Cavalry. Caught them with their booty at the top of the cellar steps. Ian killed two. They fought like devils, but were entrapped. Two others got killed, then the officer. When the rest saw him down, they surrendered. We've one wounded prisoner here. He says Szmul offered to bring them here if they would spare him and some money he had buried.""And Szmul?"She laughed bitterly."Got clean off. Trust him. Now, you must rest. I'm going to be very strict.""But one thing more ... the signals saved us?""Yes.""How many Prussians crossed the river that Szmul----""You must not talk.""Please, just that.""The Russians say only a few. The rest were cut off as they landed on this side. But the prisoner, when I went to him just now--he is wounded in the leg--says several hundred got over and his lot believed they were in touch with the rest. Then they met Szmul who told them what booty there was to be had in Ruvno--emeralds, and grain and wine. He says the Germans will think Szmul got them here to entrap them, and will hang him to the nearest tree.""Serve him right!" cried the priest. "That skunk! Why, when he came up to me last night----""Be quiet, Father Constantine," she said severely, "or I sha'n't let you see anybody for a week."And he obeyed.XIan became vaguely aware of Minnie's feelings towards him on the night of that fight with the Prussians in the kitchen. She saw the end of that adventure despite his precautions. From the "secret room," which was the name the household gave to a small paneled chamber that had only a bull's-eye window and access from a bedroom by means of a small door cut in the paneled wall, she espied his signaling on the church tower. He had used this way of communicating before. She ran down there to help. On the tower she found Martin, whose ancient arms were pretty well exhausted. Ian, busy on the other side, did not know she was there till she shouted that she saw a red light. It was thrown up by some Russian cavalry and not far off. They arrived just in time. The Countess showed them the way to the cellars through the library, so that most of the Prussians were caught like rats in a trap. Some broke through the other way into the kitchen and fought hard, but were defeated and surrendered to the Cossacks, who marched off with all the survivors except one, who was wounded in the leg.He was not ungrateful for her help on the tower, though he agreed with Martin that it had not been necessary. He told her that she had no business to leave the secret room whilst Germans were about; then seeing her disappointment at this cool recognition of her services, he told the Grand Duke, in her presence, that she deserved a decoration. But he determined to send her home at the first opportunity. The events of the preceding evening proved how women hampered him when the enemy came. He would have sent his mother, too, to join Vanda in Warsaw, but she was so firm in her refusal to leave Ruvno that he gave up trying to persuade her.For several days after the kitchen fight nothing happened. Ian was busy bricking up his rescued stores, which the Prussians had almost got away with. Father Constantine was still in bed, his head wrapped in bandages; the wounded Prussian had been moved to a hospital at Kosczielna, because his leg was getting better so fast that they feared he would run away.Then Major Healy arrived. He was a great big good-natured American, doing his best to relieve the suffering in Poland with the means at his disposal. He was, too, intensely interested in learning all he could about the country, its customs and people. Ruvno was a revelation to him. So far, the work had taken him and his interpreter amongst the peasants, burrowing like rats below ground, and the Jews, for whom he felt more pity than admiration. He was delighted to find that Ian spoke English. They got on very well together. It was a long time since Ian had talked to a man of his own age who was not a soldier. The Russians he saw were infinitely more interested in turning his ground into trenches and battlefields than in suggesting the best means of keeping those dependent on him from starvation till the next harvest. Major Healy had worked in Belgium and France and was able to give him a good many hints for economy. Poland had always enjoyed such liberal food supplies that Ian had overestimated his war rations and was astounded to hear how people lived in Belgium. He cut down his ration system slightly, and results proved that the change did no immediate harm, whilst making a good deal of difference in the output of supplies.Father Constantine, too, was interested in the visitor, though not on account of rations. Minnie, suspecting nothing and anxious to give him some news, told him about Healy's arrival with an interpreter and three other men who helped to distribute relief."American!" he cried. "I must see him at once. I wouldn't miss him for worlds."Minnie explained that Major Healy would probably stop a few days, then come back on his way home."Home? Do you say he is going home?" His eyes shone like a bird's under the white bandages. "If so, the sooner I see him the better.""Can't I give him your message?""Certainly not." Father Constantine could be very peremptory when he liked. "The idea! I am quite fit to see visitors ... and anxious to meet this American boy.""He's forty if he's an hour.""Well--forty or fourteen. See him I will."Minnie put on the professional nurse's manner."Father," she said, "you're getting excited and you know how bad it is for you. I won't bring up anybody till your temperature goes down."He said no more; next time she took his temperature it had gone up two points. He actually winked at her."There, my child," he said in triumph. "I told you that the sooner I see this relief man the better. I shall not sleep a wink to-night unless I do ... and to-morrow morning you'll find me in a raging fever.""He is busy ... Ian is with him. I heard them say they would not finish till supper time.""What are they doing?""Checking stores for some village. The Americans have got a wonderful system. Ian is learning it.""You and Ian can do that whilst he is up here. I feel my temperature has gone up another point. Give me the thermometer."She refused that, but went for Major Healy. After all, she reflected, he was an obstinate old man and capable of getting a high temperature just to prove himself in the right.The introduction over, he turned to her with one of his benignant smiles."My child ... you have spent so much time with a poor old man to-day, I am sure Major Healy will excuse you ... you might help Ian check those potatoes."She took the hint and went out; but not to the potatoes. I am afraid she did a very mean thing. She burned with curiosity to hear what Father Constantine wanted with the American major, and that instinct which often enables a woman to steal a march on man whispered that she was concerned in the priest's mysterious anxiety. It may be true that an eavesdropper hears no good of herself; it is equally true that she sometimes hears things good for herself. Therefore, argued Minnie, it was quite a normal occupation under the circumstances.The Father's room opened to his dressing-room, approachable from the corridor as well. Thither she tiptoed, to find the door ajar. Slipping in, she stood behind a curtain which hung in the doorway between dressing and bedrooms. There was no door, so she heard very clearly. Father Constantine was talking; she caught the sound of her own name."It is not safe for Miss Burton to remain here," he said in his slow, correct English, for the Major had no other tongue. "I have told her so more than once. So has the Countess; and also the Count. But she refuses to listen. She knows how much we value her excellent work with wounded and refugees. But perhaps you can persuade her. Neither the Countess nor her son can insist; it would look as though they wanted to get rid of her."Major Healy was loath to interfere. He sat, like a giant in repose, by the little chaplain's bed, listening politely, but secretly wishing himself downstairs with the Count, whom he found more interesting every time they talked together. Father Constantine's message had interrupted a long argument not entirely disconnected with big-game shooting. Healy was a keen sportsman himself, and found it very interesting to swap stories with Ian, who did not know the Rockies, but did know the Caucasus and even Cashmere, where he had spent a long-remembered holiday with young Ralph Burton two years ago."Well," he said, in slow sonorous tones, his blue eyes watching the snowstorm that raged outside the sealed double window. "Miss Burton looks as if she could take care of herself. I hear that the Grand Duke promised to give warning if the place gets unsafe."This was not at all what Father Constantine wanted."Do you see my bandages?" he asked.Major Healy said he did."I received the wounds they cover in a fight which took place in the kitchen between the Grand Duke's soldiers and Prussian Hussars. Neither the Duke nor the Kaiser sent to warn me that a fight would be in the kitchen, which I entered by chance without any idea the Russians had come to the rescue. It was a very good thing they did come because, as you know, grain and potatoes are worth a dozen old men's skulls nowadays.""Oh--don't say that," protested the major politely.The priest went on:"Let us put it in this way. What would have happened if Miss Burton and not myself had gone into the kitchen?""I suppose her head would have been smashed, too," murmured the American."Exactly," agreed the priest. "Her pretty young head would have been broken. And as a woman's head is softer than a priest's, it would probably have been broken past repairing."Major Healy waited for more. It came."And what would the American government say if an American woman had her skull broken in a Polish kitchen?" he pursued."It would have written one of its darned notes.""Oh!" said Father Constantine, disappointed at this unexpected reply. "It would have written one of those notes? They must be very interesting to compose, but will not mend broken heads. And England won't even write a note. But her brothers would probably blame us for letting her stop here. And Ruvno is one of the most dangerous houses in Poland. You can see for yourself what the Prussians have done to the tower and the west wing.""That I have," agreed the major, more interested in the west wing than the prospect of Minnie's broken skull. "I'd like to wring the Kaiser's neck for bringing down that old bit." He was an admirer of antiquities, you see, and Minnie was still far from being one. "No, Father, Poland isn't safe for young girls and I'll speak to her about it."He rose from the depths of the armchair."Thank you so much. It will be a great weight off our minds when we know that this charming young lady is out of danger. When did you say you were returning to France?""Not yet. I'll have to go to Moscow, and can take her to Petrograd and find an escort for her to England."The Countess came in then and Healy went off. Minnie was half-way across the room on her way out when a laugh from the patient stopped her. There was something wicked about it, out of keeping with a broken skull and high temperature."What is it?" asked the Countess.He laughed again. The visit had cheered him immensely."I think I've managed it.""Managed what?""To persuade the American that Miss can't stop here any longer." And he laughed again."But you know what the Grand Duke said.""How about my broken head?""Oh--that was my fault, Father----""No--no." His voice was deprecating now. "This American man will persuade her. He is the picture of American determination. Look at his chin.""I haven't noticed his chin. But I have noticed your lack of gratitude. I'm ashamed of you after the way Minnie nurses you.""I'm not ungrateful; but I've been watching her and Ian rather closely the last few days.""You've been in bed!"Father Constantine coughed."That is why. You have no idea, Countess, how supremely indifferent a young woman is towards a dozing patient. And I doze a good deal nowadays. Ian, dear boy, comes to see me. And so does the Miss."Minnie had to restrain an impulse to go in and shake her patient. She heard footsteps outside, then Ian's voice at the old man's door."Is Major Healy here?" he asked."He is checking those American potatoes with the Miss," the priest answered."Oh! I'll come for a chat later on." And off he went.Minnie could hear the Countess and the priest giggle. They were still enjoying their joke when came another rap. The surgeon this time. Minnie went up to the ward, bursting with indignation at the priest's duplicity. The idea of his "foxing" when she supposed him sound asleep! She thought it very deceitful of him.Healy was a conscientious man. Though very busy that evening, he found time to redeem his promise to Father Constantine, and talk to Minnie. She cut him short with:"Yes. The old tower has spoilt one of the best specimens of architecture left in Poland, and the old priest's head has been smashed without either the Kaiser or the Grand Duke warning him. And I shall get my head broken unless I go home at once."He fairly gasped."How on earth----" he began."I've heard it before. I expect that Father Constantine has asked you to help him. I shouldn't wonder if he asked you what the American government would say if my head gets broken. Looking at you and knowing your personal sympathies with the Allies, I suppose you think I am able to take care of myself.""Well, as you mention it----"He gave her an appreciative glance. She was good-looking and he admired her "spunk," to say nothing about her bright eyes and rosy cheeks.Taking courage, she went on gaily:"And the priest probably used his old joke about his head being harder than a woman's.""He did say----""Major Healy, I appreciate your kindness, but I'm not going home for any of these arguments, which I've heard before. You may have some of your own up your sleeve, if so----""I hadn't thought of any, but----""No, you've been so busy that you trusted to the old ones. It would take something better to send me back to London.""There's Moscow," he mentioned. "It's nearer and quite safe." He rather liked the idea of having her as traveling companion. She would be entertaining and was good to look upon."Nor Moscow either.""Warsaw?""Not even Warsaw. I'm going to stop here, where I'm wanted."He laughed. "I don't know but what you're right. You can always get away when things look bad."He returned to his blankets and potatoes, so Minnie heard no more of the matter from him. But Father Constantine was quite nasty about it. Next afternoon, at the hour of his siesta, he summoned his old servant and made him read the newspaper. Then he insisted on learning how to knit. In future, when he wanted a nap, he saw that the door was locked, saying that visitors at that time disturbed him. He gave a pretty shrewd guess that his room was about the only place where Minnie could talk quietly to Ian these busy days, and meant to put a stop to the meetings. He was by no means so simple as he looked.Major Healy sought her to say good-bye, on the afternoon of his departure. He waited till she had gone up to one of the large bedrooms she called her ward. He thought he could talk more freely there than before his host or hostess. His ideas about Minnie had changed in these few days, since he sat, bored and eager to get away, by the old chaplain's bed, and listened to his talk of broken heads."You're doing splendid work here," he said, when she had shown him a couple of her convalescent patients. "But I think you're too near the firing line.""So is the Countess," she returned gaily. He did not speak for a moment. He had a habit of pondering beforehand that suited his big stature and heavy build. He was interested in her. She happened to be the first young woman he had met for weeks who spoke his own language. Relief work in a devastated country did not allow for social intercourse and he realized what a pleasant little break Ruvno had made for him."The Countess?" he echoed, looking at his cigar. "I guess the Countess is hanging on to a piece of herself. The Count tells me her family has been here for eight centuries. I hadn't realized what that meant till I talked to them. It means that the family was looking at this landscape, tilling this land and fighting for it when the Indians camped where my home is and the Norman king reigned overyours. So I expect she'd as soon die as leave it any other way.""Yes--that's true," agreed Minnie."But you've only been here a few months," he went on. "It's not part of your bones.""I've these," she said, looking round the room, which was peopled with peasant women and children, injured by Prussian shells or gases, whilst working in their fields. "I can't leave them."He lowered his voice and bent over her, though not one of those suffering, frightened souls could understand what he said. "I've talked things over with the Count. It's plain enough that they're not going to leave this old house of theirs even if the Germans come for good. That's their look-out. If I were in their shoes I'd probably do the same thing. The Germans will have to burn them out. But you're not a Pole--Miss Burton. If they catch you here, they'll give you a pretty bad time of it."Her eyes flashed."I'm going to stay all the same," she said firmly. "The Russians aren't beaten yet."He gave a slow gesture of despair."It's going to be a long party and the Germans 'll make another push for Warsaw soon. You're right in their road here."He looked at her, a little pleadingly. He hated the thought of leaving her in the midst of this desolation, possibly a prey to German "Kultur." He had not noticed anything to make him suspect that Ian, rather than wounded refugees, was in her mind when she refused to leave. He had not seen the two together. Ian was busy all day long outside the house, she in the wards. His admiration for her grew."Haven't you any family?" he asked."One brother with the Fleet and another in Flanders.""That's a family to be proud of," he said warmly. "D'you hear from them?""Not since the Dardanelles were closed. Will you take a couple of letters for me?""That I will. And I'll see you get the answers. I'm going to Petrograd next week--then to France. I'll be back here next spring. Meanwhile, there are other men doing the work. Tell your brothers to send through our office in Moscow. Here's the address." He produced a card, then a pencil. "On the back I'll write mine, in Paris, where you'll always get me." He scribbled a couple of lines and handed her the card. "Now you keep that and don't forget to let me know, either there, or through our Moscow office, when you want anything.""Thanks awfully. I'll take great care of the card and will fetch the letters for my brothers. They are ready."He followed her and waited in the corridor. When she came back he said, hesitatingly:"Excuse a personal question; but have you got any cash?""A certain amount.""How much?""Oh, about five hundred roubles--and my cheque-book.""The cheque-book won't do you much good." His comely, rather heavy face flushed. "Look here I'm a banker at home----""Why, you're a major," she retorted."So I am. But peace soldiering didn't suit me and I went into my father's business. I'm going to join up again when America fights--and she must.""I'm glad to hear that," she said."Thanks. It'll take time--but it's coming. Why, if I thought we weren't going to help put an end to this desolation over here...."He grew suddenly shy, and broke off. Then:"Let me be your banker now." He put a roll of notes into her hand. "You'll be glad of it before you're through with Poland, believe me."She thanked him, prettily, so he thought. Her first impulse was to refuse the money. Then she reflected that they all might be glad of it one day. The American's kindness touched her, and she showed it; this flattered him. He had a susceptible heart and innate chivalry, inherited from Irish forebears."Oh--how am I to thank you?" she murmured, blushing redder than he had been a moment before."By using it to get out of this desert as soon as you can," he returned quickly. "I hate to leave you here--in danger.""But there is none--yet. Look here, Major Healy, do let me give you a cheque on my London bank for it."He laughed."I told you cheques are no good in this country. We'll settle later on. Remember to let me know if I can help. Good-bye and good luck."He strode down the long gallery, turned at the end, regretfully, waved his hand and was gone. Minnie went back to her patients, whom she tended with the help of two village women, and Zosia, the housekeeper.The Countess had wounded soldiers in another part of the house.
IX
It was early in December. For several days Ruvno had seen neither soldiers nor officers and received news of no kind. This had happened before. Szmul and other Jews in the village circulated the little gossip there was. After the Russians retook Kosczielna Szmul went back to his hovel, whence he had fled when the shells were whistling around, to find food and shelter for himself and his brood under Ian's roof. Then, being frightened to death, he was loud in expression of gratitude, vowing by all the vows Jews make, swearing by his progeny to the fifth and sixth generation that he would never forget how the Count had given hospitality to a poor Jewish factor. If you know much about Hebraic flowers of speech you can imagine what he said; if not, you miss nothing. Having settled himself in the village again, he picked up the gossip of both armies encamped in the neighborhood, for a Jew will get anywhere and talk to everybody, whether Teuton or Slav, man or maid. He knew that the Prussians were within a few versts of Ruvno before Ian or the Countess suspected they had crossed the river in one place, thereby cutting Ruvno off from the Russian lines and putting it at the mercy of the barbarians.
On this particular afternoon, after theAve Maria, Father Constantine was locking up the chapel when Szmul hurried up. The priest knew he had tidings by the way he flapped his skinny arms. As usual he smelt horribly of herrings and garlic, and poked his dark thin face against the old man's.
"What is it?" asked Father Constantine, backing away.
"The Prussians," he answered, grinning from ear to ear, showing four yellow teeth which were all that the village barber had saved, for he suffered much from toothache.
"Coming here?"
"Yes--on this side of the river. They have crossed and fought their way through. Oh, such fine horses and such wonderful shining helmets! Each of their chargers cost a thousand roubles at least, some even..."
"Nonsense. The army pays----"
"The Russian army pays miserably," retorted Szmul with scorn. "The Kaiser's with their wonderful----"
"Hold your tongue! Now you think they are coming you pander to them and lick the dust off their boots," cried the priest, angry, not only because he knew that the Russian cavalry had then the best horses in the world, but because this news of the Prussians being over the river made him fear for the immediate future. Szmul giggled.
"Think! Iknowthey're coming. Listen!"
Father Constantine heard the tramp of horses and a squadron of cavalry swept round the bend in the avenue. They were Prussians right enough. Night was coming on apace, but the day had been fine and frosty; he could see the spikes of their helmets and the hard, red faces of the foremost men.
His heart sank; there were more than twenty of them. For weeks Ruvno had heard false alarms. Once they were so near that Ian could see their helmets through his field-glasses. But the Grand Duke beat them back every time and the household had grown to trust that tall, gray-haired Romanov to spare them a visit from their enemies.
"Who's the owner of this place?" shouted their young officer, pulling up in front of the priest. His face was arrogant and coarse, with choleric eyes.
"I don't know."
He turned to Szmul, who was sweeping the ground with his greasy fur cap, anxious to make a good impression.
"Jew! Find the owner and bring him here!"
"At once,Herr General! At once!" He ran off to the house as fast as his spindle legs would carry him. Whilst he was gone the subaltern hurled questions at the priest, in German. How big was Ruvno? How many inmates? Their sex? Ages? He was answered laconically and in Polish. Once or twice the Prussian looked ready to lay his whip about the bent shoulders, but refrained. Szmul was a long time gone. When he came back, he had invented a new title for the German cub.
"Excellency. The Count is in the palace. He begs your Excellency to do him the honor and step inside."
It took him a long time to say this for he was out of breath with haste and excitement. Afterwards, Father Constantine asked Ian what message he had sent; and it was: "If abochewants me he can come and find me." As you see, there was a difference; but Szmul did not stick at exaggerations when he wanted to please a powerful man.
The Prussian grumbled something about wasting time and all Poles being servants created to wait upon Teuton pleasure. But he gave a curt order to his troopers and made for the house, Szmul running by his stirrup. Judging by the way he cringed, Father Constantine sadly assessed the Prussian force around Ruvno at thirty thousand men.
The old man followed them, not that he could help Ian, but because he had a fond notion that when his dear ones were in danger they would suffer less if he kept near them. He tried to check this idea, but in vain.
Arrived at the large entry, the subaltern dismounted, clanked into the hall and looked round with the air of expecting to see Ruvno's master. But there was only Martin, the faithful butler who had nursed Ian on his knee. He led the way to his master's office. Half way there, he noticed Szmul.
"You're not wanted," he said.
"I--your old friend----"
The Teuton understood Polish right enough, for he wheeled round with:
"This man comes with me."
Szmul giggled in triumph, and Father Constantine grew suspicious. These two had met before.
They trooped into the office which stood at the end of a passage, connecting it with the back of the house in such a way that people could go in and out without passing the hall or the living-rooms. Never in his life had Szmul entered from the large hall; but his elation was not due to that. Four troopers escorted their officer and mounted guard behind him, stiff and pompous as at a review.
Ian stood in the middle of the room, a large place, lined with shelves and cupboards where accounts and reports were kept. He looked very like his mother, the priest thought, well bred, dignified, king of himself. The four troopers clinked their heels and went through the contortions common to saluting Prussians; even the surly subaltern put hand to helmet. Szmul hugged the shadow of the door. Father Constantine went beside his old pupil, that fond notion of his uppermost.
Ian returned the visitor's greeting with a bow; then he saw Szmul. "I'll send for you if I want you," he said in the dry tones he used when giving orders.
"That Jew is with me," blurted the Prussian.
Ian's gray eyes met his with such cool determination that the other shifted uneasily.
"He is my servant." This in frozen tones; then, to Szmul: "You heard me?"
Szmul looked appealingly at the officer, won no support by word or glance and slunk out. Ian's gaze returned to the Prussian.
"Your business?"
"You have food supplies stored here." This angrily, in accusation.
"I have. To feed my household and the starving peasants."
"I hear you have enough to gorge them till the end of the war. Is that so?"
"I don't know how long the war will last."
The Prussian, angry before, became infuriated at this. He stamped his foot and bellowed as if he were drilling recruits.
"You're bandying words,Herr Graf," he shouted. "I know you're concealing supplies. I'll have them of you,mein Gott, I will!"
"Your authority?"
Ian's eyes were ablaze with suppressed passion; but he controlled himself. His outward calm maddened the subaltern, who danced in his rage. Indeed, if not for the circumstances behind his visit, he would have been quite funny.
"Authority!" he bawled. "IamAuthority. I am the representative of victorious Prussia! My word is law in this house! Surrender your supplies or I'll burn it down!"
Ian went over to the safe, unlocked it with the key which hung by a leather strap he kept in his pocket, and swung back the heavy door.
The subaltern whipped out his revolver, strode after him and peered in. The safe was almost empty except for keys.
"Your plate?" he asked, putting his revolver close to Ian's head. And anxious though he was, Father Constantine could not help thinking the man must be a fool to imagine the safe big enough to hold Ruvno plate.
"In Warsaw." Ian lied; it was in Moscow. But Father Constantine would gladly have absolved him from murder, were his victim this subaltern.
"Whereabouts in Warsaw?"
"The Commercial Bank."
The looter turned to one of his men:
"Make a note of that," he commanded. The man obeyed, producing paper and pencil from a pocket.
"Where are your family jewels?" proceeded the subaltern.
"At the Commercial Bank." Their eyes met again. Ian's mirrored a soul too proud to lie. And yet they say that eyes cannot hide the truth.
"What are they worth?"
Ian did not answer and murder shone from the Prussian's evil face. The old priest's heart stood still. What, oh, what could he do to help? The sergeant scribbled hard, finished, licked his pencil and awaited further orders. The subaltern put his revolver a shade nearer Ian's head. Father Constantine knew he was playing to put the looters off the scent. For if he lost the jewels there would be nothing left to live upon. Ian thought of the moonlight labor on the Plock road, of Szmul's prying eyes, and feared greatly.
"What are they worth?" repeated the Prussian.
"I don't know. They have not been valued for fifty years."
"But those emeralds ... you must know what they are worth."
"They are priceless," said Father Constantine.
The man turned to him.
"Hold your tongue," he said rudely. "You weren't so ready to talk outside." Then to Ian:
"Give me the banker's receipt for the jewels and plate."
"My lawyers have them."
"Who are they? But no matter..." He laughed roughly. "Next week we shall be in Warsaw, and if I find you've been lying, you'll be shot." He withdrew his revolver. Ian gave a slight breath of relief. "Now for the food," said the Teuton.
Ian took a bunch of keys from the safe, locked it and rang the bell. Martin appeared, white as a sheet. He had heard what was going on.
"Take this officer to the store-room; open the cupboards," said his master.
"You must come," put in the looter. Ian gave him a cold look.
"My servant will show you where to find the things."
The Prussians stalked out and Martin with them. Szmul was still in the passage.
Ian did not speak till the sound of their footsteps died away. Then he made sure there were no eaves-droppers, and shut the door, his soul filled with rage, worry and mortification. For a few minutes he gave way and called the looters by names it did the old priest good to hear, for the soutane put a limit on his own language.
"If not for the women I'd have strangled him at the safe," Ian cried. "But the day may come when I'll have to shoot them, to save them from dishonor."
"Mother of God!" Father Constantine gasped. "Are they going to make Poland another Belgium?"
The thought of what his Countess and the other women in the house would have to suffer filled him with horror. To shoot her! He could not bear it. Ian tried to comfort him.
"Cheer up, Father. It hasn't come to that yet." Then angry again: "That swine Szmul has betrayed us."
"What are you going to say about the cellars?"
"Swear I've nothing more. We've no list."
"But they'll tear down the walls?"
"It'll take time. Oh, if only I could get in touch with some Russians! We should have these devils entrapped."
"There must be thousands of Germans about. Szmul knows it, or he would not have risked telling about the emeralds and stores," said the priest.
"I'll punish him when this is over," cried Ian. "After I've sheltered him, too."
Here the Countess came in. She had heard all.
"Give them everything, rather than they should shoot you," she pleaded.
"They won't shoot me, Mother, not till they've tried the Commercial Bank. Where is Minnie?"
"Up in the secret room."
"Thank God!" He looked relieved. "And now, you go there, too."
Martin came in. He was shaking with rage and fear.
"That Jewish pig has betrayed us," he cried. "They're in the cellar now."
They looked at each other in consternation. Martin turned to his mistress.
"My Lady Countess, it will be well for you to go upstairs ... they are very coarse."
"Yes, Mother, I insist."
"But perhaps I can do something----"
The question was settled by the subaltern, who stalked into the room, followed by two of his henchmen. He was afraid to go about alone. He had already found some of Ian's wine, his face was flushed, and both troopers smelt of it. He did not even salute the Countess, who glared at him in silent rage.
"Nobody to leave this room!" he bellowed. Then to Ian: "Where are your supplies?"
"It appears you have them," was the cool answer. "I hear you have already emptied my stores."
"But the cellar, dolt!" roared the Prussian. "The Jew says you have bricked up corn and potatoes to feed an army."
"My cellar holds wine," put in the Countess. "Judging from your behavior, you have found it without our help."
She devoured him with her scornful, angry eyes, and he had the grace to look a little confused. He saluted and lowered his tone.
"I give you three minutes"--he looked at his watch--"to come down and show me where to find your supplies. If you refuse, I'll not leave one stone upon another in your cellar, but destroy it as soon as my men have removed the stores and wine. You'll be without food, for, if you persist in your obstinate refusal, I will not leave you a week's rations; and you will no longer have a refuge in case of bombardment. You will have no choice then but to leave this place."
"Never!" This from the Countess.
"As you please. We will begin the three minutes."
There was silence. He eyed his watch, the Countess looked straight before her; Ian's face was like granite, the priest's eye on the clock in the corner. He almost wished Ian would come to terms with the looter, because perhaps then they would leave enough till Ian could buy more. Then he remembered they were probably cut off from Warsaw, and therefore from grain, and changed his mind.
"Time is up." He looked at Ian.
"I repeat," he said very distinctly, though the sweat stood on his upper lip, "I repeat, once and for all, that I have no stores in my cellars."
"Then you choose to have your cellars destroyed?" growled his tormentor.
"You will find nothing but wine. If the loan of my cellar-book can shorten your visit..."
The Prussian swung out of the room without waiting for more. Ian rushed to the door, shut it, hurriedly took two acetylene carriage lamps from a cupboard and demanded matches.
Knowing what he used those lamps for, Father Constantine tried to dissuade him from signaling to the Russians, for, should the Prussians catch him, his life would not be worth a handful of corn, and there were surely more foes than friends abroad that night. But he only gave a short laugh. He did not believe there were many Prussians about or they would not have sent a subaltern to seize emeralds. Such a prize as Szmul must have promised would have attracted a field-marshal at least. This, he thought, was a chance visit. Any way, better to die of a bullet than see his people die of starvation.
"If there were guns to arm a dozen men from the village, I could entrap them and hold them down in the cellar," he explained, preparing the lamps. "I thought it out when he gave me his precious three minutes. I could never manage. It's ten minutes to the village, ten to muster them, ten to bring them back. I've only six sporting rifles. They are thirty strong."
"But the tower is down," objected the priest
"There's the village church. Mother, do you go and tell Martin to follow me. Father Constantine, get me a sheepskin."
He was off in a trice. The priest told his mother it was a wild-goose chase.
"But six armed men against thirty, and only Ian a good shot," she objected. "They would be butchered. After all, they may not find the stores. I hope they will all get drunk first."
They tried to get into the cellar, to see how things went. Two Prussians guarded the head of the stairs, two stood lower down, and two at the bottom of the first flight. Ian was right. It would be madness to send six men with sporting rifles against those hardened warriors. They would not let the Countess pass. She took whispered counsel with her chaplain in the kitchen, where some frightened maids were huddled together.
"Try the other way," he suggested. "I don't suppose they know about it."
They made for the library. It was deserted. Szmul had forgotten to tell them of its small door, leading to a passage, at the bottom of which steps led down to the cellars. For generations this entrance was unused, being narrow, steep and dark as the grave. But during their sojourn underground it served as a private access for the family, whilst the refugees and household used the larger staircase.
There were two main cellars, connected by a labyrinth of narrow, vaulted passages with smaller ones. Many of these passages, however, were blind alleys, terminating in stout brick walls. Some were solid and five feet thick; others hollow, with a good brick crust on either side. In these recesses, old Hungarian wine was bricked up till some great family event justified its being drunk. In the recesses which were empty at the beginning of the war, Ian bricked up his food, taking out the wine from others and storing it in the large cellars.
Once at the bottom of the narrow steps the two had but a few yards to the part Father Constantine had fitted up as an underground chapel. To screen it off he had put a curtain across the narrow passage. The wall of a recess still supported the little altar. They hid behind the curtain. They could hear voices.
"They are in the big cellar," whispered the Countess.
"Now Jew, where is this grain? Be quick." It was the subaltern's voice.
"Oh, Excellency," began Szmul, and his voice was of honey. The Prussian cut him short.
"No nonsense--speak out."
"I was down here one day, when they all thought I had gone out for air, and I heard the Count talking to the silly old priest who----"
"Goon!"
"And they were in the chapel, which they have fitted up because they stood in deadly fear of the Prussian shells. And they wondered between themselves if it would not be better to break into the cellar stores in the lower part on account of the damp and use that store as rations for the peasants in the other village, not the village belonging to the Count but the peasants' village, for there are----"
There was a thud, as of hard matter against soft, and then a shrill Hebrew squeal.
"Go on!" roared the subaltern. "If you waste time I'll have you flogged."
"It's near the second big cellar," he said promptly. "I heard that."
The Countess clutched her chaplain's arm. "They'll find it," she whispered. "Oh, that traitor. And to think we put up with him and his dirty family."
"Show the way."
It did not take them long to find out which of the two blind alleys off the big cellar was hollow. The listeners heard the officer order his men to begin. Ian's bricklayers were good workmen, though, and gave them plenty to do. The subaltern swore at the thickness of the wall. At last they gave a whoop of delight.
"Potatoes," cried a voice in German. "Trust them to know a good potato when they see it.
"Take them all out, every sack. Let the Polish swine starve. I'll make that lying Count smart for this."
"Will you?" said the Countess, and so loud that the priest feared they would hear her.
There was much running to and fro as they took up their booty.
"Oh, for ten armed men," whispered the Countess. "I'd teach them to loot us."
Father Constantine begged her to keep quiet, but she went on muttering against them. After some minutes a soldier's voice reported all the potatoes upstairs, on a cart. They had taken one of Ian's.
"And the wine?"
"Three dozen bottles." Father Constantine squirmed to think of that good wine going down German throats.
"Get up the rest," ordered the subaltern. "And send me that Jew."
Szmul had been wall-tapping on his own account. He appeared breathless.
"Oh, Excellency ... there is a hollow wall just over there. And it's wider than the others."
"Lead the way." Their steps died in the distance.
"Did you hear what he said about Ian?" she asked.
"Yes. I'll run over and warn him not to come till they go."
"We have plenty of time," she said bitterly. "They have a dozen places yet. Oh, if I were a man!"
"What would you do?"
"I'd shoot him," and her voice was deadly calm.
Suddenly they heard picks behind the little altar, and sprang up in consternation. Szmul had found Ian's largest grain store.
"Let us go," she said. There was something in her voice the priest had never heard before.
They returned to the library. She shut and locked the door and without another word went to Ian's bedroom. Father Constantine followed, afraid of the look on her face. She took her boy's revolver from a table by the bed.
"What are you going to do?"
She looked him full in the face, white to the lips but her eyes blazing with the passion of protecting motherhood.
"Shoot him--before he gets Ian."
"But you're mad," cried the priest, vainly trying to wrest the weapon from her. "The troopers will avenge themselves on you and on Miss."
But she was in no mood to listen. She made sure the revolver was loaded and went to the door. Her chaplain managed to reach it first.
"You'll shoot me before you leave this room," he cried.
They stood glaring at one another and saying many bitter things--they who had been friends for half a century. Then they felt ashamed and were silent, though each was bent on victory. This lull in the quarrel was broken by the sound of horses' hoofs upon the frozen ground.
"They're off," she cried, and running to the window had opened and cleared it before the priest could get there. And in peace time she walked with a stick!
He followed her as best he could, but alas! when he reached the ground she had disappeared. The place was deserted, the night dark. He ran hither and thither looking for her, his one thought to snatch away the revolver. He remembered all the terrible things they had done to women in France and Belgium for less than killing a Prussian officer. And she was a good shot. He had seen her hit the bull'seye over and over again, in the little shooting-range behind the shrubbery.
A shot rang through the air--it came from the kitchen side. He was too late! He could no longer save her from herself! Ah, they were already on her, for he could hear hoarse German oaths and a woman's screams. Yes, that was her voice. Oh, my God, that he should come to this! They were torturing her, subjecting her to unspeakable martyrdom, wreaking vengeance for the death of their chief.
In the kitchen entry he stumbled over a Prussian helmet. Its owner lay near by, on his face ... he hurried on...
The huge room resounded with the clash of steel, women's screams, men's oaths. There was a struggling mass of humanity in the gloom. Ian, his face bleeding, was fighting for his life with a trooper. Father Constantine butted at them, to catch the German in his big paunch. But something sharp and cold hit his head and he knew no more.
When he recovered his senses he was lying in a cold, dark place. His head ached greatly. Somebody was bathing it with water.
"The Countess? The Countess?" He tried to rise, but could not.
"She is safe. Please lie still, Father Constantine." This in English. It was Minnie.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite."
"And Ian?"
"A flesh wound. He'll be well in a week; but you----"
"And that Prussian?"
"Dead."
"She killed him?"
"No. The Russians came up just in time. Cavalry. Caught them with their booty at the top of the cellar steps. Ian killed two. They fought like devils, but were entrapped. Two others got killed, then the officer. When the rest saw him down, they surrendered. We've one wounded prisoner here. He says Szmul offered to bring them here if they would spare him and some money he had buried."
"And Szmul?"
She laughed bitterly.
"Got clean off. Trust him. Now, you must rest. I'm going to be very strict."
"But one thing more ... the signals saved us?"
"Yes."
"How many Prussians crossed the river that Szmul----"
"You must not talk."
"Please, just that."
"The Russians say only a few. The rest were cut off as they landed on this side. But the prisoner, when I went to him just now--he is wounded in the leg--says several hundred got over and his lot believed they were in touch with the rest. Then they met Szmul who told them what booty there was to be had in Ruvno--emeralds, and grain and wine. He says the Germans will think Szmul got them here to entrap them, and will hang him to the nearest tree."
"Serve him right!" cried the priest. "That skunk! Why, when he came up to me last night----"
"Be quiet, Father Constantine," she said severely, "or I sha'n't let you see anybody for a week."
And he obeyed.
X
Ian became vaguely aware of Minnie's feelings towards him on the night of that fight with the Prussians in the kitchen. She saw the end of that adventure despite his precautions. From the "secret room," which was the name the household gave to a small paneled chamber that had only a bull's-eye window and access from a bedroom by means of a small door cut in the paneled wall, she espied his signaling on the church tower. He had used this way of communicating before. She ran down there to help. On the tower she found Martin, whose ancient arms were pretty well exhausted. Ian, busy on the other side, did not know she was there till she shouted that she saw a red light. It was thrown up by some Russian cavalry and not far off. They arrived just in time. The Countess showed them the way to the cellars through the library, so that most of the Prussians were caught like rats in a trap. Some broke through the other way into the kitchen and fought hard, but were defeated and surrendered to the Cossacks, who marched off with all the survivors except one, who was wounded in the leg.
He was not ungrateful for her help on the tower, though he agreed with Martin that it had not been necessary. He told her that she had no business to leave the secret room whilst Germans were about; then seeing her disappointment at this cool recognition of her services, he told the Grand Duke, in her presence, that she deserved a decoration. But he determined to send her home at the first opportunity. The events of the preceding evening proved how women hampered him when the enemy came. He would have sent his mother, too, to join Vanda in Warsaw, but she was so firm in her refusal to leave Ruvno that he gave up trying to persuade her.
For several days after the kitchen fight nothing happened. Ian was busy bricking up his rescued stores, which the Prussians had almost got away with. Father Constantine was still in bed, his head wrapped in bandages; the wounded Prussian had been moved to a hospital at Kosczielna, because his leg was getting better so fast that they feared he would run away.
Then Major Healy arrived. He was a great big good-natured American, doing his best to relieve the suffering in Poland with the means at his disposal. He was, too, intensely interested in learning all he could about the country, its customs and people. Ruvno was a revelation to him. So far, the work had taken him and his interpreter amongst the peasants, burrowing like rats below ground, and the Jews, for whom he felt more pity than admiration. He was delighted to find that Ian spoke English. They got on very well together. It was a long time since Ian had talked to a man of his own age who was not a soldier. The Russians he saw were infinitely more interested in turning his ground into trenches and battlefields than in suggesting the best means of keeping those dependent on him from starvation till the next harvest. Major Healy had worked in Belgium and France and was able to give him a good many hints for economy. Poland had always enjoyed such liberal food supplies that Ian had overestimated his war rations and was astounded to hear how people lived in Belgium. He cut down his ration system slightly, and results proved that the change did no immediate harm, whilst making a good deal of difference in the output of supplies.
Father Constantine, too, was interested in the visitor, though not on account of rations. Minnie, suspecting nothing and anxious to give him some news, told him about Healy's arrival with an interpreter and three other men who helped to distribute relief.
"American!" he cried. "I must see him at once. I wouldn't miss him for worlds."
Minnie explained that Major Healy would probably stop a few days, then come back on his way home.
"Home? Do you say he is going home?" His eyes shone like a bird's under the white bandages. "If so, the sooner I see him the better."
"Can't I give him your message?"
"Certainly not." Father Constantine could be very peremptory when he liked. "The idea! I am quite fit to see visitors ... and anxious to meet this American boy."
"He's forty if he's an hour."
"Well--forty or fourteen. See him I will."
Minnie put on the professional nurse's manner.
"Father," she said, "you're getting excited and you know how bad it is for you. I won't bring up anybody till your temperature goes down."
He said no more; next time she took his temperature it had gone up two points. He actually winked at her.
"There, my child," he said in triumph. "I told you that the sooner I see this relief man the better. I shall not sleep a wink to-night unless I do ... and to-morrow morning you'll find me in a raging fever."
"He is busy ... Ian is with him. I heard them say they would not finish till supper time."
"What are they doing?"
"Checking stores for some village. The Americans have got a wonderful system. Ian is learning it."
"You and Ian can do that whilst he is up here. I feel my temperature has gone up another point. Give me the thermometer."
She refused that, but went for Major Healy. After all, she reflected, he was an obstinate old man and capable of getting a high temperature just to prove himself in the right.
The introduction over, he turned to her with one of his benignant smiles.
"My child ... you have spent so much time with a poor old man to-day, I am sure Major Healy will excuse you ... you might help Ian check those potatoes."
She took the hint and went out; but not to the potatoes. I am afraid she did a very mean thing. She burned with curiosity to hear what Father Constantine wanted with the American major, and that instinct which often enables a woman to steal a march on man whispered that she was concerned in the priest's mysterious anxiety. It may be true that an eavesdropper hears no good of herself; it is equally true that she sometimes hears things good for herself. Therefore, argued Minnie, it was quite a normal occupation under the circumstances.
The Father's room opened to his dressing-room, approachable from the corridor as well. Thither she tiptoed, to find the door ajar. Slipping in, she stood behind a curtain which hung in the doorway between dressing and bedrooms. There was no door, so she heard very clearly. Father Constantine was talking; she caught the sound of her own name.
"It is not safe for Miss Burton to remain here," he said in his slow, correct English, for the Major had no other tongue. "I have told her so more than once. So has the Countess; and also the Count. But she refuses to listen. She knows how much we value her excellent work with wounded and refugees. But perhaps you can persuade her. Neither the Countess nor her son can insist; it would look as though they wanted to get rid of her."
Major Healy was loath to interfere. He sat, like a giant in repose, by the little chaplain's bed, listening politely, but secretly wishing himself downstairs with the Count, whom he found more interesting every time they talked together. Father Constantine's message had interrupted a long argument not entirely disconnected with big-game shooting. Healy was a keen sportsman himself, and found it very interesting to swap stories with Ian, who did not know the Rockies, but did know the Caucasus and even Cashmere, where he had spent a long-remembered holiday with young Ralph Burton two years ago.
"Well," he said, in slow sonorous tones, his blue eyes watching the snowstorm that raged outside the sealed double window. "Miss Burton looks as if she could take care of herself. I hear that the Grand Duke promised to give warning if the place gets unsafe."
This was not at all what Father Constantine wanted.
"Do you see my bandages?" he asked.
Major Healy said he did.
"I received the wounds they cover in a fight which took place in the kitchen between the Grand Duke's soldiers and Prussian Hussars. Neither the Duke nor the Kaiser sent to warn me that a fight would be in the kitchen, which I entered by chance without any idea the Russians had come to the rescue. It was a very good thing they did come because, as you know, grain and potatoes are worth a dozen old men's skulls nowadays."
"Oh--don't say that," protested the major politely.
The priest went on:
"Let us put it in this way. What would have happened if Miss Burton and not myself had gone into the kitchen?"
"I suppose her head would have been smashed, too," murmured the American.
"Exactly," agreed the priest. "Her pretty young head would have been broken. And as a woman's head is softer than a priest's, it would probably have been broken past repairing."
Major Healy waited for more. It came.
"And what would the American government say if an American woman had her skull broken in a Polish kitchen?" he pursued.
"It would have written one of its darned notes."
"Oh!" said Father Constantine, disappointed at this unexpected reply. "It would have written one of those notes? They must be very interesting to compose, but will not mend broken heads. And England won't even write a note. But her brothers would probably blame us for letting her stop here. And Ruvno is one of the most dangerous houses in Poland. You can see for yourself what the Prussians have done to the tower and the west wing."
"That I have," agreed the major, more interested in the west wing than the prospect of Minnie's broken skull. "I'd like to wring the Kaiser's neck for bringing down that old bit." He was an admirer of antiquities, you see, and Minnie was still far from being one. "No, Father, Poland isn't safe for young girls and I'll speak to her about it."
He rose from the depths of the armchair.
"Thank you so much. It will be a great weight off our minds when we know that this charming young lady is out of danger. When did you say you were returning to France?"
"Not yet. I'll have to go to Moscow, and can take her to Petrograd and find an escort for her to England."
The Countess came in then and Healy went off. Minnie was half-way across the room on her way out when a laugh from the patient stopped her. There was something wicked about it, out of keeping with a broken skull and high temperature.
"What is it?" asked the Countess.
He laughed again. The visit had cheered him immensely.
"I think I've managed it."
"Managed what?"
"To persuade the American that Miss can't stop here any longer." And he laughed again.
"But you know what the Grand Duke said."
"How about my broken head?"
"Oh--that was my fault, Father----"
"No--no." His voice was deprecating now. "This American man will persuade her. He is the picture of American determination. Look at his chin."
"I haven't noticed his chin. But I have noticed your lack of gratitude. I'm ashamed of you after the way Minnie nurses you."
"I'm not ungrateful; but I've been watching her and Ian rather closely the last few days."
"You've been in bed!"
Father Constantine coughed.
"That is why. You have no idea, Countess, how supremely indifferent a young woman is towards a dozing patient. And I doze a good deal nowadays. Ian, dear boy, comes to see me. And so does the Miss."
Minnie had to restrain an impulse to go in and shake her patient. She heard footsteps outside, then Ian's voice at the old man's door.
"Is Major Healy here?" he asked.
"He is checking those American potatoes with the Miss," the priest answered.
"Oh! I'll come for a chat later on." And off he went.
Minnie could hear the Countess and the priest giggle. They were still enjoying their joke when came another rap. The surgeon this time. Minnie went up to the ward, bursting with indignation at the priest's duplicity. The idea of his "foxing" when she supposed him sound asleep! She thought it very deceitful of him.
Healy was a conscientious man. Though very busy that evening, he found time to redeem his promise to Father Constantine, and talk to Minnie. She cut him short with:
"Yes. The old tower has spoilt one of the best specimens of architecture left in Poland, and the old priest's head has been smashed without either the Kaiser or the Grand Duke warning him. And I shall get my head broken unless I go home at once."
He fairly gasped.
"How on earth----" he began.
"I've heard it before. I expect that Father Constantine has asked you to help him. I shouldn't wonder if he asked you what the American government would say if my head gets broken. Looking at you and knowing your personal sympathies with the Allies, I suppose you think I am able to take care of myself."
"Well, as you mention it----"
He gave her an appreciative glance. She was good-looking and he admired her "spunk," to say nothing about her bright eyes and rosy cheeks.
Taking courage, she went on gaily:
"And the priest probably used his old joke about his head being harder than a woman's."
"He did say----"
"Major Healy, I appreciate your kindness, but I'm not going home for any of these arguments, which I've heard before. You may have some of your own up your sleeve, if so----"
"I hadn't thought of any, but----"
"No, you've been so busy that you trusted to the old ones. It would take something better to send me back to London."
"There's Moscow," he mentioned. "It's nearer and quite safe." He rather liked the idea of having her as traveling companion. She would be entertaining and was good to look upon.
"Nor Moscow either."
"Warsaw?"
"Not even Warsaw. I'm going to stop here, where I'm wanted."
He laughed. "I don't know but what you're right. You can always get away when things look bad."
He returned to his blankets and potatoes, so Minnie heard no more of the matter from him. But Father Constantine was quite nasty about it. Next afternoon, at the hour of his siesta, he summoned his old servant and made him read the newspaper. Then he insisted on learning how to knit. In future, when he wanted a nap, he saw that the door was locked, saying that visitors at that time disturbed him. He gave a pretty shrewd guess that his room was about the only place where Minnie could talk quietly to Ian these busy days, and meant to put a stop to the meetings. He was by no means so simple as he looked.
Major Healy sought her to say good-bye, on the afternoon of his departure. He waited till she had gone up to one of the large bedrooms she called her ward. He thought he could talk more freely there than before his host or hostess. His ideas about Minnie had changed in these few days, since he sat, bored and eager to get away, by the old chaplain's bed, and listened to his talk of broken heads.
"You're doing splendid work here," he said, when she had shown him a couple of her convalescent patients. "But I think you're too near the firing line."
"So is the Countess," she returned gaily. He did not speak for a moment. He had a habit of pondering beforehand that suited his big stature and heavy build. He was interested in her. She happened to be the first young woman he had met for weeks who spoke his own language. Relief work in a devastated country did not allow for social intercourse and he realized what a pleasant little break Ruvno had made for him.
"The Countess?" he echoed, looking at his cigar. "I guess the Countess is hanging on to a piece of herself. The Count tells me her family has been here for eight centuries. I hadn't realized what that meant till I talked to them. It means that the family was looking at this landscape, tilling this land and fighting for it when the Indians camped where my home is and the Norman king reigned overyours. So I expect she'd as soon die as leave it any other way."
"Yes--that's true," agreed Minnie.
"But you've only been here a few months," he went on. "It's not part of your bones."
"I've these," she said, looking round the room, which was peopled with peasant women and children, injured by Prussian shells or gases, whilst working in their fields. "I can't leave them."
He lowered his voice and bent over her, though not one of those suffering, frightened souls could understand what he said. "I've talked things over with the Count. It's plain enough that they're not going to leave this old house of theirs even if the Germans come for good. That's their look-out. If I were in their shoes I'd probably do the same thing. The Germans will have to burn them out. But you're not a Pole--Miss Burton. If they catch you here, they'll give you a pretty bad time of it."
Her eyes flashed.
"I'm going to stay all the same," she said firmly. "The Russians aren't beaten yet."
He gave a slow gesture of despair.
"It's going to be a long party and the Germans 'll make another push for Warsaw soon. You're right in their road here."
He looked at her, a little pleadingly. He hated the thought of leaving her in the midst of this desolation, possibly a prey to German "Kultur." He had not noticed anything to make him suspect that Ian, rather than wounded refugees, was in her mind when she refused to leave. He had not seen the two together. Ian was busy all day long outside the house, she in the wards. His admiration for her grew.
"Haven't you any family?" he asked.
"One brother with the Fleet and another in Flanders."
"That's a family to be proud of," he said warmly. "D'you hear from them?"
"Not since the Dardanelles were closed. Will you take a couple of letters for me?"
"That I will. And I'll see you get the answers. I'm going to Petrograd next week--then to France. I'll be back here next spring. Meanwhile, there are other men doing the work. Tell your brothers to send through our office in Moscow. Here's the address." He produced a card, then a pencil. "On the back I'll write mine, in Paris, where you'll always get me." He scribbled a couple of lines and handed her the card. "Now you keep that and don't forget to let me know, either there, or through our Moscow office, when you want anything."
"Thanks awfully. I'll take great care of the card and will fetch the letters for my brothers. They are ready."
He followed her and waited in the corridor. When she came back he said, hesitatingly:
"Excuse a personal question; but have you got any cash?"
"A certain amount."
"How much?"
"Oh, about five hundred roubles--and my cheque-book."
"The cheque-book won't do you much good." His comely, rather heavy face flushed. "Look here I'm a banker at home----"
"Why, you're a major," she retorted.
"So I am. But peace soldiering didn't suit me and I went into my father's business. I'm going to join up again when America fights--and she must."
"I'm glad to hear that," she said.
"Thanks. It'll take time--but it's coming. Why, if I thought we weren't going to help put an end to this desolation over here...."
He grew suddenly shy, and broke off. Then:
"Let me be your banker now." He put a roll of notes into her hand. "You'll be glad of it before you're through with Poland, believe me."
She thanked him, prettily, so he thought. Her first impulse was to refuse the money. Then she reflected that they all might be glad of it one day. The American's kindness touched her, and she showed it; this flattered him. He had a susceptible heart and innate chivalry, inherited from Irish forebears.
"Oh--how am I to thank you?" she murmured, blushing redder than he had been a moment before.
"By using it to get out of this desert as soon as you can," he returned quickly. "I hate to leave you here--in danger."
"But there is none--yet. Look here, Major Healy, do let me give you a cheque on my London bank for it."
He laughed.
"I told you cheques are no good in this country. We'll settle later on. Remember to let me know if I can help. Good-bye and good luck."
He strode down the long gallery, turned at the end, regretfully, waved his hand and was gone. Minnie went back to her patients, whom she tended with the help of two village women, and Zosia, the housekeeper.
The Countess had wounded soldiers in another part of the house.