CHAPTER VTHE RED FOX OF DHALMATIAHe entered in the house—his home no more;For without hearts there is no home;—and feltThe solitude of passing his own doorWithout a welcome.—Byron: Don Juan.Castle Dhalmatia proved to be but a short distance ahead. I held the unconscious Prince in my arms while Nick leaned forward and called road directions into the Japanese driver's ear. General Palmora remembered a byway which was a short cut across the Red Fox's estate and we saved several minutes thereby. The walls of the Prince's home loomed up black and sombre against the sky line on the top of a hill vacant of trees. Like Castle Comada it was a fortress built for defence rather than for comfort. Its battlements and watchtowers were stern and forbidding.Rapid as were our movements, the news of the accident preceded us, borne no doubt by the returning horse with the empty saddle. Stable grooms were coming down the road toward us carrying lanterns; house servants were arousing the master. Some were weeping aloud, running wildly about; others were shouting orders and talking, like persons who desired to do something but did not know what to do. Lights began to show in different rooms of the castle and, when we drew up with a rush and a grinding of brakes under theporte-cochère, a crowd of retainers were there to meet us.As soon as they caught sight of the limp figure in my arms they imagined the Prince dead and their wailings broke out afresh. In the midst of the excitement, which even the commanding voice of the General failed to quell, a little, bent, old man with a weazen, wrinkled face, but with a certain virility of manner which proclaimed him master, appeared in the doorway. His voice vibrated through the air and forced obedience. He called to his servants in the Bharbazonian dialect and a silence fell upon them, in which there was more of fear than of love. I knew at once that I was in the presence of the Red Fox of Dhalmatia, the father of the Prince.Standing in the lantern light he made a curious picture. He was attired in black from head to foot. On his head was a black fez that only partially concealed a mass of hair which, though darker in shade and streaked with gray, was the same colour as his son's. The first part of the Red Fox's name was derived no doubt from the colour of his hair.Around his neck was a broad lace collar of white, extending to his narrow shoulders. He wore a close fitting coat buttoned up the front with a row of large ornamental buttons. Knee breeches with buckles at the side, silk stockings, and buckled shoes made up the rest of his costume. Over his shoulders hung a long Spanish cloak which partially concealed the hilt of a jewelled sword suspended from his left hip. There was that about him which suggested the stern, hard, old Pilgrim fathers who conquered the Massachusetts wilderness and burned witches three centuries ago.If he felt any emotion at the condition of his son, he did not permit himself to show it, but, with a gesture in which was the majesty of command, he bade me enter with my burden.I carried the Prince to the nearest couch in the spacious hallway, followed by Nick and the General. The Red Fox shut the door in the faces of his servants and dismissed them with a few terse words. The only one he permitted to remain was an aged man whom I recognized was the butler. The room was dark and this old fellow held a lantern close to the boy's face and fell into a fit of weeping. As soon as I placed the Prince on the divan, and before I could make an examination, I was rather rudely brushed aside by the boy's father and the old butler, both of whom seemed suddenly crazed by the accident.They crowded me away and bent over the Prince, together making a rapid, superficial examination of the boy for broken bones, and finding none. There was a slight wound above the right ear and a cut on the left arm above the elbow. The right arm was dislocated. With the old servant's assistance, the father experienced little difficulty in slipping it back into place. I was rather impressed with the Red Fox's deftness and sureness of touch.During the examination, General Palmora explained that I was a physician and that I could give the Prince the best of treatment. He made his explanations in French, which I think was for my benefit, and the Red Fox replied in the same tongue."A doctor," he queried, "what have we to do with doctors in Dhalmatia?""But, my dear Duke, the boy is seriously injured.""So? So?" cried the Fox, "and is that any reason why I should permit strangers to intrude upon the privacy of my house, especially friends of yours, Palmora, to run things as they please?""I would have you understand, sir," replied the General with dignity, "that only such untoward circumstances as the present would have permitted me to enter your house, and to so far forget the respect I owe my friends as to allow them to cross your threshold.""'Tis unfortunate," said the Duke, still working over the boy. "The General should remember that the House of Dhalmatia can take care of itself.""The General did not forget," replied the soldier, hotly; "but in this case he begs the Duke to consider that the Prince is not the son of Dhalmatia—""What!" shouted the Duke, going suddenly pale with extreme agitation and advancing threateningly toward the General, who did not seem to mind the feelings the remarks were stirring up."Not the son of Dhalmatia, but the heir to the throne of Bharbazonia, and therefore he is my liege lord and master. As a patriot I must care for him. Beside, it was our automobile which caused his accident."The Duke sank down on his knees beside the couch at his son's feet as if his strength had forsaken him. He offered no further objection to our presence and watched as the old servant attempted to revive the patient. When at last, under the effect of the restorative, the boy opened his eyes the first person he saw and smiled upon was his father. Then his eyes met mine.They were the most beautiful I have ever seen in a boy's head, and they thrilled me with the look of quiet suffering in them. Large and expressive, they reminded me of Nicholas in his best mood, when he sang his Balkan love songs. From the colour of the Prince's hair I expected his eyes to be a pale blue, but, on the contrary, they were a deep rich brown, almost black. Shining in their mysterious depth was something akin to sorrow, which I could not understand but which became clearer later.The old Duke did not seem greatly relieved when his son recovered consciousness; possibly he realized that the boy had been nearer death than he imagined; possibly there was another reason. At all events, he waved us all back from the couch and gathered the Prince in his arms."My son! My son!" he repeated again and again, sometimes in French and sometimes in his own language. But it did not seem to me to be the agonized cry of a broken-hearted father; there was a note of caution in it, as if he would say, "My son, be careful; the enemies of your father are present."The Prince lay still, studying each face in the room over his father's shoulder. He recognized the General with a bright friendly smile. The General returned the salutation with a frigid ceremonial bow. Nick seemed to puzzle him. He looked at the handsome youth a long time as if trying to remember where they had met before, and yet not sure they had met at all."If you are satisfied, Dr. Wharton, that the patient is on a fair way to recovery," broke in the General, still chafing under the impoliteness of the Duke, "I suggest that we take our departure from this ungrateful house."But his voice was gentle and caressing when he added to the Prince:"I trust your Highness will experience no further evil results from your unfortunate fall.""We also crave the Prince's pardon for causing his fall, and will do ourselves the honour of calling with the doctor in the morning to inquire after his health."While Nicholas was speaking the Duke shifted his head so that he could see the young man's face over his shoulder without appearing to do so. All the time he seemed to be devoting his whole attention to his son. The movement was secretive and, I thought, uncalled for; but it revealed why those who knew him called him "The Fox.""Before we go," I said in my character of physician, "I would suggest that the Prince remain in bed for the next few days in order to rest the arm which was dislocated and to determine the presence, if any, of internal injuries. With your permission, Duke, I will take the liberty of calling again. I trust, if anything develops which you may not feel equal to coping with, that you will not hesitate to make use of my services."With the Grand Duke's cry of "My son! My son!" as our only answer, we bowed our way through the doorway and entered the car which was still chug-chugging away at the door, the tired Jap boy asleep at the wheel. It was very dark when we resumed our journey, which was quickly at an end. Two miles from Dhalmatia we turned through a high stone archway of a private estate and came to Castle Framkor.It was too dark for me to see anything of the outside of the castle except theporte-cochère, under which we stopped, and the open front door from which the servants trooped with cries of welcome. If there was a similarity about the entrance there was none in the spirit of the two castles.A tri-colour collie dog was the first to greet us. He ran wildly about the car barking at the engines and sniffing at the visitors. He recognized the General and tried to get into the seat with him."Down, Laddie; down, sir," commanded his master as he sprang to the ground, to be overwhelmed by the excited dog, which leaped against his shoulder and tried to caress his face.Willing hands opened the tonneau door and Nick and I descended. The dog sniffed at our legs and growled at us. Smiling women servants gathered around the master while the men, in obedience to his commands, carried our trunks and hand luggage into the hall."Welcome home to Framkor, Nicholas," cried the General. It was the first word he had spoken since his farewell speech at Dhalmatia. But all his gloom had left him.Nicholas made no reply. Not a single servant knew him and no one welcomed him back to his own home. While it was indeed a splendid homecoming for the General, I pitied Nick and realized what he had been sacrificing all his life for the sake of his country. It is one thing to choose a vocation for yourself and quite another to have some one choose it for you.The hall room was comfortably warmed by an open grate fire which burned under the mantelpiece. Above hung a full length picture of a man about the General's age in scarlet regimentals. He bore a striking resemblance to Nick."That's dad," said the boy as we gathered round the fire to drive out the cold of the night. He looked long and earnestly upon his father's portrait. What moody thoughts were passing in his mind I could not imagine. But the sternness of the pictured face was reflected in the living one beneath."What we need most of all is dinner," said the General."Hear, hear," I cried lightly.The thought was scarcely expressed before a servant bade us enter the dining room. The meal that followed could not have been surpassed by the French chef at the Turk's Head Inn. Bharbazonia might be archaic, but Framkor Castle under the direction of Nick's father's executor was delightfully modern. I promised myself considerable gastronomic enjoyment during my vacation in Bharbazonia.After the feast, which we all ate with a hunger born of our long ride in the bracing air, the General and I settled ourselves in the drawing room for a long, comfortable chat before bedtime. I was burning to learn more about the Red Fox, now that I had seen the Castle tower from which the old nurse fell the night the Prince was born. The General was still suffering from his injured feelings."Can you wonder, now, why I hate the Fox?" he said. "The ingrate, to return our kindness with such discourtesy. The low-bred hound, better we had left his son in the road to die. Never again will I find myself under his roof and you boys, too, would do well not to visit that castle again. He will insult you if you attempt it; now mark my words."Nick, who did not share my interest in the Red Fox, had gone on an exploring trip through the house, recalling childhood memories. He came into the music room adjoining and began fingering the keys of the piano."I am glad, at all events," he called, "that the young fellow was not seriously hurt.""Humph," grunted Palmora under his breath, "you would have more reason to be happy if the horse had made a good job of it."At this remarkable outburst I stared at the regicidal old person, who, seeing my surprise, leaped to his feet and paced the floor, pulling on his long pipe to keep his temper down. No doubt he felt that he had overreached himself, for he came back with an apology."There are things in this Kingdom that are unknown even to Nicholas," he said mildly, lowering his voice. "I trust that the time will come when it will be given him to know. Then I would like to be the messenger.""The Prince," I said, "is the handsomest boy I have ever seen."But the General did not reply. He was listening with rapt attention to the fine whole-souled barytone voice of his Bharbazonian boy, singing a folksong in the language. The expression on his face partook of the look of a devout worshipper before his best loved shrine."Volt nekem egy daru ssoru paripam," sang Nick.The accompaniment he was playing was in that weird minor strain which always sends a shiver down one's back. The words of the song told of the sorrow of a nation in bondage. It was an old favourite with me, for Nick often sang it when the lights were low and the schoolroom problems were laid away for the night. I admired it so much that Nick gave me the music, written by Francis Korbay, and it was even now lying on my piano at home. In English the song runs:"Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;Don't know even where the spot may now be found.In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."As Nick poured his soul into the rendition of the war song of the Balkans, a song which he told me every native knew and revered as he loved his Bible, I could almost picture the little handful of 25,000 men who fell before the overwhelming force of 200,000 Turks on that fateful day, August 29, 1526, when "Mohacsnal" became to the Slavs what "Don't give up the ship" was to the Americans hundreds of years later. I was not surprised to hear the General's deep bass join in the single line refrain at the close of each verse:"No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"With such a spirit abroad in the land, I could understand how the defeated but unconquered Hungarian and Balkan warriors continued the struggle until there is little left of the dwindling empire of the "unspeakable Turk" in Europe to-day except the dissatisfied country around his capital city of Constantinople."Great song," panted the General when Nick concluded, but the light of battle died out of his eyes when Nick, after a few preliminary chords, broke into the popular American songs of the day and cleared the atmosphere of its political heaviness. We were all in the best of spirits when we retired. Although there were many rooms in the castle, I found to my delight that Nick and I were to sleep together in his boyhood chamber. Possibly it was the association of ideas, but believe it who will, we romped about like children and did not get to sleep until the General came to the door to interrupt our pillow fight with the natural complaint that he was unable to sleep, and the dry suggestion that we repair to the lawn to finish it.At sight of the bristling old warrior in his pink nightcap and pajamas to match, we scurried beneath the covers with such a perfect imitation of two naughty boys who expected to be spanked and put to bed, that even the General, forgetting his irritation, was forced to lose his gravity and join in the general merriment.Long after the lights were out and we were quieted down, too tired to laugh any more, I heard Nick drawl sleepily in memory of our college days:"Let's go over to Woodland avenue and steal a lamp post."Outside a gentle wind rustled the ivy vines clinging patiently to the Castle wall. Not another sound disturbed the stillness of the country night. Overcome by the silence I drifted away in the arms of sleep well content with my first hours in the Kingdom of Bharbazonia.The next day we met Solonika.CHAPTER VISOLONIKA'S SUMMER-HOUSEAnd when a lady's in the case,You know, all other things give place.—Gay: Fables.The General's was one of those angelic, choleric dispositions that frequently blow up under pressure of sudden anger, but emerge smiling from the havoc of the explosion, bearing no malice. When we met him at the breakfast table the next morning, the only reference he made to the boyish escapade of the night before was concealed in his pleasant greeting."Good morning, children.""Good morning, sir," we unisoned like a Greek chorus."What new deviltry are you two planning this morning?"We assured him that we felt our age and the responsibilities of life, and that we intended henceforth to be very good boys indeed if he would cease reminding us of our youth.The talk about the table was of the impending coronation. The General was impatient for news as to how the preparations for that great event were progressing. During his rapid journey to America, in search of Nicholas, much had been done, but he had no doubt much remained undone."How would you both like to run down to Nischon with me?" he asked. "We will be back by nightfall if we take the machine."To my surprise Nicholas did not immediately acquiesce. He usually found it agreeable to do what the General proposed, but for some reason he did not grow enthusiastic over the coronation. As for myself, it did not suit my purpose to go to the capital city, much as I desired to see it. I had other plans, but I could not tell the General for fear of risking his displeasure. For, notwithstanding his admonition to the contrary, I intended to go over to Castle Dhalmatia and see the Prince. Down in my heart I suppose was the hope that I might also make the acquaintance of his twin sister the Princess Solonika. Ever since I heard their romantic story from the General's lips, I experienced a great desire to get to the bottom of the mystery and prove the General right or wrong. The opportunity of seeing Nischon was mine any time, but the chance of visiting the inhospitable Castle in the guise of a physician was not to be lost."The king has set his heart upon making this occasion one long to be remembered in Bharbazonia, and we must stand ready to help him," continued the General. "He will be happy to see you, the heir of Framkor, Nicholas. He loves the young men of his country and was much interested in my trip to find you."Still Nicholas remained silent."Don't you care to go?" asked Palmora."If my preference is to be considered, Godfather," said Nick, "I would rather stay at home. I will gladly accompany you another time. But to-day I am tired after our long journey.""And you?" said the General turning to me."I would rather stay here with Nick.""All right," he replied, "I will go alone, provided I may borrow your car, Nick.""Gladly," said Nick, relieved at being let off so easily.Teju Okio brought the big machine under theporte-cochère, and we were preparing to see the General off when a lone horseman cantered up the driveway among the trees, his long Spanish cloak waving in the breeze and his sword jangling at his side. He was a good looking black haired youth, and he rode his charger with the ease of a cavalryman. It took all his horsemanship to get his restive animal to face the running engines, but by dint of a liberal use of spurs and much coaxing he finally came within hailing distance.The General seemed to recognize him and returned his salute graciously. Upon the rider's breast, under his wind-tossed cloak, was the same kind of a Greek cross, two parallel bars and one at an angle, which I had seen both the General and Nicholas wearing upon the yacht. Whatever his business was, it was speedily transacted. He shouted a question at the General, received a reply, waved a parting salute, and was off like the wind, his struggling steed showing a fine pair of heels to the demon in theporte-cochère."The Grand Duke Marbosa seems much concerned for my safe arrival," said Nick. "His messenger is here early.""I suppose Marchaud, the innkeeper, has spread the news of our return," said the General."What have I to do with Marbosa?" said Nick."I'll tell you about that when I see you to-night," replied the General, waving his hand to Teju Okio. The Jap boy threw in his clutch, the General's head went back, and they were off for Nischon."There is some mystery here," said Nick, watching the car thoughtfully until it was gone from sight."Who is Marbosa?" I asked."He is the recognized leader of the nobles of Bharbazonia and a great friend of the General's. He is about Palmora's age, but as hot-headed and impetuous as a youth."It was too fine a day to be indoors, and I suggested that we employ the morning by riding about the country on horseback. Nick forgot the weariness he had offered the General as an excuse for remaining behind and readily assented. The stables were in the rear of the castle and we found them full of the finest horses money could buy. Nick conversed with the stablemen by means of the sign language, remembering his American character, and we were soon upon the road astride the best travellers I have ever seen."Wither awa'," I cried gaily as we left the estate, coming into the public road by the porter's lodge and gates which I recognized from the evening before."Let us go to Dhalmatia and see how the Prince is this morning," said Nick.I turned my head to hide the smile. So he, too, was interested in the Prince? I wondered if the General's suspicions had at last awakened in Nick's breast a desire similar to my own, or was it that he wished to improve his acquaintance with the future king?"On to the lair of the Red Fox," I said.Nick's estates, I found, were on one side of the road and the Red Fox's on the other. The entrances were at opposite ends and about two miles apart. I remembered that it must have been over this very highway that Nick's father and his friend the General had hurriedly galloped that memorable night twenty years ago drawn by the strange ringing of the natal bell. Our journey was made more decorously, but upon a strangely similar errand as far as I was concerned.The castle on the hill was visible from the road. Although it stood bathed in sunlight in the clearing high above the woodland, it retained all its sombreness. And the General's remarks came back to me with renewed force. Had I been alone I might have turned back.No one came forward to take our horses when we dismounted. The silent battlements grinned down upon us as though to warn us away. I held the bridle reins while Nick beat upon the oaken door with the handle of his riding crop.The butler who answered was the old man who had held the lantern the night before. He resembled his master in grimness of manner and secrecy of method, opening the door slightly and blocking the aperture with his body, as if he suspected we had come to filch the bric-a-brac, or make way with the Prince. As soon as he laid eyes upon us he addressed himself to a task he appeared to relish."The master bids me thank you," he said in French, usual in Bharbazonian households because, as I afterward learned, it was the court language, "for the expression of good will which your presence implies; he is sorry that the custom of denying himself to visitors, which has been his for years, compels him to refrain from entertaining you. To Monsieur le Physician, he desires me to say that his son has so far recovered as to make any further calls unnecessary."The insult took our breath away and we could manage no words to reply."I wish you a very good afternoon," said the doorman, gravely. Then he gently but firmly closed the door in our faces.What little hold Nick retained upon his temper was lost when, in remounting, owing to the restiveness of his horse, he twice missed his stirrup. The animal was one of those high-spirited fellows that show much white around the eye and cannot stand the approach of a rider. Nick made matters worse by belabouring him both with his riding whip and the toe of his boot, so that I had to pull up on the road and wait for him.I scarcely knew what to make of our unceremonious reception, and could attribute the Duke's action to one of two things. Either as an offspring of Bharbazonia he was mediæval and unused to the polite usages of the present day; or he had something to conceal."My respect for the General increases," I said as we rode off together."Why?" growled Nick."The General knew his man better than we did.""What makes you say that?""He strongly advised me not to visit Dhalmatia, and said the Red Fox would insult us.""Humph," said Nick, "I wish you had told me. I should not have given him the opportunity.""Well, after all," I suggested, "the Fox has a right to exclude us if he is so minded. A man's castle is his home, I take it.""Bharbazonians do not treat each other with such scant courtesy.""You forget that we are two Americans to him. But even Bharbazonia is known to Baedeker, I suppose.""Can you, the rejected physician, who yesterday stood ready to treat his son, forgive him so lightly?""Assuredly, when I remember that I was also one of the party which contributed to his son's fall.""You are too good-natured, Dale. I could choke him with pleasure. One of these days when his son is king I shall compel an apology."By common consent when we reached the highway we turned away from Framkor and rode past the Duke's estate, the length of which was plainly marked by an almost endless hedge. As we came opposite a pretty little summer-house, enclosed in glass and used as a winter conservatory, I caught sight of the prince's face behind the glass. His profile was toward us and, as he was sitting, only his head and shoulders were visible. Not hearing our hoof beats on the soft dirt road he did not look up as we passed. Here was an opportunity of accomplishing our purpose in spite of the Duke. Nothing loath I embraced it."If you are minded to talk to the Fox's son before he is king," I exclaimed, indicating the summer-house, "here is your chance."Seeing the Prince, Nick put his horse to the hedge without a word and I followed. As we struck the ground on the other side, the Prince looked quickly up. He watched us tie our horses to a tree, but made no effort to rise when we burst open the door and unceremoniously entered.On the threshold we both stopped in surprise, our hostility giving place to embarrassment and a natural consternation. We suddenly found ourselves not, as we expected, in the presence of the Prince, but standing stupidly before a surprised and beautiful young woman. She was about the Prince's age and bore a striking resemblance to him. She had the same sleepy brown eyes. Her hair was of the same titian shade, but it was long and gathered in a soft knot at the back of her head. It was her crowning glory and she wore it without a part after the manner of the French pompadour.Her dress was one I had not expected to find in Bharbazonia. It was a tailor-made suit of the then fashionable "smoke" colour and beneath her short skirt peeped a pair of patent leather shoes with tops to match the colour of her dress. Could she have been transferred from her summer-house to the Rittenhouse square promenade, she would not have been out of the picture nor have caused comment except for her great beauty.With well-bred composure she calmly looked from Nick to me without altering her position in her comfortable chair or even lowering her book. Although apparently unmoved, she was alert to our every move, questioning with her glance the reason for our intrusion. Many another girl under similar circumstance might have cried out, but she was neither overcome with feminine modesty nor afraid.For my part I was conscious of feeling like a small boy caught with a pocketful of stolen apples. Nick must have been afflicted in a like manner, for our hats came off simultaneously, and we bowed as low as the difference in our training would permit."We beg your pardon," began Nick, recovering his composure. "We expected to find the Prince here—the resemblance is so wonderful—we beg your pardon."There was another awkward pause as she waited for him to continue and then, seeing that he had lost his voice, she spoke. I shall never forget the feeling that went through me as I listened to her ringing contralto, full of Homeresque quality, clear as a bell."From the manner of your entrance, one would imagine you meant him harm," she said.Nick's composure forsook him entirely and I came to the rescue. There was nothing timorous about this young woman. She looked me frankly in the face. The subtle charm of her femininity came to me with the odour of the surrounding flowers and took a firm grasp upon my heart."We are just come from the castle," I hastened to say, "where we sought to inquire after the health of the Prince. The Duke turned us from the door.""And may I inquire who you are?""I am Dr. Dale Wharton and this is Mr. Nicholas Fremsted."She returned the compliment."I am Solonika, the Prince's sister," she replied.We both bowed again like two automatons controlled by the same string."I see that you are not English," she added."No," Nick replied quickly as if he were not sure of my answer, "we are both Americans.""So?" she said, looking at Nick as if she were trying to place him in her memory. Her quizzical expression reminded me of the Prince when he had watched Nick in the same manner."Now that we have been introduced most properly," she continued with the shadow of a smile, "perhaps you will sit down and have tea with me. Perhaps also I may make amends for my father's seeming lack of hospitality.""Therese," she called to a French maid who promptly emerged from behind a Japanese screen in the rear of the room, "chairs for the gentlemen."While Nick engaged the Princess in conversation I had opportunity to examine the summer-house. It has always been my belief that one reveals character in the arrangement and decoration of one's favourite rooms. The little den had the atmosphere of a college man's smoking room, except for the flowers that were banked high at the windows which formed the wall of the summer-house on the side toward the road. Here and there convenient openings were left for a view of the highway. If the Princess had fitted up this lounging place out of a feeling of monotony which remote living in the castle brought her, she succeeded admirably in arriving at privacy and at the same time avoiding loneliness.The other three walls were done in dark red burlap richly hung with pictures. Drinking steins of every nation, together with valuable china and porcelain ware, adorned the plate rail around the sides. But what caught my eye was a lifesize, full-length picture of Solonika herself dressed in the bright-coloured garb of a Bharbazonian peasant girl, poised upon the tips of her dainty toes in the midst of a native dance. Close beside it was another canvas of the Prince in the pure white finery of a most gorgeous court costume, covered with lace and furbelows sufficient to arouse the envy of a French king.In one corner was an artist's easel on which stood a half finished landscape of the King's Highway, showing the Turk's Head Inn in the foreground. The room was neither masculine nor feminine and I was at a loss to find a reason for the presence of a large copy of Wehr-Schmidt's painting of "Down Among the Dead Men," which occupied the entire rear wall, unless it might be that the Prince also had a hand in the decorations. Else why should such prominence be given a scene in which a number of reckless swordsmen were forcing a frightened clergyman to drink an abhorred health, singing as they threatened him with their levelled points:"And he who will this health deny,Down among the dead men let him lie."Therese, the maid, was serving the tea when I came back from my mental wandering and began to take an interest in the conversation."Brother is much better this morning," the Princess was saying. "Father has difficulty in keeping him in bed. Although his arm is still painful, he is a lively youth and hard to keep down.""He will not suffer any further inconvenience from his fall?" asked Nick."None whatever. After all, it was his own fault. He sometimes is such a careless rider. When the colt reared at sight of your conveyance, Raoul says he made the mistake of pulling him back. The sight of your car was so unexpected; I suppose he was as much surprised as the horse. Think of it! An automobile in Bharbazonia!"She threw back her head and laughed heartily at the thought, and we could do nothing else but laugh with her. The charm of the girl was contagious and we forgot the Duke's unpleasantness."Why, it was only a week ago they burned a witch at the stake for some offence against the Church. I was not a bit sorry when I heard it, for she was the one who prophesied that Raoul would never be King of Bharbazonia—and behold along comes this automobile, chug-chugging through the middle ages almost making that prophecy come true. We are growing modern.""Dear old Bharbazonia," sighed Nick, off his guard for the moment.The Princess heard the remark, and I saw her compare my own blond head with Nick's black curls, while the puzzled look returned."Dear old Bharbazonia," was all she said, but I fancied her interest in him increased from that moment. It was the call of the blood."Do you know Bharbazonia?" she asked him later.He admitted that he had visited the country on different occasions, always as the guest of General Palmora."On one of my trips I had the pleasure of meeting the Prince at Nischon. He was visiting his uncle the King.""Ah," she said, "I thought so."She nodded her head several times as if his remark explained many things."But I never had the pleasure of meeting you before," he added."I have seen you," she hastened to say. "If I remember correctly that was four years ago. You and the General rode by these windows frequently on that occasion. That was the year the Grand Duke of Framkor died."Nick made no reply at this mention of his father's name. And, if she were trying to discover his identity under directions from her suspicious father, she made nothing out of him."I suppose, if one could trace it back, I should be found to be a relation of his," he said. "My family is Russian. I was born in St. Petersburg and later became a world wanderer and finally an American. Dale and I were chums at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.""Friends," she mused. "I have always been interested in friendship. I never had a friend.""You have had no opportunity, living here all your life.""Oh, but I have been away to school. I have met those there whom I would have called friends, but father you know is a curious man, and I cannot have them visit me here.""You have missed a great deal in life," said Nick."Have I?" she laughed. "I do not think so. Friendship between men is not lasting. I wonder if a woman could not loosen the bonds of affection between you two at any time she chose?""I doubt it," said Nick, staunchly."I have often wondered what would happen if a woman had come between David and Jonathan, or Damon and Pythias or any of the famous chums of history," she said."A woman is only a woman," said Nick with a smile, "but the world holds nothing so dear as the friends one makes in youth and cleaves to until the end. I do not think the woman lives who could part Dale and me.""Don't be too sure," she smiled back between half closed eyes.It was almost dark when we arose to take our leave after a most pleasant afternoon. Nick, true to his Bharbazonian instinct, made his leave-taking consist of a sweeping bow, but I put out my hand in American fashion."Good-bye, your Highness," I said, "I trust that we will see you soon again."She hesitated for the fraction of a second before extending her hand. Perhaps she was not familiar with hand-shaking as a leave-taking habit. For the first time during the afternoon she seemed timid. When I released her hand the arm fell to her side. "Oh!" she exclaimed as if in pain, although I could have sworn that I had not used more strength in my leave-taking than one would with a Dresden doll.But, when I reached the door and bowed myself across the threshold, she was standing by her chair smiling brightly."Good-bye," she said, "I have had such a pleasant afternoon. Please do not cherish resentment and come to the castle. The Prince and I will be glad to see you both. I shall tell father he must apologize."She came to the door and watched us mount and put our horses over the hedge. We both waved our hands to her as the bend in the road shut her from view.It wasn't until we turned in at Framkor gate that a possible explanation of the significance of Solonika's suppressed cry of pain came home to me and I exclaimed aloud:"It was the right arm of the Prince that was dislocated!""Well," said Nick, "and what of that?"
CHAPTER V
THE RED FOX OF DHALMATIA
He entered in the house—his home no more;For without hearts there is no home;—and feltThe solitude of passing his own doorWithout a welcome.—Byron: Don Juan.
He entered in the house—his home no more;For without hearts there is no home;—and feltThe solitude of passing his own doorWithout a welcome.—Byron: Don Juan.
He entered in the house—his home no more;
For without hearts there is no home;—and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome.
—Byron: Don Juan.
—Byron: Don Juan.
Castle Dhalmatia proved to be but a short distance ahead. I held the unconscious Prince in my arms while Nick leaned forward and called road directions into the Japanese driver's ear. General Palmora remembered a byway which was a short cut across the Red Fox's estate and we saved several minutes thereby. The walls of the Prince's home loomed up black and sombre against the sky line on the top of a hill vacant of trees. Like Castle Comada it was a fortress built for defence rather than for comfort. Its battlements and watchtowers were stern and forbidding.
Rapid as were our movements, the news of the accident preceded us, borne no doubt by the returning horse with the empty saddle. Stable grooms were coming down the road toward us carrying lanterns; house servants were arousing the master. Some were weeping aloud, running wildly about; others were shouting orders and talking, like persons who desired to do something but did not know what to do. Lights began to show in different rooms of the castle and, when we drew up with a rush and a grinding of brakes under theporte-cochère, a crowd of retainers were there to meet us.
As soon as they caught sight of the limp figure in my arms they imagined the Prince dead and their wailings broke out afresh. In the midst of the excitement, which even the commanding voice of the General failed to quell, a little, bent, old man with a weazen, wrinkled face, but with a certain virility of manner which proclaimed him master, appeared in the doorway. His voice vibrated through the air and forced obedience. He called to his servants in the Bharbazonian dialect and a silence fell upon them, in which there was more of fear than of love. I knew at once that I was in the presence of the Red Fox of Dhalmatia, the father of the Prince.
Standing in the lantern light he made a curious picture. He was attired in black from head to foot. On his head was a black fez that only partially concealed a mass of hair which, though darker in shade and streaked with gray, was the same colour as his son's. The first part of the Red Fox's name was derived no doubt from the colour of his hair.
Around his neck was a broad lace collar of white, extending to his narrow shoulders. He wore a close fitting coat buttoned up the front with a row of large ornamental buttons. Knee breeches with buckles at the side, silk stockings, and buckled shoes made up the rest of his costume. Over his shoulders hung a long Spanish cloak which partially concealed the hilt of a jewelled sword suspended from his left hip. There was that about him which suggested the stern, hard, old Pilgrim fathers who conquered the Massachusetts wilderness and burned witches three centuries ago.
If he felt any emotion at the condition of his son, he did not permit himself to show it, but, with a gesture in which was the majesty of command, he bade me enter with my burden.
I carried the Prince to the nearest couch in the spacious hallway, followed by Nick and the General. The Red Fox shut the door in the faces of his servants and dismissed them with a few terse words. The only one he permitted to remain was an aged man whom I recognized was the butler. The room was dark and this old fellow held a lantern close to the boy's face and fell into a fit of weeping. As soon as I placed the Prince on the divan, and before I could make an examination, I was rather rudely brushed aside by the boy's father and the old butler, both of whom seemed suddenly crazed by the accident.
They crowded me away and bent over the Prince, together making a rapid, superficial examination of the boy for broken bones, and finding none. There was a slight wound above the right ear and a cut on the left arm above the elbow. The right arm was dislocated. With the old servant's assistance, the father experienced little difficulty in slipping it back into place. I was rather impressed with the Red Fox's deftness and sureness of touch.
During the examination, General Palmora explained that I was a physician and that I could give the Prince the best of treatment. He made his explanations in French, which I think was for my benefit, and the Red Fox replied in the same tongue.
"A doctor," he queried, "what have we to do with doctors in Dhalmatia?"
"But, my dear Duke, the boy is seriously injured."
"So? So?" cried the Fox, "and is that any reason why I should permit strangers to intrude upon the privacy of my house, especially friends of yours, Palmora, to run things as they please?"
"I would have you understand, sir," replied the General with dignity, "that only such untoward circumstances as the present would have permitted me to enter your house, and to so far forget the respect I owe my friends as to allow them to cross your threshold."
"'Tis unfortunate," said the Duke, still working over the boy. "The General should remember that the House of Dhalmatia can take care of itself."
"The General did not forget," replied the soldier, hotly; "but in this case he begs the Duke to consider that the Prince is not the son of Dhalmatia—"
"What!" shouted the Duke, going suddenly pale with extreme agitation and advancing threateningly toward the General, who did not seem to mind the feelings the remarks were stirring up.
"Not the son of Dhalmatia, but the heir to the throne of Bharbazonia, and therefore he is my liege lord and master. As a patriot I must care for him. Beside, it was our automobile which caused his accident."
The Duke sank down on his knees beside the couch at his son's feet as if his strength had forsaken him. He offered no further objection to our presence and watched as the old servant attempted to revive the patient. When at last, under the effect of the restorative, the boy opened his eyes the first person he saw and smiled upon was his father. Then his eyes met mine.
They were the most beautiful I have ever seen in a boy's head, and they thrilled me with the look of quiet suffering in them. Large and expressive, they reminded me of Nicholas in his best mood, when he sang his Balkan love songs. From the colour of the Prince's hair I expected his eyes to be a pale blue, but, on the contrary, they were a deep rich brown, almost black. Shining in their mysterious depth was something akin to sorrow, which I could not understand but which became clearer later.
The old Duke did not seem greatly relieved when his son recovered consciousness; possibly he realized that the boy had been nearer death than he imagined; possibly there was another reason. At all events, he waved us all back from the couch and gathered the Prince in his arms.
"My son! My son!" he repeated again and again, sometimes in French and sometimes in his own language. But it did not seem to me to be the agonized cry of a broken-hearted father; there was a note of caution in it, as if he would say, "My son, be careful; the enemies of your father are present."
The Prince lay still, studying each face in the room over his father's shoulder. He recognized the General with a bright friendly smile. The General returned the salutation with a frigid ceremonial bow. Nick seemed to puzzle him. He looked at the handsome youth a long time as if trying to remember where they had met before, and yet not sure they had met at all.
"If you are satisfied, Dr. Wharton, that the patient is on a fair way to recovery," broke in the General, still chafing under the impoliteness of the Duke, "I suggest that we take our departure from this ungrateful house."
But his voice was gentle and caressing when he added to the Prince:
"I trust your Highness will experience no further evil results from your unfortunate fall."
"We also crave the Prince's pardon for causing his fall, and will do ourselves the honour of calling with the doctor in the morning to inquire after his health."
While Nicholas was speaking the Duke shifted his head so that he could see the young man's face over his shoulder without appearing to do so. All the time he seemed to be devoting his whole attention to his son. The movement was secretive and, I thought, uncalled for; but it revealed why those who knew him called him "The Fox."
"Before we go," I said in my character of physician, "I would suggest that the Prince remain in bed for the next few days in order to rest the arm which was dislocated and to determine the presence, if any, of internal injuries. With your permission, Duke, I will take the liberty of calling again. I trust, if anything develops which you may not feel equal to coping with, that you will not hesitate to make use of my services."
With the Grand Duke's cry of "My son! My son!" as our only answer, we bowed our way through the doorway and entered the car which was still chug-chugging away at the door, the tired Jap boy asleep at the wheel. It was very dark when we resumed our journey, which was quickly at an end. Two miles from Dhalmatia we turned through a high stone archway of a private estate and came to Castle Framkor.
It was too dark for me to see anything of the outside of the castle except theporte-cochère, under which we stopped, and the open front door from which the servants trooped with cries of welcome. If there was a similarity about the entrance there was none in the spirit of the two castles.
A tri-colour collie dog was the first to greet us. He ran wildly about the car barking at the engines and sniffing at the visitors. He recognized the General and tried to get into the seat with him.
"Down, Laddie; down, sir," commanded his master as he sprang to the ground, to be overwhelmed by the excited dog, which leaped against his shoulder and tried to caress his face.
Willing hands opened the tonneau door and Nick and I descended. The dog sniffed at our legs and growled at us. Smiling women servants gathered around the master while the men, in obedience to his commands, carried our trunks and hand luggage into the hall.
"Welcome home to Framkor, Nicholas," cried the General. It was the first word he had spoken since his farewell speech at Dhalmatia. But all his gloom had left him.
Nicholas made no reply. Not a single servant knew him and no one welcomed him back to his own home. While it was indeed a splendid homecoming for the General, I pitied Nick and realized what he had been sacrificing all his life for the sake of his country. It is one thing to choose a vocation for yourself and quite another to have some one choose it for you.
The hall room was comfortably warmed by an open grate fire which burned under the mantelpiece. Above hung a full length picture of a man about the General's age in scarlet regimentals. He bore a striking resemblance to Nick.
"That's dad," said the boy as we gathered round the fire to drive out the cold of the night. He looked long and earnestly upon his father's portrait. What moody thoughts were passing in his mind I could not imagine. But the sternness of the pictured face was reflected in the living one beneath.
"What we need most of all is dinner," said the General.
"Hear, hear," I cried lightly.
The thought was scarcely expressed before a servant bade us enter the dining room. The meal that followed could not have been surpassed by the French chef at the Turk's Head Inn. Bharbazonia might be archaic, but Framkor Castle under the direction of Nick's father's executor was delightfully modern. I promised myself considerable gastronomic enjoyment during my vacation in Bharbazonia.
After the feast, which we all ate with a hunger born of our long ride in the bracing air, the General and I settled ourselves in the drawing room for a long, comfortable chat before bedtime. I was burning to learn more about the Red Fox, now that I had seen the Castle tower from which the old nurse fell the night the Prince was born. The General was still suffering from his injured feelings.
"Can you wonder, now, why I hate the Fox?" he said. "The ingrate, to return our kindness with such discourtesy. The low-bred hound, better we had left his son in the road to die. Never again will I find myself under his roof and you boys, too, would do well not to visit that castle again. He will insult you if you attempt it; now mark my words."
Nick, who did not share my interest in the Red Fox, had gone on an exploring trip through the house, recalling childhood memories. He came into the music room adjoining and began fingering the keys of the piano.
"I am glad, at all events," he called, "that the young fellow was not seriously hurt."
"Humph," grunted Palmora under his breath, "you would have more reason to be happy if the horse had made a good job of it."
At this remarkable outburst I stared at the regicidal old person, who, seeing my surprise, leaped to his feet and paced the floor, pulling on his long pipe to keep his temper down. No doubt he felt that he had overreached himself, for he came back with an apology.
"There are things in this Kingdom that are unknown even to Nicholas," he said mildly, lowering his voice. "I trust that the time will come when it will be given him to know. Then I would like to be the messenger."
"The Prince," I said, "is the handsomest boy I have ever seen."
But the General did not reply. He was listening with rapt attention to the fine whole-souled barytone voice of his Bharbazonian boy, singing a folksong in the language. The expression on his face partook of the look of a devout worshipper before his best loved shrine.
"Volt nekem egy daru ssoru paripam," sang Nick.
The accompaniment he was playing was in that weird minor strain which always sends a shiver down one's back. The words of the song told of the sorrow of a nation in bondage. It was an old favourite with me, for Nick often sang it when the lights were low and the schoolroom problems were laid away for the night. I admired it so much that Nick gave me the music, written by Francis Korbay, and it was even now lying on my piano at home. In English the song runs:
"Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;Don't know even where the spot may now be found.In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."
"Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.
"Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;
But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.
E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.
But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.
"Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;Don't know even where the spot may now be found.In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.
"Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;
Don't know even where the spot may now be found.
In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;
But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.
"Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."
"Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;
Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.
Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;
But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."
As Nick poured his soul into the rendition of the war song of the Balkans, a song which he told me every native knew and revered as he loved his Bible, I could almost picture the little handful of 25,000 men who fell before the overwhelming force of 200,000 Turks on that fateful day, August 29, 1526, when "Mohacsnal" became to the Slavs what "Don't give up the ship" was to the Americans hundreds of years later. I was not surprised to hear the General's deep bass join in the single line refrain at the close of each verse:
"No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"
"No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"
"No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"
With such a spirit abroad in the land, I could understand how the defeated but unconquered Hungarian and Balkan warriors continued the struggle until there is little left of the dwindling empire of the "unspeakable Turk" in Europe to-day except the dissatisfied country around his capital city of Constantinople.
"Great song," panted the General when Nick concluded, but the light of battle died out of his eyes when Nick, after a few preliminary chords, broke into the popular American songs of the day and cleared the atmosphere of its political heaviness. We were all in the best of spirits when we retired. Although there were many rooms in the castle, I found to my delight that Nick and I were to sleep together in his boyhood chamber. Possibly it was the association of ideas, but believe it who will, we romped about like children and did not get to sleep until the General came to the door to interrupt our pillow fight with the natural complaint that he was unable to sleep, and the dry suggestion that we repair to the lawn to finish it.
At sight of the bristling old warrior in his pink nightcap and pajamas to match, we scurried beneath the covers with such a perfect imitation of two naughty boys who expected to be spanked and put to bed, that even the General, forgetting his irritation, was forced to lose his gravity and join in the general merriment.
Long after the lights were out and we were quieted down, too tired to laugh any more, I heard Nick drawl sleepily in memory of our college days:
"Let's go over to Woodland avenue and steal a lamp post."
Outside a gentle wind rustled the ivy vines clinging patiently to the Castle wall. Not another sound disturbed the stillness of the country night. Overcome by the silence I drifted away in the arms of sleep well content with my first hours in the Kingdom of Bharbazonia.
The next day we met Solonika.
CHAPTER VI
SOLONIKA'S SUMMER-HOUSE
And when a lady's in the case,You know, all other things give place.—Gay: Fables.
And when a lady's in the case,You know, all other things give place.—Gay: Fables.
And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
—Gay: Fables.
—Gay: Fables.
The General's was one of those angelic, choleric dispositions that frequently blow up under pressure of sudden anger, but emerge smiling from the havoc of the explosion, bearing no malice. When we met him at the breakfast table the next morning, the only reference he made to the boyish escapade of the night before was concealed in his pleasant greeting.
"Good morning, children."
"Good morning, sir," we unisoned like a Greek chorus.
"What new deviltry are you two planning this morning?"
We assured him that we felt our age and the responsibilities of life, and that we intended henceforth to be very good boys indeed if he would cease reminding us of our youth.
The talk about the table was of the impending coronation. The General was impatient for news as to how the preparations for that great event were progressing. During his rapid journey to America, in search of Nicholas, much had been done, but he had no doubt much remained undone.
"How would you both like to run down to Nischon with me?" he asked. "We will be back by nightfall if we take the machine."
To my surprise Nicholas did not immediately acquiesce. He usually found it agreeable to do what the General proposed, but for some reason he did not grow enthusiastic over the coronation. As for myself, it did not suit my purpose to go to the capital city, much as I desired to see it. I had other plans, but I could not tell the General for fear of risking his displeasure. For, notwithstanding his admonition to the contrary, I intended to go over to Castle Dhalmatia and see the Prince. Down in my heart I suppose was the hope that I might also make the acquaintance of his twin sister the Princess Solonika. Ever since I heard their romantic story from the General's lips, I experienced a great desire to get to the bottom of the mystery and prove the General right or wrong. The opportunity of seeing Nischon was mine any time, but the chance of visiting the inhospitable Castle in the guise of a physician was not to be lost.
"The king has set his heart upon making this occasion one long to be remembered in Bharbazonia, and we must stand ready to help him," continued the General. "He will be happy to see you, the heir of Framkor, Nicholas. He loves the young men of his country and was much interested in my trip to find you."
Still Nicholas remained silent.
"Don't you care to go?" asked Palmora.
"If my preference is to be considered, Godfather," said Nick, "I would rather stay at home. I will gladly accompany you another time. But to-day I am tired after our long journey."
"And you?" said the General turning to me.
"I would rather stay here with Nick."
"All right," he replied, "I will go alone, provided I may borrow your car, Nick."
"Gladly," said Nick, relieved at being let off so easily.
Teju Okio brought the big machine under theporte-cochère, and we were preparing to see the General off when a lone horseman cantered up the driveway among the trees, his long Spanish cloak waving in the breeze and his sword jangling at his side. He was a good looking black haired youth, and he rode his charger with the ease of a cavalryman. It took all his horsemanship to get his restive animal to face the running engines, but by dint of a liberal use of spurs and much coaxing he finally came within hailing distance.
The General seemed to recognize him and returned his salute graciously. Upon the rider's breast, under his wind-tossed cloak, was the same kind of a Greek cross, two parallel bars and one at an angle, which I had seen both the General and Nicholas wearing upon the yacht. Whatever his business was, it was speedily transacted. He shouted a question at the General, received a reply, waved a parting salute, and was off like the wind, his struggling steed showing a fine pair of heels to the demon in theporte-cochère.
"The Grand Duke Marbosa seems much concerned for my safe arrival," said Nick. "His messenger is here early."
"I suppose Marchaud, the innkeeper, has spread the news of our return," said the General.
"What have I to do with Marbosa?" said Nick.
"I'll tell you about that when I see you to-night," replied the General, waving his hand to Teju Okio. The Jap boy threw in his clutch, the General's head went back, and they were off for Nischon.
"There is some mystery here," said Nick, watching the car thoughtfully until it was gone from sight.
"Who is Marbosa?" I asked.
"He is the recognized leader of the nobles of Bharbazonia and a great friend of the General's. He is about Palmora's age, but as hot-headed and impetuous as a youth."
It was too fine a day to be indoors, and I suggested that we employ the morning by riding about the country on horseback. Nick forgot the weariness he had offered the General as an excuse for remaining behind and readily assented. The stables were in the rear of the castle and we found them full of the finest horses money could buy. Nick conversed with the stablemen by means of the sign language, remembering his American character, and we were soon upon the road astride the best travellers I have ever seen.
"Wither awa'," I cried gaily as we left the estate, coming into the public road by the porter's lodge and gates which I recognized from the evening before.
"Let us go to Dhalmatia and see how the Prince is this morning," said Nick.
I turned my head to hide the smile. So he, too, was interested in the Prince? I wondered if the General's suspicions had at last awakened in Nick's breast a desire similar to my own, or was it that he wished to improve his acquaintance with the future king?
"On to the lair of the Red Fox," I said.
Nick's estates, I found, were on one side of the road and the Red Fox's on the other. The entrances were at opposite ends and about two miles apart. I remembered that it must have been over this very highway that Nick's father and his friend the General had hurriedly galloped that memorable night twenty years ago drawn by the strange ringing of the natal bell. Our journey was made more decorously, but upon a strangely similar errand as far as I was concerned.
The castle on the hill was visible from the road. Although it stood bathed in sunlight in the clearing high above the woodland, it retained all its sombreness. And the General's remarks came back to me with renewed force. Had I been alone I might have turned back.
No one came forward to take our horses when we dismounted. The silent battlements grinned down upon us as though to warn us away. I held the bridle reins while Nick beat upon the oaken door with the handle of his riding crop.
The butler who answered was the old man who had held the lantern the night before. He resembled his master in grimness of manner and secrecy of method, opening the door slightly and blocking the aperture with his body, as if he suspected we had come to filch the bric-a-brac, or make way with the Prince. As soon as he laid eyes upon us he addressed himself to a task he appeared to relish.
"The master bids me thank you," he said in French, usual in Bharbazonian households because, as I afterward learned, it was the court language, "for the expression of good will which your presence implies; he is sorry that the custom of denying himself to visitors, which has been his for years, compels him to refrain from entertaining you. To Monsieur le Physician, he desires me to say that his son has so far recovered as to make any further calls unnecessary."
The insult took our breath away and we could manage no words to reply.
"I wish you a very good afternoon," said the doorman, gravely. Then he gently but firmly closed the door in our faces.
What little hold Nick retained upon his temper was lost when, in remounting, owing to the restiveness of his horse, he twice missed his stirrup. The animal was one of those high-spirited fellows that show much white around the eye and cannot stand the approach of a rider. Nick made matters worse by belabouring him both with his riding whip and the toe of his boot, so that I had to pull up on the road and wait for him.
I scarcely knew what to make of our unceremonious reception, and could attribute the Duke's action to one of two things. Either as an offspring of Bharbazonia he was mediæval and unused to the polite usages of the present day; or he had something to conceal.
"My respect for the General increases," I said as we rode off together.
"Why?" growled Nick.
"The General knew his man better than we did."
"What makes you say that?"
"He strongly advised me not to visit Dhalmatia, and said the Red Fox would insult us."
"Humph," said Nick, "I wish you had told me. I should not have given him the opportunity."
"Well, after all," I suggested, "the Fox has a right to exclude us if he is so minded. A man's castle is his home, I take it."
"Bharbazonians do not treat each other with such scant courtesy."
"You forget that we are two Americans to him. But even Bharbazonia is known to Baedeker, I suppose."
"Can you, the rejected physician, who yesterday stood ready to treat his son, forgive him so lightly?"
"Assuredly, when I remember that I was also one of the party which contributed to his son's fall."
"You are too good-natured, Dale. I could choke him with pleasure. One of these days when his son is king I shall compel an apology."
By common consent when we reached the highway we turned away from Framkor and rode past the Duke's estate, the length of which was plainly marked by an almost endless hedge. As we came opposite a pretty little summer-house, enclosed in glass and used as a winter conservatory, I caught sight of the prince's face behind the glass. His profile was toward us and, as he was sitting, only his head and shoulders were visible. Not hearing our hoof beats on the soft dirt road he did not look up as we passed. Here was an opportunity of accomplishing our purpose in spite of the Duke. Nothing loath I embraced it.
"If you are minded to talk to the Fox's son before he is king," I exclaimed, indicating the summer-house, "here is your chance."
Seeing the Prince, Nick put his horse to the hedge without a word and I followed. As we struck the ground on the other side, the Prince looked quickly up. He watched us tie our horses to a tree, but made no effort to rise when we burst open the door and unceremoniously entered.
On the threshold we both stopped in surprise, our hostility giving place to embarrassment and a natural consternation. We suddenly found ourselves not, as we expected, in the presence of the Prince, but standing stupidly before a surprised and beautiful young woman. She was about the Prince's age and bore a striking resemblance to him. She had the same sleepy brown eyes. Her hair was of the same titian shade, but it was long and gathered in a soft knot at the back of her head. It was her crowning glory and she wore it without a part after the manner of the French pompadour.
Her dress was one I had not expected to find in Bharbazonia. It was a tailor-made suit of the then fashionable "smoke" colour and beneath her short skirt peeped a pair of patent leather shoes with tops to match the colour of her dress. Could she have been transferred from her summer-house to the Rittenhouse square promenade, she would not have been out of the picture nor have caused comment except for her great beauty.
With well-bred composure she calmly looked from Nick to me without altering her position in her comfortable chair or even lowering her book. Although apparently unmoved, she was alert to our every move, questioning with her glance the reason for our intrusion. Many another girl under similar circumstance might have cried out, but she was neither overcome with feminine modesty nor afraid.
For my part I was conscious of feeling like a small boy caught with a pocketful of stolen apples. Nick must have been afflicted in a like manner, for our hats came off simultaneously, and we bowed as low as the difference in our training would permit.
"We beg your pardon," began Nick, recovering his composure. "We expected to find the Prince here—the resemblance is so wonderful—we beg your pardon."
There was another awkward pause as she waited for him to continue and then, seeing that he had lost his voice, she spoke. I shall never forget the feeling that went through me as I listened to her ringing contralto, full of Homeresque quality, clear as a bell.
"From the manner of your entrance, one would imagine you meant him harm," she said.
Nick's composure forsook him entirely and I came to the rescue. There was nothing timorous about this young woman. She looked me frankly in the face. The subtle charm of her femininity came to me with the odour of the surrounding flowers and took a firm grasp upon my heart.
"We are just come from the castle," I hastened to say, "where we sought to inquire after the health of the Prince. The Duke turned us from the door."
"And may I inquire who you are?"
"I am Dr. Dale Wharton and this is Mr. Nicholas Fremsted."
She returned the compliment.
"I am Solonika, the Prince's sister," she replied.
We both bowed again like two automatons controlled by the same string.
"I see that you are not English," she added.
"No," Nick replied quickly as if he were not sure of my answer, "we are both Americans."
"So?" she said, looking at Nick as if she were trying to place him in her memory. Her quizzical expression reminded me of the Prince when he had watched Nick in the same manner.
"Now that we have been introduced most properly," she continued with the shadow of a smile, "perhaps you will sit down and have tea with me. Perhaps also I may make amends for my father's seeming lack of hospitality."
"Therese," she called to a French maid who promptly emerged from behind a Japanese screen in the rear of the room, "chairs for the gentlemen."
While Nick engaged the Princess in conversation I had opportunity to examine the summer-house. It has always been my belief that one reveals character in the arrangement and decoration of one's favourite rooms. The little den had the atmosphere of a college man's smoking room, except for the flowers that were banked high at the windows which formed the wall of the summer-house on the side toward the road. Here and there convenient openings were left for a view of the highway. If the Princess had fitted up this lounging place out of a feeling of monotony which remote living in the castle brought her, she succeeded admirably in arriving at privacy and at the same time avoiding loneliness.
The other three walls were done in dark red burlap richly hung with pictures. Drinking steins of every nation, together with valuable china and porcelain ware, adorned the plate rail around the sides. But what caught my eye was a lifesize, full-length picture of Solonika herself dressed in the bright-coloured garb of a Bharbazonian peasant girl, poised upon the tips of her dainty toes in the midst of a native dance. Close beside it was another canvas of the Prince in the pure white finery of a most gorgeous court costume, covered with lace and furbelows sufficient to arouse the envy of a French king.
In one corner was an artist's easel on which stood a half finished landscape of the King's Highway, showing the Turk's Head Inn in the foreground. The room was neither masculine nor feminine and I was at a loss to find a reason for the presence of a large copy of Wehr-Schmidt's painting of "Down Among the Dead Men," which occupied the entire rear wall, unless it might be that the Prince also had a hand in the decorations. Else why should such prominence be given a scene in which a number of reckless swordsmen were forcing a frightened clergyman to drink an abhorred health, singing as they threatened him with their levelled points:
"And he who will this health deny,Down among the dead men let him lie."
"And he who will this health deny,Down among the dead men let him lie."
"And he who will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lie."
Therese, the maid, was serving the tea when I came back from my mental wandering and began to take an interest in the conversation.
"Brother is much better this morning," the Princess was saying. "Father has difficulty in keeping him in bed. Although his arm is still painful, he is a lively youth and hard to keep down."
"He will not suffer any further inconvenience from his fall?" asked Nick.
"None whatever. After all, it was his own fault. He sometimes is such a careless rider. When the colt reared at sight of your conveyance, Raoul says he made the mistake of pulling him back. The sight of your car was so unexpected; I suppose he was as much surprised as the horse. Think of it! An automobile in Bharbazonia!"
She threw back her head and laughed heartily at the thought, and we could do nothing else but laugh with her. The charm of the girl was contagious and we forgot the Duke's unpleasantness.
"Why, it was only a week ago they burned a witch at the stake for some offence against the Church. I was not a bit sorry when I heard it, for she was the one who prophesied that Raoul would never be King of Bharbazonia—and behold along comes this automobile, chug-chugging through the middle ages almost making that prophecy come true. We are growing modern."
"Dear old Bharbazonia," sighed Nick, off his guard for the moment.
The Princess heard the remark, and I saw her compare my own blond head with Nick's black curls, while the puzzled look returned.
"Dear old Bharbazonia," was all she said, but I fancied her interest in him increased from that moment. It was the call of the blood.
"Do you know Bharbazonia?" she asked him later.
He admitted that he had visited the country on different occasions, always as the guest of General Palmora.
"On one of my trips I had the pleasure of meeting the Prince at Nischon. He was visiting his uncle the King."
"Ah," she said, "I thought so."
She nodded her head several times as if his remark explained many things.
"But I never had the pleasure of meeting you before," he added.
"I have seen you," she hastened to say. "If I remember correctly that was four years ago. You and the General rode by these windows frequently on that occasion. That was the year the Grand Duke of Framkor died."
Nick made no reply at this mention of his father's name. And, if she were trying to discover his identity under directions from her suspicious father, she made nothing out of him.
"I suppose, if one could trace it back, I should be found to be a relation of his," he said. "My family is Russian. I was born in St. Petersburg and later became a world wanderer and finally an American. Dale and I were chums at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia."
"Friends," she mused. "I have always been interested in friendship. I never had a friend."
"You have had no opportunity, living here all your life."
"Oh, but I have been away to school. I have met those there whom I would have called friends, but father you know is a curious man, and I cannot have them visit me here."
"You have missed a great deal in life," said Nick.
"Have I?" she laughed. "I do not think so. Friendship between men is not lasting. I wonder if a woman could not loosen the bonds of affection between you two at any time she chose?"
"I doubt it," said Nick, staunchly.
"I have often wondered what would happen if a woman had come between David and Jonathan, or Damon and Pythias or any of the famous chums of history," she said.
"A woman is only a woman," said Nick with a smile, "but the world holds nothing so dear as the friends one makes in youth and cleaves to until the end. I do not think the woman lives who could part Dale and me."
"Don't be too sure," she smiled back between half closed eyes.
It was almost dark when we arose to take our leave after a most pleasant afternoon. Nick, true to his Bharbazonian instinct, made his leave-taking consist of a sweeping bow, but I put out my hand in American fashion.
"Good-bye, your Highness," I said, "I trust that we will see you soon again."
She hesitated for the fraction of a second before extending her hand. Perhaps she was not familiar with hand-shaking as a leave-taking habit. For the first time during the afternoon she seemed timid. When I released her hand the arm fell to her side. "Oh!" she exclaimed as if in pain, although I could have sworn that I had not used more strength in my leave-taking than one would with a Dresden doll.
But, when I reached the door and bowed myself across the threshold, she was standing by her chair smiling brightly.
"Good-bye," she said, "I have had such a pleasant afternoon. Please do not cherish resentment and come to the castle. The Prince and I will be glad to see you both. I shall tell father he must apologize."
She came to the door and watched us mount and put our horses over the hedge. We both waved our hands to her as the bend in the road shut her from view.
It wasn't until we turned in at Framkor gate that a possible explanation of the significance of Solonika's suppressed cry of pain came home to me and I exclaimed aloud:
"It was the right arm of the Prince that was dislocated!"
"Well," said Nick, "and what of that?"