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

who know what the cause is, know how much graver her condition really is. He will tell you that her chances of recovery depend upon her ease of mind; and that ease of mind can only be secured in one way. It rests with you for one and Count Gustav for the other, to secure it and save her."

He began to see my meaning and he glanced with an angry scowl at Gustav who, I am bound to say, returned the look with interest. Neither spoke, but waited for me to finish.

"I have just arranged a truce with Count Gustav to last until Gareth is strong enough to be told the facts. You two must do the same."

The Colonel drew himself up stiffly and shook his head, and Gustav quick to take fire, was about to burst in, when I continued: "Are you to think of Gareth or of yourselves? Is she to die that you may glower at one another in your selfish passion? Will it profit either of you to know that her life was sacrificed because you could not mask your tempers over her sick bed? Is this what you call love for her? You, her father; and you, her husband?"

I was beginning to win. I saw that from the slight change in the bearing of both. Hot indignation began to give place to mutual sullenness. "It is your quarrel which may kill her; your apparent reconciliation that may save her. Her mind is restless, fevered, and distraught with the horror of the cruel choice which you, her father, laid upon her. You can hear it in every murmur of her half-delirious fever as she lies tossing now. The terror of you, love born as it is, will kill her unless together you two can succeed in removing it."

With a groan the Colonel fell on to a chair and covered his face with his hands, while Gustav turned back again to the window.

I was winning fast now, and I went on confidently: "You can see this now, I hope. What I would have you do is to wait here until she is calmer, and then together go to her, and let her see for herself that the fear which haunts her is groundless. Let your hate and your quarrel stay outside her room; do your utmost while you are inside to make her feel and believe that you are reconciled. That will do more to win her back to health and strength than all the doctors and nurses in the empire. The trouble is in the mind, not the body. Happiness may save, where misery will kill her."

Neither answered, and in the pause some one knocked at the door. It was Mrs. Perry, come to tell me that Gareth was calmer and conscious, and was asking for me.

I told them the good news and added: "May I go and tell her you are both here waiting to see her—together?"

Neither would be the first to give way.

"I will take the risk," I said. "I will go and tell her, and then whichever of you refuses shall have the responsibility;" and without giving them time to answer I went upstairs to Gareth.

She was looking woefully wan and ill, her face almost as colourless as the linen on which she lay. She welcomed me with a smile and whispered my name as I bent and kissed her.

"I am feeling so weak, Christabel," she murmured. "Am I really ill? Or why am I here?"

"Not ill, dearest—but not quite well. That is all; and I have such news for you that it will soon make you quite well."

Her sensitive face clouded and her lips twitched nervously. "About Karl—I mean Gustav,—and—oh, I remember," and clasping her hands to her face turned away trembling.

"Remember what, dear?"

"My father—his look, oh——"

"You have been dreaming, Gareth. Tell me your dreams," I said, very firmly. "I know you have been dreaming because you spoke of your father's anger. And he is not angry with you."

She looked round and stared at me with wondering eyes.

"Not angry? Why, when I—oh, yes,—when Karl—oh, Christabel, I can't get his look out of my eyes. He said...."

I smiled reassuringly, and kissed her again. "Gareth, dear, what do you mean? Why your father and Gustav—Gustav, not Karl, dearest—are together downstairs. We have been talking about you; and they are both waiting to come and see you together."

I think I must have told the half-lie very naturally, for the change in her face was almost like a miracle.

"Is it all a dream, then?" she asked, her voice awed, her eyes bright with the dawning of hope.

"It depends what it is you dreamt, dearest. You have frightened yourself. Tell me all." I was making it hard for the two who were to come up presently; but the change in her rendered me somewhat reckless as to that.

"Has Duke Ladislas been here?"

"Oh, yes. He is Gustav's father."

"He petted me, and said I was like his own lost Gareth, and that now I was his daughter. Then I came to you to fetch Gustav to him; and after that——"

"You saw Gustav and he kissed you—and then in your delight you fainted, and I brought you up here."

"But my father——"

"You have not seen your father yet, Gareth. He is eager to see you." I told the flat lie as sturdily as I had told the other, and didn't stop to consider whether it was justified or not. I just told it.

"But he was there, and he—all but cursed me, Christabel; and oh, his eyes...."

"You have only dreamt that part, Gareth," I said, using a sort of indulgent tone. "You have been frightening yourself, dearest. You have always been afraid of what he might say to you, and—you have been imagining things."

She found it difficult to believe me, strong as her desire was to do so.

"But it was all so real, Christabel."

"It is more real that they are both waiting for me to say if I think you are strong enough to see them."

"Do you mean—oh, Christabel, how happy you have made me;" and with that, thank Heaven, she burst into tears.

She was still weeping when the doctor came; and noting the change in her, he gave a ready consent to her seeing Gustav and the Colonel for a short interview.

I took him down with me to fetch them. I told them what I had said to Gareth, and that they were to insist upon it that she had fainted when in Gustav's arms, and that everything after that was no more than her imagination.

They could not quarrel before the doctor; could indeed only look rather sheepish, as even strong and stern men can at times; so I carried my point and led them upstairs.

"Gustav and your father, dearest," I said, as I opened the door and stood aside for them to pass.

I saw her face brighten and her eyes light with a great gladness at the sight of them together and apparently friendly; and then I closed the door and left them to carry out their part of the agreement in their own way.

My face was glad too, and my heart light as I ran down to my "rebel."

CHAPTER XXX THE END

Why do we women like to tease the men we love? Is the sense of coquetry innate and irresistible in some of us? Or is it merely a defensive instinct warning us of the danger of being won too easily?

I knew quite well how the interview with Karl would end; I knew he loved me and that I loved him; I was hungry for the feel of his arms about me and the touch of his lips on mine; and yet my face wore a quite aggrieved look as I met him with words of somewhat petulant reproach on my lips.

"I am glad you were able to go with the Duke," I said.

He gave a start at my tone and then laughed. "It was very fortunate. I am glad that—you are glad, Christabel."

"I am afraid you must have found it inconvenient to leave him so soon."

"Are you?"

"Had you not better hurry back to him?"

"Yes. I am going straight back from here."

"Don't let me keep you, pray."

"Very well."

What can you do with a man who refuses in this way to be teased, but just accepts what you say with preposterous good humour? I shrugged my shoulders. "Why don't you go then?"

"That is exactly it. Why? Of course you can't guess such an abstruse problem! It's altogether beyond you; but try. I should like to hear you making a number of ingeniously wrong guesses. Now, what reason can I possibly have for being here?"

"It is not worth the trouble."

"Well, then, try the obvious. That won't be much trouble."

"You wish to know the latest news of Gareth, you mean, to take to the Duke."

"That's not the obvious, Christabel; that's only an ingeniously wrong one. I'm afraid I've disappointed you a little."

"In coming away from the Duke so—soon?"

"Not a bit of it. In not letting you tease me just now. I ought to have taken you seriously and fired up, and all the rest of it. But I didn't. I didn't misunderstand you in the least. You see—but shall I tell you why?" and he came close to me.

"You did go away with the Duke," I persisted; rather feebly, I fear.

"And who would have been the first to blame me if I had not, when he was ill and could not go alone? You see you can't plague me because, for one thing, I know you too well; and for another—I've had a chat with the General. Didn't he tell you I was—a rebel?"

"I always understood you had no sympathy with patriots," I answered, looking up innocently, but prepared for defeat and surrender.

"It won't do, Christabel," he laughed. "You're looking too innocent. The General gave you away, I mean, and you know that I mean I am a rebel against my father's latest act of tyranny."

He paused; but somehow I couldn't meet his eyes. I tried, and at my failure he was very tactful. He seemed to guess that it would have hurt me, if he had laughed then. Instead of laughing he took my hand.

"I am not going to give you up, Christabel, just because the Duke is unreasonably angry. Not all the dukes and princes in the empire shall make me do that. We may perhaps, have to wait a little longer yet; but even that's for you to decide. You see, I'm so sure of you, dear. There's where it is."

"I would not come between you two," I whispered.

"Nor shall he come between us two. I was only a shiftless sort of ne'er-do-well till you came here and helped me to be strong again. I was going down the hill full speed with no brakes on; and, as you know, I didn't care. But I care now and have a will again—as you'll find out if you try to cross me in this; and having found my right mind again I made it up. You mean to side with the—rebel, don't you?"

He proved that he had a will then; for without giving me time to reply, he just put his arm about me and made me kiss him on the lips. And after that, what was the use of protesting, even if I had the wish? But I hadn't. At the touch of his lips, the Duke and his opposition and his dislike of me, and everything else in the world was blotted out, save only—my love for Karl and his for me.

*****

I wish that this story of the chapter of my life could end with that pledge-kiss of ours; and that I could say all ended as happily for others as for Karl and myself. But I cannot.

I had done my utmost to gather happiness for Gareth from the seeds of trouble which her loving but thoughtless hands had sown so