High Noon Part 24

Then he straightened himself, and picking up the lamp led the way back into the house.

By this time Natalie, though very pale and still shaken, was quite composed. Indeed, she was now more self-possessed than her brother.

She was doing her utmost to quiet his still painful agitation.

Paul looked into her face, and seeing how strong and resolute it was, felt no hesitation in speaking before her.

"Sir," he said very quietly to Peter, "Boris is dead."

Peter glanced at him quickly and then turned to his sister.

"Thank heaven!" he cried.

"Hush," said Natalie, gently, and taking her brother by the arm she pointed to Madame Estelle.

Andrieff had done what he could, and the unhappy woman had, to some extent, come back to consciousness.

She was indeed sufficiently alive to catch Paul's words. She brought her fast fading eyes down from the ceiling and searched his face.

"Boris!" she muttered to herself: "Boris!"

Paul drew near and knelt down by the couch. He took one of her hands, which was even then growing cold.

"Boris?" she asked again in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

Paul put his mouth down to her ear and said slowly, "He is dead."

The shock of the news acted on the woman in a most extraordinary way.

With a convulsive movement she suddenly gathered herself together and sat bolt upright on the couch. She would have fallen back again had not Paul caught her in his arms.

The woman opened her mouth and made two or three efforts before she spoke again, and then she only breathed the word "Boris!"

Paul's gaze wandered over the side-board.

"See if you can find any brandy," he said to Andrieff, who instantly produced a decanter.

Paul took the gla.s.s from his hand and pressed it to Madame Estelle's lips. She revived a little, and suddenly spoke clearly and in almost her normal voice.

"Sir Paul," she said, "forgive!" Then her eyes became fixed and staring, and it was Paul who drew the dead woman's eyelids down.

"Sir Paul," said Peter, earnestly, "it is simply impossible that I shall ever be able to repay you the great service you have rendered me. But, believe me, if there is anything in the world it is within my power to give you, you have but to ask to receive it."

Paul looked across at Natalie, but said nothing. The time had not yet come when he could ask Peter for that which would a thousand times repay him.

CHAPTER XXVII

Paul never quite knew how he retraced the distance to the Vseslavitch mansion. The combined effects of the blow he had received at the hands of the treacherous servant, the fall at the gate, and the long hours of mental anguish he had undergone, were quite enough to befog his brain. He rode back reeling in his saddle, and once in his bed he stayed there for two days before he was himself again.

When he joined the others at last he found that the household had recovered its equanimity. They had feared at first some serious consequences as a result of the fight at the chateau, with three people lying dead there. But the Frenchman had apparently decided that his own precious skin would be safer if the matter were hushed up with as little ado as possible. He did not know, it appeared, that Baxter had not been killed by the shot from Boris's revolver, and he had no wish to admit any connection with that affair. Accordingly, as Peter learned later, Virot had reported to the authorities that Boris had shot Madame Estelle and Michael during a fit of jealousy, and then, seized with remorse, had taken his own life.

The whole bearing of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch and her brother had changed--Paul noticed that immediately. Now that with Boris's death the cause of their former disquiet had been removed forever they were two entirely different persons. It made Paul's heart glad to hear the buoyant note in Natalie's voice as she talked with them gaily. And his own spirits rose as well, for now, he thought, the obstacle to his suit had been brushed aside.

That day pa.s.sed quickly, for there was much to talk about. Alexis Vseslavitch was still there, for he had refused to leave while Paul seemed in any danger. And the four discussed at length the events of those two memorable nights.

That night Paul went once more with Natalie to the garden. As the soft night received them in its warm embrace, it seemed to Paul that in that spot lay all the glory of the earth, and a whole Heaven besides.

For very joy, he could have died while looking into her eyes. How madly he loved her! How beautiful she was! As he gazed at her pale face, shining forth from her dark tresses, it seemed to Paul like the very moon above, gleaming from the dusky clouds. He took her cool hand and pressed it to his eyes, till the ringing in his heart was still. All nature seemed enchanted. For a time, Paul could not speak.

He only knew that G.o.d had created men to admire the glories of the world, and that here was a wonderful night--and a no less wonderful woman.

Once more they sat down upon the bench where they had talked two short days before--but what a difference! Then his heart was sorely troubled--now all was peace.

Like a sea of life, Spring covered the world. The snowy blossom-foam fluttered on the trees; all was bathed in a wondrous hazy glow.

Everywhere miracles were working. And then Paul awoke from his dream and spoke.

"Natalie!" he said, "I cannot part from you. I have told you that I love you." And then with moist eyes and flaming lips he cried: "Be mine--and love me!"

Oh! then fell the evening gold upon Paul's soul! Like a fairy bell came the sound of her voice upon his ears:

"My Knight of Love," she said, "what wouldst thou have more?"

And at those words, Paul folded her within his arms.

Later as they sat there in the moonlight, she told Paul more of the unworthy marriage which had been so nearly forced upon her; how Boris being heir-apparent of a Balkan state--Sovna--had been able to enlist the help of the Tsar in coercing her. Many of the Sovnian subjects were Slavs who had emigrated from her own province and the Tsar felt that such a union would do much toward cementing the friendship between the two countries. As for Boris, political reasons had little to do with the suit. Her fortune was all he cared for. And at the thought of his perfidy, so nearly triumphant, she trembled anew with horror.

And then as Paul comforted her, he told her with amus.e.m.e.nt how he had interpreted the note that she had written him in Paris--that he had thought her a secret agent of the Dalmatian government.

The lady laughed at that.

"And when, pray, were you disillusioned?" she asked him. "Two days ago you called me 'Princess'--in the garden here. How did you know that?"

Paul looked at her in amazement.

"Princess!" he repeated. And then he remembered that he had used the word--as an endearing name, that seemed so well to fit his love.

"What do you mean, my Natalie?" he cried. "Are you really of royal blood?"

"Yes, Paul," she answered. "You did not know it then? I wanted to appear to you as a commoner--just a normal, every day woman. And see!

you loved me when you thought I was a mere servant! That is the wonderful part of it all to me."

Yet Paul's heart sank as the possible meaning of the news started forth to his consciousness. Was not her rank an impa.s.sable barrier between them? he asked himself. Must he again return to England to drag out the rest of life alone, with his love the width of a continent away?

He asked these things with a rush of words that fell from his trembling lips.

"Ah, Paul!" the lady said, caressingly, "fear not. I am tired of being only a princess! The world sees but the glittering show of royalty, and does not know it for the sham it really is. The trappings, the gorgeous robes that kings and queens a.s.sume when they are crowned hide bleeding hearts and sorrowful b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I have seen too much of the cares of state--the awful tragedy--the bitter grief. Long since I decided that I would have no more of it. Better a dinner of herbs, where love is, you know. And so Peter and I came here to this quiet spot--the old home of my mother--and took her name. And here we thought to live like simple gentle-folk, till Boris broke rudely into our Arcadia.