Part 38 (1/2)
”He is a brute,” he said at last.
”Your horse?” inquired Margaret sweetly.
”No--Barker. And pray what did you answer him? I hope you gave him a lesson for his impertinence.”
”I told him,” said she, ”that I had doc.u.ments in my possession that would establish his right as well as any he could get in Germany.”
”Barker must have been rather taken aback,” said the other in high glee.
”I am glad you said that.”
”So am I. I do not imagine I shall see much of Mr. Barker in future,”
she added demurely.
”Um! As bad as that?” The Duke was beginning to catch the drift of what Margaret was saying. She had no intention of telling him any more, however. Bitterly as she felt towards Barker, she would not allow herself the triumph of telling her friend she had refused to marry him.
”I know it is a very womanly fancy,” she said, ”but I want to ride fast, please. I want exercise.”
”All right,” said the Duke, and they put their horses into a canter. The Countess felt safe now that her friends had returned and that Claudius had telegraphed he was about to sail. She felt as though her troubles were over, and as if the world were again at her feet. And as they galloped along the roads, soft in the warm sun to the horses' feet, breathing in great draughts of good clean air, the past two months seemed to dwindle away to a mere speck in the far distance of her life, instead of being entangled with all the yesterdays of the dark season just over.
And Claudius--the man who made all this change in her life, who had opened a new future for her--how had he pa.s.sed these months, she wondered? To tell the truth, Claudius had been so desperately busy that the time had not seemed so long. If he had been labouring in any other cause than hers it would have been insupportable. But the constant feeling that all he did was for her, and to her advantage, and that at the same time she was ignorant of it all, gave him strength and courage.
He had been obliged to think much, to travel far, and to act promptly; and for his own satisfaction he had kept up the illusion that he was in Heidelberg by a cunning device. He wrote constantly, and enclosed the letters to the old notary at the University, who, with Teutonic regularity, stamped and posted them. And so it was that the date of the letter, written in St. Petersburg, was always two or three days older than that of the postmark. For Claudius would not put a false date at the head of what he wrote, any more than, if Margaret had written to ask him whether he were really in Heidelberg or not, he would have deceived her in his answer. Probably he would not have answered the question at all. The letters were merely posted in Heidelberg; and Margaret had trusted him enough not to notice or be willing to comment upon the discrepancy.
And, by dint of activity and the a.s.sistance of the persons to whom he had letters, he had succeeded in bringing the Countess's business to a satisfactory conclusion. He found it just as Mr. Bellingham had told him. In an autocratic country, if you are to have justice at all, you will have it quickly. Moreover, it was evident to the authorities that a man coming all the way from America, and presenting such credentials as Claudius brought, deserved to be attended to at once--the more so when his whole appearance and manner were such as to create a small _furore_, in the Emba.s.sy circles. Claudius went everywhere, saw every one, and used every particle of influence he could obtain to further the object of his visit. And so it was that, at the end of a month or so, a special _ukase_ provided for the payment in perpetuity to herself and her heirs for ever of the jointure-money first decreed to the Countess Margaret for life only from the estates of her late husband, Count Alexis of the Guards. This was even more than Claudius had hoped for--certainly more than Margaret had dreamt of. As for Nicholas, Claudius cared nothing what became of him, for he probably thought him a foolish Nihilist, and he knew enough of the Countess's character to be sure she would never let her brother suffer want, whatever his faults.
So when he had concluded the affair he hastened to Berlin, telegraphing from thence the news of his immediate return. In less than a fortnight, at all events, he ought to be in New York. The thought gave him infinite relief; for, since he had finished his business in Petersburg, the reaction which in strong natures is very sure to follow a great effort, for the very reason that strong natures tax their powers to the utmost, recklessly, began to make itself felt. It seemed to him, as he looked back, that he had heard so little from her. Not that he complained; for he was fully sensible of her goodness in writing at all, and he treasured her letters as things sacred, even to the envelopes, and whatsoever had touched her hand. But he felt keenly that he was in total ignorance of her doings; and one or two references to Barker troubled him. He too had his suspicions that the scheming American had been concerned in the sudden fit of caution developed by Messrs. Screw and Scratch. He too had suspected that his quondam friend had been insincere, and that everything was not as it should be. But he was neither so wise as Margaret, who would have told him not to soil his hands with pitch, nor so supremely indifferent as the Duke, who would have said that since he had got the money it didn't matter in the least if Barker were a brute or not. On the contrary, Claudius promised himself to sift the evidence; and if he discovered that Barker was guilty of any double-dealing, he would simply break his neck. And as Claudius thought of it, his teeth set, and he looked capable of breaking any number of necks, then and there.
But for all his wrath and his suspicions, the real cause of Barker's strange behaviour never presented itself to his mind. It never struck him that Barker could aspire to Margaret's hand; and he merely concluded that the young man had laid a plot for getting his money. If any one had related to Claudius the scene which took place at Mrs. Van Sueindell's the very night when he sent his telegram, he would have laughed the story to scorn in perfect good faith, for he could not have believed it possible. Nor, believing it, would he have cared. And so he rushed across Europe, and never paused till he had locked himself into his stateroom on board the steamer, and had begun a long letter to Margaret. He knew that he would see her as soon as a letter could reach her, but that made no difference. He felt impelled to write, and he wrote--a letter so tender and loving and rejoicing that were it to appear in these pages no lover would ever dare write to his lady again, lest she chide him for being less eloquent than Claudius, Phil.D. of Heidelberg. And he wrote on and on for many days, spending most of his time in that way.
Meanwhile, the Duke and Margaret cantered in the Park, and talked of all kinds of things; or rather, the Duke talked, and Margaret thought of Claudius. Before they returned, however, she had managed to let the Duke know that the Doctor was on his way back; whereat the Englishman rejoiced loudly. Perhaps he would have given a great deal to know whether they were engaged, to be married; but still Margaret gave no sign. It was far from her thoughts; and the fact had only presented itself in that form to her on the spur of the moment, the preceding evening, as likely to prove a crus.h.i.+ng blow at once to Mr. Barker's plotting and Mr. Barker's matrimonial views. But while the Duke talked, she was thinking. And as the situation slowly unfolded its well-known pictures to her mind, she suddenly saw it all in a different light.
”I must be mad,” she thought. ”Barker will tell every one; and the Duke ought not to know it except from me!”
”Speaking of Dr. Claudius--” she began; the Duke was at that moment talking earnestly about the Pueblo Indians, but that was of no importance. ”Speaking of the Doctor, you ought to know--I would rather that no one else told you--we are going to be married.”
The Duke was so much surprised--not so much at the information as at her manner of imparting it--that he pulled up short. Seeing him stop, she stopped also.
”Are you very much astonished?” she asked, pus.h.i.+ng the gray veil up to her hat, and looking at him smilingly out of her deep, dark eyes. The Duke spoke no word, but leapt from his horse, which he left standing in the middle of the path, surprised into docility by the sudden desertion.
There were a few wild-flowers growing by the road, which here led through a wooded glade of the Park; they were the flowers called Michaelmas daisies, which bloom until November in America. He picked a great handful of them, and came running back.
”Let me be the first to congratulate you, my dear friend,” he said, standing bareheaded at her stirrup, and offering the flowers with a half-bashful smile that sat strangely on a man of his years. It was a quick, impulsive action, such as no one could have expected from him who did not know him intimately well--and few could boast that they did.
Margaret was touched by his look and manner.
”Thanks,” she said, bending over her saddle-bow, and taking the daisies as he held them up to her. ”Yes, you are the first--to congratulate me,”
which was true. He still stood looking at her, and his hand would hardly let go the flowers where his fingers touched hers. His face grew pale, then ashy-white and he steadied himself against her horse's neck.
”What is the matter? are you ill? have you hurt yourself?” asked Margaret in real alarm, for he looked as though he were going to faint, and it was a full minute since he had come back to her from the roadside. Then he made a great effort and collected himself, and the next instant he had dashed after his horse, which was wandering away towards the trees.
”I did feel queer for a minute,” he said when he was once more in the saddle and by her side. ”I dare say it is the heat. It's a very hot day, now I think of it. Would you allow me a cigarette? I hate to smoke in public, you know, but it will make me all right again.” Margaret a.s.sented, of course, to the request; it was morning, in the recesses of the Park, and n.o.body would see. But she looked strangely at him for a minute, wondering what could have produced his sudden dizziness.
They rode more slowly towards the entrance of the Park, and the Countess's thoughts did not wander again. She talked to her companion on every subject he broached, showing interest in all he said, and asking questions that she knew would please him. But the latter part of the ride seemed long, and the drive home interminable, for Margaret was in haste to be alone. She was not sure that the Duke's manner had changed since he had turned so strangely pale, but she fancied he spoke as if making an effort. However, they reached the hotel at last, and separated.