“And you?” she whispered, clutching his arm tightly, the swift thrill of relief dying almost as it was born. “What of you?”
“Oh, I’ll get out all right,” he affirmed with a confidence he did not feel. “I’m going to get you out of this or die in the attempt. Sh! Don’t oppose me,” he went on whimsically. “I’ve always wanted to be a hero, and here’s my chance. Now tell me what happened to you.”
Her piquant, ever-sprightly face had lost the arrogance that had troubled all his dreams of conquest. She was pale and shivering and so sorely distressed that he had it in his heart to clasp her in his arms as one might do in trying to soothe a frightened child. Her face grew cloudy with the effort to concentrate her thoughts; a piteous frown settled upon her brow.
“I’m not sure that I can recall everything. It is all so terrible—so unaccountable. It’s like a dream that you try to remember and cannot. Finding you here in this place is really the strangest part of it. I cannot believe that I am awake.”
She looked long and anxiously into his face, her eyebrows drawn together in an earnest squint of uncertainty. “Oh, Mr. King, I have had such a dreadful—dreadful time. Am I awake?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking of myself,” he murmured. “I guess we’re both awake all right. Nightmares don’t last forever.”
Her story came haltingly; he was obliged to supply many of the details by conjecture, she was so hazy and vague in her memory.
At the beginning of the narrative, however, Truxton was raised to unusual heights; he felt such a thrill of exaltation that for the moment he forgot his and her immediate peril. In a perfectly matter-of-fact manner she was informing him that her search for him had not been abandoned until Baron Dangloss received a telegram from Paris, stating that King was in a hospital there, recovering from a wound in the head.
“You can imagine what I thought when I saw you here a little while, ago,” she said, again looking hard at his face as if to make sure. “We had looked everywhere for you. You see, I was ashamed. That man from Cook’s told us that you were hurt by—by the way I treated you the day before you disappeared, and—well, he said you talked very foolishly about it.”
He drew a long breath. Somehow he was happier than he had been before. “Hobbs is a dreadful ass,” he managed to say.
It seems that the ministry was curiously disturbed by the events attending the disappearance of the Countess Ingomede. The deception practised upon John Tullis, frustrated only by the receipt of a genuine message from the Countess, was enough to convince the authorities that something serious was afoot. It may have meant no more than the assassination of Tullis at the hands of a jealous husband; or it may have been a part of the vast conspiracy which Dangloss now believed to be in progress of development.
“Development!” Truxton King had exclaimed at this point in her narrative. “Good God, if Dangloss only knew what I know!”
There had been a second brief message from the Countess. She admitted that she was with her husband at the Axphain capital. This message came to Tullis and was to the effect that she and the Count were leaving almost immediately for a stay at Biarritz in France. “Mr. King,” said the narrator, “the Countess lied. They did not go to Biarritz. I am convinced now that she is in the plot with that vile old man. She may even expect to reign in Graustark some day if his plans are carried out. I saw Count Marlanx yesterday. He was in Graustark. I knew him by the portrait that hangs in the Duke of Perse’s house—the portrait that Ingomede always frowns at when I mention it to her. So, they did not go to France.”
She was becoming excited. Her eyes flashed; she spoke rapidly. On the morning of the 23d she had gone for her gallop in the famous Ganlook road, attended by two faithful grooms from the Royal stables.
“I was in for a longer ride than usual,” she said, with sudden constraint. She looked away from her eager listener. “I was nervous and had not slept the night before. A girl never does, I suppose.”
He looked askance. “Yes?” he queried.
She was blushing, he was sure of it. “I mean a girl is always nervous and distrait after—after she has promised, don’t you see.”
“No, I don’t see.”
“I had promised Count Vos Engo the night before that I—Oh, but it really has nothing to do with the story. I—”
Truxton was actually glaring at her. “You mean that you had promised to marry Count Vos Engo!” he stammered.
“We will not discuss—”
“But did you promise to be his wife? Is he the man you love?” he insisted. She stared at him in surprise and no little resentment.
“I beg of you, Mr. King—” she began, but he interrupted her.
“Forgive me. I’m a fool. Don’t mind me.” He sank back against the wall, the picture of dejection. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve got to die in a day or two, so what’s the odds?”
“How very strangely you talk. Are you sure—I mean, do you think it is fever? One suffers so—”
He sighed deeply. “Well, that’s over! Whew! It was a dream, by Jove!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Please go on.”
She waited a moment and then, looking down, said very gently: “I’m so sorry for you.” He laughed, for he thought she pitied him because he had awakened from the dream.
Then she resumed her story, not to be interrupted again. He seemed to have lost all interest.
She had gone six or eight miles down the Ganlook road when she came up with five troopers of the Royal Guard. It was a lonely spot at the junction of the King’s Highway and the road to the mines. One of the troopers came forward and respectfully requested her to turn off into the mine road until a detachment passed, in charge of a gang of desperadoes taken at the Inn of the Hawk and Raven the night before. Unsuspecting, she rode off into the forest lane for several hundred yards.
It was a trap. The men were not troopers, but brigands gotten up in the uniform of the guard. Once away from the main highway, they made prisoners of her and the two grooms. Then followed a long ride through roads new to her. At noon they came to a halt while the rascals changed their clothing, appearing in their true garb, that of the mountaineer. Half dead with dread, she heard them discussing their plans; they spoke quite freely in the presence of the well-beaten grooms, who were led to expect death before many hours. It was the design of the bandits to make their way to the almost impregnable fastnesses in the hills of Dawsbergen, the wild principality to the south. There they could hold her against all hope of rescue, until an immense sum of money was paid over in ransom by her dispairing friends.
When night came they were high in the mountains back of the Monastery, many hours ahead of any pursuit. They became stupidly careless, and the two grooms made a dash for freedom. One of them was killed, but the other escaped. She was afterward to recall that no effort was made to recapture him; they deliberately allowed him to escape, their cunning purpose becoming only too apparent later on.
Instead of hurrying on to Dawsbergen, they dropped swiftly down into the valley above the city. No secret was made of the ruse they had employed to mislead the prospective pursuers. The rescue party, they swore joyously, would naturally be led by John Tullis; he would go with all haste to the Dawsbergen hills. The word of the trusty groom would be taken as positive proof that the captive was in that country. She shuddered as she listened to their exultant chuckles. It had been a most cunningly conceived plan and it promised to result profitably for them in the end.
Some time during the slow, torturing ride through the forest she swooned. When she came to her senses she was in a dimly lighted room, surrounded by men. The gag had been removed from her mouth. She would have shrieked out in her terror, had not her gaze rested upon the figure of a man who sat opposite, his elbows on the back of the chair which he straddled, his chin on his arms. He was staring at her steadily, his black eyes catching her gaze and holding it as a snake holds the bird it has charmed.
She r
ecognised the hard, hawk-like face. There could be no mistake. She was looking into the face that made the portrait of the Iron Count so abhorrent to her: the leathery head of a cadaver with eyes that lived. A portrait of Voltaire, the likeness of a satyr, a suggestion of Satan—all rushed up from memory’s storehouse to hold her attention rapt in contemplation of this sinister figure.
He smiled. It was like the crumpling of soft leather. Then, with a word to one of the men, he abruptly left the room. After that she broke down and cried herself into the sleep of exhaustion.
All the next day she sat limp and helpless in the chair they had brought to her. She could neither eat nor drink. Late in the afternoon Marlanx came again. She knew not from whence he came: he stood before her suddenly, as if produced by the magic of some fabled genie, smiling blandly, his hands clasped behind his back, his attitude one of lecherous calculation.
Truxton King ground his teeth with rage and despair while she was breathlessly repeating the suave compliments that oozed from the lips of the tormentor.
“He laughed when I demanded that he should restore me to my friends. He chided me when I pleaded and begged for mercy. My questions were never answered. He only said that no harm was to come to me; I was merely touching purgatory that I might better appreciate paradise when I came to it. Oh, it was horrible! I thought I would go mad. Finally I called him a beast; I don’t know what else I said. He merely smiled. Presently he called one of the men into the room. He said something about a sewer and a hole in the ground. Then the man went out and I heard the clicking of a telegraph instrument. I heard certain instructions. I was to be taken to a certain place in the city at nightfall and kept there until tomorrow night, when I am again to be removed by way of the river. That is all I know. Where am I, Mr. King? Oh, this dreadful place! Why are we here—you and I?”
King’s heart throbbed fiercely one more. He was looking straight into the piteous, wondering eyes; his gaze fell to the parted, tremulous lips. A vast hunger possessed his soul. In that moment he could have laid down his life for her, with a smile of rejoicing.
Then he told her why she was there, why he was there—and of the 26th. The dreadful 26th!
Her eyes grew wide with horror and understanding; her bosom rose and fell rapidly with the sobs of suppressed terror. At last he had finished his stupefying tale; they sat side by side staring into each other’s eyes, helpless, stricken.
“God in heaven!” she repeated over and over again, in a piteous whisper.
The candle flickered with feeble interest in the shadows that began to grow in the farthest corner. The girl drew closer to the side of the strong yet powerless man. Their gaze went to the sputtering candle. It was going out and they would be in utter darkness. And yet neither thought of the supply of fresh candles in the corner.
King brought himself out of the strange lethargy with a jerk. It was high time, for the light was going.
“Quick!” he cried. “The candle! Light a fresh one. My hands are bound.”
She crept to the candles and joined the wicks. A new light grew as the old one died. Then she stood erect, looking down upon him.
“You are bound. I forgot.”
She started forward, dropping to her knees beside him, an eager gleam in her eyes. “If I can untie the rope—will that help? Can you do anything? You are strong. There must be a way. There must be one little chance for you—for us. Let me try.”
“By Jove,” he whispered admiringly, his spirits leaping to meet hers. “You’ve got pluck. You put new life in me. I—I was almost a—a quitter.”
“You have been here so long,” she explained quickly. “And tied all these days.” She was tugging at the knot.
“Only since I gave that pleasant punch to Peter Brutus.”
“That shows what you can do,” she whispered warmly. “Oh, I wonder! I wonder if we have a chance! Anyway, your arms will be free. I shall feel safer if your arms are free.”
He sat with his back to her while she struggled with the stubborn knots. A delicious thrill of pleasure swept over him. She had said she would feel safer if his arms were free! She was struggling, with many a tense straining of delicate fingers, to undo the bonds which held him helpless. The touch of her eager fingers, the closeness of her body, the warmth of her breathing—he was beginning to hope that the effort might be prolonged interminably.
At last, after many despairing tugs, the knot relaxed. “There!” she cried, sinking back exhausted. “Oh, how it must have hurt you! Your wrists are raw!”
He suppressed the tactless impulse to say that he preferred a rope on the wrists to one about his neck, realising that the jest could only shock and not amuse her under the present conditions.
His arms were stiff and sore and hung like lead at his sides. She watched him, with narrowed eyes, while he stood off and tried to work blood and strength back into his muscles.
“Do you think you can—can do anything now, Mr. King?” she asked, after a long interval.
He would not tell her how helpless he was, even with his hands free. So he smiled bravely and sought to reassure her with the most imposing boasts he could utter. She began to breathe easier; the light in her eyes grew brighter, more hopeful.
“We must escape,” she said, as if it were all settled.
“It cannot be tonight,” he gently informed her, a sickness attacking her heart. “Don’t you think you’d better try to get some sleep?”
He prevailed upon her to lie down, with his coat for a pillow. In two minutes she was asleep.
For an hour or more he sat there, looking sorrowfully at the tired, sweet face, the utmost despair in his soul. At last he stretched himself out on the floor, near the door, and as he went to sleep he prayed that Providence might open a way for him to prove that she was not depending on him in vain.
CHAPTER XIII
A DIVINITY SHAPES
It was pitch dark when he awoke.
“By heaven, it was a dream, after all,” he murmured. “Well, thank God for that. She isn’t in this damnable hole. And,” with a quickening of the blood, “she hasn’t said she was going to marry Vos Engo.”
The sound of light breathing came to his ears. He sat up. His hands were free. It had not been a dream. She was lying over there asleep. The candle had burnt itself out, that was all. He crept softly across the floor; in the darkness he found her, and touched the garments she wore—and drew back enthralled. A strange joy filled him; she was his for the time being. They were equals in this direful, unlovely place; royal prejudice stood for nothing here. The mad desire to pick her up in his arms and hold her close came over him—only to perish as quickly as it flamed. What was he thinking of?
She stirred restlessly as he crept back to the door. The sharp, quick intake of her breath told him that she was awake. He stopped and utter silence fell upon the room.
A little moan escaped her lips: “Who is it? Why is it so dark? What—”
“It is I,” he whispered eagerly. “King. Don’t be afraid. The candle burnt out while we were asleep. I did not intend to sleep. I’m sorry. We can’t have a light now until some one comes in the morning. Don’t be afraid.”
“I am afraid. Where are you?”
“Here!” He hastened to her side. As he came up she touched his face with her hand timorously. He caught the wayward fingers in his own and held them, drawing quite close to her. “It’s all right,” he said.
“Will they come soon?”
“I hope not—I mean, yes; it must be morning.”
“I loathe the dark,” she sighed. Presently her head dropped over against his shoulder and she was asleep again.
“I don’t give a damn if they never come,” thought Truxton King, intoxicated with bliss.
Afraid to move for fear of disturbing her, he sat there for an hour or more his back twisted and uncomfortable, but never so resolute. He would not have moved for all the world.
All this time his brain was working like mad in the new-found desire
to perform miracles for the sake of this lovely, unattainable creature. Was there no way to foil these triumphant conspirators? He was forgetting the Prince, the horrors of the 26th; he was thinking only of saving this girl from the fate that Marlanx had in store for her. Vos Engo may have had the promise, but what could it profit him if Marlanx had the girl?
“I’ve got about as much chance as a snowball,” he reflected, courage and decision growing stronger each moment. “I might just as well die one way as another. If I could only catch ’em napping for a minute, I might turn the trick. God, that would be—” he was lost in ecstatic contemplation of the glory that such an event would bring.
Footsteps in the outer room recalled him to the bitter reality of their position. He awoke her and whispered words of encouragement into her bewildered ears. Then he put on his coat and threw himself on the floor, first wrapping the rope about his wrists to deceive the guard.
A key turned in the padlock and the bolt was raised. Old man Spantz stood in the doorway, peering in at them. In surly tones Truxton replied to his sharp query, saying that the candle had gone out while he slept.
“It is noon,” said the old man irascibly. Then he came in and lighted a candle.
“Noon of the 25th,” said Truxton bitterly. “In twenty-four hours it will be all over, eh, Spantz?”
“At noon tomorrow,” said Spantz grimly.
There were half a dozen men in the outer room, conversing in low, excited tones; the fervent gesticulations which usually marked their discussions were missing, proving the constraint that had descended upon them. One of them—it was Julius Spantz—brought in the food for the prisoners, setting it on the floor between them.
“It is usually the duty of our friend Julius to feed me,” observed Truxton to his fellow-prisoner. “I dare say he won’t mind if you relieve him of the task.”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 91