The Red Rat's Daughter, Guy Boothby [most read book in the world TXT] 📗

a little peculiar in some things, she has been a very good and kind friend to me."

"And have you always been--well, shall we say--dependent on her?" asked Browne, with a little diffidence, for it was a delicate matter for a young man to touch upon with a proud and high-spirited girl.

"Oh no," Katherine replied. "You see, soon after my mother's death it was discovered by some one--I cannot remember who--that one of her brothers was dead, and that by his will I, as his sole heiress, inherited his money. From your point of view it would be nothing, but to me it meant a great deal. It was carefully invested, and it brings me in, in English money, just three hundred pounds a year. Of course we cannot do much with such a sum; but, as we have no expensive tastes, Madame Bernstein and I find that with it, and the sum I make by my painting, we are just able to make both ends meet."

On hearing this Browne pricked up his ears. This was putting a new complexion on the affair.

"Do you mean to say that Madame Bernstein has no income of her own, and that all these years she has been living upon you?"

"Yes. And why not? You cannot realise what a wonderful manager she is. I should not be able to do half as much with it if I had the sole control of my money."

"This is a matter which will have to be attended to in the near future," said Browne to himself. Then, aloud, he added, "Never mind, little woman; when you are my wife Madame shall retire in luxury. She shall not find us ungrateful, believe me. But continue your story. Or, I fancy, you had better let me finish it for you. You have told me that you have lived with Madame Bernstein, or rather, to be correct, that she has lived with you, for many years. You have travelled from place to place about Europe; for some reason or another you have had no fixed home; then you began to paint, and during the whole time you have denied yourself all sorts of things in order that Madame should live in the lap of luxury. Oh, don't dispute it, for I know what has happened as well as if I had been there to see. In the course of your peregrinations you went to Norway. There we met. Six months later you came to London, during which time I had been wondering whether I should ever see you again. Fate arranged that we should meet. I found you even more adorable than before, followed you to Paris, proposed and was accepted, and, like all pretty stories, ours must, and shall end with the music of wedding bells."

"Impossible," she answered. "From what I have already shown you, you must see that it could not be. Had my life been differently situated I should have been proud--you do not know how proud--to be your wife; but, as it is, it is quite out of the question. Some day you will see that yourself, and will thank me for having prevented you from spoiling your life by a foolish marriage."

Browne saw that she was in deadly earnest. He was about to argue the question with her, but the look upon her face stopped him. For the moment he was frightened in spite of himself, and could only stammer out, "I shall never see it."

"You _must_ see it," she answered. "There is a task I have set for myself, which I must finish, come what may."

"Then, whatever it may be, I will share it with you," said Browne. "You must doubt my love, Katherine, if you refuse to let me help you."

"I do not doubt your love," she answered, "but it is quite out of the question that I could avail myself of your assistance in this matter."

"I will not believe it," he continued. "You are only saying it because you do not wish to inculpate me. But I _will_ be inculpated, come what may. Tell me what it is you have to do, and I will help you to carry it through to the best of my ability; helping you where help is needed, and counselling you where you stand in need of advice. In other words, I place myself and all I have in the world at your disposal, darling, to do with as you will."

"You are too noble," she answered; "too good and true. What other man would do as much?"

"Any man," he answered, "who loves a woman as I love you."

"There can be but few who love so well," she replied softly, for her heart was touched more than she could say; "and yet, good as you are, I cannot accept your help. You do not know what I am about to attempt."

"I do not care what it is," he answered; "it makes no sort of difference to my promise."

"But it would afterwards," she said. "Why, do you not remember that I am the daughter of a convict; that my father was sent to Siberia to live in chains to the end of his days? He remained there for many years. Afterwards he was despatched to the island of Saghalien, where he now is. News has reached us within the last few days that he is ill, and that unless he leaves the island he will not live another year."

"How did you hear that?" Browne inquired.

"Through Madame Bernstein," Katherine replied. "Ever since my father was first arrested she has managed somehow or other to obtain news of him."

"And what is it you intend to do?"

"To help him to escape," the girl replied.

"But it would be impossible," said Browne, horrified at her declaration. "You must not dream of such a thing."

"But I do more than dream of it," she replied. "Remember, he is my father, my own flesh and blood, who is ill and suffering. You say you love me?"

"I think you know by this time that I do," said Browne.

"Then what would you do if I were seized and carried away to a terrible island, where my life would be one long torture? Would you not do your best to rescue me?"

"Of course I would," said Browne indignantly. "You need not ask that."

"Very well, then, you can see now how I feel. I do not say that he was right in his beliefs or in what he did; on the contrary, I think that he was distinctly wrong. The fact, however, remains that he is my father; and, however great his faults may have been, he has at least been punished for them. Can you picture what his existence must have been these many years? But of course you cannot. You do not know anything of Russian prisons. They have been described to me, however, by one who has seen them, and the account has filled me with such terror as I have never known in my life before."

"But it would be sheer madness for you to attempt to rescue him," said Browne. "You could not possibly succeed. Your effort would be foredoomed to failure."

"It is very probable," she answered; "but would you have me for that reason draw back? It is my duty to make the attempt, even if I fail. You would have done the same for your own father, I know, had he been in the same position. Why should I not therefore do it for mine?"

"Because--why, because it is too preposterous," said Browne, at loss for a better reason. "I never heard of such a thing. You have not the least idea of the magnitude of the danger of what you are attempting."

"Perhaps not," she said. "But if all those who make an attempt could foresee the result, I fancy only a very small percentage would continue to strive. No; if you love me, you will not try to make a coward of me, just at the time when I am trying to do what I consider right."

Browne took counsel with himself. The position was the most extraordinary he had ever faced. In his life he had met with many peculiar people, but never had he been brought in contact with a young girl who was willing to give up love, wealth, comfort, every prospect of happiness, even life itself, in order to attempt what was neither more nor less than a hopeless and impossible undertaking. And yet, short as his acquaintance with Katharine had been, he felt that he knew her well enough to be convinced that she would not abandon her purpose without a struggle. "Loyalty before all" was his motto where she was concerned. He loved her, and if it was her desire to assist a by no means respectable father to escape from the prison in which he was very rightly confined, he must help her to the best of his abilities, without considering the cost to himself. It would be a terrible business; but, at any rate, he would then be able to assure himself that she did not come to any harm.

"And you are determined to carry out this foolish scheme?" he asked. "Is there nothing I can say or do that will be at all likely to dissuade you from your purpose?"

"Nothing at all," she answered slowly, looking him steadily in the face. "My mind is quite made up."

"Very good, then," he continued; "in that case I will not oppose you further. Tell me how you propose to set about it."

She shook her head. "I do not know yet," she answered. "But you may be sure I will do it somehow. There must be a way, if I can only find it. At any rate, I am not afraid to look for it."

Browne glanced at the pale yet determined face before him, and noted the strength of the mouth and chin. There was sufficient strength of mind there to carry the matter through, provided the needful opportunities were supplied. But would they be forthcoming? One thing was quite certain, she could not possibly manage with the limited means at her disposal. There at least she would be compelled to apply to him.

"Katherine," he said at last, "I have told you repeatedly that I love you, and now I am going to try to prove it to you. You say you are desirous of rescuing your father. Very good; then I am going to help you to do so. It will at least demonstrate the sincerity of my love for you, and will show you that all the assertions I have made are not merely so much idle chatter, but what I really feel."

"You would help me?" she gasped, staggered for the moment at the magnitude of his proposal. "Surely you do not know what you are saying?"

"I mean what I say," he answered. "If you are bent on rescuing your father I will help you. But I only offer my services on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"That as soon as