By Wit of Woman, Arthur W. Marchmont [best books to read in your 20s .TXT] 📗

that. I will tell you all so far as it touches me. I know now that it was resolved that the young Count Stephen should die; and a quarrel was purposefully caused between him and your father. I was used at first only as a tool in the work. I had reason to know that the Duke Alexinatz was so incensed against your father, that it would go hard with him if he remained in Pesth."

"I know that it was at your persuasion that he made ready to fly from the city."

"It was true what I told him—Duke Ladislas wished him to leave, as otherwise the Duke himself might have been involved in the quarrel. He sent me direct to your father. Up to that point I was true to my friend. I would have given my life for him cheerfully—then."

"And after?"

"Count Stephen did go to your father's rooms in search of him, his blood heated with wine and the lies told by others; and it was there he was shot."

"You knew of this?"

"Nothing, until the next day; and then the story was told me that the two had met and quarrelled fiercely; that my friend had been killed; that the matter must be hushed up in the interests of Duke Ladislas; that he had in reality instigated it, and that loyalty to him made it impossible to speak the truth. Your father had been secretly buried, I was assured."

"I am waiting, Colonel Katona," I said, presently.

"From that point on I was guilty. My silence then was the first act of treachery; and others soon followed. I could not bring the dead to life, I was told, but I could help the living; and in helping them could save from ruin the cause to which I was pledged. The confession by your father was found and used—and I stood by and suffered his name to be dishonoured. For that I can plead no excuse."

"And when you knew that my father had not died but had been imprisoned all those years, and had escaped—what did you do then?"

"I know. I know," he exclaimed, wretchedly. "I did nothing. They came to me——"

"Who came to you?"

"Those who had done it all; and with them Count Gustav to whom all had then been told. They appealed to my loyalty to the cause, to Duke Ladislas, and to my country—and I yielded."

"Count Karl, too?"

"No. He knows nothing of it. Nothing."

"If he had known of all this and you had found the news which you thought had come from me to be true—that the man for whose family you had sinned in this way was the same who had wronged Gareth, what then?"

There was such a glitter in his eyes as they met mine that I almost feared he had read the thought and intent behind my words.

"I would have had his life first and"—he checked himself with sudden effort.

"And what?" I asked.

"I would have killed him," he murmured, doggedly.

"The rest is your secret?" I hazarded. He made no other answer than to glance at me quickly.

"If I tell you to-morrow where to find Gareth, will you make public what you have told me to-day and denounce the men who were concerned in my father's ruin?"

At the direct question he was profoundly agitated again. "Is there no other way?"

"No. None. I am pleading for my father's honour."

"I will do it," he said, with a bitter sigh.

"On your word of honour, Colonel Katona?"

"Yes. On my word of honour. God help me."

I drew a deep breath of relief. I needed no further assurance. I had seen enough to know that what I still had to tell him—that Gustav was the man he sought—would suffice to change any lingering remnant of indecision into grim set purpose.

I told him I would send him word on the following morning where he and Count Karl were to come to me at about noon.

"You will give me your hand, Christabel?" he asked, hesitating, as we were parting.

"Yes. I trust you now to undo the past."

He held my hand a moment and seemed much affected.

"I had meant to speak to you about Count Karl. He——"

"Please!" I broke in.

"If I could help your happiness it would be some recompense for my wrong to your father."

"You cannot do that."

"You care for him?"

"Please," I said again.

"I know. He has told me what stands between you. I am glad now that you made me speak—although your words stabbed me to the heart. But I am glad now—and perhaps I can help you. It should not be all tragedy for you two. But heaven knows it is tragedy whatever happens."

I was glad to be alone. The interview had tried me. I endeavoured to analyze my feelings; and I am afraid I realized that while I was jubilant at the prospect of success, the knowledge that it brought nearer the parting from Karl made me almost wish for failure.

That was rank treachery to my purpose and my dear father's memory, I know. But then, I was only a girl; and after all, even in the strongest of us, the heart will have its way at times. Mine took it then for a desolate half-hour, until I was roused by the two chattering girls who came romping in to take me away to dress for dinner.

CHAPTER XXIII A GREEK GIFT

At dinner his Excellency was thoughtful and taciturn, and we had a rather dismal meal. He noticed my dress when we met, however.

"You have your clothes, then?" he said in his dryest manner.

"Yes, my servant came to arrange the things I needed."

"I don't wish to know," he exclaimed, promptly, with a glance which showed me that he understood I had not been idle.

But after that he scarcely spoke. The girls chattered to me, chiefly making fun of the new governess before her face in the most impudent manner; but I was too busy with my own thoughts to pay much heed.

Something had happened since the General and I had parted; and I was sure it concerned me; so I waited and watched until either he should tell me or I should find it out for myself.

He sent the girls and their governess away almost before they had finished eating, and took me at once into the little salon where we usually played chess.

"Is it a compliment to me that you have arrayed yourself so?" he asked.

In that moment I seemed to guess what was in his thoughts. "It is perhaps a coincidence," I said with a smile.

"Why a coincidence?" He was puzzled.

"Because I had not expected to see any one but yourself."

He nodded. "That instinct of yours always interests me."

I had gone to the chess board and taken two or three pieces out of the box. I put them back. "So we are not to play chess to-night. Who is it?"

"No, there you are wrong for once. We are to play. I have spoken of your chess-playing powers to a very old friend of mine, and he is coming to see us play."

I shook my head. "Your Excellency means that the game is to be a pretext. What is his name?"

"I am not 'your Excellency' to you, Christabel. It is General von Walther—an old comrade of mine."

"I am getting interested in him already—an old comrade whose unexpected visit made you so thoughtful during dinner that you could scarcely speak a word. On my account, too. The only time you spoke was to express satisfaction that I was dressed well enough to receive him."

"You are building a palace with match boxes, Christabel. You had better set the men."

I set them and we began to play. I made two or three egregiously bad moves; and he did not notice them. The "old comrade" was evidently still absorbing his thoughts; and began to fill mine too.

"Hadn't we better have something more like a real game when he comes in? It should at least look like serious chess," I said, and was making some impromptu changes in the positions of the men when General von Walther was announced.

I shut down the smile which followed my first glance at him. It was too bad of his Excellency to try and deceive me. I had seen the "old comrade" before, however; and I was not likely to forget him. It was Duke Ladislas himself.

They both played up to the arranged parts, and of course I did my best to help them.

"Come in, old friend," said his Excellency, genially. "This is the chess prodigy. My old friend General von Walther, Miss Gilmore."

"His Excellency always flatters me, General, because on one occasion I was lucky enough to beat him."

"I am delighted to meet you, Miss von Dreschler," said the "general," so occupied in giving me a sharp look that he did not notice he had used the wrong name. "You are a great favourite of my old friend."

I made an appropriate reply, and for some minutes we chatted about chess, and the weather, and what I thought of Pesth, and so on—anything except what he must have come to speak about; whatever that was.

Then I challenged him laughingly to a game; but I suppose he was in reality no player at all, for he got out of the challenge by saying he would rather look on.

So we went on with our game again and had made some half a dozen moves, when a servant came to say that Count Somassy, the Minister of Justice, wished to speak with his Excellency. He pretended intense regret for the interruption to our game, begged us both to excuse him for a few minutes, and then the "old comrade" and I were left alone. I knew of course that this had all been arranged; and that we were now to come to the real business of the meeting.

"You are staying some time in Pesth?" he opened.

"I scarcely know. You see I am a foreigner now, and an American citizen is never long away from the States without a heart ache."

"You say 'now,'" he commented, as I had intended. I thought he would appreciate the word.

"Yes. I am Hungarian by birth—but a naturalized citizen of the United States. Here, of course, I am only a girl; but at home, in Jefferson City, Missouri, I am quite a person of importance. I inherited my uncle's fortune, and over there you know we reckon importance by dollars. You would be astonished at the consideration I receive in my travels from all our representatives, consuls, and even ambassadors."

This was not strictly accurate; but the point had to be driven home that he could not play monkey-tricks with me. He did not like this any more than I thought he would, and paused so long that I said: "Shall we not have a game, General, while his Excellency is away? It looks as if his sudden appointment might last some time."

I think he began to gather in that I was not quite fooled by the little entertainment.

"I think not, thank you. The fact is I wish to speak to you on some matters."

"Connected with America?"

"Well, not exactly. Rather of a private character."

I froze instantly and was appropriately dignified. "I don't think I quite understand. In Missouri we don't discuss our private affairs with strangers."

"This is not Missouri," he said, dropping for the moment the "old comrade" tone and using the brief curt note of authority. As an American citizen I resented the tone and rose.

"I am not a school girl, sir, having a lesson in geography." It was intentionally pert and flippant, and I made him a bow and moved toward the door.

"I am sorry. Pray forgive my manner. An old soldier, you know, drops now and again into the drill manner."

"American women do not take kindly to drilling, General."

"No, no, Miss Gilmore; you must acquit me of any intention to offend you. I wish to speak to you seriously. Pray sit down again."

I should have been intensely sorry to have ended so promising an