Part 26 (1/2)
”And where are you going?” I asked anxiously. Hillars should not have pa.s.sed from my sight but for Gretchen.
”We'll be back shortly,” he answered. ”You will know all about then, my son.”
He stood on the sill of the door, a handsome picture. His gray eyes sparkled, his face was full of excitement and there was a color in his cheeks. There was no sign here of the dissipated man of the night before. It was Hillars as I had seen him in the old days. But for his 19th century garb, he might have just stepped down from a frame--a gallant by Fortuny, who loved the awakened animal in man. The poise was careless, but graceful, and the smile was debonair. His eyes were holding Gretchen's. A moment pa.s.sed; another and another.
Then: ”Long live and G.o.d bless her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde!” And he was gone.
And as he disappeared a shadow of some sort pa.s.sed before my eyes, and a something dull and heavy pressed upon my heart. Presently came the sound of beating hoofs, and then all became still.
Gretchen and I were alone.
Gretchen appeared to be studying the blue veins in her hands which she listlessly held before her. An interval of three or four minutes pa.s.sed, still she remained in that pathetic att.i.tude, silent and motionless.
”Gretchen,” said I, ”have you nothing to say?”
”Yes.” Her eyes raised to the level of mine, and I saw that they were deep in tears. ”Herr, I shall say to you that which I have never said to any man, and that which I shall never say to any man again. I may say it now because it is sinless. I love you! I love you, and, loving you, G.o.d knows what the future without you shall be. Yes! I love you.
Take me once in your arms and kiss me, and let me go--forever.”
Then with a smile which partly s.h.i.+elded a sob, her arms went around my neck and her face lay close to mine. Heaven knows which was the greater, the joy or the pain.
”Gretchen, think!” I cried, distractedly. ”What is a Prince or a King to you and me, who love?”
”There is honor,” gently. She caressed my cheek with her fingers.
”Honor!” I cried, vehemently. ”Is it honorable to marry the man you do not love and break the heart of the one you do?”
She did not answer, but her arms fell from my neck, and she approached the window. The pa.s.sing river was reflected in her eyes. Her reverie was a short one.
”Listen, Herr; I will tell you why it is honorable. The Prince and the King? I fear the one as little as I do the other. It is not the Prince, it is not the King, it is not the princ.i.p.ality. Herr, I have come near to being a very wicked woman, who was about to break the most sacred promise a sovereign can make. Before I came here a delegation of my people approached me. On bended knees they asked me not to voluntarily return the princ.i.p.ality to the King, who was likely to give them a ruler rapacious or cruel or indifferent. And while they understood what a sacrifice it meant to me, they asked me to bend my will to the King's and wed the Prince, vowing that I alone should be recognized as their sovereign ruler. Since my coronation they said that they had known the first happiness in years. Herr, it was so pathetic! I love my people, who, after all, are not adopted since I was born here. So I gave my promise, and, heaven forgive me, I was about to break it! There are some things, Herr, which the publican does not understand. One of these is the duty a sovereign owes to the people. The woman in me wishes to follow your fortunes, though they carry her to the ends of the world; but the sovereign sees but one path--honor and duty. What is one human heart to a hundred thousand?
A grain of sand. Herr, let mine be broken; I shall not murmur. Alas!
to be a princess, a puppet in this tinsel show of kings and queens! It is my word and the King's will which have made my happiness an impossibility. Though I love you, I wish never to see you again. I shall be wife but in name, yet I may not have a lover. I am not a woman of the court. I am proud of my honor, though the man who is to be my husband doubts that.”
”No, Gretchen,” said I, ”he does not doubt it, but he wishes me to do so. I believe in your innocence as I believe in your love.”
”It is sad, is it not,” said she, ”that we must go through our days loving each other and all the world standing between? I have never loved a man before; I did not want to love you. I did not know that I loved you till I saw that your life was in danger. Yet I am glad that I have lived for a brief second, for till a woman loves she does not live. I am brave; do you be likewise. I shall go back to the world, and who shall know of the heart of fire beneath the ice! Not even the man I love. Kiss me; it is the last kiss I shall take from the lips of any man.”
And it seemed to me that our souls met in that last kiss, melted and became one. Her hands dropped to her side, and swiftly she sped from the room.
She had entered the coach. The cavalrymen were perched upon the box.
There was a crack of the lash, and the coach rolled away. I watched it, standing in the road. A cloud of yellow dust partially obscured it from view. Half a mile beyond rose a small hill. This the coach mounted, and the red gold of the smoldering sun engulfed it. Was it a face I saw at the window? Perhaps. Then over the hill all disappeared, and with it the whole world, and I stood in emptiness, alone.
Gretchen had gone.
CHAPTER XV
I was wandering aimlessly through the rose gardens, when the far-off sound of galloping hoofs came on the breeze. Nearer and nearer it drew. I ran out into the highway. I saw a horse come wildly das.h.i.+ng along. It was riderless, and as it came closer I saw the foam of sweat dripping from its flanks and shoulders. As the animal plunged toward me, I made a spring and caught the bridle, hanging on till the brute came to a standstill. It was quivering from fright. There was a gash on its neck, and it was bleeding and turning the white flakes of sweat into a murky crimson.
”Good Lord!” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”It's one of the cavalry horses. Hillars or the innkeeper has been hurt.”