*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67546 ***

  IN THE NAME OF
  A WOMAN




[Illustration: “SHE FIRED TWO SHOTS IN RAPID SUCCESSION.”--_Page 19._]




  _IN THE NAME OF
  A WOMAN_

  _A Romance_

  _By_
  _A. W. MARCHMONT_

  _Author of_
  _“By Right of Sword,” “A Dash
  for a Throne,” etc._

  _Illustrated by
  D. MURRAY SMITH_

  _Third Edition._

  [Illustration]

  _NEW YORK_
  _Frederick A. Stokes Company
  Publishers_




  COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
  ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                PAGE

       I. A NIGHT ADVENTURE IN SOFIA                        1

      II. “NOW YOU WILL HAVE TO JOIN US”                   11

     III. THE PRINCESS CHRISTINA                           21

      IV. “THE WEB IS WIDE, THE MESHES HARD TO BREAK”      32

       V. “SPERNOW”                                        43

      VI. THE DUEL AND AFTER                               54

     VII. AT THE BALL                                      67

    VIII. AT THE PALACE                                    79

      IX. “I HAVE UNBOUNDED FAITH IN YOU”                  90

       X. “IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN”                        101

      XI. BETRAYED                                        112

     XII. THE SPY                                         123

    XIII. FACE TO FACE                                    135

     XIV. THE COUNTESS’S RUSE                             148

      XV. A HOPELESS OUTLOOK                              161

     XVI. “IF I WERE A WOMAN”                             171

    XVII. A DASTARDLY SCHEME                              183

   XVIII. THE FIGHT                                       194

     XIX. MY ARREST                                       202

      XX. A WARNING                                       214

     XXI. FIGHT OR FLIGHT                                 226

    XXII. THE HOUR OF INDECISION                          236

   XXIII. IN FULL CRY                                     247

    XXIV. THE ATTACK                                      257

     XXV. SUSPENSE                                        267

    XXVI. A FORLORN HOPE                                  280

   XXVII. A FRIEND IN NEED                                291

  XXVIII. A FEARSOME DILEMMA                              303

    XXIX. GENERAL KOLFORT TO THE RESCUE                   313

     XXX. THE PUSH FOR THE FRONTIER                       323

    XXXI. THE RUINED HUT                                  335

   XXXII. “GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN”                      352

  XXXIII. THE END                                         358




IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN




CHAPTER I

A NIGHT ADVENTURE IN SOFIA


“Help!”

The cry, faint but strenuous, in a woman’s voice, rang out on the heavy
hot night air, and told me that one of those abominable deeds that
were so rife in the lawless Bulgarian capital was in progress, and I
hastened forward in angry perplexity trying to locate the sound.

I knew what it meant. I had been strolling late through the hot, close
streets between the Park and the Cathedral, when a woman closely hooded
had hurried past me, dogged by a couple of skulking, scuttling spies,
and I had turned to follow them. Across the broad Cathedral Square I
had lost sight of them, and, taking at random one of the streets on the
opposite side of the square, I was walking and listening for some sound
to guide me in their direction.

“Help!” came the cry again, this time close to me from behind a pair
of large wooden gates, one of which stood ajar. I pushed it open and
crossed the courtyard before a large house, loosening as I ran the
blade of the sword-stick I carried. The house was in darkness in the
front, and as I dashed round to the back the cry was uttered for the
third time, while I caught the sounds of struggling.

There was a light in one of the lower rooms, the long casement window
of which stood partly open, and the beams came straggling in a thin
line between some nearly closed curtains. With a spring I caught the
ledge, and, drawing up my head level with the window, looked in.

What I saw told me that my worst fears were being realised. The woman
who had passed me in the street was struggling with frantic effort
to hold the door of the room against someone who was fighting to
get in. Her cloak was off, and her head and face uncovered. She was
a tall, lithe, strenuous creature, obviously of great strength and
determination, and the whiteness of the face, now set and resolute, was
thrown up into the strongest contrast by a mass of bright red hair,
some of which the fierceness of the struggle had loosened. She was
striving and straining with enormous energy, despite the fact that she
was bleeding badly from a wound somewhere in the shoulder or upper arm.

As I glanced in, she turned her head in my direction with the look
of a tigress at bay; and I guessed that she was calculating the
possibilities of escape by means of the window. But the momentary
relaxation of her resistance gave the men a better chance, and, to my
horror, I saw one of them get his arm in and slash and thrust at her
with his knife.

She answered with a greater effort of her own, however, and succeeded
in jamming the man’s arm between the door and the lintel, making him
cry out with an oath that reached me.

But so unequal a struggle could only end in one way, and that very
speedily unless I intervened; so I scrambled on to the window ledge,
and with a cry leapt into the room. At the noise of my appearance,
mistaking me no doubt for a third ruffian come to attack her, the
woman’s courage gave out; she uttered a cry of despair and rushed away
to a corner of the room. She released the door so suddenly that the two
men came staggering and blundering into the room, almost falling, and I
recognised them as the two rascals I had seen following her.

“Have no fear, madame; I am here to help you,” I said, and, before the
two ruffians had recovered from the surprise of my appearance, I was
upon them. One could not stop his rush till he was close to me, and,
having him at this disadvantage, I crashed my fist into his face with
a tremendous blow, knocking him down with such force that his head
fell with a heavy thud against the floor, and his dagger flew out of
his hand and spun clattering across the room almost to the feet of the
woman.

The second was more wary, but in a trice I whipped out my sword, held
him at bay, and vowed in stern, ringing tones that I would run him
through the body if he wasn’t outside the room in a brace of seconds.
I saw him flinch. He had no stomach for this kind of fight, and he was
giving way before me when a cry from the man I had knocked down drew
our attention.

The woman, seeing her chance, had picked up the rascal’s dagger, and
with the light of murder in her eyes, was stealing upon the fallen man.

Instantly I sprang between her and him.

“No, no, madame; no bloodshed!” I cried to her; and then to the men,
“Be off, while your skins are whole!” The words were not out of my lips
before the unarmed man had already reached the door in full flight,
and his companion, seeing I meant to act only on the defensive, and
recognising the uselessness of any further attack, followed him, though
less precipitately.

“Why did you stop me killing such a brute?” cried the woman angrily,
her eyes blazing. “They both meant to murder me, and would have done it
if you had not come. They had earned death.”

“But I did not come to play the butcher,” I answered somewhat sternly,
repelled by her indifference to bloodshed.

“Follow them and kill them now!” she cried vindictively. “Do you hear?
Kill them before they carry the story of this rescue to their masters;”
and in her frenzy she took hold of my arm and shook it, urging me
toward the door.

“Better see to your wound,” I returned, as I sheathed my sword.

“Bah, you are mad! I have no patience with you!” She shrugged her
shoulders as though I were little better than a contemptible coward,
and walked to the end of the room and stood in the lamplight half
turned away from me.

The pose revealed to me the full majestic grace of her form, while
the profile of her face, as thrown into half shadow by the rather dim
light of the room, set me wondering. It was not a beautiful face. The
features, nose and mouth especially, were too large, the cheek bones
too high, the colour too pale; but it was a face full of such power and
strength and resource that it compelled your admiration and silenced
your critical judgment. A woman to be remarked anywhere.

But when she turned her eyes upon me a moment later, they seemed
to rivet me with an indescribable and irresistible fascination. In
striking contrast to the rich red hair and the pale skin, the eyes were
as black as night. The iris almost as dark as the pupil, the white
opalescent in its clearness, and fringed with lashes and brows of deep
brown. She caught my gaze on her, and held it with a look so intense
that I could scarcely turn away.

Her bosom was heaving, and her breath coming and going quickly with her
exertions and excitement, and after a moment, without saying a word,
she threw herself into a low chair and hid her face in her hands.

Who could she be? That she was a woman of station was manifest. The
richness of her dress, the appointments of the room, told this plainly,
even if her mien and carriage had not proclaimed it; and yet she seemed
alone in the house. It was a position of considerable embarrassment,
and for the moment I did not know what to do.

I had no wish to be mixed up in any such intrigue as was clearly at the
bottom of this business; and though I was glad to have saved her life,
I was anxious to be gone before any further developments should involve
me in unpleasant consequences.

There was no more dangerous hornet’s nest of intrigue and conspiracy
than Sofia to be found in Europe at that time, and the secret mission
which had brought me to the city about a fortnight before was more than
enough to tax all my energies and power, without any such additional
complication as this adventure seemed to promise. My object was to
get to the bottom of the secret machinations by which Russia was
endeavouring to close her grip of iron on the throne and country of
Bulgaria, and, if possible, thwart them; and I had been trying and
testing by every secret means at my command to find a path that would
lead me to my end. It must be a delicate and dangerous task enough
under the best auspices, but if I were to be embarrassed now by the
coils of any private vengeance feud, I ran a good chance of being
baffled completely.

Even before this night the difficulties in my way had appeared as
hopeless as the perils were inevitable; and I had felt as a man might
feel who had resolved to stay the progress of a railway train by laying
his head on the metals. But if this affair were as deadly as it seemed,
I might find my head struck off before even the train came in sight.

Yet to leave such a woman in this helpless plight was the act of a
coward, and not to be thought of for a moment; and I stood looking at
her in sheer perplexity and indecision.

She lay back in her seat for some minutes, making no attempt to call
assistance, not even taking her hands from her face, and paying no heed
whatever to her wound, the blood from which had stained her dress.

I roused myself at length, and, feeling the sheer necessity of doing
something, went to the door and called loudly for the servants.

“It is useless to call; there is no one in the house,” she said, her
voice now trembling slightly; and with a deep sigh she rose from her
chair, and after a moment’s pause crossed the room to me. She fixed her
eyes upon my face; her look had changed from that of the vengeful Fury
who had repelled me with her violent recklessness of passion to one of
ineffable sweetness, tenderness, and gratitude. Out of her eyes had
died down all the wildness, and what remained charmed and thrilled me,
until I felt myself almost constrained to throw myself at her feet in
eagerness to do whatever she bade me.

“You will think me an ingrate, or a miser of my thanks, sir,” she said
in a tone rich and soft; “and yet, believe me, my heart is full of
gratitude.”

“Please say no more,” I replied, with a wave of the hand; “but tell
me, can I be of any further service? Your wound--can I not get you
assistance?”

She paid no heed to the question, but remained gazing steadfastly into
my eyes. Then her face broke into a smile that transfigured it until it
seemed to glow with a quite radiant beauty.

“Yes, indeed, you can serve me--if you will; but not only in the
manner you think. The servants have deserted the house. I am alone
to-night--alone and quite in your power.” She lingered on the words,
paused, and then added: “But in the power of a man of honour.”

“How can I serve you? You have but to ask.”

“I wish I could think that,” was the quick answer, with a flash from
her eyes. “But first for this,” and she rapidly bared the wound,
revealing an arm and shoulder of surpassing beauty of form. “Can you
bind this up?” For the moment I was amazed at this complete abandonment
of all usual womanly reserve. The action was deliberate, however, and I
read it as at once a sign of her trust and confidence in me, and a test
of my honour. The hurt was not serious. The man’s blade had pierced the
soft white flesh of the shoulder, but had not penetrated deep; and I
had no difficulty in staunching the blood and binding it up.

“It is not a serious wound,” I said reassuringly. “I am glad.”

“That is no fault of the dastard who struck at me. It was aimed at my
heart.”

She showed not the least embarrassment, but appeared bent on making me
feel that she trusted me as implicitly as a child. When I had bound up
the wound she resumed her dress, taking care to put the stains of blood
out of sight; and then, with a few swift, graceful movements, for all
the stiffness of the hurt, she coiled up the loose tresses of her hair.

When she had finished she went to a cabinet, and, taking wine and
glasses, filled them.

“You will pledge me?” and she looked the invitation. “We women are so
weak. I am beginning to feel the reaction.”

I was putting the glass to my lips when she stopped me.

“Stay, I wish to know to whom I owe my life?”

So powerful was the strange influence she exerted that I was on the
point of blurting out the truth, that I was Gerald Winthrop, an
Englishman, when I steadied my scrambled wits, and, mindful of my
secret mission in the country and of the part I was playing, I replied:

“I am the Count Benderoff, of Radova.”

She saw the hesitation, but put it down to a momentary reluctance to
disclose my identity, for she answered:

“You will not repent having trusted me with your name, Count.” Then,
with a flashing, subtle underglance, she added, “And do you know me?”

“As yet, madame, I have not that honour, to my regret.”

“Yet I am not unknown in Bulgaria,” and she raised her head with a
gesture of infinite pride.

“I am a stranger in Sofia,” said I, in excuse of my ignorance.

“Even strangers know of the staunch woman-friend of his Highness the
Prince. I am the Countess Anna Bokara.”

I knew her well enough by repute, and her presence in the house alone
and defenceless was the more mystifying.

“Permit me to wish you a speedy recovery from your wound, Countess,”
and to cover the thoughts which her words started I raised my glass.
She seemed almost to caress me with her eyes and voice as she replied:

“I drink to my newest friend, that rare thing in this distracted
country, a man of honour, the Count Benderoff, of Radova.” As she set
her glass down she added: “My enemies have done me a splendid service,
Count--they have brought me your friendship. They could not have made
us a nobler or more timely gift. The Prince has need of such a man as
you.”

I bowed but did not answer.

“You are a stranger here, you say. May I ask your purpose in coming?”

“I am in search of a career.”

“I can promise you that,” she cried swiftly, with manifest pleasure.
“I can promise you that certainly, if you will serve his Highness as
bravely as you have served me to-night. You must not think, because
you see me here, seemingly alone and helpless, that I have lost my
influence and power in the country. My enemies have done this--Russia
through the vile agents she sends here to wound this distracted country
to the death--suborning all that is honourable, debasing all that is
pure, undermining all that is patriotic, lying, slandering, scheming,
wrecking, destroying, working all and any evil, bloodshed, and horror,
to serve the one end ever in their eyes--the subjugation of this
wretched people. My God! that such injustice should be wrought!”

The fire and passion flamed in her face as she spoke with rapid
vehemence.

“But it is by such men as you that this can best be thwarted--can only
be thwarted. I tell you, Count, the Prince has need of such men as you.
Pledge me now that you will join him and--and me. You have seen here
to-night the lengths to which these villains would go. Because of my
influence with the Prince, and in opposition to Russia, I have been
lured here by a lying message; lured to be murdered in cold blood, as
you saw. You saved my life; I have put my honour in your hands; you
have offered to serve me. You are a brave, true, honourable man. You
must be with us!” she cried vehemently. “Give me your word--nay, you
have given it, and I can claim it. You will not desert me. Make the
cause of truth and honour yours, and tell me that my Prince and I may
rely on you.”

She set me on fire with her words and glances of appeal, and at the
close she laid her hands on mine, until I was thrilled by the infection
of her enthusiasm, while her eyes sought mine, and she seemed to hunger
for the words of consent for which she waited.




CHAPTER II

“NOW YOU WILL HAVE TO JOIN US”


Tempting as the offer was which my strange companion made me, I could
not bring myself to accept it without time for consideration, and my
hesitation in replying irritated and seemed to anger her.

She thrust my hands away from her with petulant quickness.

“You are a man of strangely deliberate discretion, Count,” she said as
she turned away to the end of the room and threw herself into her chair
again, from which she regarded me with a glance half scornful, half
entreating.

“If I do not accept at once, believe me it is from no lack of
appreciation of the honour you offer me or the charm with which it is
offered, but circumstances compel me to be deliberate.”

“Circumstances?” she cried, with a shrug of disdain and disappointment.

“I regret that I cannot explain them.”

I could not, without telling her the whole reason of my presence in
Sofia; and that was of course impossible. My secret commission was from
the British Government, and the intrigue which I had to try and defeat
was designed to depose her Prince, and set on the throne in his place a
woman who would be a mere tool in the hands of Russia.

I am half a Roumanian by birth, my father having married the Countess
of Radova, and my childhood had been spent in the Balkan peninsula.
It was on one of my visits to the estates in Radova that I had come
across the scent of this newest Russian intrigue, and as I had already
had close communications with the British Foreign Office and accepted
one or two missions of a secret character, I had volunteered for this,
believing that single-handed I could effect secretly much more than
could be done by the ordinary machinery of diplomacy. The Balkan States
were in a condition of ferment and unrest; the war between Bulgaria
and Servia had ended not long previously; Russia was keenly bent
upon rendering her influence impregnable; and as no other European
Government would interfere, our Foreign Office was loath to take open
measures.

At such a juncture my services were readily accepted, and I had arrived
in Sofia a couple of weeks before, and was just forming my plans, when
this startling incident had occurred.

I had stipulated for a perfectly free hand as to the course I should
pursue, and the means I should adopt to secure my end--a concession
that had been granted me with the one stipulation that if I failed
or if trouble arose through my agency our Foreign Office would be at
liberty to disown me.

It will thus be seen how strongly I was tempted to accept the offer
which the Countess Bokara made me, and which I knew she was in a
position to carry out. But still I hesitated, unwilling to commit
myself definitely to either side prematurely, lest such open alliance
with the one side should make me a mark for the hostility of the other.

My instincts, sympathies, English associations and wishes all prompted
me to accept the offer and throw myself heart and soul into the cause
of the Prince; but I had to walk by the cooler guidance of judgment,
and it had before been in my thoughts rather to seek an alliance with
the Russian party and find among their ranks the men and means for a
counter intrigue to thwart theirs.

I resolved, therefore, not to pledge myself to this witching woman,
whose strange personality wielded such fascinating influence.

Few as were the moments that sufficed for these reflections, they were
too many for my companion’s patience.

“How came you here to-night so opportunely?” she asked, breaking the
silence suddenly.

“You passed me on the other side of the Cathedral Square, and I then
observed you were being followed. I followed in my turn, lest you
should be in need of assistance.”

“There are not many men in Sofia who would have dared to interfere in
such a cause. But for you I should be dead now,” she shuddered, “and
the Prince would have had one friend the less--or may I not say, two
friends?”

“The Prince will always have a friend in me,” I returned guardedly.

She made a movement of impatience.

“I want no general phrases.” Then after a pause and in a different
tone, she added: “Tell me, what arguments are the strongest that I can
use with you, my friend? You said just now you were seeking a career.
Have you ambitions? If so, I can promise you a splendid fulfilment of
them. Do you wish riches? They shall be yours! Have you a heart? I
will find you as fair a bride as man’s eyes can rest upon. Have you
judgment? Aye, have you anything--except a commitment to the other
side--and I can prevail with you. Join us, and before three months are
over your head you shall be the Prince’s right hand--and mine.” The
subtle witchery of her tone in the last two words was indescribable.

But I would not let her prevail, though her words and manner were
well-nigh dazzling enough to carry me out of myself. The magnetism of
her mere presence was overpowering.

“You are not fair to me, Countess. A man cannot reason coldly in
the presence of such charms as you exert,” I answered, stooping to
flattery, though telling the truth.

She shook her head and tapped her foot on the ground.

“Say no, bluntly, if you will, but do not try to slip away with
words of cheap and empty flattery. I am not appealing to you to join
for my sake, gladly as I would welcome you, but for the sake of the
Prince, for the cause of truth, for the honour and safety of Bulgaria.
Stay----” as I was about to answer, “I have seen you act and I have
read your character. I do not make mistakes. I know you are to be
trusted. You have saved my life, at a greater risk than you may think,
for you will be a marked man now; and I will do more than put my
life in your hands--I will tell you everything. You will not reveal
it--though, Heaven knows, betrayal is the religion of most men here,”
she exclaimed bitterly.

“I would rather you told me none of your secrets,” I said, but she
swept my protest aside with a wave of the hand.

“You wonder why you find me here in this house alone at night. You must
wonder; I will tell you. It is my mother’s house--my own is across the
city near the Palace--and to-night her own maid came to me with an
urgent message that my mother had been stricken down suddenly and was
dying, and that I must come at once. It was a lie, of course, though
for the moment it blinded me. I hurried here on foot, too anxious even
to wait for a carriage to be got ready, and when I arrived the place
was empty. While I was wondering whether I had been betrayed, the men
you saw--to whom keys of the place had been given--entered, and would
assuredly have murdered me but for your arrival. That is how Russia
plays her cards in Bulgaria.”

“How do you know they were Russian agents?”

“How do I know that when I am hungry I want to eat? Wearied, I need
sleep? Bah! do you think I have no instincts, and do not know my
enemies? How do I know their plans and plots?” She fired the questions
at me with vindictive indignation and a smile of surprise that I should
even ask such a thing. Then her expression changed to one of deep
earnestness, her tone hard and bitter.

“I will tell you how you shall know it, too. They have tried every
other means but this to separate me from my Prince. Threats at which I
laughed; bribes to be anything I pleased, which I scorned; hints of his
assassination, which I carried to him; everything--till only this was
left; and now this,” and she touched her wound lightly. “And even this,
thanks to your valour, Count, has now failed. And their object, you
will ask? They have a plot to drive my Prince from Bulgaria, because he
will not be their tool. You know he will not; all Europe knows it, and
knows too that the only chance for Bulgaria’s real independence is that
he shall remain on the throne here. And remain he shall, I swear, by
the great God they all profess to worship, in spite of all their crafty
intrigue and bloodthirsty plotting. And yet, mark you, the worst danger
lies not with them, but with the fools and traitors in Bulgaria itself
whom they delude or suborn. There is not a self-interest to which they
do not appeal, from the ambition of the fool to the corruptness of the
knave. And God knows, both knaves and fools are plentiful enough here.”

“And their scheme?” I asked, moved by her intense earnestness.

She looked at me sharply.

“Then you do wish to hear it?” she asked, referring to my former
protest. “You shall. There is a woman--a seemingly innocent,
soft-natured thing, all sweetness and grace, but a devil; with the
beauty of an angel and the heart of a vampire--a devil.”

Her fury was instant, overwhelming, absorbing.

“Did they propose marrying her to your Prince?” I asked, making a shot.

She darted at me a swift glance that might have been winged with hate
at the mere suggestion. Then her eyes changed, and she laughed and said
softly:

“You are the man for us. Calm as a sword and as sharp as the point.
Yes, they dared even that--but I was in the way. In another woman’s
hands they thought he might have been won round. But rather than see
him the husband of that fiend, Christina, I myself would have plunged
a dagger into his heart--and they guessed this, I suppose, and changed
the plan. She is the Princess of Orli, as probably you know--for I
don’t suppose you are quite as unknowing as you seem--and apparently
is all for Bulgaria and the Bulgarians. Like you, she is a Roumanian,
and like you, if I read you right, she is driven from her country by
the all-powerful Russian predominance--at least, that’s what she says.
Isn’t that why you left?” she asked, with quick shrewdness.

“The Russian predominance there is undoubted,” I answered.

She liked the answer and laughed.

“Good! you are cautious, and I don’t blame you. For the lips that
breathe out rashness breathe in danger, my friend. But now, will you
join us? You can see the career that awaits such a man as yourself
here--at the right hand of the Prince.”

“But if the Princess Christina is opposed to Russia, how does she
threaten Bulgaria?”

“Aye, if?” and she laughed scornfully. “There is another complication.
The woman has sold herself to the Russians. She is betrothed secretly
to one of the worst of them all, a man of infinite vileness and
treachery--the Duke Sergius. And the plot is that as soon as this
Christina is on the throne, the precious pair are to be married, and
Russia triumphs in despite of anything Europe may say to the contrary.”

“I see,” and so in truth I did; for in a moment the kernel of the
whole movement was laid bare to me, as well as the objective of all my
work in Bulgaria. I remained some moments buried in thought, and all
the time my companion’s eyes were searching my face for a clue to my
thoughts. “It is very Russian,” I said at length, equivocally; and at
the words she made a quick gesture of impatience.

“You will not give me a sign,” she cried, and jumped to her feet
impulsively. “But you will join us?” she asked. She came close to me
as she waited for the answer, and when I did not answer, she added
quickly, “Why do you hesitate?”

Before I could reply, we both heard a noise somewhere in the house.

“What can that be?” I asked. “You said there was no one in the house.”

“None, that I know;” and we both stood listening intently. “Those
rascals may have left the place open and let in some of the thieves
that infest the streets.”

“Those are no thieves’ footsteps,” I answered, as quick steps were
heard approaching the room.

“It may be another attempt on me--but I have a brave defender now,” she
said, under her breath.

I had a revolver with me and took it out of my pocket, glancing to see
that the chambers were all loaded.

“You had better stand back at the end of the room there,” and I went
towards the door.

At that moment it was opened quickly, and three men in uniform entered.

“Stand!” I called. “What do you want here?”

“I am an agent of the Government and hold an order for the arrest of
the Countess Bokara,” answered the leader, coming to a sudden halt when
he saw me in the way armed.

“Well, you cannot execute it now.”

“My orders are imperative, sir, and you will resist me at your peril.”

“I shall resist,” said I shortly. “Where’s your order?”

“I have it, that is enough,” he replied with equal curtness.

“Produce it!”

“That is not in my instructions.”

“Then I don’t believe you have it. Leave the house before there is any
further trouble.”

“I must do my duty. Georgiew,” he called to one of the two men, who had
kept close to the door in fear, but now stepped up to his leader’s side.

“Who has signed your order?” asked the Countess, interposing.

“One whose authority is sufficient for me.”

“But not for me,” she cried. I turned, and found to my surprise that
she had come to my side, and was staring with fixed intensity into the
man’s face. “Not for me,” she repeated.

“You must be prepared to accompany me, madame, nevertheless, and I
trust you will come at once, and without causing trouble. We are three
to one, sir, and fully armed; resistance will be useless,” he added to
me.

“If you were thirty to one I would not give way unless you produced
your authority,” I answered, my blood beginning to heat under his
manner and tone.

“I ask you for the last time, madame, to come with me,” and, with a
sign to the others, he made ready to attack me.

“Aye, for the last time,” said my companion, between her teeth, and
before I could guess her intention, she gave a startling proof of her
desperate resource and deadly recklessness.

With a suddenness that took me entirely by surprise, she snatched
the revolver from me, and levelling it with quick aim, she fired two
shots in rapid succession with deadly effect, for the two men standing
near us fell dead at our feet, shot through the head. The third, who
had kept near the door, with a coward’s prudence, took to his heels
incontinently, and left us alone with the dead.

“Good God! what have you done?” I cried, aghast at her deed. “These men
were soldiers.”

She laughed into my scared face.

“You don’t suppose death counts for much in this country. This is only
spy carrion,” and with the utmost _sang-froid_ she stooped and rifled
the pockets of the dead leader, turning the body over for the purpose,
and took from his pocket a paper which she held up for me to read. “I
was sure of it.”

  “What the bearer does is by my order and authority.

                        (Signed), M. KOLFORT, _General_.”

“General Kolfort is the implacable leader of the Russian party, and
that document was my death warrant,” she said.

In a moment I saw my danger, and she read my thought instantly.

“Yes, you are committed, my friend; now you will have to join us,” and
she smiled triumphantly in my face. “I am glad.”




CHAPTER III

THE PRINCESS CHRISTINA


The amazing turn which events had taken through the terrible act of my
companion filled me with consternation at the possible effects to us
both; and after I had satisfied myself that the two men were dead and
so beyond help, I paced the room in anxious, perturbed thought.

She was not in the least perturbed, and filled the minutes by going
carefully through the leader’s papers in search of anything that would
tend to the confusion of her enemies. A low exclamation of pleasure
told me that, when she found what she sought.

She showed no jot or tittle of remorse at this shedding of blood. To
her the two men were no more than a couple of wild beasts who had
attacked her, and had been killed in her self-defence. She was as hard
and callous as any public executioner could have been.

“See here!” she cried at length. “Here are proofs enough of the
villany,” and she put papers into my hand which showed plainly
enough that the whole matter had been planned by those high in the
Russian party. One was no less than a clear but brief statement of
instructions. If the first attempt at secret assassination failed, this
endeavour by means of a pretended arrest by men in uniform dressed to
look like officers was to be made, and the Countess was to be hurried
to Tirnova to be dealt with there, should she reach the fortress alive.

“You will need these when the attempt is made to implicate you. Yours
is a deadly sin--to have come between Kolfort and his vengeance--and
you will need all your wits to get out of it with your life, even with
these papers, unless you throw yourself under the protection of the
Prince and his party. As I said, you will have to join us now, Count.”

“I shall still take time to consider,” I answered rather shortly.
“You have given me plenty of food for thought. But now, what of your
immediate safety? You cannot stay here.”

“Nor you, either. You let the third man escape, and by this time he is
carrying his news of failure with feet winged with fear. I have done
with this carrion,” and she cast a look of repugnance at the dead men,
and turning away, resumed her cloak with great haste. “You will not
decide now?” she asked, as she was ready to go.

“No, I must have time. But where will you go now?”

“I shall communicate with you. You will be a marked man from this
hour, and easy to find,” she said significantly; “and if you are in
danger sooner than you expect, do not hesitate to let me know. Our next
meeting will be in the Prince’s palace, and the sooner the better.”

“Where will you go now?” I repeated.

“Do not fear for me. You will need all your efforts to save your own
skin. Come!” She left the light burning, and led the way out of the
house by a back entrance that opened on to a narrow alley, along which
we hurried.

“I will see you safe to your home,” I said, when she stopped at the
mouth of it and held out her hand. She smiled.

“No, no, I am in no danger; but for you, take this path as far as it
goes, turn sharp to the right until you come to an avenue of trees, and
at the bottom of that you will know where you are. Good-night, Count!
and once more I thank you with all my heart for your service. But we
shall both live to see my thanks in an alliance that will do great
things for the Prince and for Bulgaria.”

She gave me her hand, and though I pressed her to let me see her safely
across the city, she would not, but put me on my honour not to follow
her, and turning, sped away, keeping in the shadow, and going at such a
speed that she was soon out of my sight.

Then I followed the way she had told me, and found myself close to the
street in which my hotel was situated. I walked slowly from that point,
my brain in a whirl of excitement at all that had happened in the
crowded hours of that night.

When I reached my hotel it was only to pace my room in restless,
anxious, brain-racking thought of the net of complications in which I
found myself involved, and the hundred dangers which appeared to have
sprung up suddenly to menace me. It was in vain that I threw myself
on my bed. I could not sleep. If I dozed, it was only to start up at
the bidding of some dream danger, threatening me with I know not what
consequences. It was long past the dawn before I slept, and when the
servant called me, I sprang up, thinking it was my instant arrest that
was intended.

But my wits were cooler and more collected for the rest, and when hour
after hour of the anxious day passed and nothing happened, I began to
think I had exaggerated the risks of my position.

In the cool of the evening I rode out, and on my return ventured to
find out and pass through the street of the previous night’s adventure.
Nothing unusual was astir. No one paid the least heed to me. I might
have been an ordinary tourist without the least interest in anything
but the scenery. So it was at my hotel. Nothing happened that evening
nor on any of the three remaining days of the week, and I occupied
myself with the business of preparing the large house which I had taken
for my residence.

Yet, even the lack of any consequences to me had a grim significance.
It seemed a fearsome thing, indeed, that murder could be attempted
openly, and two of the would-be assassins shot dead in the effort, and
yet the life of the city flow on without the least interruption, and,
as it appeared, with never a person to ask a question about them or
show the faintest interest in the event. Truly, as my strange companion
in the adventure had said, death counted for little in the grim game of
intrigue that was being played in the country.

I had provided myself with a few letters of introduction, and,
knowing the average poverty of the people and the high esteem set on
riches, I had dropped a number of judicious hints that I was a man of
considerable wealth. I had taken the largest house I could find in the
city, and by these means had opened a way into a certain section of
society. It had been my original intention to use such opportunities
as would thus be afforded to carry out my original intention. But the
adventure with the Countess Bokara would render this less necessary
should I resolve to accept the offer of close service with the Prince
which she had made me; and the few guarded inquiries I was able to
make as to her influence confirmed completely my previous belief in her
power to fulfil all she had promised.

Several days passed, and I was in this condition of comparative
uncertainty when, toward the close of the week following my adventure,
an incident occurred which gave me startling proof that, for all the
apparent quietude, I myself was, as she had declared, a marked man.

I was sitting alone in a _café_ one evening, my friends having left
me, when my attention was attracted to the movements of three men, two
being in uniform, at a table in a far corner of the place. They were
busily occupied over some papers, and a constant succession of men kept
coming to them, as it seemed to me, for some kind of instructions. As
business was constantly transacted in this way at the _cafés_, I had at
first no more than a feeling of idle curiosity; but when the thing had
continued for an hour or more, my interest deepened, and I watched them
closely, although, as I thought, unobserved by them.

At length a message was given them which appeared to cause great
surprise, and they paid their score and hurried out of the place.

I followed them, still impelled mainly by curiosity; and as they
were engrossed in conversation, talking and gesticulating, I had no
difficulty in keeping them in sight as they passed through several
streets, and at length entered a large house which filled one side of a
small quadrangle, close on the street.

I stood awhile at the corner, scanning the house curiously, and made
a mental note to ascertain to whom it belonged, and was in the act of
turning away to retrace my steps to the hotel, when a man came out of
the house, glanced about him as though in some doubt, and then looked
closely at me. He walked to the corner of the street opposite, still
looking at me, and after a minute of doubt, crossed to me.

“I am to give you this, sir,” he said, speaking with the manner of a
confidential servant.

“To me? I think not. What name?” I asked.

“I had no name given to me, but I was to say it was ‘In the Name of a
Woman!’”

“‘In the Name of a Woman?’” I repeated. It could not be for me. I knew
no such pass-word, and I connected it instantly with what I had seen
at the _café_. I was about to send the man away, when it occurred to
me that it might be a message from the Countess Bokara, and that, from
a love of mystery, she had chosen this exceedingly ambiguous method of
communication. I took the letter which the man held out, therefore, and
read a message written in a woman’s handwriting:--

  “Follow the Bearer,
            In the Name of a Woman.”

I was disposed to smile, but checked myself on seeing the servant’s
eyes fixed upon me.

“I am to follow you,” I said gravely.

Without a word he led the way back to the house, through the deep
gloomy archway, in which I noticed a number of servants and others
lounging and waiting, and up three or four steps into the house.
Turning to make sure that I was behind him, the man crossed a hall, in
which were more men, some in uniform, through a curtained archway at
the end, and up a broad stairway on to a wide landing-place until he
paused before a large dark oak door. He opened this quietly and stood
aside for me to enter.

As I did so, some words came to my ears that were certainly not
intended for a stranger to hear.

“Curse the business. I am sick of the place. The sooner this thing’s
over and Christina is on the throne and married to Sergius, the sooner
we shall be back in Moscow and out of this beastly hole.”

The voice was loud and strident, and the language Russian; and the
speaker, a young red-haired man, in an officer’s uniform, laughed
noisily. I was in the room before the sentence ended, but I came to an
abrupt halt in my surprise, and perceiving at once the mistake that had
been made, I half turned to leave the room again. But the man who had
brought me had already closed the door.

My surprise was not one whit greater than that of the three men in the
room, however, who were standing together by a table with their backs
to the door, and not having heard it open, did not know I was there
till the officer who had spoken turned round.

“Hullo! who the devil’s this?” he exclaimed. “What do you want, sir?”
and I saw his hand go to his sword hilt.

His companions turned quickly on hearing him, and stared at me with
evident amazement.

“Be quiet, Marx,” said one of them in Russian, a much older man,
and apparently in command. Then in Bulgarian to me, “May I ask your
business, sir?”

“On my word, I know no more than yourself,” I answered, keeping my eye
on the red-haired man whose threatening looks I did not at all like. “I
am here ‘In the Name of a Woman,’ I presume. A messenger accosted me a
few minutes since in the street close by and gave me a written message
to follow him. He brought me here--and that’s all I know.”

“A cool devil, on my word,” exclaimed the red-headed man, and whispered
something to the third which I could not catch.

“There has seemingly been some mistake,” said the elder man suavely.
“You have not been long in the room, sir?”

“Certainly not, the door has but barely closed.”

“You are too much of a gentleman, of course, to intrude yourself upon
us unannounced and listen to our private conversation.” There was an
ominous suggestion of threat in the words, and behind them I could
detect not a little anxiety and embarrassment.

One of the other officers gave a little sneering laugh.

“You wish to know whether I have overheard anything? I speak Russian,
and as I entered I could not help hearing what was being said.”

A look of concern showed on all three faces as I spoke.

“You will have the goodness to repeat what you overheard,” said the
elder man, his voice hardening and deepening.

I repeated in Russian almost word for word what had been said, and the
man whose unguarded words I had overheard turned very white.

An embarrassing silence followed.

“And what meaning do you attach to the words, sir?”

“I do not see that they concern me, or that I am called upon to give
any explanation,” I answered coolly.

“By God! you shall answer,” broke in impetuously and passionately the
red-haired man, as he made a couple of strides toward me.

His superior frowned upon him and muttered a word of caution.

I began to feel glad that I had brought my sword-stick with me.

“One moment; excuse me,” said the elder man, whose great uneasiness was
now very manifest, and the three held a hurried consultation, in which
I could see the red-haired man urging some plan from which the elder
strongly dissented. Then the latter turned again to me.

“I must press you to answer my question, sir,” he said.

“The words could have only one possible meaning,” I replied, seeing no
use in equivocation. “The hope was expressed that Christina, presumably
the Princess of Orli, would soon be on the throne and married to the
Duke Sergius, in order that the speaker might be free to return to
Moscow.” I spoke very deliberately.

“I told you so. The fellow may be a spy and can’t go free after that,”
exclaimed the fiery officer. “Have up the men at once and let him be
secured until we find out all about him,” and he went to the bell-pull
to summon the servants or more probably soldiers.

My next act surprised him and stayed his hand, however. I had observed
a couple of heavy bolts on the door, and thinking that I had better
have three men to deal with than thirty, I shot them into their
sockets, and setting my back to the door, said shortly:

“There should be nothing in this which we cannot settle amongst
ourselves, gentlemen, and with your permission I prefer to have no one
else here until it is settled.”

This was too much for the two younger men. They drew their swords at
once and came toward me.

“You will stand aside from that door at once, or take the
consequences,” said the red-haired man.

My answer was to whip my sword from the stick and put myself on the
defensive. The door stood in an angle of the room, excellently placed
for my purpose, as my two opponents would be much hampered in attacking
me together, and I was not afraid of what either could do single-handed.

Their anger at my resistance made them deaf to the protests and
expostulations of their superior. The red man was the first to cross
swords, and he was so indifferent a swordsman that I could have
disabled him had not the second perceived his inferiority and made at
me in his turn.

A very pretty fight followed, but infinitely perilous to me. Even if
I were successful I could not see how possibly to escape from the
house, which as I knew was swarming with men. But I went to work with a
will, and soon had cause to thank the advantage I gained owing to the
position of the door.

The object of the less furious of the two was rather to disarm than
to wound, and I noticed that he neglected more than one opportunity
of wounding me. The other was a hot-headed fool, however, and was
obviously dead bent on killing me; but a couple of minutes later I had
an excellent chance of settling matters with him. He was fighting in
a furious, haphazard, reckless fashion, when the second man stumbled
from some cause and was out of the fray for several passes. I made the
most of the respite, and pressing the fight to the utmost, I ran my
assailant through the sword-arm, inflicting a wound which caused him to
drop his sword. I kicked it behind me, and was thus free to devote my
whole attention to my other assailant.

I was cleverer with the weapon than he, as I perceived to my intense
satisfaction, and was considering where I would wound him and end the
fight, when my luck turned. I trod by mischance on the hilt of the
sword at my feet, stumbled, and, unable to save myself, fell staggering
at full length on the floor.

It was all over, and I gave myself up for lost, when a most unexpected
and infinitely welcome interruption came.

A door at the other end of the room, which was hidden by the curtains
and tapestries that covered the walls, opened, and I heard a woman’s
soft clear voice, in which vibrated a note of indignation and anger,
exclaim:

“Gentlemen, what is this brawling?”

The others turned at the sound of the voice, and I scrambled to my feet
in an instant, gripped my weapon again, and was once more ready against
attack; though I stared with all my eyes at the lovely face of the
queenly woman who had entered.

“Put up your swords, gentlemen, instantly!” she said; and in obedience
the man who still had his weapon sheathed it and fell back abashed
behind his superior officer.

Intuitively I recognised the Princess Christina.




CHAPTER IV

“THE WEB IS WIDE, THE MESHES HARD TO BREAK”


“As beautiful as an angel, and with the heart of a vampire.”

This bitter description rushed to my thoughts as I gazed at the
Princess Christina. Surely never had treachery, cruelty, and ambition a
fairer guise than hers, if treacherous and cruel she could be.

But the thought started another suspicion. Had this scene all been
planned by her to catch me in the toils? It was a dramatic enough
entrance for me into her circle, and certainly clever. It had been made
to appear as if I had forced my way into the house, had overheard a
compromising secret, had had my very life placed in danger, and then at
the critical moment it was to her coming I owed my safety. If this were
so, I could understand why the less hot-headed of my two assailants had
first rushed to the assistance of his comrade, but had then refrained
from pressing the advantage of the odds against me in the fight, and
had not attempted even to wound me.

Could that lovely, ingenuous-looking woman have laid such a scheme, and
then have carried it out with such shrewd stage-management, putting
that little ring of anger into her voice at all the clatter of the
fight?

If so the danger that had seemed to threaten me had never existed, and
I might as well do as she bade, and put up the sword which had never
been needed in earnest. With a smile at the notion I sheathed it, and
waited for the next development of the comedy.

Yet the anger in her eyes seemed sincere enough, and if she was only
acting she understood her business well; for the indignation on her
face and the liquid notes of her perfect voice moved me to regret even
my share in the fracas, though it had been none of my seeking.

“Major Zankoff, have you such poor command of your subordinates that
they must seek to shed blood almost in my very presence?” At the rebuke
the eldest of the three men winced and bit his lip, but made no reply
except a bow. “You know my will, sir!” she continued, with the mien
of an empress; “and any repetition of this forgetfulness will find me
deeply angered even against you.”

“Madame, I am already punished,” replied the major, with the bow of a
courtier and the shrewdness of a diplomat.

“As for you, gentlemen,” she said, turning to the other two, “I shall
use my influence to see that you are relieved from duties which you
must surely find irksome, since you seek relaxation in this cut and
thrust work. Be good enough to leave me.”

This was a somewhat embarrassing request, for I was by the door, and
still held my foot on the fallen sword. I was not disposed to have the
door open lest others should be brought in, and they were not willing
that I should have a chance of escape, carrying their secret with me.
The three exchanged looks, and then the major came to the rescue.

“There is a matter that needs explanation to you, madame----” he began,
when she cut him short.

“I will hear nothing, Major Zankoff, until these gentlemen have left
me.”

Another embarrassing pause followed, in which she let her eyes glance
toward me and rest a moment on my face, with an effect I cannot
describe. In an instant it seemed as if all my doubts of her sincerity
dropped from me like a cloak. I felt absolutely assured, not only of
her purity and truth, but of my own complete safety in trusting her,
and with an impulse that was as irresistible as it was instantaneous, I
cut the knot of the difficulty.

I picked up the fallen sword, left my place by the door, and handed it
back to the owner.

He flashed a curse at me out of his eyes that I should have been the
cause and witness of his humiliation, and muttered in a tone too low to
reach other ears than mine, as he bent his head in sheathing the weapon:

“I will find you out, sir.”

“Count Benderoff, Hôtel de l’Europe,” I whispered, meeting his look
with one as stern as his own, and then stood aside for him and his
companion to pass out of the room.

The Princess waited in silence until the door had closed behind them,
and then addressed me:

“Why have you come to bring your quarrels here, sir?”

“I think I can best explain----” began Major Zankoff.

“I have asked this gentleman for his explanation, Major,” she broke in,
and I liked her calm assertion of authority.

“I have brought no quarrel here, Madame,” and I explained very briefly
the facts up to the moment of her entrance.

She bent her dark eyes on me during the recital, and gradually the
colour of her cheeks deepened, until at the close, with a flush of
indignation and anger, she cried:

“You have been shamefully treated, sir--shamefully and outrageously.
Because by chance some hot-headed idler cannot keep his tongue
still, but must blab of matters he does not understand, shall murder
be attempted? Major Zankoff, what had this gentleman done that you
should sanction this atrocious act? We owe you an ample apology, sir;
and I, the Princess Christina of Orli”--drawing herself to her full
height--“tender it to you. I do not ask your name. I ask nothing, but
only tell you I am profoundly sorry and deeply grieved that this should
have occurred. Major Zankoff, it is my express wish that you will see
this gentleman safely out of the house, and conduct him to any part of
the city he desires. His safety will be your personal charge.”

And with this she swept across the room and herself held open the door
for me to leave.

Her beauty and grace, and, much more, the instinctive justice of her
act and implied trust in my honour, conquered me. I did not wish to
leave her, and lingered gazing at her in admiration. This was the
Countess Bokara’s vampire. If this was how she gained her victims, I,
at any rate, was ready to be one of them. As we stood thus, she holding
the door and I unwilling to go, our eyes met, and I was filled with one
consuming, burning impulse to serve her.

Then came an interruption, which I for one welcomed profoundly.

An old man, in the uniform of a high Russian officer, entered through
the door which she had used, and in a high-pitched voice said sharply:

“This is a somewhat unusual scene. What does it mean?”

I was watching the Princess closely, and saw an expression of some
disconcertment and alarm rush into her eyes, to be as quickly forced
down and followed by what I half dared to hope was a look of solicitude
on my account. The eyes seemed to beg me to leave while the way was
still open.

But I would not have gone for a fortune. I was ten thousand times more
eager to stay.

Major Zankoff gave an expressive shrug of the shoulders as he said
in reply to the question: “There has been a little misunderstanding,
General.”

The small, alert, piercing eyes seemed to take in the situation at one
sweeping glance that dwelt lastly on my face.

“Princess, can I have a word with you? Major Zankoff, close the door
and guard it. We want no one in--or out,” he let the last two words
drop from his lips as though they were an after-thought and not
intended to be spoken aloud.

“I am telling this gentleman that he is at liberty to leave here,
General,” she answered, lifting her head with what I read as an
intentional assertion of authority, not made, however, without an
effort.

“Very good of you, very good indeed,” he replied drily. “But as the
gentleman does not seem disposed to go, suppose we close the door.
There is a draught for one thing, and pretty situations should never be
strained. Besides, I wish to have a word with him myself.”

My wits had been somewhat mazed by the unexpected character of the
meeting with the Princess and the whirl of strange and disturbing
thoughts which she had started, but these last words of the old
soldier recalled me to myself quickly enough.

“With me?” I said in surprise.

“Certainly, with you,” he answered sharply.

The suggestion of solicitude for me still lingered on the Princess’s
face as she left the door and went to the old man.

“I have passed my word for his safety, General,” and she looked
meaningly at him.

“Do I look so fierce and terrible an object, madame, that the gentleman
will be afraid to trust himself alone with me, think you?”

“I have passed my word for his safety,” she repeated, and turning to
me, she added, “You may depend upon that, sir,” and as she left the
room she gave me a look from her glorious eyes which seemed to say much
more than even her words.

The old soldier smiled sardonically, and bowed low to her as she passed
him.

“Umph! And now, sir, will you come with me; or are you, as madame was
disposed to think, afraid to trust yourself with me? Zankoff, I do not
wish to be disturbed,” he said abruptly to the Major.

He led me to a room beyond and motioned me to a chair, near the table
at which he seated himself.

“You know, I presume, where you are, who I am, and who that is we have
just left!” he began.

“I do not know all, but I can make a shrewd guess. She is the Princess
Christina; you, I presume, General Kolfort, and this house, either
yours or hers.”

“As you say, a very shrewd guess--even for one known to have such quick
wits as the Count Benderoff, of Radova.” He intended to surprise me,
as indeed he did, by the mention of my name; but I showed no sign of
this, although he looked for it.

“Why did you force your way in here--unless, indeed, you had an object
which I shall only be too glad to welcome?”

“I will make another guess,” I answered. “I came through your own
contriving, General;” and this time it was he, not I, who had to
conceal surprise--for my guess was right.

He looked at me and nodded his head.

“It is my business to know all newcomers to Sofia,” he said. “And you
are too notable and have started too much comment for me not to know of
you. My agents serve me well, and I thought it was full time for you
to declare yourself. There are only two courses open to a man making
a career in this country, as you have said you intend to do. Only two
sides, one of which a man must take. You must be either for or against
the interests of Russia--which is it to be?”

This was plain talking in all truth.

“I have been in the country too short a time to have weighed the
considerations which must determine me.”

“Good; evasive but politic, though not, of course, convincing.”

“Yet true,” said I shortly.

“Very well. We’ll take it at that;” and he looked at me as if he were
pondering carefully the arguments he should use to convince and win me.
“Yet you’ve not been quite inactive, have you, although here so short a
time?”

“You mean----?”

“What should I mean?” he asked, throwing up his hands with an
indifference that was belied by the sharp glint of his eyes.

Did he know of that night adventure, after all? If so, I had indeed
walked into the spider’s web.

“No, I have not been inactive, certainly not,” I answered carelessly.
“I have had to find a house suitable for my position and my means. I am
a man of some wealth, and the work has taken time and care.”

“No doubt. But I did not mean that kind of activity, Count. My sources
of information are many--and secret. Few things are done in Sofia
without my knowing them, as well as those who do them.”

“Through your spies, you mean?”

He waved the term aside and passed over the question.

“We have had an accident lately, rather an awkward affair, which
resulted in the death of a couple of our agents; but a third escaped
and tells a strange story. Even your short acquaintance with Bulgarian
affairs will tell you that the consequences may be serious for those
concerned in their death.”

“I can understand that. But with what object do you make me the
recipient of such a confidence?” I asked coolly.

“You have made some shrewd guesses during our talk; I will leave you
to make another in that matter. It may be only a parable; or, on the
contrary, a matter of life or death for those concerned. In any case,
the person concerned is known to me.” The threat was conveyed with
unmistakable significance. I understood him well enough, and he knew
that I did; but I answered lightly:

“I don’t see that this affects me.”

“I hope with all my heart that it never will,” he said quickly, “for
nothing would please me better than to have you enrolled on our side!”

He paused to let this, his first argument--an appeal to my fears--have
due weight, and watched me keenly to note results. Apparently he was
not too well satisfied with them.

“You have probably asked yourself why I am anxious, as I confess I am,
that you should be with us, and yet if you reflect you will readily
understand the reason. I have told you that there are but two courses
open to a man who mixes in politics here. He must take a side. There
is no possible alternative--no possible alternative. Well, I know
much about you--more than you think, and I do not wish that a man who
has shown such courage as you, on other occasions than to-day,” he
put in meaningly, “who has those parts of head and heart that carry a
man far in troubled times like these; a man wealthy, daring, shrewd,
honorable, ambitious, resourceful, and bound to wield influence, should
enter the lists against me. Such a man must make a leader, and these
Bulgars readily follow when the right man leads. It is all against our
cause that such qualities should be devoted to the service of a craven
Prince.”

“You speak with great frankness.”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows, giving a slight toss of the head.

“I can be frank with perfect safety. You are in my power, Count.”

“I have the word of Princess Christina----”

“I do not mean in this house, I mean in this country,” he interposed.
“If you do not know the reach of my hands, it is time you learnt it. No
man crosses this frontier without my knowledge, and no one recrosses
it against my will. Do not mistake me; I don’t speak at random, nor am
I uttering a mere empty boast. I am stating a plain fact. And the power
which I wield you can share, if you will.”

It was skilfully turned and cleverly put, and for the moment I was
silent.

“The web is wide, the meshes hard to break, Count; and I brought you
here that you might see how wide and how hard. You were right just now
in that shrewd guess of yours--I did bring you here. First, for that
little dramatic test of your courage; next, that you should see for
yourself the glorious woman in whose cause we fight; and lastly, that
you should understand the obstacles that lie in the path of those who
would oppose us. You say you seek a career. Well----” He paused here
and looked most keenly at me as he added, “Englishmen have done the
same before----”

I could not repress a start of surprise at the thrust, and he stopped
to enjoy it.

“Yes, Englishmen--and Roumanians. But it is very rare for a Roumanian
to combine the qualities which distinguish you, Count Benderoff.
You perhaps know the English. If I mistake not, your father was an
Englishman, and you may have met a certain Hon. Gerald Winthrop. I have
such a man in my mind when I speak to you.”

I sat gnawing my lip, my brows knitted in thought, and had no reply,
while he looked at me with a smile at my evident consternation.

Then he gave a sudden and unexpected turn to the matter.

Pushing his chair back, he rose, and said in a frank and apparently
friendly tone:

“I have taken you by surprise. Of course I know that, and do not
wish to push the advantage unfairly. Don’t decide now. I want your
decision to be deliberate and the result of judgment, and not mere
embarrassment. I will make you a fair offer. The frontier is free for
you for three days--nay, for a week. Join us within that time, or let
my agents report to me that you have crossed it. I want your services
because I value them, but I do not intend my enemies to have them. If
you really wish to make a career, I can help you as no one else can. I
want no oaths; they don’t bind me, and in this place bind no one beyond
the limits of self-interest. If you join us, you would have to be
faithful, or your life would be a mere candle-flame to be snuffed out
at will. That is a better guarantee than any mere oaths. If you decide
to throw in your lot with us, I shall be glad to see you at any time.
If not, I hope we shall not meet again.” And he held out his hand.

I took it, not over cordially, and left him, dismayed, perplexed and
anxious, but with an appreciation of his power keen enough to have
satisfied even him.




CHAPTER V

“SPERNOW”


A night’s reflection brought but slight relief to my anxiety and doubt.
How that wily Russian general had succeeded so easily and promptly in
discovering all about me, I was at a loss to guess; nor was it of much
profit to inquire. He had the facts, and the question was how he would
use them; and the first gleam of an answer came from a very small thing.

He had offered me first three days in which to leave the country, and
then had extended the time to a week. Why? I came to the conclusion at
length that he had probably a double reason, for he was not the man to
do anything without a clear reason. He was all against my joining the
party of the Prince, and was probably resolved to go to extreme lengths
to prevent me. But he knew also, though he had been crafty enough not
to admit it openly, that I was an Englishman; and that fact might well
embarrass him in dealing with me.

Any ill-treatment of a British subject at such a juncture might bring
about just such grave complications with our Foreign Office as might
imperil the whole Russian under-current policy. That was, therefore,
unquestionably one of my strong cards to play, and I resolved to use it
promptly.

I judged that in all probability my correspondence would be tampered
with, and would, if necessary, pass under his own eyes; so I wrote a
letter to a friend in England, stating the fact plainly that I had had
an interview with General Kolfort, the Russian leader, in which the
fact that I was a British subject had been discussed between us, and
added a few words of assumed annoyance that this should have happened,
as it might interfere with my plans in making a career in Bulgaria. I
put in some other general matter such as might be written in a friendly
letter, and finished with a request that my correspondent would send
me two or three articles I had left in his care. This was all fable,
of course; but I wrote it to make it more difficult for the General to
suppress the letter. Then I added a postscript, with the usual sting in
it.

“If you get a chance, you might drop a side hint to Edwardes, of the
Foreign Office, that I am here, and known to be English.”

I sealed the letter with careful clumsiness, so that the envelope could
easily be opened without the seal being broken, marked it “Urgent.
Strictly private,” and then gave it to a waiter to post. If I was under
the surveillance he had suggested, I felt convinced that nothing more
was necessary to ensure its getting immediately into the General’s
hands. It would at least give him food for thought.

Then as to his second object. Why had he given me any time at all? A
Russian party, strong and unscrupulous enough to plan the assassination
of the reigning Prince himself--as they had done--would have thought
nothing of keeping me, a mere Roumanian Count (as I told them I was
when they had me on the previous evening), rushing me off incontinently
to the frontier, and bidding me be off about my business under fear of
a stray bullet should I attempt to return. But he had given me a week
to deliberate, and I drew the inference that he was really anxious to
have an Englishman on his side, and that he meant to use the week to
bring strong inducements to bear upon me.

And through all these reflections one dazzling remembrance flashed,
as the sun will flash through thin foliage after a summer shower--the
great steady glare caught and reflected from a myriad drops on the
wet, dancing leaves. It was the memory of the glorious beauty of the
Princess, with that look of solicitude for me and of fear of the
General which I had seemed to catch.

I had no more desire to fly the country than I had had to leave her
witching presence, and a thousand thoughts rushed through my mind,
bewildering, stirring, fascinating me, and all urging me to stay until
I had at least probed the meaning of her look, and determined whether
I could in any way serve her. If she really stood in need of a friend,
how gladly---- And at that point I broke the thought with a laugh at
my own silly conceit. She had a hundred, aye, a thousand men at her
command. And I was a fool.

But I would not leave the country if I could help it, and I ordered a
horse and rode out, first to see how nearly my house was ready, and
then away for a gallop in the country.

On my return I learned that two officers had called and asked for me;
had left word that, as their business was urgent, they would return
early in the afternoon. I did not know the names--Captain Dimitrieff
and Lieutenant Grassaw--and I could not think what they wanted with me,
but I resolved to wait in for them; and while I was waiting, a servant
brought me a card from another stranger--Lieutenant Spernow.

The moment he entered I liked his pleasant, cheery looks, and
his frank, unrestrained, self-possessed manner impressed me most
favourably. With a smile he offered me his hand, and said:

“I have come in a quite unusual way, Count Benderoff. I am sent, in
fact, to make your acquaintance. I am assured we shall speedily be
friends.”

“I am certainly at your service,” I answered, unable to resist a smile
at his singular introduction.

“It has an odd sound after all, hasn’t it; and yet, do you know, I’ve
been thinking how I should put it and rehearsing, all the way. It does
sound devilish odd from a stranger, but I do hope--for reasons that
weigh infinitely with me, I can assure you--that so odd an introduction
will really lead to friendship.”

“You say you were sent to me?” I asked, cautiously.

“Yes; I assure you I am frankness itself. They never trust me with
important secrets; I blurt them out;” and he laughed, as though that
were rather a good trait. “Old Kolfort sent me--Old Kolfort for one.”

“I saw General Kolfort last evening,” I replied, drily. “But sit down
and have a cigar, and then tell me why he is so interested in providing
me with friends.”

“That’s a good straight question, but I’ll be hanged if I can answer
it. He’s such a sly old fox, with fifty secret reasons for every plain
one. Thanks, I’ll have a cigar. Well, he sent for me this morning--you
know, I am on the Russian tack in all this business, and that for a
reason which I’m pretty sure to let out before I’ve been many minutes
with you; in fact, bound to, come to think of it--and--let’s see,
where was I? Oh, yes; he sent for me, and said, ‘Lieutenant, I have a
pleasant duty for you--and an important one. I wish you to go to Count
Benderoff and make a friend of him--he told me your hotel--and do what
you can to make his stay in Sofia pleasant, as it may be only a very
short one. You’re the best man I know to let him see what’s worth
seeing in the city, and to let him know what’s worth knowing.’”

“It promises to be a very kind act on his part.” I spoke sincerely, and
my visitor smiled at the words.

“It shall be, if you’ll let me, Count, I assure you. But that old fox
always has a bitter wrapped up somewhere in the sweet; and as I was
leaving, after having talked you over, of course, he pretended to
remember something, and said, ‘Oh, by the way, take this letter to the
Count with an apology from me. By an unfortunate mistake it has got
opened by some clumsy idiot, and was brought to me to know what should
be done. Tell the Count I’m very sorry, but perhaps he may not care
to send it for a week or so, after all.’ ‘What is it?’ said I. ‘Of no
consequence; but the little act will be an introduction for you.’ Then
I saw it was one of those infernal things that are always being done in
this country--an intercepted letter, and I felt inclined to fling it in
his face, only I daren’t. I let him have a word or two about choosing
me for such work, but I brought it, and I’m afraid you’ll think I’m
a regular cad to lend myself to such a thing. But I’ll tell you why
I decided to bring it in a minute; and I hope I needn’t assure you I
don’t know a word of what’s inside.”

I accepted his word without hesitation, and believed in his
expressions of disgust at the mission. I took the letter readily
enough, and was indeed glad that my little ruse had succeeded so
completely. Then I gave it a finishing touch.

“I suppose he’ll expect you to report what I said. Well, here’s the
answer.” I struck a match and set fire to the letter, holding it until
it was consumed. “It’s not of the least consequence, I assure you, for
I took the precaution to send off a duplicate in proper disguise.”

“The devil you did. I’m infernally glad to hear it. I love to hear of
old Crafty being licked at his own game.” Then he started and rapped
the table as he laughed and asked: “Was that a decoy? Oh, that’s
lovely. I won’t tell him. I hate the old tyrant, and he knows it; but
he knows, too, that I’m horribly afraid of him. And that’s what he
likes. Gad, that’s good!” and he lay back in his chair and laughed
aloud at the thought of the General being outwitted. “And he was so
damned serious, too, that I know he thought he’d done a mighty smart
thing.”

He was obviously sincere, and it was impossible not to see that he
thoroughly enjoyed what he deemed a good joke. When he had had his
laugh out, he gave a little sigh of relief as he said:

“Well, that’s over, and I hope you’ll acquit me of any personal part in
the matter or humbug.”

“My dear sir, I acquit you of everything except of having done an
unpleasant thing pleasantly,” I answered, cordially.

“Thanks. And now, is your stay going to be very short in Sofia? I must
tell you before you answer that that’s a thing old Crafty told me to
find out. I suppose he has some underground reason or other? He’s a
beggar for that.”

“Frankly, I don’t know. I hope not, but I don’t yet know.”

“Well, I was surprised when he mentioned it, because we’d heard that
you’d taken a big house, and were going to make a bit of a splash, you
know. And, by Jove, it would be a blessing, for most of the houses here
are just deadly dull.”

“‘_We_ heard,’ you say?”

“How quick you are!” he answered with a smile, and he had a slightly
heightened colour as he went on. “Yes, we--we two; not old Kolfort,
you know. But--well, we’ve had a chat about you more than once; and
last night, after you’d been at the General’s house, we had a regular
consultation about you--and, to tell you the truth, that’s another
reason why I’ve come.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“No, of course you don’t. I don’t altogether. I think; but----” He
hesitated, and pulled at his cigar for some moments in a little
embarrassment. “You see, it’s a bit difficult to make you understand
without telling what a man doesn’t care to talk about. I suppose
something happened at the General’s that affected you closely, and made
you--hang it all! Wait a minute, and let me try and think how I was to
put it.”

I smiled again at this, and watched him as he fidgeted with his cigar
somewhat nervously and uneasily.

“You saw the Princess there, didn’t you? I don’t know, but I heard
something or other; and, anyway, she must have been speaking to--to
someone who spoke to me. Doesn’t that sound rather ridiculous?”

But I scarcely heard his question. The reference to the Princess
Christina had set my thoughts whirling at the bare idea that he was in
some remote way a messenger from her, and that she was sufficiently
interested in me to make these indirect inquiries as to my movements
and intentions.

“Yes, I saw the Princess last night,” I said, breaking the pause. “Do
you come from her?” I was astonished at the steadiness of the tone in
which I spoke.

“Well, yes; but yet not exactly--oh, hang it all, I’d better out
with it. I shall only make a mess of things;” and he laughed gaily,
and flushed. “I came to you mainly because I was asked to do so by
Mademoiselle Broumoff, who is one of her closest companions; and
Mademoiselle Broumoff and I are, in fact, betrothed. Now you’ve got it,
Count; and that’s why I fiddled about just now, and didn’t know quite
what to say.”

“I am much mistaken if Mademoiselle Broumoff, whose acquaintance I
shall hope to make, is not an exceedingly fortunate girl, lieutenant;
and I speak without the least affectation when I say that your news
interests me deeply.”

It did, in all truth. To have as a friend someone who was in the close
confidence of the Princess herself, was a stroke of good fortune which
I could indeed appreciate; and I resolved to bind this handsome young
officer to me by all possible bonds.

“The one commission is an antidote to the other, at any rate, I hope,”
said Spernow; “and if it’s any gratification to you to know it, you can
rest assured that the Princess takes a lively interest in you, and for
some reason or other feels herself under some sort of obligation to
you. Frankly, I don’t know what it is; but I do know there are plenty
of our fellows who’d like to stand in your shoes in such a thing. You
can’t think how we worship that woman!” he cried, with a flash of
sudden enthusiasm.

“I can think of no cause for such a feeling of obligation,” said I,
speaking indifferently to hide the tingling glow of delight at his
words.

“Oh, of course. By Jove, I was nearly forgetting,” he exclaimed, with a
jerk, as he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a packet
of papers. “Are you engaged for to-morrow night?”

“I? No indeed.”

“Then you’ll be able to come all right. I’ve got you a card for the
ball at the Assembly. It’s a big do; and most of the folks worth
knowing will be there, if you want to know them.”

“Is this from the General?”

“Well, not exactly, though he’ll be glad enough for you to go.
Mademoiselle Broumoff put me up to it.”

“Then I may have the pleasure of seeing her there?”

“Of course, she’s going, rather; and the Princess too. You’ll come?”

“I shall be very pleased. It is just the chance I shall welcome.”

Was this another little personal attention from the Princess, or merely
a development of the policy of winning me to the Russian side? I was
turning this over, and thinking how far I could get the answer from
Spernow, when a servant came to say that the two officers who had
called earlier in the day had returned.

I told the man to show them in, and explained matters to Spernow. He
knew them, he said, but not their errand.

This was soon explained, and caused me no little surprise.

“We come from Lieutenant Ristich,” said Captain Dimitrieff, speaking
very formally and stiffly.

“And who is Lieutenant Ristich?” I asked. “I do not know him.”

“You met yesterday at General Kolfort’s house, and he considers that
you insulted him. Will you be good enough to tell me who will act for
you? The facts have been explained to me.”

“Do you mean that the lieutenant wishes to force a quarrel upon me? I
remember him now, of course; but I know of no insult, and certainly I
have no quarrel with him.”

The captain raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

“Shall I say, then, that you prefer to apologise?” he asked,
superciliously.

“Certainly not,” I returned sharply, stung by his manner. “What I mean
is that nothing passed which need make another encounter between us
necessary.”

“That is an _impasse_.”

“I cannot help that,” said I, indifferently.

“Well, you must either fight, sir, or refuse to fight; and in the
latter case the lieutenant says he will be driven to the extreme course
of publicly insulting you.”

“This is monstrous,” I answered angrily. “It is nothing less than
forcing a quarrel upon me, as I say. But if that is the lieutenant’s
mood, and he wishes for another lesson in swordsmanship, I’ll give it
him. I have but very few friends here in Sofia, but the matter shall be
arranged without delay. Perhaps----” I looked across at Spernow.

“Can I be of any assistance, Count?” he said, eagerly.

“I shall be deeply obliged if you will. Perhaps these gentlemen will
retire to another room for a few minutes, and then you can wait on
them, and matters can be put in course before they leave the hotel.”

They went, and I explained all that was necessary to Spernow, telling
him that I attached little importance to the affair, and that I had
already proved myself much more than a match for the lieutenant with
the sword; that as the challenged party I should choose swords; but
that the conditions were to be made as little stringent as possible, so
that the fight could be stopped as soon as either was wounded, however
slightly.

He went away then, and when he returned said that he had made all
arrangements, and that we were to meet early the next morning at a spot
just outside the town, often used for the purpose.

“Mademoiselle Broumoff will take a keen interest in this business,
Count,” he said, as he was leaving me later. “Lieutenant Ristich is an
object of her deepest hatred; and so will the Princess for the matter
of that. He is no favourite of hers either.”

“You will say nothing, of course, until it is over; and you will get
a friend to act with you, and perhaps you will both breakfast with me
afterwards.”

“With pleasure. You take it coolly, Count,” he said as we shook hands.




CHAPTER VI

THE DUEL, AND AFTER


It was a glorious morning, the air crisp, fresh and clear, when I rose
early, and found Spernow waiting for me in the courtyard of the hotel.
He introduced his friend, Captain Zoiloff, who would act as my other
second in the duel.

“I got Zoiloff to come because he’s well up in these matters,” said
Spernow, “and I’m not. He’ll keep us right.”

I did not take the affair of the duel seriously; my bout with Ristich
at the General’s house had shown me my greater skill, and I had no
intention of even wounding him seriously, and no fear whatever that he
would be able to touch me. I said as much to my companions as we walked
together to the ground.

“Ristich is very mad against you for some reason or other,” said
Spernow. “And he’s a hare-brained chap, so I should look out.”

“He is not much of a swordsman,” put in Zoiloff, “but he has one or two
clever strokes that have served him well enough in other affairs of
this kind;” and he went on to describe them. But he found me a somewhat
inattentive listener, and after a short time the talk turned to other
matters.

We were first on the ground, and Captain Zoiloff promptly set to work
to choose the most suitable spot, and the positions which we should
respectively take up. He displayed a manifest relish for the task, and
was evidently an old campaigner in this sort of thing.

He had scarcely concluded his work when the other party arrived,
bringing with them a doctor. They saluted us formally, and without any
delay the seconds consulted together, decided upon the ground, and
selected the weapons.

While they were thus engaged Ristich and I stood apart, and I saw that
he was very pale and moody-looking, glancing every now and again at me
with patent ill-feeling and animosity.

“Ristich has got his marching orders,” said Spernow to me, when he and
Zoiloff came to explain what they had arranged.

“How do you mean?”

“He is being sent back to Russia, and leaves to-day.”

“I heard him declare he wanted to go,” said I.

“Yes, but not in semi-disgrace. He puts it down to you, and that’s what
makes him so bitter. They tell me he raged like a fiend when he heard
it last night, and he means mischief.”

I glanced across at him. He had thrown off his uniform, and I saw, too,
that his sword-arm was bandaged. Till that moment I had forgotten all
about the wound I had inflicted.

“Stay a moment,” I cried to my seconds. “He is wounded. I can’t fight a
disabled man,” and I told them what had occurred.

“That’s his lookout,” said Zoiloff, in a very business-like tone. “He
is the challenger.”

“I won’t fight a cripple,” I said resolutely; and at that they called
the other seconds aside, and a long conference ensued, in the course
of which Ristich was more than once consulted. I saw him explaining
matters to his seconds, and flourishing one of the rapiers to show that
he could use it quite well.

“He insists that the fight must go on,” said Zoiloff on his return to
me, “and I really don’t see that you can object.”

“But it isn’t fair,” I protested. “Under ordinary circumstances, and
with the full use of his arm, the man isn’t my equal with the sword,
and, disabled in that way, the thing’s absurd.”

“His point is that he has to leave Sofia, and that, as he is determined
to fight you, he will have no other chance. I shouldn’t insist, Count
Benderoff, if I were in your place. It will only cause talk. The doctor
has examined the wound and says Ristich is fit to fight, and he has
shown us, as you may have seen, that he has complete command of his
sword.”

“It makes me appear ridiculous to fight a wounded man,” I urged. “Try
further protest, and say I will meet him anywhere at any time when he
is well again. I will travel to Russia if necessary.”

“I am afraid that we shall only get some sneering reply that you don’t
want to fight, or something of that sort.”

“I would rather be sneered at for not fighting a wounded man than fight
one,” said I. “I will take care of my reputation.” And they went across
to repeat the protest and deliver the message.

It was as fruitless as the former one, and when Zoiloff returned he was
very angry.

“I will not repeat his message,” he said; “but it was most insulting.
You must fight, Count. If we have any more conferences we shall only
have more duels. I think you have acted most honourably; but, believe
me, you can only press this further at great risk to your name.”

He spoke so earnestly, and Spernow joined with him, that I allowed
myself to be persuaded, and threw off my coat and waistcoat and made
ready.

We took up our positions under the shadow of some trees, and when my
opponent was close to me the look of hate in his eyes, as they rested
on mine, confirmed what Spernow had told me of his intention and desire
to do his worst.

But from the moment when our blades crossed and the word was given us
to engage, I knew that the issue must rest with me. Ristich attacked
me immediately with great violence and impetuosity, in the hope of
finishing the matter before his weakened strength should give out. I
had no difficulty in defending myself, however, and, had I been in the
same vengeful mood as he was, I could have run him through.

My object was not that. I wished merely to wound him slightly, or
disarm him; and I tried two or three times to do the latter, though
without success. I fought as coolly and warily as if we were in the
school trying a bout with the foils, and this coolness aggravated my
opponent intensely, so that he lost all self-control.

Watching patiently for my opportunity, I found it when he had made
one of his reckless, angry thrusts, and with a quick counter I drove
the point of my sword into his shoulder. Then I drew back instantly
and threw up my weapon off the guard. Whether he saw this or not, or
whether his rage blinded him to his wound and to all else besides, I
know not, but instantly he thrust out his weapon with a blow aimed
straight at my heart.

I saved myself only by springing back, while a shout of indignation
came from Zoiloff.

“A foul stroke; I call you to witness, gentlemen, a foul and dastardly
stroke,” he cried, excitedly, as he rushed in and struck up my
opponent’s sword. “Count Benderoff has behaved splendidly, and if your
sword had gone home, Lieutenant Ristich, it would have been murder. A
most foul stroke.”

In a moment he was the centre of a group, all as excited as himself.
Ristich protested that he had not seen me draw back from the fight,
that he had not felt that he was wounded, and that he was eager to
continue the fight. But Zoiloff would not hear of it.

“I withdraw my man, certainly,” I heard him say, and he brought matters
to a dramatic conclusion. “I declare the stroke a foul one, foully
dealt, and if anyone questions that, I am ready to make good my words
now and here;” and he singled out Captain Dimitrieff and addressed him
pointedly: “What say you, Captain?”

He looked very dangerous as he paused for an answer, and the Captain
clearly had no wish for a quarrel with him.

“Of course, the fight is over,” he answered, evasively.

“Exactly, and we’ll leave it at that,” said Zoiloff, drily, as he
turned on his heel and came to me with Spernow. “I never saw a more
dastardly thing. I wouldn’t have believed even a Russian would have
done such a thing.” A speech that set me wondering.

“They won’t cross Zoiloff,” whispered Spernow to me as I was dressing,
rapidly. “He’s a demon at the business. I’m glad I brought him.”

“What did he mean about ‘even a Russian?’” I asked.

“He hates ’em as much as I do. I’ll tell you another time,” replied
Spernow.

“I congratulate you, Count Benderoff, on a lucky escape. That man
meant to murder you; and Dimitrieff ought to be ashamed of himself
for not speaking out plainly. But they hang together in a way that’s
disgusting, these----” He checked himself suddenly, with a quick glance
at me, as though he had said more than enough before a stranger.

“I hope he really did not know I was not on guard,” I answered.

“I’m afraid it’s a hope not much stouter than a spider’s web;” and he
laughed bitterly. “The man meant murder, and was mad when he saw you
could hold him so easily. You use the sword like a master, Count--I
should like to try the foils with you.”

“Nothing would please me better than a few hints from you,” said I,
readily. “I am a good deal out of practice.”

“Then I shouldn’t care to play with you in earnest when you are in
practice,” was his deftly flattering reply. “If we are to quarrel, I’d
better pray for it to be soon;” and his taciturn face broke into a
smile.

“It’s something to earn Zoiloff’s praise in these things, Count,” said
Spernow, laughing. “He’s generally as chary of it as a coy woman of her
kisses.”

“You are both breakfasting with me, I hope,” I said, as we moved off
the ground. “Then we can go round to the house I am getting ready, and,
if you like, I can have my first lesson in the shooting gallery which I
am having fitted up there.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure; but unfortunately, as I told
Spernow, I have an engagement which I cannot break,” said Zoiloff. “But
I can be with you in about a couple of hours from now, and then I
shall be at your service. I should like nothing better than to see your
gallery.” And we arranged it so.

While we were at breakfast I asked Spernow to tell me, as he had
promised, how it was that so much hatred of the Russians existed among
the very men who were on their side. Such a fact, if it were one, might
have considerable influence upon me.

“I am the worst hand in the world at explaining things,” he answered.
“But it is quite true. We don’t trust them, but we trust each other
less, Count; that’s about the size of it, I think. We must have some
kind of steady leadership, and what is there here? Look at the men
who are at the head of things, and what are they except a crowd of
nobodies, risen from nowhere, and setting their course solely by the
compass of self-interest. The needle points always in that direction,
and all the rest goes running round it.”

“But why trust Russia?”

“Why not? So far as we can see, the one steady influence in this
country is directed by her. We hate Russia, but we are afraid of her;
and where else can we look for any hope of help?”

“The Prince,” I suggested.

“He is as powerless as his poorest subject, and he has round him a
crew that are after nothing but their own personal ends. They yell
about patriotism and independence and all the rest of it, but would
sell themselves to-morrow to the highest bidder. They only don’t sell
themselves, because nobody thinks them worth buying. The only real
power is wielded by Russia, and I suppose we think it’s better to
make friends in advance with what must be the controlling hand in
the country. It’s not a very high game, is it--but where’s a better?
Men like Zoiloff would only too gladly jump at a chance of something
better.”

“And the Princess Christina?”

“Ah!” And his face lighted with enthusiasm. “We do all but worship her,
not only for herself, but because we have come to believe she will in
some way do what we want to see done--draw out the best that lies in
Bulgarian life. She is truth itself, and right, justice, and honour are
the cardinal articles of her faith.”

I looked at him in surprise and began to see there was more in him than
I had at first thought.

“You think more seriously of these matters than I had believed,” I said.

“I?” and he laughed. “Ah, it does not do for us Bulgarians to let the
Russians believe we take either our affairs or ourselves too earnestly.
But some of us are sound enough in heart at least. Enough of politics,
however; why should I bore you with them?” And he turned away to
lighter topics, rattling off a dozen stories of the latest gossip and
tittle-tattle about the society of the city.

I did not check him, for it struck me that he was anxious rather that I
should retain my first impressions of him than begin to look on him as
taking a serious interest in the affairs of the country.

After breakfast we went round to my house and I showed him the
alterations I had made. He took the keenest interest in everything,
declaring that my wealth would make me at once an important figure in
Sofia, and that in a few weeks I should have half the city flocking to
my doors.

When Zoiloff came we went to the shooting gallery, and both the men
were vastly interested in everything I had done. I had had the place
fitted as a gymnasium, with every kind of appliance that money could
provide; many of them sent specially from England.

“I did not know that you Roumanians cared for these things at all,”
said Zoiloff. “I have not done you justice.”

“I am half an Englishman,” I answered, purposely--for I had begun to
alter radically the original part for which I had cast myself. If I was
to stay in Sofia, I felt that I must wrap round me the protection which
that magic formula, British subject, alone could give. The announcement
surprised them both.

“Ah, that accounts for it,” exclaimed Zoiloff. “You English are a
wonderful people. But why do you come to Sofia? Pardon me, I have no
right to put such a question,” he added hastily.

“I am also half a Roumanian; and the freedom of Bulgaria is essential
for the independence of that country.”

I turned away as I spoke, and pretended not to notice the swift, shrewd
look which both men turned upon me.

“I shall hope to know much more of you, Count Benderoff,” said Zoiloff,
with so much earnestness that I thought my words had touched the chord
in him I intended.

“I think it is my turn to be surprised in you,” said Spernow. “And I
hope that we three may come to understand each other well.”

Were these invitations from them both to speak more openly? I thought
so, but felt that for the present I had said enough.

“Shall we try the foils?” I asked.

“With pleasure,” agreed Zoiloff; and while he was making ready he
glanced round the spacious gallery and added: “What a magnificent hall
you have here; there is room to drill half a company of soldiers, as
well as train a band of athletes!”

“Yes,” I answered with a laugh. “It would be a fine house for a
revolutionary movement.” And at this they both started, and again shot
shrewd, searching glances at me; but I was busy selecting the foils.

“You English are a wonderful people,” said Zoiloff again, but this time
very drily.

We set to work then with our fencing, and to my surprise, and much to
Zoiloff’s admiration, I proved slightly the better swordsman. He had
not a spark of jealousy or envy in his composition, and when I had
beaten him for the third or fourth bout in succession, he only laughed
and said:

“I am your first recruit, Count; and you are a master I am well content
to work from--and follow.”

“Good,” exclaimed Spernow, “I will be the second--if you will have me,
Count.”

“My dear Spernow, I could wish no better friends or comrades in any
work than you two.” At this answer Zoiloff, taciturn and reserved
though he was by nature, offered me his hand impulsively, and said with
great earnestness, as I took it:

“Now I am sure we understand each other, and shall work together for
the same cause, Count;” and the warmth of his hand-grip told me that in
him I should have a firm friend.

Spernow was not nearly so skilful a swordsman, and knew it; but he was
anxious to learn, and we arranged that we three should make a rule of
meeting daily for such practice; and when we were separating I said:

“As you can see, I take a great interest in these things, and I should
like you to do me the favour of bringing with you such friends of yours
as you think would like to come and would help us by taking an interest
in the work here.”

Zoiloff’s dark eyes lighted meaningly as they held mine.

“You would soon have a large circle of friends, Count.”

“Every friend of Bulgaria would be a friend of mine,” I answered.

“You mean all that that implies?”

“I mean all that that implies; and the wider interpretation you give to
it the better I shall be pleased.”

“It should be a day of good omen for the country when your house is
thrown open for that purpose. A party of really patriotic Bulgarians
is no mere dream-project--though they will be young men, mostly. By
Heavens, but I am glad Spernow induced me to go out with you this
morning.”

When they had gone, I stayed to think over all the chances which this
unexpected turn of matters suggested. It might yet be checkmate indeed
to Russian plans, if we could find the means to form such a party of
young ardent patriots from within the very ranks of those supposed to
be devoted to Russian interests. There were possibilities calculated to
satisfy the wildest ambitions and effect the most drastic changes.

It would be a perilous task enough at the outset, for I could not doubt
that, should the project get wind, as was most probable in that land of
spies and treachery, General Kolfort would spare no efforts and stop at
no measures to crush it under the wheels of his enormous power.

But it was worth the effort. To me it was infinitely more welcome than
any secret counter-mining intrigue, such as I had had in contemplation.
It would be a real sturdy stroke in the cause of freedom, and, if once
successful, no man could tell how far or wide or deep its glorious
effects might not be felt.

It roused me till the blood coursed quickly through my veins and my
pulse beat with feverish throbs, for in it I saw the real interest and
honour of the Princess Christina herself. The men who had been with
me were both pledged to the eyelids to serve her, I knew; and I knew
further that every man they brought to the house to join us would have
the same enthusiasm in her behalf. Who could tell but that by these
means I might yet be the agent to place her on the throne, but without
the hampering restrictions of any Russian marriage?

This thought was whirling in my head as I walked back to my hotel,
there to receive another startling surprise.

Some one was waiting to see me, had been waiting for two hours, on
important business.

“I am Major Grueff, and am the bearer of a letter to Count Benderoff,
of Radova. Have I the pleasure of speaking to him?”

“Yes, what is it?” I asked, concealing my surprise.

“His Highness has given you a captain’s commission in the Sofia
Regiment, Count, of which I am the Major in command, and has requested
me to carry back your answer to this letter.”

I opened it and found it a request that I should wait upon the Prince
on the following day.

There was no doubt as to the meaning of this. It was the Countess
Bokara’s work; and as I penned my reply, that I should gladly accept
his command, I called to mind her declaration that our next meeting
would be at the Prince’s palace.

“I am glad to welcome you to the regiment, Count,” said the major; but
he spoke in a tone I did not like, and I conceived an instinctive but
invincible prejudice against him. “And, as I have been so long waiting,
I will get you to excuse my hurrying away.”

I did not attempt to stay him; for I wished to be alone to think over
this new development.

If I accepted the captaincy, what could it mean except that I committed
myself to the Prince’s side? And this at the very moment when the other
and vastly more congenial plan had begun to take shape in my mind.

I thought I could see again the alluring but cruel face of the Countess
Bokara, and hear the ring of triumph in her voice as she had turned to
me after her cold-blooded deed:

“Now you will have to join us!”




CHAPTER VII

AT THE BALL


The ball that night was a very brilliant affair, and when I arrived the
rooms were already somewhat crowded. I found Spernow waiting for me
near the entrance.

“You are a little late, Count; we began to fear that perhaps you were
not coming. Mademoiselle Broumoff is anxious for me to present you at
once. Will you come with me?”

As we threaded our way through the throng, he told me the names of many
of those present, but I was looking everywhere for the Princess, and
felt disappointed at not seeing her.

Mademoiselle Broumoff was sitting alone in a corner at the far end,
and I saw her eyes light up as she caught sight of us. She was not
pretty, but her face was bright and clever, with an ever-changing play
of expression that made it very attractive; while a pair of deeply set
thoughtful eyes spoke of great intelligence.

As soon as I had been presented, she made a place for me at her side
and sent Spernow away with a reminder that he had a number of duty
dances with important partners.

“You have kept him from them so long, Count, that he will have a busy
time,” she said with a smile.

“I have kept him? I have but this minute arrived.”

“Of course, that is the reason. I had commissioned him to bring you
straight to me, and you are late.”

“I did not know that such an honour was depending on my arrival, or I
would have been earlier,” I said with a bow.

“I have been most anxious, and half feared you meant to disappoint us;”
and in a light strain we chatted pleasantly. I soon perceived that my
companion was bent upon creating a favourable impression, while on my
side I was not less desirous of making a friend of one who was so close
an intimate of the Princess. We danced the next waltz together, and at
the close of it she asked me to lead her to one of the conservatories.

I observed that she was careful to select a quiet corner, where we
could speak without fear of being overheard, and after a moment’s pause
she said earnestly:

“I have been really anxious to know you, Count.”

“I am flattered,” I answered.

“No, not that,” she replied impulsively, with a slight shake of the
head. “I mean more than that. Michel has told me all that has passed
between you--especially this morning at your new house. Captain Zoiloff
is a man to trust implicitly, you know that?”

“I formed that opinion strongly,” I said, beginning to wonder what she
was going to say.

“Michel tells me you are half English. Is that a secret?”

“No, certainly not. We English are not afraid to own our nationality,
as the actions of many of us show too prominently sometimes, I fear.”

“But Englishmen of wealth do not commonly choose Bulgaria as a place
of residence--at least not without some strong motive.” And her eyes
searched my face for the truth.

“Eccentricity has never yet been denied to us.”

“Is it in your case eccentricity--only?”

“I am also half a Roumanian,” I said, repeating the answer I had given
in the morning to Zoiloff.

“And the Roumanians are all but Russians.”

“Is not the Princess Christina a Roumanian?” I retorted. “And also of
the Russian Party here?”

“Do you think that?” she asked quickly, turning the battery of her eyes
full on me again.

“What time or means have I had to learn how to distinguish between
appearances and facts?”

She laughed--a very silvery, sweet laugh.

“You fence as cleverly with your tongue as with your sword, Count. What
do you want to know?”

“Nothing that cannot be told me voluntarily, mademoiselle.”

“Why do we all trust you instinctively?” she asked. A quiet feminine
thrust.

“I am happy if you do,” I parried; and at the reply she shrugged her
shoulders, and a shadow of impatience crossed her expressive face.

There was a pause, in which she looked down and played with her fan.

“We wish to trust you entirely,” she said next, in a low, earnest
voice. “The Princess wishes it.” A swift glance shot up to notice the
effect of this.

“I have no more earnest wish in life than to serve the Princess,” I
declared, the words coming from my heart.

“To serve her is to serve the cause of freedom and the cause of
Bulgaria.”

“Freedom as the Russians interpret it?”

“Freedom as the English love it,” she answered, in a tone that vibrated
with enthusiasm, her eyes flashing and her cheeks colouring. “The
freedom that we true Bulgarians read and dream of, crave and would die
for,” she added, her voice deep and low with feeling.

A long pause followed, in which my thoughts were busy. Had the Princess
Christina inspired this feeling, and was this strange girl an agent in
pressing me to join such a movement? My heart beat fast at the thought.

“Is that a cause you would serve, Count?” she asked.

“These are strange things to hear from those whom I find all gathered
under the wings of the Russian Eagle!” I said cautiously.

“There may be stranger yet to hear,” she returned sharply.

“The Prince who is on your throne is no friend of Russia.”

“The Prince has never gained the confidence of true Bulgarians. The men
he keeps about him are patriots in nothing but name; and he has neither
the wit to winnow the false from the true, nor the courage to set the
false at defiance.”

“You would play for a big stake?”

“And make our lives the counters. Is not that enough?” The retort was
given with a show of bitterness. “You English are cold and calculating.”

“We are cautious, certainly.”

“Yet you should hate the Russians.”

“No one has accused us of loving them.”

She made another pause before replying:

“Perhaps I have been too rash and have surprised you; but we thought
from what Michel told me of what passed this morning at your house,
that--well, that all was as we wished, and that you were already with
us.”

“You thought this?” I asked, purposely putting an emphasis on the
pronoun. She understood me and smiled.

“The Princess and I both thought it,” and I heard this with delight.

“You did not hear more than the truth, mademoiselle.”

“Then we are to be friends in it all?” she cried; and her face was
radiant with pleasure as she turned her eyes once more full upon me.

“Show me how I can serve the Princess, and I will do it with my whole
heart, and if need be with my life.”

“She will be here to-night, and you can tell her. The news will have
the pleasanter savour coming direct from you.”

She knew how to fire me, and I would have given half my fortune to have
known what lay behind the meaning glance of her eyes, which started
thoughts I would not silence, and yet dared not indulge.

As I sat there, half bewildered, I saw a tall, fair, truculent-looking
man forcing his way arrogantly among the people and coming in our
direction, while he looked about him on all sides in search of someone.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“A man to fear, Count--the worst enemy we have, Duke Sergius. A man
whose eyes we have always to blind.”

At that moment he caught sight of my companion and he hurried his pace,
a heavy frown darkening his sensual, insolent features.

“I have had much trouble in finding you, mademoiselle. I might almost
have thought you were trying to avoid me. The waltz we were to dance
together has commenced.”

Mademoiselle Broumoff smiled ingenuously at him and said:

“I scarcely thought you were in earnest when you put my name on your
programme. You do not generally honour me by remembering it.”

“I have something particular to ask you,” he replied, with such
selfish insolence that I could have kicked him. He caught something
of this expression in my face as he looked casually at me, and his
glance deepened into a steady stare as he tried to frown me down.
But I returned his look with one in which I tried to convey some of
the dislike and contempt I felt at his attitude, and, perceiving
it, mademoiselle rose hastily, put herself between us, and drew his
attention by placing her hand on his arm and saying, as she bowed to me:

“I am ready now.”

As they moved off I heard him ask who I was, but could not catch the
reply.

I hated the look of the man, and tried to persuade myself that the
feeling was not in any way prompted by what I knew about his design
upon the Princess Christina. If I had before needed any inducement to
drive me into opposition to him, my hasty prejudice would have supplied
it; and I sat now absorbed in thought, chewing the cud of all that had
passed between the Princess’s staunch little emissary and myself, and
wishing for the hour and the means to thwart him. They would come, I
felt, and I nursed my anger and fed my animosity as I sat there piecing
together the threads of the net that was closing round me, and drawing
me forward upon a path that would lead I could not say whither.

Spernow’s voice roused me.

“You are not dancing, Count. Won’t you let me find you some partners?
There are plenty here who wish to know you. Well, have you and Nathalie
had an interesting conversation?” he asked in a lower voice, dropping
into the seat at my side. “I know how anxious she was for it.”

“I hope great things from it,” I answered.

“Are you to be presented to the Princess?”

I looked at him in surprise, not understanding the question.

“Oh, the presentation was to hinge upon the result of your talk with
her.”

“Then probably I shall be presented,” I returned, smiling.

“Good, very good; nothing could be better, indeed. Come, then, and let
us go in search of partners. But don’t fill up your card, you may need
a gap or two in it presently.” I guessed his meaning, but said nothing
as I went with him back to the dancing hall, was introduced to several
people, and for an hour danced and chatted as though I had no other
object in life.

I was not too much engrossed by my partners, however, to miss the
entrance of the Princess Christina, and more than once when I passed
close to her in the course of a dance I caught her gaze fixed upon me
with evident interest. Once especially was I certain of this, when she
and Mademoiselle Broumoff were in close and earnest conversation; and
it was with a thrill of pleasure that I felt that I was the subject of
their talk.

Soon after this Spernow came to me and said that the Princess was
anxious that I should be presented to her; and with a fast-quickening
pulse I went with him to where she and her companion were sitting.

Almost directly I had made my bow Mademoiselle Broumoff rose and said
to Spernow:

“This is our dance, Michel,” and as the pair went away I took her place
by the side of the beautiful woman who exercised so overpowering a
fascination upon me.

“A more conventional meeting than our first, Count,” she said.

“A very brilliant scene,” I replied naïvely; for now that I was alone
with her I felt like a tongue-tied clown. My stupid answer surprised
her, as well it might, and I saw a look of perplexity cross her face.
After an awkward pause, I added: “Your coming then saved my life.”

“Scarcely that; but I have since heard the particulars of that matter,
and I have been ashamed that you should have suffered such treatment in
my name. I am glad of an opportunity of assuring you of my regret.”

“I would gladly suffer much worse on your behalf,” I blurted out
nervously, and the answer brought another pause, during which I
struggled hard to overcome my embarrassment and self-consciousness.
I desired above all things in the world to win the favour of my
companion, and yet I sat like a fool, at a loss for the mere
commonplaces of conversation. She would think me a dolt or an idiot.

How long my stupid silence would have lasted I cannot tell; but the
Princess in a movement of her fan dropped her dance card, and, in
returning it to her I looked up, and caught her eyes upon me lighted
with a rare smile.

“Do you return it to me without your name upon it?” she asked.

“May I have the honour?” I murmured.

“What is a ball for, but dancing?” she smiled. “But if you write your
name there it will be a sign and token.”

“Of what?” I asked stupidly.

“Of much that my dear little friend Mademoiselle Broumoff tells me she
has said to you to-night.”

“What is a ball for, but dancing?” I repeated her words as I took the
card and wrote my initials against a waltz. “It will make the dance
memorable to me,” I added, under my breath.

“I shall read it for one thing as a token that you have acquitted me of
all responsibility for the scene at General Kolfort’s house.”

“There was no need for any token of that, Princess,” I replied,
beginning to shake off my paralysing nervousness.

“And of the rest?”

“That I desire nothing better than to be enrolled among your friends.”
I spoke from my heart then, and the words pleased her.

“There may be many dangers, and more difficulties.”

“I am prepared for both--if I can serve you.” I looked straight at her
for the first time, and her eyes fell.

“I could have no more welcome friend,” she said softly.

This time the pause that followed was due as much to her embarrassment
as to mine, and I noted this with a touch of delight.

“You had a long conference with General Kolfort?” she asked, a minute
later.

“Yes; he threatened me with all the power of his enmity if I did not
decide to ally myself on his side, and gave me a week in which to do so
or leave the country.”

“And your decision?” she asked quickly.

“Has been made to-night.”

“To do what?”

“To devote myself without reserve to your interests.”

“I am glad--and proud.”

No answer that she could have made could have filled me with more
supreme pleasure.

“I had feared a quite different result from news which reached me
to-day. You know your affairs are pretty freely discussed just now.”

“What news was that?”

“I heard that you had received a captain’s commission in the Prince’s
own household regiment. Is that so?”

“It was unsolicited by me; and I learnt it only to-day. I have not yet
accepted it. I am to see His Highness to-morrow.”

“You will find him a good man, but sorely distracted by doubts and
fears. All willing to serve Bulgaria; but afraid of Russian influence,
and unable to choose good advisers here. His nerves have been shaken by
the plots against his life, and his judgment shattered till he cannot
appraise the men about him. Were matters different he would be an ideal
ruler for us.”

“And what of the other influences round him?” I asked guardedly; but
she understood me and replied openly:

“You mean the woman whose life you saved. I cannot understand her. Her
ruling passion seems to be her hate of me. And a woman with a passion,
be it jealousy, hate, or love, is no safe guide.” I detected a note of
sadness in her tone. “You ran a great risk that night, Count, a fearful
risk.”

“There was little danger that I saw.”

“I do not mean the seen danger; that may have been small for a man
whose bravery and skill with weapons are such as yours. But the unseen
dangers--the consequences that may always pursue and overtake you
when you least think of them. It is such terrible deeds as that which
fill me with dismay and dread of the future. How can a cause hope
to prosper, the foundations of which are secret murder, implacable
violence, and such desperate bloodshed? And these things are done in my
name, and apparently with my sanction. Did not General Kolfort threaten
you with the consequences of your act?”

“Yes, but I do not take his threats too seriously. It is one thing to
assassinate a Bulgarian woman, another to murder a British subject.”

“When you have been longer in this distracted country you will see the
distinction differently. But we must talk no longer in this strain
here. Too many eyes are upon us and too many ears open. Balls are for
dancing, Count,” she added in a light tone and with a smile.

I understood that I was dismissed, and rose and walked away. I was in
no mood for dancing, and I went into one of the conservatories to think
over what had passed between us, and remained there until it was time
to claim her for the waltz she had promised me.

We danced it almost in silence, save for a commonplace or two about
the ball and the people present; but at the close she said earnestly:

“I am leaving almost directly. I shall be at home to-morrow afternoon,
and shall be interested to know your impressions of the Prince.” Then
in a lower voice: “You must be careful, Count. Accept the commission
in the regiment; but do not pledge yourself to His Highness’s service.
You will not find it necessary. Maintain as strict a neutrality as
possible; and then see General Kolfort and tell him what you are doing.
It might be well to see him before you go to the Palace. Emphasise the
fact of your British nationality. You have a difficult part to play;
how difficult you do not yet see, perhaps. But your success and your
safety will always be of the deepest concern to me. Remember that,
always.”

She spoke earnestly, and in her eyes, as I glanced into them, I saw
again that look of solicitude which at our previous meeting had moved
me so strangely.

And the sweetness of her voice, the touch of her hand, and the tender
softness of her glance, were haunting me all through the night, and
urging me to I know not what strenuous efforts in her behalf.




CHAPTER VIII

AT THE PALACE


The next morning I was up early and went for a long ride. It was likely
to be a critical day for me, and I had to try and look well ahead to
see where I was being carried by the new set of the tide in my affairs.

My conversation with the Princess Christina had had a great effect upon
me. For one thing it had made me more resolved than ever to devote
myself to her, whatever might be the consequences; but her words of
warning, her evident belief that there was danger for me, and above all
her pleasure at my declaration of loyalty to her, had roused all my
instincts of caution, while they had strengthened my feelings towards
her.

She was shrewd, clear-cut in her views of men and things, devoted to
the cause of Bulgaria, and openly allied to the Russian party, whose
rough and violent methods she had nevertheless so indignantly decried.
What then was her object? Was she playing the doubly hazardous game of
attempting to use the Russian influence and power for an end opposed to
theirs?

That was the only solution I could see. And it was one which I knew
must involve her in a course fraught with such peril, that only a woman
of iron nerve and implacable will could contemplate it without fear.
And yet she was brave enough to take such a course without, so far as
I knew, a single man trained in state-craft and intrigue to help her.
Could I take such a _rôle_? The mere thought of the possibility filled
me with enthusiasm not unmixed with much embarrassment.

If my surmise was right, I felt that her scheme was just that which our
Foreign Office would do their utmost to assist; and, in helping her
to gain the throne on such terms, I should be fulfilling in the best
possible way the object of my presence in the country. But I knew, too,
that open help from the British Government was impossible. That had
been made unmistakably plain to me, and I must make it equally clear to
her. Her advice to make the most of my British nationality might have
been prompted by a belief that our Government would help her, and I
must show her the groundlessness of any such hope.

At the same time, the course she had indicated agreed best with my own
views: to maintain an open neutrality between the contending sections
while devoting myself to her interests. Her whole object must be
put fully before me, however; and I resolved to speak very frankly
that afternoon. The prospect of the close association with her was
infinitely alluring, and it required more than a single effort to
drag my thoughts away from dwelling upon this to the more practical
consideration of other matters. To secure that friendship I would
willingly venture all that I had in the world; and I had but to think
of it for my heart to be thrilled and my senses dazzled.

But what of the Duke Sergius and the story of the secret betrothal?
The man was a selfish, sensual brute, as I had seen for myself. Was it
possible that she would even go to the length of sacrificing herself
in a marriage with such a man to secure her end? Then I recalled a
sentence of Mademoiselle Broumoff’s: “A man whose eyes we have always
to blind;” and I repeated it over and over again, till at last I grew
to read it by the light of my own wild, vague thoughts and hopes--that
there was no betrothal, but that the pretended agreement to it was a
part of the subtler plot which my Princess was weaving. The thought of
such a betrothal was maddening to me, and I worked myself up until I
thought I would rather pick a quarrel with him and run him through the
heart than see her condemned to be the wife of such a brute.

I was cooler, however, when I returned to my hotel, and my wits were
clear and wary enough as I set out for General Kolfort’s house. I was
well received, but he made haste to show me that he knew already of the
fact of my captain’s commission.

“I am glad to see you, Count Benderoff--or shall I say Captain?”

“Choose your own form of salutation, General. It was of that matter I
came to see you,” I returned.

“Is that all?”

“All?” I asked, as if in astonishment.

“Do you accept the commission in the service of the Prince--or rather
of the lady who has offered it you--or in mine?”

“In neither; but as an honour offered to a rich British subject who has
taken up permanent residence in Sofia.” His shrewd old eyes lighted at
this reply, which he had certainly not expected.

“So that is your line, eh?” he said drily. “Considering that they know
nothing of the Hon. Mr. Winthrop’s existence, they have acted a little
by accident in honouring a British subject. Don’t you think so?”

I smiled. “At any rate they have made me the offer, and I have
decided to accept it. But I preferred to come and tell you, after our
interesting little conversation of three days ago.”

“That means, then, you will remain in Sofia?”

“My house is nearly ready for my occupation, and I shall hope to be
honoured by your presence in it as my guest.”

“Umph! You have not forgotten our conversation, I see.”

“It was scarcely one to be forgotten.”

“And I understand you claim the rights of a British subject.”

“I am half a Roumanian, General, with considerable possessions there,”
I returned, equivocally.

“You are a very ambitious, or a very reckless, or a very clever young
man, Count. You have thought over your course well?”

“I am not given to act on impulse.”

“Yet cleverer men than you have tried unsuccessfully the dangerous
policy of attempting to ride on two horses at once.”

“I can but fail,” I answered, indifferently.

“Then you decline to enrol yourself in my service?”

“I neither decline nor accept, General.” The reply was unwelcome, and
he sat a moment with brows knitted.

“You will fail, sir, as certainly as you make the attempt. But I must
know, in view of future possibilities, whether you claim the status of
a British subject or that of a Roumanian Count, or whether, again, I am
to regard you merely as a captain in a Bulgarian regiment.”

“I shall be in the unique position of enjoying all three,” said I, and
noticed with some amusement the effect of this answer; and then added
with a laugh, and in a light tone: “I don’t expect you to take me too
seriously, General Kolfort.”

“If you are a British subject, I can ask your Government to recall
you; if a Roumanian Count, I can use other influence to deal with you;
while, if you are merely a Bulgarian officer, you will be responsible
to me for the deed which you have already committed.” His tone was
tense, concentrated, and full of earnestness. “Understand me; I do not
alter. If you will not join me, you shall not stay in Bulgaria. I am
not to be trifled with.”

“I can appreciate that, for you have already had my correspondence
tampered with, in order to prevent certain news reaching England.
I have committed no act for which I am not quite prepared to
answer--openly; and all I demand is that fair play which we English
claim as the right of all--whether English, Roumanian, or Bulgarian.”

He listened to this with a grim smile on his hard face.

“You mean that you are ready to risk breaking yourself on the wheel.
Very well; I confess I looked for a somewhat different decision,
judging by what has passed in the last two days--your conversations
with various people; but remember, and, indeed, you are not likely to
forget, what I have told you is my firm resolve. If you stay, you must
join us.”

I left him then, feeling that I had created pretty much the impression
I desired--that, in dealing with me, he would have to regard me as a
British subject; and that, coupled with the fact of my increasingly
close relations with the Princess and those about her, would suffice to
secure my safety for a time.

With the reigning Prince I was at a loss what line to take. It was
difficult to decide beforehand; but I was resolved to go to the length
of refusing the captaincy in the regiment if the conditions attached to
its acceptance were in any way embarrassing to my freedom.

But my interview with him was a surprise to me.

He received me alone, and spoke with a freedom I had not expected,
giving as the reason for his attitude my rescue of the Countess
Bokara; and when I told him as I did, for there was now no longer
any reason for concealing the fact, that I was an Englishman, his
frankness increased. He jumped to the conclusion that I had some sort
of credentials from the British Government, and it was only with
difficulty that I disabused him of the idea.

He had the most engaging personality of any man I ever met. He was
strikingly handsome; every movement was marked by a courtly but
unstudied and natural grace; his voice was toned in perfect accord with
his courteous and kindly bearing; and his manner so sympathetically
receptive as to impress you with the conviction that all you said
had the utmost interest and importance for him. A courtier to the
finger-tips, and yet withal a prince, it was impossible not to be
charmed with him. I might have been his most intimate friend instead
of the merest stranger who had come to thank him for a favour just
bestowed. There was something lacking, however--strength; and therein,
without doubt, lay the secret of his failure.

“What reason can a wealthy Englishman have for settling in a place
like this, unless he bears a commission of some kind?” he asked, while
indulging his hope that I was indeed charged with the duty of aiding
him.

“Had I such a mission, your Highness, should I not have come straight
to you?”

“I suppose so, but yet it seems strange. I suppose they know in England
how matters are with me, and what must eventually happen if nothing is
done.”

“All Europe knows of the difficulties of your position,” I answered
diplomatically.

“And all Europe does nothing but look on with folded hands, leaving me
helpless to kick against the pricks. Do they think I bear a charmed
life to withstand for ever the plots against my life that are being
daily formed, and that I can go on for ever avoiding the poison or the
dagger or the bullet that my enemies have ever in readiness for me? Do
they take me for a zealot so tired of living that I am willing to keep
my life always on offer to the first hand daring and shrewd enough to
take it? And all this for a freedom which they mouth about and will
not help, and for a people who have been corrupted to hate me, though
I have doubled their country, led them to victory, and saved them from
overwhelming disasters. By Heaven! the ingratitude of this people is as
colossal as their selfishness.”

I said nothing, and in a moment his bitterness passed, and he smiled.

“This is poor hearing for one who has come generously to offer me his
services, and who has already placed me under a load of obligation. But
at least I will be frank with you, Count Benderoff. I can give you this
commission, give it gladly, and welcome you for what I believe you to
be--an honourable man; but your services are of no use to me. They come
too late--too late.”

“I do not understand your Highness.”

“It shall not be for want of plain dealing with you, then. The dear
friend whose life you saved, and who has brought you to me, is
urging--the impossible. She does not know it, or cannot realise it, or
will not--what you will; but, mark me well, my days in this ungrateful
country are numbered. You will not use the information I give you--but
I have resolved to abdicate.”

“To abdicate?” I cried, for this was news indeed.

“Yes; to abdicate. That is my fixed and irrevocable resolve. Had you
brought me the promise of help from England, I would stay and fight
it out, and strive to realise those high hopes with which, under God,
I declare I accepted the throne. But what can I do alone, or almost
alone, against a people who plot and plan to depose or murder me, who
have tired already of the puppet ruler which other Powers imposed
upon them, and against the cursed canker of this Russian intrigue?
In all the land I cannot now tell who is friend and who foe. In my
very household the air reeks with conspiracy and intrigue. I know
not whether any man I meet by chance may not be sent to do murder. I
never lie down at night without wondering whether I shall see the next
morning’s sun. I never taste a meal without the thought of poison. I
never speak a word without the expectation that it will be carried to
the ears of my implacable and ruthless foes. And never a sun rises and
sets again without I know that the deadly work of corruption has been
carried a stage farther.”

“Such thoughts as these, your Highness, grow by brooding.”

“Good God, man, they are the natural germs with which this Eastern air
is crowded and polluted. No, no; these are no idle fears. Russia is
relentless, and I am powerless to resist her. I will not be her tool.
I could stay in safety and in what the world calls pomp and honour, a
great Prince, if I would but stoop to do her bidding. I will not; and
therefore my choice to abdicate or die. Would God it could have been
different!”

I was silent in the rush of thoughts these utterances roused.

“You will not tell the Countess Bokara this? It is my grief, the
bitterest irony of all my position, that I am driven thus to mislead
the one friend who has been staunch to me, the truest friend God ever
gave to a disappointed man, a foiled and thwarted Prince. I have told
you--it will, indeed, be public knowledge in a few weeks from now, and
Europe will reap the crop which her vacillation has sown--that you may
not be buoyed up with false hopes from this grant of the commission. It
would be a Greek gift, indeed, did I not tell you the truth--that you
have nothing to hope from it. I can guess, of course, what the result
will be. You will be drawn to the Russian net. That is a vortex which
sucks in everything.”

“What is that?”

I turned like a needle to the magnet as I heard the ringing tones of
the Countess Bokara, who had entered the room unknown to us.

“Who will join the Russian party--you, Count Benderoff?” she cried
eagerly, almost fiercely, as she came quickly forward. “No. Prince, I
will answer for him. He dare not,” she added.

“How much did you hear, Anna?” he asked rather uneasily.

“Enough to rouse my indignation, that was all.”

“I was telling the Count that there is no hope to be gained in my
service, and there is but one side here for a man of action.”

“Prince, Prince, why will you always damp the enthusiasm of those
who would be your friends and adherents? Why this constant tone of
depression? These everlasting fears and forebodings? There is no
cause for them, Count. We are on the eve of a stroke that will change
everything--everything--and foil these coward traitors and restore in
all its former strength the Prince’s influence. There is no monopoly
of craft and guile in these Russians! A clear head, a strong hand, a
loyal heart, and a daring sword, can change all. We are not so hopeless
but that a clever _coup_ can save our cause and make us once again
all-powerful.”

The Prince threw up his hands with a gesture of weakness.

“It is too late,” he murmured, despondently. “Too late.”

“It shall never be too late while I live,” she cried, desperately. “It
shall never be said that you were beaten by a woman. Force her from
the path, by fair means or foul--and forced she shall be--and all the
flimsy superstructure of this clumsy plot falls like a shattered dream.
Never shall Bulgaria be crushed beneath that woman’s heel while I have
strength in my right arm, or there remains a knife or a bullet in all
the land. I swear it.”

She uttered the vengeful words with all the vehement force of her
violent temper, and as I looked at her I could see the thoughts of
murder lighting her strained, glowing features, and brightly gleaming
eyes.

But while they stirred repugnance in me they seemed only to add to the
Prince’s despondency.

“There has been too much blood shed already,” he said, in a tone of
rebuke.

[Illustration: “THE COUNT HAS MY PERMISSION TO RETIRE.”--_Page 89._]

“Too much; aye, so much that one woman’s life more will make no
difference. So they thought when they planned that mine should be the
life--and shall I be softer than they?”

The Prince looked at me with an expression I was quick to read, and I
made a movement as if to leave.

“I shall see you again shortly, Count, and you will take up your
military duties at your early convenience. Meanwhile, I depend upon
your discretion. All that you have heard here is for yourself alone.”

“Absolutely. I understand,” I answered, and took my leave.

“You cannot go like this,” broke in the Countess. “I have yet much to
say to you. I need your advice and help.”

“Madame, I have urgent matters that call for attention immediately,” I
replied, and the Prince thanked me with a look.

“And are not these matters urgent?” she cried, indignantly.

“The Count has my permission to retire,” said the Prince, with sudden
dignity.

“When do you return, sir?” asked the Countess. “I must see you at once.
I cannot brook delay. I am on fire when I think of all you must help me
to achieve.”

“My duties will bring me here constantly;” and as I withdrew I could
not decide whether my admiration of her courage and staunchness to the
Prince or my loathing of the deadly methods by which she was prepared
to prove it were the greater. Admirable as a friend, she was hateful
as a woman; and as she watched me go she appeared like a beautiful
dangerous fiend, till her face turned to the Prince and her eyes glowed
with the intense love for him which was the inspiring passion of her
strange, reckless nature.




CHAPTER IX

“I HAVE UNBOUNDED FAITH IN YOU”


All my impressions of the interview with the Prince were quickly
overshadowed by the one overpowering fear that the Princess was in
imminent personal danger from the fury of the Countess Bokara. The
Princess was regarded by her as the central pivot on which the whole
Russian intrigue turned, and to take her life was the openly avowed
object of that dangerous woman’s passion.

That any attempt would be subtly planned and fearlessly carried out
I knew well enough, and it was for the perfecting of such a scheme
that she sought my help. This was indeed the crowning irony of the
situation. I, who would give my life to save the Princess’s, was to
be this reckless fury’s accomplice in a plot to murder her, in order
to keep on the throne a Prince who had solemnly declared to me his
unalterable decision to resign it.

Yet there was one ray of consolation. It was probable that I should
be able to hold her scheme in check long enough to secure the safety
of her intended victim, and I could at once urge upon the latter the
necessity for the greatest caution. It was with this thought in my mind
that I made my visit to the Princess in the afternoon.

Her house was a large one standing by itself in the centre of the
town, and I scanned it curiously. I noticed with satisfaction that
great precautions had been taken. All the windows in the lower
part were barred heavily; and the defences might have been planned
with the express view of preventing just such an attempt as was in
contemplation. The Russians had obviously done the work, knowing the
need for guarding jealously the woman on whom so much depended.

On that score I had no apprehensions, therefore, and I resolved to
question the Princess closely as to the state of affairs within, and
whether she was absolutely sure of those who formed her household.

She received me very graciously.

“Your interview with the Prince has made you thoughtful, Count,” she
said, after a few minutes. “Was my forecast right? and what have you
done?”

“I have accepted the commission in his regiment, but I have not pledged
myself to support his cause--indeed, he said that I should probably
find myself bound in the end to commit myself to the Russian party.”

“It is singular that a man who showed himself so brave, and at first so
capable, should be unable to read what is as plain as a book to other
people.”

“His reading is that the one possible future for the country is for it
to pass into the power of Russia.”

“I know that. It is his besetting weakness.” She said this very
thoughtfully, and then her face and eyes lighted as she added with
vehemence: “And it is wrong--utterly and wholly wrong. The merest
counsel of despair. By the help of Heaven we will live to prove it so;
and if I have not counted on you in vain, you shall help us in the
glorious work.”

She turned her eyes upon me with a look that infected me with her
enthusiasm. “You will help us, will you not?”

“With everything I possess, even to my life.”

“I know it; I am sure of you. Would to heaven we had more men like
you with us! I am going to trust you--put perhaps our lives in your
keeping, for I know well enough the dangers of the work. But I trust
you--absolutely.” She held out her hand as she said this with an air
and tone of implicit confidence, and I carried her fingers to my lips.

“Show me how to help,” I said, my voice unsteady with emotion.

“Openly we are all allied to the Russians in a scheme which is to make
me the reigning Princess, independent of all Russian influence. This
is the veil which hides their real intentions. Secretly there is an
engagement that I shall become the wife of the Duke Sergius, admitting
him to a half share of the throne, and thus Russianising it completely.
To make sure of me, it is arranged that we be married secretly, the
union only to be announced after my accession. The object for this is
of course to bind me irrevocably to them beforehand; and it is expected
that while I am seemingly independent, all that is national and
patriotic in Bulgaria will be rallied to my support. We should thus get
a firm hold of the throne and of all classes of the people without the
suspicion of too great Russian predominance. Do you see that?”

I did; and my looks showed that I did not relish it.

“It is a shrewd scheme, no doubt,” I said.

She gazed at me steadily, almost reproachfully, I thought. But I did
not like the scheme, and would not pretend that I did.

“Is it a plan you will help?” she asked. I was silent and cast my eyes
on the ground.

“Is it a plan you will help?” she repeated.

“You place me in a position of great difficulty, Princess,” I replied,
slowly.

“Will you help me in it?” she repeated.

“With such powerful influence behind you, you will not need my help
that I can see,” I returned, ungraciously, for the scowling brutal face
of Duke Sergius was in my thoughts.

Her eyes were still bent steadily upon me, and a side glance showed me
their expression had changed.

“You are not frank with me, Count Benderoff,” she said, after a pause;
and at that I looked up and said bluntly:

“If I offend you I am sorry; but I will not stir a finger to help the
man you mean--the Duke Sergius.”

Her face was breaking into a smile, when she checked it, and I saw a
faint wave of colour rise to her cheek.

“What do you know of Duke Sergius?” she asked. Again a pause.

“Little or nothing, Madame; but I will not serve in any cause where his
interests are to be advanced.”

“Why do you not like him? You knew I was betrothed to him?”

She seemed suddenly bent on rousing my temper against the man.

“I had heard of it.”

“Yet, knowing it, you have not hitherto refused to help me!” Was she
playing on my passion, that she persisted in her questioning? “You must
have some reasons,” she continued, when I remained silent; “what are
they?” and to my astonishment the smile which she had before checked
now passed beyond control and lighted her face rarely.

“You must not press me for my reasons,” I said quickly; and the light
in her eyes may have reflected the thought behind it, for again the
colour mantled her cheeks.

“Then you will not help me?” she said in a low voice that witched me.

“You? With my life!”

The passion in my tone made her cast down her eyes, till, with a still
deeper colour on her face, she lifted them and said gently:

“Forgive me; I was but testing you. And if you blame me, think what
store I may set upon an assurance of fidelity that is purely personal
to me. Call it caprice if you will, a mere woman’s caprice, that I
should thus seek to probe your real thoughts and resolves.”

“There was no need to test me where you were concerned,” I replied;
and again the earnestness of my tone appeared to embarrass her. In the
short silence that followed I sat with but the loosest rein upon the
hopes and thoughts that were so much to me.

“No; the Duke Sergius does not come into the scheme as we plan it,” she
said; “and I thought indeed that what Mademoiselle Broumoff told you
would have made you understand this. I would do much for this country;
and if it were necessary that I should marry him--which, thank God, it
is not--I might force myself to go even to that extreme. But in my life
there can be no thought of marriage. I should be baser than the base
if, having taken this charge upon me, I should ever turn from it by any
thought of myself.”

She spoke in a tone of lofty exaltation, a strange contrast indeed to
what she had termed her “mere woman’s caprice;” and I held my peace.

“Our plan is this,” she resumed: “to use the Russian ladder, and then
kick it over. To make them pledge themselves before Europe to support
me on the throne, and then to use the power of the throne for rallying
the Bulgarians to defend themselves and their country against their
real enemies.”

“You have mapped out a dangerous counterplot, Princess; but I like it,
and if I can help, I will. How will you prevent the secret marriage?”

“We shall have to leave that to be disposed of when the time comes. As
you were warned, he is a man whose eyes we have ever to blind.”

“Are you sure of the people about you?”

“Of some--indeed, of many; but it is in that you can be of such help to
us. I have heard of the suggestions you made so guardedly, that your
house shall be the rendezvous of the movement to which those shall be
brought who are known to be true to the country, and can be trusted.
Such a meeting-place will be invaluable, especially where, as in your
case, there is a plausible excuse for any such gatherings.”

“You mean?”

“We propose to form a kind of gymnasium club--at least, propose
that you should form it among the young men of the city whom we can
ascertain to be faithful. Of these men you will necessarily become the
leader; so you see you will have an important part to play, my friend.”

“It is shrewd,” I said, perceiving at once its many possibilities, as
I recalled Zoiloff’s words. “But how far are your plans advanced? Time
presses.”

“Much farther advanced than you think. We have been working all the
time this Russian scheme has been in progress, so that we should be
ready when that reaches its climax. But matters will move faster now,
and in a few weeks all should be prepared. It is a strong point that
the very craft of General Kolfort itself has helped us. We have, as
it were, a free hand for making our preparations. He is as anxious as
we are that those Bulgarians who are opposed to the Prince, and would
help me, but fear Russia, should be secured to us; and this has given
us just the cover for our work that we needed. We shall triumph, Count,
for the cause of truth is ours, and Bulgaria shall be free;” and her
voice rang with earnestness.

I sat silent in thought for some moments.

“You have thought of the dangers to yourself?”

“I can but die, and where could one find a nobler end?” Her face shone
with the light of willing martyrdom.

“You think the General has no suspicion?”

“He cannot have as yet. There will come a moment when his eyes will
be opened, no doubt, and then the danger may be real enough. But I am
prepared to face anything for the cause.”

I thought of that moment, and my heart feared for her; but I knew of
the other danger from that wild woman, the Countess Bokara; and I must
put her on her guard.

“It is not of the dangers we must think, Count, but of the great end
to be achieved,” she added. “To dwell on nothing but risks may make
cowards of the bravest.”

[Illustration: “SHE TURNED SWIFTLY AND LOOKED AT ME.”--_Page 97._]

“True; but we must at all events give enough heed to the dangers to be
able to guard against them. Have you thought of the steps the Prince
and those about him might take against you?”

“You may have influence with her,” she answered, understanding me
readily. “And I have had a half hope that you may be able to make her
understand how hopeless are her efforts. Can you do this?”

“I am not hopeful. She is a woman of wild and vehement passions.”

“She is mad; she hates me so violently that if she dared she would
herself plunge a knife into my heart. She clings to the shadow of power
which she wields through the Prince with all the tenacity of ambition
venomed by malice. I know it, but I do not fear her,” she said proudly.
“She is the greatest enemy this country has, even in this hour when
its enemies throng every street, and are found in every house. Daring,
unscrupulous, reckless, and saturated with the lust of power, she would
use the Prince for the pursuit of her own ends, and those only, however
cleverly masked by a boasted love of the country.”

The Princess was a very woman after all, I saw, for it was easy to read
the personal dislike which breathed through her indignation.

“She may be very dangerous, Princess,” I said warningly.

She turned swiftly and looked at me, reading in my voice my genuine
alarm for her. After a moment, her face softened into a smile, and she
put her hand on my arm.

“You are warning me, I see, against something you know but cannot tell
me. I will not ask you. I will do more, for your sake, and to relieve
your fears on my account. I will be very cautious. You have a most
difficult part to fulfil at present; I understand that. But I will
guard against any such risks as you appear to contemplate. Your ready
zeal for the cause is very welcome to me, Count--more welcome, perhaps,
than I have been able to show you. For the sake of what you say, I will
be very cautious.”

Her eyes rested a moment on my face, holding me in a thraldom of silent
admiration. Then she added sweetly: “But you must not let your fears
for me print themselves so legibly on your face. We shall go forward
together in this matter to victory, my friend. That is the thought
to carry with you. Heaven will not suffer us to fail, let the risks
and difficulties be what they may. We are close comrades now; and I
feel that you have been sent just at the moment when such a man was
absolutely necessary. And when we have gained the victory, you will
play a large part in the far greater work that lies ahead. I have
unbounded faith in you.”

“I do not need the spur of ambition to serve you, Princess; but, by the
help of heaven, your faith in me shall never prove unfounded.” I spoke
with intense earnestness, and then rose to leave. She rose, too, and
gave me her hand, which I again carried to my lips; and it pleased me
to think that her fingers trembled as my lips touched them.

I had reached the door when she said suddenly:

“Oh, there is one thing which I have not mentioned. We have a kind of
watchword which you should know. Our friends are banded together ‘In
the Name of a Woman,’ Count.”

I started with a touch of alarm.

“But General Kolfort knows of that. It was with that formula I was
accosted by the messenger who led me to his house.”

“He chose it,” she answered, with a smile of reassurance. “It is
intended to mark off those who are for me as distinguished from those
solely devoted to Russia, the good men and true for whom he thinks I
can best act as his decoy.” I understood her. “You will not forget it
and all that it means, as I have explained to you to-day.”

“I am not likely to forget all that it means to me,” I said, and a
quick glow on her face made me think she understood me, too, and was
not displeased. With a little flush of pleasure I turned again to
leave, when the door was opened, and a servant announced the Duke
Sergius.

He came in hurriedly, with a look of vexation on his coarse, broad
face, which deepened instantly to anger as his eyes fell upon me.

“They told me you were engaged, Princess, as I see,” he said, with a
sneer at me; “but I had a matter of urgency to discuss with you, so I
bade your servants announce me.”

“Your urgency will cost my servants their places,” she answered, the
expression of her face hardening into cold austerity--so different from
anything I had seen during our interview.

“I did not think it could be anything very important,” he answered,
paying no heed to her words. “Who is this gentleman?” and he turned and
glowered at me.

Not only a bully, but a cad, was my thought, as I returned his look
with generous interest.

The Princess murmured our names formally and coldly.

“I have heard something of you, Count, from General Kolfort.” He spoke
as if it had been nothing to my good. “If I mistake not, I saw you at
the ball last night.”

“I was there,” I answered curtly.

“I want a word or two with you, sometime, and will wait upon you.” Had
I been a servant at whom he was flinging an order, he could not have
put more offensive patronage into his tone.

“If you will write your business I will see if I have time to give
you an appointment,” I answered with intentional brusqueness. He was
not accustomed to be addressed in such a tone, and he started and
flushed with anger. I took no notice, but with a bow to the Princess
I murmured, “I have the honour to wish you good day, Madame,” and,
ignoring the Duke entirely, I went away, leaving him staring angrily
after me.

“I hate the brute,” I said to myself as I went into the street; and in
truth I seemed to find a special cause of offence in the fact that I
had had to leave him alone with the Princess. “I wish to Heaven he’d
quarrel with me,” I muttered; and, indeed, the wish was to have a
fulfilment that at the moment I had no cause to anticipate or hope.




CHAPTER X

“IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN”


The result of my interview with the Princess will be readily
understood. It made me more devoted to her than ever. The sweetness of
her manner, the charm of her rare beauty, the loftiness of her aims,
the faith and confidence she had shown in me, and the many signs of her
reliance upon me had enslaved me. In a word, I was in love with her.
She was far above me, and there was no hope that I could ever win her
for my wife. There were a thousand obstacles in the way. But there was
nothing to stop my loving her.

So far I had never met one to touch my heart and kindle the myriad
flames of inspiring passion which throbbed and thrilled in me now with
such ecstasy at the mere thought of this rare and wonderful pearl among
women.

I gave heed to no thought of consequences--never paused to think what
the end of such a passion might be, nor where it might lead me. She
had changed every habit of my mind. Usually cautious, calculating, and
self-reserved, I heeded nothing now but the delicious knowledge that I
loved her and could serve her, and help her to gain the high and noble
end she had in view. And serve her I vowed I would with every faculty I
possessed, and, if the need were, at the cost of every drop of blood in
my body. I flung every other consideration to the winds and dizzied my
brain with dreams of the delight it would yield me to feel that I could
be the means of helping her.

That she depended upon me and trusted me was in itself a delirium
of pleasure, and, come what might, I would never fail nor falter in
her service. Others might have their aims and objects in this wild
business of the intrigue, I would serve Christina, and Christina only,
“In the Name of a Woman.” Whatever it should be to others, to me it
had a real and inspiring meaning, and for me it was destined to be no
mere watchword or formula, but the guiding principle of every act and
thought and the lode star to determine my life.

But I would guard my secret jealously; it should be mine and mine only.
The fire must burn, but it should be down in the centre of my heart;
and on the surface no prying eyes should pierce the mask of reserve
with which I would conceal my passion.

All this came to me clearly in the frank self-communing of the night,
and with it a full admission of the real cause for my hatred of the
Duke Sergius. It was not so much the man himself I detested--detestable
though I believed him--but the future husband of Christina, using and
defiling that fair shrine for the sordid purpose of his selfish policy.
He and those in league with him would use the rarest and fairest of
God’s women as a tool for their own base ends. The mere thought of it
was an abomination of desecration.

But they would have to reckon with me, and in my new love-madness I
piled up oath upon oath that I would spoil their plans and thwart their
designs against her.

“I have unbounded faith in you.” The words rang in my ears like the
strain from some angel’s song, and filled me with such enthusiasm that
I longed for the moment of action, and could scarce find patience to
wait through the lingering hours of darkness that I might begin my
work; and I lay, my brain simmering with plots and plans against the
two men, Sergius and Kolfort, who were thus leagued against Christina.

By the morning, however, I was cooler, and in a fitter frame of mind to
face the thousand difficulties of the position.

Spernow was with me early, and I had my first lesson in the necessity
of keeping my feelings out of sight. He had heard of my interview with
the Princess, and came eager to learn the result. I knew very well by
this time that that very shrewd little Mademoiselle Broumoff was at the
bottom of his eagerness, and I was on my guard.

I told him that the Princess had convinced me of the soundness of her
policy, and that I should do all in my power to help her.

“Is she not all I said of her?” he asked.

“She is a woman with a mission,” I answered somewhat coldly. “But her
mission is a high and bright one in the interests of Bulgaria and
freedom, and, as those are interests in which I feel a deep concern, I
shall give her all the help in my power.”

The studied deliberateness of my tone perplexed him, for he looked at
me in some surprise and disappointment.

“Is that all you thought of her, my dear Count? You must have a cool
head--for you have filled her with enthusiasm.”

This was sweet music to me indeed; but I replied indifferently:

“I base my opinions on my judgment;” and I smiled as if in deprecation
of enthusiasm. “But now I have much to do to-day. I take possession
of my house, and I wish to have a consultation with you and Captain
Zoiloff as to certain plans. Will you bring him to me there at noon? We
have to discuss the future form of our new association.”

As soon as he had left me I hurried to meet the officers of my
regiment, and my reception by them was exceedingly cordial and
friendly--partly due, as I afterwards learnt, to my duel with Ristich,
who had been a much hated man; and also because of my reputation as a
man of wealth. I gave one prompt proof of this by asking the whole of
my brother officers to dine with me at an early date.

By noon I was back at my house to meet Zoiloff and Spernow, and after
we had had some practice with the foils and in pistol shooting we set
to work upon the serious business of the conference.

We arranged that I should be the head of the organisation, with Zoiloff
next in charge under me; and he threw himself with keen ardour into the
work.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you with us in this, Count,”
he said, when we had debated and settled details. “Now that you have
come, you seem to be just the man we were waiting for; and this place
of yours will be a magnificent rendezvous.”

“Shall we have many join us?”

“We do not want too many, but all will be carefully picked, and every
man will be one wielding influence over others.”

“How will General Kolfort view the scheme?”

“All he will know will be that here is in training a band of young men
all working for the object which he desires, and all capable of giving
the greatest help to the movement. The real secret will be in as few
hands as possible. When he knows more it will be too late for him to
interfere,” he said with a smile.

“That will be the hour of danger,” I returned.

“Rather the hour of triumph. Think what it must mean in a country
like ours to have, say, five hundred young men in this city, each
influencing many more, drawn from all classes, high and low, all
joined by the strongest ties for one common object, and all looking
upon one man as their leader--‘In the Name of a Woman.’ You will wield
a tremendous power, Count. God grant you use it wisely,” he said,
earnestly. “But I have no doubt of that. I should not be here if I had.”

“I shall wield it only for the one object.”

“It will turn the scale in any crisis,” said Spernow.

“It will free the country,” said Zoiloff.

I said nothing, but was thinking of the help it would render to my
Princess.

One thing troubled me. The General had declared that he would not
permit me to remain in the country unless I pledged myself to join
him; and give that pledge I would not. Neither would I leave the
country. And when my two companions had left, I sat pondering a way
out of the difficulty. There was but one way that I could see--to have
him satisfied by some indirect means that I had espoused the cause of
the Princess, and leave him to draw the inference for himself that in
serving her I intended to serve him and his party also.

In this connection I thought of Spernow. He was the General’s agent
specially told off to sound me, and it would be quite possible for him
to give a report sufficiently plausible to effect what was wanted. But
who should coach Spernow? The answer came with the question. Without
doubt it must be Mademoiselle Broumoff, and it remained only for me to
get an interview with her and tell her what to do.

Inwardly I tried to persuade myself that this might be a sufficient
reason for me to seek another interview with the Princess; but I put
the temptation away from me, strong as it was, reflecting that any too
great eagerness on my part to see her would only defeat the very end I
had in view--to be of real help. I must raise no suspicions anywhere by
seeking to see her too often.

I was thinking this matter out when a servant brought me the card of
the Duke Sergius. I started as I saw it, and for a moment was inclined
to send an excuse. But reflecting that I must now take my share in
helping to blind his eyes, I went to him.

“I have not adopted the somewhat roundabout way you suggested yesterday
for having an interview with you, Count Benderoff, but have come direct
to you. I am accustomed to go straight to a point.”

“Yes?” My tone was curt.

“You and I must understand one another a little better. I have heard
of you from General Kolfort, who seems inclined to take you rather
seriously; and I may say at once that since I saw you yesterday I have
changed my opinion about you. The Princess Christina spoke to me pretty
frankly concerning you.”

“Yes?” I said again; I hated to hear him even speak her name so glibly.

“I looked on you before as a sort of superior spy--sent here, probably
from England, to see what was going on. But I now understand that we
are to be friends to work together. I am glad to hear it.” He spoke
with a sort of blustering bluntness that he may have intended for an
engaging frankness.

“I do not know that I am much concerned what opinion you take the
trouble to form about me,” I answered, coldly.

“Hang it all, man, can’t you see I have come in a friendly spirit to
talk over together the things we have in common? Why do you receive me
like this?” He spoke sharply, and, I thought, angrily; and when I did
not answer immediately, he added with a laugh that had no mirth in it:
“You don’t suppose I am in the habit of hawking round my friendship?”

“Have I suggested anything of the kind?”

“You make it very difficult for me to enter into things with you.”

“I have seen you twice, sir,” I answered deliberately. “The first time
at the ball the other evening, when you were good enough to scowl
at me, and yesterday at the Princess Christina’s house, when your
words were a kind of scowl expressed audibly. We Englishmen are not
accustomed to read such actions as the preliminaries of a friendship.”

He started at the word Englishmen, and his eyes lighted with swift
anger. Obviously he hated everything English; nor did I wish him to
make an exception in my case. I think he read as much in my eyes.

“You Englishmen take very queer views of many things,” he answered,
after a short pause. “But I thought you were more a Roumanian, and thus
a friend of my country?”

“I have the honour to be a Roumanian Count,” I said, tersely.

“Do you wish to quarrel with me, Count Benderoff?” But before I could
reply, he added: “But there, that must be ridiculous, for the Princess
tells me I may look upon you as a man devoted to her cause, and,
therefore, to mine. I shall not be unmindful of those who help us, I
would have you understand that--though I wish you did not make it so
difficult for me to tell it you.”

“I am not working for any hope of material reward at your hands,” I
answered equivocally. His patronising tone galled me.

“No matter. That will not prevent your accepting it when the time
comes. Few men do that, I find--even Englishmen. But now I wish us to
be friends and comrades, Count. Do you see any reason against it?”

“We have not begun auspiciously,” said I drily.

“Hang it!” he cried with an oath. “You are as diffident as a girl in
her teens. I don’t find men inclined to quarrel with my offers of
friendship, I can tell you. I am not without power and influence, I can
assure you;” and he smiled boastfully.

I made no response to his offer. I could not.

“You have made a good choice of a house, Count,” he said, after another
pause. “I congratulate you. And where is the room where you are going
to lure the coy pigeons to be trained in the service of the Princess
Christina?” Evidently she had told him of the project.

“I will show it you, if you like,” I said, rising.

“Nothing will please me better,” he said, following me from the room.
“Egad, a splendid hall!” he exclaimed in genuine admiration as we
entered it. “Men tell me, too, that you know how to use the sword well.
From all accounts you easily spitted that fool Ristich the first time
at old Kolfort’s, and did just what you liked with him when you met him
on the ground.”

“He was wounded, and in my opinion unfit to fight. I protested against
his doing so, as you may have heard; but he insisted, and left me no
option.”

He examined all the arrangements and gymnastic apparatus with obvious
interest, making many comments to show his appreciation of everything.

“This is a novel thing for Sofia,” he said, after a while. “And a
devilish shrewd device to draw in the young bloods of the place.
They will make a hero of you, Count. A splendid thought, and one
that shows what an acquisition you will be to us. A pistol range,
too; magnificent! May I try a shot or two?” He spoke with assumed
indifference, but I caught a glance which told me he wished to surprise
me with a display of his skill in shooting.

“By all means,” I answered readily, not at all unwilling to see what
he could do, and to show him also that I knew how to handle a pistol
pretty well.

He was a good shot, and took a pride in his work, laughing boastfully
when he sent his bullet three times in succession into the bull’s-eye
of the small target.

“I’m strange to the pistol, of course; but that’s not bad for a first
attempt, eh? I’m a bit out of practice, too, for I haven’t a place like
this to keep my hand in.” There was a sneer at me in this.

“Come to the further mark,” I said, putting him half a dozen paces to
the rear. “You shoot well.”

He tried from the further mark and hit the target each time, but only
once got on to the bull’s-eye.

“It’s a long distance, and the light’s rather bad. Do you shoot much?”

“Well, a little. I have only had two or three shots here;” and I picked
up a revolver carelessly. “I am sorry you found the light bad.” I
turned, then levelled the pistol and fired half-a-dozen shots in rapid
succession.

“You have missed,” he cried, laughing gleefully.

“I think not. You will find the six bullets in a ring round the
bull’s-eye. I never miss.” I spoke with intentionally boastful swagger.

He went up to the target and examined it, and then turned to me:

“By the Lord, you’re a wonderful shot. Where did you learn that trick?”

The unfeigned surprise and admiration in his tone pleased me. He would
know now, at least, that I was not a man to be trifled with; from that
moment his manner towards me changed, and his bluster and swagger
decreased.

“I am very fond of pistol practice,” I answered quietly.

He went up to the target again and stood before it, scrutinising the
marks of the bullets as though I had performed a miracle.

“I never saw anything like it. It’s wonderful,” I heard him mutter to
himself. Then in a louder tone to me: “I should like to come here for
practice, Count.” But I had no mind for that.

“It would not do, I am afraid. If we are to make this business a
success, I must be as slightly associated with you as possible.”

“Yes, that is true--and shrewd enough. You won’t want recruits if
you can teach them to do that,” pointing to the target. “And are you
equally clever with the foils?” I could have found it in me to laugh at
the change in his manner. He was like a man who had come to bully and
had unexpectedly been whipped.

“No, a long way from it. Would you like to try?” But he declined on
the plea that he had no time. His refusal surprised me, for I had heard
that he was a splendid fencer, and was somewhat curious to see how
far he was my superior. I concluded that he was unwilling to show me
how really skilful he was, and had to content myself with the evident
impression my skill with the revolver had produced.

He left me soon afterwards, expressing another hope that we should be
friends; but I was as guarded in my reply as I had been before, and
certainly no more cordial.

I was glad of the visit, however. He had solved the difficulty which
had been perplexing me. It was evident that the Princess had said
enough to lead him to think that I was working on his side, and I
was convinced that he would say as much to General Kolfort, and thus
unwittingly render me a service.

That our dislike was mutual I had no doubt. He had come resolved to
patronise and, perhaps, to ride rough shod over me in his swaggering,
overbearing way; and his performance with the pistol had been intended
to intimidate me, by proving that he was as dangerous to quarrel with
as he was powerful as an ally. But my display had changed all that; and
in a degree had humiliated him in my eyes at the very moment when he
was keen to appear most formidable.

He was a man to take such a rebuff badly; and for the future I felt
he would be no friend of mine. Whether he would dare to be an enemy
depended upon his skill as a swordsman; and that he had carefully kept
hidden from me.

Nevertheless, he had cleared one tangle from the skein of my
difficulties, and I was therefore glad of the visit. Whether he would
seek to show his enmity openly I did not trouble to ask myself.




CHAPTER XI

BETRAYED


The next few days were crowded ones for me. The organisation of our
conspirators went forward with astonishing success--the fruit, of
course, of the previous efforts of Zoiloff and those working with him;
and when we held our first big meeting to inaugurate our new “Club,”
we had nearly three hundred splendid young fellows zealous to pledge
themselves to the finger-tips in the cause of the Princess Christina.

Each of them had been presented privately to me, and each promised
unreservedly to follow my leadership. All were animated by the most
patriotic enthusiasm, and many of them were in a position to influence
considerable numbers of their compatriots.

The scheme of the Gymnasium Club evoked great praise, and I was
surprised by the ardour with which they threw themselves into the task
of athletic training. All the details of this were managed by Zoiloff
and a few carefully chosen men under him; and after the first meeting
these leaders supped with me, and many were the exuberant anticipations
of success that found expression. Zoiloff himself threw aside his
customary reserve, and led on the rest to praise me.

“It is the finest movement ever started in Bulgaria, Count,” he said
to me when Spernow and he and I were alone. “And it will spread like
a heath on fire, from here to every town and centre in the country.
In a month we shall have such power and influence as never before was
wielded by anyone here;” and Spernow was equally enthusiastic.

“I am astonished, I think, by what I have seen to-night,” I said.

“Ah, you don’t know my countrymen,” exclaimed Zoiloff, whose eyes shone
and sparkled with the fire of feeling. “They have been crushed under
the curse of the Crescent; they have groaned under the oppression till
the fire of patriotism has flickered low indeed, for there seemed no
gleam of hope; they have suffered, God alone knows how bitterly and
drearily, till the iron was like to enter their souls and corrode every
generous instinct and fervour; but, thanks be to God, those instincts
are not dead, and we shall rouse them into an activity that will
startle Europe and save the Balkan States. We have done much in the
past few years, as you know; but that is nothing to what we shall yet
achieve. Were the Prince other than he is, the hand of Russia weighing
less heavily on him, and their dastardly work of suborning and sapping
the truth and honour of the prominent men of the country less deadly,
we should not now be cowering and cringing under the talons of the
Eagles. Think what it has been to work always under leaders whom we
doubted and distrusted for traitors. But that is changed at last. We
will have no more of the old leaders. It is the age of young men; and,
by the God that made us all, we’ll never stay nor falter now till the
glorious end is reached.”

“Good!” said Spernow, in a rousing tone of concentrated earnestness.
“Good, and true, every word of it.”

“No looking back, that is the spirit I honour!” I exclaimed, infected
by their enthusiasm, and thinking of the Princess.

“A toast!” cried Zoiloff, jumping to his feet, his eyes flashing, and
his rough, rugged features aglow, as he raised his glass on high. “May
the hand that holds this glass blight and rot if it ever falters or
turns from the righteous cause--In the Name of a Woman.”

“Amen to that,” said I earnestly, as Spernow and I repeated his words,
and finished solemnly together--“In the Name of a Woman.”

“I have never dared before to be enthusiastic, but you have inspired
me, Count. We have a leader in you who will carry us far, and whom all
will come to trust as I do;” and Zoiloff gave me his hand, holding mine
in a grip that trembled under his excitement.

There was, however, a source of danger that these two knew nothing of,
and I could not tell them--the fear of the Countess Bokara’s violence.

For the few days I had succeeded in evading her I calculated that she
would attempt nothing by herself, but would endeavour first to use me
for the work. She had said as much when I had seen her in the presence
of the Prince; and it was, of course, obvious that if she could secure
my aid her task would be vastly easier. I had the _entrée_ to the
Princess Christina’s house, as she knew, and could thus, were I so
minded, render her just the kind of assistance she needed. But I knew
she would act soon.

My anxiety on the score of General Kolfort’s intention to get me out
of his way had been removed as the result of the visit of Duke Sergius
coupled with what the General had heard from Spernow, and probably from
the Princess herself. He did not send for me and I did not seek him,
but on the morning following the meeting at my house he put himself in
my way as I was returning from my military duties.

We were both on horseback, and I was passing him with a salute, when he
reined up his horse and stopped me.

“You have not come to me, Count,” he said curtly.

“And do not propose to come, General,” I answered in a similar tone.

“I was not wrong in my estimate of you, I find.”

“I do not recall it for the moment,” said I indifferently.

He looked at me and smiled grimly.

“Good. A little open antagonism to me is your shrewdest course. I
understand you. You are what I thought--a very clever young man. And
you can assure everyone that you are not pledged to me--openly. I
understand you, I say.”

“As a well-known judge of men your opinion is flattering, General,” I
answered ambiguously.

His smile broadened.

“Very non-committal, as usual. And yet----” And here his smile
vanished, and his eyes took an expression of deep penetration. “Be
careful that your cleverness and ambition don’t carry you too far. If
that time should come and I have to act, remember that I warned you.
I know what you are doing, and am watching you carefully.” Then in a
lighter tone he added: “I am glad to hear such good accounts of your
military work, and glad, too, that I have not to compel you to leave a
country that has such sore need of the valuable services which a man
like you can render it.”

And with a salute he passed on, leaving me to digest the irony and
hidden meaning of his last words. I rode on thoughtfully to my house.
The impression he left on my mind was perhaps just such as he had
designed--that the attempt to trick him was indeed like playing with
fire on the top of a powder magazine. And I was profoundly uneasy as I
thought of what that might mean to the woman whose safety and success
were now infinitely more to me than my own.

At my house a surprise was in store for me. A carriage was at the door,
and the servants told me that a lady was awaiting me.

I went to the room at once and found the Countess Bokara. She rose with
a smile as she held out her hand.

“You look magnificent in your regimentals, Count. And I suppose you
have been too busy with your new duties and new friends to think it
worth while to see me. And you don’t seem over-pleased that I am here
now,” she added, for my face clouded at the sight of her. She was a
bird of ill-omen, as I knew.

“What is your object in honouring me with this informal visit?”

“Informal! Where is the need of formality between you and me?” she
asked quickly.

“In Sofia the tongues of gossip run glibly.”

“You have soon developed into an authority on the manners of the people
here. Spare me your cant, I beg of you. What do you suppose I should
care if all the old gossips in the city talked me over till their
tongues ached? You ask why I am here. I wish to see you, that is all.”

“I am at your service,” I answered, with a bow.

“Are you? That’s just what I wish to know,” she replied, putting a
significant meaning to my conventional phrase. “You have not given much
evidence of it as yet. I should rather think you have even forgotten
your promise to serve me.”

“I am, at any rate, ready to listen to you.”

She looked at me piercingly during a rather long pause.

“If I thought----” she began, but checked herself abruptly.

“Your thoughts are always shrewd,” I returned.

At the reply she looked up and laughed, with such an expression of
malignity that it made her face hateful, for all the beauty of her eyes.

“You little know how shrewd this time, Count Benderoff, or you would
drop that insipid conventionality, I promise you.”

“You are pleased to speak in riddles.”

“Yes, because you act them,” she retorted, almost fiercely. “But I
promise to be plain enough before I leave you. I will drop the one if
you will drop the other--but, there, you’ll have to, as you’ll soon
see.”

“I do not pretend to understand you,” said I.

“Well, then, I’ll try to make you. You are not generally dull. Tell me
plainly, if you can, on what side are you in all these matters? The
question is merely to give you a chance of being frank with me, for I
know much.”

“I seek the same object as yourself--the freedom of Bulgaria.”

“Aye. In the Name of a Woman, you mean? You think I do not know your
canting phrase.”

I was on my guard now, and did not let her see my surprise at her words.

“I have the honour to bear a commission in the Prince’s own regiment,
as you know,” I answered evasively.

“The commission I got for you. Of course I know. But what do you mean
by that empty answer? Are you for or against me? For Heaven’s sake try
to speak frankly! Nothing else will serve either you or me in this.”
And she stamped her foot with a gesture of impatience.

“So far as our aims are in common, I am with you.”

“Do you think an answer like that will satisfy me? I am beginning to
understand you; and if my reading is right, you and those with you may
well take heed for yourselves.”

“If you have come to threaten me----” I began, when she broke in:

“I have not come to threaten. I have come to have a clear
understanding; that is all. And I will have it,” she said, impetuously.
“I will give you another chance. What did the Prince say to you when
you were with him?”

“I do not know there was anything----”

“For the love of Heaven, man, drop this conventional cant and speak as
plainly as you can if you wish. What did he say to you about this mad
intention of his to abdicate?”

“Intention to abdicate?” I echoed, as if taken by surprise.

“Which means that he did tell you, and you would now pretend that he
did not.” And, yielding to a sudden storm of passion, she broke out
into a torrent of indignant reproaches of what she termed my breach of
trust in not telling her.

I did not interrupt her, and gathered that she had only just heard from
the Prince what he had said to me. I understood now the cause of her
visit and the reason of her passion.

“As his Highness told me in confidence, I could not betray it,” I said
as soon as I could get a word in. “He no doubt told you that he laid a
charge of secrecy upon me.”

“And you did nothing to dissuade him, nothing to stop him from a madly
suicidal step. You, who pretend to pose as a disinterested friend of
Bulgaria devoted to him and to me! And do you think, knowing me as you
do, for all your flippant lip-service to the jargon of conventionality,
that I will let this thing be? Do you think that I am so powerless a
fool that I cannot stop it? Oh, I am a mad woman when I think of it!”
she cried desperately. “It can be stopped and must be--do you hear?
must; and you must help me.”

“I cannot see how I can help you.”

She had risen from her chair and was pacing the room in her anger
and now came close to me, and in a tone of concentrated energy and
fierceness said:

“The death of that woman Christina will stop it; and in that you can
help, aye, and you shall help me.” Her face was ablaze with rage and
hate as she uttered the Princess’s name.

“The Prince himself is opposed to any more bloodshed,” I said bluntly.
“The sentiment does him infinite honour, and I share it.”

“You dare to say that to me? To set me at defiance? To go back upon the
pledge you gave? Are you a coward, Count Benderoff?”

“I will be no party to the assassination of the Princess,” I answered
sternly.

“You defy me?” And, laying her hand on my arm, she stared into my eyes
for some moments in silence, and then, her lips curling and her face so
hard and set that the nostrils dilated with the vehemence of her anger,
she added: “I could kill you.”

Clearly it was to be open war between us, and I prepared for it. I
drew my arm away and answered coldly:

“I think, Madam, this interview has lasted long enough.”

She started as if I had insulted her, and I looked for another
passionate outbreak. But it did not come. Instead of that her
expression underwent a complete change and she laughed.

“Poor fool!” she cried in a bantering tone. “Do you know where I shall
go straight from here if you turn me away? Wait a moment and I will
tell you.” She paused, paying no heed to my gesture of anger. “In the
Name of a Woman, eh? This excellent house, this sumptuous display of
wealth, this clever, shrewd Englishman, with his hatred of plots, this
attractive idea of a gymnasium club--what does it all mean?” And she
leered at me with a look infinitely cunning.

I kept my face quite impassive as I met her eyes.

“Would you like to tell me the inner secret, or shall I tell you? I
know--I know everything.” She paused again, but I gave no sign; and
then the rage began to return to her face, and her tone grew vehement
again. “It is a lie--and a lie against the man whose eyes I can open
with a word. You are working and plotting for the Princess, In the Name
of a Woman, are you not? And these Russian fools and dolts think you
are working for them at the same time. But I know your real intent. To
fool them up to the moment when you can throw off the disguise--to put
this precious Princess on the throne, and then to snap your fingers in
the face of the old dotard, Kolfort, and obey only the Princess. This
marriage, on which he counts so much, is never to take place; but when
you have rallied and organised these members of your club, as you call
it, you reckon you will be strong enough to throw over the Russians
and declare for what you call Bulgarian independence. Independence,
forsooth, with such a woman as Christina on the throne.”

I knew now the extent of the sudden peril, but I thrust the fear that
filled my soul for Christina’s sake out of sight and laughed.

“You have a lively imagination, Madam!”

“Yes; turn it aside with a scoff or a sneer if you think you can. But
do you believe General Kolfort will think it nothing more than the
subject of a sneer when he learns it?” She was disappointed that I
showed no sign of fear.

“You can take your own course, and if you think to help yourself or the
Prince by filling the air with your fables, do so.”

“You are a coward, Count Benderoff,” she cried hotly, “to play thus
on my helplessness. I know that I cannot help my Prince or strengthen
his position by telling what I know, and what you dare not deny, to be
true. But if I cannot help my cause, I can at least revenge myself, and
I will. A word from me and where will be all your plots and plotters?
Your club will exercise then in the yards of the gaols and behind the
walls of Tirnova fortress. I tell you, you dare not play me false.”

I knew the grip she had on me now could tighten in a moment into
strangulation, with the ruin of every man and woman among us; but I
maintained my impassive, stern expression.

“If you choose to spread these tales, I cannot stay you,” I answered.

“Will you help me to my revenge upon the woman Christina?”

“What do you mean by revenge?”

“Death,” she cried fiercely.

“I would slay you with my own hand first,” I answered, the passion in
me rushing to utterance.

She laughed again vindictively and hatefully.

“So it is true, then, she has bewitched you. I might have known it. I
told you and warned you that she was a vampire using up men’s lives
with the unpitying remorselessness of a wild beast. And you are her
latest lover, I suppose!”

The slander suggested by her words maddened me.

“I can hear no more, Madam,” I said sternly.

She threw up her head with a gesture of pride.

“Do you order me to leave your house--knowing the consequences?”

I was in sore perplexity. She was a devil and she looked it as she
stared at me, her lovely eyes glowing with rage and hate and menace.

“If you have more to say it must be at another time, when you are in a
different mood,” I returned.

She seemed about to burst forth again in her wild, vehement way, but as
suddenly changed her mood and said:

“I understand. You wish to find a bridge over as dangerous a chasm as a
man ever yet had to cross. I will see you again; but next time it will
be to hear from you that you accept my terms. You are not a man to walk
open-eyed to sheer ruin. I will go.”

And as she left me, sweeping out of the room, with a challenging,
defiant, triumphant smile, I could almost have found it in me to kill
her.




CHAPTER XII

THE SPY


As soon as the door closed behind the Countess Bokara, I threw myself
into a chair in a condition of unspeakable dismay, rage, and chagrin at
this most unexpected turn.

It spelt ruin to everything and everybody concerned in our scheme. I
had seen and heard quite enough of General Kolfort to know full well
that the merest hint of such a plot as ours would drive him instantly
to desperate extremes. He would put in force every engine of the
powerful machinery at his instant disposal to crush and punish us. And
that he could crush us as easily as he would pinch a fly between his
fingers there was not a doubt. His power was practically absolute, and
he would use it mercilessly, like the man of iron that he was.

Nor was that the worst. There was a traitor somewhere in our midst;
a recreant who had carried the secret in hot haste to this vengeful
woman. I could not hazard even a guess as to whose was the treachery,
but that it threatened the future of the scheme, should even she
herself be silenced, was as patent as the fingers on one’s hand.

Yet what to do I could not see, plague and rack my wits as I would, as
I sat alternating between moods of consternation, rage, and searching
reflection.

In the afternoon I had a horse saddled and rode out of the town for a
gallop in the country, in the hope that some solution of the problem
would suggest itself; and the ride cooled and sobered me.

Two things were imperative. We must find the leakage and blind the
traitor as to our real intentions. Our future safety rested on that
being done without delay; and for this purpose I must see Zoiloff and
consult with him. As soon as we discovered the Judas among us we could
take measures to deal with him. If possible, that should be done by
cunning; but, failing that, averse as I was to bloodshed and violence,
force must be used. But an idea occurred to me by which he could be
effectively hoodwinked, and I stored it by for use should the occasion
come.

As to the Countess Bokara, there were two courses. One was for me to
appear to play into her hands and so gain time for our own plans to
ripen--a line of action vastly repulsive to me, with all its necessary
paraphernalia of deceit and lies; the other, to kidnap her and put her
into safe keeping until the crisis should be passed. I knew that I
could lure her to my house, and that then the necessary measures could
be taken; but the cowardice of the plan made me entertain it only with
disgust.

In the case of a man I would not have hesitated for a moment; indeed I
would never have let him leave the house that day. But with a woman I
could scarcely bear the thought of it, although this woman was vastly
more dangerous than many men.

I sought keenly for some other scheme, and for a moment entertained
the idea of going to the Prince himself, telling him all frankly, and
begging his aid to deal with her. But I abandoned it. I remembered
he had said he would stand by the throne if he could make sure of
efficient help, and I calculated that his vacillation would cause him
to turn now and claim the help of our party in his defence. A worse
than useless effort, as I knew, owing to the impossibility of rallying
to his cause the men who had been turned from him by his weakness.
Not only could we do no good for him, but we should imperil the great
patriotic rising for no purpose.

I was therefore driven back upon the distasteful course of duping the
woman who had thus threatened us.

“Would to heaven she were a man!” And each time the thought broke from
me in involuntary utterance, I pictured how easy it would then be to
act.

As I was riding back, moody and thoughtful, I met the carriage of the
Princess. She caught sight of me when I was still at a distance, and
her lovely face was wreathed with a radiant smile as she checked her
horses and greeted me. Mademoiselle Broumoff was by her side, and her
keen, sharp eyes were quick to read trouble in my face.

“You look very thoughtful, Count,” said the Princess, “as if heavy
military affairs were weighing upon you.”

“I have been thinking out the answer to a very ingenious problem set me
this morning,” I said, trying to speak lightly.

“It has been a trying problem for your horse, I should think,” she
said, glancing at his flanks, which were covered with foam, for I had
ridden hard.

“Not more so than for his rider, I assure you.”

“I hope it has not distressed you as much.”

“The Count carries the sign of that in his face,” said the little
Broumoff, earnestly. “I hope it is no more than a military problem.”

“All problems in Bulgaria have their military side,” I answered gravely.

The Princess’s eyes showed concern. She understood.

“We must not let your horse stand while he is so heated with his
problem, Count. If you would like to see me, I shall be at home in an
hour from now.”

“With your permission, I will call,” I said, and saluted her as she
drove on. “I will have the searchlight of her woman’s wit on the
matter,” was my thought as I rode home; and, despite the grave and
critical reason for the interview, I was yet half disposed to be glad
of it, so much store did I set on the opportunity of being in her
presence. I could scarcely wait with patience for the minutes to run
out until I could start for her house.

Mademoiselle Broumoff was still with her when I arrived.

“You have news of some kind for me, Count?” said the Princess.

“Unfortunately, I bring you bad news, Madame.”

“It could not come by a more unwilling messenger, I am sure.”

“On my honour, that is true,” I said earnestly, touched by her gentle
thought.

“And half its sting will be blunted since I hear it from you. What is
it? Tell me frankly.”

“Its sting cannot but be sharp enough to wound. I fear we have a
traitor somewhere high up in our ranks;” and with that I told her what
had passed in my interview with the Countess Bokara.

“It is ugly news indeed,” she said at the close, profoundly moved. “And
as dangerous as it is ugly. What think you of it, Nathalie?”

Mademoiselle Broumoff had turned pale with sudden consternation.

“I cannot think. It is too dreadful. What does the Count propose?”

The Princess turned eagerly to me for my counsel.

“We must either blind the Countess Bokara or get her away to a place
of safety until we have had some time to act. But the leakage must be
traced.”

“Who can it be, Nathalie?” cried the Princess, in a tone of dismay.
“Have you tried to cure this mad woman of her prejudice against me,
Count?”

“I have had as yet no opportunity. Since my first meeting with her, I
have seen her only once for a few minutes in the presence of the Prince
until this morning, when she came to confound me with this news, and to
urge me to join her in assassinating you.”

“She chose her companion curiously,” said the Princess, with a smile of
confidence that went straight to my heart. “I hope my safety may never
be in less trusty hands than yours.”

I did not trust myself to answer with more than a look, and as I turned
my eyes away I caught the little Broumoff eying us keenly. Then the
Princess startled us both.

“I have made up my mind; I will see her,” she said.

“Christina, it is impossible!” cried Mademoiselle Broumoff quickly.
“She would murder you with her own hand.”

“The Count will guard against that at least, and he will arrange the
interview. Will you not?”

“I would do much to serve you, but this would be a hazardous step, and
one that can scarcely lead to any good. You can have but the faintest
idea of her hatred of you.”

“Then I can learn it for myself. I will see her;” and her tone was
decision itself. I continued my attempt to dissuade, but without
success, and she would not rest until I had agreed to arrange a meeting
at my house. One stipulation I insisted upon--that I should be present.

“I should wish that,” she assented. “I do not mean to run any risks,
and I should feel safe only if you were there, Count.” The words were
sweet enough to my ears, but they did not allay my alarm on the score
of the interview. I yielded all against my judgment, and arranged to
try to get the Countess Bokara to my house on the following afternoon.

When that was settled I lingered on, inventing pretext upon pretext
for my stay that I might steep my senses in the charm of her presence,
the light of her eyes, and the music of her voice. Nor did she seem
unwilling for me to stay, as I noticed with rare delight.

But under all the pleasure of this fascinating dalliance a current
of earnest thought was running in my head, and when I left her I
had already formed a plan, for which I proceeded at once to make
preparations.

I had no hope that the Princess would reap any benefit from the coming
interview, for I could not see a possibility of any good resulting. But
I resolved that if she failed I would have my own plan in readiness.
If the Countess Bokara came to the house, she should not leave it
again except to pass into some place of security until our plans were
complete.

I sent at once in quest of Zoiloff, therefore, and, having explained
everything that had happened, outlined my scheme.

“You are sure that she really knew, and was not merely making a shrewd
guess?” he asked. “I cannot think of any man among us who would turn
blabber. But if I find him----” He left the sentence unfinished, but
the threat was the more expressive.

“Yes, yes, there are twenty ways of dealing with a man,” said I; “but a
woman is different.”

“A traitor is a traitor, never mind the sex; and I see no cause for
mercy for one more than another,” he growled into his beard, his look
very set and stern. “But what is your plan?”

“That we prepare a couple of rooms here in my house, and keep her until
we can find some other place equally safe and secret.”

“Is this secret? Are you sure of your servants? May we not look for the
leakage among them?”

“Spernow found them for me,” was my answer.

“Would you change them?”

“Every man and woman to-morrow, if you can fill their places.”

“I can do that,” he assented quickly. “Wait--better--can you let me see
them all? I may spot the traitor, or at all events separate the sheep
from the goats.”

I rang the bell and sent for my steward. When he came I told him to get
the servants all together, and send them in to me one at a time, as I
wished to question them separately about a certain paper which I said
had been mislaid.

They came in one by one, and we so arranged the position that each
stood in a strong light for Zoiloff to be able to watch them as I put
a short string of questions. He put a black mark against three whom he
regarded as suspicious. The rest, he declared, were above question.

“My opinion is that one of those three men is false and a spy,
presumably in the service of this woman. I expect they have been
eavesdropping when you and I and Spernow have been together, and
perhaps have caught some unguarded words. The thing is very ugly. What
shall we do?”

“Fool them with their own tactics,” said I readily, thinking of my
original idea. “Let us have a hurried meeting of men whom we can trust,
have it to-night, explain the position hurriedly, and pretend that we
are disclosing to them the real object of the plot--to work nominally
for the Princess, but really for the Russian party--and have these
suspects so placed that they can hear what is going on. Then catch them
in the very act; and send them packing with this new version of the
thing in their minds, after a pretty good fright, and under oath not to
reveal the story.”

“Yes, it will serve; but it will want adroit management,” said Zoiloff.

“You say my steward is a man to be trusted?”

“Absolutely. I know him well.”

“Good. Then leave that part to me, while you hurry off and bring in
about a dozen of our men. Let their arrival be a little dramatic, to
give colour to the drama, so that the spies may think the meeting too
important to be missed; and I will answer for the rest.”

As soon as he had gone I called my steward and told him plainly that
there was a spy in the house, and that we suspected one of the three
men I named. Then I outlined the arrangements he was to make--to get
as many of the other servants out of the house as he could without
creating suspicion, and to give those who remained work to do in other
parts of the house, so that the three should be free to spy upon us;
that then he should set them separately some light kind of work close
to the room in which I directed the meeting was to be held, of which he
was to drop a hint. He was a shrewd fellow, and entered readily into
the matter.

“One of them is no traitor, sir,” he said, naming him. “I can answer
for him with my life. I have known him for many years, and I am sure of
him. The others I do not know and do not like.”

“Never mind, test all three; and as the clock strikes eleven be at hand
to watch them and await my orders.”

He went at once to do as I ordered; and that he did the work shrewdly
the sequel showed.

Zoiloff returned very soon with Spernow and another man, and I received
them in the room which had been prepared as the stage for our little
drama. When the others came, I noticed with a smile that each was
cloaked; and in all we made a party of fourteen. We smoked and had
wine until I calculated that the spies would be at their posts; and
then, speaking in a tone lowered but sufficiently distinct to reach
any eaves-dropper, I told them that the hour had come when we thought
it necessary to make a most important disclosure of our plans. While
working apparently for the Princess, we were, in fact, Russian agents
pledged to the Czar, and bent upon putting the Princess upon the throne
solely in his Majesty’s interests; and I went on to declare that the
hour had come to strike the blow, and so on.

A discussion followed, in which objections were raised and answered,
while I kept my eye upon the clock until the hand was approaching the
hour of eleven, when I rose and declared that this was the moment when
each man must declare himself.

My rising was, in fact, an agreed signal, and Zoiloff, Spernow, and
another man stole noiselessly to the spots where I knew any listeners
would be sure to post themselves.

As the clock was on the point of striking, the two doors and a window
opening to a conservatory beyond were flung open, and one of the spies
was caught in the very act of eavesdropping.

“We are betrayed, Count,” cried Zoiloff in a voice of thunder, dragging
in the man, who, shivering and white with fear, wriggled and struggled
to free himself from his stern-faced captor.

A solemn hush fell on the room, while the trembling, panic-stricken
wretch was placed in the midst of the men who closed round him. The
silence was grim enough to have tried stronger nerves than his.

“What is the meaning of this?” I asked sternly, breaking the silence.

“I was not listening, my lord; indeed----”

“Don’t lie to me. What did you hear? Quick, speak the truth, for your
life hangs on it.”

“I heard nothing, I swear I did not. I was only----”

“Silence!” I thundered, “if you have nothing but lies to tell.” He
threw himself at my feet and begged for mercy.

“Speak the truth, then,” I said.

He glanced all round the ring of stern, hard-set faces and threw up his
hands, and then clasped them before his face in despair.

“Gentlemen, you have seen for yourselves; what say you?” I asked.

“There is but one punishment for such an act--death!” cried Zoiloff, in
such a ringing, merciless tone that the rascal’s heart may well have
sunk within him. “Death, if he will not speak.”

“Death, if he will not speak,” echoed the rest.

At this Zoiloff drew his sword, and at the clash of the steel in the
dead silence the wretch moaned.

“Will you speak, or die?” I said, after a moment.

“I heard only a little,” said the man after a struggle, his lips so dry
and parched that he could only speak with an effort.

“Tell it!” I thundered again; and word by word he told us that he heard
me declare that we were Russian agents, and all that followed.

His fear of the death that he believed imminent was sickening to
behold, and made me anxious to close the scene.

“You have heard this wretch’s confession, gentlemen; what say you?”

“He must die!” cried Zoiloff. “In the name of the Czar I claim his
life. Every Russian interest in the country is in peril while he lives.”

“You will vote, if you please,” I said. And we went through a form of
writing each man’s decision on paper.

“The verdict is unanimous,” I said, glancing at the paper. “You must
die. I would have spared your life, but I am powerless against all
present.”

At that he clung to me, clutching at my hands and at my coat, praying,
beseeching, imploring, and vowing that he would never say a word of
what he had overheard.

“Whose spy are you?” I asked.

“I am in the service of the Countess Bokara.”

“Wait;” and I left the room, wishing to confer with my steward as to
the other two suspects. The steward assured me that he had found them
just where they had been directed to remain. I went back to the room,
and the wretch broke out again with cries and wailings and prayers.

I could bear no more of it, and put an end to the scene at once.

“Gentlemen, I have heard some strange reports with regard to this
man. We will, with your leave, postpone his punishment, and I will be
answerable for his safe custody.”

“Deal with him as you will, Count,” said Zoiloff. Calling in the
steward, I gave the man into his keeping, and they left the room
together.

The meeting broke up soon after; and Zoiloff remained only a minute to
exchange congratulations upon the success of the ruse.

“We have the spy, and to-morrow we will deal with his employer;” and
his look was as black as a thunder-cloud as he spoke.




CHAPTER XIII

FACE TO FACE


Soon after Zoiloff had left me I sent for the spy. It was part of
the scheme that he should be liberated at once, in order that, if he
pleased, he should carry the news that he had heard to his employer.

The interview was short. I told him I had determined to spare his life
and set him free if he would take a solemn vow never to reveal what he
had heard, and to leave the country at once. There was no mistaking the
genuineness of his terror, and he was eager to take any oath I wished
to impose. As I dismissed him I said, with all the sternness I could
concentrate into my voice and looks:

“Remember that from this hour you are a marked man. Every Russian agent
in this country will know you; your every action will be watched, and
every word you speak will be noted. One breath of treachery, one single
suggestion of further deceit, and you are a dead man. Your life hangs
on the thinnest of threads. And if ever you feel tempted to break your
oath, recall this night and the stern faces of the ring of men who
voted that you should die. Go!”

He staggered out of the room, reeling like a broken-witted drunkard.

After my regimental work on the following day Zoiloff came to me,
looking worn and wearied.

“I have been at work all night,” he said; “but I have done good. I have
found a place where this woman, Bokara, can be held in absolute safety
for ten years if necessary, if once we can get her there.”

And he told me that one of our party, named Kroubi, had a large house
in the middle of his estate, in a tower of which just such a prison as
we sought could be found.

“You are sure of the man?”

“As of myself. And he himself will be her keeper.”

“She is a woman of rare fascination.”

“Would she fascinate me, think you?” he asked, a smile on his rugged
face.

“There are not many men like you, Zoiloff,” said I, warmly, for during
our intercourse he had won upon me strangely. He was such a staunch,
genuine, thorough fellow.

“That is pleasant hearing from you,” he answered. “But you need have no
fear on Kroubi’s account. Every impulse of his strong character which
is not devoted to our cause is absorbed by his hatred of women.”

“We will trust him, then,” I agreed. “And now let us consider how to
get her to his place.” And when we had threshed this out and made our
plans the time for the Countess Bokara’s visit was close.

I felt both anxious and excited. The whole future of our plans hung, as
I knew, in the balance, while the risks of the interview between her
and the Princess seemed to grow as the time approached.

The Princess arrived first, and I went to her immediately.

“Has she come?” was her first question, eagerly asked.

“It is not yet time; but I think she will come. Do you know what
happened here last night?”

“I have heard something, but would rather hear it all from you. It was
good news, I believe--but it was sure to be, you are so zealous in my
cause,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

I told her and she listened, deeply interested, her eyes watching my
face as I spoke. At the close she smiled and said:

“One would think from your telling, Count, that you had been merely a
bystander instead of the prime mover in it all.”

“Captain Zoiloff did more than I, for it was he who detected the
miscreant. The rest was simple enough.”

“Then should I keep my feelings and words of thanks for him, and think
of you as one who serves me, as it were, by routine.”

“We are all devoted to your service, Princess,” I said.

“No one more faithful than the others?”

“None less faithful than myself, I hope.”

“I like that standard. Pray Heaven that you are right, for then I am a
lucky woman indeed;” and her eyes shone with a light that was like to
dazzle me.

“You will be on your guard this afternoon with the Countess Bokara,”
said I, after a pause I found embarrassing.

“I am always on my guard--except, I think, with you,” she added,
musingly.

“I mean, you will not let her approach too close to you. I know her to
be a dangerous woman, capable of any madness.”

“You will be there,” she said, with an accent of trust in me which I
read with delight.

“But still she must not come too near you. Infinite mischief might be
wrought in a single unguarded moment.”

“You think she may even try to murder me in your presence?”

“I believe her capable of any desperate deed; that is why I urge you,”
I cried, very earnestly.

She smiled, let her eyes rest on mine with a look that seemed as tender
and warm as a ray of summer morning sunshine, while a faint blush
tinged her cheeks.

“I will not cause you a moment’s needless anxiety; you have had too
many on my account already,” she said gently; and in the pause that
followed a servant entered to say that the Countess Bokara was waiting
to see me.

We had arranged that I should see her first alone, and I found her in a
mood of jubilant and boastful confidence.

“I knew you would come round to my views, Count, though I confess I did
not think the effect of what I said yesterday would be felt quite so
quickly. I was disposed to give you at least three or four days, but I
like you better for your promptness.” She spoke exultingly.

“I am not so confident as yourself that our interview will end to your
liking,” I answered.

“I am confident, and have even more reason for it than you at present
dream. You may prepare yourself for great news.”

“I am not good at riddles. What news do you mean?”

“That I do not consider your help so necessary as I once thought.”

That there was some new danger beneath her words I was certain, but
what it was I could not guess.

“I do not understand you,” I said shortly.

“A child could see that. I like the look of perplexity and fear on
your face;” and she laughed in a hard, sneering tone. “You have been
very useful to me, after all, though you do not know it. What you
showed me yesterday gave me the clue; and I have been merciful--in a
way, very merciful. Death is ever sweetest to a woman when it comes, or
seems to, from the hand of one she loves.”

“You have a pleasant wit, and your laugh fits it well,” I said drily.

“A jibe moves you more quickly than a threat, my friend. And this is
a jibe in which you have had unwittingly a big share;” and her bitter
tone was in full harmony with the hard, confident glance which she
levelled at me. “Did you think I could be merciful even to those I
hate?”

“Have you come to do no more than discuss your own qualities?”

“I have not come to be your dupe,” she retorted fiercely. “You have
discovered my spy, I find, and I congratulate you on the clever stroke
with which you have blinded his eyes. But it is too late, Count.”

“The man was caught last night in the very act of spying, and narrowly
escaped with his life. He confessed you had employed him.”

She waved her hand, as though the matter were nothing.

“He had served his turn, let him go. I have no longer need of him; and,
of course, you would have killed him had your last night’s meeting
been anything but a clever ruse. But you scared his poor wits out of
him--not a very brilliant or difficult achievement perhaps--and by now
he is off to the frontier as fast as his shaky legs will carry him. But
that is nothing. Tell me, Count, what would you do if within an hour
you were to hear that your Princess had fallen dead?”

“Probably I should seek out her murderess, and kill her,” I replied
hotly.

“Good; then I was right. You do love her, eh? Then listen. She trusts
you, of course, trusts you blindly and implicitly; and if you sent her
a little pretty gift, a little gentle act of courtesy from so gallant
and faithful a servant, would she prize it, think you?”

“I don’t wish to discuss such matters with you,” I answered; but in my
heart felt glad indeed that the Princess was safe in my house at that
very moment.

“You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve, you mean. Men of your sort
always think they do not. And yet the knowledge of the love of such a
man would be precious to many women. That is how you have been useful
to me. Now can you read the riddle?”

I thought I could, but made no reply.

“Yesterday, when I was here, you showed me what you could not hide
from my eyes, that this woman had drawn you to her, as she has drawn
hundreds of others. But this time she has dared to draw you from
allegiance to me;” this with a touch of sudden passion, which passed
instantly as she continued in a tone of exquisitely modulated softness,
suggestive of the purr of a tigress.

“When I left you I saw how I could use the secret I had surprised. By
now I have done my work, so I may speak frankly. I shall not want your
aid now. Thinking that the Princess might be pleased with a little
token from her latest lover--you need not wince, it does not matter now
who knows your secret--I sent her in your name a little emblem of your
devotion. And what more fitting emblem could there be than a rare and
beautiful rose?”

“It was an unwarrantable liberty, Madam,” I cried, with a flush of
anger. She laughed at my indignation.

“But it was more than an emblem of devotion, for it carried in its
soft, sweet petals the essence--of instant death. You know these things
are common in this East of ours. One scent of that rose, enjoyed,
no doubt, with a murmur of your name, and a thought of your welcome
little courtesy--and I and my Prince were rid of her forever.” A light
of malignant triumph flashed out of her large dangerous eyes as she
finished: “I shall not need your dagger now, nor the other weapons of
your trade.”

“You mean that the Princess is dead?” I asked quietly.

“The news will soon be spread abroad noisily enough; and you may find
it sufficiently embarrassing to explain your share in it.”

“You have the malice of a devil.”

“It was a sweet death for her. Was I not right when I said I was
merciful?” she cried, with another hateful laugh. “And now I have come
to warn you, that you may fly if you wish while there is yet time.”
She gloated in triumph over my silence, which she read as that of
consternation.

“You are a brave woman,” I said at length. “If what you said were true
you might have guessed that you would not leave this house alive.”

“It is true,” she cried daringly.

“Yes, as to intent, perhaps. But the Princess herself is safe, and here
in this house waiting to see you.”

“It is false,” she said fiercely. “I don’t believe you;” and she stared
at me, the veritable type of disconcerted fury.

“It is true,” I replied shortly; adding sternly: “And true, too, that
though you failed in the act, you shall answer for the intent.”

She was magnificent in her rage, as she stood at bay, staring open-eyed
at me; and for many moments not a word was spoken by either of us.

“Let me see her!” she exclaimed at length.

“Not alone,” said I significantly. I rang the bell.

“Tell the Princess Christina we will wait upon her,” I said to the
servant, and a minute later the two were face to face, while I looked
on, all anxiety and apprehension as to the result.

They stood for a moment looking at one another; the Princess calm and
dignified, in an attitude of queenly grace, her speaking, lustrous eyes
alight with the hope with which she had sought the interview. But the
hope was quickly clouded with a dash of anticipative disappointment,
caused by the Countess Bokara’s vehement passion and hate which
envenomed her fiery glances, and spoke in every straining movement of
her lithe sinuous body.

“Your Highness surely does me great honour in this reception,” said the
Countess scornfully, breaking the short silence.

“I am sorry we have not met before,” was the mild, temporising reply.
“I would have gladly seen you to remove your too evident prejudice
against me.”

“I have heard that you are accustomed to rely much upon the attractions
of your beauty. But I am not a man.”

“I am desirous only of disarming by mutual understanding so powerful
and, as I have too much reason to know, so bitter an enemy. Tell me,
Countess, why are you so bitter against me?” The tone was very gentle,
almost solicitous, but I could see that the other’s sneer had gone
home.

“Why should I tell you what you must know full well?”

“If people speak truly of you we have assuredly the same end in
view--the welfare of Bulgaria.”

“I am not half a Russian, and the tool of tyrants.”

“Am I?” and the Princess’s eyes flashed. “Your agent has discovered our
real designs and carried them to your ears. You know now our cause is
the cause of freedom, and that we are no more the tools of Russia than
you can be. Why, then, say this? And why my enemy?”

I was astonished and not a little dismayed by her frankness.

“Your conversion has been rapid. It is but a few nights since your
friends, impelled by zeal for you and for your cause, tried to murder
me.”

“That was not done with my knowledge. God knows I would not spill a
drop of blood. What would your death profit me or the end I have in
view? Do you think I am so mad as to wish the country to believe I
desire to rule by terror, the sword, and the secret dagger?”

“They do believe it!” cried the Countess in a tone of hate; “and they
do not wish you to rule at all. Who has called you to take the place of
the Prince, to plot against him, and to drive him from the throne? What
are you doing but nurturing and fostering the villainous ingratitude
of the people, that by this act of double treachery you may mount the
throne?”

“You forget, the Prince is himself resolved to abdicate,” I interposed.

“And why?” she asked hotly, turning upon me. “Why, but that the plots
which the Princess here and those in league with her have organised
against his life are driving him away?”

“This is no work of mine, Countess. Before my name was ever mentioned,
before the thought of my ever taking the throne was ever suggested, the
Prince’s position had become untenable.”

“Because your allies, these hateful Russians, had made it so in
preparation for your coming, or the coming of some other tool.”

“But now that you know I am acting not for, but against, them, the
cause of your enmity, if this be the cause, is removed.”

“Do you wish me to join you, then, to swell the train of your slaves?”

“I wish to disarm your hostility.”

“To suborn me from my allegiance to my Prince, you mean?” Her answers
were growing in bitterness and vehemence each time she spoke. “Your
Highness mistakes me. I am no traitor to my sovereign.”

“But the Prince is bent on abdicating.”

“Because you and others are driving him to it. You ask why am I your
enemy. This is the reason, or one that will serve.”

“You have others.”

[Illustration: “MY INTERPOSITION WAS ILL-TIMED AND UNFORTUNATE.”--_Page
145._]

“Yes, I hate you. Is that what you wish me to say? I hate you. Is it as
musical for you to hear it as for me to speak it? I hope it is. I hate
you, and thank my God that I have a chance of telling you the truth
to your face.” Her passion, only lightly held in restraint, broke its
bounds now, and her eyes flamed, and her lips quivered with the rush
of it. “What have you ever done in regard to me that has not earned
that hate? Where are the men, good and true to the Prince and myself,
that you have lured away from me? What are your actions, one and all,
but those of deadly antagonism to me? Am I a craven sheep that I shall
see my friends alienated, my Prince threatened, my cause destroyed,
and my very life attempted, and only bleat a few baa-words of thanks
to you for your gracious thoughts of me? God has not inspired my heart
with that meekness, and while I have breath to breathe, a voice to
speak, and hands to do, I will be your enemy. Is that enough, your
Highness?” She spoke with such furious vehemence that at the close she
was breathless; and she clenched her hands, and glared with hate at the
Princess.

“I have not done the things you say. I could not do them,” said the
Princess, in a tone whose calmness did not hide from me the ache of
disappointment in her heart.

“It is easy to deny. It costs but a breath,” was the sneering answer.
“But you ask me will I cease to be your enemy?” she added, her eyes
flashing dangerously. “I will--on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“One that will at least test your sincerity. Give up this enterprise
of yours; cease to persecute my Prince, and I will cease to be your
enemy.” She put the conditions with a leer of malice, and stood waiting
for the answer with a curling lip and insolent mien.

“I am not persecuting the Prince, and from my heart I declare that if
Bulgaria could be freed by him I would serve him only too gladly.”

“I think no good can come of prolonging this interview,” I said, for
I could not bear to hear the ring of insult in every word which the
Countess uttered. But my interposition was ill-timed and unfortunate.
Turning partly toward me the Countess said, in a tone of simulated
submission, the irony of which was maddening:

“Your Highness’s newest and most faithful adviser would spare your ears
the blunt utterances of truth from my rough lips. A renegade is always
solicitous to temper the wind for his latest mistress.”

I drew a deep breath of rage at the insult and the foul slander
insinuated with such devilish adroitness.

“The Count is right, Madam, I must admit my defeat,” said the Princess
haughtily.

“I must ask you to withdraw, Countess,” said I sternly.

She laughed with wanton insolence.

“I am no servant of yours to be bade to do this or ordered to do that.
I came to this interview to please you, I shall leave it to please
myself;” and she drew herself up to her full height in defiance. Then
she laughed again a loud, ringing laugh, forced, of course, but a
clever parody of spontaneous merriment. “Upon my word, this is a pretty
scene, and I have vastly enjoyed it. I have, alas! no weapon with me
save my tongue, or there should have been a different ending, I do
assure you. But that I can use. You have shrunk from the truth to-day,
as the Count here shrank yesterday, when I discovered the secret of his
warm allegiance to you.”

“Silence, Madam!” I cried hastily, fearing what her rash tongue would
say.

“Is he not earnest, your Highness? Is he not a man to be proud of? To
warm a woman’s heart? I told you just now of men you had won away from
my Prince and me--here stands the latest of those renegades, a man who
loves you.” She uttered the words with an accent of assumed sincerity.
“I congratulate you, Princess, upon your conquest. I cannot hope to
regain for my Prince a man who is aflame with a newborn passion for
you.”

“This is monstrous,” I cried, my face flushed with anger and concern.
“If you do not leave the room, I shall summon my servants that they
may remove you.”

She faced me unflinchingly.

“You dare not,” she said.

“Then be silent, and end these ill-timed jibes, and leave the room.”

“Jibes? Is that a jibe?” And she raised her arm and waved it to where
the Princess Christina stood, her face covered with deep ruby blushes.
“An unconventional love avowal, at any rate. You are a brave man, Count
Benderoff, and I do believe that much rarer thing, a modest one; but at
least you should not quarrel with me because I tell the Princess that
you love her, and let you see by the surest token that a woman can give
that she loves you in return.”

At this the Princess sank upon a chair and concealed her face in her
hands, between the white fingers of which the deep red glow was showing.

I turned away and would not let her think I had seen it.

“Your cowardice and insolence have drained my patience,” I said
fiercely to the Countess. “Come,” and I went to the door.

She stood a few seconds, as if hesitating whether to defy me longer,
and glanced in infinite triumph at the troubled figure of the Princess.

“If the interview has not accomplished your object,” she cried, “at
least it has not been without interest;” and with a last insolent,
exultant laugh, she swept out of the room, followed closely by me, more
resolved than ever to cage this angry, dangerous tigress.




CHAPTER XIV

THE COUNTESS’S RUSE


As we crossed the hall she turned to leave the house by the front door,
where Zoiloff was standing.

“I have something still to say to you,” I said shortly, as I opened the
door of the room where I had seen her before this futile interview.

“You wish to thank me, I suppose, for having been the means of
revealing to each of you the other’s love,” she answered, with another
of her flaunting laughs; though she changed quickly and said: “You may
spare your thanks. I had a purpose--and you will soon learn the reason.
I am a dangerous woman, for all your contempt of me.”

“Too dangerous to be at liberty, Countess,” I answered curtly. “It is
to tell you that I have brought you here.”

“What do you mean? That you will dare----” The words died away as she
read my purpose in my eyes, and the first symptom of fear I had ever
seen in her showed itself, only however to be at once crushed out of
sight. One of her bitter sneers followed. “So I have put my foot in
a trap, you think, and your lovely Princess is but a paltry decoy. A
truly royal part for the august ruler that is to be!”

“Your railing falls on unheeding ears, Countess. I have made my
decision.”

“You are an ingrate, my lord the Count; and in your haste to strike at
me you are forgetting the wound you do to your Princess.”

“Your insulting references will not turn me from my course,” I said
shortly, my anger against her burning like a fever.

“Then shall I say you honour yourself and the woman you love by
imprisoning me for discovering and revealing your love secret; and that
you give proof of your courage by keeping me here that you may stay and
gloat over your victim?” I saw her start as some fresh thought struck
her, and she looked sharply at me and appeared to search her memory
rapidly. Then she smiled the same exultant smile that I had noticed
before, while a dangerous light came back to her eyes.

“I will not attempt to escape.”

“It will be useless--the house is sufficiently guarded, and we have
prepared for your reception.”

“I am content if you but give me your company, for you are a man on
whose feelings it is a delight to play, and should make a pleasant
gaoler.”

“I shall not be your gaoler, but you will be in safe hands. I have only
to warn you that any effort to escape my custody will be useless. You
probably know me well enough by this time to be sure of that.”

“I am sure of one thing--you will not keep me here. Let me give you my
reasons.” There was again a sudden but complete change in her manner,
as she spoke in a calm, collected tone. I distrusted her every mood,
this calmness as much as any.

“I can’t stay to listen. I wish you merely to understand that it will
avail you nothing to beat against the bars of your cage.” As I spoke I
turned to leave, and with a quick rush, while my eyes were off her,
she was at the door as soon as I. I put my hand to it to prevent her
opening it, and to my chagrin she locked the door herself and put the
key in her pocket.

“I have that to say to you which cannot wait even to suit the woman you
love. If I must stay here, so shall you;” and she walked to the other
side of the room and threw herself into a low chair, from which she
looked at me defiantly.

This manœuvre perplexed me vastly. I was all unwilling to remain, and
yet I could not leave now without either a struggle to get possession
of the key or by summoning assistance to have the door broken in. I
cursed myself for my folly in having allowed the key to remain on the
inside, although I could not have foreseen this dilemma.

What was her object? Had she any beyond the desire to keep me in the
room while she loaded me with her invective and reproaches? What had
been the thought which had struck her, and which had seemed to lead to
her sudden assumption of calmness?

“Do you think it strange that I should wish for your company, Count?”
she asked in a voice soft and gentle enough to have been the medium of
a love message. “For all your ungentle treatment of me and for what
I deem your faithlessness, I can find it in me to admire you. I have
said some bitter things to you, I know. Forget them. Take them for
the ravings only of a violent woman--or better, the revilings of a
disappointed one. It is no light disappointment to lose such a man as
you.” Her tone was one of subtle witchery, tinctured with a sadness
that might have sprung from a genuine regret. But I knew her; and all
the time she was speaking with this cat-like softness I was racking my
brains for the reason of her action.

“If you don’t give me that key, I shall summon help and have the door
beaten in,” I answered. “I am in no mood for any theatrical display.”

“I will make a bargain with you. To summon your servants and have to
admit to them that you have been locked in by your own prisoner will
make you very ridiculous. The strong, clever leader of this great
movement caged by a woman! But I will not banter you, and will not make
you even ridiculous. Listen to my reasons and you shall have the key.
Refuse to listen, and do what you please. You shall not have it from me
if I die in defending it. It will be quicker to listen.”

“State them quickly. I will give you three minutes,” I said, reflecting
that what she said was true, and as blind as a fool of a bat to her
real intent.

“I will put them very shortly,” she answered, speaking in a slow,
deliberate tone, altogether foreign to her usual habit. “You love
the Princess and she loves you. You are angry with me because I have
discovered your secret; but do you suppose that the Princess could
endure that Bulgaria should think she decoyed me here that she might
imprison me? That is what they would think first. But when the truth is
known, as it must be some day, will her woman’s heart bear the reproach
that she imprisoned me because I surprised her and your secret and
told you of it? Is your love so guilty a thing that the bare mention
of it is a reason for consigning me to a prison unheard and untried?
Is that how a pure Princess can start her reign? Is the avowal of such
a love so base an act that anyone a witness of it must be hurried to
a gaol to silence her? Think you these are means by which she will
conciliate her new people? Or, taking another reading, can you believe
that the Bulgarian people will love a ruler whose ruthless instincts
of tyranny are manifested even before she touches the steps of the
throne, by dragging away a rival for a man’s love and thrusting her
into an impromptu gaol because the regular prisons of the country are
not available? No, I tell you; you dare not do this thing, and your
Princess dare not lend herself to it.”

I listened coldly, but not without concern, for I saw the strain of
probability that underlay her malicious ingenuity.

“You are not imprisoned for any such act as you pretend, but because
you would betray the facts your spies have discovered; and, if you want
an additional reason, because you have dared to attempt----”

I stopped, and dashed my hand to my head in horror. In a moment I saw
her cursed intention.

I had said no word to the Princess about the deadly rose which this
woman had sent to her in my name; and this fiend, guessing by her
woman’s instinct that the Princess would hurry away after what had been
said about our love, had imprisoned me here to delay me, so that even
now at the last moment the devilish scheme might succeed. And I, like
the fool I was, had been duped by her infernal cunning.

I felt like a madman. She saw by my agitation that I had guessed her
scheme, and before I could move she sprang from her chair, and rushed
to the door to put her back to it, facing me like a wild beast at bay,
to fight for the last few moments that might be so vital to the success
of her plot.

“You look agitated, Count. You are not going to leave me?”

“Stand aside, you fiend, or I won’t answer for myself. I know your
object now. Stand aside; do you hear?” I cried.

“I will not. Touch me if you dare.” But the life of the Princess was at
stake, and I thought of nothing else.

“Zoiloff! Zoiloff!” I shouted at the top of my voice, and, seizing the
Countess by the arm, I strove with all my force to drag her from the
door. She fought and struggled like a wild cat, and her strength was
so great that for a while she resisted all my efforts, clinging with
desperate tenacity to the handle of the door, the lever of which gave
her a secure hold.

“Did you call, Count?” came Zoiloff’s answer in muffled tones through
the heavy door.

“Is the Princess Christina gone?”

“Yes, some minutes since;” and at the words a light of Satanic triumph
shone in my companion’s eyes, and seemed to give her fresh strength for
the struggle. Every moment was precious.

“Get help and burst this door in,” I shouted; but even as I shouted the
words the thought of the minutes that would be thus wasted maddened me,
and I resolved to take the key from the Countess’s pocket.

“You force me to this,” I said between my teeth, and, seizing her
round the waist with one arm, I held her in a grip of iron while I
plunged my hand into her pocket. To use up the last possible moment she
struggled with frantic energy, writhing and twisting and hindering me
till I vow I could have killed her. My blood was up, and the thought
of Christina’s danger urged me to spare no violence, and half a minute
later I had secured the key, and hurled the woman away from me.

As I opened the door, Zoiloff and a couple of men with axes had come up.

“Good God! what has happened?” cried Zoiloff, falling back before my
looks.

“Keep that hell-cat safe till I return,” I shouted, and, hatless and
dishevelled as I was after the tussle for the key, I dashed out of the
house, and ran at my top speed through the street.

By good fortune I met one of my grooms exercising a horse close by
the house; and before the man could recover from his surprise I had
half pulled him from the saddle, clambered up in his place, and was
clattering at full gallop towards the Princess’s house, heedless of all
or any that came in my path.

The moment I reached it I jumped off, sprang up the steps, pealed the
great bell and thundered at the heavy knocker, never ceasing till the
porter opened the door with a half-scared face.

“The Princess! Quick, man, quick, for your life!” I cried like a
madman. “Where is she?”

“In her boudoir,” answered the fellow, staring at me as if I had been a
wild man, as indeed I almost was. I ran by him and mounted the stairs
with leaps and bounds. On the landing above stood a footman, peering
down curiously at the disturbance.

“The Princess’s room! Show me instantly!” and my mien and voice were
so threatening that he fell back pale and frightened, and pointed to a
door.

I knocked, but did not wait for an answer.

“Are you there, Christina?” I cried, excitedly, not heeding that I used
her Christian name only. “Christina!” I cried again, when I did not see
her.

And then, to my inexpressible relief, she came out from an inner room.
She was holding a small package, from which the outer wrapper had
already been removed. I rushed forward and tore it from her hand,
saying not a word, and heeding nothing of the look of surprise and
alarm which my wild presence and strange act had called to her face.

Then with a fervent “Thank God,” as I held the accursed thing safe in
my grip, crushing the fragile box in my straining fingers, I fell upon
a chair, and, clasping one hand to my eyes, tried to fight my way back
to calmness.

The rush of relief was an intoxicating delight, and in my rapture
at her safety I could have shed tears. For the moment I was utterly
unmanned. The agony of suspense during the minutes since I had learnt
of her danger had well-nigh bereft me of my senses; and the relaxation
of the strain, with the knowledge of her bare escape from death, made
me as weak as a child.

“You are ill, my friend. What has happened?” she asked in her sweet,
sympathetic voice, laying a hand on my shoulder.

The touch was like the balm of Gilead to my ruffled senses, and then a
sudden shame fell on me, and in a moment I realised how strange my wild
conduct must have appeared in her eyes. I remembered, too, that in my
delirium I had called to her by her Christian name. And at the thought
my confused and dizzied wits were more jumbled than before, and, strive
as I would, I could force no words from my tongue.

My silence alarmed her.

“I will summon help,” she said; but I stayed her with a protesting
hand, and thus we waited while I struggled for some measure of
composure.

Many moments passed in this strained, embarrassing silence, till I was
sufficiently master of myself to make an effort to speak to her. I
rose, still holding the crushed little package as fiercely as though it
were a thing of life. She looked at me with a smile, intending it to
veil her alarm and anxiety.

“Princess, I crave your pardon. I--this package--I----” I stopped,
stuttering at a sheer loss for words. A tinge of colour mounted to
her face as she said in a tone much less warm than before, and, as I
thought, not without a note of rising indignation.

“It is the package you sent me, Count Benderoff.”

“No, no, it was sent to you in my name--to poison you.” She started
back and stared at me. “I will try to explain. I have acted like a
madman; I have been almost one, I think. This thing”--holding it up
still gripped fiercely--“was sent you to-day by that woman. By the
mercy of heaven it arrived while you were absent, and your visit to my
house saved you----” And in a shambling, jumbled, half-incoherent way I
told her what had occurred.

The colour in her cheeks flowed and ebbed as I spoke, and I saw an
ever-varying light in her eyes as they were bent upon me, now in
indignation, again in horror, and yet again in gratitude mingled with
feelings which now I almost dared to read as my heart dictated.

When I finished my disjointed narrative, she thanked me very simply,
though her agitation, heightened colour, and tender glances told me how
deeply she was moved. Leaving me for a moment, she returned with the
wrapper of the package and a card of mine, on which were scribbled my
initials in a handwriting much like my own.

“This was with the packet,” she said, giving me the card. “But I have
never seen your handwriting.” I saw in a moment that the spy in my
house could easily have stolen the card for the Countess Bokara.

“Could your servant identify the messenger who brought it?”

“For what purpose, when we know who sent it?”

“It is a case with which the courts could deal.”

“No, no, no,” she cried hastily, shaking her head. “I could not do
that.”

“Well, it does not matter. She is in safe keeping, and I can mete out
the punishment myself. I will keep this evidence for future use;” and
crushing packet and card and wrapper together, I pushed them into my
pocket.

“What do you propose to do, then?” asked the Princess.

“She cannot be left at liberty with our secret in her possession.”
Till I had uttered the words I did not see their double meaning. But
the Princess did instantly, mistaking me indeed, and her face grew
so crimson that she turned away to hide her confusion. “I mean the
knowledge of our plot,” I made haste to add, awkwardly, the explanation
serving only to accentuate my clumsy blunder, and add to our mutual
embarrassment in the pause that followed.

I was mad with myself for the slip, and yet delighted at what it helped
to reveal to me. With an effort I shook myself together, and said in a
tone almost cold and formal:

“The sure and certain use she would make of her freedom would be to
tell General Kolfort that we are duping him.”

“That is a risk we must run,” she replied, her voice low and trembling.

“It is one we dare not run. It would be worse than madness,” I
protested hastily. The thing was impossible, unless we meant to ruin
everything.

“It would have to be done in my name. And that cannot be. You must see
this.” The agitation in her voice was evident, and she kept her face
averted from me.

“Your Highness cannot mean this.” The earnestness of my tone moved her,
and she cast at me a quick glance of appeal.

“Cannot you see that it is impossible?” But I felt I must be deaf to
any appeal.

“You have trusted me so completely that I should be untrue to you
and to all concerned in this matter, Princess, if I listened to you.
Believe me, it must not be. Her captivity is our only road to safety.
We have dealt with this spy of hers, and she herself told me that he
was flying the country in a panic. She alone holds this terrible--this
knowledge of our plans, and if she remains at large, nothing can save
our scheme from shipwreck. You know, even better than I, what effect
a word breathed in the General’s ear would have. Believe me, I dare
not let her free. No harm shall come to her. Not a hair of her head
shall be injured; but in our charge she is and must remain. There is no
possible alternative.”

She locked her fingers tightly in the stress of her perplexity, and a
strained, drawn expression showed on her face.

“No, no; it is impossible, impossible,” she cried, in a tone of
distress. “I see the dangers, but this I--I cannot and will not do.”

The mocking words which the Countess had spoken when I was locked in
the room with her gave me the clue to the struggle in the Princess’s
mind, and I dared not ask her to tell me her reasons, that I might
combat them. But with me they had no weight.

“This is no matter, Princess,” I ventured to say, “in which any
considerations but the most impersonal reasons of policy can be allowed
to prevail. I beg you earnestly to pause before taking a step that on
my soul I know must be fatal to everything.” The words brought a look
of flashing reproach.

“You tell me this. Can’t you see what would be said of me if I
sanctioned such a thing? No, no, no; I cannot, I cannot, I will not,”
she cried impetuously.

My eyes fell before hers, but yield I would not.

“Will you permit me to withdraw now, and we can speak of this matter
another time? Meanwhile----”

“Meanwhile you will do that which will compromise me in the eyes of all
Bulgaria,” she cried vehemently.

“I shall do no more than your safety and that of all others concerned
with us in this matter demands,” I answered stubbornly. “We have no
other object but your safety and success.”

“Do you think I will set my liberty on such an issue--that I will
consent to be held up to the whole country, ay, to all Europe, as----”
She stopped, and a vivid blush spread over her face, but, drawing
herself up with head erect, she added with a truly royal air: “Count
Benderoff, as the Princess Christina and your future Queen, I lay my
commands upon you to set the Countess Bokara at liberty without delay.”

“Your Highness has no truer follower than I, and my future Queen will
have no more loyal and faithful subject, but this command I cannot and
will not obey.”

I bowed low, and, raising my head, met her look with one as firm and
resolute as her own.

We stood thus for perhaps half a minute, and then a striking change
came over her face. Her eyes fell, and I thought I had won. But it was
no more than a change of weapons on her part.

She came close to me and took my hand in both hers, and looked then
into my eyes with a soft light that only love could kindle.

“What you refuse as a command, grant me as a favour. I plead to you as
a woman to do what I ask. I pray you by whatever regard you may have
for me. Must I plead in vain?” Her hands were trembling in mine and
her voice quivering as she sought my eyes and held them with a look of
yearning love that left me no room for any thought but how to please
her.

What could I do, loving her as I did with all my heart, but yield?




CHAPTER XV

A HOPELESS OUTLOOK


Even while I was on my way from the Princess Christina’s house I began
to realise the consequences of the mistake we were making. I had been
miserably weak to give way, and, although my head was half giddy with
the rapturous remembrance of her words and glances, and dazed with the
thought that she had appealed to my love, I was angry with myself for
having yielded.

I half dreaded to meet Zoiloff. I knew what that sturdy fellow would
say, and was inclined to fear lest he should make a shrewd guess at the
reasons which had influenced me. One thing was certain, he must not be
present when I saw the Countess; for I knew that she would blurt out
the truth in her sneering, vindictive tone.

She would publish it, too, far and wide, and in a few days all Sofia
would ring with the secret of my love for Christina and of hers for me.
That alone was enough to ruin the cause, since it must inevitably rouse
old Kolfort’s suspicions.

When I reached the house I was told that Zoiloff was with the Countess
Bokara, and I sent for him. I said in as few words as possible that it
had been decided to let the woman go free, and I gave some more or less
fictitious reasons of policy for it. But they did not impose on him for
an instant.

“It is wrong, Count, absolutely wrong, and you should never have
consented. She will ruin everything. I propose that we just ignore the
Princess’s wish and keep that fiend close all the same.”

“I have passed my word, Zoiloff.”

“I am very sorry to hear it, but I haven’t; and there’s nothing to
prevent your setting her free and my taking her again. Everything is
ready, as you know, and the thing would be easy enough.”

“No, I can be no party to it,” I answered firmly, although the notion
pleased and tempted me.

“Then you may as well throw up the sponge.” He spoke angrily.

“It may still be possible to blind the General’s eyes.”

“You are more sanguine than you look or your tone implies if you think
so. I don’t believe it for a moment. There’s always something goes
wrong where a woman is concerned.”

“I will send this one packing, and then we can consult.”

“There’s not much left worth consulting about,” he answered as I left
him.

The Countess greeted me with a sharp, shrewd look, and then her face
showed a keen disappointment.

“I have failed, I see. You needn’t tell me,” she said.

“You are not yet a murderess--at least of the Princess,” I returned,
harshly, for I hated the woman.

“You have taken a long time over your rescue and love business; but I
suppose you had much to talk about. It’s the way of lovers!” she cried
with a laugh. “Besides you had to settle what to do with inconvenient
me. I am afraid I am very much in your way, Count--quite as much
trouble to you as if you had remained faithful to me.”

“If I had my way you would not give me much more trouble.”

“Ah, then I was right. I knew that she would never dare to try and keep
me a prisoner. Will you see that a carriage is ready for me?” She spoke
in a tone of indifference.

“If you have any gratitude in your nature you will remember that it is
to the Princess that you owe your liberty--to the woman whose life you
have just failed to take.”

“And am bitterly regretting my failure. That is my gratitude. But why
cant to me of gratitude. Do you suppose she has done this for my sake?
Nonsense; I told you her reasons before you went to her. Am I a fool,
that you prate to me in this childish strain? I tell you I am an enemy,
and a woman to be feared. She is a fool to let me go, and I know it as
well as you. Were the positions reversed--but there, she has given you
a heavy task, Count, heavy enough to tax even your cleverness; and you
can lay your plans on this one solid and sure foundation--that I will
do my worst against you and her.”

I made no answer, and, ringing a bell, ordered a carriage to be brought
round at once.

“You look very solemn, Count,” she said, when the servant had left
the room and I was going. “And you have plenty of reason. But I’ll do
you one favour, and tell you that I have already begun my work, and
have told that ill-bred soldier who was here and seems to be in your
confidence the whole story of your love for the fair Christina; and
it had a very pretty effect upon him. But it prepared him, no doubt,
for this step,” and she laughed insolently. “At any rate you can be
frank with him without that shamefacedness with which one man speaks
to another of his love. What he is thinking about it to-day--and I was
careful to sow the seeds of fruitful contemplation in his mind--all
Sofia will be openly talking to-morrow, including your new Russian
friends. It was injudicious of you, wasn’t it, to leave me such a
companion?”

I could endure no more of her taunts, and went out of the room, closing
the door quickly to shut out the sound of her mocking laughter. When
the carriage was announced I went back to fetch her, and, as if
her malicious instinct could always hit upon the mood most exactly
calculated to jar upon my nerves, she was now disposed to play the high
society dame, and, with all the airs and graces of a capricious beauty,
was for delaying me to chatter idle nothings, in a tone of empty
frivol, about the weather, the recent ball, and my health, until I cut
her short by saying sternly:

“The carriage is waiting for you, Countess, and I have no time for this
wearying badinage.”

“I thought you might wish your servants to think this was merely a call
of ceremony;” and, as if to irritate me with these little peltings of
frivolity, she continued to chatter in the same tone until she had
taken her seat in the carriage. Then, with a quick change of manner,
and a malignant glance at me, she said:

“When we meet again you may find the positions reversed, Count, for I
warn you to look to yourself.”

I gave no sign of even having heard her, and watched in silence as the
carriage drove off.

“There goes our last hope,” said Zoiloff, looking moodily after the
carriage, as though he would have given all he was worth to have
dashed after it, and have torn the Countess out of it back to captivity.

“Now let us consider what to do next,” I replied.

“There is nothing to do next, or after,” he said, in the same moody
tone. “When such a woman holds the future of our scheme in her hands
we can do nothing but prepare for the worst, and look out for the best
means of escape. It will soon be a case of _sauve qui peut_.”

“I shall fight on till it comes, then, and so will you, my friend, when
this mood has passed.” I took him into my private room and, putting
wine and cigars before him, set to work to try and shape a course to
suit the altered aspect of affairs.

My own opinion was not much brighter than his; but I sought to persuade
him, and myself too, that matters might yet be mended. There was one
possible door of hope. The Countess meant to have her revenge, and,
as she had frankly said, we must base all our plans on her implacable
enmity. But she had other ends than those of mere personal vengeance.
She hated Christina bitterly, but she loved the Russians no better.
Her aim was to keep her Prince on the throne, and to betray us at
once would certainly injure him by forcing General Kolfort to act
immediately, not only against us, but against the Prince. The latter
would be frightened and jockeyed out of the throne, to make room, not
for Christina, but for some more pliable tool; and the Countess was
quite shrewd enough to foresee that.

“I am inclined to believe,” I said, after we had discussed the position
at great length, “that she will seek her ends first by other means
than by betraying us to Kolfort--some scheme or other against the
Princess or myself personally, perhaps; but something which may take
time to work out. She will cling to the hope of retaining the Prince
on the throne to the last possible moment; and she may reckon, as she
has done hitherto, that by removing the Princess the Russian scheme
will be so maimed that the Prince may be able to retrieve and retain
his position--at all events for a time. She may now include me in some
such plan of assassination. The question for us to consider is, then,
how soon we can complete our arrangements, by hurrying them forward at
fever heat, so as to make us indifferent to what Kolfort can do.”

I continued to urge this from every standpoint, until I saw with
great satisfaction that Zoiloff’s enthusiasm began to heat again. But
suddenly his face clouded, and he said:

“Are you forgetting the strange story she is going to tell about
yourself and the Princess? I know nothing of it, of course,” he added,
as though in assurance of his faith in me. “But if such a tale should
reach old Kolfort--and she seemed mad enough to scream it from the
housetops--you can judge what he may think.”

“There is a ready answer to it,” I returned, gloomy now in my turn at
the thought behind my words.

“You mean denial. I don’t like to speak of this, Count.”

“I do not mean denial only in words. They count for little enough in a
time like this,” I replied bitterly.

“What then?”

“The Princess’s only answer will be the hurrying forward of her
marriage with the Duke Sergius. It is the inevitable corollary of her
decision to-day.”

“By God, but you are a man, Count!” cried Zoiloff, with a look of
genuine sympathy, as if he felt instinctively what such words must cost
me. “From this hour I will never again question a single order you give
or decision you take.” He held out his hand, and grasped mine in a warm
pledge of earnest friendship. “We will go on, as you say, and frustrate
this she-devil yet--or fall in the effort.”

A long silence followed, in which we were both busy with our own
thoughts; and when the silence was broken we went on with a long,
detailed discussion of the means to be adopted to quicken our
preparations and expedite the arrangements that should make us
indifferent to any action by General Kolfort.

The work interested us both absorbingly, and while Zoiloff remained
with me, and my thoughts were occupied in planning the work to be done,
I was even inclined to accept my own arguments that all was not yet
lost.

But when he had left me a relapse came, and I seemed to be overwhelmed
with a sense of the weariness and futility of it all. I had nothing
now to gain. A few hours had changed everything for me, and all my
enthusiasm had evaporated, like the sparkle from flat wine.

Bulgaria might profit, but what was Bulgaria to me? I had not been
fighting for Bulgaria, but for Christina; and what prospect was there
now for her but the gloomiest? I had gained the priceless treasure of
her love; but with the very ecstasy of the knowledge had come the bane
that I could never even win happiness for her.

I laid bare my heart to myself in this bitter self-communing. I had
tried to persuade myself before that mine was that rare thing--the
rarest on earth, indeed--selfless love; but I knew now that that had
been the flimsiest gauze of self-deceit veiling the secret hopes and
desires that had urged me forward. Out of the inmost thoughts came
up now the skeletons of my lost desires, gibbering and mouthing and
mocking me with the hopelessness of my love.

If I could have made her happy, have helped her to realise the dream
of her life as the Virgin Queen pouring on this distracted people
the infinite blessings of freedom and happiness, herself a bright,
conspicuous example of innocence and purity to all the world, I might
have been content to worship even while I served her. But to think
of her as the wife of the sensual brute I detested, forced to submit
to his loathsome endearments, and to smile and frown upon him in his
humours, was like a very torment of hell to me. And for her it must
be ten thousand times worse. Her life, mated with a man she abhorred,
would be one long, living lie, the canker of which must blight her
every purpose, and destroy every hope in her heart.

And yet I, loving her and beloved by her, was to help her to this life
of fair-seeming misery and honoured dishonour. I could not and would
not, I cried in my heart--and yet I knew I must. There was no escape
now from it. As I had told Zoiloff in my despair, the hastening of the
marriage was the one possible means of averting that instant ruin in
which the power of the at present all-powerful Russian agents could
involve us all.

Harder than all else to bear, however, was the thought that I myself
must pass that inexorable sentence upon her. She had made it essential
by her shrinking woman’s fear of how her act would be read in the eyes
of Europe; but it was left for me to show her the full consequences of
what she had done.

In my frenzy I was tempted to regret that I had saved her from the
infinitely more merciful fate of death. Deeply as I loved her, I would
vastly rather see her dead than the wife of the man whose wife she was
now inevitably bound to be.

For a moment a wild thought rushed through my mind--that I should
induce her to fly the country with me. But the thought was as great a
treachery to her as the act would be treacherous to those whose cause
she championed with such pure-souled enthusiasm. I recalled with the
iciness of a lover’s despair her declaration that she would even become
the wife of this man, if no other path were open, rather than abandon
the cause she had espoused.

There was no escape; and when at length I threw myself on my bed,
brain-wearied with the long wild fighting against the inevitable, it
was only that the torture of my waking thoughts should be reproduced
with all the grotesque horrors of oppressive, sickening dreams.

I awoke with the dawn, dreading the coming of the hour that would bring
with it the ordeal of the interview.

For myself my course was soon decided. I would keep my word, and go
through with the task of leading the movement to such a successful
issue as we could yet snatch from the dangers surrounding and
threatening it. But the hour that saw her safely seated on the throne
should be my last in the country.

I was revolving these gloomy thoughts over an untasted breakfast when
Spernow came.

“You look ill, Count;” for the struggle had written its effects in my
face, “Yesterday’s doings have upset you.”

“It is nothing worse than a headache,” I answered carelessly.

“I hope your nerves are not unstrung. You will need a clear head to-day
unless I have read things wrongly.”

“What next?” I felt that nothing which could happen now would either
interest or trouble me. I had lost the one thing which I desired, and
life itself might go for aught I cared.

“I was at a house last night and heard something which you must know at
once. It concerns you closely, and spells danger.”

“What was it?” Feel interested I could not, feign it I would not.

“The Duke Sergius has resolved to force a quarrel upon you. He has some
deadly grievance. I heard it incidentally, but---- Why, Count, what is
the matter?”

He might well be astonished. The news was the one thing on earth that
could have changed me, the one thing that might yet change everything.
In an instant my lassitude and despair fell away like a cloak. My
blood warmed, my heart beat fast, my cheeks glowed again, and life was
worth living and risking. Even if I were destined to go straight to
my death at the hands of the rival I hated, I should have a moment of
real enjoyable life, while, if my hand were true and my skill what I
believed it and I killed him---- I could not stay to think, but in my
eager hope that the news might be true I plied Spernow with question
after question, testing his story, till he might well have deemed me
insane.

“Of all the gifts and riches of the earth that you could bring me,
Spernow,” I cried in my vehemence, “there is none I would have in
preference to this news. By Heaven, man, but you have made me live
again!”




CHAPTER XVI

“IF I WERE A WOMAN”


We had been together about half an hour, discussing eagerly the news
which Spernow had brought, when Zoiloff arrived. His face showed that
he too had passed anxious hours since we parted. I received him with a
laugh and rallied him upon his looks, and then told him the news.

He had not the same intense personal interest in it that I had, and he
received it very differently; though his friendship made him understand
my feelings.

“It is her first step,” he said, gravely. “We must act warily.”

“A necessity for others besides ourselves,” I retorted.

“It is not certain what form his hostility will take. He may not care
to quarrel openly with you, Count; although, if he does, you know he is
not a swordsman to be taken lightly.”

“He would serve me no ill turn were he to send his sword through my
heart,” I answered, and meant every word I said.

“That would be an ill enough turn for us, though.”

“Let us go to the gallery and see. I have scarcely closed my eyes all
night, and when Spernow came he found me hipped and down. It will be a
good test for my nerves. If I can hold my own against you under such
conditions, we need not be doubtful about this other affair.”

In a few minutes we were busy with the foils, and I told Zoiloff to
try with all the skill at his command to beat me. For myself, I tried
to make myself believe for the moment that he was the man whom I
might have to meet, and I put forth every effort. I never fenced more
skilfully or with more spirit, now limiting myself only to defensive
measures and now forcing the attack with vehement and even fiery
impetuosity.

“I cannot hold you, Count,” said Zoiloff, at length; “I have not
touched you once, except that graze on the leg, and you have had me
three times badly. If this were in earnest I should be a dead man. But,
remember, you know my work now, and that I am not the Duke’s equal with
the sword.”

“I must take that risk, and shall not take it without pleasure, I
assure you.”

“But that’s not the only risk to be taken.”

“You are in a despondent mood, my friend,” I said, for I knew he
referred to what General Kolfort might do afterwards. “Let’s meet them
one at a time. This one faced and overcome may mean much to us; and, at
any rate, will put us in good heart for what may follow.” My spirits
were now as high as previously they had been depressed, and once again
I was full of fight.

Zoiloff told me what he had already done to expedite our plans, and
when I went to do my regimental work even the knowledge of what I had
to tell Christina she must be prepared to do had become less oppressive
and disheartening.

On my return home, however, I found a note from Mademoiselle Broumoff,
asking me to see Christina at once. “General Kolfort has been with
her this morning, and something passed which has upset the Princess
extremely. Although she has not told me that she wishes to see you, I
am sure of it. Don’t mention this letter.”

This alarmed me, and early in the afternoon I was at her house. I found
her looking troubled and agitated, and so pale that I was filled with
concern. She received me as graciously as usual, but I could detect a
touch of shrinking reserve.

“I hope you have no ill news; we cannot, of course, expect a big scheme
like ours to go forward without an occasional check,” I said.

“There must be no check--none if I can prevent it, that is.” She spoke
very sadly, and then forced a smile to her face.

“You have had some news, I see,” I said after a pause.

“Yes, I have bad news; I have had General Kolfort here.”

“His visit was probably the outcome of yesterday’s event.”

“Have you come to upbraid me with what you think my weakness?” she
cried quickly, with a swift glance of reproach.

“No, indeed not. But when the Countess Bokara left me she declared with
all the malice in her that she would do her utmost to ruin us all. I
judge that she has commenced--that is all.”

“She cannot ruin us. Let her do her worst.” It was easy to see,
however, that the first blow had been a telling one. Then a thought
struck me.

“I think I can tell you the purport of General Kolfort’s message,” I
said quietly. “He is anxious to push forward a certain step in his
plans to bind you to him. I mean, of course, your marriage.”

Her face grew scarlet, and I guessed it was at the remembrance of the
bluntness with which the General would have told her what he had heard
about us. I could judge well enough the way he would speak.

“Have you seen him?” she asked after a pause.

“No; but I foresaw what must happen,” I answered gently. “It was
inevitable. The only practical proof you could give him of the
falseness of the rumour that that woman has set abroad.”

She locked her fingers tightly together, and her face was drawn and
troubled. My heart ached for her. Remembering my own sorrow, I could
gauge the bitterness of hers. Presently, in a low tone of despair, she
said:

“The marriage is to take place in three days;” and, hiding her face
then in her hands, she abandoned herself to emotions which she could no
longer control. I turned to the window and looked out, that she might
have time to regain some measure of calmness.

Presently I heard the rustle of her dress, and I turned round and went
back to her.

“You have caught me in a moment of weakness, Count,” she said, smiling
through the cloud on her brow and in her eyes. “I think you had better
leave me.”

“I came prepared for the news. Indeed, I came to tell you myself that
you must be ready to hear it.”

“I would rather have heard it from you;” and she smiled wearily. Then,
laying her hands impulsively in mine, she said sweetly but mournfully:
“It is hard to inflict sorrow like this, and I do not hide from myself,
dear friend, that this must give you pain. Believe me, that thought is
not my least grief in this. If I were only a woman,” she cried, with a
deep sigh.

Her words and tenderness almost unmanned me. I had no words to reply,
but stood still, holding her hands in mine and meeting her gaze with
glances that spoke the love I felt.

“I have no thought but for your happiness,” I murmured at length.

“Happiness?” she whispered; and her eyes closed an instant as she drew
a deep breath as of unbearable pain. Then she mastered her emotion.
“I must never see you alone again, Count. I ought not to have seen
you now, but--I am a woman. I felt I must thank you once alone, and
tell you how it wounds me to wound you thus. Others may think of me as
ambitious, cold, unwomanly, selling myself for a throne, a heartless
creature without the attributes and qualities of my sex. But you will
know the truth. You must know it, even if I bare my inmost heart in
telling you. You will not think ill of me, though I have made you so
poor a requital for all that you have done and would do for me. Do you
think I am seeking my happiness in this?”

“Forgive me that word. If I know what you are suffering in this it is
because my own heart tells me; and I dare not utter all that it tells
me.”

“You are a strong man and will fight it down.”

“I shall never forget,” I cried earnestly, my voice hoarse with
passion. “And never again so long as my heart beats will it hold a
feeling such as that which fills it now.”

This pleased her, and she smiled sweetly and tenderly, while the clasp
of her fingers tightened on mine.

“Would God it could have gone otherwise for us,” she breathed, her
eyes lingering lovingly on my face, with infinite sadness and yearning.

I carried her fingers to my hot lips and kissed them fervently.

“Go, go,” she cried passionately at the touch of my lips. “Go, or I
shall bid you stay, let the consequences be what they will.”

I looked up into her radiant face, now fired with her passion.

“One touch of your lips, if only to ease my suffering.”

The ruby colour flowed rich and deep over her face, and, bending
forward, she kissed me on the forehead.

“Go, in pity for me, go,” she cried, excitedly.

One moment longer I stood, gazing at her with my soul in my eyes,
feasting my senses on the signs of her love, and then I tore myself
away. A last glance as I left the room showed me that she had thrown
herself back in her chair with her hands clasped in front of her face.

I rushed back to my house, my head bewildered and dizzied with the
sweet delirium of her avowed love, and I sat like a crazy loon for
hours, running over and over again in thought all the incidents of the
scene.

She loved me. Nothing could rob me of the sweetness of that knowledge.
All else that could happen was as nothing compared to that. The
plot might succeed or fall; she loved me. Bulgaria might be free or
enslaved; she loved me. The Russians might triumph or fail; she loved
me. It was the one balm for every sorrow, one true note of joy in every
trial: she loved me; and I was mad with the delight of it all.

In the early evening Spernow came to me; and then I remembered with
an effort--for all memory was swallowed up in the one delicious
remembrance of her love avowal--that I had promised to go out with him.
I did not care whether I went or stayed; what I said or did, all was
alike indifferent to me; but when he urged me, I dressed and went with
him. As we drove along he said something, however, which brought my
intoxicated wits together.

“Duke Sergius will be here to-night, Count. We shall see what he means
to do.” I laughed so loudly that he looked at me in surprise. What
cared I for the Duke Sergius? I carried a charmed life, for Christina
loved me. He might marry her: but it was I had her heart. If he killed
me, he could not alter that. And whether I lived or died mattered
nothing now. I hoped he would quarrel with me. “To be married in three
days.” Marriages are not made with the dead, my lord Duke, I thought,
and laughed again.

“If he wants to quarrel he will find me ready enough,” I said,
boastfully and noisily; but before I entered the house I had put a
restraint upon myself and wore my usual reserve, covering up that mad,
wild, whirling passion that was heating every vein in my body. I soon
saw, too, there was a cause to be wary.

“His friends are in strong force here,” muttered Spernow, as together
we entered the room and were greeted by our host, a man named Metzler,
who led us forward chatting pleasantly about nothing.

There were about a dozen of us in all in the room, and the first glance
showed me that it was intended to be a wet, wild night. Three or four
of the men I knew to be dare-devil scapegraces, hard drinkers and
harder players even for that city of hard drinking and high gambling,
and it was easy to see by their faces that some of them had made haste
to begin, for they were already flushed and excited. It was the kind of
party where an empty glass was considered a sign of discourtesy to the
host.

The Duke was gambling, but saw me enter, and when I approached him gave
me no more than a surly nod in place of his customary rather effusive
greeting. I augured well from this, but was careful to be particularly
courteous.

In a few minutes Spernow and I were seated at a table playing some
silly card game or other for fairly high stakes. I felt no interest in
it, and cared not one jot whether I won or lost. I staked moderately
and drank very sparingly, finding my amusement in watching the flushed
eagerness of the men about me; the noisy laughter when they won, and
the muttered oaths when fortune went against them.

I glanced now and again at the other tables, and I noticed that the
Duke was in much the same mood as myself, and twice caught him scowling
angrily and darkly at me. Each time I laughed in my heart and smiled
pleasantly with my lips.

“Fortune with you, Duke?” I cried the second time.

“My turn is coming,” he answered, with an expression that in a dog or a
wolf you would call a snarl.

“Well, don’t be afraid to back it when it does come. I’m winning,” I
said with another smile, as though cards were the one absorbing thought
in my head just then. But he seemed to put his own interpretation on my
words, for he answered in a surly tone:

“Ah! your luck may change;” and he turned to his game again.

After an hour or two a halt was called for supper, and I observed that
the Duke scrupulously avoided me. I noticed, too, that he had begun to
drink much more freely, and while I chatted with the men about me I
kept a close watch upon all that he did.

As soon as supper was finished the glasses were refilled and the
gambling began again.

“Thank Heaven that’s over; now we can settle down to business,” said
one of the men near me, who had been a high player and a heavy loser;
and that voiced the thoughts of most men in the room.

An hour later I noticed that Spernow was infected with the mania for
high play. He was staking large amounts, which I knew he could not
afford to lose, and he was losing them. I gave him a warning look or
two, but he would pay no heed; and to create a diversion I declared
that I had played enough. It was all to no purpose, however. It did not
check him, and it irritated the men about us.

For that I cared nothing, but it brought the crisis for which I
had been waiting. The men were urging me to continue, and I was
refusing, when I heard the Duke say to a man at his table, in a voice
intentionally loud enough to be heard by all:

“Nothing like cards to test a man’s pluck;” and he accompanied the
words with a sneer and a shrug of the shoulders.

I would not take the words to myself, though I knew, as did the rest,
that they were flung at me.

“I would rather not play again,” I said to those about me.

“I don’t suppose we are to stop, gentlemen, to please one man’s
caprice--or cowardice, or whatever you call it,” said the Duke
insolently.

“You will not mind if we resume, Count?” said our host, nervously,
trying to fill the awkward pause that followed the words.

“Not in the least,” I answered, pleasantly, for all the anger that
began to stir in me. “I will look on.”

“No, no, Metzler,” cried the Duke noisily. “I object to that.
Lookers-on can see too much and can make use of their knowledge. If
Count Benderoff is too careful of his money to play, you should ask him
to retire.”

“That is the third unpleasant thing you have said about me in as many
minutes,” I said, turning pointedly to him, but speaking coolly.

“Is it?” and he laughed insolently. “Well, you’re doing a deuced
unpleasant thing, and I suppose I may express my opinion.” This time
two of the other men sniggered.

“I have merely expressed a wish to play no more.”

“And you do it with an air of a highly virtuous priest with a mission
to teach us how to behave ourselves. We don’t want you Englishmen or
Roumanians, or whatever you please to call yourself, coming here to set
up any canting standard of morals. We can look after ourselves,” he
sneered, his face flushed and his eyes glittering angrily.

The situation was fast growing serious, and every man stopped to watch
us two.

“I have done nothing of the kind, as you and these gentlemen know quite
well. It seems that you wish to insult me wantonly.”

“Do you mean to say that I don’t speak the truth, Count Benderoff?” he
cried, rising and coming towards me.

[Illustration: “I STRUCK HIM A VIOLENT BLOW AND KNOCKED HIM
DOWN.”--_Page 181._]

“Gentlemen, this has surely gone far enough,” said Metzler, his face
pale, as he put himself between us hurriedly. “The Count has only
expressed a desire not to play any longer, and, of course, in my house
I should not think of urging him;” and he glanced at the rest, as if
asking them to interfere.

“Our host’s views are my answer to you,” I said.

But the Duke was bent on the quarrel.

“A very discreet shield,” he sneered, and then his passion broke out.
“What I said I maintain,” he continued furiously. “You have tried
deliberately to break up the party with your infernally domineering
interference. I have had far too much of your interference, not only
here but elsewhere. I’ll have no more of it. Who are you, to come
thrusting yourself into concerns that are nothing to you? If you don’t
like our company, leave it; and if you don’t like the country, leave
that too. And the sooner the better. This is no garbage-heap for either
renegade Roumanians or cowardly English to be carted here;” and he
laughed in my face.

My blood boiled at his words, but I meant the quarrel to go even
farther yet, and after a pause of dead silence I answered, clipping my
words short:

“Rather a hunting-ground where a fortune may be picked up by any
drunken, bankrupt Russian duke, infamous enough to stoop to any
cowardly baseness.”

He could scarce restrain himself to hear me out before he flung himself
at me in wild, desperate rage.

I caught his arm in my left hand as it was raised, and flinging out my
right with all my strength I struck him a violent blow on the mouth and
knocked him down.

In another moment the men had thrown themselves between us, holding him
as he struggled to his feet and drew his sword, striving to get at me
and cursing wildly.

I was as cool now outwardly as if nothing had happened, and in my heart
a feeling of almost wild exultation throbbed and rushed.

“You are all witnesses, gentlemen,” I said to the men near me, “that
from the first this quarrel has been forced upon me. Lieutenant
Spernow, for the present you will act for me.”

“I will have your life for this!” cried the Duke, mad with rage.

I made no reply. There was nothing more to be gained by any further
taunts.

“I am sorry this has happened here and to-night,” I said to my host.
“But you must have seen it was none of my seeking. You will excuse me
if I go.”

I left, and walked home with a feeling of rare pleasure at the thought
of the coming fight. If I did not punish him for his foul insult, then
surely was I what he had said--a coward.




CHAPTER XVII

A DASTARDLY SCHEME


As soon as I reached home I despatched a servant in hot haste for
Zoiloff, and when he arrived I told him what had happened.

“He forced the quarrel on you?” he asked.

“Certainly. I was willing enough, Heaven knows; but there was not a man
in the room who would not have to say that I bore his insults till I
must have seemed all but a coward. But I wanted to make this thing a
life and death affair. And it is that.”

“You will kill him?” he asked, his dark eyes glowing.

“If I can,” I replied, shortly and sternly.

“Good. But Heaven knows what will happen afterwards. Though if the
thing gets wind your meeting may be prevented. Old Kolfort will be mad;
and if he had a tool there, as is most probable, you may be arrested
before morning.”

“I never thought of that, or I would have finished the thing on the
spot.”

“And gained the reputation of having killed a man in his cups. Thank
Heaven you didn’t think of it. I suppose the man means to fight, but,
like his master, Kolfort, he’s such a snake you never know what he does
mean till he has done it.”

“No man who spoke as he did could hope to escape a fight,” I replied,
growing uneasy at his words. “What do you suspect? After a blow, too,
he must fight.”

“He’s the sort of man who’d be capable of anything. He might insult you
openly like that, send the challenge, and then have you seized secretly
and shut up, and when you didn’t appear on the ground in the morning,
post you for a coward. I know him.”

“It would be an infernal move!” I cried hotly.

“It would be reckoned a smart Russian trick,” said Zoiloff drily.

“Then, we’ll checkmate it. We’ll have enough men here to make my arrest
impossible; or, better still, perhaps I’ll pass the night somewhere
else. You and Spernow can arrange all the preliminaries of the meeting,
and appoint a meeting somewhere to-morrow morning, but not fix the
actual ground until that appointment is kept by him and his seconds
only. I will be where you can readily fetch me.”

“Good! Yes, we’ll do that. You’ll have choice of weapons. What shall
they be? I should choose pistols. You’re sure to kill him.”

“He shall have a chance to save his life. We’ll have swords. But, mind,
the fight is to be to the death. No stopping for a trickle of blood!”

“That’s the spirit I like,” cried Zoiloff bluntly; and then we
discussed the plan I had suggested. He told me where I could sleep and
he and Spernow could find me in the morning.

“I should be off at once if I were you--and, mind, get a night’s rest.
You’ll need all your skill, even if we succeed in bringing him up to
the scratch.”

“I’ll go the moment Spernow arrives.”

“Then take my advice. Let your people have a horse saddled at once
and kept in readiness close to some back way out. I know these Russian
dodges.”

I adopted the suggestion at once, and, sending for my head groom,
Markov, told him to saddle my horse and his, where to station himself,
and to be prepared to be away with me for the night; and, lastly,
to hold his tongue. After that I changed hurriedly into an undress
uniform, got together the one or two things I should need, and joined
Zoiloff.

“I don’t like this long wait,” he said impatiently. “I seem to smell
something wrong. Why do they keep Spernow like this? I should go,
Count, if I were you.”

“I can’t go till I know the man’s making a show of fighting, at any
rate.”

“Picket one or two of our fellows, then, to give us warning. The house
may be surrounded before we know anything has happened.”

“It isn’t necessary. The place is like a rabbit-warren; there’s an
underground passage that lets out a hundred yards away, and it’s there
I’ve told the man to have the horses. Half a regiment couldn’t keep me
in if I wanted to get out.”

“Some infernal spy or other may have found that out;” and then, to
satisfy him, I sent out half a dozen men to keep watch.

A quarter of an hour later Spernow arrived, but not before Zoiloff’s
patience had long given out. Spernow explained that the delay had been
caused at the other house, and not by any fault of his own.

“Did anyone leave before you?”

“Oh, yes; the meeting broke up soon after the Count left.”

“Good-night, Count,” cried Zoiloff instantly. “Don’t lose another
moment.”

“The fight is to come off?” I asked eagerly.

“Of course,” said Spernow, in surprise, not guessing our suspicions.

“Then good-night. Zoiloff will explain everything;” and as I turned
to leave a servant came hurrying in, pale and excited, to say that a
number of men, some in uniform, were approaching the house, and had
tried to detain him. The next moment a furious summons at the front
door told us they had arrived.

Before the noise had ceased to reverberate through the house, I was
in the underground passage, hurrying at full speed to the place where
the horses were awaiting me. Zoiloff’s suggestion that General Kolfort
might know of the secret passage gave me a twinge of uneasiness, and
as I paused to open the little door of outlet my fears were more than
verified, for I heard the cries of men as they entered the passage from
the house end. I held a revolver ready as I slipped out into the night,
and at a little distance to the left I caught sight of a couple of men,
just perceptible as shadows in the gloom.

Guessing that they were after me, and had not known quite where to lie
in wait, I ran swiftly in the opposite direction, fortunately to the
spot where I should find my horse. Once in the saddle, I did not fear
pursuit. They saw me, despite all my precaution, and raised a shout,
while one of them fired a pistol, presumably as a signal, and then I
heard them come clattering after me.

The shot was answered by others, and the place seemed alive with men.
But I was near to the horses now, and could see them in the little
clump of trees where I had told Markov to wait.

“Have you seen any horsemen about?” I asked, as I sprang into the
saddle.

“No, sir,” replied the groom, but at that moment the sound of galloping
came from both directions.

There was going to be a tussle after all, it seemed.

“You have your pistols. If anyone tries to stop us, you have my orders
to fire--but only at the horses, mind. Follow me close.”

We were on a small heath, and I pricked my horse into an easy canter in
the direction I had to take to get to the place of which Zoiloff had
told me.

“Halt! Who goes there?” and the horseman checked his steed with a
rattle of steel that told me he was a cavalryman.

“A friend,” said I, but not drawing rein.

“Halt!” came the cry again. The horseman behind was now coming up fast,
and I could hear the sounds of the others scurrying after us on foot.

“I’m in a hurry, and can’t wait,” I said.

“Halt, or I shall fire,” and I heard him get his carbine; but I was not
going to be trapped by a single cavalryman, and before he had an idea
of my intention I had carried it into execution.

We were nearly abreast of him, cantering easily, when I wheeled my
horse around, dug the spurs into his sides, dashed right against the
man who had challenged me, dragged his weapon from his hands, and flung
it on the ground.

“Now,” I called to the groom, “as fast as the wind, and bend low;”
and together we rattled over the heath at a pace that made pursuit
hopeless, even had the two men behind been inclined for a chase. But
they were not. A couple of shots were fired after us, but as the
darkness hid our forms, and the grass deadened our horses’ footfalls,
they were but random shots, not destined to find their billets in our
bodies.

After a sharp burst for some ten minutes, I drew rein and listened. Not
a sound. I had shaken off the pursuit. At the same time I deemed it
advisable to take a roundabout route to our destination, and in this
Markov, who knew every square inch of the country, was able to guide me.

We reached the place without further mishap; and Zoiloff’s name acted
like a magic pass-word to secure the accommodation we needed. Thus
my Russian friends had not even the satisfaction of robbing me of my
night’s rest.

I woke in the morning, all anxiety to know how Zoiloff and Spernow had
fared, what arrangements had been made, and whether, after all, we
should succeed in bringing off the fight without interruption.

I could also take a clearer view of the seriousness of the attempt
made to capture me on the previous night. The more I considered it
the less I liked it, for I read in it a determination on the part of
General Kolfort to remove me from his path, at all events, until after
the marriage of the Princess. He had viewed the fact of our love as a
possible stumbling-block in the path of his policy, and was resolved to
deal with it in his usual drastic way; and it was easy enough to see
that even after the duel he would continue to pursue me.

Zoiloff arrived while I was in this rather gloomy, meditative mood.

“I have been speculating all the night whether I should find you here,
Count, for I could not learn from the men who came to your house
whether they had caught you or not. They were wild at not finding you
there, and ransacked the place from cellar to roof; and almost the
first place they searched was that underground passage. I concluded, of
course, that they would have men posted at the other end, and feared
therefore that they had got you in a trap. How did you escape?”

I told him briefly what had happened, and that only his forethought had
saved me.

“And what of the duel?” I concluded eagerly.

“All is right, so far, I’m glad to say. Of course, the Duke couldn’t
appear to back out in the least; and his men represented him as full
of fight. We had a bit of a tussle over the conditions, but I wouldn’t
give way. They wanted me to fix the time and place at once; but I told
them pretty plainly that to do that might be doing no more than giving
an excellent appointment for making the arrest that had just failed,
and, in short, that it was impossible. In the end they had no option
but to agree, and we are to meet at a little village about five miles
north of here at nine o’clock, and then settle the ground. What I
propose is that you should ride on about a couple of miles further--I
know a splendid place for a meeting there; your man will probably know
the ground; and if I find no treachery in the wind I’ll bring them on.
If there is anything wrong, I’ll fix another spot, and let you know
somehow. But I think it’ll be all right. The men acting for him are
perfectly straight.”

“Yes,” I assented readily. “It’s an excellent plan.”

“But what about afterwards? If you kill him, there will be the deuce to
pay; and I should think you will have to fly the country for a while at
least.”

“No, I shall go back to Sofia and face it out. Men have been killed in
duels before. The fight was forced upon me, and everything’s in perfect
order. Why should I run away?”

“Russian dukes are not often killed in duels, especially when so
essential to Russian schemes,” he answered drily.

“I shall take my chance of the consequences. We’re not so feeble that
they can do what they like to me. I shall face it out.”

“How would it be to stop short of killing him?”

“My dear Zoiloff, if you had had said to you what was said to me, you
would view the thing as I do,” I said sternly, and he made no reply.

I called in my man then, and Zoiloff gave him precise instructions
which way we were to ride, and where to wait; and soon afterwards
he started to meet the duke and his seconds. I mounted within a few
minutes of his departure, and as I rode at an easy pace I was very
thoughtful, though exultant at the prospect of the encounter.

It was a glorious morning. The sun was hot and bright, but a fresh,
invigorating breeze was blowing, and the country looked beautiful. The
hardy, stalwart peasantry, men and women alike, were at work everywhere
in the fields, toiling with that industry for which they are famed in
all the East; and, save that here and there were to be seen the ruined
homesteads which told their grim story of the fearful struggle of a few
years previously, the landscape seemed redolent of the new blessing of
content which the better rule of the Prince had brought in its train,
and full of the promise of prosperity, if only the ban of political
intrigue could be removed--certainly a land of promise with a great
future under a ruler with such high ideals and motives as Christina.

As I thought of it, she seemed farther removed from me than ever. She
loved me, and the knowledge was ineffably sweet; but it was a love that
could have no fruition; and my face darkened as I thought of the man
who was to come between us--not only to thwart our love, but also to
stand between her and the realisation of the dream and hopes of her
life for these people. My heart was as iron towards him; and the bare
thought of his foul treachery in this dastardly attempt to have me
branded as a coward--for I did not hesitate to accept that theory of
his act--filled me with an irresistible impulse to take his life. I
recalled his burning words of insult and contumely, and dwelt upon them
till they stabbed and pricked and stung me to a madness of passion and
loathing.

We reached the little village in good time, and halted at the trysting
spot to wait for news from Zoiloff. This was so long in coming that my
patience was ebbing fast, until I saw Spernow approaching at a hand
gallop.

“All is arranged, Count,” he said, after I had greeted him. “You are
to ride back about half a mile along the road I have come. There is
no sign of any interference. But I have something for you.” He drew
a small note from his pocket and handed it to me, and turned away to
speak to my servant.

I opened it quickly, little guessing the contents:

  “I have heard the terrible news of your quarrel with the Duke
  Sergius, and that you are to meet to-morrow. God preserve you from
  danger. I am going to ask you the hardest favour that could be put in
  words. I know of your skill, and of the terrible provocation you have
  received, but I beg you not to have his death on your soul. Think of
  what it must mean to us all--to me. For _him_ to be killed by _you_.
  I pray you, for my sake.--CHRISTINA.”

I stared at the lines in a fever of distraction. At the very moment
when the cup was at my lips, it was to be dashed away. Just when I had
fed my passion, and had been goaded by the remembrance of the man’s
foul acts and insults to a vow of implacable vengeance, I was to do
nothing.

I could not grant the wish. The man deserved to die, and die he should
if my arm were strong enough. I could not, I would not, let him escape
me. He had forced the quarrel, and it must go through. It was a just
cause, and I was in the right throughout; and I crushed the paper in my
clenched hand and vowed the request was impossible.

Yet how could I face her afterwards and say, “I had your plea and would
not hearken to it!” Was ever man more plagued? I paced up and down the
turf fighting the fight between my thirst for vengeance and my love for
Christina with its desire to grant her wish; and never had I fought a
harder battle.

My love won, of course. I had no motives in life but those which were
inspired by my love for her; and the thought of myself, appearing
red-handed before her, and of her turning from me in abhorrence, or
gazing at me with eyes of reproach to bid me never see her again since
I cared so little as not to grant her wishes, was unbearable. But it
was hard, cruelly hard; and I could have ground my teeth in the stress
of my keen disappointment.

I questioned Spernow as we rode together, and he told me that
Mademoiselle Broumoff had given him the letter, and that it was to be
destroyed as soon as read.

I tore it to shreds and scattered them on the passing wind, with a
smile half bitterness, half love; though I would fain have kept the
letter near my heart. Then I fell moody and silent. There was more in
the request than Christina had foreseen. It was not unlikely to prove
my death warrant. To go into a fight with so expert a swordsman as
Duke Sergius was dangerous enough under any circumstances and at any
time. But to fight him while bound to act only on the defensive, and to
refrain, too, from taking advantage of such openings as he might give,
magnified the danger many times, and must make the issue less than
doubtful for me. The fight was to be to the death, or till one of us
was so wounded as to be unable to continue it, and it was clear that,
if I was not to attempt to wound him, it was I who must be struck down.

It was certain, too, that so expert a fencer as he would soon perceive
that I was not going to press him, and thus he could fight at his ease
and wait to pick out the moment when he could most easily plunge his
sword into my heart.

If I escaped with my life, too, I had to suffer the humiliation of
defeat at his hands; and I groaned in spirit at the bondage which my
love imposed.

And yet I blessed the gentleness, little regardful of me though it was,
that had inspired the plea.

When we came in sight of the others, who were already waiting for us,
my mind was made up and my decision taken. The Duke should live, even
if it cost me my life.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIGHT


As I dismounted I saluted the others and glanced sharply at the Duke,
who feigned not to notice my salute, and looked away without returning
it. I hoped I could detect an expression of genuine anxiety on his
face, as if he did not at all relish the turn things had taken; and
purposely I assumed as dark and stern an expression as I could force
into my face. Though I was debarred from killing him, I would at least
act as if I meant to.

It did not take much time to select the place and complete the
necessary preliminaries, and while I was making ready I drew Zoiloff
aside.

“I must have a last word with you, my friend,” I said earnestly.
“Matters have taken a strange turn since I saw you; I have had an
urgent request from the Princess not to kill the Duke, and I don’t
hide from myself that I am now going probably to my death. If I am to
act only on the defensive, I can’t carry on the fight indefinitely, of
course; and, if I fall, I charge you on your honour to let the Princess
know that my last thoughts were of her.”

He saw instantly how grave the prospect was, and was more moved than I
could have believed.

“We have arranged that it shall be to the death, Count. She had no
right to make such a request. Not knowing the conditions, such a
request cannot, and must not, be listened to. She cannot wish your
death rather than his. Women don’t understand these things. You must
not be bound.”

“I have reasoned it out in my own way,” I answered with a smile, “and I
shall observe the condition.”

“By Heaven, I would have had no hand in it at all had I foreseen this.
But I suppose she does not wish you to be killed like a sheep, without
an effort,” he cried excitedly. “You can wound him, at any rate. But
die you must not. We cannot spare you, Count; she cannot, she does not,
know what she asks.”

“When you think it over calmly you will see she is right. He must not
die by my hand, things being as they are.” He knew what I meant, and
had no answer to it. He wrung my hand, much affected; and, after a
moment, growled into his moustache:

“Hang the women; they spoil everything.”

“Remember,” I said, warningly, “if things go badly with me, give my
message--but no reproaches. She must know nothing except that I was
beaten by the Duke’s superior skill. On your honour, Zoiloff?”

“On my honour,” he answered; and, as I was ready, we went forward
together.

The Duke eyed me with a look of hate, and it was easy to see he meant
to do his worst. As our swords crossed, and we engaged, I seemed to
feel the thrill of his passion, as if it were an electric current
passing through the steel.

He fought well and cleverly, but he was not my match. I had been
trained in a better school, and held him at bay without much
difficulty. I was much cooler, too, than he; and his fiery temper made
him too eager to press the fight.

He made no attempt to wound me slightly, but sought with the
vindictiveness of passion to get through my guard and thrust his blade
into my heart. My fighting was all defensive; and after a short time
my tactics evidently puzzled him. He thought my object was to wear
him down. This cooled him, and he began to fight much more warily and
cautiously, and with far less waste of energy and strength.

The first point fell to me, partly by accident. Making an over-zealous
thrust at my body, which I parried with some difficulty, he came upon
my sword point, which just touched his body and drew blood. The seconds
interfered; his wound was examined and found to be slight, and we were
ordered to re-engage.

In the second bout he changed his tactics, and again attacked me with
great impetuosity. The result was what might have been expected. He
gave me more than one chance which I could have taken with deadly
effect; and when he saw that I did not--for he fenced well enough to
understand this--I saw him smile sardonically. He might well wonder why
I should wish to spare him. But each time Christina’s words were before
my eyes and ringing in my ears, and, bitterly though I hated him, I
dared not, and would not, kill him. Then he wounded me. He thought he
had found the opportunity he sought, and his eyes gleamed viciously
as he lunged desperately at my heart. I parried the stroke, but not
sufficiently, for I felt his sword enter my side, and for a moment I
thought all was over.

But when the fight was stopped for the second time it was found that
the blow had gone home too high, and had pierced the flesh above the
heart, and close under the shoulder. The blood made a brave show, but
there was no danger--nothing to prevent my fighting on; and again we
had to engage.

It was now with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain myself to
act only on the defensive. The triumphant gleam in his eyes when his
sword found its way into my body had sent my temper up many degrees. A
man of honour, having such skill of fence as he possessed, and seeing
that I was making no effort to attack him, and was, indeed, actually
letting pass the openings he gave, would have refused to continue a
fight on such unequal terms. But he grew more murderous the longer we
fought, and more than once made a deliberate use of my reluctance to
wound him by exposing himself recklessly in order to try and kill me.
He did it deftly and skilfully, with great caution, step by step, as if
to assure himself of the fact before he relied and risked too much upon
it; but, having satisfied himself, he grew bolder every minute.

It was no better than murder; and, strive as I would, remembering
Christina’s words and seeking to be loyal to her, I could not stop my
rising temper nor check the rapidly growing desire to punish him for
his abominable and cowardly tactics. As the intention hardened in my
mind, so my fighting changed. My touch grew firmer, more aggressive;
I began to press him in my turn, and to show him the dangers that he
ran. He read the thought by that subtle instinct which all swordsmen
know, and, as my face grew harder and my eyes shone with a more deadly
light, I saw him wince, and noted the shadow of fear come creeping over
his face and into his eyes. He began to fight without confidence and
nervously, dropping the attack and standing like a man at bay.

I pressed him harder and harder, my blood growing ever more and
more heated with the excitement of the fight; Christina’s words were
forgotten; and springing up again in my breast came that deadly resolve
of the previous night to kill him. He read it in my face instantly, and
it drove him to make one or two desperate and spasmodic attempts to get
at me; though I noticed with a grim smile that now he was cautious not
to expose himself as before.

I defeated his attempts without difficulty, and was even in the act
of looking out for an opening to strike, when the remembrance of my
pledge, and of what my love would say to me if I killed him, shot back
into my mind, and at a stroke killed all the desire to kill. The change
of mood must in some way have affected my fighting, as we know it will,
for I left myself badly guarded, and like a dart of lightning his blade
came flashing at me.

I was wounded again; but, fortunately, malice, or fear, or too great
glee, made him over-confident, so that his aim was awry, and, instead
of piercing my heart, his sword glanced off my ribs, inflicting another
flesh wound, but barely more than skin deep.

[Illustration: “I RAN MY SWORD THROUGH HIS NECK.”--_Page 199._]

“This can’t go on,” growled Zoiloff in my ear, during the pause.
“You could have killed him half a dozen times. We shall be here all
day.” The absurd bathos of the speech made me smile, despite the grim
situation, and the smile was still lurking on my face when we crossed
swords for the fourth time. A glance at my opponent’s face was enough
to kill any smile, however; and almost as soon as our blades touched
he commenced again to force the fight as though he meant to finish it
off quickly. So vehement was his attack, that for a while I needed
all my nerve and skill to defend myself; but I contented myself with
defensive tactics--for the interval had cooled my temper--until, by
a little dastardly, unswordsmanlike trick, he tried to catch me at a
disadvantage. In an instant my passion flamed up beyond restraint, and
before there was time for me to regain control of my temper, an opening
came in his guard, and, unable to stay the fighting instinct to take
advantage of it, I ran my sword through his neck.

The blood came gushing out in a full crimson stream from the wound and
through his parted lips, dyeing his shirt front; he staggered back, his
sword dropped from his nerveless grasp, and he fell to the ground with
a groan.

I looked on more than a little aghast at my work. If he should die! And
at the thought the picture of Christina’s face as she would meet me
flashed before my eyes, and for the moment I would have given all I was
worth to have called back that laggard thrust.

Zoiloff and Spernow came and stood by me, as I waited, sword in hand,
to know if the fierce combat was to go on still further. Then his chief
second crossed to us, and in a formal tone said:

“My principal can fight no longer.”

“Is the hurt dangerous? Will he die?” I asked, and the man glanced at
me in evident surprise at the concern in my tone.

“Not necessarily. The wound is severe, but the doctor says the
artery has not been touched.” Then after a pause he added, as if in
involuntary compliment to the skill I had shown: “It is surprising that
the fight lasted so long, Count Benderoff. I can bear witness that he
owes his life to your forbearance.” And with a bow as formal as his
tone he went back to the others.

“We may go,” said Zoiloff; and I handed him my sword and then dressed.

“I am glad you wounded him. I feared you were going to let him kill
you. He tried his utmost, and you had one very narrow escape,” said
Zoiloff. “But now, where are we to go?”

“I should like first to make quite certain about the nature of his
wound. Will you question the surgeon yourself? Spernow and I will wait
by the horses.”

“What of your own wounds? Won’t you have them dressed? Better run no
risks.”

I had almost forgotten them in my excitement, but I agreed; and as soon
as the surgeon could be spared from his attendance on the Duke he came
and dressed them rapidly. The one was a mere scratch, and the other not
by any means serious. I had been lucky indeed to escape so lightly. “A
couple of days’ rest for the arm would be enough,” declared the doctor,
who was inclined to be garrulous about the affair until he found that I
made no response.

When he had finished with me, however, I questioned him as to my
opponent’s condition. He gave me a learned and technical description of
the exact character of the injury, and then in simple and intelligent
language told me that in all probability, if the wound healed as it
should, the Duke would be a prisoner to his room for two or three
weeks; if it healed badly, it might be as many months. But he put his
estimate at not more than a month.

“There is no danger of his death?” I asked.

“Not the least, unless he is imprudent. In a month’s time he should be
quite able to fight another duel should he feel so disposed.”

I saw no wit in so grim a pleasantry, for he intended it as such, and
turned away with a hasty word of thanks for his attention.

“Where to?” asked Zoiloff when we were mounted.

“Back to Sofia,” I answered promptly. “I am going straight to General
Kolfort to ascertain the meaning of last night’s attempt on me;” and I
clapped my heels into my horse’s flanks and started at a sharp pace for
the city.




CHAPTER XIX

MY ARREST


I had not ridden more than a couple of miles towards the city when a
thought occurred to me and caused me to draw rein suddenly and call to
my companions to halt.

“Anything wrong?” asked Zoiloff, looking about him anxiously.

“It has just occurred to me that, as I’m going to put my head in
the lion’s mouth by going to General Kolfort, I had better not go
unprepared, and I have just thought of a precaution I can take.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t at present explain to you fully, but you or Spernow can help
me. I must find some place before I enter Sofia where I can write for
an hour or two. Where can I go?”

He thought a moment, and said:

“The safest place would be back to where you passed the night. I am
sure of those people, and they know how to hold their tongues;” and,
changing our direction, we set off for the house at a brisk trot.

My intention was to write out a full report now for the British Foreign
Office, giving a detailed account of the position of matters in regard
to the Russian scheme, of the part I had played in it, and of what I
believed to be the Russian designs against me. I did not forget the
condition that if I failed the Foreign Office were to be at liberty
to disown me, and that the whole and sole responsibility of my present
action lay with me, let the consequences be what they might. But I
calculated that so far I had kept aloof from committing the Government
in any way, and could thus claim the protection of the Foreign Office
should any personal violence be contemplated by old Kolfort.

I thought out carefully what I had to say, and when we arrived at
the house set to work with a will. I gave a clear description of the
Princess’s counterplot, and then added my reason for believing that,
although it was likely to fail now, it could yet be used for the
advantage of Bulgaria and the Balkan States generally. The Prince had
decided to abdicate, and if measures could be taken from Downing Street
to have a successor to him ready, whether that successor should be
Princess Christina or another, and the abdication so timed as to fit
in with such a plan, it would be perfectly feasible to checkmate the
Russian move. My own opinion, I declared, was in favour of putting the
Princess on the throne, thus apparently acting in co-operation and
concert with Russia, while at the same time taking secret measures to
prevent any marriage on her part with a Russian ally.

For myself, I asked merely that, in the event of my being imprisoned
by General Kolfort, the British representative in Bulgaria might be
instructed by telegraph to press either for my being liberated or
brought to trial. No more to be done than would be done in the case of
an ordinary British subject.

When I had completed the despatch, I drafted a telegram announcing
that it was on its way, and I instructed my companions how they were
to act. Spernow was to take the work in hand, and to push on now for
the Servian frontier, and take the train there for Nish, where I knew
there was a particularly energetic British Consul. If no communication
reached Spernow from me within twenty-four hours of his arrival at
Nish he was to send off the despatch by the quickest available means,
and twenty-four hours later--so as to allow enough time to elapse to
prevent the letter being intercepted--the telegram was to follow. Then
Spernow was to return in hot haste to Sofia to report to Zoiloff. He
undertook the commission very readily, asking only that Mademoiselle
Broumoff should be told of the reason for his absence, and that Zoiloff
should arrange the difficulties of getting him leave of absence from
his regiment.

Zoiloff and I then resumed our ride to Sofia, discussing very earnestly
the new development of our affairs and the possibilities which lay
ahead of my interview with the General.

I scarcely thought he would venture to imprison me, resolute and
ruthless as he was in pressing his policy; and I said as much to
Zoiloff, who was, however, more doubtful.

“In any case it must make no difference to our scheme,” I said. “You
must push on without me, and hurry forward all the preparations with
the utmost despatch. I should like you to see the Princess and explain
to her precisely what has happened this morning, although you need know
nothing of her message to me.”

“I understand,” he said drily; “but I should like to warn her against
imperilling a valuable life when she doesn’t know the facts. It may be
my turn next--who knows?”

“You would act as I did, my friend,” I replied, smiling; “I know you.”

“Well, the conditions would never be the same,” he said bluntly; and I
did not pursue the point any further.

When we reached Sofia we parted.

“How shall I know what happens at the General’s?” he asked.

“If you do not hear from me, you may draw your own conclusion that I
am on my way to Tirnova. If we are not to meet again--good-bye;” and I
held out my hand.

He grasped it warmly, and with a ring of true stalwart friendship he
said: “If they shut you up it’ll go hard with me if I don’t find you.
And if they kill you you have my oath on it you sha’n’t go unavenged,
if I have to shoot that infernal old ruffian with my own hand. It shall
be life for life.” And without another word, as though he did not wish
me to see how much he was moved, he clapped his heels into his horse’s
flanks and cantered off.

I avoided my own house purposely, lest some of the General’s agents
should be waiting there for me, for I wished it to be unmistakably
clear that my interview with the General was by my own choice; and I
did not draw rein till I had reached the courtyard of his house. Then,
telling Markov to wait for me with the horses in the street, I entered
the house and asked for General Kolfort.

I could see that my visit caused surprise, and observed that one or
two of the soldiers present made haste to post themselves so that my
retreat would be impossible. I was shown upstairs into the room where
I had first seen the General, and where, as usual, one or two officers
were lounging. I was kept there about half an hour--quite long enough
to irritate me--and then a messenger ushered me into the General’s
room.

He looked even harder and grimmer and sterner than ever as he glanced
up from his desk and fixed his eyes on me.

“What is your business with me?” he asked curtly.

“That is the question I have come to put to you,” I retorted, quite as
shortly.

“Why to me?”

“Because I have heard, not quite incidentally, that you have been
sending to my house to inquire for me.”

“You appear to have been called away suddenly.”

“Driven away, I should say rather,” I retorted. “May I ask why you have
dared to make such an attempt?”

“Dared?” he returned, with a flash of his eyes at the word.

“Dared,” I repeated.

“I am not answerable to you for the steps taken in the exigencies of
State.”

“Exigencies of State you term it. A singular name to describe an act
which in plain terms means that when one of your chief men has forced
a quarrel on me and challenged me, you would shut me up to prevent
our meeting, so that he might have an opportunity of branding me as a
coward.”

“I do not think you a coward,” he answered slowly.

“Nor does your Duke Sergius now,” said I.

This touched him, for he asked with evident interest: “What has
happened this morning? A good deal may turn on your answer.”

“He is not dead, if that’s what you mean--only badly wounded;” and I
gave him a brief description of the fight. He listened closely, but
without a sign of his feelings on his face.

“You seem to suggest that you could have killed him,” he said with half
a sneer.

“His own second said as much to me, and offered to bear witness to the
fact that he owed his life to my forbearance.”

“A very tactful forbearance. And why did you spare him? From what I
hear, there is little love lost between you--at least, in the common
sense of the term,” he added drily.

“I had my reasons, and they are my own, if you please. But now will you
tell me the reason for your conduct?”

“I do not consider it safe for you to be any longer at large.”

The answer was given deliberately, and after a pause. It showed that
his intention was to imprison me; but I would not let him see the
unpleasant effect of the decision. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

“And your reasons?” I asked.

“I am not accustomed to discuss reasons with prisoners.”

“Yet you will have to state them in my case. Englishmen can’t be packed
away like herrings in a barrel to suit even your convenience.”

“You are no Englishman, Count Benderoff.”

“On the contrary, I am a British subject, General Kolfort, and am
resolved to claim my rights as one.”

He waved the words aside as though they were of no account.

“I warned you when you first came here----”

“When you lured me here, you mean,” I corrected.

“That you would have to choose in which character I was to deal with
you. Had you chosen then to stand on your British nationality--which,
by the way, I question entirely--I should have known how to deal
with you. Instead of dealing frankly with me, you chose to remain in
Sofia, mixing yourself up with intrigues against me, and doing other
ridiculous things, until I repeat I cannot any longer allow you to
remain at large. I shall send you to Tirnova, that you may have time to
cool your inconvenient passions and clear your head.”

“Very well, I am content to go. It will be an excellent illustration
for the guidance of Europe as to Russian policy in the Balkans.”

“When Europe hears of it,” he returned significantly.

I blessed my prudence as I thought of the despatch I had sent by
Spernow, and at the thought a smile flitted across my face. He stared
at me in some doubt, not understanding my confidence.

“I am afraid you think I am only a short-sighted fool, after all,
General.”

“I have not formed a very high opinion of your foresight. I know
you to be brave and hold you to be clever in your way; but a little
longer foresight would have shown you that such an ending as this was
inevitable when you decided to meddle with politics here and to act as
my secret opponent.”

I began to wonder how much he knew of our plans.

“I did not so lack foresight as to come to this meeting unprepared,
at any rate,” said I, significantly. “And if you throw me into one
of your confounded prisons, the news will soon be buzzing in every
Foreign Office in Europe that Englishmen must be deprived of their
liberty in order to prove Russia’s devotion to the cause of freedom
in the Balkans.” I threw the words at him recklessly, and all his
self-restraint could not help his showing that the blow went home. He
had not expected this.

“I don’t believe you,” he said bluntly.

“So much the worse for you; but if you were a younger man, General
Kolfort, you would not dare to say that to my face,” I added, sternly.

“You will find it no easy task to get your news out of Bulgaria.”

“If I had not known it was already safe across the frontier, do you
think I should have been fool enough to come here;” and I laughed and
shrugged my shoulders, enjoying his embarrassment. Then I pushed my
advantage. “But now, I am ready for your men. Where are you sending me?
Tirnova?” And I got up as though the prison were immaterial to me.

He didn’t relish the piece of bluff, and sat silent and uneasy.

“You can sit down again,” he said after a pause.

I threw myself carelessly into my chair again, crossed my legs, glanced
at my watch and said, lightly:

“Tirnova’s over a hundred and twenty miles as the crow flies, and
if you have any regard for my health--which, by the way, may be an
important matter to you by and by--we’d better make a start. I’m
wounded, and a long journey might have a very bad effect upon me.”

He threw me a glance of baffled rage; I saw his lips move, and
guessed that a pretty little oath had slipped out into his moustache
unchristened.

“If you mean to brave me out, your journey may be a much farther and
a much quicker one,” he said after a pause. “Mistakes have been made
before now, and explained afterwards.”

“Mistake and murder are both spelt with an M,” I said recklessly. “But
a murdered Englishman is not by any means easy to explain away.”

A long tense silence followed. He broke it by asking abruptly, seeking
to catch me unawares:

“What’s this I hear about your love for the Princess Christina?”

“How on earth can I know what your spies or my enemies tell you?” I
replied, not for a moment off my guard.

“Do you dream of making her your wife?”

“Hasn’t she promised to marry the Duke Sergius?”

“Is it true that you love her?”

“If it were you are scarcely the man to whom I should bring such a
confidence.”

“What’s your object here in Sofia?”

“To be allowed to mind my own business.”

“What is that business, as you call it?”

“My own concern,” I retorted as sharply as I could rap out the words.
It was as clear as daylight that I had touched him with my threat, or
he would never continue to question me. I was winning.

“What does your Government want?” he asked, after a pause to recover
from his chagrin at my former replies.

“How should I know--except to have their subjects left unmolested?” I
was determined to rub this in, and I could see he relished this last
rub no better than the first.

“If you refuse to answer my questions you leave me but one
alternative,” he threatened.

“Take it,” I answered lightly. “You take it, of course, with your eyes
open.”

“You have been engaged in a conspiracy against the Russian influence?”

“I have been engaged in that conspiracy carried on In the Name of a
Woman, if that’s what you mean. And, as you are perfectly aware, with
not only your consent, but approval and encouragement.”

“You have been working secretly for another object,” he cried angrily.

“Are you accusing the Princess Christina of treachery?”

“Your tongue is as skilful in fence as your sword,” he said, smiling
grimly. “But you know my meaning perfectly.”

“Then pack me off to Tirnova--if you think you have proof to prove the
unprovable; and at the same time show your hand to the rest of Europe.
No, no, General Kolfort,” I said, smiling and shaking my head, as
though the thing were no more than a jest, “that cock won’t fight, and
you know it.”

“I regard you and could deal with you as a renegade Bulgarian officer
conspiring against your Prince; a crime that merits imprisonment.”

“Very good and plausible, no doubt--were it not for the precaution that
I have taken to let people in London know differently. But if that’s to
be your line, we shall have the gaols pretty full here, and you and I,
General, will be able to resume our interesting conferences, hobnobbing
in one of them on more equal terms than here;” and I wagged my head at
him again.

The taunt enraged him. His eyes flashed fire, and a flush of wrath
tinged his dried, wrinkled, parchment cheeks. He sprang to his feet and
sounded the bell on his table furiously.

“I will put your devil-may-care humour to the test. You shall go to
Tirnova.”

“As you please,” I answered, surprised now in my turn, for I had not
thought he would dare to push matters to extremes. “I will tell you one
thing. My arrest will be the signal for that despatch to be forwarded.
If I do not go to Tirnova, that will not go to London.”

“I care nothing for your Government,” he exclaimed, all self-control
gone in his anger. “They dare do nothing, even if they would.”

At that moment an officer entered in response to the bell.

“Arrest the Count Benderoff,” cried the General, pointing at me a
finger that trembled with rage. “Give up your sword, sir. You are a
traitor, unworthy to bear it.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” I said desperately. “The man who lays
a hand on me may look to himself.”

“Call in your men, Captain. If he resists, shoot him,” said the stern
old man grimly, and in the moments of waiting we looked at each other
in silent defiance. Then came the tramp of men and the clash of arms in
the room without, and a file of soldiers marched in.

“I must ask you for your sword, Count Benderoff,” said the officer,
quietly and courteously. “You will see resistance is useless.”

For a moment I still resisted and refused.

“I beg you to save trouble,” he said again.

“I will not,” I cried furiously. “If I am to be murdered, it shall be
done here, in the presence of my murderer;” and I set my back to the
wall and whipped out my sword.

“Shoot him down!” shouted the infuriated old man to the soldiers, who
levelled their guns dead at me. “Now, will you give up your sword?”

“No, I’ll die first, you butcher!” I exclaimed, setting my teeth.

“Do your duty, Captain,” said the inflexible old martinet.

“Count Benderoff, let me make another request,” he said, daring even
the General’s displeasure in his reluctance to give the command.

“No; you shall butcher me here.”

A moment of terrible strain followed, and then in the room without the
sounds of some confusion were heard, and an exclamation of surprise
from one or two of the men there. Quick, light steps fled across to the
room where we stood.

“Shut that door,” cried the General.

But the order was too late, and the Princess Christina came rushing
in, her face deathly white with alarm at what she saw, while with the
quickness of thought she placed herself between me and the soldiers who
covered me with their muskets.




CHAPTER XX

A WARNING


The Princess looked magnificent in the fire of anger which succeeded
her alarm, as she turned to the old Kolfort for an explanation.

“I presume you will scarcely order your soldiers to shoot me,” she
said, facing him grandly, her eyes flashing.

I slipped my sword back into its scabbard, and the General made a
peremptory sign to the Captain to withdraw his men.

We waited in silence while the order was given, and the men filed out,
followed by the Captain.

“Remain in the ante-room,” said the General.

“You mistake me greatly, General Kolfort, if you think your soldiers
will be needed for work like this,” cried the Princess. “Pray what is
the explanation of what I saw when I arrived?”

I thought I could best give that, and said:

“General Kolfort had arrested me, and when I refused to give up my
sword had ordered these men of his to shoot me.”

“Is this possible?” she cried, her indignation flaming in her face.
“And yet of course it is. I have heard within the last few minutes of
what was done last night and of this visit of yours, Count Benderoff,
and I hurried here, fearing mischief. Thank Heaven, I arrived in time;
but I did not dream such an infamous act would ever be attempted.”

“Infamous is a strong word, Princess,” said Kolfort sternly.

“I use it because I can find no stronger,” was the quick, spirited
retort. “By what right, and in whose name, do you contemplate such an
outrage?”

“The General declared that I was a renegade officer plotting against
the reigning Prince, and that I therefore deserved imprisonment in the
fortress of Tirnova. The General himself being, of course, so zealous
a loyalist, the thought that anyone should so conspire was naturally
repugnant to him.”

I threw as much irony into my tone as I could, and ended with an
intentionally aggravating and somewhat insolent sneer. I wished to put
as ugly a complexion as possible on his conduct.

“The matter is one which you and I had better discuss in private,
Princess,” said the old man, who was now fast recovering his habitual
self-restraint.

“Why in private?”

“Because I prefer it, Princess.”

“I see no reason. The Count is fully aware of all our matters, is one
of my most trusted advisers and friends, and his welfare and safety
touch me very closely. The matter can be settled here and now.”

“You are presuming much----”

“I do not understand the word presumption in such a case, and from you,
General Kolfort,” cried Christina, proudly, “and I will not hear it.”

“If your Highness has no further need of my services, nor of the
influence of my Government in your affairs, you have but to say so,”
he said in a tone of calculated menace. But he didn’t frighten my
brave and staunch Princess, and she answered him in a tone of queenly
dignity.

“If your services can go no higher than the cold-blooded murder of my
friends and adherents, I shall be glad for your Government to release
you from a position that you fill in a manner so unworthy of Russia and
so bitterly hateful to myself.”

He had drawn a blank in the attempt to intimidate her, and was quick to
see and wily enough to abandon it.

“Yet I have not been unmindful hitherto of your interests,” he answered.

“Hitherto they do not appear to have clashed with your own plans and
private animosities,” she flashed, with a sting that festered at once.

“This is rather a matter of your private feelings than mine,” he said,
with a significant glance in my direction.

“I will not affect to misunderstand you,” she answered readily, with
mounting colour. “Our interview yesterday makes that unnecessary.
That, as I read it, is the real reason at the bottom of this last act
of yours. I gave my word then to marry the Duke Sergius, and I would
have kept it at all hazards. But I did not mean, and will not suffer,
that my marriage with the Duke should be the death-sentence upon Count
Benderoff.”

“You ‘would have kept’ your word. Do you mean----?” He paused; and how
I hung upon her reply may be imagined.

“I mean that, as the Duke has involved himself in a quarrel, and been
seriously wounded for his pains, I cannot well become his wife the day
after to-morrow.”

“There must be no delay,” he retorted quickly.

“Delay!” she cried, her eyes flashing again brilliantly. “Do you think
if you had murdered my friend here, or if you dared to thrust him into
a prison, that I would ever make a marriage that at the best must be
hateful to me?”

“This friendship of yours threatens to be exceedingly inconvenient;
and if you mean to allow it to interfere with urgent matters of State,
we may as well abandon all our plans, or look for some other means of
carrying them out.”

“If a policy of murder is your only alternative, I agree with you,”
she exclaimed, taking up his challenge instantly. “I will not have the
steps of my throne running with blood shed by Russia.”

He bit his lip in chagrin and manifest embarrassment.

He might well be embarrassed. He had fired his two big guns--a threat
first to withdraw from her cause and then to throw her over--and had
found them both burst at the breech. A long pause followed, in which
I watched his face closely. He appeared to come suddenly to a fresh
decision, and changed his manner accordingly.

“Well, I am sorry to have distressed you, Princess. What is it you
wish?”

“I will not have Count Benderoff, or any of my friends, subjected to
interference at the hands of your agents. Their personal freedom and
safety are my special charge.”

“The Count is at liberty to leave,” he replied on the instant, in his
more customary curt, decisive tone. “And I trust his future actions
will not bring him again in conflict with me. He may take this as a
warning.”

“I have done nothing in this case, and need no warning,” I said
warmly. “If you allege anything against me, I am prepared to take the
consequences, and demand to stand my trial.”

“This is no occasion that calls for mock heroics,” he sneered. “In my
opinion you should be in Tirnova; but the Princess has thought well to
interfere in your behalf, and I bow to her wishes--for the present.
That is all.”

“For the second time I owe my safety, and probably my life, to you,
Princess,” I said, advancing to her. “I have no words to thank you.”

“If you wish to show your thanks you had better stop that despatch you
told me of,” interposed the General, not without a note of concern in
his voice.

“There is no need for it if I am to remain at liberty,” I answered,
half disposed to smile.

“I am ashamed there should have been this need for my interference,
Count,” said the Princess, looking at me and smiling.

“I trust that there may come a chance for me to prove my gratitude,” I
replied, scarce daring to meet her eyes; and with that I withdrew.

As I passed through the ante-chamber I was stopped by the Captain,
whose men remained there on guard.

“I hope I am to let you pass, Count,” he said most courteously.

“General Kolfort has this moment said I am at liberty to go.”

“You know how strict our discipline is. Will you wait while, as a
matter of form, I obtain his confirmation?”

“Most willingly,” I asserted. He went to the General’s room, and in a
moment returned smiling and holding out his hand.

“I am delighted. I know of you, of course, and, believe me, I have
never passed through a more embarrassing minute in my life than that
in his room.” His manner was so unaffectedly frank and friendly that I
shook his hand cordially, and he came with me down the stairs and out
into the street.

“I heard an account of last night’s proceedings from one who was at
Metzler’s house, Count; I hope you do not judge us all by such an
instance. I have just heard also what occurred this morning;” and in
his tone and manner he contrived to convey a genuine compliment to my
skill. “The Duke is well punished.”

“I shall be glad to hear how he progresses,” I said, as my man brought
my horse up.

“I hear that you have an excellent shooting gallery at your house, and
that you are a remarkable shot.”

“Will you care to come and see it?”

“Immensely, and perhaps to try the foils with you;” and his face
lighted as though I were granting him a great favour when I asked him
to dine with me. I rode off, thankful indeed that I was still free,
speculating whether I could in some way attach this Russian to me; and,
what was still more important, wondering what lay behind the sudden
change in old Kolfort’s manner, and whether he was concocting some
further subtle plan against me.

Before I reached my house I had resolved on an important step, as
the result of these later developments. After I had sent to Zoiloff
to let him know what had happened, I wrote a fresh despatch to send
to London, embodying much of what I had before written, and giving
a brief description of my treatment at the General’s hands. I urged
at greater length and with more insistence the desirability of steps
being taken immediately on the lines I had suggested, declaring that
there was necessity for immediate action; that I believed a complete
change of front was contemplated by General Kolfort; that the Foreign
Office must be prepared instantly with a successor to the reigning
Prince--otherwise a _coup d’état_ would be carried out, which I was
convinced would result in Russia being left the complete master of
the position; and that the one key to the situation would be found in
timing the Prince’s abdication with the finding of a successor who
would not be Russia’s tool. And I declared strongly in favour of the
Princess Christina.

As soon as I had finished it I sent for my servant Markov, who had
been away with me the previous night, and explained to him that he
was to carry it to Nish, and place it in the hands of the British
consul there, and at the same time deliver a letter, which I wrote to
Lieutenant Spernow. This note was to tell him to destroy the first
despatch.

“When you leave Nish,” I added, explaining the next step, “you will
return to the frontier by train, and from there to Sofia you must
organize relays of horses at distances of from ten to twelve miles,
avoiding the main road where possible, so that at any moment I can make
sure of a quick, clear journey from here to the frontier. Spare no
money in the effort to do the work well and quickly. You must have it
complete in four days at the outside, three if possible. Choose your
agents with great care, and give no hint for whom the work is being
done. If questions are pressed, you can say it is in connection with
a wager between Russian officers. I trust you implicitly, Markov,” I
concluded. “And if you serve me well I will give you such a reward as
will make you independent for life.”

He assured me earnestly of his attachment to me, and said that, as he
came from that part of the country, he knew just the people who would
do what was needed. Then he added a characteristically Bulgarian touch:
“They know me well in those parts, Count, and they hope that some day
I shall settle among them. I am looking forward to being able to buy a
small farm that I know of there, and marry.” I took the hint.

“Do this for me well, and I will buy the farm for you.”

“My lord is generosity itself!” cried the fellow, his face radiant
with glee, and I knew I could depend upon a man of his kind when his
personal feelings and self-interest were running in double harness.

My object was, of course, to prepare the means of flight should that
become at any moment imperative; and such a contingency grew more
probable the more closely I reflected upon what had passed at my
interview with the General. And I explained my views to Zoiloff, who
came hurrying to me on the receipt of my letter, and told him what I
had done.

The Russian officer, Captain Wolasky, dined with me, and we spent an
hour together in the shooting gallery. I did my utmost to create a
favourable impression upon him, and appeared to be very successful; for
he expressed a warm wish that we might see more of one another, and
we parted on particularly friendly terms. I was careful, of course,
to avoid any reference to political matters; but he himself let fall
enough to show me that his work in Sofia was exceedingly distasteful,
and that he had little sympathy with Kolfort’s policy, and none at all
with his methods.

“Russia must, of course, dominate the Balkans; that is the law of
Nature,” he said once; “but I detest a roundabout way of going to a
mark when a straight road could be cut with ease. That’s old Kolfort’s
way, however. He’s just like a man grubbing in a cellar for coals, and
will insist on having every little bit of rubbish through his fingers
and storing and binning it for future use, as if he expected the day to
come when rubbish would be worth more than coal, whereas one vigorous
use of the shovel would give him all the coal he wants at once.”

I was far from displeased to find him out of conceit with the General,
but said nothing.

“What could have been more abominable and disgusting than his treatment
of you to-day?” he exclaimed, when my wine had begun to heat him. “It’s
that sort of barbarism that brings us Russians into such ill-repute. I
know what would have happened. He would have given that order to shoot
you without turning a hair and then would have drawn up some bogus
report or other about you having made a desperate attack upon his life,
and have called upon me to witness it. I suppose he hates you for some
reason, and that’s at the bottom of it. There are plenty of black pages
in his past, I can tell you.”

“You had better not,” I answered, smiling. I did not wish him to have
the after-reflection that he had been talking too freely. If he were
inclined to give me his confidence he should not lack opportunities;
and I pressed him warmly, therefore, to come and see me frequently.

He came the next day when Zoiloff was with me, and again on the
following day, when Spernow had returned, and we encouraged his
intimacy in every possible way. Zoiloff, in the meantime, had made
guarded inquiries about him, having at first been disposed to distrust
him as a possible spy acting in General Kolfort’s interest. He had
found out that he was as genuine as he seemed--a man with no family
influence to push his interests, of no means of his own, and constantly
standing in his own light because of his scruples, and a blunt, rugged
way of expressing them.

“A man not to be bought, but to be won,” declared Zoiloff. “And, once
won, to be trusted. He may be valuable to us;” and so indeed the event
proved.

On the occasion of his fourth visit I noticed that he was reserved and
seemed preoccupied, and while we were all going through our practice
in the gallery he joined in it with small zest. We three were even
more jubilant than usual. We had been pushing forward our preparations
with the greatest energy and activity, and Zoiloff had declared to me
his belief that in another ten days or a fortnight we might venture to
make the _coup_ towards which all our efforts were bent. Men had been
sounded in all directions, and fresh adherents had come in in large
numbers, and with great enthusiasm.

I myself had not seen the Princess since the memorable interview at the
General’s house; but she knew of all that we were doing. The marriage
had been rendered impossible for the moment because the Duke’s wound
had taken a turn for the worse, and he lay battling almost for life. We
had had no hint that our suspicions of a change of front on Kolfort’s
part had any foundation; and our hopes ran high therefore that, after
all, we should yet carry things through with a dash.

When our fencing was over, I observed that Captain Wolasky hung about
as if waiting for Zoiloff and Spernow to go; and I dropped them a hint
quietly that they had better do so.

As soon as we were alone, the Captain said:

“I am afraid this may be my last visit, Count.”

“Oh no, I hope not. Why?”

“You will not betray my confidence, I am sure. I have received a hint
that my coming here is not acceptable to those in authority--to old
Kolfort that means, of course.”

“Believe me, I am genuinely sorry. It cuts short what I hoped would be
a pleasant friendship.” I spoke in all sincerity, for I liked him. “But
I can understand your position.”

“That is not all,” he added, and then hesitated and paused. I waited
anxiously. “Of course I ought not to say anything to you, but you
have been so exceedingly friendly. You may have heard that strange
developments are on foot?”

“No, I have heard nothing.” I began to take alarm.

“I am, of course, precluded from telling you their nature; but I
should ill return your hospitality if I were not to give you a word of
warning. You may prepare yourself for a startling change, likely to
involve very serious consequences to you personally--if you remain in
Sofia;” and his look said more than his words.

“You mean, I am in some danger?”

“Very grave danger, Count, and not you only.”

“I may not ask you whom you mean?”

“No, I am afraid not. But there is one person in whom report says you
take a deep interest. I beg your pardon for even referring to such a
matter. But the danger is very grave and--well, the frontier is very
near, and not yet closed. I can say no more, and, indeed, I am sure I
need not.”

“You have acted the part of a true friend, Captain. How long will the
frontier be open? May I ask that?”

“Yes, I am expecting orders at any moment to guard a certain line of
it, and the cordon will be very securely drawn.”

This was news indeed, and for long after he had left me I sat brooding
over it deep in thought. I was right after all, it seemed; and the
cunning old Russian spider had woven a fresh web.




CHAPTER XXI

FIGHT OR FLIGHT?


With the following day came startling confirmation of Captain Wolasky’s
warning. While I was with the regiment a letter was brought to me from
the Prince requesting me to wait upon him.

I found him labouring under considerable excitement, pacing the floor
restlessly and awaiting me impatiently.

“I thought you were never coming, Count,” he said, irritably. “There
seems to be no one now on whom I can rely.”

“I came the instant I received your command, your Highness.”

“Then there must have been some strange delay in giving my message. I
cannot understand it.”

“Is there anything in which I can serve you?”

“I wish to Heaven you could get me out of this wretched kingdom
honourably. That would serve me.” The words burst from him in obedience
to an irresistible impulse. “I am sick and weary to death of it all;”
and he continued his restless pacing for three lengths of the room. He
stopped abruptly and threw himself into a chair close to me.

“Sit here,” he cried, pointing to the chair next him. “I want to speak
frankly to you.” He paused again, and then laying his hand on my arm
said very earnestly: “My friend, you are playing a deadly game--and,
mark me, you are going to be defeated.”

“Your Highness means----?” I asked steadily.

“That your ideal is magnificent and worthy of you, full worthy of any
Englishman--but impossible.”

“I am flattered to hear such words from you,” I replied cautiously, but
he caught me up and answered sharply:

“For Heaven’s sake, Count, don’t answer me with any courtly phrasings
that come tripping off the lips and mean nothing when spoken. I don’t
ask you for your confidence, unless you care to give it to me. I’ll
tell you what I know about you first.”

“The Countess Bokara has no doubt----”

“Yes, of course she has; she has told me all she knows, or guesses, or
suspects, or whatever it may be. But while it was only what she said I
did not think of seeing you or interfering with you. But I have learnt
it now from another source--one vastly more important. And that’s what
I mean when I tell you that you are steering straight for the rocks and
are dead certain to be shipwrecked. Listen to me. You are in love with
the Princess, and naturally enough people credit you with the intention
of trying to climb into the throne by----”

“It is monstrous,” I cried, unable to keep silent.

“I hope your repudiation comes from your heart--I hope it for your own
sake; for there is no happiness under such a crown as I wear, Count
Benderoff,” said the Prince bitterly. “Men think of the dazzle, the
pomp, and the grandeur, the magnificence, and forget the dangers,
the cares, the awful loneliness. If you seek happiness, seek it not
in the glitter of a king’s garb, but in the frank enjoyment of true
manliness. A monarch has mighty opportunities of making others happy,
but himself is doomed to sorrow and solitude. There is no solitude that
this life can know half so awful in its depression as that which hedges
a king. You seek advice, you find intrigue; you hunger for the truth,
and they feed you with the bitter apples of flattery; you yearn for
the sweet counsel of a friend, and you meet the tempered phrasings of
a courtier. Your every word is weighed in the balance of your hearer’s
self-interest, your every thought is caught still-born and distorted,
your every action is judged by the sordid standard of some intrigue,
and every motive twisted and dissected, and analysed and maligned, till
your very face becomes a mask to hide your mind, lest your enemies
should use your looks to help the plans which their malice is spreading
under your very eyes. God, it is unbearable.”

I listened in silence to this outburst.

“You wonder why I speak like this to you. I can read it in your
eyes--for am I not trained to find the truth in the face and hear the
lies in the voice? Well, I would warn you, and more, I would warn that
good, true, noble woman whom you love. Time was when I hated her, and
believed all the harm that was said of her; but now that I have learnt
her real object--to act, not with, but against, the bloodsuckers who
seek to devour the land--I know her goodness and sincerity. But the
movement must fail. The Russians know of it, General Kolfort best of
all, and he has already taken his measures to thwart you all. And
you will find his hand a heavy one, Count. If the Princess Christina
had succeeded in gaining the throne on her own terms--I mean by
means of the men you and those with you were seeking to train as her
adherents--she must still have failed in her object, and have doomed
herself to a lot as miserable and hopeless as mine has been. But
Kolfort does not mean her to succeed; and, I warn you, the measures of
prevention will be sharp, sudden, and terrible in their severity.”

I sat amazed and disconcerted at his words.

“You wonder how I know all this, and set it down to the Countess
Bokara. Of course, she has told me; but I have my news straight from
General Kolfort himself. You little know Bulgaria or the Bulgarians,
or you would have seen the consummate hopelessness of trying to avoid
treachery. Every man you have added to your band has been a fresh
centre of probable treachery. The rule here is each man for himself;
and some one of the men with you was bound to ask himself in time
whether he could not gain more for himself by carrying the news to
the Russians than by standing true to a desperate cause like your
Princess’s. Someone has betrayed you; and the betrayal began when your
love was known. They do not believe in disinterested love in this
country, Count. The peasants may, but no one else. And when that secret
leaked out, General Kolfort’s task of suborning a traitor became easy
enough. If I knew the scoundrel’s name I would give it you, that you
might cut his heart and tongue out for his cowardice. But, believe
me, everything is known--everything. And your knowledge of that grim
Russian leader may tell you what to expect.” He spoke with all the
earnestness of a troubled friend; and I could not doubt him.

“When did your Highness learn this?” I asked after a pause.

“Yesterday. Three days ago, the General came to me with proposals that
showed he had some fresh plans in mind. He was all for my remaining
here as reigning Prince, and offered to concede more than half the
conditions of freedom of action I had before demanded. It was a
pity to disturb the country by a change of rulers; the country was
thriving under my wise rule; the people were growing more contented,
and the malcontents could be overawed; the advantages of my rule were
appreciated in St. Petersburg, and the basis of achieving mutual ends
might probably be arranged with honour to me and substantial benefit
to the country; and so on for an hour or more he prated. I asked the
reason for the change of tone, and he hummed and hesitated, and, in
a word, lied. I said I must have time to think; and he gave me till
yesterday. Last night he came with his tale prepared--that the Princess
was conspiring for an end hostile to both my aims and those of Russia;
that you were her right hand and had been set on by her to fight and
kill the Duke Sergius, but had succeeded only in wounding him; that
your plot was to use the Russian influence to gain the throne and then
yourself marry her and reign as her consort; and to gain this end you
were both prepared to throw the country into the throes of a civil
war which God forfend, and so on, till I was sick to death of his
intriguing slanders. I tried to lure him on to tell me what he proposed
for you, but he contented himself with saying he had all but completed
what I might rely upon would be effectual measures of precaution.”

“May I venture to ask how your Highness answered him?”

“How should I answer him but as I have always answered? That I would
never bend the knee to Russia; that I did not believe St. Petersburg
would ever sanction any such arrangement as he outlined; and that if
what he stated of the objects of the Princess were true, I would be
the first to abdicate in her favour and join with her in her efforts,
shouldering a musket if need be, in the ranks of the men to fight for
her; and that would I, Count, if I saw the faintest gleam of a hope of
success. But there is not a chance, no jot or tittle of hope.”

“Now that we have been betrayed, that is.”

“Before the betrayal the chances were not one in a hundred; now they
are not one in a million. There is but one course for you and for
her--flight, and at once.”

“She will not desert the men who have stood by her. Nor shall I,” I
answered firmly.

“As you will. The Russian preparations are all but complete; Russian
troops are being hurried to the Black Sea; the slightest sign or
movement on your part will be seized on as the pretext for measures as
drastic as Russian measures commonly are; and you yourselves, you two
in particular and all associated as leaders with you, will be treated
you can guess how. Russia knows how to treat her friends badly enough;
but no one ever yet accused her of not dealing effectively with her
enemies. You have been blind, Count; but then a man in love is seldom
anything else.”

It was useless to pretend that I was not vastly affected by what the
Prince told me. I read in it ruin and worse than ruin to everything,
and my heart sank at the prospect before Christina.

“Your warnings, and more, the kindly motives that have prompted them,
have moved me deeply, your Highness.”

“They had better move you out of Bulgaria. But that is your personal
affair. I have told you, because of the service you rendered to one
who is now, I regret, your enemy.”

“Your Highness knows of the attempt on the Princess Christina’s life,”
I asked.

“To my shame and sorrow, I do. She must not think that I would have
countenanced such a thing for a moment,” he said in tone of deep pain.

“She does not,” I assured him.

“That you thwarted it is another service you have rendered me, which
adds to my eagerness to help you both to safety. But even on the
throne here I am powerless to help my friends. Ay, and even my friends
are driven to inflict deeper wounds upon me than my enemies.” His
manner was that of a weak, hopeless, dejected, sorrow-broken man.
“You have spoken of that deed, and I will tell you. Since I knew of
it, I have refused to see the Countess. I cannot see her again; and
I learn that in the mad hope of helping my fallen cause she has been
in communication with Kolfort, leading him to think that I could be
induced to remain here. And I declare to you, Count, I do not pass an
hour, day or night, that is not care-ridden by the fear of some yet
more desperate deed she may attempt--the consequences of which must
fall on my head. Every step she takes adds to either my danger or my
disrepute. And I can do nothing.” He wrung his hands in weak unavailing
despair.

I rose to leave; and, looking up half-eagerly, he asked:

“And will the British Government do nothing?” The question was so
absolutely inconsequential, and suggested motives behind it so utterly
at variance with his attitude and words, that I was surprised. At one
moment he was declaiming against the miseries of his position, and yet
now he was clinging to the throne, like a drowning man to a spar, with
a vague reasonless hope that even England would risk a war with Russia
to maintain him upon it.

“I have not the remotest right to say a word on that matter, your
Highness; but personally I do not think for a moment that any
interference can be looked for.”

“Then all is indeed lost!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, and
sighing heavily. “Farewell, Count, let it be farewell; and do your
utmost to snatch that brave girl you love from the ruin that threatens
to overwhelm her.”

I needed no words of his to spur me to such an effort, and as soon as I
left the Palace, in grievous trouble at all that I had heard, I sent a
message for Zoiloff to come to me at once, and hurried home to try and
strike out some line of action to meet this most dire emergency.

My impulse was to fight--to strike our blow without a day’s delay; to
take the Prince at his word--if he had meant it; to get him to abdicate
on the very next day, and have the Princess proclaimed ruler in his
stead. Our preparations were not ready, and the _coup_ would be much
less effective than if we could have had time to complete everything.
But then neither was General Kolfort. He had not openly abandoned
Christina’s cause, and might be half afraid to oppose her, if once on
the throne, and without the aid of the troops which the Prince had told
me were being hurried up to his support. For him to cause a civil war
was to take a step in the face of Europe which might cost him dear, and
force the other Powers to interfere--the one step that Russia dreaded.

Unprepared as we were, and much as we had to gain by a few days’
delay, Kolfort had much more to gain. When once his grip had tightened
in the way he projected, there would not remain a vestige of hope for
us. Clearly, then, if we meant to fight, we must do it at once.

It must be fight or flight.

In regard to the latter, I found Markov had returned, and he assured me
he had carried out my plans to the letter--had even improved upon them,
for he had told me he had arranged for the last stage of the journey to
be by a very slightly known route to the frontier.

“I did this,” he explained, “because I heard rumours of certain changes
as to the guardianship of the frontier roads, and I thought it well to
choose the route which would be the least difficult in case of trouble.”

“You have done well, Markov, and have earned your reward,” I said.

“You will let me stay with you to the last, my Lord?” he asked.

“I wish it above all things, for I need faithful men about me.”

When Zoiloff came I explained my views, putting bluntly the alternative
of fight or flight, and he was all for fighting. But he shook his head
gloomily at the chances.

“We have left to the last the most hazardous work of all,” he said,
“and yet in some respects the most important. I mean the winning over
of some of those men, the politicians, the men of tongues not deeds,
whose names are most before the public. They are the most dangerous of
all to meddle with, and yet without them I fear for the result. And we
cannot draw them to us until we can show that the army is on our side.”

“And what of the army?”

“We have done all that human effort could achieve in the time--but we
could not do impossibilities. On the troops in Philippopoli I believe
we can count surely. General Montkouroff is Bulgarian to the core,
and where he leads the majors will follow. He has been sounded and
will act with us. But here in Sofia there is not a regiment, except
that to which I and Spernow belong, which would not turn against us.
This disposition of the troops has all been arranged by Russia and the
traitors who are Russia’s friends. The risk is tremendous.”

“There is no alternative but flight, remember.”

“And fly I will not. Come what may, we will strike.”

“If the Princess will,” said I. “We must see her at once.” And in this
mood we started for her house, Zoiloff urging me on the way to see her
alone.

“You have more influence with her than all of us put together,” he said
quickly. “I will remain at hand, and you can call me in if you cannot
prevail. But you are right, Count, and I am with you hand and heart. We
must either strike an imperfect blow at once or abandon everything.”




CHAPTER XXII

THE HOUR OF INDECISION


My anticipations of the interview with Christina were a mingling of
pleasure and apprehension. I was longing to see her. I had not set
eyes on her for four days, and, busily as the time had been filled, my
thoughts had been constantly with her. I recalled, too, with a feeling
of mixed tenderness and pain, how she had then said we must not meet
again alone, and at the recollection my pulses thrilled again with the
sad sweetness of our acknowledged but never to be avowed love.

The knowledge of her present danger moved me deeply. I had to tell
her the ill news myself, and, in telling it, to urge her to take the
course which I knew must put an impassable gulf between us. It had been
easy enough for me, in consultation with Zoiloff, when we were both
staggered by this new development, to decide for the counsel of energy
and to choose the course which, while loyal to Christina, my Princess,
was traitor to Christina, my love. But if she would fly the country,
there would be no longer the barrier of a throne between us.

And in the minutes I was alone waiting for her coming, the thought
of all I was to lose in losing her, and of all I was to gain if she
would consent to flight, threatened to make a coward of me and urged
me to plead with all a lover’s strength that she should choose the
course which would make her my wife. Away from her I could be the
impassionate adviser, but in her presence, with the light of her eyes
upon my face, with my heart glowing and throbbing with the knowledge
of my love for her and hers for me, it would be hard to be more than a
lover, and, being that, not to set the hopes and desires of our love
beyond all other consideration.

I had to wait some minutes for her; and, as they passed, the struggle
grew fiercer, the temptation strengthened, and the fear of losing
her waxed until I was almost impelled to call in Zoiloff to prop my
stumbling resolve. There were so many arguments to favour flight. The
road was still open; the means were instantly available; safety could
be won in a few hours--long before this Russian tyrant could strike;
the Prince had counselled, even urged it; the Russian captain had done
the same; all were convinced that safety could lie in no other course.

And if we struck and failed, what outlook was there but humiliation,
ill-usage, a prison, and possibly death? Love was calling to us both
on that frontier road, and smiling with the promise of a life of rare
delight; and here in the city stood the gaunt shadow of menacing
defeat, with all its grim terrors and gloomy threats of ruthless
indignity, and quenchless, loveless sorrow and separation. Is it to
be wondered at that I hearkened for the moment to the whispering
invitation of love, and closed my ears to aught beside?

But before she came I had fought it back, thrusting the temptation
away from me as a thing dishonourable and unclean, and I rose to greet
her with a heart as full of loyalty as of love. She was looking sad
and troubled, and she bowed to me merely, not giving me her hand as on
former visits.

“I had not thought that we should be alone again, Count Benderoff,” she
said, a little formally; and I hoped I could detect in this reception
and in the light of her eyes when they fell upon me the sight of a
personal feeling of pleasure that needed to be held firmly in check. I
adopted a tone of formality that equalled her own.

“I had not forgotten your wish, Princess, but I have been compelled by
grave circumstances to come to you thus. Have you heard any news? Your
anxious looks suggest that you may know what I have to tell.”

“I have heard nothing. Is there bad news?”

“I grieve to say it is of the worst.”

“This time, at least, you are the bearer of it,” she replied, smiling
faintly. “And I can trust you to tell me frankly. What is it?”

I told her plainly everything. First, the warning which the Russian
officer, Captain Wolasky, had given me on the previous evening; and
his strong advice that she should fly before it was too late. Then, in
great detail, all that had passed between the Prince and myself that
morning.

She was very pale and much agitated as my narrative proceeded; but she
interrupted me scarcely once, and at the close sank back in her seat,
and with her hands across her eyes remained buried in thought.

“It is hard news to hear,” she said despondently. “You say it spells
the ruin of everything.”

“It is to the full as hard for me to tell as for you to hear,” I
answered gently. “But it is no moment to flinch from the facts, however
ugly. I fear it means the ruin of everything.” At my gloomy words she
shuddered, and sat for some minutes silent in dismay. When she turned
her face to me, it was so full of anguish and pain that it made my
heart ache.

“How can I save those whom I have involved in this?”

“We are thinking of you, Princess,” I answered.

“Oh no, no, not of me!” she exclaimed vehemently. “For myself I care
nothing. Heaven knows, my motives have not been inspired by mere
personal ambition. I do not crave a throne, but I have longed with
a passion I cannot perhaps make you feel, to spread the blessing of
freedom among the people. For this end I have striven; and now it seems
I have failed. Do not think of me. I will not think of myself. But to
bring others to ruin is more than I can endure. Tell me--what do you
advise? What can I do?”

“There seem but two courses open,” I said, and told her what Zoiloff
and I had agreed together.

“You did not think that I would fly and leave those who have rallied to
my cause to bear the brunt while I was seeking the coward’s refuge of
safety?” she asked, half indignant that I should even have suggested it.

“No, I did not,” I answered quietly; “I knew you;” and her eyes thanked
me for the words. “I should remind you, too, that this check has come
so suddenly and prematurely for our plans that there are very few who
are really involved in any danger. We have barely had time to throw
off the veil of Russia’s sanction of our efforts, so that there are
scarcely more than a handful of us who know the real object of the
scheme; and General Kolfort would be unable to bring home even to them
any acts against Russia. It is he who has encouraged the plans laid ‘In
the Name of a Woman,’ and his own writing was in evidence to prove it.
You will remember my early insistence upon the necessity for obtaining
his written sanction. In the face of that I do not see that he could
produce proofs to convict anyone except our trusty Zoiloff and Spernow,
and say two or three others.”

“But yourself?” she cried, in a tone of quick alarm.

“I do not regard the consequences to myself as very serious, Princess,”
I said calmly.

“I shall not run away,” she said, taking what I said as an argument in
favour of her seeking her own safety, and she paused again to think.
“Could I go myself to General Kolfort; give up everything on condition
of his visiting it all on me? I am responsible.”

It was a true woman’s offer, and a noble one; but I shook my head.

“I fear it would be hopeless. He would but drag from you all that you
could tell him, and then use the information remorselessly and without
a scruple against those implicated. You would do the very thing you
seek to avoid.” Her face fell as she saw the truth of this, and she
sighed heavily.

“But this alternative--what is it but a wild forlorn hope? A desperate
step with scarce a chance of success? May not the consequences be a
thousandfold worse than the worst that can come of doing nothing? Have
you thought of what would happen if we failed? You said just now that
so far only a few are openly embroiled; but should we not be forcing
each man to declare himself, and would not each be marked out plainly
as a target for Russian malice?”

“There is the hope of success, even if it be forlorn. There are many of
us who think it better to fight and fail than not to fight at all.”

“I do not like it; I am afraid of it. The chances are so few; the
risks so enormous to others. I dare not sanction it.”

“We are men; the cause is a noble one; enthusiasm has spread
everywhere, and a lesser spirit has ere now led a feebler movement to
success. There is not one of us, I believe, who would stand back in
fear.”

“There may be bloodshed,” she cried.

“Much blood has already been shed in the cause of oppression. We must
think of the ends, not the means. A bold stroke here will bring the
army in the south to your standard--and that may do everything.”

“It is a momentous decision to have to make. I cannot make it. I must
have time to think.”

“Every hour that delays the decision may turn the balance between
success and failure.”

“If I thought we could triumph!” she cried, her eyes flashing and her
cheeks glowing for a moment. But she paused, the light died out as
quickly as it had come, and she shook her head mournfully. “I must have
time.”

“Let me send for Captain Zoiloff. Hear him.”

“Do you think he can persuade me where you fail, Count?” she asked, her
eyes burning again, but with a different emotion.

“At least I would have you hear him, Princess,” I said, dropping my
eyes and speaking as evenly as I could command my voice.

While he was sent for I stood in silence, and when he came I told him
briefly what had passed. He spoke strongly and bluntly like the sturdy
fellow he was; but he could not prevail any more than I, and he left
the room rather abruptly.

The Princess looked after him with an expression of the deepest pain,
and when she turned again to me I saw the tears standing in her eyes,
and her voice was all unsteady as she cried from her heart:

“Does he think I would not do this if I dared?” And throwing herself
back in her seat, she pressed her hands to her face, quite overcome
with the strain of her emotions.

I waited in much embarrassment, uncertain whether to go or stay. Some
moments passed in this tense silence, and then, to my surprise, she
turned upon me with some indignation.

“Why did you bring him here to humiliate me like this? Does it give you
pleasure to stay and witness my weakness--or what you deem weakness?
Cannot you understand what I feel? Is everything to yield place to
ambition, and are the dictates of humanity nothing to you? Cannot you
see what I am suffering, torn in this way by the distracting doubts
of such a crisis? Do you think these tears are not as hard for me to
shed as the blood of others as innocent of wrong as God knows I am?
Why do you plague me until I---- Oh, forgive me my wild words! I don’t
know what I am saying.” And she passed in a breath from indignation to
lament.

“Permit me to leave you now, Princess,” I murmured.

“Would you also leave me in anger? Have I no friend staunch enough
to bear with my moods, or true enough to understand me? Yes, Count
Benderoff, if you wish to go the way is open to you.” And, rising, she
stood erect and proud, and made me a stately bow as of dismissal. “I
can decide and act alone, if need be.” Yet in the very moment of her
passing indignation her lip quivered and her breath was tremulous.

“As God is my judge, I have no thought but for you!” I cried, with
a rush of passion at the sight of her trouble, and I threw myself on
my knee before her. “Tell me how you wish me to act, and when I have
failed reproach me with want of staunchness, but not till then.”

My voice was hoarse and broken.

As I knelt I could hear the quick catches in her breath as she stood
over me, and the very rustling of the trembling laces of her dress
seemed to speak to me of her sufferings.

“I have wronged you, or worse--I have insulted you, Count. Ah me! I who
know so well how you are indeed my friend! Do not kneel to me. It is I
who should kneel to you.” And at that her hand, fevered and trembling,
was laid gently in mine, as if to raise me to my feet.

I kissed the fingers, the tender grace of her words of contrition
almost unmanning me, and driving out all thought but of my love and my
desire to comfort her. I rose, and, still holding her hand, gazed into
her eyes, which shone on me through the dew of her tears in a smile of
loving confidence.

“I trust you wholly,” she whispered. “Help me to do right.”

“If I were thinking of myself, I would urge you with every means in my
power to fly,” I said in low, rapid accents of passion.

“No, no, you must not counsel that,” she cried vehemently. “We must
not, dare not, think of ourselves. Spare me that temptation.”

“You cannot stay here and be safe unless we make this desperate
venture.”

“And the world would say I ran away because I feared for my safety,
betraying all who have sought to help my cause; or else that I fled
to----” She paused, her face aflame with sudden blushes. “You would not
have me do that?”

“You are my world,” I answered recklessly. “Listen one moment. In our
hearts we all know, Zoiloff as well as any, that the cause is lost.
Till I fired him again--knowing how you would shrink from flight--he
was saturated with hopelessness. When he heard the ill news, his one
thought was how you could be saved. That is the thought of us all. The
way to the frontier is still open. I have ready at instant command the
means of securing your safety. If you will go, I will stay to check the
slanderous tongues whose malice you dread. If you bid me I will never
see you again. But for God’s sake, I implore you, leave me at least the
solace that you are safe.”

The words moved her so that for a while she could not speak, but the
clasp of her hand tightened on mine. Then she asked tenderly:

“Do you think the woman in me would know a moment’s happiness if you
were in danger?”

“Then let it be a woman’s decision,” I urged passionately, carried away
by the love in her voice. “Life is all before us.”

“No. It cannot be. Cannot. Must not,” and she shook her head and
shuddered. “You know what this temptation must be to me. Do not urge
it. I cannot listen. I dare not yield. I beg you be merciful,” she
pleaded.

“Then fly and let me remain,” I said.

“The Princess cannot and must not go.” The words came all reluctantly,
but were firmly spoken. I saw my pleading of love was to fail, and my
heart sank. “But you must fly!”

“Christina!” The name slipped in protest from my lips before I thought,
and I feared she would resent it; and I felt her hand start.

“That is the hardest plea of all you have used,” she said softly, with
a smile of rare sweetness. “Christina is powerless to resist you, but
the Princess must decide this. Do not use that plea again.”

“I must--I cannot lose you,” I cried desperately, “I love you so.”

“Don’t, please, please don’t. If I dared to think of myself there would
be no gladlier fugitive under Heaven’s bright sky than Christina.
There, I have bared my heart to you, as I never thought to open it. And
by the love I know you have for me, and by the love that answers it in
my heart, I entreat you help me to be strong enough to resist you. Let
us never have to think that we placed our love before our duty--however
hard and stern. Lend me your man’s strength; I need it so sorely.” And
with a little piteous action of entreaty she placed her other hand on
mine, and gazed full into my eyes.

I stood fighting down my wildly roused passion, trembling under its
stress like a child, till I conquered it.

“It shall be as you wish,” I said at length. “We will stay and face
this together. But you must not ask me again to desert you.”

“There is a higher happiness than is bounded by our own wishes only,”
she whispered.

“I can know no sorrow deeper than my loss of you. But it shall be as my
Princess desires;” and I bent and kissed her hands again.

“The sorrow should be the lighter if divided,” she whispered, with a
tender reproach for the selfishness of my words.

“The thought made me a coward for the moment. And no man should be a
coward whose ears have been blessed by the words which you have spoken,
and the knowledge I have gained. Forgive the cowardice.”

“I would I could as easily spare you the sorrow,” she murmured.

“To do that now would be to rob my life of its one great happiness.
Come what may for me, I shall never love again;” and with that
assurance, which brought all the love in her heart in a rush of
eloquent, speaking tenderness to her eyes, I left her, caring little
indeed what might happen to me if our union were impossible.




CHAPTER XXIII

IN FULL CRY


The night that followed was a memorable one in the history of Bulgaria
and, as an incident of the great event, it brought the crisis in our
affairs.

It was the night in which by the machinations of the Russian agents the
Prince was abducted, and at the point of the pistol was forced to sign
an abdication of his throne. It is not necessary for me to write about
an event which has been often enough described, nor to tell how the
crowd of unpatriotic and disloyal officers led their troops to surround
the Palace, ordered them to fire into it, and then breaking in forced
his Highness to leave, and hurried him off to Nikopolis, making him a
prisoner on board his own yacht, to be landed on Russian territory.

Exactly what led up to this crisis I do not know. My opinion is that
General Kolfort’s offer to maintain him on the throne on certain
relaxed conditions was genuine and would have been fulfilled, but at
the same time the alternative plot was already in progress, and this
scheme was hastened forward on the Prince’s refusal of the Russian
terms.

Had our own preparations but been a couple of weeks more forward the
issue would have been different; but, as it was, that _coup_ set the
final seal on our failure.

The event took us absolutely by surprise. I had retired for the night
wondering what the morrow would bring forth, when my household were
roused by a loud summons at the door. My first thought was that the
General had again sent his men to arrest me; and I was for resisting to
the utmost, when it was discovered that the summons came from Zoiloff
and Spernow, who had come in hot haste to bring me the great news and
to confer with me as to our actions.

The perilous nature of the crisis was obvious, and my first thought was
naturally for the Princess, with a deep and bitter regret that she had
not done what I had urged so strongly--used the means we had to make a
dash for the frontier.

Choosing half-a-dozen of my servants on whom I knew I could rely
implicitly, we armed them fully and set out on foot for the Princess’s
house. The sounds of firing from the direction of the Palace reached
us as we made our way through the streets, in which the people were
beginning to cluster in groups drawn by curiosity and alarm, discussing
in high and excited tones the meaning of the disturbance.

No one stayed or questioned us on the way to the Princess’s house, but
when we reached it we halted in amazement. Every window was dark, not
a light showing anywhere, while the gates and doors and forecourt were
thronged with armed men.

“They’ve captured her!” exclaimed Zoiloff, instantly. “And we are
helpless against such a crowd.”

“We must know the truth,” I said, my heart misgiving me. “You are best
known, Spernow; go forward and try to ascertain the truth, whether the
Princess has been carried away, and if so, where.”

He went at once; and then Markov stepped up to me.

“I think I can find out all. I am sure to know some of the men,” he
said.

I sent him after Spernow, and stood back in the shadow to wait with
such patience as I could command. My excitement and fear made me like
a madman, till I felt I could almost have rushed single-handed against
the troops and tried to hack my way into the house.

“This means devilish mischief, Count,” said Zoiloff in a hushed tone.
“You will be the next.”

“I care nothing for myself, but I will save her,” I said between my
teeth.

Spernow came back in a few minutes.

“I can learn nothing. The men have orders to hold their tongues. But
the Princess is not in the house; at least I gather that.”

“Then why the devil do they guard it?” cried Zoiloff fiercely.

“They may be waiting for orders where to go next.”

“It will be to your house, Count. You mustn’t return there, but fly at
once and leave us to settle this.”

“When I leave you either I shall be dead or the Princess will be safe,”
I answered hotly. “Let us wait for Markov; he is a shrewd, cunning
fellow, and may find out something.”

“I am anxious about Mademoiselle Broumoff, Count,” said Spernow, eager,
as I could see, to get tidings of her. I sympathised with him, as well
may be understood.

“Go in quest of her at once,” I said; “and, when you can, return to my
house, and we will thresh out some plan of action. We may have news by
then.”

He was off like the wind, and Zoiloff and I waited on in silence for
Markov to return.

He seemed an age in coming, and I strained my eyes in trying to catch
some trace of him in the crowd of moving figures that thronged the
place. I gave a deep sigh of relief when at length I saw him come out
of the gate, stand idly a moment glancing up and down the street, and
then, as if sauntering away in obedience to the merest curiosity, cross
the road to us.

“Well?” I asked eagerly.

“I have news. We had better not stay longer here, your honour,” he
whispered, and walked away, speaking rapidly as we walked. “The
Princess Christina left here some two hours ago. She is a prisoner in
the hands of General Kolfort’s men. She was roused by them just before
midnight and compelled to enter a carriage that was in waiting, and was
driven off under a strong guard, with a considerable escort of mounted
men.”

“Where have they taken her?” cried Zoiloff and I, in a breath together,
when he paused.

“The actual destination is not known, but the carriage started for the
south road, that leading to Liublian; and one suggestion is that they
will carry her to Ichtman or on to Samakovo, where there is a strong
Russian detachment.”

“Do you know who was with her? Was anyone?” I asked.

“Yes; Mademoiselle Broumoff was taken from home at the same time, and I
believe was in the carriage with the Princess.”

“Did you hear anything concerning the Count?” asked Zoiloff.

“I was asked if your honour was still at liberty, and advised to look
out for a new master. I shall not do that yet, sir, I hope,” he added;
“not till you tell me, at any rate.”

I liked his faithfulness in choosing such a moment to assure me of his
attachment.

“It may be a dangerous service for the next few hours, Markov; but you
have done excellently in this--excellently.”

We were now hastening back to my house, for I had already resolved to
follow on the Princess’s trail instantly; to rescue her at any hazard,
and hurry her across the frontier, fighting our way, if need be,
through all who challenged us. Zoiloff was with me heart and soul; and
we set about the preparations with an energy almost feverish in its
earnestness.

Fortunately I had a large stud of first-rate horses, and every man in
the place who could be relied upon was armed to the teeth and mounted,
and provided with enough rations to last through the coming day. I had
taken care to provide myself with a large sum in gold, so as to be
ready for any such emergency as the present, and this I took with me.
We numbered nearly twenty men, all trained, vigorous, staunch fellows,
and all zealous to the heart’s-core in our cause.

When we were ready I took Zoiloff aside. I knew his resolute character
and his fidelity to the Princess; but I knew also that his career lay
in Bulgaria, and that if he were caught with me on such an enterprise
the consequences to him would be worse than disastrous, and I did not
wish to embroil him any further.

“Zoiloff, I am going to speak as a friend. No one can see the end of
this business of ours. We may find ourselves face to face with the
troops and may have to risk an encounter with them. For me it does not
signify. I am an Englishman and can scramble out of the mess somehow.
For these men here there is no great danger either. Old Kolfort won’t
deal harshly with servants who can plead that I forced them into it.
But with you it is all different. You are an officer, and to fight
against the troops is an act of deadly treason--mutiny probably,
punishable with Heaven knows what penalties. Now, as my friend, will
you let me ask you to stay here and guard our interests in Sofia?”

He heard me impatiently and looked at me keenly.

“Are you serious, Count?” he asked.

“Yes, my friendship----”

“Stop, please, or I may say something I should regret, Count,” he broke
in, bluntly. “I should not reckon that man a friend who would urge me
to be a coward. Were you any other man I would not brook it once, and
even you will put a strain on our friendship if you breathe a word of
this again. We are wasting time. Let us to horse. I have not deserved
this of you, Count, and if I thought I had I’d shoot myself for a cur.
Are you the only man that can love the Princess?”

“Forgive me, friend. I beg your pardon,” I cried, vastly moved by his
words; and I held out my hand.

“I am no rival of yours,” he said earnestly, as he wrung it. “But if a
hair of her head be injured I will know by whom, and if it does not go
hard with him I am no man. Come, I am hot to be away.”

As we were mounted, Spernow dashed up on horseback, pale of face and
wild of manner.

“Nathalie has gone, too,” he exclaimed, and I told him very briefly
what we believe had occurred.

In another minute we started, riding in couples and at some distance.
Quietly, until we were clear of the town, was the order I gave; then
join, and forward in full cry. The firing had not entirely ceased at
the Palace when we set out, and an occasional report reached us as we
wended our way through the city by different streets to the point on
the south road where we were to join. So much was now astir in the
city that even our cavalcade caused little or no comment or surprise.
Strange tidings and rumours were now on the wind, flying everywhere,
and the excitement and confusion they spread caused our movements to
pass unchallenged.

Once at the meeting-place we pricked our horses into a gallop and set
out, a stern determined band dead set on revenge, and resolved every
man of us to achieve the end we had at the cost of life itself.

I rode at the head, with Markov as guide; Zoiloff and Spernow behind
me, and the rest, four abreast, keeping order like a small cavalry
detachment. The night was bright with moonlight, and the country lay
around us everywhere still and sunk in sleep. Scarce a soul was astir
in the hamlets through which our road passed, but I took the utmost
precaution to prevent any mischance.

As we reached each village, I called a halt and sent Markov forward to
see that all was clear, for I half expected that Kolfort would have
foreseen our pursuit of Christina and have posted men to stop us. To
save time we gave Markov three minutes; and if he did not return or
fire a shot to give an alarm, we clattered after him at full gallop.

So long as it was night, there was no one of whom we could make
inquiries, and thus we were riding somewhat at random; but as soon as
the dawn should begin to streak the east I knew the peasants would
soon be astir, and that then we might pick up a trace or two of those
we were seeking.

Then Markov made a valuable suggestion.

“Will your honour let me ride on ahead some half mile or so? We are
nearing Liublian now, and if I am alone I may get news which would be
refused to so large a body of us together. I may see any danger, too,
and be able to warn you.”

“A prudent thought, Markov,” I said, bidding him ride on. “If we see
you riding back to us, or if we hear you fire a shot, we shall draw
rein and wait till you join us;” and with that he plunged ahead at full
speed, and we watched him till he was out of sight over a rise in the
road.

I told Zoiloff the arrangement, and we were discussing the situation in
jerky whispers while we halted, when one of my men came galloping up in
great excitement.

“My lord, we are being pursued. I had to stay behind to get a stone out
of my horse’s hoof, when I heard the sound of horses galloping some way
behind me.”

“How far behind?”

“I cannot say--the night is very still. Perhaps half a mile, or maybe a
mile.”

“Ride on at once and overtake Markov, and warn him to draw into
cover. Off with you! We must find out who the horsemen are and their
strength,” I added to Zoiloff.

“There is a small wood there, which will do for cover, Count,” he
replied instantly. “Let the men ride there and take our horses, while
you and I stay on foot to watch the newcomers.”

I told Spernow to post the men in the covert, and Zoiloff and I lay
down in some bushes to wait for the pursuers.

It was an anxious moment, and we lay close together, whispering in
hurried conference. We had not long to wait.

“I hear them,” whispered Zoiloff, gripping my arm. His ears were
quicker than mine, but a moment later I, too, caught the clatter of
horses’ feet and then the clash of accoutrements.

“Troops,” I whispered; and we both peered between the bushes, straining
our ears, through the grey twilight of the dawn.

As they reached the foot of the rise near the top of which we were
concealed the party slackened speed, first to a trot and then to a
walk, to ease the horses.

“I hope to Heaven none of our horses neigh,” whispered Zoiloff
earnestly.

I made no reply. I was too anxious for speech, for such a chance might
ruin everything. I almost held my breath as the first of the horsemen
came into view, and then my companion gripped my arm again in a spasm
of irresistible excitement.

“Kolfort, by the luck of hell!” he breathed, and sure enough, in
the second line of three, I recognised the grim, stern face of that
implacable man.

So excited was I that I almost forgot to count the men with him, and a
thousand thoughts, wild and incoherent, rushed through my mind as the
band of horsemen came up at a quick walking pace, got abreast, then
passed on up the rise, and dipped out of sight as they broke again into
a gallop, the footfalls of the horses dying away very quickly over the
summit of the hill.

“I hope to the Lord he’s going to the Princess!” exclaimed Zoiloff as
we scrambled to our feet.

“More likely he wants to be in a position to prove his absence from the
city when the Prince is being carried off,” said I. “But wherever he’s
going we must know and follow.”

I ran across to where our men were posted and told off one of them to
follow hot on the heels of the party and be ready to guide us, and I
gave him enough start of us to allow for our not being heard.

“It’s clear he wasn’t following us,” said Zoiloff. “There were only
twelve men all told in the party. What a chance we have missed! If we
had only known, we could have lined the road just where we two lay, and
they’d have walked right into the trap. Only twelve to nearly twenty
of us! and we should have had him safe enough. God! If we could only
get hold of him, the safety of the Princess would be a simple matter
enough.”

“We may do it yet,” said I as I mounted, and we set off again in
pursuit of those we had believed to be in pursuit of us.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE ATTACK


It was true enough of course that we had missed a glorious chance in
not surprising and overcoming General Kolfort’s party and making him
a prisoner; but with our end in view it would have been madness to
risk an encounter when we had absolutely no knowledge of the strength
opposed to us. A defeat at such a moment would have overthrown all our
plans and have involved the abandonment of Christina to whatever fate
might be in store for her.

It was true, too, that in allowing the General to pass and his men to
get in touch with the others who were guarding the Princess, we had
increased our difficulties; and the result of a hurried consultation
with Zoiloff as we rode forward was a decision to seek and overtake the
General’s party and try conclusions with them.

For this purpose, however, we had wasted valuable time, and the now
rapidly lightening dawn greatly lessened the chance of catching them
unawares, and vastly increased the risk. But we were in no mood to
count the chances too gingerly and we dashed along at as rapid a pace
as our horses could travel.

The road was execrable--rough and uneven beyond description, with
large loose stones scattered about in it in a way that made the going
exceedingly difficult, and in parts galloping was impossible.

We had ridden in this way about half an hour, constantly having to
draw rein for either the roughness of the road or the steep hills, when
we came up with the man we had sent to warn Markov, and the other who
had been despatched to follow the General’s party.

Markov had undertaken the spy work in preference to the man I had
despatched, and the change was a good one. I had not been free from
the fear that Markov might be surprised by the General, despite our
precaution in sending to warn him, and it was good news that he was
safe.

We did not stay our progress a moment. The men rode by my side as each
in turn gave me his report, and then dropped back into the ranks behind
as we thundered forward, eager to overtake the General before he should
fall in with any other troops; and the best news that the men brought
us was that we were gaining fast upon them, and that Kolfort was not
far ahead.

This spurred us to further effort, and we were rushing on filled with
the hope of catching him, when I saw Markov in the distance galloping
wildly in our direction. I ordered a halt instantly, and drew up to
await him.

“I have tracked them, my lord,” he said hurriedly; “but the news is
bad. General Kolfort and his party are in a house, about a mile ahead,
that belongs to him, and it is there the Princess Christina has been
carried. At least I judge so, for I slipped from my horse and managed
to find out that there were a number of soldiers about; and I spied a
travelling carriage in front of the house with all the signs of a long
journey on it. The horses had been taken out, and I judged it had just
been left where it stopped, the horses being taken to the stables. I
saw General Kolfort’s party halt there, and he and one or two with him
entered the house while the soldiers went round to the back.”

“How many soldiers in all?” I asked.

“From what I heard in the city last night, I gathered there were about
a dozen in charge of the Princess; I counted another dozen with General
Kolfort--say from twenty-five to thirty, all told, sir.”

“We can do it if we surprise them,” said I, turning to Zoiloff. “Not so
good a chance as we had just now, but still a chance.”

“Certainly,” he agreed. “Catch them while off their guard and probably
getting food after their ride;” and in less than a minute we were
moving forward again, Markov riding on my left.

Just before we came in full view of the house, Zoiloff, Spernow, and I
rode forward to reconnoitre the ground and plan the attack. The house
lay well situated for such an attempt. We were looking down on it from
a slight hill, and on three sides some fairly thick wood and shrubbery
shut it in, in which a couple of regiments could have been posted had
we had such a force available. We could see three or four men in the
front of the house and in the road, left to do sentry work; but they
were lolling about chatting together, and obviously thinking of nothing
less than any such attack in force as we meditated; and, had we dashed
up the road in a body, it was likely enough we could have carried the
place before any effective resistance could have been offered.

But we formed a far different plan. Markov led us along the ridge of
the hill fringed with trees to a point from which we could command a
view of the rear of the house, and then I observed something that gave
me an idea and made my heart leap with exultation. Preparations were
going forward quickly to give the soldiers their breakfast, and I saw
all the things being carried from the house to a low building across a
wide yard that looked like a barn. The soldiers were chaffing the women
and helping to carry the food and vessels; and in a moment my plan was
ready.

“We shall catch them like rats in a trap,” I cried to Zoiloff, as I
pointed this out to him. “The place is made for us and couldn’t be
better. We’ll time our visit when the men are just at breakfast yonder,
and, if a couple of our fellows can steal up unseen, that big door can
be slammed, and there won’t be more than half a dozen left for us to
deal with about the house. We shall cage the old fox to a certainty.
Let Spernow and two men creep along this way and down under cover of
those trees to the entrance to the yard, and post themselves there. The
main portion can get to the house through the orchard below us”--and I
pointed to the spots I meant--“and we shall be into the place before
they even dream that we are near. Once we get close to the house, do
you and half a dozen make for the front and settle with anyone there,
making an exit from the house impossible. I’ll enter by the back with
the rest of us and square accounts with anyone inside. The horses must
be left up here in the woods, tethered; we can’t spare a man to stay
with them.”

We discussed the minor points of the attack, fixed the moment, and left
it that Spernow’s closing the door upon the troops at breakfast should
be the signal. If things went wrong with him and the men escaped, we
settled that Zoiloff should, as arranged, rush round to the front, but
that I and the men with me should hasten to Spernow’s assistance and
attack the men there.

We went back to the rest of the party, led them all into the wood
on the hill from where we had made our observations, had the horses
fastened over the hill and well out of sight of the house, and then,
with arms all ready, crept back to the edge of the wood to wait for the
moment to commence.

The movement and bustle of preparation were going on briskly below; the
maids and the men were hurrying and scurrying in all directions, and
there was such stir and life that it threatened to be impossible for us
to creep down unseen.

Gradually there came a change. Things grew quieter, and presently
the servant girls went into the house and did not return. We saw the
soldiers, laughing and joking, cross in couples and threes to the
barn; two of those who had been on guard in the front came running
round, rested their muskets against the wall of the barn outside and
joined their comrades within; and the place was quiet and unguarded. I
gave the word to advance, and a moment later we began to wend our way
stealthily down the hill-side, closing gradually on the house. Not a
word was spoken, and not a sound betrayed our presence. When we reached
the point where Spernow was to leave us to get to the other end of the
yard, I whispered to him to take an extra man in case of emergencies,
and then at the head of my men I threaded my way up the side of the
orchard, with Zoiloff close in attendance.

All went well. We reached a low mud wall that parted the orchard from
the homestead yard, and halted there until Spernow should give the
signal by slamming-to the great barn door. By peering through the
branches of some fruit trees I could see the spot where he was to
post himself. Just when all was about in readiness, and he and his
three men were standing at the end of the barn, round the corner of it
fortunately, one of the soldiers came out, picked up one of the muskets
leaning against the wall, and stood a moment laughing and chaffing with
those within. He was one of the sentries, and called to those within
to be quick. Then, whistling carelessly, he shouldered his weapon and
moved away.

Moments were growing precious now. Would Spernow wait for the man to
disappear round the front at the risk that others of the soldiers would
finish and come out, or would he act while the man was in full view and
take the risk of a shot? He was in dire hesitation; and I could see him
peep round the corner of the barn and peer anxiously after the man.

Then something seemed to decide him--he told me afterwards he heard the
men in the barn beginning to move--and with quick, stealthy steps he
and his men rushed to the great door, slammed it to, and secured it.
The soldier was attracted by the noise, turned, saw what had happened,
raised an alarm, and was in the act of firing at Spernow when one of
the latter’s men shot him and he fell to the ground.

At the same time Zoiloff called his followers and dashed for the front
of the house, while I, seeing that all was well with Spernow, rushed
to the back door. It was slammed in my face, but a blow from our guns
smashed it in, and after a short delay we gained the passage.

All the house was in wild alarm, and the soldiers in it put themselves
in my way, offering a stubborn resistance. But we outnumbered them
by three to one, and after a scrimmage that was hot enough while it
lasted we overpowered them, struck their weapons from their hands,
bound them, and thrust them into a room in the custody of a couple of
men with strict orders to shoot if any nonsense was attempted.

Our surprise was in that respect completely and triumphantly
successful, but in regard to one of the chief objects it failed. The
way which we had chosen for Zoiloff to make his rush to the front of
the house was blocked by some outhouses which we had not seen, and he
and his men had had to return and run round to the other side. The
delay caused was not long, but it was fatal, for the first thing he
saw on reaching there was General Kolfort in company with a couple
of attendants, presumably officers, spurring at topmost speed in the
direction of Samakovo. He came rushing into the house, his face black
in his deep disappointment, and told me the ill news, just as we had
finished our scrimmage with the men inside.

I saw at once pursuit would be hopeless. I should not have dared divide
our little party even had there been a good prospect of overtaking
the fugitives, and to send them on a wild-goose chase would have
been worse than madness; moreover, our horses were away on the top
of the hill, and already somewhat spent with the fierce ride. But it
took some moments to get Zoiloff to see the uselessness of such an
attempt--moments that could ill be spared, seeing all that we had yet
to do. But I was firm, and he gave in at length.

“Take our men and secure those fellows in the barn, or we shall have
them breaking out. Find the best horses you can, too, and have them
into the carriage as quickly as possible, and I will see the Princess
and tell her to be ready at once. We dare not waste a minute or all
will be lost.”

I dashed up the stairs, and after searching a couple of empty rooms
found one with the door locked.

“Are you there, Princess? It is I, Count Benderoff,” I cried, turning
the key and partly opening the door.

She answered me and I entered. She was calm but pale, with the little
Broumoff at her side, very agitated.

“We have heard the noise, but could see nothing from here, and have
been filled with anxiety as to what it meant. What has happened?” cried
the Princess.

“I can say no more now than that when we heard last night that you had
been carried off we followed at once, and happily are now in possession
of the house; but you must be ready to fly at once.”

“What of General Kolfort? He came here only a few minutes since and
threatened me with all the terrors of a Russian gaol. He was like a
madman.”

“Most unluckily he has escaped us, and may return at any moment in
force. Will you get ready at once? Our only hope is to make for the
frontier before we can be pursued.”

“I am ready now,” she cried, throwing on her travelling wraps. “Come,
Nathalie, come, the Count has saved us.”

The girl was dressed almost as quickly as the Princess, and together we
went down to the front to wait for the carriage.

“Have you had anything to eat? We have a long journey before us.”

“I could not think of food.”

Without a word, I got some milk and cakes and bread, and put them in
the carriage, to which Markov was already harnessing horses. Then I
described in the fewest possible words what had happened, and they both
listened in breathless interest.

“And Michel?” asked Mademoiselle Broumoff eagerly.

“Is safe,” I answered, with a smile, “and has behaved splendidly, like
the magnificent fellow he is.”

As soon as the carriage was ready I told Markov to draw out into the
road in readiness to start, and I ran through to call off our men.
Zoiloff met me excited, hot, and breathing hard.

“We have secured them all right. I filed up the men, and when we threw
open the door the caged men were met with a line of muskets. They had
no fight in them, for they had no arms. We have bound every man, and
to make pursuit impossible I have had every horse in the stables shot.
A cruel job, but necessary; and I have brought away the men’s arms. We
may start, Count. Our men are already away for their horses, and will
meet us at that bend in the road above.”

“Good,” said I; but I wished he had brought the horses with us for
remounts instead of shooting them.

“Good, yes; but much better if that wily old devil, Kolfort, hadn’t
slipped through my fingers.”

“What is the route, Markov?” I said, going out to him. “We dare not
return to Sofia. How can you reach the nearest point on the frontier
road where we can get fresh horses for the carriage?”

“We must go back to within three miles of the city, sir, and then I can
pick a way round and strike the west road there.”

“Don’t keep on this road for a yard longer than is absolutely
necessary. It is dangerous. But do your best. Push on with all speed.
We shall overtake you.”

As I finished speaking Spernow came running from the house and rushed
to the carriage window. I let the carriage stand half a minute that he
might exchange a word or two with Mademoiselle Broumoff, who I knew was
very eager to see him, and while they were speaking the Princess looked
out of the window, beckoned Zoiloff, and gave him her hand and a word
of hearty thanks for all he had done in her behalf.

It was a thoughtful, gracious act, and I was as glad as Zoiloff
himself, who stood aside with a flush on his stern face to let the
carriage pass when I gave the word to Markov to start.

“The fairest and best of all women on earth,” he said,
enthusiastically, as we three watched the carriage dash up the hill
that led from the house. “I hope to heaven we shall get start enough to
save her;” and he glanced back anxiously along the road that Kolfort
had gone, as if he feared that pursuit might already be on foot.

And the same fear infected us all as we followed his gaze. But there
was no sign of any pursuit; and we hurried up the hill to the spot
where the men were to meet us with our horses.




CHAPTER XXV

SUSPENSE


As we three hurried up the hill we discussed earnestly our plans; and
the supreme seriousness of the failure to secure the person of General
Kolfort grew more vividly forcible the more we considered it.

We could have held him a prisoner in his own house easily and without
creating any alarm at his disappearance. And the Princess could have
gained the frontier before ever a question had been asked as to her
whereabouts. I gnashed my teeth as I thought of it.

Now, however, he would raise the alarm at the first possible moment.
He knew that we were in considerable force, and not only could he send
troops after us, but by telegraph he could send instructions to have us
intercepted at any one of a dozen points.

“Does anyone know where the wires run from Ichtman and Samakovo to
Sofia?” I asked. “If we could cut them, we might save some hours when
even minutes may be vital.”

“Of course. Why didn’t we think of it before?” exclaimed Zoiloff. “I
know them. They run along the course of the projected railway. I can
find them inside an hour. The line is to touch Liublian, and must run
close here somewhere.”

“Then take a couple of men as soon as we are mounted and rattle off
across country and cut them, and rejoin us with all possible speed. You
will easily overtake the carriage;” and the moment we met our men he
started to carry out the plan.

I then arranged the order of our ride. I left Spernow in command of the
greater number of men, with orders to follow in straggling formation
until we had passed through Liublian; then they were to close up and
keep the carriage in sight. One man was to ride about a mile or so in
the rear to watch for any signs of pursuit. For this work I chose the
man whose horse was the fleetest and freshest, and ordered him to keep
a sharp lookout behind him, and at the first sign of anything wrong to
gallop after us at top speed to give us the earliest possible warning.

I myself took three men with me and rode forward at once, intending to
overtake the Princess and act as immediate escort.

I had little difficulty, unfortunately, in getting up with the
carriage, for Markov, with all his skill as coachman, was only able to
make a very indifferent pace over the villainous roads. The carriage
bumped and rolled and jumped in the deep ruts and over the stones in a
way that filled me with alternate fear that it was travelling too fast
for the safety of the occupants, and of despair that so slow a pace
would make pursuit an easy enough matter.

It was a great, heavy, lumbering, travelling coach, built for the
comfort of those who were content to travel at an easy rate; and about
as little suited for the purpose of rapid flight as anything could
be. I could have cursed it, as it lumbered along groaning, creaking,
straining, threatening to topple over at every other lurch, and
distressing the horses, powerful though they were, until the sweat
lathered on their flanks and dripped on the rough, cruel road.

“Is there a hope of getting any better carriage at Liublian?” I asked
Markov, riding up to him as we neared that place. “We shall never reach
the frontier in this thing; an open cart would be better. Try if you
can’t get something. Steal it if you can’t hire or buy it.”

“The horses are nearly done already, your Honour,” said Markov;
“although we’ve only come some seven miles. I’ll try.”

“You must be quick,” I said, as I fell back behind again.

Despite the very urgent need for haste, we entered the place driving
very leisurely, and drew up at the inn, when Markov and I entered to
make inquiries. We were in luck. The man had a comparatively light
open cart for sale and a couple of strong young horses. A few minutes
found the bargain struck, and while my men were refreshing themselves
the horses were put in, and Christina and her companion left the great
ugly, cumbersome carriage to take their places in the cart.

“Could we get peasants’ clothes?” suggested Mademoiselle Broumoff. “Any
kind of disguise might help us.” It was a happy thought, and the ever
resourceful Markov acted on the hint directly, and procured cloaks and
headgear.

“Better put them on when we are clear of the place,” I decided, as
Markov put the bundle into the cart.

“I am afraid you will find the road to safety very rough, Princess,”
I said as I helped her into the cart. I had not spoken to her since
leaving the General’s house.

“I am causing you all sore trouble,” she answered, smiling sadly. “How
shall I ever thank you enough?”

“We shall have our reward when we see you safe in Servia.”

“Ah, I ought to have done what you advised yesterday and have gone
then. All this would have been spared us.”

“We could not foresee what old Kolfort had planned for last night. I
thought the road would have been as open to-day as it was yesterday.”

“It is like you to lighten the blame, but it is my fault.”

“We are ready, your Honour,” called Markov.

“Forward then,” I said. “Cautiously out of Liublian, and then press on
with all the speed you can make.”

I mounted, and was in the act of starting when a horseman was seen
riding hard up the road we had come. It was Zoiloff, and I welcomed him
gladly.

“I’ve done it,” he said exultantly. “I don’t know whether there are any
other wires, but I’ve cut the main ones, and that will probably cause
some delay. But how came you to halt here?” he asked anxiously.

I explained the change of vehicles, and we rode on after the Princess.

“You passed Spernow?” I asked.

“Yes, and left my men to follow with his. He tells me he is to join
you as soon as he is clear of Liublian; he should be near now;” and he
glanced back as I thought with some anxiety.

“We have done well so far. It was a stroke of luck to get rid of that
lumbering old carriage,” said I.

“True, but we have already been a long time covering very little
ground, and must press forward. Our pursuers won’t sleep on the road.
I’m surprised we haven’t heard from them before now.”

It was unlike him to meet alarm half-way in this fashion, but I made no
answer except to urge my horse to greater speed, so as to close up the
distance between us and the Princess.

Markov was now driving at a very rapid rate, the road was much better,
and I felt my spirits rise as we covered the ground quickly. Every yard
gained safely made the prospect of escape more hopeful.

“Spernow should have joined us by now,” said Zoiloff again presently,
as we were breathing the horses up a steep hill.

“We have been travelling much faster since we changed conveyances, and
his cattle may be a bit stale,” I replied, trying to reassure him.

“I’m afraid something’s going wrong with him. It’s not like him to play
the laggard in this way. Can he have been overtaken by Kolfort’s men
and surprised?”

“Scarcely that. We’ve got a picket thrown out behind and he’d have
warning. If there was any sign of danger, I told him to close up with
us at once, so that we could make a stand together. One or two of the
horses may have given out.”

“I don’t like it,” said Zoiloff; and when we reached the top of the
hill we turned and looked back along the white road, searching eagerly
for some sign of Spernow’s coming. We saw nothing, and the doubts which
made Zoiloff’s face so grave began to affect me.

“I am inclined to go back,” he murmured.

“We can’t spare you, Zoiloff,” said I quickly. “If anything is wrong
with him, you alone can do no good; and if anything is to go wrong with
us, we are too few already for safety.”

“I could find out what it means.”

“Or be cut off yourself;” and with that we resumed our ride, my
companion’s face unusually gloomy and thoughtful.

“How far are we from Sofia, Markov; and when do you turn off?” I asked,
riding up to him.

“About five miles from the city, your Honour, a little more than two
from the branch road I am making for.”

“We’ve only a few minutes more on the main road,” I said, falling back
to Zoiloff; “and, once away from it, our chances will be fifty in a
hundred better. It’s this road I’ve feared.”

“Ha! Here comes news!” exclaimed my companion suddenly, a few minutes
afterwards, turning in his saddle and looking back. “And bad news too,”
he added.

A single horseman was dashing down a hill behind us, and as we turned a
number of other horsemen reached the crest and came streaming down the
hill after him, the sunlight glistening through the cloud of white dust
as it fell on their arms.

“That should be Spernow and our men,” said I anxiously.

“It is Spernow, but they’re not our men. I feared it meant mischief.
They are troopers; and I can count a dozen of them. Tell Markov to
drive like the wind. They’re after us.”

A bend in the road at that moment cut off our view, and almost directly
afterwards Markov turned away to the left into a narrow lane, putting
his horses to the gallop.

“We shall have to fight for it, Count,” cried Zoiloff. “There didn’t
seem more than a dozen troopers that I could see, and, with Spernow, we
shall be six. We can hold them at bay in this narrow lane, and perhaps
drive them off.”

At that moment a loud shout of dismay came from Markov, and we saw him
pull his horses up in a scramble.

“What’s the matter?” I called, riding up.

“I’ve taken the wrong lane, your Honour, cursed fool that I am,” he
cried in sore distress. “I know it now; there is no outlet. I should
have driven on for about five hundred yards farther;” and he backed his
horses as if to turn them.

It spelt absolute ruin.

“There’s no going back, Markov,” I said decisively. I was calm enough
now for all the trouble.

“The devil!” exclaimed Zoiloff. “Well, we must make a fight of it.”

“Stay a moment. Where does this lane lead, Markov?”

“To a peasant’s homestead, with no outlet anywhere.”

“Forward to that, then--at a gallop. We can hold the house against the
men with far better chances than here,” I said to Zoiloff. “Besides,
they may not have seen us turn off the road, and may go on to the next
turning. But what of Spernow?”

“He was gaining on them fast, and will escape in any event,” said
Zoiloff; “but it’s a perilous fix.”

A couple of minutes later we halted in front of the cottage, to the
infinite surprise of the inmates. Markov knew them however, and while
he was explaining things to them the rest of us set to work to put the
place in readiness to resist the expected attack. Fortunately it lent
itself well to the purpose; and, long before the peasant owner had
been pacified with a good round sum of money, every door and window
was closed and barred, and the horses and cart had been stabled close
to the rear of the house in a shed, the door of which we could easily
command, so as to prevent anyone trying to steal off with them.

The Princess and her companion were placed in an upper room, well out
of the danger of stray bullets; and, though we were breathless with
our exertions, we were quite prepared to give our visitors a warm
reception before a sign of the soldiers or of Spernow was visible.

Both Zoiloff and I kept an anxious lookout from a window in the roof
of the cottage which gave a view of a considerable portion of the lane
that led to the homestead; but the minutes crept on until a quarter of
an hour, half an hour, an hour passed without a sign or trace of either
our friend or our enemies; and, indeed, until we grew as anxious to see
the former as to know we had escaped from the latter.

What could it mean? Zoiloff and I exchanged many an anxious question
and hazarded many futile guesses. I was inclined to hope that the
soldiers had not seen us after all, and that in our little hiding-place
we had not only escaped them, but had been overlooked by any other
parties that might have been despatched in search of us.

At the end of an hour I sent Zoiloff down to see that food was prepared
both for the men and for our horses; and when another hour passed
without any sign of disturbance the hopes of all of us began to rise.
The one thing that had caused me more anxiety than anything else was
the obstacle which daylight presented to a successful flight; and when
noon came and passed, and the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, I
was glad enough; for every hour that passed diminished the risk and
increased our chances of getting to the frontier unseen in the darkness
of the night.

Moreover, the rest was just what the horses needed; and thus on both
accounts the hanging hours of safety on that hot summer’s day were
doubly precious to us. Markov was certain that under the cover of the
night he could find his road unerringly; and though his blunder in the
morning had at first caused such a panic and had shaken my confidence
in his knowledge, I was ready to believe him now.

“I could drive it blindfolded, your Honour,” he said earnestly, when
I questioned him. “I know every house, and cottage, and tree, almost
every bump in the road--more than that, I could find my way secretly
across the country were every road and bridle-path choked with armed
men. It is my own country!” he exclaimed vehemently.

“How long will it take you?”

“It is fifty miles from the frontier to the first place where I can get
fresh horses, and perhaps fifteen from here to that--at the outside
say seventy miles. I can do it in seven hours with such horses as are
waiting for me at every stage--probably less.”

“You will be ready to start as soon as it is dusk,” I told him, and, as
the afternoon passed, I went to acquaint the Princess with our plans.

“You have left us long alone, Count,” she said with a smile. “And
I have needed you sorely. Nathalie here is in distress for news of
Lieutenant Spernow.”

“You may feel assured on his account,” I said to the girl, who was very
pale and troubled. “When we saw him last he was gaining rapidly on his
pursuers, and was not at all likely to fall into their hands.”

“But where is he? Why have you no news of him?” she wailed.

“Probably he knows no more than our enemies where we are. But he is
safe. Both Captain Zoiloff and I are convinced of that.” Her fears were
not to be stayed by words, however, and in truth I myself had more than
a misgiving on his account.

The Princess was eager for the moment to come when she could start,
and would have set out at once had I not told her of the far greater
security which darkness would afford.

“What time is it now?” she asked.

“Just past four. At seven, or soon after, we may venture to start;
and if all goes well, as Heaven grant it may, you will be across the
frontier and in safety before the sun rises again.”

“I shall owe it to you,” she said, “as indeed I owe so much already.”

“Not more to me than to all here with us. Indeed, this blessing of a
shelter at the very nick of time we owe to the accident of Markov’s
blunder. We may well forgive him such a happy mistake.”

“Would you have me think I owe nothing to you?” she asked in a low
voice, looking at me with a glance of love.

“Perhaps I may answer that question at a future time,” I returned in
the same low tone. She blushed and dropped her eyes and was silent.

In the silence I heard the sounds of some commotion in the house below,
and I started uneasily. “Something has happened; I must go and see what
it means!” I exclaimed; and with a hasty excuse I hurried away.

Something had indeed happened, for at the bottom of the stairs I found
Spernow and Zoiloff in excited talk. I called them up, and together we
entered the Princess’s room, that he might tell us the story of his
experiences, and relieve at once the anxiety of his sweetheart.

On seeing him she jumped up and, regardless of our presence, threw
herself into his arms.

“Are you really safe, Michel?” she asked, gazing into his face with a
look I could understand readily, and, laughing and crying by turns,
she plied him with a hundred questions.

His story was of deep interest and moment to us, and, though I was in
full mood to sympathise with the lovers, I was eager to hear it.

“I can tell my story in a very few words,” he said at length, turning
to us. “Just after we left Liublian we were attacked by a party that
outnumbered us by five to one. Our man in the rear galloped up to warn
us as you had ordered him, Count, but the troops were right on his
heels, and, as our horses were anything but fresh, I dared not risk a
race in the effort to reach you. I determined to fight it out there
and then, but from the first we hadn’t a chance. The troops fired not
at us, but at the horses, until only two of us were left mounted. The
rest you can gather. We had never a chance. My men resisted as long as
resistance was possible, but one after another they were surrounded,
disarmed, and secured. When all was lost we two fled, but some dozen
of the troops came pricking after us. My companion’s horse was shot;
but almost by a miracle neither my horse nor myself was touched, though
the firing was heavy enough. When I came down that hill yonder, I saw
you, and saw you turn into the lane. In a moment I knew the mistake you
had made, for I know this country to a yard, and it occurred to me to
pass the entrance to the lane in the hope that the troops behind me had
not seen you. I made for the next turning, therefore--that which you
should have taken but happily did not--and to my intense relief the men
behind, thinking no doubt that I was following you, followed me. The
rest was easy enough. My horse was fleeter than theirs, and I led them
a dance at a rattling speed for some ten miles. Then I dismounted, and,
giving my horse a whack with my hand, sent him on without me, while I
slipped into some bushes and waited for the men to pass. They did this,
swearing prettily, as you may imagine, and as soon as they had gone by
I set off across country in a bee-line for this place, thinking it not
unlikely that you would take refuge here for a while. And here I am,
and that’s all.”

Our congratulations poured upon him, and then Zoiloff and I went away,
that he and the little Broumoff might be together. It was the best
reward we could make him just then.

“Those men will try back when they find he’s fooled them,” said
Zoiloff, “and we had better be ready.”

“They’ll have to come soon,” said I, “or they’ll find the nest empty
and the birds flown.”

“They’ve over two hours yet,” he returned drily, and together we went
back to our watch-window in the roof, giving orders that the house was
to be kept as silent as if it were deserted.

The minutes were weighted now with the old fears and suspense, and
scarce a word passed between my staunch friend and myself. And when we
spoke it was in a whisper, as though the men had already come. For an
hour more nothing occurred to disturb us, and once again the flame of
hope began to kindle. But it was only to be ruthlessly quenched.

When a glance at my watch told me that an hour and a quarter had gone
by we saw that which made us start and draw breath quickly.

Two troopers came riding slowly up the lane, looking carefully to right
and left as they approached. The peasant’s dog barked loudly, and at
the sound they stopped, and peered curiously at the house. Then they
advanced until they stood close to the yard-gate, and both stared at
the house and spoke together.

We held our breath in suspense.

The closed doors and shutters puzzled them, and after a few moments one
of them dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to his companion,
pushed open the gate, and walked up towards the house.

At that moment fortune served us a scurvy trick. Down below a roar of
laughter broke out among our men, loud enough to reach us.

The soldier heard it too.

We heard him strike a lusty summons on the door panels and call to
those within. Then everything was as still as the grave.

The man knocked again, and when the door remained unopened he went back
to his companion, mounted his horse, and, giving some instructions, set
off up the lane at a quick canter. The second man drew back into the
shade of a tree and waited, keeping his eyes warily upon the house all
the while.

“We may as well get the men posted,” said Zoiloff. “That fellow will be
back in a minute with all there are with him. We’re in for a scrimmage.”

He went down at once to give the necessary orders, while I stayed to
watch.

I had not long to wait. In a few minutes I heard the advancing
footfalls of horses, and a number of troopers came swinging up the lane
at the trot. I counted thirteen in all, and thanked Heaven there were
no more.

But it meant fight, and I saw the man in command of the party taking
his observations, and giving his instructions to those under him to
surround the house.

There was no need for me to watch longer. There would soon be plenty of
other work on hand.




CHAPTER XXVI

A FORLORN HOPE


I left the window and hurried down to tell the Princess the bad news.
Spernow was still there, sitting apart, exchanging love confidences
with Mademoiselle Broumoff, and they all started up at my sudden
entrance.

“The troops have found us out, Princess, and there will probably be
some trouble before we get rid of them and shake them off. I wish to
impress upon you the necessity for you to remain close in the corners
of the room for fear of mishap. Spernow, will you go to Captain
Zoiloff? He is below with the men.”

The Princess took the news very calmly.

“Do you think they will attack the house?” she asked.

“I fear so--or, rather, I hope so; for, if not, we shall have to attack
them, and I would rather act on the defensive.”

“There will be danger for you,” she said earnestly, looking into my
eyes. “You will be careful--for my sake;” and she laid her hand on mine.

“I hope it will not be serious, and I will be careful,” I replied
smiling. “But we must not be beaten.”

“I trust no blood will be shed--no lives sacrificed. I cannot bear the
thought of that.”

“We can have no thought but your safety.”

“But can we not be of some use--Nathalie and I?”

“I fear not, at present. But if there is need, depend upon it I will
not fail to ask you. Come, Spernow.”

“Michel, let me have a gun. I would rather be by your side than cooped
up here in suspense,” cried the girl with great spirit, holding her
lover’s hand. “Now that you are with us I am not afraid.”

“We have not come to that yet, Mademoiselle,” I said, liking her spirit
and courage. “You need not be afraid. We are quite strong enough behind
these walls to cope with the few men against us. But we must go.”

Christina pressed my hand again, and her lips murmured a prayer for my
safety.

Zoiloff had been busy enough with his preparations, and when we reached
him had posted his men. He had done a shrewd trick on leaving General
Kolfort’s house, and had brought away with him the men’s carbines with
a quantity of ammunition. These were now distributed in the rooms
from which the work of defence was to be carried on; and he explained
that his object was to create the impression that we were a much more
numerous party than in reality.

“We can fire volleys from the different windows in very rapid
succession, and they’ll think the place is alive with men,” he said.
“But the main work must be done from the windows of each room on the
floor above us. There are two in the front room and one at the back,
and we can from there command the approach to the front and back doors,
and could hold the place against four times the number.”

We went to the front room and looked out.

The soldiers were taking matters very leisurely. Evidently they were
confident that they would have no serious difficulty in carrying the
house, even if we were inside, of which they still seemed to have
doubts.

The leader was only a non-commissioned officer--a troop sergeant--and
he appeared to be at a loss what to do. He was consulting with the two
men who had ridden up first, and all three were gesticulating freely as
they pointed to different parts of the house and yard.

The longer they debated, and the more time they wasted, the better
for us. If they would only let the afternoon steal away and twilight
come, we could in the last resource make a sally, have a brush at close
quarters, and then trust to our horses to save us.

“Zoiloff, I have a plan,” I said, as an idea struck me. “That man has
made a fool’s mistake. Every horse there is in full view, and can be
picked off easily. Let our first volleys, when it comes to firing, be
for the horses. Before the men even guess our intention, every horse
will be killed or disabled, and not only will the men be unable to
follow us, but prevented from riding for help.”

“Good!” he cried. “We’ll have every man at these two windows, and each
man shall pick out his own target. A couple of rounds well aimed and
the thing’s done. But someone must keep a lookout at the back.”

“Nathalie will do that,” said Spernow eagerly; and he went at once to
ask her, while the men were brought into the room and their orders
given to them. We waited, watching closely for the commencement of
hostilities.

“They don’t like the look of things,” whispered Zoiloff, smiling
grimly, “and don’t know what to do or how to start. Ah, now they’ve
settled something,” he added as the leader came towards the house,
knocked at the door, and called in a loud voice for it to be opened.

No answer was given, of course, and after he had repeated his summons
he called:

“If the door is not opened we shall break it in.”

Getting no reply, he returned to his men, and sent four of them round
to the back of the house. Then one of the men called his attention to
something at the side of the yard, and eight of them went and picked up
a heavy balk of timber lying there.

“They’re going to use it as a battering-ram,” said Zoiloff. “We must
stop that.”

“Wait,” I said quickly. “When they are in position I’ll warn them,
and through the open windows we can then shoot the horses. Remember,
men, level your guns first at the men, and when I tell you, aim at the
horses, and shoot straight.”

The timber was heavy, the afternoon hot, the men fatigued and with no
great zest for the business, so that they took a long time before they
had brought it round near the door.

Then I threw up the window sharply, and called, in a ringing voice:

“Stop! We sha’n’t allow that.”

Looking up, the troopers found themselves covered by the guns of our
party, and, dropping the timber, they rushed like hares for cover--all
save the leader, who flung curses at them for their cowardice.

“Now fire,” I said; and, levelling my rifle, I picked out a horse, and
we fired our first volley.

“Quick! again!” and a second volley rang out.

The effect was indescribable. Five horses fell at the first round, and
the rest stampeded and plunged so violently that any accurate aim the
second time was very difficult. Only three fell, but the rest broke
from their fastenings in a very frenzy of fear and galloped wildly off,
plunging across country at a speed that made any thought of pursuit
hopeless.

The men started to follow them, but were recalled by the leader, and
came slinking back to cover like whipped dogs.

The loss of the horses was not their only misfortune, however, for in
getting the log they had set down their carbines near the gate in a
spot which we could cover with our guns. Seeing this, I called again:

“The man who touches one of those guns will be shot!”

The sergeant had plenty of pluck, and, though sorely perplexed by the
turn things had thus suddenly taken, was as cool as if he had been on
parade.

“What do you want here?” I cried.

“I want to know who’s in the house,” he said.

“I am. What next?”

“Who else?”

“I decline to say.”

“Will you surrender without causing any more trouble?” he asked coolly.

“If you ask that again, you’ll stand a good chance of asking no more
questions in this world,” said I drily. “You had better draw off your
men while they are still unhurt.”

“You can’t hope to beat us off,” he said doggedly.

“We can try.” At the reply he shrugged his shoulders.

“If you resist you must take the consequences,” he called.

“I am quite prepared for that.”

He turned away then as if to walk back to his men, but I saw him
start; and then he did a really plucky thing, like the daring devil he
evidently was. When he was half-way towards his men he made a quick
rush to the guns and tried to snatch them up in his arms and bolt
with them to cover. It was wasted courage. A couple of guns rang out,
Zoiloff’s for one, and the man rolled over with a groan, shot through
the leg, with the carbines scattered round him.

His men made no effort to go near him, and so long an interval of
inaction followed that I began to hope the struggle was already over
before it had well begun.

“Lucky we shot those horses, or we should have had half the scoundrels
bolting for reinforcements,” muttered Zoiloff.

“You’d better see what the men at the back are after,” I said; and even
as I spoke the little Broumoff came running excitedly to tell us they
were trying to get our horses from the shed behind.

Zoiloff hurried out with a couple of men, and a moment later I heard an
exchange of shots.

“Run and see what has happened, Spernow, and let me know,” I said,
and in a couple of minutes he returned to say all was well, and that
Zoiloff had wounded one of the men and scared them off. They had made
for the side of the house, he told me, and had been joined by the rest
of the troopers; unfortunately there was no window at the side, so that
we could neither watch nor threaten them.

Another long interval passed without the troopers making a sign of any
kind, and I judged that their intention was simply to keep watch until
reinforcements could come up, and guessed that they had sent one or
more of the men away on foot in search of help.

It was now past six o’clock, and in less than half an hour it would be
safe to make a start. I went to Zoiloff to consult.

My plan was to make a rush upon the men and drive them away
sufficiently far to admit of our horses being put in the cart, and then
risk the chances of flight. He agreed readily, for the inaction was
vastly less to his mind than any fighting, and we made our preparations
accordingly.

“We are seven to their nine or ten, say. The leader lies there wounded,
you have disabled a second man, and they have sent away probably two
and certainly one; and as we are armed and they are not, and we shall
catch them unawares, we can certainly beat them off. We must then get
the horses ready and be off. The sun’s low now, and, as there is a mist
rising, it will be dark enough for our purposes long before seven. And,
anyway, we can’t wait here to be trapped like rabbits as soon as they
succeed in bringing up reinforcements.”

We set to work at once. The barricade of the back door was removed
quietly and we all mustered by it in silence.

“Silence till we are outside,” I whispered. “Then with a rush fall on
them with more noise than force, and scare and drive them off.”

I lifted the latch noiselessly and, opening the door, stepped out,
followed by the rest. Then with a loud shout we rushed round the house
and caught the men as they stood smoking and talking, expecting nothing
less than an attack from us.

They fled like chaff, helter-skelter in all directions, not venturing
even a pretence at resistance. The two or three who had guns attempted
to fire, but we struck up their arms and they fled as incontinently as
the rest.

We made a show of pursuit, but it was no more than a show, and then all
hands turned to the work of getting the horses harnessed and saddled.
Meanwhile the mist was rising fast, and promised to form a welcome veil
to our flight.

As a precaution I told one of our men to ride some distance along the
lane to see that the road was clear, although I had no doubt that the
troopers had been effectively disposed of; and I went to fetch the
Princess and Mademoiselle Broumoff. All was ready and we were in good
heart, when the man I had sent out came scampering back with news that
filled me with sudden consternation.

He had seen a large body of horse-soldiers at the end of the lane on
the high road, and with them were several of the men we had just beaten
off.

I heard the news with genuine anguish of soul. We were hemmed in.
The absence of any outlet except by the lane made escape absolutely
hopeless, and for a moment I was borne down with despair.

“We can only make a forlorn hope of it,” said Zoiloff. “Charge them and
try to make off in the confusion.”

I bit my lip and racked my brains in the effort to find some other
than this useless, desperate scheme, and then suddenly a light beamed
through the darkness.

“Markov, can you find your way across the fields at the back here to
the road--on horseback I mean?”

“Yes, certainly, your Honour, but with the cart----”

“Zoiloff, good friend, we must part now. There is only one way. You
and Markov must ride with the Princess on horseback, escaping by the
back across the fields till you strike the road. I must go in the cart
with Mademoiselle Broumoff, if she is brave enough to risk this for the
Princess;” and I looked at her eagerly.

“I will do anything,” she assented readily.

“It will make them think that only we six were in the house here; that
Mademoiselle Broumoff is the Princess, and that we are making the rush
to escape after the fight just now.”

“I cannot consent to that,” said Christina earnestly. “You will be
going to certain capture.”

I drew her aside from the rest to urge her, and Zoiloff, understanding
things with the quick instinct of a friend, led them out of the room on
the plea of hastening the preparations.

As soon as we were alone she threw off all reserve, putting her hands
on my shoulders and gazing at me with glowing eyes.

“Do you press me to do this?” she pleaded.

“I must; it is your only hope of safety, and a desperate one at the
best.”

“You love me--Gerald?”

At the sound of my name, spoken prettily in tremulous hesitation, I
felt the blood rush to my face.

“With my whole heart,” I cried hoarsely.

“Do not send me from you, then; I urge you, by our love. Let us face
what has to come together. I could meet death with you, but without you
I am a coward. I cannot go.”

“You must go, Christina,” I said in a low voice, and scarcely steadier
than her own.

“It is sending you to death, Gerald. I cannot do it. I could not live
if harm came to you through me.”

“No such harm as that can come. But, for God’s sake, think. If we
remain together now it can be but for a few minutes. If we fell into
these men’s hands, their first act would be to separate us. You must
go, my darling, you must.”

She gave a deep, heavy, sobbing sigh, and let her head fall on my
shoulder.

“It is worse than death to go alone like this.”

“It is our only chance for a happier life. You must go, and even these
moments of delay are imperilling everything. You must go--and at once.
God knows how gladly I would have you stay with me if I dared.”

“Then go with me. Captain Zoiloff will----” The look on my face checked
the sentence. “Oh, I cannot part with you, I cannot!” She moaned in
such agony that my heart ached. “We may never meet again.”

“We shall meet again with you in safety, do not fear,” I said, trying
to put a ring of hope into my voice, though my heart echoed her cry.
“You must go, my dearest;” and I began to lead her to the door, for
every moment now might turn the balance between safety and capture.

As I moved she threw herself into my arms and clung to me convulsively.
I held her to my heart; her face was close to me; my lips sought hers,
and our very souls seemed to rush together in that kiss.

“Till death, Christina,” I whispered passionately.

“Till death, Gerald,” she answered; and then with a long, trembling
sigh she drew from me. “Oh, how hard is fate!”

“Come, sweetheart,” I said; and without another word I led her out
to the horses, to where good Zoiloff was waiting with gloomy growing
impatience.

I lifted her tenderly to the saddle, and with a last yearning look and
a lingering pressure of the hand I turned away, sick and sad with the
sorrow of it all.

Zoiloff was mounted by then, and I wrung his hand.

“Guard her with your life, friend.”

“With my life,” he answered to the full as earnestly as I.

The plucky little Broumoff was already in the cart, with Spernow close
to her, and in another moment I was by her side.

There was still no sign of any troopers, and as for my scheme it was
necessary that they should see us, I led my party round to the front.

“When you hear the sound of our wheels, steal off at once, and make
across the fields there for the road,” I said, as a last word; “you
will be out of sight in the mist before the men have a thought that we
are not all together. Good-bye, and may God speed you!”

“Amen to that,” came in Zoiloff’s deep voice, and for the last time I
met Christina’s eyes.

When I reached the front of the house I waited a moment, listening
intently, and then hearing the sound of horsemen coming up the lane I
started my horses, and as soon as we were through the gate I whipped
them and dashed along the lane at a smart gallop, just as the foremost
couple of troopers loomed into sight through the shroud of the white
mist.




CHAPTER XXVII

A FRIEND IN NEED


Although I was certain that we were rushing straight upon inevitable
capture, I still had it in my mind to make a strenuous dash to get
through the soldiers, and I flogged the horses vigorously, and told my
companion to cling hard to her seat, for the cart swayed and bumped
and jolted over the rough road in a manner that threatened to send us
sprawling into the lane at every second.

“Draw that hood over your face to conceal it as much as possible, and
remember if we are caught I shall address you as ‘the Princess,’”
I said to my companion. “I can’t tell you now what I think of your
courage.”

She did what I asked, and her features were so concealed that, had the
troopers known the Princess by sight, they could not have seen it was
not she by my side.

The first party numbered under a dozen men, and as we approached they
made no effort to stop us, but drew their horses aside and let us pass.

“Are they following us?” I asked anxiously, for that would be the test
whether my ruse was to fail or succeed.

The girl glanced back.

“Yes. They’ve closed in behind and are galloping after us.”

“Thank God for that!” I cried; and I laid the whip on the horses again
till they were travelling at headlong, desperate, racing speed.

Then in the mist, as we neared the end of the lane, I saw the main body
drawn up in a mass completely blocking the road. They had evidently
heard us coming and were prepared for us, and they sat on their horses
with their carbines levelled.

“Halt there! or we fire,” shouted someone.

But he might as well have shouted to a mountain torrent to stop, for
my horses were smarting under the whip I had laid on so generously,
and no driver on earth could have stayed their wild rush. Indeed, the
words were scarcely out of his lips before we plunged madly right into
the midst of them, scattering them to right and left and sending them
cannoning one against the other in the utmost confusion.

The officer in command had formed them in a bad order for such a
reckless charge as ours. The chief strength was at the sides, and in
the middle, where our horses by luck carried us, the line was only two
deep.

The check was thus but momentary. There was a violent shock as we
dashed against the first horseman; my horses stumbled and I thought
would fall. My companion and I were jerked violently forward nearly
on to their backs, but in a second and scarcely with a pause they
recovered, and before I could realise what had happened we were through
the ranks and clear of them, with Spernow and another man close behind
us and dashing along again with barely abated fury for the main road.

“Lie down on the floor of the cart; they may fire after us,” I cried.
The next instant the guns rang out and the bullets came whistling past
our ears. But the aim was bad, and the jolting and swaying of the cart
as it lunged over the ruts helped us.

“Are you all right, Spernow?” I called over my shoulder.

“Yes, but I am alone. The two behind me were stopped in that business
just now, and the other has just gone down. By God, it was splendidly
done, Count. But they’re streaming after us in full cry.”

I was nearing the corner now, and remembered the sharp awkward turn
with something of a shudder. I did not care which way we went; but the
cattle knew the road and seemed to care, for they turned for their old
stables at Liublian with a swerve that tilted the cart to such an angle
that it was nothing less than a miracle that we did not upset.

It righted, however, and once on the main road we darted off on our mad
flight at a speed which made the misty air sting my face with rushing
damp in it.

I was right glad that we had turned that way. The men behind would be
sure to think I had taken it purposely, and thus we should draw off
pursuit from Christina effectually, and every mile that we could now
contrive to cover meant two miles’ start for her.

The race could not continue for long. I knew that, and knew, too, how
it must end unless some unforeseen accident happened; but I meant to
make the most of the opportunity to lead the men as far from Christina
as possible, and with this object I flogged the horses until they flew
along like things possessed at such a speed that Spernow, though he was
well mounted, could hardly keep up with us.

In this reckless way, up hill and down at the same headlong, breakneck
pace, our limbs and lives at hazard with every bad bit of road we
covered, we raced for some miles till we came to the foot of a steep
hill, which, I remembered, was as long as it was steep. The horses
charged at it in the same gallant, desperate way, but our pursuers had
now gained on us and were closing up fast.

They had not fired another volley, and though at first I wondered at
this, and could not guess the cause I was soon to learn it. When we
turned in the direction of Liublian they knew that we could not escape
them, and were content to ride us down or wait till we ran against some
other body of troops. The hill now helped them, for the wild pace had
distressed my horses until they began to falter at the steep ascent,
breathing hard. I flogged them unmercifully; I would have every yard
out of them that was to be got, because it meant a yard longer start
for Christina; but my heart was sore for the brutes, for they had made
a valiant effort.

Before we reached the crest of the hill the troops were up with us, and
the leader, pointing ahead, called to me to surrender.

“You had better give up the struggle, Count Benderoff,” he said, riding
abreast of me. “We have another body of men at the top there.”

But I was fighting for yards, and my answer was to cut the horses
desperately with the whip, so that they sprang forward again with a
last frantic effort. The man rode to the nearest horse, and, drawing
his revolver, placed it close to the animal’s head.

“I shall be sorry to fire, but if you don’t stop I shall have no
alternative,” he called.

“Shall we yield?” I said, turning to the little Broumoff, who had
maintained her seat unflinchingly, and pretending to consult her, while
I whispered, “Keep your face well concealed.”

She nodded, and I drew the horses to a standstill.

“We yield only under protest,” I said.

“I am glad you spared me an unpleasant job,” replied the officer,
putting his revolver away, and saluting the “Princess.” “Your animals
have made a magnificent struggle, but you have been racing all the time
toward certain capture, Count Benderoff. Escape from the first moment
was hopeless.” We waited then in silence while his men drew up and
surrounded us. “Will you drive Her Highness into Liublian?”

All the horses were greatly distressed, and we waited a few minutes
for them to recover, and then went forward at a slow pace. I had been
anxious to hurry before, but now I kept my animals at the walk, and
halted more than once on the steep hill. It was my cue now to waste as
much time as possible before the identity of my companion should be
discovered, and I thought with glee of the long start which Christina
would have.

At the top of the hill the other soldiers met us, and the two officers
spoke together for a minute, discussing the incidents of our capture.
Then we went forward again at a very slow pace.

We reached Liublian an hour and a half after leaving the homestead;
and there again fortune favoured us. No one was there to recognise my
companion, and we had to push on to General Kolfort’s house, still at
a slow pace, for I declared my horses were so beaten they could not
travel beyond a walk. I managed to occupy another hour over the drive,
and with this start, which meant nearly five hours to Christina, I felt
hopeful she would reach the frontier safely. My ruse had succeeded far
beyond my best hopes.

As we drew up at the General’s house, I smiled to myself as I pictured
his fury at the discovery; but he was not there. He had returned
hastily to Sofia, I overheard; but the place was packed with troops,
and he had left some drastic orders for our disposal.

I helped the plucky little Broumoff from the cart with a very
deferential air and led her into the house, Spernow in close
attendance. They took us into a room on the ground floor, where three
officers awaited us, one of them being Captain Wolasky, who, to my
surprise, gave no response to my start of recognition.

A chair was placed for the “Princess,” and she was shrewd enough to
seat herself so that the light of the lamp left her face in the shadow.
I could have laughed at the comedy underlying the situation, but,
assuming a tone of hot indignation, I exclaimed:

“I demand to know the reason why I am subjected to this infamous
treatment! What is the meaning of this arrest?”

The man in the centre of the three looked up angrily:

“It is not in my instructions to give you any such needless
information, sir. You must be fully aware of what you have done. You
are the Count Benderoff?”

“I am the Hon. Gerald Winthrop, as well as the Count Benderoff, and a
British subject.”

“Englishmen are much too prone to meddle in matters that don’t concern
them, and must be prepared to take the consequences,” he answered drily.

“There may also be consequences for those who meddle with them,” I
returned hotly; and with the object of provoking him into a personal
dispute so as to waste more time, I poured out a volume of protests
and objections, together with loud and angry demands for a specific
charge; and in this way prolonged the wrangle for many minutes.

He ordered me at length to be silent, under threat of packing me out of
the room, and then he turned to the “Princess.”

“I much regret, Princess, to have to put you to inconvenience, but my
instructions are imperative. You will have to remain in this house for
the night; but arrangements have been made for your personal comfort,
and to-morrow General Kolfort’s intention will be explained to you.”

She made no reply other than to bow, as if in acquiescence.

“I must ask you to remove your disguise,” he said next, just as I was
hoping she would even then escape recognition. She made no attempt to
comply with the request, and it was repeated in a sharper tone.

She turned to me as if to ask what to do, and, seeing the end had come,
I broke in:

“This is another of your ridiculous proceedings,” I said warmly. “Not
only am I personally treated in this outrageous manner, but, because
I am seen driving on the highway, you must needs conclude that the
Princess Christina is with me. It is shameful.”

“What do you mean, sir?” cried the officer hastily.

“Simply that this young lady is no more the Princess Christina than
you are. You may as well draw your hood back to show the mistake,”
I added to Mademoiselle Broumoff, who did so then, to the complete
consternation of all the three officers. I could have smiled at their
utter bewilderment.

“Where is the Princess Christina?” asked the chief sternly.

“We are at least as anxious as you can be on that point,” I answered.
“If your men make blunders of this kind, and don’t know the difference
between her Highness and her friends, who can tell where she is?”

“You will find it a hazardous work to play tricks on us!” he cried
furiously.

“I play tricks on you, indeed! It is you who seem to be amusing
yourselves with us,” I said, with an insolent laugh. “But you will have
to answer for it, I promise you.”

“Silence!” he shouted; and I shrugged my shoulders and threw up my
hands in response.

He muttered some hurried instructions to Captain Wolasky, who left the
room to carry them out. I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to ten;
three hours since Christina had started, and I calculated that, if all
had gone well, she would be at least two stages to the frontier, and
beyond hope of pursuit by any troops that could now be despatched after
her. For aught else I cared nothing.

I edged close to Spernow, and managed to whisper to him:

“If you get a chance try to steal off, you two, in the confusion;”
and just as I had said this Captain Wolasky came back with a file of
soldiers, and the officer at the table ordered them to lead me away.

“You have your orders, Captain Wolasky,” he said in sharp, peremptory
tones, and I was led away, Wolasky following me.

[Illustration: “I RODE BETWEEN TWO TROOPERS.”--_Page 299._]

He took me out through the hall, now thronged with soldiers, to the
front of the house, where a small troop of horsemen were drawn up; and
then, halting at a spot where the light of a lamp fell full upon his
face, he looked at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes which I
did not understand, and said in an unnecessarily harsh, strident tone:

“You have played us too many tricks for me to dare to take your parole
not to escape, sir; and if you are treated with indignity you have
yourself to blame for it. Bind the prisoner’s hands behind him!” he
said roughly to a couple of men near; and a murmur of approval came
from the troopers standing around, mingled with a good deal of strong
Russian.

“I protest against the outrage!” I shouted, and commenced to struggle.
It was useless, of course, and I was held, and my hands fastened behind
me. “Where am I being taken? I demand to know.”

“I’ll demand you,” said Wolasky, in a voice of passion; and, seizing
me, he pushed me forward to where a horse stood riderless.

“Excuse this farce,” he whispered; “but it is necessary;” and he
covered the whisper with a loud imprecation and abuse of me. I was so
astonished that I forgot to resist. “Struggle,” he whispered again;
and then I set to work to play my part with a will, and fought and
struggled so desperately as they were forcing me to mount, that the
Captain appeared to lose his temper, and struck at me, taking care,
however, that the blow spent itself in the air.

“Watch him,” he ordered, “and at the least sign of treachery, shoot
him like a dog. It doesn’t matter whether he reaches Tirnova alive or
dead, so long as he does reach there;” and again some of the soldiers
clustered about, laughed and oathed in evident glee.

I rode between two troopers, whose horses were fastened to mine by
light chains attached to the bits, while each man held a rein; and, as
we started in this alarming fashion, some ruffian shouted after us to
keep the “damned English dog safe on the chain.” “Tie his legs under
the horse’s belly, and he’ll keep on, dead or alive,” cried another;
and a burst of ribald laughter followed, in which those about me joined.

In this fashion we rode through Liublian, struck off to the right, and
soon after began the ascent of a steep hilly country, which made the
travelling very slow. We moved at no more than a walking pace all the
time, making, as I judged, about four miles an hour; but we kept on
all through the night, and did not halt until the sun was up, and we
reached a small village, where we dismounted and had breakfast.

I was overpowered with fatigue, and so soon as I had eaten the food
brought to me I fell into a deep sleep. In about three hours I was
awakened and the march resumed. The sun was overpowering, and towards
midday a halt was called under some trees. Here again I slept, and
when, in the late afternoon, I awoke, I was vastly refreshed, and began
to think about the chances of escape.

I had been treated all the time with the sternest measures. The Captain
did not come near me; and, when we halted, my legs were bound before my
hands were liberated for me to take any food. The country was of course
entirely strange, and when I asked a question of the men on either side
of me they ordered me with an oath to be silent.

When the sun was getting low in the afternoon Captain Wolasky reined up
to my side, and, pointing to a road we passed, he said in a jeering,
insulting tone, but with the same expression I had noticed on his face
the night before:

“That’s the road you’d like to take, Mr. Count Englishman; feast your
eyes on it, for you won’t see it again, I promise you. See, it leads
to Sofia over yonder;” and he pointed far away over the hills to where
the sun’s rays were shining on some distant buildings.

I looked eagerly enough, for I thought I understood him, and I began to
pay special heed to the road along which they took me.

“It’s prettier scenery than Tirnova,” he cried, with another loud
jeering laugh, as he went on again to lead the party.

After that we travelled on a fairly level road for about two miles,
when another halt was called for the soldiers’ evening meal. My legs
were tied as before, and a good meal brought to me, and in moving to
put away the cup and platter I noticed that my legs were fastened so
loosely that I could slip them out in a moment.

The dusk had fallen, and the mist risen, so that the whole party were
enveloped in gloom, and I heard the Captain say to the men, who were
sitting at a short distance from me:

“We’ve a long night ride, and I shan’t halt again before dawn. You’d
better snatch an hour’s sleep.”

I saw in a moment that the whole thing had been arranged cleverly for
my escape, and that the Captain himself had told me in his insulting
tone the road I must make for. I threw myself back and pretended to
sleep, and the man on guard over me--a fat, heavy fellow, whom the
fatigue of the ride had already worn out--first satisfied himself that
I was as sound asleep as I was when we had halted previously, and then
curled himself up to follow my example.

With the greatest care I drew my legs out of their bonds and sat up.
The men were breathing heavily in deep slumber, while the fellow close
to me was snoring vigorously. I glanced around, and just above me on
the road I should take was the Captain’s horse tethered alone. He was
by far the fleetest and best-blooded animal in the troop, and once on
his back I could laugh at pursuit. That he had been left there was due
to no accident, I was convinced; and stealthily, inch by inch, holding
my breath in my excitement, I began to crawl toward him.

I reached him unnoticed, and, stroking his neck, I cast off the tether,
and led him away for a few paces along the soft turf. All was dead
silence in the little camp of sleepers, and in the murky mist I could
see nothing of them and they could see nothing of me.

I led the horse until I reckoned to be out of earshot, and then mounted
and set off at a canter, keeping on the turf as long as possible.

Suddenly a loud shout behind me from the men announced that the fact
of my escape had been discovered, and, driving my heels into the
horse’s side, I dashed off at a rapid gallop for the road which Captain
Wolasky had said was the road to Sofia. I found it without difficulty,
of course, and paused a moment at the turning to listen for signs of
pursuit.

I could hear nothing, but resolved to make the best of my start, and
galloped off at a pace which showed the splendid quality of the animal
under me.




CHAPTER XXVIII

A FEARSOME DILEMMA


As I plunged along in my wild ride through the quickly darkening gloom,
I began to take stock of my position and shape some kind of plans.
Beyond the statement that the lane would lead me to Sofia, I had not
a notion of where I was, and the twists and turns of the road along
which I was galloping madly soon caused me to lose all knowledge of the
direction in which Sofia lay.

But this did not trouble me very much. I was mounted on a splendid
animal; I was armed, for I found the Captain’s revolver in the holster;
and I had money in my pockets enough to more than serve any needs
likely to arise.

I did not much fear any serious pursuit. The same timely friendship
which had led Captain Wolasky to venture so much for me would, I was
sure, suffice to induce him to lead the pursuit in any direction but
that which he knew I should take; and after I had covered a few miles I
halted and listened again for any sounds of followers. There was not a
sound, and after that I determined to proceed leisurely, and so spare
my horse for any effort should I stumble across any patrolling party of
troops.

My wish was, of course, to push for the frontier; but, as the city lay
between me and the west road, and as moreover I knew neither how to
find a way round the city, and thus avoid the risk of crossing it, nor
my road to the frontier, should I ever be able to get through Sofia
safely, I was much puzzled what course to take.

I could of course trust to the chance of being able to make inquiries
as I went, but there was so much risk in such a course that I feared
it. If I was to get through safely, I knew I must ride for the most
part at night, because the daylight spelt a double danger to me.
It was practically certain that the main road would be infested by
Kolfort’s men, and the chances of my being able to evade them all were
infinitesimal.

Another scheme suggested itself to me--hazardous, no doubt--but
possibly not so dangerous as the alternative. Markov had given me
a plan of his route to the frontier, with a list of the places and
persons where he had arranged for the relays of horses; but in the
confusion and hurry of my departure from Sofia I had left this behind
me. It was not of much consequence so long as he had been present to
act as guide, but without him it had become of vital importance. My
present idea was therefore to risk a return to my own house, get the
paper, which was locked up in a secret cabinet in my library, and
perhaps remain hidden in the house during the following day, setting
out on my journey to the frontier when darkness came to help me.

The obstacle to the scheme was, of course, the possibility that my
house might be in the possession of Kolfort’s agents, and that I might
run my head into a trap. But the house contained so many secret ways
and passages that this risk was greatly lessened; and I reckoned that
I could at least effect an entrance without being discovered, and if
I found the project impossible could leave it again. In any case,
the possession of the plan of route was so essential to me under the
circumstances that I made up my mind to run the risk of the venture.

I had first to find my way to the city, however, and in this I was
singularly fortunate. I had ridden some three or four hours when the
moon rose, and soon afterwards, to my intense satisfaction, my cross
road came out at a point which I recognised as being some four or
five miles from my house. I quickened my pace, therefore, riding very
warily, and, wherever possible, cantering on the turf, until I came out
on the heath which was close to the mouth of the underground passage
leading under my grounds. I would not trust myself to use that because
its secret was known to Kolfort’s agents; but I chose a path which led
me to another gate of the garden.

I dismounted there, unlocked the gate, drew my horse under the shadow
of some trees, fastened him, and, thrusting the revolver into my belt
for use in case of need, crept forward to reconnoitre the house.

Every window at the back was in darkness, even to the kitchens, and the
place seemed empty and deserted. Keeping well within the shadow of the
walls, I stole round with the utmost caution to the front, taking care
that every footfall should be deadened by either the turf or the soft
mould of the flower beds.

In the front there was a faint light from one window; a carriage stood
in the roadway, and, near the gates opening from the drive, I saw one
or two moving shadows of men.

The carriage surprised and startled me. Obviously someone was taking a
keen interest in my concerns, and was inside the house; and I had to
consider whether I dared to venture any further with my plan in the
face of such added danger. A minute’s thought determined me to proceed,
however. What I had feared was the presence of a fairly large number of
men holding possession of the house; but there was no sign of this, and
if only one or two attendants were with this visitor, whoever it might
be, they would not have an easy task to capture me, while I should not
have a difficult one to avoid them.

At the side where I stood there was a small opening into a passage that
led straight to my library, and, unlocking it very softly, I entered,
and stole along it on tiptoe, feeling my way by the wall in the pitchy
darkness. There were several doors leading off from the narrow passage
to different parts of the house, and at each of these I stood and
listened intently, venturing to unlock one or two of them with my
master-key. In this way I was able to satisfy myself that not a soul
was in the lower part of the house, and, assured by this knowledge, I
crept up the stone staircase that led to the library.

The need for absolute silence on my part increased with every step, and
when I reached the top I drew off my heaving riding boots and moved at
a snail’s pace, my stockinged feet making no noise whatever.

The entrance to the passage from the room had been masked very
cleverly. It was formed by a revolving panel in the wall, which swung
on well-oiled pivots and opened behind a sham cabinet, through the
painted glass doors of which care had been taken to allow of anyone who
stood in the cabinet both hearing and seeing all that went on in the
room. I moved the panel inch by inch with infinite care and caution,
and as I did so heard the sound of voices.

I started, and almost lost my presence of mind as I recognised the
deep, gruff tone of General Kolfort, followed by the soft, dulcet,
seductive laugh of the Countess Bokara. Passing noiselessly through the
panel, I entered the cabinet, and the sight that met my eyes made me
almost cry out in astonishment.

The wily old Russian had for once met more than his match. He was
seated in a chair with his arms fastened behind the back of it, staring
up, with leaden face and fear-filled eyes, into the face of the woman
who stood over him with a long, deadly-looking dagger in her raised
hand, passion and hate blazing in her eyes, and making the blade
tremble in her grasp so that the light quivered and danced on the steel
as the taunting, scoffing words flowed volubly from her lips.

“Yes, you are to die. I lured you here for the purpose--lured you, as
you say, with lies about the secret proofs of this Count’s guilt which
I could put into your hands. A single movement, and my blade strikes
home to its sheath in your treacherous old heart!”

The words came through her clenched teeth, and she looked a very
she-devil as she gloated over her helpless and cowering victim. He
might well cower, for if ever the lust for human blood was written on a
human face, it was there in every line of hers.

“What do you want?” he asked at length.

“Nothing but revenge. Nothing but that you shall feel before you die
some of the pain and horror you and your cursed agents and spies have
made my Prince endure for months past; nothing but to know that at last
our accounts are squared, and what you tried and failed to do with me
I have tried and succeeded in doing with you; nothing but your life,
murderer!”

“You can name your own terms,” he said again; and I saw him glance
about him as if in desperate search of some faint hope of escape from
the menacing knife. She saw the glance too, and laughed, a fiend’s
laugh, scornful, sneering, and utterly loathsome.

“You may look where you will, but you remember your own
condition--alone in the house. Alone, that you might not be seen with
me, or perhaps might trap me with more of your damnable treachery.
Well, you’ve had your way, and we are alone; but it’s the trapper who
is trapped, the spider who is caught in his own web. I’m glad you are
afraid of death. I thought it would be so, you are so prompt and quick
to order the deaths of others. And now you want to find proofs that
will enable you to have this Englishman put out of your way, something
to give a colour to your order for his removal; and when your men had
searched here and found nothing strong enough, you swallowed the bait
I put to you, to guide you to the place where you should find all you
wanted and more.”

“He is no friend of yours.”

“What is that to me? You are my enemy, and here helpless in my power.
The great, powerful, ruthless, implacable enemy of my Prince and of
Bulgaria here alone, fastened like a child to a chair by the hand of
a woman. Where is your power now? Will it help you to unfasten even a
strand of your bonds? Will it bring a single soul to your aid? Will it
stay by a second the plunge of my knife, or turn by so much as a hair’s
breadth the point from your heart? Were you as feeble as the meanest
and weakest of your victims, you could not be more helpless than alone
here with me.”

The bloodthirsty fury of this unsexed demon was a hateful sight. Had
she plunged her knife into the man’s heart in a paroxysm of rage I
could have understood the passion which impelled her to her act of
revenge, but it was loathsome to see her standing gloating over the
wretched, quivering old man. I made up my mind to stop her; and I was
about to dash into the room to tear the knife from her grasp, for I
could stand the sight no longer, when a thought inspired by his fear
struck me. Like a flash of light a way to safety for me darted into my
mind. If he was the coward at heart she had proved him I could turn
his fears to good account, and in a moment I turned as anxious to save
his life as I was to end the intolerable sight of her cruel, tigerish,
callous gloating.

“You have tried to murder my Prince, and now you have dragged him from
his throne to some of your vile Russian prisons,” she began again, when
I burst open the doors of my hiding-place, darted upon her before she
could recover from her start of surprise, and, pushing her back, stood
between her and the General.

“You!” she cried in a voice choking with baffled passion, and looking
for all the world as though she would spring on me.

“Silence!” I said sternly. “This has gone on too long already. I will
have no murder of this kind done here.”

I heard the old man behind me give a deep sigh of relief, and, glancing
round, I saw that his head had dropped back on his shoulders. He had
fainted in the sudden relaxation of the terrible strain, and with his
dead white face upturned, open-mouthed and staring-eyed, he looked like
a corpse.

But I could give him no more than a glance, for I dared not keep my
eyes from the wild woman before me.

“You know he came here to find proofs to justify him in ordering your
death?”

“I heard you taunt him with it just now; but I can protect myself.”

“I did not come to kill him for that.”

“I care nothing for your motives; I will not have him killed here,” I
returned in the same stern, decisive tone.

She eyed me viciously, like a baulked tigress.

“You will not?” The words came in a low, strenuous, menacing voice that
fitted with her tigress look.

“No, I will not;” and at that, without another word, she flung herself
upon me, wrought up to such a pitch of madness in her reckless yearning
to do the deed she had come to do upon Kolfort that she would have
plunged the knife into my heart to clear me out of her path. She
struggled with the strength and frenzy of madness, turning the knife
as I clutched and held her wrist until it gashed my hand, while she
strained every nerve and muscle of her lithe, active body in the
desperate efforts to get past me and wrench her wrist from my grip.

She was now in all truth a madwoman.

It was a grim, fierce, gruesome struggle, for her strength was at all
times far beyond that of a woman, and her mania increased it until I
could scarce hold her in check. Had I been a less powerful man she
would certainly have beaten me; but I thrust her away again, though
I could not get the dagger from her, and was preparing myself for a
renewal of the struggle, when, with a scream for help that resounded
through the house, she turned her wild eyes on me, now gleaming with
her madness, and hissed:

“He seeks the proofs to kill you! He shall have them in my dead body!
My blood is on you! My murder shall give him the proofs he needs!”

She cried again for help in the same ear-piercing screech; and, before
I could devise her meaning, she turned the blade against herself,
plunged it into her own heart, and, with a last half-finished scream,
fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

In an instant I saw the method in her madness. The General had seen
me in the room; he was now unconscious; there was no witness of her
self-murder; my hand was streaming with the blood from the gashes of
her knife; it was in my house it happened; her screams for help must
have been heard outside. The suggestive proofs that I had slain her
were enough to convince anyone of my guilt, and in another moment I
should have the General’s men thundering at the door, not only to stop
my flight, but to have me denounced as a murderer.

Surely never was a man in a more desperate plight, and for the moment I
knew not in my desperation what to do.

A glance at General Kolfort showed me he was still unconscious, and I
rushed to him and shook him in the frenzy of my despair. But he gave no
sign of returning consciousness, and the white face rolled from side to
side as the head shook nervelessly on the limp, flaccid neck.

I clenched my hands and breathed hard in my concentrated efforts to
think coherently and form some plan of action, and I cursed aloud in my
wrath the fiend of a woman who had brought me to this pass of peril. I
had no thought for her, dead though she was, but wild, raging, impotent
hate.

Mere flight was no use. If I were charged with this awful deed I
should be proscribed as a murderer, and the charge would dog my
footsteps wherever I went and rest on me always, till I should be
dragged perhaps to a felon’s death. These thoughts flashed like
lightning through my mind in the seconds that followed, crazing,
bewildering, and frightening me till the drops stood cold and thick on
my brow and my hands grew clammy with the dew of fear.

Then came the sounds of men running on the gravel outside, and I
listened to them in positively fascinated, helpless irresolution.

Another second and the men were knocking loudly at the house door;
and still I could not move. My feet were chained by a palsy of fear
to the floor, my breath came in gasps so that I was like to choke,
and when the knocking was repeated I could do no more than turn and
stare helplessly in the direction of the sound like a crazy idiot. My
brain seemed to have stayed every function except to fill me with this
awesome conviction of deadly inevitable peril.

The knocking was repeated for the third time, and I heard the voices of
the men calling to be admitted. I felt that in a minute more the end
must come, and still I could do nothing but stare in imbecile apathy
and wait for it.

Never can I efface the horror of that terrible moment.

Then suddenly it seemed to pass. I thought clearly again, the instincts
of self-preservation reasserted themselves, and I cursed myself for the
invaluable time I had lost.

But it might not even now be too late.




CHAPTER XXIX

GENERAL KOLFORT TO THE RESCUE


As I stood in a last second of desperate thought I heard the crash
of glass, and I knew the men were breaking into the house; and I
knew, too, that another minute would see them in the room where I
should be caught red-handed. The instant General Kolfort returned to
consciousness he would be the first to denounce me, despite the fact
that I had saved him from death. He would only too gladly use against
me the awful proofs of my apparent guilt which the mad woman had
afforded by her self-murder. It was just such a chance as he would
welcome.

I dared not leave him behind me.

I seized him, and, tearing with the strength of passion at his bonds,
tugged and wrenched until I freed his hands and lifted him in my arms.
He was still faint, though I detected now the signs of returning
consciousness. Then I extinguished the light, darted with him through
the entrance into the secret passage, and, clapping a hand over his
mouth that he should utter no sound when his senses came back, I drew
my revolver, and peering through the glass into the dark room, stood at
bay, resolved to sell my life dearly, whatever chanced.

But I had secured a magnificent hostage for ultimate freedom, could I
only get through this mess. It would all turn on what happened when the
General’s men entered the room, and I clenched my teeth as I stared
into the darkness.

There was no long wait. I had barely hidden myself when someone knocked
at the door of the room, paused for a reply, knocked again, and
entered. Two men came in, the faint light from the hall beyond showing
up their uniformed figures.

“This isn’t the room; it’s all in darkness,” said one in a deep bass
voice.

“Yes, it is; it’s the library,” said the other, who evidently knew the
house. “Are you there, General? Did you call?”

They both waited for an answer, and, getting none, came further into
the room.

“It can’t be it,” said the first speaker.

“Better get a light,” returned the second. “I know it is the right
room.”

“Well, it’s devilish odd.” Fumbling in his pocket, he got a match,
struck it and held it up, glancing round the room with the faint,
flickering light held above his head.

“Here’s a lamp,” said his companion; “hot too, only just put out. I
don’t like this. Where can the General be?”

“Better mind what we’re doing, Loixoff. The General won’t thank us to
come shoving our noses into his affairs.”

“You heard the scream for help, Captain?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the General’s voice,” returned the Captain drily.
“And he was alone with the woman we were to take prisoner afterwards.”

They were lighting the lamp when this little unintentional revelation
of old Kolfort’s intended treachery to the Countess Bokara was made.

At that moment I felt my prisoner move, and I pressed my hand tightly
over his mouth and held him in a grip that made my muscles like steel,
lest he should struggle, and, by the noise, bring the men upon us.

When they had lighted the lamp they stood looking round them in
hesitation. From where they stood the body of the dead woman was
concealed by the table.

“The General’s been here,” said the man who had been addressed as
Loixoff. “Here are his cap and gloves.” They lay not far from the lamp.
“What had we better do?”

My prisoner made another movement then and drew a deep breath through
his nostrils, and I felt his arm begin to writhe in my grip. I slipped
my revolver into my belt for a moment, lifted him up in my arms,
holding him like a child, put his legs between mine while I pinioned
him with my left arm so that he could not move hand or foot, and moved
my right hand up to cover both nostrils and mouth. I would stifle his
life out of him where he lay rather than let him betray me.

I could understand the men’s hesitation. Old Kolfort was certain to
resent any interference or prying on their part into his secrets, and
they foresaw that the consequences to them might be serious if they
were to do what he did not wish. He knew how to punish interlopers.
They were afraid, and I began to hope that, after all, I should yet get
out of this plight if I could only keep my prisoner quiet.

Even if I had to kill him I could still get the paper I had come
for; and as no one would know of my visit to the house, no glint of
suspicion would ever fall on me. At this thought I almost hoped he
would die.

The two men stood in sore perplexity for a time that seemed an hour to
me, but may have been a couple of minutes, and then the elder one, the
Captain, said:

“We’d better look through the other rooms.”

“As you please,” said his companion, and he turned away while the
Captain picked up the lamp.

“I can’t understand it,” he muttered.

“Perhaps we’d better not try,” said Loixoff. As he spoke he started,
and I saw him stare at the spot where the Countess lay. “By God!
Captain, there’s the woman, dead!”

They crossed the room together, and while the Captain held the lamp
down close to the body Loixoff examined it.

“It’s that fiend, Anna Bokara,” he cried. “Now we know what that scream
meant.”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes; here’s a knife thrust right through her heart. There’s no pulse,”
he added after a pause. “Is this his work?”

“It must be,” returned the Captain; and I saw them look meaningly into
each other’s eyes.

“We’d best clear out of this,” said the Captain. “I suppose it’s only a
case of suicide after all,” he added significantly.

“Probably,” was Loixoff’s dry answer as he rose from his knees.
“Where’s the General, do you think?”

“I never think in these cases;” and the Captain put the lamp down,
taking care to find the exact spot where it had stood, and then
extinguished it. “We’ll wait till he calls us, Loixoff. And mind, not a
word that we’ve been here. Leave the General to make his own plans.”

They went out, closing the door softly behind them, and I heard them
leave the house. As I pushed open the doors of the cabinet again their
steps crunched on the gravel outside as they walked away down the drive.

I breathed freely once more. I was safe so far, and in the relief from
the strain of the last few terrible minutes my muscles relaxed, and I
leant against the wall with scarcely sufficient strength to prevent my
companion from slipping out of my arms to the floor.

But there was still much to be done, and I made a vigorous effort
to pull myself together. I relit the lamp, but placed it so that no
gleam of the light could be seen through the windows. Then laying my
prisoner, who had fainted again as the result of my rough treatment of
him in the hiding-place, on a couch, I secured the paper of the route I
was to take to the frontier.

Next I applied myself vigorously to restore him to consciousness. I
dashed cold water in his face, and then, getting brandy from a cupboard
in the room, I poured some down his throat, and bathed his forehead.
The effect was soon apparent; his breathing became deeper and more
regular, until with a deep-drawn sigh he opened his eyes and stared at
me, at first in a maze of bewilderment, but gradually with gathering
remembrance and recognition.

“You’ll do now, General; but you’ve had a near shave. If I hadn’t come
in the nick of time that woman’s knife would have been in your heart,”
I said.

He started, and terror dilated his pupils as he glanced wildly about
him.

“You’re safe from her. She’s killed herself. Drink this;” and I gave
him more brandy. As I handed it to him he started again and stared at
the blood on my hand. He was still scared enough for my purposes. He
drank the brandy and it strengthened him, and presently he struggled
and sat up.

I drew out my revolver, made a show of examining it to make sure that
it was loaded, and put it back in my pocket. I had run my hands over
him before to make certain that he had no weapon.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, with a glance of fresh terror.

“Not to use that unless you force me,” I said, with a look which he
could read easily enough. “As soon as you’re ready to listen I’ve
something to say.”

He hid his face behind his trembling hands in such a condition of
fright that I could have pitied him had it not been necessary for me to
play on his fears. He sat like this in dead silence for some minutes,
and I waited, thinking swiftly how to carry out the plan I had formed.

“What is it you want?” he asked at length.

“You came here to-night to meet the Countess Bokara in the belief that
she could put into your hands such papers as would give you an excuse
to have me put to death, and when she had done it you meant to have
had her arrested. Instead of that you fell into her trap, and she was
on the point of killing you when I interfered and saved your life.
Then she turned on me and struggled to kill me in order that she might
carry out her purpose. Her failure drove her insane, and in her frenzy
of baulked revenge she plunged the knife into her own heart. You will
therefore write out a statement of these facts while they are still
fresh in your mind, sign it, and give it to me.”

I pointed to my table, on which I had laid the writing materials in
readiness. He was fast recovering his wits, if not his courage, and he
listened intently as I spoke. I saw a look of cunning pass over his
face as he agreed to what I said, and crossed to the writing-table. He
thought he could easily disown the statement, and had been quick to
perceive the use he could make of the facts against me. But he did not
know the further plan I had, and he wrote out a clear statement exactly
as I had required.

“Seal it with your private seal,” I said when he had signed it, his
handwriting throughout having been purposely shaky. He would have
demurred, but I soon convinced him I was in no mood to be fooled with.
“Your seal can’t be disowned as a forgery,” I said pointedly. “And
now, as your hand has recovered its steadiness, you can write this
again--this time, if you please, so that no one can mistake it;” and
while he did this I watched him closely to prevent a similar trick.

“Good!” I exclaimed when all was finished. The second paper he had
written I folded up carefully and placed in my pocket; the first I laid
inside the dress of the dead woman, in such a position that anyone
finding the body must see the paper.

“That will explain what has happened when the body is found,” I said
drily. “I want the facts made very plain.” He looked at me with an
expression of hate and fear and cunning combined.

“I must go; I am not well,” he said.

“We are going together, General,” I returned quietly. “I am willing to
assume that you are so grateful to me for having saved your life, that
in turn you wish to secure my safety. You have had me arrested once,
your men have treated me like a felon, you have filled the roads with
your agents until I cannot take a step without further fear of instant
capture, and up to this moment you have sought my life with tireless
energy; but now you are so concerned for my safety, so eager to repair
your mistaken estimate of me, and heedful for my welfare, that you are
going to see me safe to the Servian frontier. That is the part you are
cast for; and, listen to me, if you refuse, if you give so much as a
sign or suggestion of treachery, if you don’t play that part to the
letter, I swear by all I hold sacred I’ll scatter your brains with this
pistol;” and I clapped it to his head till the cold steel pressed a
ring on his temple. “Now what do you say?”

He cowered and shrank at my desperate words, and all the horror and
fright of death with which the Countess Bokara had filled his soul came
back upon him again as he stared helplessly up at me. His dry bloodless
lips moved, but no sound passed them; he lifted his hands as if in
entreaty, only to drop them again in feeble nervelessness; and he shook
and trembled like one stricken with sudden ague.

“You value your life, I see, and you can earn it in the way I’ve said.
So long as I am safe you will be safe, and not one second longer. That
I swear. If there is danger on the road for me it is your making, and
you shall taste of the risks you order so glibly for others. Every
hazard that waits there for me will be one for you as well. You are
dealing with a man you have rendered utterly reckless and desperate.
Remember that. Now, do you agree?”

“Anything,” he whispered, in so low a tone that I could only catch it
with difficulty.

[Illustration: “THE COLD STEEL PRESSED A RING ON HIS TEMPLE.”--_Page
320._]

“Then we’ll make a start. Come first with me.” I led him upstairs to my
dressing-room, and made him wait while I exchanged the uniform I was
wearing for a civilian’s dress, and shaved off my beard and moustache.
He sat watching me in dead silence, his eyes following my every
action, much like a man spellbound and fascinated. I had saturated him
through and through with fear of me, till his very brain was dizzy and
dimmed with terror.

When my hasty preparations were finished, I took him down to the
shooting gallery while I armed myself with a stout sword-stick of the
highest temper, testing the blade before him, and took a plentiful
supply of ammunition for my revolver. I kept absolute silence the whole
time, letting the looks which I now and again cast on him tell their
own story of my implacable resolve. He was like a weak woman in his
dread of me, and at every fierce glance of mine he started with a fresh
access of terror.

When all was ready for my start, I drew the plan of my route from my
pocket and studied it carefully.

“I am ready,” I said; “and now mark me. You will call up one of your
men. What is that Captain’s name who is here with you?”

“Berschoff,” he answered, like a child saying a lesson.

“You will call up Captain Berschoff and order him to draw off his men,
and to send your carriage, unattended, mind, up to the front door. You
will be careful that the Captain does not see me. When the carriage
comes, you will order your coachman to drive you as fast as he can
travel to the village of Kutscherf. While you are speaking to Captain
Berschoff my hand will be on your shoulder and my revolver at your
head, and if you dare to falter in so much as a word or syllable of
what I have told you, that moment will be your last on earth. Come!”

I held my revolver in hand as we left the gallery and went to the door
of the house.

My breath came quickly in my fast-growing excitement, for I knew that
a moment would bring the crisis on the issue of which all would turn.
When once I had got rid of his men, his sense of helplessness would
be complete, and my task would be lighter. But my fear was that in
his cunning he might even dare to play me false in the belief that I
should be afraid to make my threat good. He knew as well as I that to
shoot him right in front of his captain would be an act fraught with
consummate peril for me.

My heart beat fast as I unfastened the heavy door, opened it, and
turning gripped him by the shoulder as he went forward on to the step
and called to Captain Berschoff.

Then I pulled him back, closed the door to within a couple of inches,
and, planting my foot to prevent it being opened wider, I pressed the
barrel of the pistol to his head, as we stood listening to the hurried
footsteps of the approaching officer.




CHAPTER XXX

THE PUSH FOR THE FRONTIER


“Did you call, General?” asked the captain; and as the voice came
through the door I tightened the grip on my prisoner and pressed the
barrel of the revolver harder against his head.

He hesitated, and when no answer was given the question was repeated.

“Yes,” said Kolfort, in an unsteady tone.

“Shall I come in? Is anything the matter?” and I felt the door pushed
from the outside.

“No,” in the same unsteady tone. “No, I--I do not need you. You will
take your men back to my house and--and wait for instructions.”

“And the prisoner, General? Shall we take her with us?”

“Tell him she has killed herself,” I whispered.

“There is no prisoner to take, Captain Berschoff. She has--has taken
her own life. Leave that to me. Withdraw your men and send my carriage
up to the door here for me.”

“Very good, General. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.” The words came with a sigh of relief. I shut the
door immediately, and we stood in the dark, near the window which the
two officers had broken to get into the house, and listened as the
captain walked quickly to the gates. Then came a word of command,
followed by the scraping of the carriage wheels on the drive, and the
sounds of the soldiers’ horses and the rattle of their accoutrements as
they wheeled away along the road.

So far all was going well, and the crisis I feared had passed safely.
The carriage drew up outside the door.

“Remember where to tell him to drive, Kutscherf,” I said sternly.
“You have half earned your life, but you must go through with it.” I
opened the door, linked my arm in his, and led him down the steps, and
together we entered the carriage. He gave his order to the coachman
through the window, and a moment later we started, turned out of the
gates, and rattled along at a brave pace for the frontier.

General Kolfort fell back on the seat and pressed his hands to his
face, as though dizzy and weak with the long tension of fear, and
partly, I judged, ashamed of himself for his cowardice.

“You had better try to sleep, General,” I said; “we have a long drive.
I shall be on watch, and shall not need to disturb you unless we
stumble across any of your troublesome patrols.”

This was indeed my one source of fear now, and I leant back thinking
how we should deal with them in the event of interference. The
General’s presence would probably make everything smooth enough, but
there was always a chance that an opportunity would be given for him to
try some trick to elude me.

We had at least sixty miles to drive, and as it was now past midnight I
reckoned we could not reach the frontier until between seven and eight
in the morning. It would be sunrise by five, and there would be thus at
least two or three hours to drive in daylight. That would be the time
of chief danger.

It was a bright, fine night, the moon had risen, and when we had
cleared the town I resolved to urge the driver to quicken the pace of
his horses. I let down the window, and the cool night air came rushing
in and roused my companion, who sat up quickly.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing; I wish your man to travel faster.” I leant out and called to
him:

“The General says you are to drive faster; at a gallop where possible.”
He did not hear me at first, and was for checking the horses, until I
shouted the order to him again. I drew in my head, and was only just in
the nick of time to avoid trouble.

The General had opened the door on his side and, in his desperation,
was in the very act of springing out. I caught hold of him, dragged him
back, and shut the door again. He fell in a heap huddled up at my feet.

“A very dangerous leap for a man of your age,” I said drily. “I have
probably saved your life, for the second time to-night,” and I lifted
him up on to the seat of the carriage again. “And now, understand
me, if you had got out, I would have sprung out after you and shot
you in the highway, had it cost me my life. I thought that you would
understand by now that I’m in too dangerous a mood for you to fool
with. But I’m glad of the hint you’ve given me, and I sha’n’t forget it
for the rest of the way.”

He made no answer, but lay back on the seat as before, and I did not
attempt to rouse him. The incident disquieted me, for it showed that
he was dead set on outwitting me, and would do so if I relaxed for a
single second the strain of his terror of my pistol.

The carriage was now travelling at a great pace, the man urging the
horses to a gallop over every yard of level road. We reached the first
village without further incident, and I told the man where to get the
change of horses. There was a little delay in rousing the people of the
place, but once roused they set to work with a will, and in a very few
minutes we were spinning on again with the fresh cattle at the same
high speed for the next stage.

Markov had done his work shrewdly, and had planned the route so that
for the greater part of the way we travelled without having to use the
main road. But the by-ways were rough going in many places, and this
retarded our progress. We made good time, however, and when we changed
horses for the second, third, and fourth times without being stopped,
my hopes began to rise fast that we might even reach the frontier
unchallenged. We had covered over forty miles, and yet, including the
time spent in changing horses, we had barely been four hours on the
road.

A check came soon after the fourth change, however. We had to take to
the main road, and had covered some two or three miles, when I heard a
shout and felt the carriage checked suddenly.

“Who goes there?” called someone, and looking out I saw we were in the
midst of a strong patrol.

“You’d better not stop us. I’m driving express. It’s General Kolfort,”
came the coachman’s voice.

I caught my breath, and my prisoner roused himself instantly and sat
up. I passed my arm round him and, pressing the revolver against his
ribs over his heart from behind, I said:

“You will tell these men to allow us to pass. My pistol is within an
inch of your heart, and my finger on the trigger.” I felt him shudder.
“Let that window down, and call to them angrily. You know me.”

He let it down, fumbling clumsily, so that with my disengaged hand I
had to help him.

The non-commissioned officer in charge of the patrol had dismounted and
came to the window.

“What do you mean by stopping me? Don’t you know who I am, blockhead?”
cried the General, his teeth chattering with chill and fright.

“My orders are imperative, to stop all travellers and see their
papers,” replied the man as he saluted.

“Well, you’ve stopped us; that’s enough.”

“I must see your papers, if you please,” he said stolidly.

“Do you suppose the General writes passes for himself,” I broke in.

“We have no papers,” cried the General sharply. I saw his motive; he
wished to provoke the man to stop us.

“Then you will have to alight,” said the soldier.

“Very well. I suppose there’s no help for it;” and as he turned to me
the General’s face wore an expression half defiant, half cunning. “I’m
not responsible for what these blockheads do,” he said.

“What papers do you want?” I asked, at a loss quite what to do in this
new and perplexing turn.

“All travellers this way must carry a permit, or they are to be
stopped. Those are my orders.”

“But surely you know General Kolfort?”

“I must see the permit,” he answered doggedly.

“That’s easily managed. You can write one, General.”

The man shook his head.

“They must be signed and countersigned,” he returned, with growing
suspicion and rising anger.

“The fellow’s right,” said the General, turning to me with a laugh.
“It’s absurd, but he’s right.” His manner enraged me. He was trying all
he dared to play into the man’s hands.

“I am only obeying orders,” said the sergeant; and for a moment it
seemed as if between them I should be fooled. But I knew well enough
what short work my prisoner would have made of such an interruption
under other circumstances.

“Do you tell me you don’t know that this is General Kolfort?” I asked
very sternly.

“I am not here to study faces, sir, but to examine permits,” was the
blunt blockhead’s answer.

“You can at least read, then? And I presume you know the General’s
handwriting. You shall have an order signed by the General, and one
which will need no countersign to ensure its being obeyed. What’s your
name and regiment? Quick!” I said in a short tone of command.

“Max Pullschoff, sergeant, 3rd Regiment, 2nd Army Corps,” he answered
saluting.

“Now, General, order him to allow us to proceed at once at his peril.
This fooling has gone far enough,” and I enforced my words with a look
of menace, while I pressed the revolver hard against his ribs, and
added in a whisper, “Instantly!”

He hesitated just one instant, trying to nerve himself to defy me, but
it was only for the instant.

“I am General Kolfort, and I order you at your peril to delay me no
longer.”

“I am very sorry, sir, but my orders are absolute. I can’t do it.”

“Write an order to Captain Berschoff that the rascal has mutinied
against your authority, General, and that instantly on his return to
quarters he is to be imprisoned and flogged for mutiny. We will see
then what he says about signatures,” and I took out my pocket-book and
gave it him with a pencil.

He glared at me viciously, but the revolver was his master, and he
wrote out the order just as I had bade him, and signed it.

“Now, Sergeant Pullschoff, read that, and say whether in the face of it
you venture to carry this thing further.”

The man took it, and I saw his face turn deadly white as he read it and
scanned the signature closely.

“I have done no more than my duty, General,” he murmured; but I saw
that I had beaten him, and I pressed that advantage home.

“If you detain us a minute longer, my man, you will go galloping back
to Sofia in custody for that order to be executed. You and your men
know perfectly well that this is General Kolfort, and that this is his
carriage.”

He stepped away from the carriage window, and I saw him consult with a
couple of his men.

“If I break my orders you will hold me harmless, General?”

“Of course we shall. Tell him so, General.”

“Yes,” assented the latter, but very slowly and regretfully, for the
new turn of the matter was all against his wishes.

“You can give me back that order,” I said then. “And I shall make it my
business to see that you are commended for your care in carrying out
your instructions. Tell the coachman to drive on.”

“Thank you, sir. I wish to do no more,” said the fellow, saluting, as
he handed me the paper, and then called to the driver to proceed.

“A very excellent soldier that, very wooden, but human at bottom in his
fear for himself,” I said quietly to my prisoner, as we passed the last
of the patrols, who all saluted us.

“Curse you!” cried the General, in the bitterness of his chagrin and
disappointment.

I laughed; I could afford to now that the danger was passed; and my
satisfaction was the more genuine because the danger had been more
serious than I had anticipated. Moreover, it suggested to me to take a
precaution which I had neglected before starting.

When we drew up for the next change of horses I made my prisoner write
me a formal permit to pass all patrols, as being on special service,
and I pocketed it for use in case of need. The value of it I had an
opportunity of testing within a few minutes, for we were stopped again
by another patrol of troops. But I produced the permit this time, and
it was accepted without a word of comment.

It was now daylight; and, as we drew near the frontier, my excitement
increased. When we changed horses for the last time my spirits were as
high as my companion’s rage and chagrin were manifest.

In less than an hour I should be across the frontier if all went
well; and all had gone so well that it would be a mere superfluity of
cowardice to anticipate any serious obstacle now. We had left the main
road, and had travelled some four miles through rough hilly cross lanes
to the point where Markov had planned for the frontier to be crossed,
when I found that the driver was in trouble with the horses. They were
going very erratically, now jibbing and plunging in the harness, and
again dashing forward at headlong speed. While they galloped I cared
nothing, and, though we bumped over the rough roads so violently
that my companion could scarcely keep on his seat, and was constantly
thrown against me, I was well contented, and laughed. The greater the
speed the better it pleased me. But when they stopped, and plunged, and
kicked with a violence quite beyond the man’s power to control, I was
anxious enough.

Then, quite suddenly, came an overwhelming disaster which ruined
everything. We had ascended a steep hill at a slow pace, with more
than one stoppage, and were descending a slope on the other side, when
the horses bolted, and dashed away down it with a frantic fury that
threatened to smash us up at almost every stride. The pace was mad
enough to frighten a man whose nerves were in far better order than
those of my fright-wrought prisoner, and his terror paralysed him.

There was going to be a smash; and I had scarcely time to realise the
certainty of it, and to wonder vaguely how it would affect my escape,
when it came. There were a few moments of mad, jolting, dizzying rush
down the hill, then a fearful crash as the wheels struck against some
heavy obstacle, a wild jerk that threw us both forward in a heap,
a noise of smashing glass and rending woodwork, half-a-dozen great
lurching bumps and jolts, and the carriage was on its side, dragging,
and tearing, and grinding on the rough road, till it stopped, and I
found myself lying in its ruins, with my hands and face badly cut
and bruised, and every bone in my body, as it seemed, either broken
or dislocated. I struggled out of the ruin as best I could, to find
the driver and his horses in a heap in the road, the man himself in
imminent peril of being kicked to death. I managed to haul him out of
danger, and laid him by the roadside unconscious from the effect of
his fall, and left the horses to fight it out for themselves while I
looked after General Kolfort.

He was also unconscious; but whether from hurt or fear I could not
tell. He lay pinned underneath the carriage, and I had great difficulty
in releasing him. But I got him out, and set him beside the coachman,
just as one of the horses succeeded in kicking himself free, struggled
to his feet, and began backing and tugging to break the reins. I ran
to him, patted and soothed him, and then, cutting the reins, I knotted
them and fastened him to a tree. I meant him to carry me to the
frontier on his back, and was glad to find, when I ran my hands over
him, that he had no more serious hurts than a few surface cuts.

But I was in truth vastly puzzled how to act. To take the General
with me any further was impossible; yet to leave him behind might
be infinitely dangerous. The instant he recovered consciousness he
would set all his wits and malice to work to have me followed; and my
perplexity was vastly increased when I saw about a mile ahead of me a
couple of horse-patrols appear on the crest of a hill, and come riding
leisurely toward us.

There was no time for hesitation. I realised instantly the
impossibility of holding the General in my power by means of threats
in the presence of a couple of soldiers in broad daylight. There was
infinitely less danger in trusting to flight.

I rushed to the horse, therefore, unfastened him, leapt on his bare
back, and set off at a gallop to meet the approaching soldiers. As I
glanced back I saw to my dismay that the General had been fooling me
with a sham fainting fit, for he had risen to a sitting posture, and
was endeavouring to shake the coachman back to his senses.

At this I urged my horse forward, for I knew his next step would be
to try and make the soldiers understand that I was to be stopped and
secured.

As I galloped I made my plans. Getting within earshot, I called to them
to hasten forward, for they had halted, and stood with their carbines
ready to stop me.

Reining my horse up as best I could, I said, in a tone of command:

“General Kolfort has met with an accident there, and you are to hasten
to his assistance instantly.”

“One moment, if you please, sir. Have you your papers?” asked one of
the men.

“Of course I have. I am riding on special service. Here is my permit;”
and I showed it to him, not letting it out of my hands, however. He
pushed his horse forward and read it.

“It seems all right,” he said.

“Of course it’s all right. I am on a matter of life or death, and have
to press forward with all speed. I have had to use one of the carriage
horses; but one of you had better give me yours. It is an urgent affair
of State.”

My tone of authority, added to the permit of urgency with the General’s
signature, impressed him considerably.

“It’s all against orders,” he said, hesitating.

“Do you suppose this won’t justify everything?” I cried, shaking the
General’s order in his face. “You may find it awkward to refuse. The
General will soon put you right. Quick! there’s no time to lose;” and,
to act my part thoroughly, I slipped off my horse.

He dismounted slowly, and half reluctantly; but the instant his foot
touched the ground, I let my horse loose, and, giving him a thrust in
the ribs, sent him trotting down the road, while I seized the bridle of
the other and swung into the saddle, before the man had recovered from
his astonishment.

Then an exclamation from the second soldier attracted the attention of
us both. There was good cause; for, on looking back, I saw that three
other horse-soldiers had joined the General, who was making frantic
gesticulations to the men with me.

“Ah! he sees me stopping, and wishes me to push on,” I said.

“I think you had better ride back with us, if you please,” said the
soldier who had dismounted, and he made a sign to his companion, who
was still barring my path, to stop me.

“Nonsense, he wishes me to push on.”

“I can’t let you proceed, sir, order or no order,” he answered bluntly,
and made as if to seize my horse’s bridle, while he ordered his
subordinate to prevent my passing.

At the same moment the men with the General fired their carbines to
call our attention, and set off towards us at full gallop.

“At least you can wait till those men reach us,” he said, and his tone
and face showed his suspicions that something was wrong.

Thus in a moment the position had developed into one of fresh
embarrassment and imminent peril for me.




CHAPTER XXXI

THE RUINED HUT


The two soldiers mistook me vastly if they thought I was going to allow
myself to be caught in this way like a rat in a trap, when the trap was
a mile long, and the door of it guarded so loosely.

I had backed my horse to prevent the man on foot catching hold of the
bridle-rein, and, wheeling round swiftly, I plunged my hand into my
pocket, drew out my revolver, and, before the second soldier could
guess my intention, I sent a bullet into his horse’s head.

He dropped like a stone, sending his rider flying on to the road, his
carbine, which he had levelled at me, going off in the air as he fell.
The other made a rush at me, but I covered him with the pistol.

“How dare you try to stop me on State business?” I cried in a voice of
thunder. “Another step and I’ll blow your brains out.”

He pulled up short enough at that, and I clapped my heels into the
horse’s flanks, and was off like the wind. He was a good beast, in
excellent condition and very fresh, and more than fit to carry me
the six miles which I reckoned lay between me and the frontier. The
distance was so short that I had no need to spare him, and, as I had
over three-quarters of a mile start, I did not doubt that I could win a
race in which my safety and probably my life were the stakes.

I was in luck, too, for the soldier before dismounting had thrust back
his carbine into its leathern shoe, and in among his saddle-furniture I
found a reserve supply of ammunition.

Turning in my saddle I saw that the three soldiers had passed the two
with whom I had had the tussle, and were galloping after me at full
speed, striving might and main to lessen the distance between us, and
I knew, of course, that old Kolfort had given them his most imperative
command to overtake and capture me at all costs.

But a few minutes of this hot work showed me that I was better mounted
than they, and that I was gaining. They perceived this, too, and
resorted to a tactic which gave me some uneasiness. One after another
they began firing their carbines, not of course at me, for I was
hopelessly out of range, but in the hope of attracting any other patrol
parties who might chance to be in the neighbourhood.

This was by no means to my taste. It suggested that they knew there
were more troops about, and while I dug my heels into my willing
horse’s sides, and urged him with my voice to still greater speed, I
cast ahead many anxious looks.

A minute later, too, I was thrown into a state of much perplexity as to
my road. About half a mile in front the road forked, and I did not know
whether my way lay to the right or left, and had no time to consult the
plan of route. It would have been fatal to hesitate, however, and I was
going to leave my horse to settle the matter for himself, trusting that
he might have been stabled somewhere near the frontier and would thus
make for that point, when a very disquieting fact decided me.

A couple of troopers were riding at a quick trot along the road to the
left, and coming in my direction. They were at a considerable distance,
and I should reach the junction long before them. I determined to trust
to fortune and take the other road.

They soon caught sight of me, and as the men pursuing me kept up their
fire, the two in front hustled their horses into a gallop, evidently
thinking something was wrong, and intending to cut me off and stop me.

They saw me turn into the right road, checked their horses, leapt into
the fields, and came galloping across to intercept me. This was not
practicable, however, because the point for which they were making was
nearer to me by the road than to them by the fields, and after they had
galloped half across the fields they called to me to stop. Perceiving
my advantage, my answer was to urge my horse forward, till he was
straining every nerve and flying over the ground like the gallant beast
he was.

Then one of them reined up suddenly, and being well within range, he
sat as steady as a rock on his horse, levelled his piece, and fired.
Fortunately for me he was quite as bad a marksman as the majority of
such men are, and the bullet whistled harmlessly by me as I dashed
past at the same headlong speed. His companion had, however, come much
nearer, and when he found he could not intercept me, he too halted and
fired after me in his turn.

He also missed me, but I felt my horse give a violent change in his
stride, and immediately begin to slacken speed. I looked around
anxiously and found, to my intense alarm and consternation, that he was
wounded, and had gone dead lame on his off hind leg.

For the first time I was inclined to despair. Behind me were five
well-mounted men eagerly bent on my capture, and before me lay at least
three miles of unknown road--even supposing that I was riding in the
right direction--while my horse was already beginning to stagger in his
stride. But my blood was up. I would not be taken alive, and I resolved
to fight so long as I could lift a finger in self-defence.

Flight was now out of the question, however. Wounded as he was, my
horse could not have carried me to the frontier had I been able to ease
his pace, which was of course impossible. I could fight better on foot
than on the back of a wounded horse, moreover, and I began to think
desperately of my best course.

I drew out the trooper’s carbine, put the ammunition into my pockets,
and looked about for the most likely spot for a last stand. About half
a mile ahead of me I spied a peasant’s cottage half in ruins, lying a
little distance from the lane. Just the place for me! I urged my horse
to the last effort, and he answered gallantly, as if he understood how
dire was my need. But he was reeling badly when we reached the spot I
was heading for; and the two men behind raised a glad shout as they saw
me pull up, slip from the horse, and make a dash, carbine in hand, for
the cover of the ruined cottage.

They both fired at me as I ran, a cowardly act that filled me with
rage. Hitherto I had tried to avoid shedding blood, but I sent that
thought to the winds now as I sprang behind the shelter of the welcome
walls and turned to settle accounts with them. Armed as I was, I
believed I could for a time hold the place against a party twice as
strong as that which was coming against me, and I was so mad in my
rage and disappointment, that I swore I would shoot without mercy any
living soul that came within range.

The two soldiers came galloping up to the point where my horse had
now fallen, and they stood chuckling at the successful shot which had
wounded him.

I singled out one of them--the man who, as I thought, had fired the
fatal shot--took deliberate aim, and fired. He dropped like a stone,
and his companion turned instantly and scuttled back to meet the other
three, who were now closing up fast. I smiled grimly as I thrust in
another cartridge, and was turning to look for the next quarry when my
heart gave another throb of dismay.

The place seemed alive with troops; and I saw another horseman coming
from the opposite direction along the lane towards the cottage, and
I did not doubt that he was the advance guard of a stronger patrol
following behind.

The four men had halted out of range and were talking excitedly
together, and I was thus at liberty to watch the newcomer, whose
movements puzzled me considerably. When he heard the shot from my gun,
and probably saw the smoke, instead of dashing forward to join the men
threatening me, or falling back upon any party behind, he scuttled off
the road and concealed himself in a small clump of trees, from which he
seemed to be scanning the cottage where I lay. No trooper out on patrol
would have acted so, and I concluded promptly that he was in some such
condition as myself, and as eager as I to escape the attentions of the
soldiers.

Could it be possible that he was a friend? The mere thought of such a
chance in my desperate position filled me with excited pleasure, and,
stepping forward, I stood so that the sun’s rays fell right on me as I
faced him, and I waved my hand. I thought he made some motion with his
hand in reply, but he stood in the shadow of the trees, and was too far
off for me to see him clearly. Then I waved my hand again, beckoning
him to come to me, and had time to do no more before the four soldiers
began to move, and I had to step back under shelter and watch them.

Apparently they had resolved to make a dash for the cottage, in the
endeavour to capture me with a rush. But they should never reach the
place alive. I calculated that I should have time for two shots with
the carbine and half-a-dozen more with my revolver, and if I could not
empty the four saddles my hand and eye and nerve had lost their cunning
indeed.

They crossed into the field, and seeing that there were no windows in
the end of the building from which I could fire upon them, they kept
out of range until they were in a line with the end, and then began
their advance. A shrewd enough plan, had I been a fool to be caught
unawares, or a coward afraid to expose myself to their rickety fire.
But I was neither, and creeping out at the front I was in a position to
take a kneeling shot at them before they started the advance. I don’t
think they even saw me, for there was a relic of what had once been a
palisade projecting from the end of the house, which gave an excellent
cover, and I waited till they were well within range before I fired.
One of them fell forward, and I had reloaded and was taking careful aim
for my second shot, when with a loud shout they pulled up hastily and
made ready to fire in their turn.

I didn’t give them time to shoot before I fired again, and again
brought one of them out of his saddle. This reduced the number
to two, and neither of them had any relish for the business. They
discharged their pieces at random, wheeled about suddenly, and galloped
back faster than they had advanced. I had given them an excellent
object-lesson in the value of good shooting, and I stood watching them
in moody curiosity to see what they would do next.

Then I heard the sound of a galloping horse from the other end of the
cottage, and when I ran back quickly to learn the cause I had indeed a
joyful surprise. It was the horseman I had seen in the distance.

“Took you in the rear, Count,” said a deep voice I knew so well; and
the next instant Zoiloff and I stood hand-locked, his stern face aglow
with pleasure and I with more delight in my heart than either words or
eyes could tell. Never could a friend have been so welcome, and none
more welcome than Zoiloff. I was so moved that I could not even find
words to ask the news which I was burning to learn. He saw this, and
said:

“All is well with the Princess. She is safe at Nish, waiting for you.”
I wrung his hand afresh in my delight.

“Never did beleaguered force hear better news,” I said.

“The beleaguered force is doubled now,” he answered, smiling. “Though I
can’t say it seems to need strengthening, judging by results. But now
we had best be off, for the country between here and the frontier is
like a rabbit-warren with the swarming troops. We shall probably have
to hide, for we can’t hold this place till nightfall, and I very much
doubt if we can get through the pass in daylight.”

“I have a permit that will carry us through,” I said; “but I have no
horse to carry it on.”

“I’ll soon mend that,” he answered, and without a word he mounted again
and set off at a gallop toward the two soldiers, who stood together
holding the horses of their wounded comrades by the bridles. What
followed was a gleam of farce in the tragedy that surrounded us. The
men seeing him coming were instantly filled with alarm, for my work had
told its tale well enough on their nerves, and after making a show of
resistance and firing their carbines at him with scarcely a pretence of
taking aim, they plunged their spurs into their animals and shot away
trying to lead the other horses with them. But Zoiloff gained at every
stride, and when he fired his revolver after them they cast off the
led horses and themselves fled for their lives in sheer scatterbrained
fright. He had no difficulty in capturing one of the horses, and came
cantering back to me smiling and victorious.

“What rabbits,” he said contemptuously.

“What a happy thought of yours,” I replied, as I mounted, and we stole
off, keeping the cottage between us and the still flying soldiers.

“Shall we make a dash for it and risk everything; or shall we try and
hide? Those curs will soon be after us with a larger pack in full cry,
and we may find it difficult to hide.”

“We’ll push straight for the frontier,” I answered, “and trust to old
Kolfort’s signature to get us through. The patrols seem to be in very
small numbers, and if there’s any trouble we can show fight. But now
tell me what has happened, for I am on fire with impatience to hear
everything.”

“Happily there’s little enough to tell, for by some means we managed
to escape all interference, and under your fellow Markov’s guidance
we reached the frontier without let or question. There was plenty of
uneasiness after we left you as to whether we should be pursued; but
thanks, I suppose, to your ruse, we were not followed, and the only
trouble afterwards was in the frontier pass. It was only watched in the
loosest manner in the world, and as Markov knew his business thoroughly
he had us all past the lookout before they had even a suspicion of
our presence. It was only a matter of a quick gallop then for a bit
and we got through. I went on to Nish with the Princess, who was much
fatigued of course, and it was at her urgent request, when you did not
come yesterday, that I returned to see if I could hear any tidings of
you. My uniform saved me from any trouble, and I was intending to go
to Sofia, when I heard the firing and stopped to see what it meant, I
saw you stand out in the sun glare just now, and though I could not
definitely recognise you at such a distance I made a guess it was you,
and rode up on the chance.”

“You left the Princess well?”

“In all save her anxiety for you; and that we may hope to remove in a
few hours now. But how have you fared?”

I told him the story, and he listened with many an approving smile and
nod, looking stern and serious at the story of the Countess Bokara’s
suicide, and laughing at the trick I had served old Kolfort.

“After all that, we are not going to be stopped now,” he said at the
close; “although we shall have need of clear heads and perhaps quick
hands before we are through. But we shall know soon. You see that
narrow road climbing the hill yonder, with that small station-house
about half-way up. Well, the frontier line runs close ahead of that;”
and he pointed to the spot. “Hullo! who comes?” he added a minute
later, as we turned a bend of the road and came upon two or three
horse-soldiers.

We were riding at a brisk canter, and did not rein up until they
challenged us. Seeing Zoiloff’s uniform they saluted him, but the
leader turned to me and asked for my permit.

“I am on special service,” I said quietly, producing the permit.
He read it, returned it to me, drew back for us to proceed, and we
cantered on without having wasted a minute.

“You had your wits about you when you got that paper,” said Zoiloff,
laughing. “If those fellows had only known what that special service
was, we should have had a brush with them. Let’s hope that those at the
barrier will be as easily satisfied.”

“It’s a nasty-looking road,” said I, when we reached the foot of the
long tortuous hill. “We’d better spare the cattle in case of a bother,”
and we pulled up to a walking pace. I scanned the station-house closely
as we came in sight of it.

“I wish to Heaven it was night. We could steal up that path there,”
said Zoiloff, pointing to the right of the road. “That’s how Markov
managed it. It leads out again about twenty or thirty yards on this
side of the station-house yonder, and we rattled through at a gallop.”

“How many men are stationed there, do you think?”

“I couldn’t see more than half-a-dozen or so all told this morning when
I passed, and I stopped intentionally and chatted with the officer in
command. But in a narrow place like this six men can do a lot.”

“I see there’s a telegraph-wire. I hope the General hasn’t managed to
send a message,” I returned uneasily.

“I should think not, judging by the ease with which those men below
there were satisfied. But I mean to get through. Once past the
station-house, and we haven’t more than two or three hundred yards to
gallop before we’re in Servia. But I confess I never thought of the
telegraph,” and Zoiloff shook his head.

“Well, we’ll try the papers first and the pistols afterwards, in case
of need. And they won’t find it easy to stop us.”

But as we drew closer I saw what Zoiloff meant about the ease with
which a handful of resolute men could hold such a spot.

“They’ve turned out to receive us,” he said, as we saw an officer
posting men to block the road. “He won’t attempt to stop me, I expect,
and while you’re showing him your permit I’ll edge past and try to
get the men out of their order so as to leave a gap for you to dash
through. Then I’ll follow you, and they may hesitate about firing on
me.”

“Very well; but we can’t make much of a plan. Probably I may find it
best to appear to yield at first and then wait for the moment to make
the rush;” and with that we rode on slowly, watching the men ahead
of us closely, but laughing and chatting together as though the last
thought in our heads was of any chance of being stopped. And we were
both laughing heartily as at some joke when the officer in command met
Zoiloff with a salute and turned to address me.

“Your permit, sir, if you please,” he said courteously, but as I
thought with a glance of suspicion.

“Certainly,” I replied, and I took it out and handed it to him. As
he read it Zoiloff pushed forward and entered into conversation with
the men. There were only five of them, making six with the officer,
as Zoiloff had said, and they were on foot. I saw him push his horse
between the two at the end of the short line, and then as he chatted he
coolly turned his horse broadside on the road, thus making a big gap.
It was cleverly done, and he sat there saying something which made the
men laugh.

“This mentions no name, sir,” said the officer, looking up from the
paper. “May I inquire your name?”

“Certainly. I am the Hon. Gerald Winthrop, an Englishman.” The reply
perplexed him.

“An Englishman? And on special service for General Kolfort? I don’t
wish to appear impertinent, but have you another name?”

“I am also a Roumanian Count--Count Benderoff.”

“Ah!” His tone told me at once that he had had some instructions about
me, and I began to prepare for emergencies. “I am placed in an awkward
position, Count, but I’m afraid I cannot allow you to pass.”

“My business is very urgent, lieutenant.”

“The delay will probably be only a brief one. I am expecting a
messenger from General Kolfort, and I thought you were probably from
him. No doubt the moment he arrives you will be at liberty to proceed.
But you’ll understand my position.”

“The consequences of stopping me may be serious.”

“So may be those of allowing you to pass, Count. But in any case I have
no alternative.”

“But I have ridden straight from General Kolfort himself, who handed me
the permit personally.”

“My instructions have come over the wires, and within the last few
minutes; and they are imperative not to allow you to pass until the
General himself or those he is sending shall arrive. If you will
dismount I will try to make the delay as little irksome as possible,
though one’s resources in a God-forsaken place like this are not
abundant.”

“Do you mean you wish to arrest me?” I asked quickly.

“Certainly not. You are at liberty to return if you please; my
instructions are merely not to allow you to pass the frontier.”

“Quiet, mare!” I called to my horse, which was fidgeting and plunging
restlessly, as I touched her secretly with my heel, making it difficult
for him to lay his hand on the bridle. Then I laughed as if the thing
were a joke, and I gave Zoiloff a look. He understood it, and began to
edge his horse so as to leave room for me to pass.

“It’s very ridiculous,” I said to the officer, who had drawn a little
away from me, “but I suppose there’s no help for it; and in any case I
shall be glad of some breakfast.”

“I shall be delighted to be your host,” he replied, without a suspicion
of my intention; and he called to one of the men to come and hold my
horse.

This made the gap in their rank larger than ever; and, causing my
horse to fidget and strain at the bit, I suddenly slackened the reins,
plunged my heels into her flanks, and darted away up the hill as fast
as she could gallop.

“Hallo! She’s run away with him!” said Zoiloff; and he wheeled round
and dashed after me.

It was some seconds before the officer realised how we had fooled him.
Then we heard the order given to fire after us, and the next instant
the report of the guns rang out, echoing and re-echoing among the crags
on either side of the narrow gorge.

The bullets whistled by me; and, glancing back, I saw that Zoiloff was
following all right. A second volley was fired, but not until we had
already passed the frontier; and I did not draw rein till I was nearly
to the crest of the hill and within sight of the Servian station-house
over the crest. Then I found that Zoiloff was not so close to me as he
should have been, and I halted to wait for him. Below him I saw the
officer and two of the men had mounted and were in hot pursuit.

Zoiloff was leaning forward curiously in the saddle, sitting very
loosely, and his horse could hardly move. I rode back to him, filled
with alarm.

He looked up as I neared, and I saw his face was bloodless. He tried to
wave to me to go forward, but his hand fell listlessly.

“Are you wounded, friend?” I asked.

“No--at least not much. Go on!” he said, his voice weak and faint; and
his horse was staggering so that I thought it would fall. Meanwhile the
men behind were coming up quickly.

“Come on to my horse,” I cried, my heart sick with pain and fear
for him, as I rode to his side and tried to lift him off. But at
that moment his horse went down heavily, and only with the greatest
difficulty did I save Zoiloff from an ugly fall.

In a moment I dismounted. There was no time now to mount with him on my
horse, so I laid him under cover of his own fallen animal and turned
with bitter rage in my heart to check the men behind us, as well as to
revenge the hurt of my staunch friend, who had given himself to save me.

Snatching the carbine from my saddle, I knelt down, and, firing over
the prone horse, I aimed at the foremost rider, who fell in a huddled
mass on to his horse’s shoulder and then dropped to the ground.

I was ramming home another cartridge as the other two halted and took
aim. I crouched under shelter of the horse, and felt him quiver and
kick feebly as one of the bullets plugged into him; and then the men
came dashing forward again.

But not for many strides, for my second shot sent the officer toppling
out of his saddle heavily to the rough road. I loaded again instantly,
for the sight of Zoiloff’s death-white face and the thought of his
wound maddened me so that I could have killed a dozen men in cold blood
to avenge him.

The remaining trooper had little stomach for any further fight,
however, and he reined up and stood irresolute.

“Go back, if you care for your life,” I called to him. “We are on
Servian ground, and you have no right to pursue me.” He was afraid for
his own skin to come on, and yet afraid for duty’s sake to turn back,
and I saw him open his carbine at the breech to reload.

I did not give him time to do that, however, before I fired. I missed
the man, but struck his weapon, shattering it in his hand. This was
much more convincing than any words, and, recognising his unarmed
helplessness, he wheeled his horse round and rode off back down the
hill.

I had won; but what a price had the victory cost!

I bent over my wounded friend, my heart sick with my grief.

“Fly!” he whispered. Wounded sorely as he was, his thoughts were all
for me and none for himself.

“There is no need, my dear friend. There’s no one to follow us. Can you
bear for me to lift you on to my horse? We’re safe.”

“I’m glad. I’m not hurt much,” he whispered, trying to smile.

I lifted him in my arms, and, drawing my horse to a stone by the side
of the road, managed to mount with him; and then, saving him all in my
power from the jolting of the horse, I walked up the rest of the hill
and over to the Servian station-house.

The men turned out to meet us.

“My friend is sorely wounded,” said I.

“I heard the firing, but my orders are not to interfere,” said the
officer in command.

“The outrage was committed on Servian territory,” I replied.

“I have strict orders not to cause any trouble with the Bulgarians just
at present,” he said, as if by way of apologetic explanation of his not
having come to my aid. “We don’t inquire too closely into what is done
east of the station-house.”

“Can you give me a place where my friend can rest?”

He looked uneasy at the question and hesitated.

“Can’t he bear any further journey?”

“He is badly wounded, sir,” I returned, with some indignation.

“I can do better than give him a bed here. My men shall carry him on a
litter down to the village at the foot of the hill, where there is a
priest who knows something of surgery, and he can get medical aid.”

“As quick as you can, for God’s sake!” I said.

Poor Zoiloff had fainted, and lay helpless in my arms, his head resting
on my shoulder.

The men lifted him gently off the horse, the litter was brought out,
and I helped to place him in it.

“I’m afraid I needn’t ask for his papers,” said the officer, as the men
moved off.

I showed him my English passport, as clearing the way for me, and, with
a mere glance at it, he returned it.

“I hope you will have better news than I fear of your friend,” he said
warmly.

I could not answer him; I was too broken with this new trouble. I
followed the mournful little procession, and I am not ashamed to say
that as I watched it and gazed at the white face in the litter my eyes
were more than once half blinded by tears.




CHAPTER XXXII

“GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN”


Down in that lonely Servian village, nestling beautifully at the foot
of a range of hills, a scene followed, inexpressibly sad and mournful
to me.

We carried Zoiloff to the house of the priest, a man whose heart was as
large as his means were straitened, and together we laid my poor friend
on the low truckle bed in the barely furnished room. I helped while the
examination of his wounds was made, watching the priest’s face with an
anxiety that cannot be put in words.

“How did it happen?” he whispered.

“A gunshot wound somewhere in the back, I fear,” I told him.

But there was no need for this explanation, for the blood guided him to
the wound easily enough.

“The ball has passed through his body and through his right lung.”

“Is there any hope?” I asked, my own heart answering the question
before it was asked. He shook his head sadly.

“On this earth none,” he said. He stopped the bleeding, which was
comparatively slight.

“There is very little blood,” I said, hoping against hope.

“The bleeding is internal. No man can save him. I have done all that
can be done. Let us pray for him.”

He laid my friend back on the bed with a touch as deft and gentle as
a woman’s, and kneeling by the bedside, he began to pray earnestly
and fervently, in a soft voice rich with the rare gem of unaffected
sympathy. Following his example, I knelt on the other side of the bed,
and, with my face buried in my hands, I tried to follow his prayers
through the tumult of my thronging emotions at the knowledge that this
brave, staunch friend must die, and that it was his friendship that had
cost him his life.

How long the good priest prayed I know not, but after a time I was
conscious that the rich, sweet voice had ceased, and when I looked up I
was alone with my dying comrade.

I got up from my knees, and placing the one rush chair by the bed,
sat down to watch for the end and wait lest he should return to
consciousness.

A short time later the priest looked in and beckoned me.

“The men who carried your friend here are still waiting; shall I keep
them any longer?” I placed my purse in his hands to give them what he
would, merely asking him to reward them generously.

“Will he recover consciousness?” I asked.

“It were better not, but he is in God’s hands,” he answered reverently;
and I stole back to my chair to resume my vigil.

He looked already like a dead man, and I had to hold my ear close to
his mouth before I could catch the faintest sign of his breathing.
I felt for the pulse and could detect no flicker of it, and then I
laid my fingers gently over his heart. The beats were barely to be
discerned. As I drew my hand away I came upon a secret. A dead flower
bound by a wisp of faded ribbon was fastened close to his heart, both
flower and ribbon dabbled with his blood.

The sight of the little withered memorial of a dead passion, so wholly
unexpected in one I had found so hard and stern, affected me deeply.
I held it a moment, wondering what lay behind, and where and who was
the woman whose heart would be stricken by the blow of his death even
as sorely as mine would be. Then I laid it so that it rested on his
faithful heart, and, taking his hand, sat with it in mine.

The hours passed uncounted by me. Once or twice the good priest came
back to the room, and at length, when Zoiloff showed no sign of a
return to consciousness, he administered the last rites of the Church.
The sacrament was placed between the nerveless lips, and the priest and
I joined in the solemn ceremonial.

“He will not last long. I am surprised he is still alive,” he said,
when the simple, beautiful ceremony was over. “God be merciful to him!”

When the priest left the room I followed and asked for some brandy, as
I thought there might be some last message Zoiloff might wish to send
by me, and I hoped to rouse a final flicker of strength for the purpose.

I poured a few drops into his mouth with a spoon, and after a few
minutes gave him a second dose. I detected, as I thought, some signs of
a rally of strength, and gave him more, and sat with his hand in mine
and my eyes on his face and waited.

“Zoiloff, Zoiloff, my dear friend!” I called gently.

To my delight his eyelids quivered slightly, and after a moment or
two they opened and he looked at me. He recognised me, and his mouth
moved as if to smile, and I felt a slight, very slight, pressure of
the hand. I gave him more of the spirit, and it appeared to lend him a
little strength.

His lips moved as if to speak and his eyes brightened.

I felt his hand move in mine as if he would lift it, and, guessing
his wish, I lifted it to his heart so that the fingers could feel the
little treasure of love that lay there. His fingers closed over it, and
he smiled again. But his strength would not suffer him to hold his arm
up, so I propped it up, that the hand might rest on the flower.

“Can you hear me, Zoiloff? Do you know me?”

His lips moved and his eyes seemed to assent.

“Can I carry any message for you?” and I laid my fingers on the dead
flower to show my meaning, and then bent my ear down to his mouth.

He seemed to make a great effort to speak, and I caught a struggling of
the breath, as I held my own in the eager strain to listen. But finding
he could not speak I gave him a few drops more of the brandy, now
convinced that he wished to say something.

“Have you any message, dear friend?” I asked again, as I bent down.

There came another pause of effort and then I caught a word.

“Christina’s,” and I felt the fingers near his heart close on the
flower.

In an instant the full knowledge of his heroic sacrifice rushed upon
me. He loved Christina; and in the nobleness of his self-denying love
he had given his life that mine should be saved for her.

I grasped his other hand and held it, as I pressed my lips to his
marble forehead.

Then I saw his lips move again.

“Leave it,” and the movement of his fingers near his heart told me what
he meant.

“On my honour, Zoiloff,” I said earnestly. “God bless you! the
staunchest friend man ever had. I never dreamt of this.”

“Don’t tell her,” he whispered, trying to shake his head. Then I felt
his hand try to lift mine, and, divining his wish, I laid mine to his
lips, and he kissed it. This effort exhausted the little reserve of
strength, and with a sigh his eyes closed, and his hand slipped utterly
nerveless and flaccid from mine.

I thought he was gone; but he was not, and when I held a glass to his
lips there was a faint dulling with his breath. Taking his hand again
in mine, I waited for the end.

He lingered perhaps an hour longer till the twilight began to gloom
the little chamber, and I was hoping that he would pass away in this
peaceful slumber of unconsciousness, when I heard his breath strengthen
suddenly. He opened his eyes; the fingers on the flower at his heart
tightened into almost a firm clasp; a quiver shook his body, and
raising his head slightly from the pillow, he cried in a voice strong
enough to surprise and for an instant give me hope:

“Christina, Chris----” The word was not finished before the spasm of
strength was spent, and he fell back again with a deep sigh.

He was dead; and I thank God that in the last struggle of his strong
brave soul to escape he had been comforted by the love which had
controlled and impulsed every act and motive of his life, and which
he had carried locked away from the knowledge of all the world in the
deepest recess of his loyal, noble heart.

If I had treasured him as a friend in his life, I loved him in his
self-denying death; and when I had satisfied myself that he had really
passed, I flung myself on my knees by his bier and wept like a woman.

The room was dark when I rose from my uncontrollable passion of grief,
and I pressed my lips to his cold forehead before I drew the sheet over
the dead face and left the room.




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE END


It was with a heavy heart that I mounted my horse and, accompanied by a
guide whom the priest found for me, set out that night for the railway
station to take the train to Nish. Even the thought that the morrow
would see me with Christina could not at first relieve the gloom of my
sorrow or take from my eyes the picture of the cold still form of my
dead friend, lying in the sombre bare room in the priest’s house. I had
left him full instructions for sending on the body to Nish, and had
given him a sum of money which made him glad with the thought of all
the charities he could dispense among the poor of the village.

But youth is youth and love is love, and as the miles passed which
brought me nearer to Christina the drear mournfulness of my grief for
the dead began to lose its blackness beneath the glamour of my love
for the living. It was a sad tale I had to carry her after all, and
though in obedience to my comrade’s dying wish I could tell her nothing
of his love for her, I knew how she would mourn his loss. But love is
selfish; and when at length I reached Nish my heart was beating fast
with the throbbing of the delicious, delirious knowledge that we were
close together again, with no obstacle to bar the mutual avowal of our
passion, and no need to dread another parting.

It was far too late when I arrived for me to seek her that night, and
I myself was so spent with my experiences of the last thirty hours that
I was glad to throw myself on a bed. Excited though I was, I slept
soundly for some hours, and did not awake until the sun had long been
streaming into my room.

I hurried, of course, to the British Consul for tidings of Christina.
He told me she was staying in his house, and, at my request, sent at
once to tell her I had arrived.

“There is great news this morning, Mr. Winthrop,” he said; “news that
will interest you as much as it has me. The Russian plot has failed.
Thanks largely to my colleague, the English Consul at Philippopoli,
General Mountkoroff has declared for the Prince, and he is even at this
minute marching on Sofia with the flower of the Bulgarian army against
the traitors who sold themselves to this Kolfort and Russia.”

“Will the Prince return then?”

“Assuredly he will. The Powers will stand behind Mountkoroff, and
Russia will not venture to resist.”

“Then my friend Lieutenant Spernow will be safe,” I said, describing
briefly the plight in which I had left him.

“You need not have a moment’s uneasiness. Russian influence for
the moment will decline to zero, and the Prince’s friends will be
paramount.”

“Will you telegraph at once for news of him?”

“Willingly;” and he went at once to give his instructions. The result
was all I could have wished, and later in the day telegrams arrived
from Spernow himself, saying that both he and Mademoiselle Broumoff
were safe.

“The Princess Christina is ready to receive you,” he said when he came
back. “Will you come with me?”

I followed him with heart beating high, and, as if he understood how
matters were, he opened the door of a room and stood back for me to
enter alone.

She had been eagerly watching for my coming, but, thinking that
perhaps the Consul would be with me, she had put a strong restraint
upon herself, and stood waiting in an attitude of reserve. But the
colour mantling her cheeks, and the bright glow in her eyes, told me
her feelings, and as soon as she saw me enter by myself she ran to
meet me, and with a glad cry threw herself into my arms with the utter
self-abandonment of love.

It was no moment for speech, and many minutes passed with nothing more
than an exclamation or two of delight or a few softly breathed words
of passion. All thoughts of the dangers passed, the anxieties still
present, even of my poor dead friend, were lost, and merged in the
ecstasy of holding in my arms the woman I loved beyond all else on
earth, looking into her eyes glowing with love for me, hearing my name
whispered in her moving voice, and feeling her lips pressed to mine.
It was a moment of love rapture, and so untellable in any language but
that which love itself speaks.

When at length we drew apart, the first wild rush of excitement past,
and sat hand-locked to talk, I saw how anxiety and suspense had paled
her, and how deeply she had suffered.

She listened intently to the story of my experiences since we had
parted; and the ebbing and flowing colour, the passing light and
shadow in her eyes, and the quick catches in her breath told of varied
feelings which the recital roused. When I came to the sad story of
poor gallant Zoiloff’s wound and death, she was moved to tears of deep
and tender regret. But we were lovers and but just reunited, and the
interchange of sympathies and mutual comfort in this our first sorrow
in common served to awake a fresh chord in the rhythmic harmony of our
love.

For her friend, Mademoiselle Broumoff, she was still full of tender
concern, and it was a cause of rare happiness that, while we were still
together--for the interview lasted some hours--the news came over the
wires telling us that she and Spernow were safe, and coming post haste
to join us at Nish.

There was but one shadow, besides Zoiloff’s death, that hovered in the
background. The question whether she would feel it her duty to return
to Sofia. I asked her with some dread.

“I have been thinking of it while we talked, and since you told me
of the turn which matters have taken,” she said, her voice low and
anxious, as if she were undecided.

I remembered my despatch to the Foreign Office urging that support
should be given to her. But it was not in my power to wish that she
should go; for I knew that it might still mean the breaking asunder of
our paths in life.

“What do you think, Gerald?”

“I cannot think on such a subject, I can only fear,” I replied in a
tone as low and tense as her own. “I might lose you then.”

“Shall the woman or the Princess answer it?” she asked, her face all
womanly with the light of love.

“The lover, Christina,” I whispered.

“Then it is answered: my place is here,” she said softly. “The woman
is stronger than the Princess where you are concerned, Gerald; or
should I say weaker?” she added, smiling up to me.

“We will leave it soon for the wife to decide the term,” said I, and
the answer brought a vivid blush to her face. But it pleased her, for
she sighed happily as she let her head sink contentedly on my shoulder.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is six years since the stirring events happened of which I have just
written, sitting at my study table in my lovely English home. As I lay
the pen down and close my eyes in reverie two memory pictures come
before me. The one black-edged with the gloom of sorrow and death, the
other radiant with the glowing promise of since realised happiness.

In that far away Servian town the bearers have just set down a coffin
by the side of a freshly-dug grave. The priest is reading the funeral
service; the white-robed choristers cluster near him; Spernow and I
stand side by side at the foot of the grave listening to the words
as they fall in rhythmic chant from the priest’s lips, and thinking
of the gallant comrade whose bones are being lowered to their last
resting-place, and I of the strange secret of his hopeless, noble,
self-denying love that is being buried with him. The final moment
comes. The sturdy bearers lift the coffin and lower it, and pull up
the ropes with a rasp that sounds like the severing of all hope; the
earth is cast down by the priest and falls clattering on the lid, and
the service goes on to its melancholy finish. The priest pronounces the
last words of prayer and blessing; stands a moment with covered face
in silent prayer, and then turns away, followed by the little choir.
Spernow and I move forward to take the last look at the coffin--a
long, lingering, memory-fraught look--and when we in our turn move
sadly away and our eyes meet, I see that my companion’s are wet with
tears. Poor, brave, noble Zoiloff, lying in that far away lonely grave!

In the other picture Spernow and I are again among the chief figures,
but not alone now. Nathalie is by his side, Christina by mine. Again
there is the same priest and the same choir, but we stand in the lofty
chancel of a stately church, and the words are not of death but of
marriage. Around us a small group is gathered, well-wishers, relatives,
and friends, with faces bright with gladness and tongues eager to burst
out with noisy congratulations and fervent wishes for our happiness.
And when the blessing has been given, and we lead our brides down the
aisle, the mighty building resounds with the pealing notes of the
organ, and we leave the church through groups of curiously garbed men
and women.

And at that point my reverie is broken by sounds of children’s prattle.
I look out on to the sunlit lawn to where Christina is kneeling and
listening with a smile to the cheery chatter of our two children. All
is warmth, peace, love, and rest in my English life now; and, as I
glance at my dear ones, I thank Heaven with fervent gratitude that they
are not destined to aspire to the dangerous splendour and evanescent
glory of a minor Throne. I get up quietly, and stepping through the
window into the sunlight, am hailed with a cry and rush of delight from
my little darlings and a welcome of love light from the eyes of my
beautiful wife.


THE END.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67546 ***