"Judson," cried Carter regretfully at the death of a brave man.
"Judson, of old E Troop," replied Carrick solemnly. "We sounded taps over 'im this mornin', sir."
Two days later a royal banquet followed by a cotillion celebrated the coming of the King. The monarch was in the white uniform of a Field Marshal, above which his handsome face rose in striking contrast. His collar, heavy with gold embroidery, seemed held in place by the Star of the Lion. At his right hand sat Trusia, resplendent and warmly human, while flanking him on the left was the grizzled Sutphen. Carter's place as an aide was far down the side of the table. Only by leaning forward, and glancing past those intervening, could he get a glimpse of the marvelous woman, who, young as she was, had made this event a possibility.
Sallies, laughter, repartee came floating down to him. A momentary pang of envy shot through him that the royal party, which to him meant Trusia, should be in such high feather. Owing to his remoteness it was impossible for him to participate in their mirth, so he resigned himself to the duty of entertaining the daughter of an elderly nobleman who was under his escort.
"And you," he said, "you, too, are delighted with the dashing King. Confess."
"I am afraid," she laughed back, "that all girls, even in America, dream what their ideal king should be."
"Your sex's ideal man?" he inquired quizzically.
"Oh, no, monsieur," she replied with grave, wide eyes. "Our ideal man is only a prince."
"Then your ideal king must be something more than a man," he said in soberer mood as she unfolded to him the working of a maiden mind, which is always awe-inspiring.
"Yes," she responded, "something less than a god."
"And the maidens of Krovitch, what have they dreamed?"
She glanced up to see if his expression matched the apparent gravity of his words. Reassured by the entire absence of banter in his face, she answered him sincerely. She was too guileless to analyze his possible mental attitude save by these superficial indications. "A demigod like our ancient sovereign, Stovik First," she responded reverently.
"So you have deified His Majesty already?"
"God save His Majesty from ill," she answered, "but I think he is very human—and handsome." She blushed uneasily. A merry peal of laughterfrom the group about the King drew their attention. Leaning her elbow on the cloth, the girl turned her head to learn the cause of the hilarity. Carter, thankful for the opportunity, employed the pause in studying Trusia. The Duchess's eyes were sparkling like some lustrous jet. The deep flush of the jacqueminot burned in her cheeks as she smilingly regarded Natalie, the heroine of the jest. Was all this scintillation a mask, he wondered, or had the coming of the King—the remembrance of her vow—driven the recollection of that momentary surrender in Paris from her heart? He sighed. The girl next him turned in apology.
"Forgive me, monsieur, for forgetting you. But Her Grace—is she not beautiful? When she makes us girls forget, is it any wonder the youths of Krovitch are oblivious of our poor existence?"
"She has had many suitors, then?" Carter to save him could not refrain from the question.
"A legion," she answered; "but all have withdrawn nobly in favor of the King. Even Paul Zulka and Major Sobieska. They are transferring to him their lives and their swords to please her."
A slight commotion at the head of the table again caused them to turn their heads in that direction. The King was rising.
"He is going to announce his betrothal," suggested the girl at Carter's side. Carter's face grew grim and white. But such was not the royal intent. Being assured that all present understood French, King Stovik in a short speech thanked the people of Krovitch for their devotion to his House. He promised that, if destiny placed him on their throne, he would treat his power as a trust for them.
"For this day at least we give ourselves over to the joy of meeting you. To-morrow comes the fearful care of kings. You have labored faithfully, to-night be merry," he said in conclusion. He lifted a bubbling glass from the table. "Our battle cry, my lords, is 'God and Krovitch.'"
There was an hysteric outburst. Men and women leaped to their feet to drain the toast. When the King regained his seat the cheers subsided. Slowly, impressively Trusia arose at his side, the light of inspiration radiating from her glorious self like the warm light that comes from the sun.
"There can be only one other toast after that, my people," she said. "God save the King." Like a real prayer, solemn and soul-felt, arose a responsive, "God save the King." Then deliberately, that the glasses might never be profaned with a less loyal toast, the guests snapped the fragile stems between their fingers and cast the dainty bowls to the floor in tinkling fragments.
At a signal from Stovik the banquet was over. He arose, and, taking Trusia by the hand, escorted her to the great hall to lead the cotillion with him. The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their King.
The first figure, patriotically named the "Flag of Krovitch," was danced by Stovik, Trusia and seven other couples all nearly related to royalty, each person waving a small silken flag bearing the Lion of their race.
Carter, from the throng, with hungry eyes saw but one wondrous form, supported on the arm of royalty, glide through the graceful maze. A lull came in the music and Stovik, bowing the Duchess to her seat, turned with evident relish to a coquettish brunette who had assured him that they were first cousins.
Having fulfilled the demands of Court etiquette in yielding first place to her sovereign, Trusia was now free to indulge any other preference for partners for the ensuing figures. The American glanced covetously toward the place where Sobieska and Zulka stood, expectantly awaiting her invitation. With a mild negation of her head she passed them, moving to where Carter was engaged talking to the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey. Seeing her approach, his heartbeat with a foolish hope and his remarks to his matronly auditor, took on a perplexing shade of incoherence. Evidently Trusia shyly expected him to accept the courtesy; as through a myriad phantoms, where only she was real, he threaded his way to her side.
"You are the stranger within our gates," she explained as in rhythmic unison they drifted into the cadence of the waltz.
"Have I awakened," he inquired, "or is this part of the dream I had in the Boulevard S. Michel?"
"It must have been a dream, monsieur," she said with sad finality. "It is folly to encumber one's life with useless dreams."
"Your Grace wishes it?" he asked in halting syllables wrenched from a heavy heart.
"For your own happiness, now," she answered with a meaning nod toward the King.
"But," he pleaded, "it was such a beautiful dream."
"Dreams are—sometimes. Then we awake." He felt the slight tremor against his arm as she spoke.
"I wish," he sighed impotently, "that you were an American girl."
She smiled mechanically to hide the sadness welling in her breast. "Wishes," she murmured resignedly, "are too near akin to dreams for me to indulge them. Besides I have a country to hope for. Why should I join you in such a wish?"
"Have you, then, realized your wishes in His Majesty?" It was a brutal thing to say; he saw it when too late to recall the words which had passed his lips.
She shrank as if struck. Her eyes spoke the volumes of her appeal. They read in his a hopeless prayer for forgiveness, and graciously, gently, she pressed his arm under her hand as a sweet upward glance assured him of absolution. Like the sigh in his own soul, sweet and low, the music died out. The figure was finished.
Pleading fatigue, Carter sought the quarters assigned him in the castle. His senses were awhirl, his spirits high in the chimera that Trusia cared for him. Had he been compelled to remain in attendance he felt certain that he would have bruited his glad tidings abroad. Between the throbs of hope, however, with growing insistence threaded the stinging pulses of despair and pity; despair that destiny would never give her to him as wife, pity that she should sacrifice her own sweet self to a man who had no real affection for her. Hers was a nature, he well knew, requiring the full measure of tenderness to bloom in its fullest beauty. Believingher beyond his reach he felt a sudden overpowering sense of utter loneliness. Fully clad as he was, he flung himself upon his bed, but his arm, his breast, still tingled with the contact from the dance. Sleep held aloof from him. Darkness was no refuge from her tempting face, for, visible to his soul, it stood between him and the gloom.
From the distant hall, augmenting his restlessness, came occasional snatches of music mingled with the hum of voices. The hours passed on while he tossed nervously on his bed. Then the music stopped. Laughter and farewells floated up to him. In a few minutes all was silence save for the footfalls of the sentries on their posts.
Somewhere in its boat of song, the nightingale was floating on the sea of darkness. Drawn aimlessly by the pathos of the songster's lay, Carter wandered to the window to gaze out into the moonless midnight. Racking his quivering heart, his imagination dwelt on a pictured life with Trusia, emphasizing the sweet moments of her complete surrender.
Time lost all measure in his rhapsody. He might have stood leaning over the sill a day or a second, when a sound, persistent and murmuring, haled him back to mundane things. Intermittently, but with growing volume, from somewhere beyond the wallof black, came the echoes of an army in passage. He could separate the different noises. That, he recognized by its deep grumbling noise, was cannon; the rattling sound, like an empty hay wagon, was caissons, while the muffled, thudding echo was cavalry at the trot. The force, apparently a heavy one, did not seem to be coming from Schallberg. He leaned far out of the window challenging the darkness with his peering eyes. Dimly he could descry the plateau about the castle with its low bastions at the cliff's edge. Indefinite shapes pacing along the wall he knew to be Krovitzer sentries. He fancied he heard a challenge on the distant road, a halt, then the invisible army took up its march again.
Straining every sense, he concluded that the force was moving from, and not toward, the frontier. Sutphen, then, for some unknown reason, must have consented to withdraw part of his none too strong army from points which Carter believed to be greatly in need of reinforcement. He debated with himself, therefore, the military necessity of confirming these impressions. Knowing, however, how prone to offense the plethoric Colonel could be, and reassured by the fancied challenges, he relinquished the idea. Growing drowsy with the extra mental exertion, he divested himself of his clothing and was soon in bed and asleep.
During his slumber another detachment passed, then another, while just before dawn a heavy force of infantry at double time went down the road.
Carter arose late the next morning. After a hasty breakfast, too early, however, for the other participants in the evening's festivities, he buckled on his sabre and, taking his fatigue cap, strolled out upon the terrace. He found the Minister of Private Intelligence pacing moodily back and forth on the stone flags. Acknowledging his salute, Carter stopped and spoke.
"Anything doing?" he inquired with a cheerful air.
Sobieska nodded. "Zulka's in command of Schallberg. Sutphen with a small force occupies Markos due east of the capital. Lesky's Rifles have seized Bagos on a line with both at the western frontier. This completes our alignment on the south. Wings have been thrown out from both Markos and Bagos to the extreme north, making a monster 'E' of which we are the middle arm."
Carter betrayed surprise. "Well, what force was that which passed during the night?" he asked. "I thought you said Sutphen had only a small command on the frontier, yet there were two or three parks of heavy artillery went by."
"I didn't hear them," responded Sobieska, "butJosef reported them as reinforcements from the Rifles for the frontier. There may have been some cannon, but not as many as you think. He dare not weaken his strength that way."
"It seemed to me," said Carter dubiously, "that they marched from the frontier, not toward it. But how did Josef come to report it? Where was the officer of the guard?"
Sobieska turned an indulgently commiserating smile on Carter.
"Haven't you heard?" he asked as he lightly flicked the ash from his morning cigar. Carter pleaded ignorance.
The Privy Counselor drew close to his shoulder and spoke in a confidential tone. "Josef has made himself indispensable to His Majesty. He begged for, and yesterday received, a commission as Colonel of Hussars as a return for services in restoring the King to his own. Whether or not at his own request, he was yesterday appointed Officer of the Guard. It was in the line of his duty that he reported." He next spoke as to one in whom he could safely confide. "I don't like the look of things there," he said, pointing toward the frontier. "There weren't too many men, in my opinion, to hold it as it was. Now they have withdrawn part of that force. Unless they can mobilize quicklyon this road we are holding wide open arms for Russia's forces. However," he said hopefully, "last night's movement may have been to cure the evil."
Setting them down to the vagaries of darkness, Carter dismissed his surmises of the night before as untenable in the face of this explanation. His companion continued his promenade nervously along the front of the castle. Carter joined him.
"There is another matter," said the Krovitzer with a slight contraction of his brows, "that is causing me some little annoyance. I am very punctilious about some things and exact promptitude as the greatest qualification in my subordinates. I should have had dispatches from London and Paris two days ago. I am out here now waiting for Max to arrive with them. It's a minor matter, but it has made me uneasy."
"Information concerning Carrick?" Carter queried.
"Yes," Sobieska replied. "What is that?" he asked with more than usual animation as the dull sound of distant booming interrupted them.
"Krupp guns," Carter answered, as much in surprise as for the information of the other. "Russia must have awakened at last. Sounds like a general engagement," he said as the volume of the distant sounds increased.
"We'll have to inform His Majesty. Hope he isawake." Sobieska started for the door. Carter lingered, for just then Trusia appeared in the entrance.
She seemed a part of the sweet, pure morning. Clad in an informal riding habit, such as he had frequently met in early rides in Central Park, in her starched waist, khaki skirt and broad-brimmed felt, she made a charming picture against the grim doorway.
"Plotting?" she asked with a gay little smile, shaking her bamboo crop at them. "You look like surprised conspirators. Major Carter, I'll have to claim your escort this morning. Casimir is still asleep. I'm afraid Lady Natalie danced him to death last night, the will-o'-the-wisp. His Majesty has his duties for some hours to come, as I can tell by that portentous frown on Sobieska's face. I, alone, once so busy, now find time hanging heavy on my hands. Can you come?"
"My only duty, Highness, is to serve you. That makes any duty a pleasure."
"Rather well done," she said with head on one side critically, "just a trifle stiff. I saw Carrick at the stable and anticipated your acquiescence. He is saddling a mount for you. Here he comes now," she added, as the clatter of hoofs on the flags approached from the direction of the stables.
The Cockney approached leading two horses. He held Trusia's foot as she leaped lightly into the saddle. After he was satisfied that she was properly mounted he came to the off side of Carter's horse. There was a request written in every line of the earnest face.
"Well?" asked Carter bending down from his saddle.
"May I go too, sir? Just as groom, sir. Please, sir?" he added, seeing a shade of dissent upon his master's face. "The truth is, sir, I 'ad a bad dream last night. Don't laugh," he pleaded as the corners of Carter's mouth twitched suggestively, "don't laugh. It was too real, too 'orrible. I thought an army rode over you and 'Er Grace and tramped you down. You called out to me to 'elp. I could 'ave saved you, but was too far away. Let me go, sir; just as groom. I'll keep far be'ind." The fellow was honestly distressed, so Carter sent him to Trusia, who gave him the desired permission. Then for the first time the Major noted that Carrick wore his sabre. The holster by his saddle held a revolver.
Carrick was far behind. Overhead the tattered roof of leaves made a lacework of the sun. Birds were singing; their bright eyes turned curiously on the young couple passing beneath their verdant bowers. Tiny feathered brides nodded dainty heads, urging the great, stupid, human fellow to sing the love song in his heart to the girl by his side. "Mate now," they chirped, "in leaf time, in flower time, while fields are warm and nature yielding. The great mother, herself, commands it."
The impulses of nature were astir in the breasts of both Trusia and Carter, awakening in each a silent rebellion against a destiny which was forcing them to talk of trivial nothings which add naught to the greater issues of life. So far they had bowed to the dictates of destiny, but were growing more and more restive under the self-imposed restraint.
The horses stopped to drink from a stream which crossed their path. Carter, glancing in the direction of its source, saw that a heavy limb had fallen from a dead tree, blocking the passage of what had otherwise been but a wavering string of water. Restrained, however, it had mounted higher and higher, until at last, broadened, strengthened, and deepened, it had swept triumphantly over the dam and kept on its way. He felt that he was undergoing the same process in restraining the natural expression of his love for Trusia. Unconscious of his comprehension, she, too, had grasped the lesson of the stream. Their satiny nozzles dripping sparkling drops of water, the horses resumed their progress beneath the forest colonnade.
Trusia turned to him. Her resolution had been difficult to reach.
"When Krovitch is free," she said, "you must still remain with our army." She observed him covertly as she awaited his reply. The hopefulness, which at first drew him erect, gradually disappeared, leaving in its wake the bending lines of despair. There was a drawn look in his face as he turned to answer.
"No," he said, and moodily turned his eyes away again.
"That means you will return to America." A subtle sensitiveness could have construed this to embrace a query, a request and a regret. The slightest quiver inflected her voice as she had spoken, but she bravely finished without a break. Poor girl, she, too, was suffering. She was sending away herideal lover with only a meagre taste of maiden romance to make life all the more sorrowful for the having. All this he felt. As he recognized what it must mean to her—to any woman—deprived of man's right of initiative in declaration, he was tempted to gather her roughly in his arms and carry her away from duties, friends, country even, to fulfil her own happiness, which was his. The maxillary muscles ached with the strain his restraint put upon them.
"I must go. I must," he replied. "Pride, honor, sanity demand it."
"It is better so," she said softly as she bent her head. She, a Jeanne D'Arc to her people, was inured to sacrifice. Above all, sweet and clean, she saw Duty shine through Love as the sun shone through the leaves above her head. So was the royal duchess fortified for her future. Then Trusia, beautiful and desirable, Trusia, the woman, rebelled that destiny should have ignored her in the plans for Trusia the princess.
"I will never see you again—as a dear friend—after you have gone. But I—but Krovitch will never forget you." Then in her royal pride that felt no noble confession could shame her womanhood, she turned almost fiercely upon him.
"Oh, why was I chosen for the sacrifice? Whycouldn't I be as other women? Natalie need not drive her friends away. Alone; I stand alone." Her breath came in short, sobbing gasps which she fought courageously to silence.
Carrick was far behind. Forgetting everything except the quivering heart of the girl beside him, Carter leaned over and drawing her gently toward him, patted the convulsive shoulders with awkward masculine solace. Like a child in the shelter of maternal arms, the glossy head, forgetful for the instant, nestled against his shoulder, soothed and at peace. While Duty had manacled the queen, the woman had been justified. Then she sighed. With a weary gesture of renunciation she sat upright in her saddle, looking directly to the front. A single tear hung quivering on her lashes.
"Another dream for the Queen to sigh over," she commented with a quick laugh, flavored of wormwood.
"Why must it be?" he queried. "You do not love the King." Then all the tide of courage flooding past his lips, he asserted against all denial,—"You love me."
The regal head drooped as she turned from him.
"'I would not love you, dear, so much,Loved I not honor more,'"
she quoted sadly.
"But it is not honor; it is sacrifice," he argued.
"What duty is not?" she questioned sadly.
"It is madness," he fumed impotently.
"Think of my people." She shook her head in magnificent self-abnegation, putting aside the tenderer visions which were thronging her heart, picturing her life with the man at her side. "Their welfare demands it."
He leaned across to plead with her. The loose flying tresses of her hair touched his cheeks in elusive salute. They beckoned him closer and ever closer. His heart could be heard, he feared, so loudly did it beat. He could feel the great red surges being pumped through arteries, too small for their impulsive torrents. They choked him.
"Trusia," he cried hoarsely, for the first time using her Christian name. The entire soul of the man, every particle of his entity, had entered into the saying of that name.
Startled, she turned to learn the reason for his vehemence; that voice had spoken so compellingly to her eyes, ears, heart and body, and had sought out every resistance and overcome it. Her eyes, held captive to his gaze, were wide with question.
"I love you," he continued with quiet masterfulness, as one who, staking all on one throw of thedice, dispenses with pretense and braggadocio in the face of despair. "Listen to me. I would make you happy. I'd be your devoted slave, till white-haired, aged and blissful, life should pass from us gently as the echoes of a happy song of spring."
"You make it so hard for me," she said pleadingly.
"Forgive me, sweetheart, but love will not be denied," he answered. "Let the King have Krovitch, and you come with me." His face was close to hers, his heart was slowly, strongly closing on her own fluttering heart.
She felt that, unless she could at once throw off the spell, in another minute she would be limply lying in his arms in complete surrender to his plea. For a long eternity it seemed that, strive as she would, she could not conquer herself. Then she sat erect; the victory was won.
"I cannot; I cannot," she replied tensely, the last modicum of will summoned to resist what he sought and she desired. "The King"—she began, bethinking her of her reason; "you know that he is not always prudent. Mine is a hot-headed though loyal people. I must be by to guide him—for Krovitch. But, ah, 'twill be with a heavy heart!"
He leaned across from his saddle. "I care not for Krovitch so much as you do. Tell me that you love me."
She turned away her face that the eye of the man might not see and be blinded by the white light of the woman's love which shone in her own countenance.
"Say it, Trusia," he urged; "say it for my soul's peace."
With a royal pride in the confession, she turned her head, meeting his regard with level eyes.
"I love you, Calvert," she responded simply.
Carrick was far behind. Though she struggled faintly, he drew her to him. Her face was turned up to his. Her eyes shone misty, dark and wonderful, like the reflection of stars on the shimmering waters of a lake. They illumined his soul. Her lips for the first time received a kiss from any lover. Then cheek to burning cheek, they passed the crest of a little hill and rode slowly down its thither side.
Like an accusation, from some place behind them, rang out the unmistakable clang of sword on sword. They reined in their horses to listen.
"Carrick," hazarded Trusia, voicing the premonition paralyzing both. Then, forgetful of self, in the chivalrous creed of her race, she pointed back in thedirection of the noise. "Go," she commanded, "he needs you."
"But you?" he demurred, his first thought, lover-like, being for her safety. His eyes fell approvingly upon the thick covert by the roadside. He nodded suggestively toward it.
"Yes, I'll be safe—I'll hide," she promised eagerly; "now go." He fairly lifted his horse from its feet as he swung it around. In mighty bounds it carried him over the crest of the hill.
Two hundred yards away, Carrick could be seen defending himself gamely against the combined attack of three mounted men. Something, even at that distance, about their uncouth horses and absurdly high saddles, sent a shiver of recognition through Carter. He had seen thousands of their ilk along the Neva. The trio of strangers were Russian Cossacks. How had they passed the Krovitch outposts some miles back? The boldness of their onslaught argued the presence of reinforcements in the neighborhood. Could it be part of a reconnoissance in force? The sudden memory of the passing of the invisible army in the darkness came back to Carter with sinister meaning. He realized that it had been an invasion by a Russian army. Krovitch had been betrayed—by Josef. Carrick was in danger.
He roweled the horse's side. The animal, smarting under the punishment, plunged forward like some mad thing. Settling firmly back in his saddle for the crash to come, Carter drew his sabre with the yell that had swept the Americans up San Juan Hill and the Spaniards out of Cuba.
One Cossack, startled at the unexpected shout, turned his head for an instant in the direction of the approaching succor. It served for Carrick. Like a tongue of lightning his nimble sword entered the tough brown throat. Even from that distance the American could distinguish the "Ht" of the brute as he fell, lifeless, in the road. In order to make short work of the agile swordsman, the other two closed grimly in. The Cockney had had some difficulty in disengaging his blade from the falling man, permitting his adversaries to push their ponies so close to his sides that he could work only with a shortened blade. Appreciating what terrific additional handicap this would be to Carrick, Carter was yet scarcely prepared for the immediate tragedy that followed. Like the phantasmagoria of dreams, he saw the Cockney, cut, slashed, and pierced, fall heavily from his horse.
Just a second too late, he burst upon them. With the yell of a baffled animal Carter hurled himself upon the nearest Cossack. His fury was volcanic.Terrified by such titanic rage the pair gave way as to something superhuman, wielding an irresistible sword. Blood-lust made him see everything through a mist, red and stinging. He was a Cave Man. His opponents were pigmies who shrank back, appalled, by his murderous might. One Slav saw death beckon him, so fell, wild-eyed, to the ground, his neck spurting a fountain of blood. The other, too paralyzed with terror to fight or flee, stood irresolutely in the mid-road, his ugly face twitching with an idiotic grin. Carter, hell in his heart, rode fiercely against his horse. The Cossack raised a futile blade. Carter battered it down with vengeful satisfaction, driving its point through the fellow's heart.
The last of the Russian trio lay dead upon the ground, but Carter, in short nervous excursions, rode back and forth as he searched for new prey. The mood for killing—and killing—was upon him. He was a primitive savage.
His horse shied violently and stood still. Blinded with rage, the rider would have wreaked his unreasoning hatred on the animal who, even for a second, had stopped the ceaseless, prowling movements inseparable from the man's strange jungle mood. With a curse he drove his spurs deep. The poor brute quivered, but would not budge.Carter looked ahead of him to ascertain the cause, determined if it was a living obstacle, to batter, slash, and cut it into nothingness.
He met the white, smiling face of Carrick, who, dying, was striving to regain his feet. The red mist of carnage passed from Carter's eyes and sanity came back to him. Dismounting, he bent over the stricken Cockney.
"I was insane, Carrick, old chap," he said brokenly, as he drew his hand heavily across his aching brow. "I thought they had done for you." A sob choked him, caused by the recollection of the dream the fellow had urged as a reason for accompanying his master. The tables had turned bitterly against him.
Looking with that affection in his eyes that sometimes does exist between men, Carrick saw the thought with the weird prescience of the dying. "Dreams go by contraries, sir," he said and attempted a laugh.
"But it might have been Her Grace, Carrick, old man. You have saved her life." He grasped the fast chilling hand and wrung it fervently.
"Her Grace is safe, then?"
Carter striving busily to stanch half a score of wounds, nodded affirmatively.
"It's my last scrap, sir," the Cockney said simply.
"Nonsense. We'll pull you through." Carter lied manfully, but the other shook his head in resignation to the inevitable.
"She's a lydey—you understand—but would it be too great a shock—to 'er—for me to speak to 'er—before—before—I croak?" he stammered wistfully.
"I'll get her, old man." Gently he lifted the wounded Carrick, carried him to where, aside from the road, a bed of moss made a more comfortable pillow for the stricken red head, then, with a sigh, he set out to bring Trusia. Roweling deep, he raced with Death to bring a woman's solace to a dying man.
"Where is Carrick?" Her question came from the thick copse in which she was concealed. "You have had news, I know," she said, stepping into view and glancing searchingly into his troubled countenance. "Is he wounded?" He could have gathered her into his arms and kissed her as she stood before him, but that the very air seemed charged with impending disaster. As gently as brevity would permit, he told her of Carrick's fate. Together they rode swiftly back to where Carrick lay, fighting his last triumphant adversary, Death himself.
"No Lunnon sights to see," he muttered in his delirium; "no concert songs to'ear.... Ah, Meg, you was cruel 'ard on poor Tod, but damn you, I loves you still."
"A woman betrayed him," she said. Carter nodded a grim assent. Her lips quivered. Her eyes brimmed to the brink with priceless womanly sympathy. "Perhaps," she said rising and turning away, "perhaps he wouldn't care for us to know."
Carter drew her back gently. "I don't think he would mind—if you knew. Poor chap, his has certainly been a hard fate."
Responding to the appeal in their hearts, which penetrated the numbing faculties, Carrick, in one final effort, threw off the shackles of Death and stood free for a season. His eyes opened at first without recognition for the pair bending over him. Then a gradual joy warmed the cooling embers of his life.
"'Ighness," he cried; the neighborhood of Death stripped his speech to its native crudeness. "'Ighness, a man carries to 'is grave the face of one woman in 'is 'eart. Hi knows that much to me sorrow. Captain, 'ere, beggin' your pardon, loves you, but daren't sye so for fear of 'Is Majesty. You don't love the King, you love Captain Carter. God bless 'im, 'e's the best man ever breathed. For Gawd's sake, 'Ighness, don't let 'im carry your sweet face to the grave with 'im unless your love goes with hit. You two was made for each other."
As a blade loses its sharpness from continuous wear, so dulled the eyes of Carrick in his combat with Death. In the bitterness of his strife he struggled to his elbow. Who can tell of the range of one's soul or the might thereof? On the brink of Eternity, Life wrestled with Death. The body wasto be bared of the soul. Was the soul to be stripped of the associations it had formed in this existence? Might it not also strive for a continuance of its entity even as the man struggled for further living? Does the soul return to a nebulous state without further initiate perceptions after a life—a span—of activity? Was it merely recollections, or did his desperate spirit revisit the route of its life in a fruitless flight from Death? His voice came from far away, and what he said showed that he was at least living over the older days.
"Don't Let 'im Carry Your Sweet Face to the Grave With 'im Unless Your Love Goes With It""Don't Let 'im Carry Your Sweet Face to the Grave With 'im Unless Your Love Goes With It"
"Yes, Meg, Hi loves you. There hisn't a king, girl, has Hi would change plyces with for you.... Posies for yer winder. Let 'em grow, till we've other posies in our 'ome. Yer blushin', Meg. Ha! Ha!... Oh, Gawd, me 'eart's broke.... Forget?... Hit's you, Doc Judson, as will look arter Captain Carter now. Good-bye, Doc.... Why, there's 'er face again. Damn you, Meg. Hi hates you, but Hi loves you.... Captain Carter.... Ah-h-h."
His struggle with Love, with Life, and with Death was over. With a long-drawn sigh of relief his spirit had passed. His head was turned to the man who had befriended him.
Hand in hand, Trusia and Carter arose and stood over the pulseless form. Trusia was the first to speak.
"We cannot leave him here, dear. Poor, poor Carrick," and she threatened to sob. Carter slipped his arm about her comfortingly. As though returning, birdlike, to its nest, her head cradled itself against his shoulder, her arm timidly sought his neck and for one brief second she was content.
"Come," he said almost brutally to dissipate the apathy which death had thrown upon them both. "I'll carry him." He assisted her to mount, then, Carrick in his arms, he scrambled into the saddle. As they swung at a gallop out of the woods, a shot whistled past his head.
"Are you hurt, dear?" she cried.
"No; these woods seem Russianized, though. Pray heaven the road is not," and with strained eyes to the front, with word and spur, they raced for the lane to the castle.
"Something is amiss, dear; I know; I feel it. Still no matter what it is," she said, turning and laying her hand with a trustful little movement upon his arm, "I have your love, my King." With one foot on the flat step of the castle entrance, as she said this Trusia turned to Carter, a world of capitulated love in her eyes. The wicket opened with a more ominous creak than was its wont, it seemed. The Sergeant thrust his shaggy pate through thenarrow opening in answer to their knock. On seeing who it was he stepped out to where he would have ample space for the full salute he always gave Her Grace. Some perplexity on the simple face aroused her forebodings anew.
"What is it, Sergeant?" she inquired anxiously. "Who is here?"
"Can't make heads or tails of it, Your Grace; not that I have any right to, but one gets figuring on what is going on around him when he is idle. It must be very important, since Colonel Sutphen has been summoned from the frontier. Count Zulka has not arrived yet, but a courier was sent for him, too. His Majesty is also here, but it seems that Count Sobieska sent out all the orders. The courier from Paris arrived about an hour before the Privy Council was summoned. Then Josef was sent for. Then, though kept in the office, he was put under arrest. Search has been made everywhere for Your Grace. My commands were to invite you to enter as soon as you could be found. I will announce you."
"You must come, also," the girl insisted, turning to Carter.
"But Carrick?" he objected, as he looked down at the lifeless figure in his arms.
"Bring him in," she replied. "Though toolate to do him further service, Krovitch shall not forget his devotion and his sacrifice."
They opened and entered the door of Sobieska's office. A faint commotion heralded the sight of Carrick which Carter attributed to natural surprise; he had no idea that it held a deeper significance. He placed the blood-stained form upon a leather lounge, folding the hands across the breast. The pallid features seemed to have taken on a strange nobility in death.
It needed but a scant glance to prove that something was wrong, an odd repression filled the air with a myriad silent surmises. Trusia's eyes were blazing. Then Carter, following their direction, noted that the Minister of Private Intelligence, against all etiquette, was seated calmly at his desk, while His Majesty was standing. Josef, at one corner of the room, was guarded by the pair of soldiers who had been placed to watch Carter and Carrick the day of their arrival. A strapping young fellow, pale and mud-splashed, a bandage about his head, his left arm in a sling, leaned heavily against the wainscoting.
As Trusia courtesied low to Stovik, Sobieska arose, a slight frown marking a thin line between his brows, to bow sadly in the direction of the body on the lounge. His back was deliberately turnedupon the Parisian with such studied insolence of action that the Duchess could not permit it to pass unrebuked.
"The King!" she said.
There followed—silence. Stovik and the courier dropped to their knees with bowed heads. Sobieska, gloom encircled, stood with bent head and quivering lips. His sombre eyes were fixed upon the inanimate Cockney as though to this modern he would recall the miracle of Lazarus. Then out of the well of his woe, came his voice, deep, and grief-laden. In the simplicity of life's greatest emotion, he pointed toward the couch.
"The King?" he questioned, looking straight into Trusia's eyes now. "The King? Does not your blood—your common heritage—tell you that the King is dead? God rest His Majesty."
She turned from one to the other in total bewilderment; finally, as though trusting none other, she came to Carter for enlightenment. He had comprehended in a glance.
"What do they mean?" she begged plaintively. "My poor head is awhirl in all this gloom."
"Carrick is King," he answered. A single tear, a perfect pearl of pity, hung abashed upon her cheek.
"It is so," assented the Minister, as she awaitedhis confirmation. Gradually her grief dried in the realization of the awful deception which had been practiced by some one on her country. The flame of her burning rage shot suddenly into sight.
"What treason brought him here, then?" she asked haughtily, pointing indignantly at Stovik.
The latter smiled deprecatingly, as Sobieska answered, "Part of a Russian plot, Highness, of which, so far as we can ascertain, this gentleman has been the innocent victim. It was by such a plan they sought to lure all the patriots within the boundaries of our land, then to draw their net about us. I pray God that we still have time."
"Who was it?" she inquired with lips white and drawn, and brow contracted.
"Josef."
All eyes were turned upon the accused, whose inscrutable countenance underwent no shadow of a change, no fear of death was there, no regret for infamy. If the expression had altered at all, it was to display a shade more of triumphant insolence. The Duchess turned sternly to him.
"Is this true?" she asked, loathing the necessity of speaking to him. Yet there was no passion in her voice; the situation was too grave for that.
He smiled his hateful, unchanging smile, as he bowed a taunting assent.
"You shall die," she said, in the same level tones. She was not cruel, had not lost an iota of her womanliness. The crushing magnitude of his falsity to her country made her forget that she was aught else than the regent for these people and that here was a matter of primitive, vindictive justice which must be settled by her hand.
"When?" Josef's tone ridiculed the sentence imposed.
"At dawn," she answered, her scornful glance sweeping his colorless face.
For the first time, his aspect was nearly that of a man. He held his head erect, the cringe disappeared from his back, the obsequiousness from his manner. Then while an eye might wink, he took on the appearance of a snake with high-held head—about to strike.
"In about one hour," he boldly asserted, "the troops of His Imperial Majesty will have surrounded, yes, and entered this place. If harm comes to me, you all shall swing. Schallberg, Lore, Bagos are already ours. What," he continued with a comprehensive sneer, including all present, "did you think that you had conquered the Bear so handily?"
They felt it was the unwelcome truth he was speaking. All day the distant booming of guns hadsounded in their ears as the "death bells" ring for the superstitious gude-wife.
"All last night as you laughed and danced," Josef continued, "a Russian army, unchallenged, passed your gates, and could have taken you all. Knowing that it had you safe when needed, it pushed on to the bigger game, the capture of your capital. At daybreak it began battering down those walls you thought you held so firmly."
The wrath, gathering in a purple cloud on Sutphen's brow, now broke into a storm. "He must have known," he said pointing at the pseudo-king. "He appointed you officer of the day," and the outraged Colonel wheeled about on Josef, who scarcely deigned a smile of commiseration for such ignorance.
"He knew nothing," he finally volunteered. "I brought him here so that if Russia won, I could save my dupe. If Krovitch won, a true revelation of his real status would make him my debtor for life."
"Why?" Sobieska asked amid a stillness freighted with the prophecy of a startling revelation. All held their breath as Josef, turning slowly from countenance to countenance, read the disdain which he inspired.
"He has kissed you," he said pointing a bonyfinger at Trusia, "and would have married you." Her face crimsoned at the memory of that betrothal salute, formal and public as it had been. Waiting until the scene had time to rise before her eyes, he continued that by no chance should the import of his words be missed, "He is my son." The pride of the parent snake was in the eyes that he turned upon the Parisian, who turned his head away, ashamed of such regard.
"May God forgive us both," he whispered, "but I disown you."
For the first time a hint of color appeared in the parchment hue of Josef's cheek and for the first time a human note sounded in his voice. "My son," he began with a slight outstretching of his hands, "my son, I wanted you to be wealthy, great, not the spawn of a hereditary servitor, not a struggling artist." Slowly, as he realized that the artist would have none of him, the wonted bitter look crept back into his face, leaving it wan as ever, while additional defiance increased the grim lines about his mouth.
There followed a breathless silence. Somewhere, to the actual pain of all but one present, a bird was singing in the outside world. The sound came faintly to their ears as from another existence—the shadow sound of dreams. In the room itself reigned thecold stillness of death. Then gradually a sigh of sounds crept in. Increasing in volume, it shaped itself into an approaching medley of shouts, hoof-beats, scattering rifle shots, a fierce sentry challenge, a reply,—then a steed halted on the stone flags of the courtyard. They waited breathlessly for the added disaster all felt was coming. Their senses, cloyed by grief, knew that whatever it was of ill-omen, it could not touch them now. Still they listened. The wicket in the entrance door was heard to open. An irregular, halting, desperate step came up the hall.
With a lunge, the door flung open. Zulka, bleeding, grimy, and gasping, tottered into the room.
"Schallberg! Schallberg!" he whispered faintly, "Lore! Bagos! all are taken!" And he fell heavily to the floor.
They pressed forward, excepting Josef, who, in the prevailing excitement slipped from the room. His escape was unnoticed for the time being, as Zulka, struggling to his feet, told them the story of the attack upon the capital and the death blow to their hopes.
"You left your post alive, Paul," said Her Highness reproachfully.
"Don't say that," he begged, raising his hopeless face to read her condemnation. "With the fivesurvivors of the last assault, I escaped, Highness, to bring the news, so that you might be saved. My companions mark the road to Schallberg. The enemy followed me to your very gates. I wish," he said, with a gulping sob, "that I, too, lay dead with those brave fellows in the ruins of our ancient capital." He raised his face, all powder-stained, as he searched the room with eyes that glowed with a desire for righteous vengeance. No countenance present wore the insignia of guilt. "Where is the traitor?" he asked. For the first time Josef's absence was noted.
Sobieska ran to the door. "Stop Josef before he gets to the road," he cried to the sergeant, who seemed utterly amazed at such a command.
"Excellency," he replied, "Josef never passed me through this door." Trusia approached the excited Minister.
"It is no use to attempt to stop him," she said with a shake of the head. "He knows of the secret passage to the inn. Doubtless he has already joined his comrades."
Sobieska groaned. "He'll give the alarm. We will be cut off."
"If we want to save Her Grace," said Carter, "we will have no time to lose. We do not wish to be mewed up here. We'd better make a dash forthe forest and trust to God to reach the frontier. Take this, Paul," he said, thrusting a flask into the hands of the nobleman, who was swaying upon uncertain legs. "Brace up." He caught his friend as the latter was about to topple over.
"It must be Trusia first," said the Krovitzer, grasping the American's hand with a pressure which was fervently returned.
"It will always be Trusia," he replied firmly.
Not yet enlightened, Zulka now approached Delmotte, before whom he knelt. "Your Majesty absolves me for leaving my post?" he besought.
"I am not your king, Count," said the Parisian, honestly chagrined at his false position. "He lies dead over there," and he indicated the temporary bier. "I have unhappily been the victim of an imposture." Then hurriedly Sobieska recited to Zulka the outline of the conspiracy and Delmotte's connection with it.
"If you will let me help," said the artist appealing to them all, "I'll show you that though a bourgeois Frenchman, I know how to die."
Trusia held out her hand impulsively. "I thank you, monsieur," she said simply. "Forgive me if I have been late in discovering that you are a brave man."
Divested of his fancied power, Delmotte wasagain the amiable boulevardier, as could be seen by the manner in which he received the plaudits of the men, with whom he now was rated as a comrade-in-arms.
Zulka, meanwhile, having learned how Sobieska had unearthed Carrick's claims to the crown, had approached and lifted the lifeless hand to his lips.
"May God rest Your Majesty," he murmured reverently. He arose and spoke quietly to his companions. "He must be interred before we leave. In a few days, no doubt, the castle will be razed to the ground. It is not fitting that a King of Krovitch should be the feast of wolves and ravens."
So Carrick, with a scanty following, was carried to the little chapel, behind the throne-room, where the sarcophagi of the ancient kings could be seen lining the walls.
Upon his head they placed the crown. His hands were crossed upon the sceptre he had never dreamed of wielding, while, dearer than all to him in life, upon his breast they placed the heirloom he had prized,—the grand medal of the Lion.
His body was placed in the mausoleum of the first Stovik, his ancestor. No royal name was cut, but the place of his burial was deeply graved in the hearts of all present. Had he lived he had been afarcical king, but dead he was as imposing as the grandest monarch of them all.
Sorrowfully they turned and left the mortuary. Returning to Sobieska's office, impelled by the necessities of the moment, they plunged into the plans for an immediate flight from the castle.
"The highways are already swarming with Cossacks," said Zulka. "Once gain the shelter of the woods, however, and we can hide by day and travel at night until we reach the frontier."
"How many have we in the garrison?" inquired Trusia, who had instinctively placed herself at Carter's side.
"Half a platoon of cavalry," replied Sobieska gravely, thinking of the meagreness of their force for the occasion.
"One more," said Muhlen-Sarkey entering the room. He bent above Trusia's extended hand as serenely as though they were both figuring in a court function and not a congress of death.
"Living nearer Schallberg," he explained, "I saw how matters stood, and immediately packed off the women folk to the boundaries. I then came here to offer my services, my sword, if necessary."
"Courageous heart," applauded Trusia, touched by the old fellow's loyalty. At her commendationhis face, as round as a schoolboy's, lighted up with happiness.
"The roads?" Carter questioned eagerly.
The old nobleman shook his head, regretting that he could furnish no information concerning their state. "I do not know. Anticipating that they would be crowded, though," he coughed suggestively, and his eyes twinkled, "I came through the woods. Met one inquisitive young Russian. Convinced him it would be impossible for him to tell all he knew." The Treasurer touched his sword with a gesture which the men understood. "He contracted an impediment to his speech."
While the horses were being hastily saddled, Trusia had the garrison assembled in the courtyard and explained to the heart-broken soldiers that Krovitch's dream of independence was over, giving them free permission to leave their colors at once if any so desired. When she called for volunteers to aid in her escape every man sprang forward, loudly cheering Trusia, then Krovitch.
"Marie, you are to go with the first detachment. You, Therese, with the second. Your mistress will ride with the gentlemen of her household."
Clad in the Duchess's clothes, as they had volunteered devotedly, the better to throw off pursuit from Her Grace, the maids with many tearful protestations of undying loyalty took their allotted places in the cavalcade which was forming in the courtyard of the castle.
"First section," rang out the preliminary command, "draw sabres. By fours, left. March. Trot," and the first of the forlorn hope was started. The troops swung by the little group which held Trusia in its centre. As the head of the scanty column came abreast of where she sat in her saddle, the lieutenant, Casimir, turned on his horse, his voice husky with emotion, to give a command. "Present sabres," he cried, and a score of blades were pointed heavenward, perhaps for the last time for the royal house of Schallberg. Something caught in Trusia's throat as the gallant band swept by to challenge Death thatshemight live.
After these had turned into the narrow incline, Marie in their midst, the second detachment followed, gravely saluting their loved liege lady.
Swords in hand, then, came the grave-faced men who had borne her hopes for Krovitch in their hearts. Courageous as any knights of old, their faces betrayed what an awful price they considered this flight to be. Alone, they would have preferred to have fought it out to the last drop of blood in their veins, but had yielded to the expedient because the girl's safety was dearer to them than their most cherished wish. At the foot of the declivity, the entire force reunited before finally debouching into the road.
"Should our party be attacked," suggested Sobieska, "it is imperative that Her Grace should be hurried right on to the frontier without awaiting the issue of the combat. Some one must accompany her. Will Your Highness choose?" he turned to her with a deep bow, a wistful light glowing in his cynical eyes.
"If Major Carter will accompany me," she said almost timidly, "I will select him." The others pressed forward to wring his hand in silence.
"We are ready, Lieutenant Casimir, advance your men," cried Sutphen.
"Columns of eights. First section to the right,second section to the left. March. Trot. Gallop," rang out the commands, as, with their last cheer for Krovitch, the troopers dashed into the highway to clear the space for Trusia. A wild confusion of sounds apprised those waiting that at least one party had engaged adversaries.
"Now," shouted Carter rising in his stirrups. With an involuntary cheer, they bolted for the cover of the woods across the road. They beheld Casimir's little band hotly engaged with an entire troop of cavalry, but it was stubbornly, unyieldingly, holding the Cossacks back. On the left the remaining squad merely awaited the passing of the Duchess to go to their comrades' assistance.
With such speed as the underbrush and rough ground would permit, the court party, headed by the white-haired Sutphen, plunged onward to the lane which led to the charcoal burner's hut. They were soon beyond even the sounds of the conflict. Carter, riding at Trusia's right, saw the tears gathering for the devoted heroes they had deserted of such cruel necessity.
They swept into the narrow lane and reached the crest of that little hill where sudden sorrow had made mock of sudden joy. Coming toward them, as if apprised of their neighborhood, they saw a squadron of Russian cavalry numerically overwhelming. Both parties stopped for the breathing space preliminary to the death grip.