CHAPTER XXV
"I AM NOT THE PRINCE"
"I think we had better return to that house," I said to Minna. "My horseis close here, and you can ride while I lead him. You must be worn out."
"I will do whatever you think best. I believe Major Gessler is to betrusted."
"Yes, I think so now. I have given him an order from those for whom heis acting that you are to be detained no longer."
"How did you find out where I was?" she asked. "I am longing to heareverything."
"You had better have some rest first. There is much to tell and aweighty decision to make. Let us start."
I led the way to where I had tied the horse, and, having unfastened thereins, I walked him up and down once or twice to see if he showed anysigns of lameness as the result of his fall, and whether he was fit tocarry the girl. He appeared all right and much the fresher for the rest,so I lifted her into the saddle, and taking the rein in my hand startedon the return journey.
"You can tell me as we go along what has happened to you since theball," I said.
"It has been a terrible experience, but it is simple enough to describe.In the crowd at the ball I got separated from Captain von Krugen, andsome one just like him came up and said we had better stand out of thethrong a minute; and when we had moved away, he added that you wished meto be in the ante-room instead of the ball-room. I suspected nothing, ofcourse, and went with him, and then some people came pressing round me,and some one said that as a matter of fact they had bad news to break tome--that you had met with an accident and were seriously hurt, andwished me to go at once to you. I did not hesitate an instant when Iheard that, and so I fell into the trap. You don't blame me?"
"Blame you for being solicitous about me?" I asked, turning and glancingup to her with a smile. "But it was a cowardly scheme. And had you notseen me in the ball-room?"
"Yes, of course, and I said so. But they told me it had happened only afew minutes before, and that you had been carried at once to the houseof a doctor, where you were expecting me. They told me you might die,and at that I was so eager to get to you that I would have goneanywhere."
She paused again here, but this time I would not trust myself to lookround.
"In this way," she continued, "I was lured into the carriage, and afterthat, of course, I was helpless. They took me to some house near Munich,and the place seemed alive with armed men. There, to my surprise, Ifound aunt Gratz, who told me that Marie had betrayed us all, and that Iwas in a trap. I felt at first glad in a sense, because I knew then thatyou were not hurt after all; but presently I grew angry, for she beganto tell me all kinds of horrible things about you; I will tell you themsome time. And when my anger passed, I was nearly broken-hearted, for,as all our plans were known to the others, I was afraid, horriblyafraid, of what might happen to you, and what mischief my foolishcredulity might cause you. It was a time crowded with terror," shesighed.
"And after that?" I asked, wishing her to finish her story before Ibegan mine.
"In the early morning Major Gessler sent word that we were to preparefor a journey, and then we thought of writing you. I should not havethought it possible, but aunt Gratz suggested it, and said that she wassure she could get it delivered to you. I wrote it then readily enough;but what I said I do not know--I scarcely knew at the time--it must haveread like a wild, incoherent cry--for that's what it was."
"How did you know you were coming to Landsberg? I have been muchperplexed by your letter, why your aunt should have spoken in this wayof me in regard to it."
"I am afraid I can give you the clew. She knew about Landsberg--sheseemed to know everything; and from what I have heard to-night, she wasacting in collusion with that man. His object was, as I now know, to letyou have the clew where to follow us, so that he could draw you into asnare, for some object I am almost afraid to think of. But somethinghappened to interfere with the plans."
"I know what that was. He learnt, probably from Major Gessler, that Iwas coming to Landsberg direct from Baron Heckscher, and probably therewould be some special reference to him in the baron's message."
"That may have been it. At any rate he came to us in a state of greatexcitement, declared that he had found out a plot to kill me, that youhad communicated with him, and that we three were to set off at once tomeet you at a place he named; I forget its name. I was suspicious atfirst; but when he declared that there was to be a clear-up ofeverything and a complete understanding between us all, and that allthey had said about you was not true, and when aunt Gratz joined inpersuading me, I consented. We got away secretly, and I was glad indeedto leave. They all appear to have known that with me your name was theone argument sure to prevail," she said softly.
"It has led you into plenty of perils, Minna," I replied.
"But it will lead me out of them again. You have done it already, and Ido not care now what happens. It is good to have some one to trust--and,best of all, to be with him." She paused and sighed contentedly, andthen exclaimed: "But why don't you say something? I have not done wrong,have I?"
What could I say, if I spoke at all, but turn and tell her that thistrust in me was just the sweetest savor that could be put into my life;and that to hear it from her own lips was enough to set every pulse inmy body beating fast with my love? But yet I could not speak this untilI had told her all from my side; and so I gripped the bridle rein thetighter and plodded on through the moonlight, keeping my face resolutelyturned from her lest the sight of her beauty and the knowledge of hertrust should burst the last bonds of my self-restraint.
"No, you have done no wrong, Minna; but tell me the rest."
She waited a second, and then continued:
"In the carriage, to-night, the truth came out. Aunt Gratz and hequarrelled, and with a sort of blunt, brutal frankness he blurted outthe truth that we were flying from, not to, you, and that he wascarrying me away to make me his wife. In his mad rage against you heheaped all kinds of abuse on you, knowing that it made my blood boil. Heis a villain."
"He has paid for his treachery by now, probably," I said, and then therecame a longer pause.
"Don't you wish to hear any more?" she asked gently, as if anxious tomake me speak to her; and when I told her that I was only too eager tohear it all, she went on: "I thought it best to say nothing, but I madeup my mind that I would slip away and seek any one's help rather thanstay with them. My great thought was to get back to the house atLandsberg; and I sat as if prostrated with grief and waited, watchingfor a chance. It came at last, at a town where we stopped to changehorses, and he got out of the carriage. There was some delay; and I sawhim enter the house. Aunt Gratz was half dead with fatigue, and lay backin the carriage and fell asleep. I opened the door on my side verysoftly and slipped out, without disturbing her, and then ran off in thethick dusk for my life. I was soon missed, of course, and should nothave escaped had it not been that there was a wagon standing not faraway, though out of sight of those in the carriage. There was no one init, and I jumped in and hid myself among some hay and sacks that lay inthe bottom. I lay concealed there a long time and heard the hue and cryraised, and people searching for me, though no one thought to look inthe wagon. Presently the wagoner came, and we started off at a slowpace. I let him go on for a few miles, and then to his intenseastonishment I rose up suddenly from among the sacks and told him Iwould give him money if he would take me toward Landsberg."
"Poor Minna! What an experience for you."
"I did not care then, for I was free from that man. The wagoner was agood fellow and, though I did not know it, we had been coming in thisdirection, and he set me down about a mile from here, where his roadturned off. I walked on to be frightened again, but this time--by you;and then to feel safe, oh, so safe, again."
"You did splendidly!" I cried warmly; for her pluck and resource hadbeen admirable. And then I walked on in silence thinking how best Icould commence my confession.
"Can you hear sounds of any one coming?" she asked.
I s
topped the horse directly and stood listening. Turning my head, Iglanced in her face and saw a smile there.
"I hear nothing; do you?" I asked.
"No. I didn't expect to. I----" She stopped.
"You what?"
"I've seen nothing but the back of your head for two miles, I shouldthink, at the least. And I thought perhaps the horse might need a rest."
It was a little act of coquetry after all.
"He must be a sorry beast if he tires in carrying such a burden," saidI, smiling. "But we have come half the distance, I think. You haven'tmuch farther to go. Aren't you tired?"
I was standing close to the saddle, and she looked down into my facewithout speaking for a while. Then she said:
"I was thinking--cousin."
"I WAS THINKING--COUSIN."]
The pause before the use of the word and the emphasis upon it told meshe had more than her usual meaning.
"I can guess your thought, I believe," I said.
"Well?"
"You were wondering whether you are right still to call me cousin."
"I don't believe what they told me," she replied quickly, for I hadguessed her thought.
"What did they tell you? No; I won't ask that either. I will tell youfreely all that has to be told."
I paused an instant, and suddenly the clean, clear moonlight whichflooded everything so brilliantly seemed to turn chill and fear-ladenfor me.
The horse moved restlessly, striking the ground harshly with his forehoof. I stroked his neck to quiet him and left my hand on the crest ofit.
"Well?" The question was asked softly and gently.
"It is hard to tell it," I answered in a low and rather unsteady voice.
"To me? Are you afraid of me?" and I felt a hand placed on mine.
"It is hard to speak words that may divide us--but I have deceived you.I am not your cousin. I am not the Prince."
I felt the fingers on mine start and tighten for a second, and thenclose in a warm, trustful pressure.
"Can I make the telling easier for you? I had made up my mind that thatwas so; but the rest? Who are you? Don't tell me unless you wish. Itrust you none the less. You remember I told you days ago--how long itseems--you had a secret and that I saw it. Now I know part of it; and Iam glad of the knowledge--not glad that you are not my cousin Hans; gladonly that you have told me. But I am eager for the unknown part."
I could not beat down my feelings to speak coolly; so I waited to fightfor my self-control.
"They told me only one thing that should be hard for you to tell me--andthat I know was untrue," she continued, as if it were a pleasure to bareher heart to me. "That you were not true to me, but seeking to betrayme. I would have laughed at the absurdity if the malignity of such aslander had not maddened me."
"No, I have been no traitor to you," I answered readily. "That I candeclare from my soul. But I have kept this knowledge from you. Even thatI would not have done but that I could not see how else I could go onhelping you. I could do nothing unless men thought I was the Prince."
"Yet you could have trusted me," she said, with a gentle sigh ofreproach.
"Had I told you, I could no longer have remained at the castle. It wasnot that I did not trust you--indeed, I longed to tell you, not onlythat but all the rest."
"The rest?" she repeated softly in a low voice that trembled; and againI felt her fingers on mine start.
"Yes. The secret at which even you did not guess. I can judge prettymuch what these people have told you--that I am an adventurer and anex-play-actor. There is a secret behind that which I have not sharedwith a single soul on earth; but I will tell you."
Then I told her plainly of my meeting with von Fromberg, the mistakeunder which I was first taken to Gramberg, and the chain ofcircumstances which had kept me from breaking silence as to my identityand had seemed to drive me into accepting the part that had been thrustupon me.
I did not dwell too strongly upon the one motive that had influencedme--the wish to save her from the plot against her safety. But she wasquick to read it all; and maybe her feelings for me prompted her togive it exaggerated importance.
She listened almost in silence, merely asking a question here and therewhen some point was not clear, and at the close she sat thoughtful, andsaid sweetly:
"It means a great loss to me--and yet perhaps a greater gain."
I looked up with a question in my eyes.
"I have lost my cousin, it seems--surely the truest cousin that ever awoman had; but then I have gained a friend whose stanchness must be evengreater than my cousin's, for there was no claim of kinship to motivehis sacrifices for me. But, cousin or friend, you are still----" She didnot finish the sentence.
"Still what?" I asked.
I think she was going to make some pretty quip in reply, for I saw asmile half mischievous and all witching on her face; but, reading by mylooks how much store I set on her answer, she said earnestly:
"The one man in the world who has proved himself as true as steel to me,and whom I trust with my whole heart."
"You may," I answered, with an earnestness equal to her own, and myhand, which was resting on the horse's neck, turned and sought hers, andpressed it in a strong, firm clasp. "Whatever happens," I added, "I canat least be your friend, and I will."
We stood thus awhile, our heart-thoughts in close sympathy, till shestarted and lifted her head. Those quick ears of hers had caught thesound of a horse's hoofs approaching from behind us.
"Some one is coming. You have not yet told me something. How am I tocall you, and by what name to think of you?"
"There is still a longish story to tell, and I will tell it all to you;but for the present we must keep up our play of cousinship until thetruth can be safely told. That will not be long now."
"And then? But there, I do not wish our cousinship to end. I am glad toknow so much, however. Every time I say 'cousin' I shall think of thistalk to-night."
I took the horse's bridle again then, and led him on, for the sounds ofthe hoofs behind us were growing clear and distinct, and we did notspeak until Major Gessler rode up to us.
"You have not got so far as I expected, Prince," was his greeting. "I'mafraid I seemed to leave you rather in the lurch."
"This horse of ours was tired, and we stayed a time on the road," Ianswered, not without a slight feeling of embarrassment. We shouldprobably have reached the house at Landsberg but for the long halt I hadmade in telling my story. "But what is your news, major?"
"They are following," he said briefly, and he made a sign to me thatsomething very serious had occurred, which I judged he did not care totell before Minna.
She saw the gesture and read it also.
"Have they fought?" she asked.
"No, there was no fighting; but the Count von Nauheim has met with aserious accident--very serious."
He thought evidently that any ill news in regard to him might need to bebroken carefully to Minna.
"You may speak plainly," I said. "Is he dead?"
"Yes, he is dead. When he ran off in that way, and Signor Praga afterhim, the shots we heard were fired at the count's horse by his pursuer.His object was not to kill the man, but to prevent his escape. Bothshots missed their aim, however, and then he determined to ride the mandown. On the brow of the hill, where you saw them disappear, comes astraight bit of road for a couple of miles, at the end of which is asteep, dangerous hill. Both men rode like madmen across thelevel--Praga, who is a splendid horseman, gaining steadily all the time.Finding that he was being caught, von Nauheim began to punish his horsemercilessly, and when they came to the steep descent the poor bruteseems to have stretched himself for a final effort to answer the call onhim. For a moment he raced away from the other, but when about half-waydown the hill he collapsed suddenly, and dropped like a stone. Sofrightful was the speed at which they had been going that horse andrider rolled over and over several times in an almost indistinguishablemass. Praga, who was not far behind, had great difficulty
in avoidingthem and in checking his own horse. When he went back to von Nauheim hefound him dead. The stirrups had prevented him from getting free whenthe smash came, and the horse had fallen on him and rolled over him,breaking his back and crushing the life out of him. He was a horriblesight."
THE HORSE HAD FALLEN ON HIM AND ROLLED OVER HIM.]
"I am glad Praga didn't kill him," I said. "But I can't say I am sorryhe has met his death. He deserved it."
The others made no reply, and we held on our way without speaking. Theofficer rode on the other side of Minna; and the silence of the nightwas broken only by the sound of the horses' hoofs, the major's beingrestive, and breaking now and then into an amble.
"Do you know much of Signor Praga, Prince?" asked the major after a longsilence.
"Not enough to speak of him," I replied shortly; and the effort atconversation closed as abruptly as it had begun.
When we had covered a couple more miles, he said he would ride on andprepare for our arrival, and I was not sorry to be quit of him.
"It is a terrible end," said Minna thoughtfully, referring to vonNauheim.
"A more merciful one than he deserved," said I. I could find no pity forsuch a scoundrel. "He has been a traitor all his life."
"He is dead," said the girl gently.
"But he lived too long. Years ago I would have killed him had he not runfrom me."
"You knew him years ago?"
"And never knew anything but ill of him. It was because of my knowledgeof him that I stayed on at Gramberg. That is part of the story I haveyet to tell you."
"When?" she asked eagerly.
"To-morrow. I would tell it you now, but we are close to the house."
And a few minutes later we turned in at the lodge gates, and werewinding our way through the high shrubs which lined the drive for morethan half the way to the mansion.
When we reached the house an old motherly woman came forward to receiveMinna and take her to her rooms.
The girl stood a moment, and put both her hands into mine, with agesture she had used once just after my arrival at Gramberg. She wasthinking of it, too.
"Do you remember my telling you at Gramberg how I trusted you?" sheasked, leaving her hands in mine and looking into my eyes.
"I could never forget it," said I, speaking low.
"My instinct was very true, wasn't it? I knew. And after to-night Itrust my friend more than I even trusted my cousin. Goodnight,friend--and cousin."
"Goodnight."
A slight shade passed over her face for a moment, though a great lightwas shining in her eyes, and she waited as it I should say more.
"Good night, Minna," I whispered.
And then she cast her eyes down and blushed; and after standing thus forthe space of perhaps five seconds she took her hands gently out of mine,glanced once rapidly into my face, smiled, and turned to the woman, whowas waiting at a distance.
"Be up early, cousin," I called to her in a tone of assumedindifference, as if anything about her could be indifferent to me, "forwe must make our plans."
"I am quite as anxious as you," she replied; but the real answer waswith her eyes, which reflected the thought beneath my words--that Ishould be all eagerness till the time came for us to meet again.
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