CHAPTER XV
At last it was over. The intolerable evening had dragged itself to an end. Topham had laughed and joked and made merry far beyond his custom or his nature, trying to dull the sting at his heart and to conceal from Stites and his companions the misery that oppressed him. He had met scores of men and women; had received dozens of informal invitations from the men; and had laid the foundations of many friendships.
But all the while he was longing to be alone—to get time to think what was portended by this amazing apparition of the woman he loved. At last, when the throng had thinned; when the last of his new-made friends had nodded himself away; when even Stites had left him with a warning that on the morrow he would “show him some stunts”, Topham wandered to the edge of the broad terrace in front of the hotel and sat down to think.
The night was redolent of perfume. The gardens—the wonderful Japanese gardens where all sense of distance is lost and one wanders throughmiles of woodland, climbs mountains, and crosses lakes, all in the space of a few yards—stretched around him, limitless and mysterious. No moon shone, but the planets globed themselves in the star-dusted heavens and cast a pale radiance over meadow and wood. A soft night wind, warm and caressing, whispered of the age-old mystery of the east. From far away rose the murmur of the city stirring in its invisible homes. The night birds called from the bushes.
Insensibly the calm stole on Topham’s senses, and his whirling thoughts composed themselves. The Countess had reached Tokio before him; from what Stites said she had been there for several weeks at least; most likely she had left Berlin almost as soon as he had, and had come by way of Russia and Port Arthur.
Why was she there? Had she come because of him or for some reason of her own? Had she known that he was under orders for Tokio before she met him in Berlin and could her kindness have concealed some plan to use him—him a naval officer in the United States service? Or was she really ignorant that he was bound for the east. He could not remember having told her, and she might very well not have known his destination—mighthave understood him to be permanently attached to the Nevada. Remembering what she had said of a task that she was working out, he could not but think that her presence in Japan had to do with that task.
If she were on an errand of her own, what was it? He remembered that Rutile had believed that the Kaiser would set conditions for the restoration of the lost duchy; probably the countess was trying to fulfill these conditions.
But what were the Kaiser’s conditions. Shrink as he might from questioning the acts of the woman he loved, he could not forget the role that Stites had ascribed to her. Putting beside this her own assertions that association with her spelled peril to his honor the obvious explanation was that she was engaged in some proceeding inimical to his country—some conspiracy that it was his duty as an officer of the United States to discover and to crush.
He set himself to studying out the possible objects of a possible conspiracy. Clearly it involved Japan. But how? The obvious explanation was that it had to do with trade—the open door—Manchuria—China; but somehow Topham doubted whether the obvious explanation were the trueone. He remembered Stites’s assertion that Japan was preparing for war with the United States. But what had Germany to do in such a war, even if it should be contemplated? What could she possibly gain that would balance even the loss that would result from the disturbance of trade? The Kaiser had been angry when the United States seized the Philippines years before, but having held his wrath then, how could he hope to profit by it now? If Japan got the better of the struggle, the spoils would go to her and not to Germany. On its face, a Japanese-German war conspiracy against the United States was preposterous.
Yet he could not doubt that Germany was in some way for some reason involved. But how? But how? Mortified self pride played no part in Topham’s reflections. Although the Countess had “cut” him in the dining-room, decidedly, unmistakably, the fact had almost ceased to trouble him. She might have very good reasons for not desiring to seem to know him at that moment; he was content to wait for an explanation. Besides, he had more important things to think about.
A clatter of clogs on the stones of the terrace and a rustling of garments aroused him and he looked around to find a Japanese maid bowingprofoundly in the starlight just behind his right shoulder.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, startled. “What want?”
The girl closed her fan with a clash just as he had seen her sisters do it many a time on the stage in America.
“Ees thees the honorable Meester Topham?” she asked in a high harsh voice.
Topham nodded. “Yes!” he said, briefly. “You look for me, eh?” he questioned, inanely.
“He-e-e-sh!” The girl giggled. It struck Topham that there was something artificial about that giggle. It sounded stagy. Besides there was nothing for the girl to laugh at—unless it were himself. He moved uncomfortably.
“The honorable meester want to see honorable lady?”
“Ah!” Topham drew in his breath sharply. So this was it!
“Yes! Yes!” he answered, eagerly. “You come from her? Where is she?
“You love—honorable lady?” squeaked the girl.
Topham was past caution now. “More than life,” he cried. “Take me to her! Quick!”
The girl bowed humbly. “Honorable gentleman follow,” she commanded and turned away down awhite path that led into the depths of the garden.
Topham followed eagerly. All around him the grasses rustled in the night breeze. The crossed branches of the trees rubbed softly against each other. The scent of the water lilies grew sweeter.
So she brought him to the margin of a tiny lake set in the midst of turf that sank like velvet beneath his feet. There beside a carved statue of an unknown god she paused, and he paused, too, waiting for he knew not what.
Tiny wavelets broke on the white pebbles. The lily pads rocked on them, rising and sinking, shimmering white in the starlight. Suddenly the girl stood up, rising for the first time to her full height.
“Walter!” she cried. “Walter! Walter!”
Topham did not speak. He could not. But he held out his arms and drew her to his heart. “Elsa!” he murmured, after a while, and again, “Elsa! Elsa!”
She stirred in his arms. “I love you! I love you!” she murmured. “Ah! Do you know that I nearly fainted when you faced me there tonight! Cruel! Cruel! Not to give me warning!”
Topham drew her closer. “I did not know!” hebreathed. “I did not know. And yet how could I not know?”
Gently the countess freed herself. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Here! Where I can touch you, but not where I can look into your eyes. I—I could not trust myself else. Do you know dear, you have wonderful eyes.”
Topham laughed. “I! Nonsense! You mean thatyouhave!”
“No! I mean you have. There is enchantment in them, if you like. How else could a single glance from them across a crowded street bring me—me—Elsa de Ouro Preto—to your feet. My face burns when I think how I fell into your arms—and yet I would not have it otherwise. Dios! Walter! What have you done to me?”
“Not more than you have done to me—”
“Hush! There is no time. I shall be missed and then—”
“Missed. Who—”
“Now! Now! Now! No one you need trouble your head about. But let me talk. I am here on a political mission—you must have guessed that. I cannot let you become involved in it. There are reasons—you will not ask me for them—but thereare good reasons why you must not be suspected of any association with me or my work.”
Topham’s eyes grew troubled. “Tell me one thing,” he begged. “Tell me—”
“No! No! I can tell you nothing. I will not lie to you and I can not tell you the truth. You may suspect what you please. It is your right. But you may not ask me anything. It would do no good and might do much harm. That is why I pretended not to know you in the dining-room tonight. That is why I have slipped out to you in this guise. I could not come in any other. It is best that no one should know that you know me!”
“May I not meet you? May I not be presented? May I not—”
The countess’s breath came faster. “No! No!” she gasped. “No! No! I could not bear it. Besides there will be no chance. I leave tomorrow.”
The blood flowed back to Topham’s heart. Unconsciously his grasp upon the girl tightened until she could have screamed from very pain. “Tomorrow!” he muttered. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”
“I must.” The woman was sobbing. “I must! Duty calls. I have to leave for America—forWashington—for your own country, where I must work out my task. Where it will lead—what its consequences will be—God knows! I would give it up if I could, but I am bound by a promise to the dead. Dead lips can not give back the spoken word and I must go on. Ah!”—she turned and flung her arms fiercely around the man—“Ah! I am mad!—insane! But I love you! I love you!”
Over the shadowy pool the night mist hung, wavering in the starlight. A distant cataract—or was it a near-by rill—thundered away off in the night. The stones and grass were wet with dew. Topham saw them sparkling iridescent on the black island that rose in the middle of the lake.
Suddenly the woman sprang up. “They will miss me,” she cried. “I must go. There—there is danger.”
“Do not go. Not yet. Stay a little—only a little. It is so long—so long—”
“I must! I—I cannot see. There is a mist over my eyes—”
“It is a cloud! No, it your hair! No! it is my lips—”