Beverly of Graustark Part 5

"By the way, will you have dinner served in your room?" very good-humoredly.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to eat in the public dining-room," said she. A few minutes later Beverly was sitting upon one of her small trunks and Aunt f.a.n.n.y was laboriously brushing her dark hair.

"It's very jolly being a princess," murmured Miss Calhoun. She had bathed her face in one of the leather buckets from the coach, and the dust of the road had been brushed away by the vigorous lady-in-waiting.

"Yas, ma'am, Miss--yo' highness, hit's monstrous fine fo' yo', but whar is Ah goin' to sleep? Out yondah, wif all dose scalawags?" said Aunt f.a.n.n.y, rebelliously.

"You shall have a bed in here, Aunt f.a.n.n.y," said Beverly.

"Dey's de queeres' lot o' tramps Ah eveh did see, an' Ah wouldn' trust 'em 's fer as Ah could heave a brick house."

"But the leader is such a very courteous gentleman," remonstrated Beverly.

"Yas, ma'am; he mussa came f'm Gawgia or Kaintuck," was Aunt f.a.n.n.y's sincere compliment.

The pseudo-princess dined with the vagabonds that night. She sat on the log beside the tall leader, and ate heartily of the broth and broiled goatmeat, the grapes and the nuts, and drank of the spring water which took the place of wine and coffee and cordial. It was a strange supper amid strange environments, but she enjoyed it as she had never before enjoyed a meal. The air was full of romance and danger, and her imagination was enthralled. Everything was so new and unreal that she scarcely could believe herself awake. The world seemed to have gone back to the days of Robin Hood and his merry men.

"You fare well at the Inn of the Hawk and Raven," she said to him, her voice tremulous with excitement. He looked mournfully at her for a moment and then smiled naively.

"It is the first wholesome meal we have had in two days," he replied.

"You don't mean it!"

"Yes. We were lucky with the guns to-day. Fate was kind to us--and to you, for we are better prepared to entertain royalty to-day than at any time since I have been in the hills of Graustark."

"Then you have not always lived in Graustark?"

"Alas, no, your highness. I have lived elsewhere."

"But you were born in the princ.i.p.ality?"

"I am a subject of its princess in heart from this day forth, but not by birth or condition. I am a native of the vast domain known to a few of us as Circ.u.mstance," and he smiled rather recklessly.

"You are a poet, a delicious poet," cried Beverly, forgetting herself in her enthusiasm.

"Perhaps that is why I am hungry and unshorn. It had not occurred to me in that light. When you are ready to retire, your highness," he said, abruptly rising, "we shall be pleased to consider the Inn of the Hawk and Raven closed for the night. Having feasted well, we should sleep well. We have a hard day before us. With your consent, I shall place my couch of gra.s.s near your door. I am the porter. You have but to call if anything is desired."

She was tired, but she would have sat up all night rather than miss any of the strange romance that had been thrust upon her. But Sir Red-feather's suggestion savored of a command and she reluctantly made her way to the flapping blanket that marked the entrance to the bed-chamber. He drew the curtain aside, swung his hat low and muttered a soft goodnight.

"May your highness's dreams be pleasant ones!" he said.

"Thank you," said she, and the curtain dropped impertinently. "That was very cool of him, I must say," she added, as she looked at the wavering door.

When she went to sleep, she never knew; she was certain that her eyes were rebellious for a long time and that she wondered how her gray dress would look after she had slept in it all night. She heard low singing as if in the distance, but after a while the stillness became so intense that its pressure almost suffocated her. The rush of the river grew louder and louder and there was a swishing sound that died in her ears almost as she wondered what it meant. Her last waking thoughts were of the "black-patch" poet. Was he lying near the door?

She was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of her chamber door. Startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes to pierce the mysterious darkness. Aunt f.a.n.n.y, on her bed of gra.s.s, stirred convulsively, but did not awake. The blackness of the strange chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without, and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her that a thunderstorm was brewing. The wind was rising, and the night seemed agog with excitement. Beverly crept from her couch and felt her way to the fluttering doorway. Drawing aside the blanket she peered forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. Her highness was very much afraid of thunder and lightning.

The fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few glowing embers. These were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a steady red light over the scene. There was but one human figure in sight. Beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. He was hatless and coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. Seemingly oblivious to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at his feet. His face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable in the faint glow from the fire. To her amazement the black patch was missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its presence there at any time. There was no mark or blemish upon or about the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming in the red glow from below. Moreover, Beverly saw that he was strikingly handsome--a strong, manly face. The highly imaginative southern girl's mind reverted to the first portraits of Napoleon she had seen.

Suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered some strange words. Then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. She fell back breathless. He stopped just outside, and she knew that he was listening for sounds from within. After many minutes she stealthily looked forth again. He was standing near the fire, his back toward her, looking off into the night.

The wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush of shivery coolness. Constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. Tall reeds along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves gently to and from the wind. In the lowlands down from the cave "will o'

the wisps" played tag with "Jack o' the lanterns," merrily scampering about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous Brocken scene. Low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. The secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night; tales of many climes pa.s.sed through the ears of Nature.

From gentle undulations the marshland reeds swept into lower dips, danced wilder minuets, lashed each other with infatuated glee, mocking the whistle of the wind with an angry swish of their tall bodies.

Around the cornices of the Inn of the Hawk and Raven scurried the singing breezes, reluctant to leave a playground so pleasing to the fancy. Soon the night became a cauldron, a surging, hissing, roaring receptacle in which were mixing the ingredients of disaster. Night-birds flapped through the moaning tree-tops, in search of shelter; reeds were flattened to the earth, bowing to the sovereignty of the wind; clouds roared with the rumble of a million chariots, and then the sky and the earth met in one of those savage conflicts that make all other warfare seem as play.

As Beverly sank back from the crash, she saw him throw his arms aloft as though inviting the elements to ma.s.s themselves and their energy upon his head. She shrieked involuntarily and he heard the cry above the carnage. Instantly his face was turned in her direction.

"Help! Help!" she cried. He bounded toward the swishing robes and blankets, but his impulse had found a rival in the blast. Like a flash the walls of the guest chamber were whisked away, scuttling off into the night or back into the depths of the cavern. With the deluge came the man. From among the stifling robes he s.n.a.t.c.hed her up and bore her away, she knew not whither.

CHAPTER VI

THE HOME OF THE LION

"May all storms be as pleasant as this one!" she heard someone say, with a merry laugh. The next instant she was placed soundly upon her feet. A blinding flash of lightning revealed Baldos, the goat-hunter, at her side, while a dozen shadowy figures were scrambling to their feet in all corners of the Hawk and Raven. Someone was clutching her by the dress at the knees. She did not have to look down to know that it was Aunt f.a.n.n.y.

"Goodness!" gasped the princess, and then it was pitch dark again. The man at her side called out a command in his own language, and then turned his face close to hers.

"Do not be alarmed. We are quite safe now. The royal bed-chamber has come to grief, however, I am sorry to say. What a fool I was not to have foreseen all this! The storm has been brewing since midnight," he was saying to her.

"Isn't it awful?" cried Beverly, between a moan a shriek.

"They are trifles after one gets used to them," he said. "I have come to be quite at home in the tempest. There are other things much more annoying, I a.s.sure your highness. We shall have lights in a moment."

Even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly.

"Be quiet, Aunt f.a.n.n.y; you are not killed at all," commanded Beverly, quite firmly.

"De house is suah to blow down. Miss--yo' highness," groaned the trusty maidservant. Beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall goat-hunter. He at once set about making his guest comfortable and secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. Her couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued blankets, though drenched, again became a screen.

"Do you imagine that I'm going in there while this storm rages?" Beverly demanded, as the work progressed.

"Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are."

"That's the trouble. I am afraid of it. I'd much rather stay out here where there is company. You don't mind, do you?"

"Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the first time," said he, gallantly. "Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded chairs we hear about."

"You are given to irony, I fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile on his lips.

"I crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "The heart of the goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that you are a princess and I the veriest beggar."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.

"There is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. With a mocking grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was genuine compa.s.sion in his face. "It's terrible," he said. "Never before have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but little longer."