“I came to ask about my friend, the goat-hunter,” said Beverly, her cheeks a trifle rosier than usual.
“He is far from an amiable person, your highness,” said the officer. When discussing Baldos he never failed to address Beverly as “your highness.” “The fever is gone and he is able to walk without much pain, but he is as restless as a witch. Following instructions, I have not questioned him concerning his plans, but I fancy he is eager to return to the hills.”
“What did he say when you gave him my message?” asked Beverly.
“Which one, your highness?” asked he, with tantalizing density.
“Why, the suggestion that he should come to Edelweiss for better treatment,” retorted Beverly severely.
“He said he was extremely grateful for your kind offices, but he did not deem it advisable to come to this city. He requested me to thank you in his behalf and to tell you that he will never forget what you have done for him.”
“And he refuses to come to Edelweiss?” irritably demanded Beverly.
“Yes, your highness. You see, he still regards himself with disfavor, being a fugitive. It is hardly fair to blame him for respecting the security of the hills.”
“I hoped that I might induce him to give up his old life and engage in something perfectly honest, although, mind you, Baron Dangloss, I do not question his integrity in the least. He should have a chance to prove himself worthy, that’s all. This morning I petitioned Count Marlanx to give him a place in the Castle Guard.”
“My dear Miss Calhoun, the princess has—” began the captain.
“Her highness has sanctioned the request,” interrupted she.
“And the count has promised to discover a vacancy,” said Dagmar, with a smile that the baron understood perfectly well.
“This is the first time on record that old Marlanx has ever done anything to oblige a soul save himself. It is wonderful, Miss Calhoun. What spell do you Americans cast over rock and metal that they become as sand in your fingers?” said the baron, admiration and wonder in his eyes.
“You dear old flatterer,” cried Beverly, so warmly that he caught his breath.
“I believe that you can conquer even that stubborn fellow in Ganlook,” he said, fumbling with his glasses. “He is the most obstinate being I know, and yet in ten minutes you could bring him to terms, I am sure. He could not resist you.”
“He still thinks I am the princess?”
“He does, and swears by you.”
“Then, my mind is made up. I’ll go to Ganlook and bring him back with me, willy-nilly. He is too good a man to be lost in the hills. Good-bye, Baron Dangloss. Thank you ever and ever so much. Oh, yes; will you write an order delivering him over to me? The hospital people may be—er—disobliging, you know.”
“It shall be in your highness’s hands this evening.”
The next morning, with Colonel Quinnox and a small escort, Beverly Calhoun set off in one of the royal coaches for Ganlook, accompanied by faithful Aunt Fanny. She carried the order from Baron Dangloss and a letter from Yetive to the Countess Rallowitz, insuring hospitality over night in the northern town. Lorry and the royal household entered merrily into her project, and she went away with the godspeeds of all. The Iron Count himself rode beside her coach to the city gates, an unheard-of condescension.
“Now, you’ll be sure to find a nice place for him in the castle guard, won’t you, Count Marlanx?” she said at the parting, her hopes as fresh as the daisy in the dew, her confidence supreme. The count promised faithfully, even eagerly. Colonel Quinnox, trained as he was in the diplomacy of silence, could scarcely conceal his astonishment at the conquest of the hard old warrior.
Although the afternoon was well spent before Beverly reached Ganlook, she was resolved to visit the obdurate patient at once, relying upon her resourcefulness to secure his promise to start with her for Edelweiss on the following morning. The coach delivered her at the hospital door in grand style. When the visitor was ushered into the snug little room of the governor’s office, her heart was throbbing and her composure was undergoing a most unusual strain. It annoyed her to discover that the approaching contact with an humble goat-hunter was giving her such unmistakable symptoms of perturbation.
From an upstairs window in the hospital the convalescent but unhappy patient witnessed her approach and arrival. His sore, lonely heart gave a bound of joy, for the days had seemed long since her departure.
He had had time to think during these days, too. Turning over in his mind all of the details in connection with their meeting and their subsequent intercourse, it began to dawn upon him that she might not be what she assumed to be. Doubts assailed him, suspicions grew into amazing forms of certainty. There were times when he laughed sardonically at himself for being taken in by this strange but charming young woman, but through it all his heart and mind were being drawn more and more fervently toward her. More than once he called himself a fool and more than once he dreamed foolish dreams of her—princess or not. Of one thing he was sure: he had come to love the adventure for the sake of what it promised and there was no bitterness beneath his suspicions.
Arrayed in clean linen and presentable clothes, pale from indoor confinement and fever, but once more the straight and strong cavalier of the hills, he hastened into her presence when the summons came for him to descend. He dropped to his knee and kissed her hand, determined to play the game, notwithstanding his doubts. As he arose she glanced for a flitting second into his dark eyes, and her own long lashes drooped.
“Your highness!” he said gratefully.
“How well and strong you look,” she said hurriedly. “Some of the tan is gone, but you look as though you had never been ill. Are you quite recovered?”
“They say I am as good as new,” he smilingly answered. “A trifle weak and uncertain in my lower extremities, but a few days of exercise in the mountains will overcome all that. Is all well with you and Graustark? They will give me no news here, by whose order I do not know.”
“Turn about is fair play, sir. It is a well-established fact that you will give them no news. Yes, all is well with me and mine. Were you beginning to think that I had deserted you? It has been two weeks, hasn’t it?”
“Ah, your highness, I realize that you have had much more important things to do than to think of poor Baldos, I am exceedingly grateful for this sign of interest in my welfare. Your visit is the brightest experience of my life.”
“Be seated!” she cried suddenly. “You are too ill to stand.”
“Were I dying I should refuse to be seated while your highness stands,” said he simply. His shoulders seemed to square themselves involuntarily and his left hand twitched as though accustomed to the habit of touching a sword-hilt. Beverly sat down instantly; with his usual easy grace, he took a chair near by. They were alone in the ante-chamber.
“Even though you were on your last legs?” she murmured, and then wondered how she could have uttered anything so inane. Somehow, she was beginning to fear that he was not the ordinary person she had judged him to be. “You are to be discharged from the hospital tomorrow,” she added hastily.
“Tomorrow?” he cried, his eyes lighting with joy. “I may go then?”
“I have decided to take you to Edelweiss with me,” she said, very much as if that were all there was to it. He stared at her for a full minute as though doubting his ears.
“No!” he said, at last, his jaws settling, his eyes glistening. It was a terrible setback for Beverly’s confidence. “Your highness forgets that I have your promise of absolute freedom.”
“But you are to be free,” she protested. “You have nothing to fear. It is not compulsory, you know. You don’t have to go unless you really want to. But my heart is set on having you in—in the castle guard.” His bitter, mocking laugh surprised and wounded her, which he was quick to see, for his contrition was immediate.
“Pardon, your highness. I am a rude, ungrateful wretch, and I deserve punishment instead of r
eward. The proposal was so astounding that I forgot myself completely,” he said.
Whereupon, catching him in this contrite mood, she began a determined assault against his resolution. For an hour she devoted her whole heart and soul to the task of overcoming his prejudices, fears and objections, meeting his protestations firmly and logically, unconscious of the fact that her very enthusiasm was betraying her to him. The first signs of weakening inspired her afresh and at last she was riding over him rough-shod, a happy victor. She made promises that Yetive herself could not have made; she offered inducements that never could be carried out, although in her zeal she did not know it to be so; she painted such pictures of ease, comfort and pleasure that he wondered why royalty did not exchange places with its servants. In the end, overcome by the spirit of adventure and a desire to be near her, he agreed to enter the service for six months, at the expiration of which time he was to be released from all obligations if he so desired.
“But my friends in the pass, your highness,” he said in surrendering, “what is to become of them? They are waiting for me out there in the wilderness. I am not base enough to desert them.”
“Can’t you get word to them?” she asked eagerly. “Let them come into the city, too. We will provide for the poor fellows, believe me.”
“That, at least, is impossible, your highness,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You will have to slay them before you can bring them within the city gates. My only hope is that Franz may be here tonight. He has permission to enter, and I am expecting him today or tomorrow.”
“You can send word to them that you are sound and safe and you can tell them that Graustark soldiers shall be instructed to pay no attention to them whatever. They shall not be disturbed.” He laughed outright at her enthusiasm. Many times during her eager conversation with Baldos she had almost betrayed the fact that she was not the princess. Some of her expressions were distinctly unregal and some of her slips were hopeless, as she viewed them in retrospect.
“What am I? Only the humble goat-hunter, hunted to death and eager for a short respite. Do with me as you like, your highness. You shall be my princess and sovereign for six months, at least,” he said, sighing. “Perhaps it is for the best.”
“You are the strangest man I’ve ever seen,” she remarked, puzzled beyond expression.
That night Franz appeared at the hospital and was left alone with Baldos for an hour or more. What passed between them, no outsider knew, though there tears in the eyes of both at the parting. But Franz did not start for the pass that night, as they had expected. Strange news had come to the ears of the faithful old follower and he hung about Ganlook until morning came, eager to catch the ear of his leader before it was too late.
The coach was drawn up in front of the hospital at eight o’clock, Beverly triumphant in command. Baldos came down the steps slowly, carefully, favoring the newly healed ligaments in his legs. She smiled cheerily at him and he swung his rakish hat low. There was no sign of the black patch. Suddenly he started and peered intently into the little knot of people near the coach. A look of anxiety crossed his face. From the crowd advanced a grizzled old beggar who boldly extended his hand. Baldos grasped the proffered hand and then stepped into the coach. No one saw the bit of white paper that passed from Franz’s palm into the possession of Baldos. Then the coach was off for Edelweiss, the people of Ganlook enjoying the unusual spectacle of a mysterious and apparently undistinguished stranger sitting in luxurious ease beside a fair lady in the royal coach of Graustark.
CHAPTER XII
IN SERVICE
It was a drowsy day, and, besides, Baldos was not in a communicative frame of mind. Beverly put forth her best efforts during the forenoon, but after the basket luncheon had been disposed of in the shade at the roadside, she was content to give up the struggle and surrender to the soothing importunities of the coach as it bowled along. She dozed peacefully, conscious to the last that he was a most ungracious creature and more worthy of resentment than of benefaction. Baldos was not intentionally disagreeable; he was morose and unhappy because he could not help it. Was he not leaving his friends to wander alone in the wilderness while he drifted weakly into the comforts and pleasures of an enviable service? His heart was not in full sympathy with the present turn of affairs, and he could not deny that a selfish motive was responsible for his action. He had the all too human eagerness to serve beauty; the blood and fire of youth were strong in this wayward nobleman of the hills.
Lying back in the seat, he pensively studied the face of the sleeping girl whose dark-brown head was pillowed against the corner cushions of the coach. Her hat had been removed for the sake of comfort. The dark lashes fell like a soft curtain over her eyes, obscuring the merry gray that had overcome his apprehensions. Her breathing was deep and regular and peaceful. One little gloved hand rested carelessly in her lap, the other upon her breast near the delicate throat. The heart of Baldos was troubled. The picture he looked upon was entrancing, uplifting; he rose from the lowly state in which she had found him to the position of admirer in secret to a princess, real or assumed. He found himself again wondering if she were really Yetive, and with that fear in his heart he was envying Grenfall Lorry, the lord and master of this exquisite creature, envying with all the helplessness of one whose hope is blasted at birth.
The note which had been surreptitiously passed to him in Ganlook lay crumpled and forgotten inside his coat pocket, where he had dropped it the moment it had come into his possession, supposing that the message contained information which had been forgotten by Franz, and was by no means of a nature to demand immediate attention. Had he read it at once his suspicions would have been confirmed, and it is barely possible that he would have refused to enter the city.
Late in the afternoon the walls of Edelweiss were sighted. For the first time he looked upon the distant housetops of the principal city of Graustark. Up in the clouds, on the summit of the mountain peak overlooking the city, stood the famed monastery of Saint Valentine. Stretching up the gradual incline were the homes of citizens, accessible only by footpaths and donkey roads. Beverly was awake and impatient to reach the journey’s end. He had proved a most disappointing companion, polite, but with a baffling indifference that irritated her considerably. There was a set expression of defiance in his strong, clean-cut face, the look of a soldier advancing to meet a powerful foe.
“I do hope he’ll not always act this way,” she was complaining in her thoughts. “He was so charmingly impudent out in the hills, so deliciously human. Now he is like a clam. Yetive will think I am such a fool if he doesn’t live up to the reputation I’ve given him!”
“Here are the gates,” he said, half to himself. “What is there in store for me beyond those walls?”
“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t be so dismal,” she cried in despair. “It seems just like a funeral.”
“A thousand apologies, your highness,” he murmured, with a sudden lightness of speech and manner. “Henceforth I shall be a most amiable jester, to please you.”
Beverly and the faithful Aunt Fanny were driven to the castle, where the former bade farewell to her new knight until the following morning, when he was to appear before her for personal instructions. Colonel Quinnox escorted him to the barracks of the guards where he was to share a room with young Haddan, a corporal in the service.
“The wild, untamed gentleman from the hills came without a word, I see,” said Lorry, who had watched the approach. He and Yetive stood in the window overlooking the grounds from the princess’s boudoir, Beverly had just entered and thrown herself upon a divan.
“Yes, he’s here,” she said shortly.
“How long do you, with all your cleverness, expect to hoodwink him into the belief that you are the princess?” asked Yetive, amused but anxious.
“He’s a great fool for being hoodwinked at all,” said Beverly, very much at odds with her protege. “In an hour from now he will know the truth and will be howling like a madman for his f
reedom.”
“Not so soon as that, Beverly,” said Lorry consolingly. “The guards and officers have their instructions to keep him in the dark as long as possible.”
“Well, I’m tired and mad and hungry and everything else that isn’t compatible. Let’s talk about the war,” said Beverly, the sunshine in her face momentarily eclipsed by the dark cloud of disappointment.
Baldos was notified that duty would be assigned to him in the morning. He went through the formalities which bound him to the service for six months, listening indifferently to the words that foretold the fate of a traitor. It was not until his hew uniform and equipment came into his possession that he remembered the note resting in his pocket. He drew it out and began to read it with the slight interest of one who has anticipated the effect. But not for long was he to remain apathetic. The first few lines brought a look of understanding to his eyes; then he laughed the easy laugh of one who has cast care and confidence to the winds. This is what he read:
“She is not the princess. We have been duped. Last night I learned the truth. She is Miss Calhoun, an American, going to be a guest at the castle. Refuse to go with her into Edelweiss. It may be a trap and may mean death. Question her boldly before committing yourself.”
There came the natural impulse to make a dash for the outside world, fighting his way through if necessary. Looking back over the ground, he wondered how he could have been deceived at all by the unconventional American. In the clear light of retrospection he now saw how impossible it was for her to have been the princess. Every act, every word, every look should have told him the truth. Every flaw in her masquerading now presented itself to him and he was compelled to laugh at his own simplicity. Caution, after all, was the largest component part of his makeup; the craftiness of the hunted was deeply rooted in his being. He saw a very serious side to the adventure. Stretching himself upon the cot in the corner of the room he gave himself over to plotting, planning, thinking.
In the midst of his thoughts a sudden light burst in upon him. His eyes gleamed with a new fire, his heart leaped with new animation, his blood ran warm again. Leaping to his feet he ran to the window to re-read the note from old Franz. Then he settled back and laughed with a fervor that cleared the brain of a thousand vague misgivings.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 57