Diane of the Green Van

by Leona Dalrymple

  CHAPTER XLIV

  THE TALE OF A CANDLESTICK

  The friendship of Aunt Agatha and Mr. Poynter miraculously grew. AuntAgatha, upon the following morning, took to wandering vaguely about thewooded shore and into Philip's camp, impelled by gracious concern forhis health, which she insisted upon regarding as impaired, and byeffusive gratitude for such trifling civilities as he had readilyproffered the day before. From there she wandered vaguely back to herniece's camp fire in a chronic state of worry about Carl.Discontented, unfailing in her melancholy reminiscences ofcannibalistic snakes and herons. Aunt Agatha plainly had no immediateintentions of any sort. She had no intention of lingering in camp, shesaid, accoutered solely with a hand bag! And she had no intention--noindeed!--of departing until Diane went back with her to the desertedWestfall house in St. Augustine, with the green mould and the cobwebsand cranky spiders and the croquet set in the cellar. Arcadia, ifDiane had not crushed the memory out of her heart, had had a parallel.

  Greatly disturbed by her aunt's melancholy state of uncertainty, Dianeone morning watched her set forth to gather lilies in the region ofPhilip's camp.

  The woodland about was very quiet. Diane lay back against the treetrunk and closed her eyes, listening to the welcome gypsy voices ofwind and water, to the noisy clapper rails in the island grass at theend of the lake and to the drone of a motor on the road to the north.Dimly conscious that Johnny was briskly scrubbing the rude table amongthe trees, she fell asleep.

  When she awoke, with a nervous start, Johnny was down at the edge ofthe lake scouring pans with sand and whistling blithely. Off there tothe west, with Aunt Agatha fussing at his heels, Philip wasgood-naturedly gathering the lilies at the water's edge. And some onewas approaching camp from the northern road.

  Diane glanced carelessly to the north and sprang to her feet with wildscarlet in her cheeks.

  Ronador was coming through the forest.

  His color was a little high, his eyes, beneath the peak of his motoringcap profoundly apologetic, but he was easier in manner than Diane.

  "I'm offending, I know," he said steadily, "and I crave forgiveness,but muster an indifferent gift of patience as best I may, I can notwait. It is weeks, you recall--"

  Diane flushed brightly.

  "Yes," she said. "I know. I have been in the Everglades."

  "Your aunt told me." Ronador searched her face suddenly with peculiarintentness. He might have added, with perfect truth, that to AuntAgatha, who had indiscreetly afforded him a glimpse of her niece'sletter, might be attributed the halting of the long, black car on theroad to the north. "You have no single word of welcome, then!" hereproached abruptly and impatiently brushed his hair back from hisforehead with a hand that shook a little.

  From the north came the clatter of a motorcycle.

  Diane held out her hand.

  "Let us make a mutual compact!" she exclaimed frankly. "I haveoverstrained your patience--you have startled me. Let us both forgive.In a sense we have neither of us kept strictly to the letter of ouragreement."

  Ronador bent with deference over the girl's outstretched hand andbrushed it lightly with his lips, unconscious that her face had grownvery white and troubled. Nor in his impetuous relief was he aware thatother eyes had witnessed the eloquent tableau and that Aunt Agatha hadarrived in camp with an escort who quietly deposited an armful ofdripping lilies upon the camp table and oddly enough made no effort toretire.

  When at length, conscious of the electric constraint of the atmosphere,Ronador wheeled uncomfortably and met Philip's level glance, he staredand reddened, hot insolent anger in the flash of his eyes and the curlof his lips.

  "Dear me!" faltered Aunt Agatha, guiltily conscious of the letter, "Iam surprised, I am indeed! Who ever would have thought of seeing youhere, Prince, among the trees and--and the ground doves and--and allthe lilies!" The unfortunate lady, convinced by now that Ronador'sapparent resentment concerned, in some inexplicable way, her escort,herself and the lilies, glanced beseechingly about her. "And what withthe lilies," she burst forth desperately in apology for the inopportunearrival of herself and her escort, "what with the lilies, Prince, andthe water so wet--though, dear me! it was not to be wondered at, ofcourse--growing wild in the water that way--and only one gown and thehand bag--though to be sure I can't wear the hand bag, and wouldn't ifI could---Mr. Poynter, with his usual courtesy was good enough to carrythe lilies into camp when I asked him."

  "Mr. Poynter was undoubtedly very good, Aunt Agatha," said Dianequietly, "but the lilies scarcely require any further attention."

  Still Mr. Poynter did not stir.

  "I regret exceedingly," he said formally to Diane, "that I am unable toavail myself of your cordial permission to retire. Unfortunately, Ihave urgent business with Prince Ronador. Indeed, I have waited forjust such an opportunity as this."

  He was by far the calmest of the four. Ronador's violent temper wasrapidly routing his studied composure. Diane's lovely face was flushedand indignant. Aunt Agatha, making a desperate pretense of sorting thelilies, was plainly in a flutter and willing to be tearfully repententover their intrusion. Not so Philip. There was satisfaction in hissteady glance.

  "There is scarcely any business which I may have with--er--Tregar'ssecretary," said Ronador with deliberate insolence, "which may not bemore suitably discharged by Tregar himself."

  There was a biting suggestion of rank in his answer at which Philipsmiled.

  "My spread-eagle tastes," he admitted, "have always protected my eyesfrom the bedazzlement frequently incident to the sight of royalty. Nordo I wish to flaunt unduly my excellent fortune in being born anAmerican and a democrat, but for once. Prince, we must overlook yourtrifling disadvantage of caste and meet on a common footing. Permit meto offer my humble secretarial apology that the business is whollymine--and one other's--and not my chief's."

  Here Aunt Agatha created a singular diversion by dropping the liliesand gurgling with amazement.

  "God bless my soul!" she screamed hysterically, conscious that herindiscretion was rapidly weaving a web around her which might not findfavor in her niece's eyes, "it's Baron Tregar! I know his beard."

  Now as it was manifestly impossible for the Baron and his beard to besecreted among the lilies which Aunt Agatha was wildly gathering up,Philip looked off in the wood to the north.

  There was a motorcyclist approaching who had conceivably feltsufficient interest in the long black car to follow it.

  The Baron arrived, gallantly swept off his cap and bowed, and suddenlyconscious of an indefinable hostility in the attitudes of the silentquartet, stared from one to the other with some pardonable astonishment.

  "Tregar!" shouted the Prince hotly, "you will account to me for thisofficious espionage."

  The Baron stroked his beard.

  "One may pay his respects to Miss Westfall?" he begged with gentlesarcasm. "It is a sufficiently popular epidemic, I should say, toclaim even me. Besides," he added dryly, "in reality I have come inanswer to a letter of Poynter's. It has interested me exceedingly tofind you on the road ahead of me."

  "Baron Tregar," said Diane warmly, "you are very welcome, I assure you.Mr. Poynter has been pleased to inject certain elements of melodramainto his chance intrusion. Otherwise you would not find us staring ateach other in this exceedingly ridiculous manner!"

  "Hum!" said the Baron blandly and glanced with interest at theundisturbed countenance of Mr. Poynter.

  "A mere matter of justice and belated frankness to Miss Westfall!" saidPhilip quietly. "I must respectfully beg Prince Ronador to disclose toher the original motive of his singular and highly romantic courtship.I bear an urgent message of similar import from one who has had thedistinction of playing--imperial chess!"

  They were curious words but not so curious in substance as in effect.With a cry of startled anger, Ronador leaped back, his eyes flashingterrible menace at Philip. There was only one pair of eyes, however,quick and keen enough, for all
their loveliness, to follow his swiftmovement or the glitter of steel in his hand.

  With a cry of fear and horror, Diane leaped like a wild thing andstruck his hand aside. A revolver fell at her feet. Aunt Agathascreamed and covered her eyes with her hands.

  In the tense quiet came the tranquil lap of the lake, the call of adistant bird, the lazy murmur of many leaves in a morning wind. Philipstood very quietly by the table. He looked at Diane; he seemed to haveforgotten the others, Tregar thought.

  With terrible anger in her flashing eyes, Diane flung the revolver intothe placid lake, and facing Ronador, her sweet, stern mouthcontemptuous, she met his imploring gaze with one of scathing rebuke.

  "Excellency," she said to Ronador, "whatever else Mr. Poynter may havein mind, there is surely now an explanation which it behooves you tomake as a gentleman who is not a coward!"

  Ronador moistened his white lips and looked away.

  Trembling violently she turned to Philip.

  "Philip!" she cried. "What is it?" As her eyes met his, her hand wentto her heart and the color swept in brilliant tide from the slim brownthroat to the questioning eyes. "Oh, Philip! Philip!" She choked andfell again to trembling. It was a cry of remorse and heart-brokenapology for the memory of a moon above the marsh.

  For somehow in that instant, by a freak of instinct, the rain and thewind of Okeechobee and the bird in the pines came into their own.Their subtle messages dovetailed with the hurt look in Philip'seyes--with the conviction of the girl's sore heart, unconquerable forall she had desperately fought it--with the revelation of treacherywhich lay now at the bottom of the lake.

  Philip was very white.

  "But," he said gently, "you could not know."

  "I could have waited and trusted," cried the girl. "I could haveremembered Arcadia!"

  Was Ronador forgotten? Tregar thought so. These two mutely avowingwith blazing eyes their utter trust and loyalty had for the momentforgotten everything but each other.

  Ronador stalked viciously away to the lake, restlessly turned on hisheel with a curse and came slowly back. There was despair in his eyes.Tregar thought of the black moments of impulse and the tearingconscience and pitied him profoundly.

  "Excellency," reminded Diane, "there is an explanation--"

  But Ronador's pallid lips were set in lines of fierce denial.

  "Philip!" appealed the girl.

  "Well," said Philip looking away, "it's a tale of a candlestick."

  "A candlestick!"

  "And a hidden paper."

  "Yes?"

  Ronador seemed about to speak, thought better of it and closed his lipsin a tense white line of sullenness.

  Philip glanced keenly at him, and his own mouth grew a little sterner.

  "Excellency," he said to Ronador, "that you may not feel impelled againto violence in the suppression of this curious fragment of familyhistory, let me warn you that the story has been entrusted in full toFather Joda, who knew and loved your cousin. Any spectacularirrationality that you may hereafter develop in connection with MissWestfall, will lead to its disclosure. He is pledged to that inwriting."

  The color died out of Ronador's face. The fire, roused by the specterhe had fought this many a day, burned itself quite to ashes and lefthim cold and sullen. He had played and lost. And he was an older andquieter man for the losing. Whatever else lay at the bottom of hiscontradictory maze of dark moods and passions, he had courage and thecurse of conscience. There were black memories struggling now withinhim.

  Tregar moved quietly to Ronador's side, an act of ready loyalty notwithout dignity in the eyes of Philip.

  "Your letter hinted something of all this," he said. "Let us be quitefair, Poynter. Ronador feared only for his little son."

  "Why must we talk in riddles?" cried Diane with a flash of impatience."Why does Ronador fear for his son? Where is the candlestick? And thepaper? Who found it?"

  "Carl found it," said Philip. "It was written nearly a quarter of acentury ago, by one--Theodomir of Houdania."

  Diane glanced in utter mystification at Ronador's ashen face--there wasa great fear in his eyes--and thence to Baron Tregar.

  "Excellency," she appealed, "it is all very hard to understand. Who isTheodomir? And why must his life touch mine after all these years?"

  The Baron cleared his throat.

  "Let me try to make it simpler," he said gravely. "Theodomir, MissWestfall, was a lovable, willful, over-democratic young crown prince ofHoudania who, many years ago, refused the responsibilities of a royalposition whose pomp and pretensions he despised--quoting Buddha--andfled to America where in the course of time he married, divorced hiswife and later died--incognito. He was Ronador's cousin, and hisflight shifted the regency of the kingdom to Ronador's father."

  "Yes," said the girl steadily, "that is very clear."

  "Theodomir married--and divorced--your mother," said Philip gently.

  Diane grew very white.

  "And even yet," she said bravely, "I--can not see why we must all be soworked up. There is more?"

  "Yes. Later, after her divorce from Theodomir, your mother marriedNorman Westfall--"

  "My father," corrected Diane swiftly.

  Philip looked away.

  "Her second marriage," he said at last, "was childless."

  "Philip!" Diane's face flamed. "And I?"

  "You," said Baron Tregar, "are the child of Theodomir."

  In the strained silence a bird sent a sweet, clear call ringing lightlyover the water.

  "That--that can not be!" faltered Diane. "It--it is too preposterous."

  "I wish to Heaven it were!" said Philip quietly. "Whether or not itwas Theodomir's wish that his daughter be reared, in the eyes of theworld, as the daughter of Norman Westfall, to protect her from anyconsequences incident to his possible discovery and enforced return toHoudania, it is impossible to say. Hating royalty as he did, he mayhave sought thus to shield his daughter from its taint. Why heweakened and consigned the secret to paper--how or when he hid it in anancient candlestick in the home of Norman Westfall, remains shrouded inutter mystery. It is but one of the many points that need light."

  Again the Baron cleared his throat.

  "And," said he, "since unwisely, Miss Westfall, for eugenic reasons, wegrant a certain freedom of marital choice to our princes--since wiselyor not as you will, the Salic Law does not, by an ancient precedent,obtain with us, and a woman may come in the line of succession, thedanger to Ronador's little son, is, I think, apparent."

  "Surely, surely!" exclaimed Diane hopelessly, "there is some mistake.There is so much that is utterly without light or coherence. So much--"

  For the first time Ronador spoke.

  "What," said he sullenly to Philip, "would you have us do?"

  "I would have you eliminate the secrecy, the infernal intrigue, thescheming to smother a fire that burned wilder for your efforts," saidPhilip civilly. "I would have you face this thing squarely andinvestigate it link by link. I would have you abandon the damnableman-hunt that has sent one man to his death in a Florida swamp andgoaded another to a reckless frenzy in which all things were possible.Themar is dead. That Granberry is alive is attributable solely to thefact that he was cleverer and keener than any of those who hounded him.But he has paid heavily for the secret he tried in a drunken moment tosell to Houdania."

  "I do not understand Carl's part in it," said Diane. "Nor can I see--"

  But whatever it was that Diane could not see was not destined forimmediate revealment. At the mention of Carl's name by her niece, AuntAgatha came unexpectedly into the limelight with a gurgle and fainteddead away. Her white affrighted face had been turned upon Ronador infearful fascination since Diane had struck his arm. Whether or not shehad comprehended any of the talk that followed is a matter of doubt.

  When at last, after an interval of flurry and excitement in the camp,Aunt Agatha gasped, sat up again and stared wildly at the sympatheticline of faces
about her, Ronador was gone. When or where he had gone,no one knew. Only Diane caught the whir of his motor on the road tothe north.

  "It is better so," said Tregar compassionately. "Though his love beganin treachery, Miss Westfall, and drove him through the mire, it was, Ithink, genuine. A man may not see his hopes take wing with comfort.And Ronador's life has not been of the happiest."

  "Excellency," said Philip who had been wandering restlessly about amongthe trees, "I know that you are but an indifferent gypsy, and stronglyaverse to baked potatoes, but such as it is, let me extend to you thehospitality of my camp. Doubtless Miss Westfall will dispatch Johnnyfor your motorcycle."

  The Baron accepted.

  "There is one thing more, Miss Westfall," he added as they wereleaving. "Frankness is such a refreshing experience for me, that Imust drink of the fount again. Days back, a headstrong young secretaryof mine of considerable nerve and independence and--er--intermittentdisrespect for his chief---having come to grief through a knife ofThemar's intended for another--refused, with a habit of infernalpoliteness he has which I find most maddening, refused, mademoiselle,to execute a certain little commission of mine because he quixoticallyfancied it savored of spying!"

  "Tregar!" said Philip with an indignant flush. And added with anuncomfortable conviction of disrespect, "Er--Excellency!"

  "I said--intermittent disrespect," reminded Tregar. "Moreover," hecontinued, stroking his beard and selecting his words with theprecision of the careful linguist that he was, "this secretary of mine,after an interview of most disconcerting candor, took to the road and ahay-cart in a dudgeon, constituting himself, in a characteristicoutburst of suspicion, quixotism, chivalry and protection, a sentinelto whom lack of sleep, the discomforts of a hay-camp--and--er--spyingblack-and-tans were nothing. I have reason for suspecting that he mayhave been misrepresented and misjudged--"

  "Excellency," said Philip shortly, "my camp lies yonder. And Mrs.Westfall will doubtless rejoice when her niece's camp is quiet."

  Diane met the Baron's glance with a bright flush.

  "Excellency," she said, "I thank you."

  The two men disappeared among the trees.