Arms and the Woman Part 26

"And where are you going?" I asked anxiously. Hillars should not have pa.s.sed from my sight but for Gretchen.

"We'll be back shortly," he answered. "You will know all about then, my son."

He stood on the sill of the door, a handsome picture. His gray eyes sparkled, his face was full of excitement and there was a color in his cheeks. There was no sign here of the dissipated man of the night before. It was Hillars as I had seen him in the old days. But for his 19th century garb, he might have just stepped down from a frame--a gallant by Fortuny, who loved the awakened animal in man. The poise was careless, but graceful, and the smile was debonair. His eyes were holding Gretchen's. A moment pa.s.sed; another and another.

Then: "Long live and G.o.d bless her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde!" And he was gone.

And as he disappeared a shadow of some sort pa.s.sed before my eyes, and a something dull and heavy pressed upon my heart. Presently came the sound of beating hoofs, and then all became still.

Gretchen and I were alone.

Gretchen appeared to be studying the blue veins in her hands which she listlessly held before her. An interval of three or four minutes pa.s.sed, still she remained in that pathetic att.i.tude, silent and motionless.

"Gretchen," said I, "have you nothing to say?"

"Yes." Her eyes raised to the level of mine, and I saw that they were deep in tears. "Herr, I shall say to you that which I have never said to any man, and that which I shall never say to any man again. I may say it now because it is sinless. I love you! I love you, and, loving you, G.o.d knows what the future without you shall be. Yes! I love you.

Take me once in your arms and kiss me, and let me go--forever."

Then with a smile which partly shielded a sob, her arms went around my neck and her face lay close to mine. Heaven knows which was the greater, the joy or the pain.

"Gretchen, think!" I cried, distractedly. "What is a Prince or a King to you and me, who love?"

"There is honor," gently. She caressed my cheek with her fingers.

"Honor!" I cried, vehemently. "Is it honorable to marry the man you do not love and break the heart of the one you do?"

She did not answer, but her arms fell from my neck, and she approached the window. The pa.s.sing river was reflected in her eyes. Her reverie was a short one.

"Listen, Herr; I will tell you why it is honorable. The Prince and the King? I fear the one as little as I do the other. It is not the Prince, it is not the King, it is not the princ.i.p.ality. Herr, I have come near to being a very wicked woman, who was about to break the most sacred promise a sovereign can make. Before I came here a delegation of my people approached me. On bended knees they asked me not to voluntarily return the princ.i.p.ality to the King, who was likely to give them a ruler rapacious or cruel or indifferent. And while they understood what a sacrifice it meant to me, they asked me to bend my will to the King's and wed the Prince, vowing that I alone should be recognized as their sovereign ruler. Since my coronation they said that they had known the first happiness in years. Herr, it was so pathetic! I love my people, who, after all, are not adopted since I was born here. So I gave my promise, and, heaven forgive me, I was about to break it! There are some things, Herr, which the publican does not understand. One of these is the duty a sovereign owes to the people. The woman in me wishes to follow your fortunes, though they carry her to the ends of the world; but the sovereign sees but one path--honor and duty. What is one human heart to a hundred thousand?

A grain of sand. Herr, let mine be broken; I shall not murmur. Alas!

to be a princess, a puppet in this tinsel show of kings and queens! It is my word and the King's will which have made my happiness an impossibility. Though I love you, I wish never to see you again. I shall be wife but in name, yet I may not have a lover. I am not a woman of the court. I am proud of my honor, though the man who is to be my husband doubts that."

"No, Gretchen," said I, "he does not doubt it, but he wishes me to do so. I believe in your innocence as I believe in your love."

"It is sad, is it not," said she, "that we must go through our days loving each other and all the world standing between? I have never loved a man before; I did not want to love you. I did not know that I loved you till I saw that your life was in danger. Yet I am glad that I have lived for a brief second, for till a woman loves she does not live. I am brave; do you be likewise. I shall go back to the world, and who shall know of the heart of fire beneath the ice! Not even the man I love. Kiss me; it is the last kiss I shall take from the lips of any man."

And it seemed to me that our souls met in that last kiss, melted and became one. Her hands dropped to her side, and swiftly she sped from the room.

She had entered the coach. The cavalrymen were perched upon the box.

There was a crack of the lash, and the coach rolled away. I watched it, standing in the road. A cloud of yellow dust partially obscured it from view. Half a mile beyond rose a small hill. This the coach mounted, and the red gold of the smoldering sun engulfed it. Was it a face I saw at the window? Perhaps. Then over the hill all disappeared, and with it the whole world, and I stood in emptiness, alone.

Gretchen had gone.

CHAPTER XV

I was wandering aimlessly through the rose gardens, when the far-off sound of galloping hoofs came on the breeze. Nearer and nearer it drew. I ran out into the highway. I saw a horse come wildly dashing along. It was riderless, and as it came closer I saw the foam of sweat dripping from its flanks and shoulders. As the animal plunged toward me, I made a spring and caught the bridle, hanging on till the brute came to a standstill. It was quivering from fright. There was a gash on its neck, and it was bleeding and turning the white flakes of sweat into a murky crimson.

"Good Lord!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "It's one of the cavalry horses. Hillars or the innkeeper has been hurt."

I was of the mind to mount the animal and go in search of them, when Stahlberg, who had come to my a.s.sistance, said that I had best wait. A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. Then we could see another horse, perhaps half a mile away, coming toward the inn at a canter. From what I could see in the pale light, the horse carried a double burden. A sheet of ice seemed to fall on my heart. What had happened? Had Dan and the Prince come to blows? Alas, I could have cried out in anguish at the sight which finally met my gaze. The innkeeper held the reins, and, propped up in front of him, was Hillars, to all appearances dead.

"Gott!" cried the innkeeper, discovering me, "but I am glad to see you, Herr. Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly."

"My G.o.d!" I cried. The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled Hillars were drenched in blood.

"Yes. A bullet somewhere in his chest. Help me down with him. He is not dead yet. I'll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable for him."

Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and laid it on the sofa. I tore back his blood-wet shirt. The wound was slightly below the right lung. The bullet had severed an artery, for I could see that the blood gushed. We worked over him for a few moments, and then he opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled.

"There wasn't any regiment, old man, but this will suffice. My hand trembled. But he'll never use his right arm again, curse him!"

"Dan, Dan!" I cried, "what made you do it?"

"When I am a man's friend, it is in life and death. He was in the way.

He may thank liquor that he lives." The lids of his eyes contracted.

"Hurts a little, but it will not be for long, my son. I am bleeding to death inside. Jack, the woman loves you, and in G.o.d's eyes, Princess or not, she belongs to you. You and I cannot understand these things which make it impossible for a man and a woman who love each other to wed. Let me hold your hand. I feel like an old woman. Give me a mouthful of brandy. Ah, that's better! Innkeeper, your courage is not to be doubted, but your judgment of liquor is. Any way, Jack, I suppose you will not forget me in a week or so, eh?"

"Dan!" was all I could say, bending over his hand to hide my tears.

"Jack, you are not sorry?"

"Dan, you are more to me than any woman in the world."

"Oh, say! You wouldn't--hold me up a bit higher; that's it--you wouldn't have me hang on now, would you? I haven't anything to live for, no matter how you put it. Home? I never had one. The only regret I have in leaving is that the Prince will not keep me company.

Put an obol in my hand, and Charon will see me over the Styx.

"And when, like her, O Saki, you shall pa.s.s Among the guests star-scattered on the gra.s.s, And in your joyous errand, reach the spot Where I made one--turn down an empty gla.s.s!

"Well, hang me, Jack, if you aren't crying! Then you thought more of me than I believed; a man's tears mean more than a woman's. . . . A man must die, and what is a year or two? How much better to fold the tent when living becomes tasteless and the cup is full of lees! . . .

The Prince was a trifle cruel; but perhaps his hand trembled, too.

Innkeeper, you're a good fellow."

"Herr is a man of heart," said the grizzled veteran, sadly.

"Tell Jack how it happened," said Dan; "it hurts me."

On leaving me, Hillars and the innkeeper, after having taken a pair of pistols, had mounted the cavalry horses despite the protests of the owners, and had galloped away in pursuit of the Prince and Count von Walden. They caught sight of them a mile or so ahead. They were loping along at a fair speed. It took half an hour to bring the two parties within speaking distance. Although the Prince and von Walden heard them, they never turned around, but kept on straight ahead. This made Hillars' choler rise, and he spurred forward.

"One moment, gentlemen," he cried. "I have a word with you."

They galloped on unheeding. When Hillars got in front of them they merely veered to either side.

"Ah!" said Hillars, choking with rage. With a quick movement he bent and caught the bridle of the Prince's horse. The Count, seeing that the Prince was compelled to rein in, did likewise. The Prince looked disdainful.