By Wit of Woman - Arthur W. Marchmont (e textbook reader .TXT) 📗

"The truth when he knows it, will tell with him, no matter from whom it comes."

"Yes, but he may not have to know it. You may persuade me to marry Gareth—in reality, you see. Besides, your object in bringing him here has already been achieved; you made your coup, and it was successful. Why keep him? You can just as easily tell him all another time—if you have to; while if I agree to do now what you wish, you will only have to put him off and send him away. I really think he may go. I have very little doubt we shall come to an understanding."

I thought a moment. "Yes, he may go. I will tell him so."

"I will go with you to him. He has a great regard for my family. We will tell him you are indisposed, or anything you please. I can satisfy him more easily than you can, perhaps."

"I will go alone."

He shook his head and smiled. "Do you think that quite fair to me under the peculiar circumstances? I wish to be quite sure that what you say is discreet. I must make a point of it that we go together, really I must."

But I recalled my impersonation of the giggling miss, and was not willing that the Count should know of that.

"I will go alone to him, or he must remain," I said.

"I will go to him alone, then. You may be sure I shall not betray myself."

I let him go. I saw no risk in so simple a step, and was glad to be relieved from the interview. I read his act to be a confirmation of his words—that we were likely to come to an understanding, and in that case there would be no need for Colonel Katona ever to know that Gareth had been betrayed.

I was a little uneasy, however, when some minutes passed and the Count did not return, but he explained the delay by saying that the Colonel was a peculiar man, and had plagued him with many questions difficult to answer.

"I told him you were not well, and would find means to see him as soon as necessary. And now, to resume our conversation, Miss—von Dreschler."

He spoke as airily as if it were a game of cards which had been interrupted.

"You take that for granted; but it scarcely helps matters."

"Permit me to indulge in the rudeness of a contradiction. I think it does. It gives me the clue to your motive—an essential matter to me. You are an American, young, wealthy, very pretty, and undoubtedly clever. Why then do you masquerade as an adventuress? You may have one of two motives—and there is a very improbable third. As Miss von Dreschler, my brother paid you great attentions in New York; the matter being broken off suddenly, in obedience to the protest of one of the friends with him, who reminded Karl that what was going to happen here made it impossible for him to marry a private individual."

He was very quick to see the surprise with which I heard this, and paused to emphasize it.

"You are surprised. I always have thought that Karl's conduct was indefensible. You ought to have been told the real reason; and it was only a flight of romantic fancy for him to prefer to pose as a mean fellow, willing to win your affections and then run away. That was his deliberate decision, however. He believed you would get over the affair all the more easily if you thought him a scoundrel."

He glanced up again to judge the effect of his words as he paused to pull at his cigar; but I was on guard and gave no sign at all. It was, however, an unpleasant experience to have the other side of my chief life's story revealed by a man whom I knew to be false; and told with a purpose, in a tone of half sardonic raillery, and as a carefully calculated bid for my silence about himself. Heart dissection is a trying process under such conditions.

"You will see from this that Karl was—excuse me if I put it plainly; it is all necessary—was intensely devoted to you. He returned home profoundly unhappy and very love-sick—his is a nature which takes such things seriously—and to this hour he has never recovered. To forget you and the way he had treated you, he plunged into wild excesses which in a couple of years gravely impaired his health; heavy drinking was followed by the present passion for opium. In a word, you have seen for yourself what love has done for my brother."

"You have helped him downwards," I put in.

"He needed no help from me, but——" he waved his cigar expressively and jerked his shoulders. "And that brings us to chapter the second. For our purposes here, a dipsomaniac with a love craze and the opium habit is no use. You are Colonel von Dreschler's daughter, and may know something of the Patriotic Hungarian cause——" he paused to give me a chance to speak.

"The movement in favour of independence, you mean?"

"I thought you would know it;" and he nodded as if it were of the most trifling consequence. "Well, then, you will know that Karl became impossible. Yet he is the elder son and my father's heir; and some of us Hungarians are almost fanatics on the subject of succession. Everything was in danger; and as he has always refused to be set aside in my favour, there was nothing to do except to make him legally impossible. Another surprise for you now"—he spoke as indulgently as if he had been throwing me a candy. "The marriage with you became desirable; so Fate turns her wheel, you see; and I sent to New York to search for you, and we took infinite trouble in the vain endeavour to trace you. It was very unfortunate;" and he spread out his hands again.

I made no comment, but just kept my eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

"Pardon me if I am personal again. You would have suited our purpose admirably. I suspected you were the daughter of Colonel von Dreschler; and as your father's reputation was—was what it was and is—Karl's marriage with you would have been absolutely fatal to his chances here."

"My father's reputation was the result of vile treachery," I cried indignantly. And I saw my blunder instantly in the start of satisfaction he gave, but instantly repressed. He smoked a couple of moments in silence.

"We will deal with that presently—but I thank you for that admission, although I am surprised you did not see the trap I laid to obtain it. Your natural indignation, no doubt. Well, as we could not find you, we had to obtain an understudy—Madame d'Artelle." His tone was contemptuous here. "And I think, now, you understand chapter two. You must admit I have been frank; and my frankness is a tribute to your perspicacity."

"You have no comments," he said, still lightly and airily, when I did not speak. "Very well, then, we'll go to chapter three. That concerns the future—and your part in it. What do you mean to do, or, in other words, why did you come here? You are an interesting problem. You may have come to try and clear your father's name; or to punish in some way the man who treated you so badly: clever and pretty women have done that before, you know. Or—and this I referred to as the really improbable motive—you may still wish to marry my brother. But whatever your motive and object, I pledge you my honour—the honour of the son of the Duke Ladislas and future King of Hungary—that I will help you to the utmost of my power. But you must also help me; and for your first object you must be content to wait a year or two, until my father's death."

"And Gareth?" I asked, after a pause.

A frown darkened his face and his eyes clouded. He rose and took a couple of turns across the room.

"Would to God I could undo that business!" he cried, either with deep feeling or an excellent simulation of it. "You can't understand what this is to me! I am not a man capable of deep love, but I care for Gareth beyond all women. It was a midsummer madness; and if I could repair the injury to her, I would. But the prospect of the throne is between us—and shall I give that up and wreck the whole of this great national movement for her? I would do anything else on God's earth for her—but that I cannot. It is impossible."

"And her father?"

"I know what you mean. He would plunge a knife in my heart or send a bullet crashing into my brain, if he knew. He is desperate enough for anything. But he must not know. You must never tell him."

"You have the hardihood to do the wrong but lack the courage to face the consequences," I exclaimed, bitterly.

"I was not thinking of that. I am not afraid of mere death, I hope," he cried contemptuously. "I am thinking of the millions of Czechs, men, women and children, whose hopes of liberty are centred in my life. Beside that, all else is as nothing."

"It is a pity you did not think of this before."

"A man is a man and will act as a man at times. I have done a wrong I cannot undo; and it only remains to limit its mischief."

"A convenient code."

"Where is Gareth?" he broke off.

"Not where you intended those miscreants of yours to place her."

"Oh, so that was you also, was it?" he said, understanding. "You are making yourself very dangerous. Do you persist in threatening me?"

"What if I do?"

He paused as if to give emphasis to his reply.

"Those who oppose a national movement, Miss von Dreschler, must not be surprised if they are crushed under its wheels. As the daughter of your father, your mere presence here might be a danger to you."

"You threaten me?"

"I warn you—and that is the same thing. But a way is open to you. Marry Karl and take him away."

"You are a coward!" I cried, the burning red of anger flushing my face as I remembered his former taunt that such a marriage would degrade his brother sufficiently for his purpose.

"Cold facts not hot words will alone serve here," he replied. "What do you mean to do?"

"You can let your brother marry Madame d'Artelle. He is nothing to me."

He bent a sharp, piercing look upon me. "You mean that?"

"If I had influence with him it would be used to thwart your schemes. Keep him away from me, therefore, lest I tell him who I am and pit that influence against yours."

He paused and his brows knitted in thought. "What you mean is that you are willing to use Madame d'Artelle to revenge your own wrongs upon him. Then the third motive, the improbable one for your presence here, is the real one."

"If he will marry her, let him," I cried indignantly.

"You mean they are to carry out to-morrow's plan?"

"Yes."

"You amaze me. But then one never can understand a woman. And as for the rest?"

"I must think. It is a tangle. I shall probably tell Colonel Katona."

"It will be his death warrant. A hint that my life is in peril from him and a hundred knives will be out of their sheaths in my defence. And those who would defend me against him would be ugly enemies of Colonel von Dreschler's daughter. You do not understand us Magyars. You are raising a storm whose violence may overwhelm you."

"I will say no more now. But you shall do Gareth justice."

"Do you set that before the clearing of your father's name? That is the problem for you, and it is so searching that I can be sure you will not act in a hurry. But in any case, I do not fear you, Miss