CHAPTER XII.
NEAR THE EDGE.
'Will you give me back my--my chain, if you please?' she said timidly.
And she stood with clasped hands and blushing cheeks, as if she werethe culprit. Her eyes looked anywhere to avoid mine. Her voicetrembled, and she seemed ready to sink into the earth with shame. Shewas small, weak, helpless. But her words! Had they come from the judgesitting on his bench, with axe and branding-iron by his side, theycould not have cowed me more completely, or deprived me more quicklyof wit and courage.
'Your chain?' I stammered, stricken almost voiceless. 'What do youmean?'
'If you please,' she whispered, her face flushing more and more, hereyes filling. 'My chain.'
'But how--what makes you think that I have got it?' I mutteredhoarsely. 'What makes you come to me?'
To confess, of my own motive and unsuspected, had been bad enough andshameful enough; but to be accused, unmasked, convicted--and by her!This was too much. My face burned, my eyes were hot as fire.
She twisted the fingers of one hand tightly round the other, but shedid not look up. 'You took it from the child's neck as we passedthrough the ford,' she said in a low voice, 'that night I lost it.'
'I did!' I exclaimed. 'I did, girl?'
She nodded firmly, her lip trembling. But she never looked up; norinto my face!
Yet her insistence angered me. How did she know, how could she know? Iput the question into words. 'How do you know?' I said harshly. 'Whotold you so? Who told you this--this lie, woman?'
'The child,' she answered, shivering under my words.
I opened my mouth and drew in my breath. I had never thought of that.I had never thought, save once for a brief moment, of the childtalking, and, on the instant, I stood speechless; convicted andconfounded! Then I found my voice again.
'The child told you!' I muttered incredulously. 'The child? Why, itcannot talk!'
'It can,' she said, her voice breaking. 'It can talk to me, and I canunderstand it. Oh, I am so sorry!' And with that she broke down. Sheturned away and, covering her face with her hands, began to sobbitterly. Her shoulders heaved, and her slender frame shook with thestorm.
A thief, and a liar! That was what I had made myself. I stood glaringat her, my breast full of sullen passion. I hated her and hernecklace. I wished that it had been buried a thousand fathoms deep inthe sea! That moment in the ford, one moment only, a moment of folly,had wrecked me. I raged against her and against myself. I could havestruck her. If she had only left me alone, if she had not come toquestion me and accuse me, I should not have lied; and then, perhaps,I might have recovered the necklace, somehow and some day, and, givingit back to her, told her the story and kept my honesty. Now I hadlied, and she knew it. And I hated her. I hated her, sobbing andshaking and shivering before me.
And then a ray of sunlight, passing through the branches, fell on herbowed head. A hundred paces away, little more, they were striking thecamp. The men's voices, their harsh jests and rude laughter, reachedus. I heard one man called, and another, and orders given, and thejingle of the bits and bridles. All was unchanged, everything wasproceeding in its usual course. One thing only in the world wasaltered--Martin Schwartz, the steward.
I found no words to lie to her farther, to deny or protest; and whenwe had stood thus for a short time, she turned. She began to moveslowly away from me, though the passion of her tears seemed toincrease rather than slacken as she went, and shook her frame withsuch vehemence that she could scarcely walk.
For a time I stood looking after her in sullen shame, doing and sayingnothing to stay her. Then, suddenly, a change came over me. She lookedso friendless, so frail, and gentle and helpless, that, in the middleof my selfish shame, my heart smote me. I felt a sudden welling up ofpity and repentance, which worked so quickly and wonderfully in me,that before she had gone a score of paces from me, my hand was on hershoulder.
'Stop! Stay a moment!' I muttered hoarsely. 'I have been lying to you.I took the necklace--from the child's neck. It is all true.'
She ceased crying, but she did not turn or look at me. She seemed tobe struggling for composure, and presently, with her face stillaverted, she murmured--
'Why did you take it? Will you please to tell me?'
As well as I could, I did tell her; how and why I had taken it, what Ihad done with it, and how I had lost it. She listened, but she made nosign, she said nothing; and her silence hurt me at last so keenly thatI added with bitterness--
'I lied before, and you need not believe what I say now. Still, it istrue.'
She turned her face quickly to me, and I saw that her cheeks were hotand her eyes shining. 'I believe it--every word,' she said.
'I will not lie to you again.'
'You never did,' she answered. And she stole a glance at me, a faintsmile flickering about her lips. 'Your face never did, Master Martin.'
'Yet you wept sore enough for your chain,' I said.
She looked at me for a moment with something like anger in her gentleeyes, so that for that instant she seemed transformed. And she drewaway from me.
'Did you think that I wept for that?' she said in a tone of offence.'I did not.'
'Then for what?' I asked clumsily.
She looked two or three ways before she answered, and in the distancesome one called me.
'There! you are wanted,' she said hurriedly.
'But you have not answered my question,' I said.
She took a step from me and paused, with her head half turned. 'Iwept--I wept because I thought that I had lost a friend,' she said ina low voice. 'And I have few, Master Martin.'
She was gone, before I could answer, through the trees and back to thecamp. And I had to follow. Half a dozen voices in half a dozen placeswere calling my name. The general's trumpet was sounding. I slippedaside and joined the camp from another quarter, and in a moment was inthe middle of the hubbub, beset by restive horses and swaying poles,clanging kettles and swearing riders, and all the hurry and confusionof the start. My lady called to me sharply to know where I had been,and why I was late. The Waldgrave wanted this, Fraulein Max that. Thegeneral frowned at me from afar. It would have been no great wonder ifI had lost my temper.
But I did not; I was in no risk of doing so. I had gone near the edgeand had been plucked back. Late, and when all seemed over, I had beengiven a place for repentance; and gratitude and relief so filled mybreast that I had a smile for every one. The sun seemed to shine morebrightly, the wind to blow more softly--the wind which blew from MarieWort to me. Thank God!
As I fell in behind my lady--the general riding alone some way in therear--the Waldgrave came up and took his place at her side; greetingher with an awkward air which seemed to prove that this was his firstappearance in her neighbourhood. He made a show of hiding hisuneasiness under a face of careless gaiety, such as was his naturalwear; and for awhile he rattled on gallantly. But my lady's cool toneand short answers soon stripped him, and left him with no otherresource but to take offence. He took it, and for a mile or so rode onin gloomy silence, brooding over his wrongs. Then, anger giving way toself-reproach, he grew tired of this.
With a sudden gesture he leaned over and laid his hand on the withersof my lady's horse. 'Tell me, what is the matter, fair cousin?' hesaid in a softened tone. 'What have I done?'
'You should know,' she answered, giving him one keen glance, butspeaking more gently than before.
'I know?' he replied hardily. 'I am sure I don't.'
My lady shook her head. 'I think you do,' she said.
'I suppose you are angry with me for--for standing up for Germany lastnight?' he muttered, withdrawing his hand and speaking coldly in histurn.
'No, not for that,' my lady rejoined. 'Certainly not for that. But forbeing too German in one of your habits, Rupert. Which do you thinkmade the better figure last night--you who were flushed with wine, orGeneral Tzerclas who kept his head cool? You who bragged like a boy
,or General Tzerclas who said less than he meant? You who were rude toyour host; or he who made every allowance for his guest?'
'Allowance!' my lord cried, firing up at the word. And I could seethat he reddened to the nape of his neck with anger. 'There was noneed!'
'Yes, allowance,' my lady answered firmly. 'There was every need.'
'You would have me drink nothing, I suppose?' he said fretting andfuming.
'I would rather you drank nothing than too much,' she replied.'Because a German and a drunkard have come to mean the same thing, isthat a reason for deepening the reproach? For shame, Rupert!'
'You treat me like a boy!' he cried bitterly. And I thought that shewas hard on him.
'Well, you have only yourself to thank,' she retorted cruelly, 'if Ido. You behave like a boy. And I do not like to have to blush for myfriends.'
That cut him deeply. He uttered a half-stifled cry of anger and reinedin his horse. 'You have said enough,' he said, speaking thickly. 'Youshall have no farther cause to blush in my case. I will relieve you.'And on the instant, with a low bow, he turned his horse's head androde down the column towards the rear, leaving my lady to go on alone.
I confess I thought that she had been hard on him; perhaps she thoughtso too, now he was gone. And here were the beginnings of a prettyquarrel. But I did not guess the direction it was likely to take,until a horseman spurred quickly by me, and in a moment GeneralTzerclas, his velvet cloak hanging at his shoulder, had taken theWaldgrave's place, and with his head bent low over his horse's neckwas talking to my lady. I saw him indicate this and that quarter withhis gauntleted hand. I could fancy that this was Cassel, and thatFrankfort, and another his camp, and that he was proposing plans androutes. But what he said I could not hear. He had a low, quiet way oftalking, very characteristic of him, which flattered those to whom headdressed himself and baffled others.
And this, I suppose, it was that made me suspicious. For the longer Irode behind him and the more I considered him, the less I liked bothhim and the prospect. He was in the prime of his age and strength,inferior to the Waldgrave in height and the air of youth, but superiorin that which the other lacked--the bearing of a man of the world,tried by good and evil fortune, and versed in many perils. Cool andresolute, handsome in a hard-bitten fashion, gifted, as I guessed,with infinite address, he possessed much to take the fancy of a woman;particularly of such a one as my lady, long used to comfort, and nowlearning in ill-fortune the value of a strong arm.
The possibility of such an alliance, thus suddenly thrust on mynotice, chilled me. Anything, I said, rather than that. The Waldgravehad not left his post five minutes before I began to think of him withlonging, before I began to invest him with all manner of virtues. Atleast, he was a German, of a great and noble family, tied to the soil,and fettered in his dealings by a hundred traditions; while this manriding before me possessed not one of these qualities!
Von Werder's warning, which the loss of Marie Wort's necklace haddriven from my mind for a time, recurred with double force now, anddid not tend to reassure me. I listened with all my might, trying tolearn whether my lady was pledging herself to any course, for I knewthat if she once promised I should find it hard to move her. But Icould not catch a syllable, and presently there came an interruptionwhich diverted my thoughts.
One of the two men who rode in front, and served for the advancedguard of our party, came galloping back with his hand raised and agrin on his dark face. He pulled up his horse a few paces short ofGeneral Tzerclas and my lady, and reported that he had found theSaxon.
'What! Heller?' the general exclaimed. 'Here, Ludwig! Where are you?'
Ludwig, and I, and two or three more, spurred forward, and passing bymy lady, who reined in her horse, came a hundred paces farther on uponthe other trooper. He had dismounted and was stooping over a man'sbody, which lay under a great tree that stood a few yards from thetrack.
'So, so? He is dead, is he?' the captain cried, leaping from hissaddle.
'Ay, this hour or more,' the trooper answered with a grunt. 'Androbbed!'
'Robbed?' Ludwig shrieked. 'Then you have done it, you scoundrel.'
'Not I!' the fellow said coolly. 'Who ever it was killed him, robbedhim. You can see for yourself that he has been dead an hour or more.'
The sudden hope which had dawned in my breast sank again. The man layon his back, with his one eye staring, and his mean, livid face turnedup to the tree and the sunshine. His cap had fallen off, and a shockof hay-coloured hair added to the horror of his appearance. I tried invain to hide a qualm as I watched the soldiers passing their practisedhands over his clothes; but I was alone in this. No one else seemed tofeel any emotion. The dead man lay and his comrades searched him, andI heard a hundred ribald and loose things said, but not one thatsmacked of pity or regret. So the man had lived, without love ormercy, and so he died.
Ludwig stood up at last. 'He has not the worth of his boots upon him!'he said, with a savage snarl. And he kicked the body.
'Look in his cap!' I said.
A man took it up, but only to hold it out to me. Some one had alreadyripped it up with a knife.
'His boots!' I suggested desperately.
In a moment they were drawn off, turned up, and shaken. But nothingfell out. The dead man had been stripped clean. There was not so muchas a silver piece upon him.
We got to horse gloomily, one man the richer by his belt, another byhis boots. His arms were gone already. And so we left him lying underthe tree for the next traveller to bury, if he pleased. I know it hasan ill sound now, but we were in an evil mood, and the times wererough.
'The dog is dead, let the dog lie!' one growled. And that was hisepitaph.
With him disappeared, as it seemed to me, my last chance of recoveringthe necklace. Whoever had robbed him, that was gone. A week might seeit pass through a score of hands, a day might see it broken up, andspent, a link here and a link there. It was gone, and I had to facethe fact and make up my mind to its consequences.
I am bound to say that the reflection gave me less pain than I couldhave believed possible a few hours before. Then it would almost havemaddened me. Now it troubled me, but not beyond endurance, leading meto go over with a jealous eye all the particulars of my interview withMarie, but renewing none of the shame which had attended the firstdiscovery of my loss. By turning my head I could see the girl ploddingpatiently on, a little behind me in the ranks; and I turned often. Itno longer pained me to meet her eyes.
An hour before sunset we crossed the brow of a low, furze-coveredhill, and saw before us a shallow green valley or basin, through whichthe river wound in a hundred zigzags. The hovels of a small village,with one or two houses of a better size, stood dotted about the banksof the stream. Over the largest of the buildings a banner hung idly ona pole, and from this as from the centre of a circle ran out long rowsof wattled huts, which in the distance looked like bee-hives. Endlessranks of horses stood hobbled in another place, with a forest of cartsand sledges, and here a drove of oxen, and there a monstrous flock ofsheep. One of the men with us blew a few notes on a trumpet; and thesound, being taken up at once and repeated, in a moment filled themimic streets with a hurrying, buzzing crowd, that lent the scene allthe animation possible.
'So, this is your camp?' my lady exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.
'This is my camp,' General Tzerclas answered quietly. 'And it and Iare equally at your service. Presently we will bid you welcome after amore fitting fashion, Countess.'
'And how many men have you here?' she asked quickly.
'Two thousand,' he answered, with a faint smile.
My Lady Rotha: A Romance Page 13