The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  STILL ON THE ROAD

  "Will you never learn wisdom?" demanded Mishka, when, after a fewminutes, he returned. "Why could you not rest here in safety?"

  "Because I wanted to walk some of my stiffness off," I replied coolly."I had quite a good time, and met an old acquaintance."

  "Who gave you much interesting news?" he asked, with a sardonicinflection of his deep voice that made me guess Yossof had told him whatpassed at our interview.

  "Why, no; I can't say that he did that," I confessed. Already I realizedthat I had learned absolutely nothing from the Jew save the newpassword, and the fact that he was, or soon would be, in directcommunication with Anne.

  Mishka gave an approving grunt.

  "There are some who might learn discretion from Yossof," he remarkedsententiously.

  "Just so. But who is he, anyhow? He might be 'the wandering Jew'himself, from the mysterious way he seems to get around the world."

  "Who and what he is? That I cannot tell you, for I do not know, or seekto know, since it is no business of mine. I go to bed; for we must startbetimes in the morning."

  Not another word did he speak, beyond a surly "good night;" but, thoughI followed his example and got into bed, with my revolver laid handilyon the bolster as he had placed his, hours passed before sleep came tome. I lay listening to Mishka's snores,--he was a noisy sleeper,--andthinking of Anne; thinking of that one blissful month in London when Isaw her nearly every day.

  How vividly I remembered our first meeting, less than five months back,though the events of a lifetime seemed to have occurred since then. Itwas the evening of my return from South Africa; and I went, of course,to dine at Chelsea, feeling only a mild curiosity to see this oldschool-fellow of Mary's, whose praises she sang so enthusiastically.

  "She was always the prettiest and smartest girl in the school, but nowshe's just the loveliest creature you ever saw," Mary had declared; andthough I wasn't rude enough to say so, I guessed I was not likely toendorse that verdict.

  But when I saw Anne my scepticism vanished. I think I loved her fromthat first moment, when she came sweeping into Mary's drawing-room in agown of some gauzy brown stuff, almost the color of her glorious hair,with a bunch of white lilies at her bosom. She greeted me with a frankfriendliness that was much more like an American than an English girl;indeed, even then, I never thought of her as English. She was, as herfather had told his friend Treherne he meant her to be, "cosmopolitan toher finger-tips." She even spoke English with a curious precision anddeliberation, as one speaks a language one knows perfectly, but does notuse familiarly. She once confided to me that she always "thought" eitherin French or German, preferably French.

  Strange that neither Mary nor I ever imagined there was any mystery inher life; ever guessed how much lay behind her frank allusions to herfather, and the nomadic existence they had led. I wondered, for thethousandth time, how it was that Jim first suspected her of concealingsomething. How angry I was at him when he hinted his suspicions; and yethe had hit on the exact truth! I knew now that her visit to Mary was notwhat it had seemed,--but that she had seized upon the opportunitypresented by the invitation to snatch a brief interval of peace, andcomparative safety. If she had happened to encounter Cassavetti earlier,doubtless her visit would have terminated then. Yes, that must be theexplanation; and how splendidly she had played her dangerous part!

  I hated to think of all the duplicity that part entailed; I would notthink of it. The part was thrust on her, from her birth, by herupbringing, and if she played it gallantly, fearlessly, resourcefully,the more honor to her. But it was a bitter thought that Fortune shouldhave thrust all this upon her!

  As I lay there in that frowzy room, staring at a shaft of moonlight thatcame through a chink in the shutters, making a bar of light in thedarkness like a great, unsheathed sword, her face was ever before mymind's eyes, vividly as if she were indeed present,--the lovely mobileface, "growing and fading and growing before me without a sound," nowsparkling with mirth, now haughty as that of a petulant young queentowards a disfavored courtier. Mary used to call her "dear Lady Disdain"when she was in that mood. Again, it appeared pale and set as I had seenit last, the wide brilliant eyes flashing indignant defiance at heraccusers; but more often with the strange, softened, wistful expressionit had worn when we stood together under the portico of the Cecil onthat fatal night; and when she waved me good-bye at Charing Cross.

  In those moments one phase of her complex nature had been uppermost; andin those moments she loved me,--me, Maurice Wynn, not Loris Solovieff,or any other!

  I would not have relinquished that belief to save my soul; although Iknew well that the mood was necessarily a transient one. She had devotedher beauty, her talents, her splendid courage, her very life, to ahopeless cause. She was as a queen, whose realm is beset with dangersand difficulties, and who therefore can spare little or no thought foraught save affairs of state; and I was as the page who loved her, andwhom she might have loved in return if she had been but a simplegentlewoman. Once more I told myself that I would be content if I couldonly play the page's part, and serve her in life and death, "_a la vieet a la mort_" as the new password ran; but how was I even to begindoing that?

  An unanswerable question! I must just go on blindly, as Fate led me; andFate at this moment was prosaically represented by Mishka. Great Scott,how he snored!

  We were astir early; I seemed to have just fallen asleep when Mishkaroused me and announced that breakfast was waiting, and the horsesready.

  We rode swiftly, and for the most part in silence, as my companion waseven less communicative than usual. I noticed, as we drew near toZostrov, a change for the better in the aspect of the country and thepeople. The last twenty versts was over an excellent road, while thestreets of the village where we found our change of horses waiting, andof two others beyond, were comparatively clean and well-kept, withsidewalks laid with wooden blocks. The huts were more weather-tight andcomfortable,--outside at any rate. The land was better cultivated, too,and the _moujiks_, though most of them scowled evilly at us, lookedbetter fed and better clothed than any we had seen before. They all worehigh boots,--a sure sign of prosperity. Yesterday boots were theexception, and most of the people, both men and women, were shod with akind of moccasin made of plaited grass, and had their limbs swathed inragged strips of cloth kept clumsily in place with grass-string.

  "It is his doing," Mishka condescended to explain. "His and my father's.He gives the word and the money, and my father and those under him dothe rest. They try to teach these lazy swine to work for their ownsakes,--to make the best of their land; it is to further that end thatall the new gear is coming. They will have the use of it--thesepigs--for nothing. They will not even give thanks; rather will they turnand bite the hand that helps them; that tries to raise them out of themud in which they wallow!"

  He spat vigorously, as a kind of corollary to his remarks.

  As he spoke we were skirting a little pine wood just beyond the village,and a few yards further the road wound clear of the trees and out acrossan open plain, in the centre of which rose a huge, square building ofgray stone, crowned with a cupola that gleamed red in the rays of thesetting sun.

  "The castle!" Mishka grunted.

  "It looks more like a prison!" I exclaimed involuntarily. It was a grim,sinister-looking pile, even with the sun upon it.

  Mishka did not answer immediately. There was a clatter and jingle behindus, and out of the wood rode a company of horsemen, all in uniform. Tworode ahead of the rest, one of them the Grand Duke himself.

  Mishka reined up at the roadside, and sat at the salute, and I followedhis example.

  The Duke did not even glance in our direction as he passed, though heacknowledged our salute in soldierly fashion.

  We wheeled our horses and followed well in the rear of the imposingescort,--a whole troop of cavalry.

  "You are right," Mishka said, in a husky growl, that with himrepresented a whisper. "I
t is a prison, and yonder goes the prisoner.You will do well to remember that in your dealings with him, HerrGould."