A MAN AND HIS MONEY

_By_

FREDERIC S. ISHAM

_Author of_

Under the Rose, Half a Chance, The Social Bucaneer, Etc. 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY

MAX J. SPERO

1912

A MAN AND HIS MONEY

CHAPTER I

THE COACH OF CONCORD

"Well? What can I do for you?"

The speaker--a scrubby little man--wheeled in the rickety office chairto regard some one hesitating on his threshold. The tones were notagreeable; the proprietor of the diminutive, run-down establishment, "The St. Cecilia Music Emporium, " was not, for certain well definedreasons, in an amiable mood that morning. He had been about to reachdown for a little brown jug which reposed on the spot usually allottedto the waste paper basket when the shadow of the new-comer fellobtrusively, not to say offensively, upon him. 

It was not a reassuring shadow; it seemed to spring from anindeterminate personality. Mr. Kerry Mackintosh repeated his questionmore bruskly; the shadow (obviously not a customer, --no one ever soughtMr. Mackintosh's wares!) started; his face showed signs of a vacillatingpurpose. 

"A mistake! Beg pardon!" he murmured with exquisite politeness and beganto back out, when a somewhat brutal command on the other's part to "shutthat d---- door d---- quick, and not let any more d---- hot air out"arrested the visitor's purpose. Instead of retreating, he advanced. 

"I beg pardon, were you addressing me?" he asked. The half apologeticlook had quite vanished. 

The other considered, muttered at length in an aggrieved tone somethingabout hot air escaping and coal six dollars a ton, and ended with: "Whatdo you want?"

"Work. " The visitor's tone relapsed; it was now conspicuous for its wantof "success waves"; it seemed to imply a definite cognizance ofpersonal uselessness. He who had brightened a moment before now spokelike an automaton. Mr. Mackintosh looked at him and his shabby garments. He had a contempt for shabby garments--on others!

"Good day!" he said curtly. 

But instead of going, the person coolly sat down. The proprietor of thelittle shop glanced toward the door and half started from his chair. Whereupon the visitor smiled; he had a charming smile in these momentsof calm equipoise, it gave one an impression of potential possibilities. Mr. Mackintosh sank back into his chair. 

"Too great a waste of energy!" he murmured, and having thus defined hisattitude, turned to a "proof" of new rag-time. This he surveyeddiscontentedly; struck out a note here, jabbed in another there. Thestranger watched him at first casually. By sundry signs the caller'sfine resolution and assurance seemed slowly oozing from him; perhaps hebegan to have doubts as to the correctness of his position, thus tostorm a man in his own castle, or office--even if it were such adisreputable-appearing office!

He shifted his feet thoughtfully; a thin lock of dark hair drooped moreuncertainly over his brow; he got up. The composer dashed a blitheflourish to the tail of a note. 

"Hold on, " he said. "What's your hurry?" Sarcastically. 

"Didn't know I was in a hurry!" There was no attempted levity in histone, --he spoke rather listlessly, as one who had found the world, orits problems, slightly wearisome. The composer-publisher now arose; anew thought had suddenly assailed him. 

"You say you are looking for work. Why did you drift in here?"

"The place looked small. Those big places have no end of applicants--"

"Shouldn't think that would phase you. With _your_ nerve!"

The visitor flushed. "I seem to have made rather a mess of it, " heconfessed. "I usually do. Good day. "

"A moment!" said Mr. Mackintosh. "One of my men"--he emphasized "one, "as if their number were legion--"disappointed me this morning. I expecthe's in the lockup by this time. Have you got a voice?"

"A what?"

"Can you sing?"

"I really don't know; haven't ever tried, since"--a wonderfulretrospection in his tones--"since I was a little chap in church andwore white robes. "

"Huh!" ejaculated the proprietor of the Saint Cecilia shop. "Mama'sangel boy! That must have been a long time ago. " The visitor did notanswer; he pushed back uncertainly the uncertain lock of dark hair andseemed almost to have forgotten the object of his visit. 

"Now see here"--Mr. Mackintosh's voice became purposeful, energetic; heseated himself before a piano that looked as if it had led a hardnomadic existence. "Now see here!" Striking a few chords. "Suppose youtry this stunt! _What's the Matter with Mother_? My own composition!Kerry Mackintosh at his best! Now twitter away, if you've any of thatangel voice left!"

The piano rattled; the new-comer, with a certain faint whimsical smileas if he appreciated the humor of his position, did "twitter away"; loudsounds filled the place. Quality might be lacking but of quantity therewas a-plenty. 

"Bully!" cried Mr. Mackintosh enthusiastically. "That'll start the tearsrolling. _What's the Matter with Mother_? Nothing's the matter withmother. And if any one says there is--Will it go? With that voice?" Heclapped his hand on the other's shoulder. "Why, man, they could hear youacross Madison Square. You've a voice like an organ. Is it a 'go'?" hedemanded. 

"I don't think I quite understand, " said the new-comer patiently. 

"You don't, eh? Look there!"

A covered wagon had at that moment stopped before the door. It was drawnby a horse whose appearance, like that of the piano, spoke moreeloquently of services in the past than of hopeful promises for thefuture. On the side of the vehicle appeared in large letters: "_What'sthe Matter with Mother_? Latest Melodic Triumph by America's GreatestComposer, Mr. Kerry Mackintosh. " A little to the left of thisannouncement was painted a harp, probably a reminder of the one SaintCecilia was supposed to have played. This sentimental symbol wasobviously intended to lend dignity and respectability to the otherwisedisreputable vehicle of concord and its steed without wings, waitingpatiently to be off--or to lie down and pay the debt of nature!

"Shall we try it again, angel voice?" asked Mr. Mackintosh, playing thepiano, or "biffing the ivories, " as he called it. 

"Drop it, " returned the visitor, "that 'angel' dope. "

"Oh, all right! Anything to oblige. "

Before this vaguely apologetic reply, the new-comer once more relapsedinto thoughtfulness. His eye passed dubiously over the vehicle ofharmony; he began to take an interest in the front door as if againinclined to "back out. " Perhaps a wish that the horse _might_ lie downand die at this moment (no doubt he would be glad to!) percolatedthrough the current of his thoughts. That would offer an easy solutionto the proposal he imagined would soon be forthcoming--that _was_forthcoming--and accepted. Of course! What alternative remained? Needsmust when an empty pocket drives. Had he not learned the lesson--beggarsmust not be choosers?

"And now, " said Mr. Mackintosh with the air of a man who had cast fromhis shoulders a distinct problem, "that does away with the necessity ofbailing the other chap out. What's your name?"

The visitor hesitated. "Horatio Heatherbloom. "

The other looked at him keenly. "The right one, " he said softly. 

"You've got the only one you'll get, " replied the caller, after aninterval. 

Mr. Mackintosh bestowed upon him a knowing wink. "Sounds like a _nom deplume_, " he chuckled. "What was your line?"

"I don't understand. "

"What did you serve time for? Shoplifting?"

"Oh, no, " said the other calmly. 

"Burglarizing?" With more respect in his tones. 

"What do you think?" queried the caller in the same mild voice. 

"Not ferocious-looking enough for that lay, I should have thought. However, you can't always tell by appearances. Now, I wonder--"

"What?" observed Mr. Heatherbloom, after an interval of silence. 

"Yes! By Jove!" Mr. Mackintosh was speaking to himself. "It mightwork--it might add interest--" Mr. Heatherbloom waited patiently. "Wouldyou have any objections, " earnestly, "to my making a little addenda tothe sign on the chariot of cadence? _What's the Matter with Mother_?'The touching lyric, as interpreted by Horatio Heatherbloom, thereformed burglar'?"

"I _should_ object, " observed the caller. 

"My boy--my boy! Don't be hasty. Take time to think. I'll go further;I'll paint a few iron bars in front of the harp. Suggestive of aprisoner in jail thinking of mother. Say 'yes'. "

"No. "

"Too bad!" murmured Mr. Mackintosh in disappointed but not altogetherconvinced tones. "You could use another alias, you know. If you'reafraid the police might pipe your game and nab--"

"Drop it, or--"

"All right, Mr. Heatherbloom, or any other blooming name!" Recoveringhis jocular manner. "It's not for me to inquire the 'why, ' or care a rapfor the 'wherefore. ' Ethics hasn't anything to do with the realm ofart. "

As he spoke he reached under the desk and took out the jug. "Have some?"extending the tumbler. 

The thin lips of the other moved, his hand quickly extended but wasdrawn as suddenly back. "Thanks, but I'm on the water wagon, old chap. "

"Well, I'm not. Do you know you said that just like a gentleman--to themanner born. "

"A gentleman? A moment ago I was a reformed burglar. "

"You might be both. "

Mr. Heatherbloom looked into space; Mr. Mackintosh did not notice asubtle change of expression. That latter gentleman's rapt gaze waswholly absorbed by the half-tumblerful he held in mid air. But only fora moment; the next, he was smacking his lips. "We'll have a bite to eatand then go, " he now said more cheerfully. "Ready for luncheon?"

"I could eat"

"Had anything to-day?"

"Maybe. "

"And maybe, not!" Half jeeringly. "Why don't you say you've beentraining down, taking the go-without-breakfast cure? Say, it must behell looking for a job when you've just 'got out'!"

"How do you know I just 'got out'?"

"You look it, and--there's a lot of reasons. Come on. "

Half an hour or so later the covered wagon drove along Fourteenthstreet. Near the curb, not far from the corner of Broadway, it separateditself from the concourse of vehicles and stopped. Close by, nickelpalaces of amusement exhibited their yawning entrances, and into thesegilded maws floated, from the human current on the sidewalk, a stream ofmen, women and children. Encamped at the edge of this eddy, Mr. Mackintosh sounded on the nomadic piano, now ensconced within the coachof concord, the first triumphal strains of the maternal tribute inrag-time. 

He and the conspiring instrument were concealed in the depths of thevehicle from the gaze of the multitude, but Mr. Heatherbloom at the backfaced them on the little step which served as concert stage. There wereno limelights or stereopticon pictures to add to the illusion, --only thedisconcerting faces and the light of day. He never before knew howbright the day could be but he continued to stand there, in spite of theludicrous and trying position. He sang, a certain daredevil light inhis eye now, a suspicion of a covert smile on his face. It might berather tragic--his position--but it was also a little funny. 

His voice didn't sound any better out of doors than it did in; the"angel" quality of the white-robed choir days had departed with the soulof the boy. Perhaps Mr. Heatherbloom didn't really feel the pathos ofthe selection; at any rate, those tears Mr. Mackintosh had prophesiedwould be rolling down the cheeks of the listening multitude weren'tforthcoming. One or two onlookers even laughed. 

"Pigs! Swine!" murmured the composer, now passing through the crowd withcopies of the song. He sold a few, not many; on the back step Mr. Heatherbloom watched with faint sardonic interest. 

"Have I earned my luncheon yet?" he asked the composer when thataggrieved gentleman, jingling a few dimes, returned to the equipage ofmelody. 

"Haven't counted up, " was the gruff reply. "Give 'em another verse! Theyain't accustomed to it yet. Once they git to know it, every boot-blackin town will be whistling that song. Don't I know? Didn't I write it?Ain't they all had mothers?"

"Maybe they're all Topsies and 'just growed', " suggested Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"Patience!" muttered the other. "The public may be a little coy atfirst, but once they git started they'll be fighting for copies. Soencore, my boy; hammer it into them. We'll get them; you see!"

But the person addressed didn't see, at least with Mr. Mackintosh'sclairvoyant vision. Mr. Heatherbloom's gaze wandering quizzically fromthe little pool of mask-like faces had rested on a great shiningmotor-car approaching--slowly, on account of the press of traffic. Inthis wide luxurious vehicle reposed a young girl, slender, exquisite; ather side sat a big, dark, distinguished-appearing man, with a closelycropped black beard; a foreigner--most likely Russian. 

The girl was as beautiful as the dainty orchids with which the superbcar was adorned, and which she, also, wore in her gown--yellow orchids, tenderly fashioned but very insistent and bright. Upon this patricianvision Mr. Heatherbloom had inadvertently looked, and the patheticplaint regarding "Mother" died on the wings of nothingness. Withunfilial respect he literally abandoned her and cast her to the winds. His eyes gleamed as they rested on the girl; he seemed to lose himselfin reverie. 

Did she, the vision in orchids, notice him? Perhaps! The chauffeur atthat moment increased the speed of the big car; but as it dashed past, the crimson mouth of the beautiful girl tightened and hardened into astraight line and those wonderful starlike eyes shone suddenly with alight as hard as steel. Disdainful, contemptuous; albeit, perhaps, passionate! Then she, orchids, shining car and all were whirled on. 

Rattle! bang! went the iron-rimmed wheels of other rougher vehicles. Bing! bang! sounded the piano like a soul in torment. 

Horatio Heatherbloom stood motionless; then his figure swayed slightly. He lifted the music, as if to shield his features from the others--hismany auditors; but they didn't mind that brief interruption; it affordeda moment for that rough and ready dialogue which a gathering of thiskind finds to its liking. 

"Give him a trokee! Anybody got a cough drop?"

"It's soothing syrup he wants. "

"No; it's us wants that. "

"What the devil--" Mr. Mackintosh looked out of the wagon. 

Mr. Heatherbloom suddenly laughed, a forced reckless laugh. "Guess itwas the dampness. I'm like some artists--have to be careful where Ising. "

"Have a tablet, feller, do!" said a man in the audience. 

Horatio looked him in the eye. "Maybe it's you want something. "

The facetious one began to back away; he had seen that look before, thesteely glint that goes before battle. 

"The chord now, if you please!" said Mr. Heatherbloom to the composerin a still quiet voice. 

Mr. Mackintosh hit viciously; Mr. Heatherbloom sang again; he did morethan that. He outdid himself; he employed bombast, --some thought itpathos. He threw a tremolo into his voice; it passed for emotion. He"caught 'em", in Mr. Mackintosh's parlance, and "caught 'em hard". Somemore people bought copies. The alert Mr. Mackintosh managed to gather inabout a dollar, and saw, in consequence, great fortune "coming his way"at last; the clouds had a golden lining. 

"Say, you're the pard I've been a-looking for!" he jubilantly told Mr. Heatherbloom as they prepared to move on. "We'll make a beautiful team. Isn't it a peach?"

"What?"

"That song. It made them look like a rainy day. Git up!" And Mr. Mackintosh prodded the bony ribs of their steed. 

Mr. Heatherbloom absent-mindedly gazed in the direction the big shiningmotor had vanished. 

CHAPTER II

VARYING FORTUNES

Mr. Heatherbloom's new-found employment proved but ephemeral. The nextday the sheriff took possession of the music emporium and all itcontained, including the nomadic piano and the now empty jug. Thecontents of the last the composer-publisher took care to put beyondreach of his many creditors whom he, in consequence, faced with aseemingly care-free, if artificial, jocularity. Mr. Heatherbloom walkedsoberly forth from the shop of concord. 

He had but turned the corner of the street when into the now dissonant"hole in the wall", amid the scene of wreck and disaster, stepped a talldark man, with a closely cropped beard, who spoke English with an accentand who regarded the erstwhile proprietor and the minions of the lawwith ill-concealed arrogance and disfavor. 

"You have, " he began in halting tones, "a young man here who sings onthe street like the minstrels of old, the--what you callthem?--troubadours. "

"We _had_, " corrected Mr. Mackintosh. "He has just 'jumped the coup, ' orrather been 'shooed out'. "

The new-comer fastened his gaze upon the other; he had superb, almostmesmeric eyes. "Will you kindly speak the language as I understand it?"he said. And the other did, for there was that in the caller's mannerwhich compelled immediate compliance. Immovably he listened to thecomposer-publisher's explanation. 

"_Eh bien!"_ he said, his handsome, rather barbaric head high when Mr. Mackintosh had concluded. "He is gone; it is well; I have fulfilled mymission. " And walking out, the imposing stranger hailed a taxi anddisappeared from the neighborhood. 

Meanwhile Mr. Horatio Heatherbloom had walked slowly on; he was nowsome distance from the one-time "emporium. " Where should he go? Hisfortunes had not been enhanced materially by his brief excursion intothe realms of melody; he had thirty cents in cash and a"dollar-and-a-half appetite. " An untidy place where they displayed abargain assortment of creature comforts attracted his gaze. He thoughtof meals in the past--of caviar, a la Russe, three dollars and a half aportion; peaches Melba, three francs each at the Café de Paris; truffledcapon from Normandy; duck after the manner of the incomparable Frederic. About half a dozen peaches Melba would have appealed to him now; helooked, instead, with the eyes of longing at a codfish ball. Oh, glorious appetite, mocking recollections of hours of satiety!

Should he yield to temptation? He stopped; then prudence prevailed. Theday was yet too young to give way recklessly to casual gastronomicallurements, so he stepped on again quickly, averting his head from shopwindows. Lest his caution and conservatism might give way, he startedto turn into a side street--but didn't. 

Instead, he laughed slightly to himself. What! flee from an outpost oftime-worn celery? beat an inglorious retreat before a phalanx ofmachine-made pies? He would look them (figuratively) in the eye. Having, as it were, fairly stared out of countenance the bland pies and beamedwith stern contempt upon the "droopy, " Preraphaelite celery, he went, better satisfied, on his way. It is these little victories that count;at that moment Mr. Heatherbloom marched on like a knight of old forsteadfastness of purpose. His lips veiled a covert smile, as if behindthe hard mask of life he saw something a little odd and whimsical, appealing to some secret sense of humor that even hunger could notwholly annihilate. The lock of hair seemed to droop rather patheticallyat that moment; his sensitive features were slightly pinched; his facewas pale. It would probably be paler before the day was over;_n'importe!_ The future had to be met--for better, or worse. Multitudespassed this way and that; an elevated went crashing by; devastatinginfluences seemed to surround him. His slender form stiffened. 

When next he stopped it was to linger, not in front of an eatingestablishment, but before a bulletin-board upon which was pasted a pageof newspaper "want ads" for "trained" men, in all walks of life. "Trained" men? Hateful word! How often had he encountered it! Ah, herewas one advertisement without the "trained"; he devoured it eagerly. Theitem, like an oasis in the desert of his general incapacity anduselessness, exercised an odd fascination for him in spite of theabsolute impossibility of his professing to possess a fractional part ofthose moral attributes demanded by the fair advertiser. She--a Miss VanRolsen--was seeking a paragon, not a person. Nevertheless, he resolvedto assail the apparently unassailable, and repaired to a certainultrafashionable neighborhood of the town. 

Before a brownstone front that bore the number he sought, he paused amoment, drew a deep breath and started to walk up the front steps. Butwith a short laugh he came suddenly to a halt half-way up; looked overthe stone balustrade down at the other entrance below--thetradesmen's--the butchers', the bakers', the candlestick makers'--and, yes, the servants'--their way in!--his?

He went down the steps and walked on and away as a matter of course, butonce more stopped. He had done a good deal of going this way and that, and then stopping, during the last few months. Things had to be workedout, and sometimes his brain didn't seem to move very quickly. 

To be worked out! He now surveyed the butchers' and the bakers' (andyes, the servants') entrance with casual or philosophic interest fromthe vantage point of the other side of the street. It wasn't differentfrom any other of the entrances of the kind but it held his gaze. Thenhe walked across the street again and went in--or down. It didn't reallyseem now such a bad kind of entrance when you came to investigate it, ina high impersonal way; not half so bad as the subway, and people didn'tmind that. 

Still Mr. Heatherbloom experienced a peculiar thrill when he put up histhumb, pressed a button, and wondered what next would happen. Whoanswered doors down here, --the maid--the cook--the laundress? He felthimself to be very indistinct and vague standing there in the shadow, and tried to assume a nonchalant bearing. He wondered just what bearing_was_ proper under the circumstances; he cherished indistinctrecollections of having heard or read that the butcher's boy is usuallyfavored with a broadly defying and independent visage; that he comes inwhistling and goes forth swaggering. A cat-meat man he had once lookedupon from the upper lodge of front steps somewhere in the dim long ago, had possessed a melancholy manner and countenance. 

How should he comport himself; what should he say--when the inevitablehappened; when the time came to say something? How lead the conversationby natural and easy stages to the purport of his visit? He rehearsed afew sentences, then straightway forgot them. Why did they keep himwaiting so long? Did they always keep people as long as that--down here?He put his thumb again--

"Well, what do you want?" The door had opened and a buxom female, armsakimbo, regarded him. Mr. Heatherbloom repaid her gaze with interest; it_was_ the cook, then, who acted as door tender of these regionssubterranean. He feared by her expression that he had interrupted her inthe preparation of some esculent delicacy, and with the fear was born aparenthetical inquiry; he wondered what that delicacy might be? Butforbearing to inquire he stated his business. 

"You'll be the thirteenth that's been 'turned down' to-day for thatjob!" observed cook blandly. With which cheering assurance she consignedhim to some one else--a maid with a tipped-up nose--and presently hefound himself being "shown up"; that was the expression used. 

The room into which he was ushered was a parlor. Absently he seatedhimself. The maid tittered. He looked at her--or rather the tipped-upnose, an attractive bit of anatomy. Saucy, provocative! Mr. Heatherbloom's head tilted a little; he surveyed the detail with thelook of a connoisseur. She colored, went; but remained in the hall topeer. There were many articles of virtu lying around--on tables or incabinets--and the caller's appearance was against him. He would bearwatching; he had the impudence--Just fancy his sitting there in a chair!He was leaning back now as if he enjoyed that atmosphere of luxury;surveying, too, the paintings and the bronzes with interest. But for nogood reason, thought the maid; then gave a start of surprise. The handof the suspicious-looking caller had lifted involuntarily to his breastpocket; a mechanical movement such as a young gentleman might make whowas reaching for a cigarette case. Did he intend--actually intendto--but the caller's hand fell; he sat forward suddenly on the edge ofhis chair and seemed for the first time aware that his attitude partookof the anomalous; for gathering up his shabby hat from the gorgeousrug, he abruptly rose. 

Just in time to confront, or be confronted by, an austere lady in stiffsatin or brocade and with bristling iron-gray hair! He noticed, however, that unlike the maid, she had a very prominent nose--that _now_ sniffed!

"Good heavens! What a frightful odor of gasolene. Jane, where are mysalts?"

Jane rushed in; at the same time four or five dogs that had followed inthe lady's wake began to bark as if they, too, were echoing the plaint:"What a frightful odor! Salts, Jane, salts!" And as they barked in manykeys, but always fortissimo, they ran frantically this way and that asthough chased by somebody, or something (perhaps the odor of gasolene), or chasing one another in a mad outburst of canine exuberance. 

"Sardanapolis! Beauty! Curly! Naughty!" the lady called out. 

But in vain. Sardanapolis continued to cut capers; Beauty's conduct wasnot beautiful; while as for Naughty (all yellow bows and black curls)he seemed endeavoring to live up to the fullest realization of his name. 

"Dear me! What _shall_ I do?"

"Just let 'em alone, ma'am, " ventured Jane, "and they'll soon tirethemselves out. "

Fortunately, by this time, the be-ribboned pets showed signs of reachingthat state of ennui. 

"Dear me!" said now the lady anxiously. "How wet the poor dears' tonguesare!"

"Nature of the b--poor dears, ma'am!" commented Jane. 

The lady looked at her. "_You_ don't like dogs, " she said. "You can go. "And then to Mr. Heatherbloom: "What brought you here? Don't answer atonce. Stand farther back. "

Mr. Heatherbloom, who seemed to have been rather enjoying this littleimpromptu entertainment, straightened with a start; he retired a fewpaces, observing in a mild explanatory tone something about spots on hisgarments and the necessity for having them removed at a certain littleGreek shop, before doing himself the honor of calling and--

"You're another answer to the advertisement then, I suppose?" thelady's voice unceremoniously interrupted. 

He confessed himself Another Answer, and in that capacity proceeded nowto reply as best he might to a merciless and rapid fire of questions. She would have made an excellent cross-examiner for the prosecution; Mr. Heatherbloom did not seem to enjoy the grilling. A number of querieshe answered frankly; others he evaded. He seemed--ominouscircumstance!--especially secretive regarding certain details of hispast. He did not care to say where he was born, or who his parents were. What had he done? What occupations had he followed?

Well--he seemed to hesitate a good deal--he had once tried washingdishes; but--dreamily--they had discharged him; the man said somethingabout there being a debit balance on account of damaged crockery. He hadessayed the rôle of waiter but had lasted only through the firstcourses; down to the entrées, he thought; certainly not much past thepottage. He believed he bumped into another waiter; a few guests withinrange had seemed put out; afterward, he himself was put out. Andthen--well, he had somehow drifted, more or less. 

"Drifted!" said the lady ominously. 

"Oh, yes! Tried his hand at this and that, " he added rather blithely. Heonce worked for a moving-picture firm; fell from a six-story window forthem. That is, he started to fall; something--a net or a platform--wassupposed to catch him at the fifth, and then a dummy completed thedescent and got smashed on the sidewalk. He was a little doubtful abouttheir intercepting him at the fifth and that he, instead of thedummy--But he didn't seem to mind taking the risk--reflectively. Theysaid he was a great success falling through the air, and they had him, in consequence, fall from all kinds of places, --through drawbridges intothe water, for example. That's where he contracted a bad cold, and whenhe had recovered, another man had been found for the heavier-than-airrôle--

"What are you talking about?" The lady's back was stiffer than a poker. 

"If ever you go to a moving-picture palace of amusement, Madam, and seea streak in the air, you might reasonably conclude you are"--hebowed--"beholding me. I went once; it seemed funny. I hardly recognizedmyself in the part. I certainly seemed to be 'going some', " he murmuredseriously. "Is there anything else, Madam, you would care to question meabout?"

"I think, " she said significantly, "what I have learned is quitesufficient. If the occupations you have told me about are sodisreputable--what were those you have kept so carefully concealed? Forexample, where were you and what were you doing four--five--six--yearsago? You have already refused to answer. You relate only a fewinconsequential and outré trifles. To cover up--What? What?" sherepeated. 

Then she transfixed him with her eye; the dogs transfixed him with theireyes. Accusingly? Not all of them. Naughty's glance expressed approval;his tail underwent a friendly agitation. 

"Naughty!" said the lady sharply. Naughty gamboled around Horatio. 

"How odd!" murmured the mistress, more to herself than the other. "Howvery extraordinary!"

"What, Madam?" he ventured. 

"That Naughty, who so seldom takes to strangers, should--" she foundherself saying. 

"Perhaps it's the scent of the gasolene, " he suggested. 

"It's _in spite of_ the gasolene, " she retorted sharply. 

And for some moments ruminated. It was not until afterward Mr. Heatherbloom learned that her confidence in Naughty's instinct amountedto a hobby. Only once had she thought him at fault in his likes ordislikes of people; when he had showed a predilection for the assistantrector's shapely calves. But after that gentleman's elopement with alady of the choir and his desertion of wife and children, Naughty'serstwhile disrespect for the cloth, which Miss Van Rolsen had grievedover, became illumined with force and significance. Thereafter she hadnever doubted him; he had barked at all twelve of Mr. Heatherbloom'spredecessors--the dozen other answers to the advertisement; but here hewas sedulous for fondlings from Horatio. Extraordinary truly! The ladyhesitated. 

"I suppose we shall all be murdered in our beds, " she said half toherself, "but, " with sudden decision, "I've concluded to engage you. "

"And my duties?" ventured Mr. Heatherbloom. "The advertisement did notsay. "

"You are to exercise the darlings every day in the park. "

"Ah!" Horatio's exclamation was noncommittal. What he might have addedwas interrupted by a light footstep in the hall and the voice of someone who stopped in passing before the door. 

"I am going now, Aunt, " said a voice. 

Mr. Heatherbloom started; his hand tightened on the back of a chair;from where he stood he could see but the rim of a wonderful hat. Hegazed at a few waving roses, fitting notes of color as it were, for thelovely face behind, concealed from him by the curtain. 

The elderly lady answered; Mr. Heatherbloom heard a Prince Someone'sname mentioned; then the roses were whisked back; the voice--musical assilver bells--receded, and the front door closed. Mr. Heatherbloom gazedaround him--at the furnishings in the room--she who stood before him. Heseemed bewildered. 

"And now as to your wages, " said a voice--not silver bells!--sharply. 

"I hardly think I should prove suitable--" he began in somewhatpanic-stricken tones, when--

"Nonsense!" The word, or the energy imparted to it, appeared to crushfor the moment further opposition on his part; his faculties becameconcentrated on a sound without, of a big car gathering headway in frontof the door. Mr. Heatherbloom listened; perhaps he would have liked toretreat then and there from that house; but it was too late! Fate hadprecipitated him here. A mad tragic jest! He did not catch the amountof his proposed stipend that was mentioned; he even forgot for themoment he was hungry. He could no longer hear the car. It had gone; but, it would return. Return! And then--? His head whirled at the thought. 

CHAPTER III

AN ENCOUNTER

Mr. Heatherbloom, a few days later, sat one morning in Central Park. Hiscanine charges were tied to the bench and while they chafed at restraintand tried vainly to get away and chase squirrels, he scrutinized one ofthe pages of a newspaper some person had left there. What the young manread seemed to give him no great pleasure. He put down the paper; thenpicked it up again and regarded a snap-shot illustration occupying aconspicuous position on the society page. 

"Prince Boris Strogareff, riding in the park, " the picture was labeled. The newspaper photographer had caught for his sensational sheet anexcellent likeness of a foreign visitor in whom New York was at the timegreatly interested. A picturesque personality--the prince--halfdistinguished gentleman, half bold brigand in appearance, was depictedon a superb bay, and looked every inch a horseman. Mr. Heatherbloomcontinued to stare at the likeness; the features, dark, ratherwild-looking, as if a trace of his ancient Tartar ancestry had survivedthe cultivating touch of time. Then the young man on the bench once moreturned his attention to the text accompanying the cut. 

"Reported engagement of Miss Elizabeth Dalrymple to Prince BorisStrogareff . . . The prince has vast estates in Russia and Russia-Asia . . . His forbears were prominent in the days when Crakow was building and theCossacks and the Poles were engaged in constant strife on the steppe . . . Miss Dalrymple, with whom this stalwart romantic personage is said to bedeeply enamored, is niece and heiress of the eccentric Miss Van Rolsen, the third richest woman in New York, and, probably, in the world . . . Miss Dalrymple is the only surviving daughter of Charles Dalrymple ofSan Francisco, who made his fortune with Martin Ferguson of the sameplace, at the time--"

The paper fell from Mr. Heatherbloom's hand; for several moments he satmotionless; then he got up, unloosened his charges and moved on. Theynaturally became once more wild with joy, but he heeded not theirexuberances; even Naughty's demonstrations brought no answering touch ofhis hand, that now lifted to his breast and took something from hispocket--an article wrapped in a pink tissue-paper. Mr. Heatherbloomunfolded the warm-tinted covering with light sedulous fingers and lookedsteadily and earnestly at a miniature. But only for a brief interval; bythis time Curly et al. Had become an incomprehensible tangle of dog andleading strings about Mr. Heatherbloom's legs. So much so, indeed, thatin the effort to extricate himself he dropped the tiny picture; with asudden passionate exclamation he stooped for it. The anger thattransformed his usually mild visage seemed about to vent itself on hischarges but almost at once subsided. 

Carefully brushing the picture on his coat, he replaced it in hispocket and quietly started to disentangle his charges from himself. Thiswas at length accomplished; he knew, however, that the unraveling wouldhave to be done all over again ere long; it constituted an importantpart of his duties. The promenade was punctuated by about so many"mix-ups"; Mr. Heatherbloom accepted them philosophically, orabsent-mindedly. At any rate, while untying knots or disengaging things, he usually exhibited much patience. 

It might have been noticed some time later that Mr. Heatherbloom, retracing his footsteps to Miss Van Rolsen's, betrayed a rathervacillating and uncertain manner, as if he were somewhat reluctant to gointo, or to approach too near the old-fashioned stiff and stately house. For fear of meeting some one, or a dread of some sudden encounter? WithMiss Van Rolsen's niece? So far he had not seen her since that firstday. Perhaps he congratulated himself on his good fortune in thisrespect. If so, he reckoned without his host. 

It is possible for two people to frequent the same house for quite awhile without meeting when one of them lives on the avenue side andflits back and forth via the front steps, while the other comes and goesonly by the subterranean route; but, sooner or later, though belongingto widely different worlds, these two are bound to come face to face, even in spite of the determination of one of the persons to avert such acontingency!

Mr. Heatherbloom always peered carefully about before venturing from thehouse with his pampered charges; he was no less watchfully alert when hereturned. He could not, however, having only five senses, tell when thefront door might be suddenly opened at an inopportune moment. It wasopened, this very morning, on the third day of his probation at such amoment. And he had been planning, after reading the newspaper article inthe park, to tender his resignation that very afternoon!

It availed him nothing now to regret indecision, his being partlycoerced by the masterful mistress of the house into remaining as longas he had remained; or to lament that other sentiment, conspiring tothis end--the desire or determination, not to flee from what he mostfeared. Empty bravado! If he could but flee now! But there was nofleeing, turning, retreating, or evading. The issue had to be met. 

Miss Dalrymple, gowned in a filmy material which lent an evanescentcharm to her slender figure, came down the front steps as he was aboutto enter the area way below. The girl looked at him and her eyessuddenly widened; she stopped. Mr. Heatherbloom, quite pale, bowed andwould have gone on, when something in her look, or the first word thatfell from her lips, held him. 

"You!" she said, as if she did not at all comprehend. 

He repaid her regard with less steady look; he had to say something andhe didn't wish to. Why couldn't people just meet and pass on, the waydumb creatures do? The gift of speech has its disadvantages--onoccasions; it forces one to insufficient answer or superfluousexplanation. "Yes, " he said, "your--Miss Van Rolsen engaged me. Ididn't really want to stay, but it came about. Some things do, you know. You see, " he added, "I didn't know she was your aunt when I answered theadvertisement. "

She bent her gaze down upon him as if she hardly heard; beneath thebright adornment of tints, the lovely face--it was a very proudface--had become icy cold; the violet eyes were hard as shining crystal. To Mr. Heatherbloom that slender figure, tensely poised, seemed at onceoverwhelmingly near and inexpressibly remote. He started to lean on aniron picket but changed his mind and stood rather too stiffly, withoutsupport. Before his eyes the flowers in her hat waved and waved; hetried to keep his eyes on them. 

"I had been intending, " he observed in tones he endeavored to makelight, "to tell Miss Van Rolsen she must find some one else to take myplace. It would not be very difficult. It is not a position thatrequires a trained man. "

"Difficult?" She seemed to have difficulty in speaking the word; hercold eyes suddenly lighted with unutterable scorn. If any one in thisworld ever experienced thorough disdain for any one else, her expressionimplied it was she that experienced it for him. "Valet for dogs!"

Mr. Heatherbloom flushed. "They are very nice dogs, " he murmured. "Indeed, they are exceptional. "

She gave an abrupt, frozen little laugh; then bent down her faceslightly. "And do you wash and curl and perfume them?" she asked, hersmall white teeth setting tightly after she spoke. 

"Well, I don't perfume them, " answered Mr. Heatherbloom. "Miss VanRolsen attends to that herself. She knows the particular essences betterthan I. " A slightly strained smile struggled about his lips. "You seeBeauty has one kind, and Naughty another. At least, I think so. WhileSardanapolis isn't given any at all. "

Can violet eyes shine fiercely? Hers certainly seemed to. "How, " shesaid, examining him as one would study something very remote andimpersonal, "did my aunt happen to employ--you? I know she is veryparticular--about recommendations. What ones did you have? Were theyforged ones, " suddenly, "or stolen ones?" The red lips like rosebuds hadbecome straightly drawn now. 

"No, " answered Mr. Heatherbloom. "I didn't have any. I just came, and--"

"Saw and conquered!" said the girl. But there was no levity in her tone. She continued to gaze at him and yet through him; at somethingbeyond--afar--"I don't understand why she should have taken you--"

"Shall I explain?"

"And I don't care why she did!" Not noticing his interruption. "Theprincipal thing is, why did you want this position? What ulterior motivelay behind?" She was speaking now almost automatically, as if he werenot present. "For, of course, there was some other motive. "

"The truth is, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom lightly, but passing anuncertain hand over his brow, "I had reached that point--I shouldqualify by saying I have long been at the point where one is willing totake any 'honest work of any kind'. I suppose you have heard the phrasebefore; it's a common one. But believe me, it was quite by accident Icame here; quite!"

"'Believe you', " said the girl, as one would address an inferior for thepurpose of putting him into the category where he belongs. "'Honestwork'! When have you been particular as to that; whether or not"--withmocking irony in the pitiless violet eyes--"it was 'honest'?"

Mr. Heatherbloom started; his gaze met hers unwaveringly. "You don'tthink, then, that I--"

"Think?" said the girl. "I know. "

"Would you mind--explaining?" he asked quietly. He didn't need anysupport now, but stood with head well back, a steady gleam in his look. "What you--know?"

"I know--you are a thief!" She spoke the Words fiercely. 

His face twitched. "How do you know?"

"By the kind of evidence I can believe. "

"And that?" he said in the same quiet voice. 

"The evidence of my own eyes!"

He was still, as if thinking. He looked down; then away. 

"Why don't you protest?" she demanded. 

"Protest, " he repeated. 

"Or ask me to explain further--"

"Well, explain further, " he said patiently. 

"Put your mind back three weeks ago--at about eleven o'clock in themorning. Where were you? what were you doing? what was happening?"

Mr. Heatherbloom looked very thoughtful. 

"At the corner of"--she mentioned the streets--"not far from RiversideDrive. We passed at that time in the car. Need I say more?"

His head was downbent. "I think I understand. " His hand strokedtentatively his chin. 

The silence grew; Beauty barked, but neither seemed to notice. 

"Of course you can't deny?" she observed. 

"Of course not, " he said, without moving. 

"You won't defend yourself; plead palliating causes?" ironically. 

He picked at the ground with the toe of a shoe. "If I told you, on myhonor, I am not--what you have called me just now, would you believeme?" he asked gravely. 

"On your honor, " said the girl with a cruel smile. "Yours? No!"

"Then, " he spoke as if to himself, "I don't suppose there's any use indenying. Your mind is made up. "

"My mind!" she answered. "Can I not see; hear? Can _you_ not hear--thosevoices? Do they not follow you?"

He seemed striving for an answer but could not find it. Once he lookedinto the violet eyes questioningly, deeply, as if seeking there to readwhat he should say, but they flashed only the hard rays of diamonds athim, and he turned his head slowly away. 

"I see, " she remarked, "you remember; but you do not care. "

"I--you reconcile the idea of my being _that_ very easily with--"

"It fits perfectly, " said the girl, "with the rest of the picture; whatone has already pieced together; it is just another odd-shaped black bitthat goes in snugly. You appreciate the comparison?"

"I think I do, " answered Mr. Heatherbloom. "You are alluding to picturepuzzles. Is there anything more?" He started as if to go. 

"One moment--of course, you can't stay here, " said the girl. 

"I had intended to go at once, as I told you, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"You had? You mean you will?"

"No; I won't go now. That is, " he added, "of my own volition. "

"You do well to qualify. Would you not prefer to go of your own volitionthan to have me inform my aunt who you are--what you are?"

He shook his head. "I won't resign now, " he said. 

"And so show yourself a fool as well as--" She did not speak the word, but it trembled on the sweet passionate lips. 

He did not answer. 

"Suppose, " she went on, "I offer you the chance and do not speak, if youwill go--immediately?"

"I can't, " he answered. 

Her brows bent; her little hand seemed to clench. But he stood withoutlooking at her, appearing absorbed in a tiny bit of cloud in the sky. 

"Very well!" she said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. 

He looked quite insignificant at the moment; she was far above him; hisclothes were threadbare, the way thieves' clothes, or pickpockets', usually are. 

"If you expect any mercy from me--" she began. 

But she did not finish; a figure, approaching, caught her eye--thehandsome stalwart figure of a man; whose features lighted at sight ofher. 

"Ah, Miss Dalrymple!"

Her face changed. "An unexpected pleasure, Prince, " she said withalmost an excess of gaiety. 

He answered in kind; she came down the steps quickly, offering him herhand. And as he gallantly raised the small perfumed fingers to his lips, Mr. Heatherbloom seemed to fade away into the dark subterraneanentrance. 

CHAPTER IV

FATE AT THE DOOR

Although Mr. Heatherbloom waited expectantly that day for his dismissal, it did not come. This surprised him somewhat; then he reflected thatMiss Elizabeth Dalrymple was probably so absorbed in theprince--remembering her rather effusive greeting of that fortunateindividual--she had forgotten such a small matter as having the dogvalet ejected from the premises. She would remember on the morrow, ofcourse. 

But she didn't! The hours passed, and he was suffered to go about theeven, or uneven, tenor of his way. This he did mechanically; he scrubbedand combed Beauty beautifully. With a dire sense of fate knocking at thedoor, he passed her on to Miss Van Rolsen, to be freshly be-ribboned bythat lady's own particular hand. The thin bony finger he thought wouldbe pointed accusingly at him, busied itself solely with the knots andbows of a new ribbon; after which the grim lady dismissed him--from herpresence, not the house--curtly. 

Several days went by; still no one accused him; he was still suffered toremain. Why? He could not understand. At the end of a long--seeminglyinterminable week--he put himself deliberately in the way of findingout. Coming to, or going from the house, he lingered around the areaentrance, purposely to encounter her whom he had heretofore, above allothers, wished to avoid. A feverish desire possessed him to meet theworst, and then go about his way, no matter where it might lead him. Hewas past solicitude in that regard. He did at length manage to meether--not as before in the full daylight but toward dusk, as shereturned, this time on foot, to the house. 

"Miss Dalrymple, may I speak to you?" he said to the indistinctly seen, slender figure that started lightly up the front steps. 

She did not even stop, although she must have heard him; a moment hesaw her like a shadow; then the front door opened. He heard a crispmetallic click; the door closed. Slowly with head a little downbent hewalked out, up the way she had come; then around the corner a shortdistance to the stables over which he had his room. 

It was a nice room, he had at first thought, probably because he likedhorses. They--four or five thoroughbreds--whinnied as he opened thedoor. He had started up the dark narrow stairs to his chamber, butstopped at that sound and groped about from stall to stall passingaround the expected lumps of sugar. After which all seemed well as faras he and they were concerned. 

Only that other problem!--he could not shake it from him. To resignnow?--under fire? How he wished he might! But to remain?--his situationwas intolerable. He went up to his room feeling like a ghost; his mindwas full of dark presences, as if he had lived a thousand times beforeand had been surrounded only by hostile influences that now came backin the still watches of the night to haunt him. 

He dreaded going to the house the next day, but he went. Perhaps, hereflected, she was only allowing him to retain his present positionunder a kind of espionage; to trap him and put him beyond the pale ofrespectable society. He remembered the cruel lips, the passionatedislike--contempt--even hatred--in her eyes. Yes; that might be it--thereason for her temporary silence; the house was full of valuable things;sooner or later--

"Are you quite satisfied, Madam, with my services?" said Mr. Heatherbloom that afternoon to Miss Van Rolsen. 

"You seem to do well enough, " she answered shortly. 

He brightened. "Perhaps some one else would do better. "

"Perhaps, " she returned dryly. "But I'm not going to try. "

"But, " he said desperately, "I--I don't think they--the dogs, like mequite so much as they did. Naughty, in particular, " he added quickly. "I--I thought yesterday he would have liked to--growl and nip at me. "

"Did he, " she asked, studying him with disconcerting keenness, "actuallydo that?"

"No. But--"

"Do I understand you wish to give me notice?" she interrupted sharply. 

"Not at all. " In an alarmed tone. "I couldn't--I mean I wouldn't dothat. Only I thought you might have felt dissatisfied--people usually dowith me, " he added impressively. "So if you would like to give me--"

She made a gesture. "That will do. I am very busy this morning. Thebegging list, though smaller than usual--only three hundred andseventy-six letters--has to be attended to. "

Thus the matter of Mr. Heatherbloom's staying or going continued, muchto that person's discomfiture, _in statu quo_. It is true he found, later, a compromising course; a way out of the difficulty--as hethought, little knowing the extraordinary new web he was weaving!--butbefore that time came, several things happened. In the first place hediscovered that Miss Dalrymple was not entirely pleased at thepublication of the story of her engagement to the prince; herposition--her family's and that of Miss Van Rolsen, was such thatnewspaper advertising or notoriety could not but be distasteful. 

"I hope people won't think I keep a social secretary, " Mr. Heatherbloomheard her say. 

Yes, heard her. He was in the dogs' "boudoir"; the conservatoryadjoined. He could not help being where he was; he belonged there at thetime. Nor could he help hearing; he didn't try to listen; he certainlydidn't wish to, though she had a very sweet voice--that soothed one to aspecies of lotus dream--forgetfulness of soap-suds, or the odor ofcanine disinfectant permeating the white foam--

"Why should they think you have a social secretary?" the voice of aman--the prince--inquired. 

He had deep fine tones; truly Russian tones, with a subtle vibration inthem. 

"Because when such things are published about people their secretariesusually put them in, " returned the girl. 

He was silent a moment; Mr. Heatherbloom thought he heard the breakingof the stem of a flower. 

"You were very much irritated--angry?" observed the prince at length, quietly. 

"Weren't you?" she asked. 

"I? No. It is a bourgeois confession, perhaps. "

Mr. Heatherbloom sat up straighter; the water dripped from his fingers. 

"I was pleased, " went on the sonorous low voice. "I wished--it were so!"

There was a sudden movement in the conservatory; a rustling of leaves, or of a gown; then--Mr. Heatherbloom relaxed in surprise--a peal ofmerry laughter filled the air. 

"How apropos! How well you said that!"

"Miss Dalrymple!" There was a slightly rising inflection in the man'stones. "You doubt my sincerity?"

"The sincerity of a Russian prince? No, indeed!" she returned gaily. 

"I am in earnest, " he said simply. 

"Don't be!" Mr. Heatherbloom could, in fancy, see the flash of a whitehand amid red flowers; eyes dancing like violets in the wind. He couldperceive, also, as plainly as if he were in that other room, the deepardent eyes of the prince downbent upon the blither ones, the commandingfigure of the man near that other slender, almost illusive presence. Aflower to be grasped only by a bold wooer, like the prince!

"Don't be, " she repeated. "You are so much more charming when you arenot. I think I heard that line in a play once. One of the Robertsonkind; it was given by a stock company in San Francisco. That's where Icame from, you know. Have you ever been there?"

"No, " said the prince slowly. 

Dark eyes trying to beat down the merriment in the blue ones! Mr. Heatherbloom could, in imagination, "fill in" all the stage details. Ifit only were "stage" dialogue; "stage" talk; not "playing with love", inearnest!

"Playing with love!" He had read a book of that name once; somewhere. In Italy?--yes. It sounded like an Italian title. Something verydisagreeable happened to the heroine. A woman, or a girl, can notlightly "play with love" with a Sicilian. But, of course, the princewasn't a Sicilian. 

"No, " he was saying now with admirable poise, in answer to her question, "I haven't visited your wonderful Golden Gate, but I hope to go theresome day--with you!" he added. His words were simple; the accent alonemade them sound formidable; it seemed to convey an impregnable purpose, one not to be shaken or disturbed. 

Mr. Heatherbloom felt vaguely disturbed; his heart pounded oddly. Hehalf started to get up, then sank back. He waited for another peal oflaughter; it didn't come. Why?

"Of course I should have no objection to your being one of a trainparty, " said Miss Dalrymple at length. 

"That isn't just what I mean, " returned the prince in his courtliesttones. But it wasn't hard to picture him now with a glitter in hisgaze, --immovable, sure of himself. 

There was a rather long pause; broken once more by Miss Dalrymple:"Shall we not return to the music room?"

That interval? What had it meant? Mute acquiescence on her part, adown-turning of the imperious lashes before the steadfastness of theother's look?--tacit assent? The casting off of barriers, the opening ofthe gates of the divine inner citadel? Mr. Heatherbloom was on his feetnow. He took a step toward the door, but paused. Of course! Somethingclammy had fallen from his hand; lay damp and dripping on the rag. Hestared at it--a bar of soap. 

What had he been about to do--he!--to step in there--into theconservatory, with his bar of soap?--grotesque anomaly! His face wore astrange expression; he was laughing inwardly. Oh, how he was laughing athimself! Fortunately he had a saving sense of humor. 

What had next been said in the conservatory? What was now being saidthere? He heard words but they had no meaning for him. "I will send youthe second volume of _The Fire and Sword_ trilogy, " went on the prince. "One of my ancestors figures in it. The hero--who is not exactly a hero, perhaps, in the heroine's mind, for a time--does what he must do; he haswhat he must have. He claims what nature made for him; he knows no otherlaw than that of his imperishable inner self. I, too, must rise to thoseheights my eyes are set on. It must be; it is written. We are fatalists, we Russians near the Tartar line! And you and I"--fervently--"werepredestined for each other. "

Mr. Heatherbloom had but dimly heard the prince's words and failed tograsp them; he didn't want to; his head was humming. Her light answersounded as if she might be very happy. Yes; naturally. She was made tobe happy, to dance about like sunshine. He liked to think of thepicture. The prince, too, was necessary to complete it; necessary, reaffirmed Mr. Heatherbloom to himself, pulling with damp fingers atthe inconsequential lock of hair over his brow. Of course, if the princecould be eliminated from that mental picture of her felicity?--but hewas a part of the composition; big, barbaric, romantic looking! In fact, it wouldn't have been an adequate composition at all without him; no, indeed!

And something rose in Mr. Heatherbloom's throat; one of his eyes--or wasit both of them?--seemed a little misty. That confounded soap! It wasstrong; a bit of it in the corner of the eyes made one blink. 

The two in the conservatory said something more; but the young man inthe "boudoir" didn't catch it at all well. By some intense mentalprocess, or the sound of the scrubber on the edge of the tub, he foundhe could shut a definite cognizance of words almost entirely from hissense of hearing. The prince's voice seemed slightly louder; that, in ageneral way, was patent; no doubt the occasion warranted more fervor onhis part. Mr. Heatherbloom tried to imagine what she would look likein--so to say, a very complaisant mood; not with flaming glance full ofaversion and scorn!

Violet eyes replete only with love lights! Mr. Heatherbloom bent lowerover the tub; his four-footed charge Beauty, contentedly immersed to theneck in nice comfortably warm water, licked him. He did not feel thetouch; the fragrance of orchids seemed to come to him above that othermore healthful, less agreeable odor of special cleansing preparation. 

Her accents were heard once more. Those final words sounded like a softcommand. Naturally! She could command the prince--now! Mr. Heatherbloomheard a door close--a replica of the harsh click he had listened to whenshe had shut the front door so unceremoniously on him a short timebefore. Then he heard nothing more. He gazed around him as he sat withhis hands tightly closed. Had it been only a dream? Naughty whined;Sardanapolis edged toward him and mechanically he began to brush himdown until he shone as sleek and shining as his Assyrian namesake. 

CHAPTER V

A CONTRETEMPS

More days passed and Mr. Heatherbloom continued to linger in his lastposition. It promised to be a record-making situation from thestandpoint of longevity; he had never "lasted" at any one task so longbefore. Miss Van Rolsen, to his consternation, seemed to unbend somewhatbefore him, as if she were beginning--actually!--to be more prepossessedin his favor. These evidences that he was rising in the stern lady'sgood graces filled Mr. Heatherbloom with new dismay; destiny certainlyseemed to be making a mock of him. 

A week went by; two weeks--three, and still twice a day he continued tomarch to and from the park with his charges. The faces of all thenurse-maids and others who frequented the big parallelogram of greenbecame familiar to him; he learned to know by sight the people who rodein the park and had a distant acquaintance with the squirrels. 

He became, for the first time, aware one day, from the perusal of acertain newspaper he always purchased now, that the prince had returnedto Russia. Although Miss Dalrymple refused to be interviewed, or toconfirm or deny any statement, it was generally understood (convenientphrase!) that the wedding would take place in the fall at the old VanRolsen home. The prince had left America in his yacht--the _Nevski_--forSt. Petersburg, announced the society editor. After a special interviewwith the czar and a few necessary business arrangements, the noblemanwould return at once for his bride. And, perhaps, he--Mr. Heatherbloom--would still be at his post of duty at the Van Rolsenhouse!

Since the day the prince had been with Miss Dalrymple in theconservatory, Mr. Heatherbloom had not seen, or rather heard, thatgentleman at the house. But then he--Mr. Heatherbloom--belonged in therear, and, no doubt, the prince had continued to be a daily, or twice, or three-times-a-day visitor to Miss Van Rolsen's elegant, if somewhatstiff, reception rooms. Now, however, he would come no more until hecame finally to "take with him the bride--"

The thought was in Horatio's mind when for a third time he encounteredher, face to face, on a landing, near a stair, or somewhere in thehouse, he couldn't afterward just exactly recall where, only that shelooked through him, without recognition, speech or movement of aneyelash, as if he had been a thing of thin air! But a thing that becamesuddenly imbued with real life; inspired with purpose! She had permittedhim to remain in the house, knowing his professed helplessness in thematter--she _must_ have divined that--playing with him as a tigress witha victim (yes; a tigress! Mr. Heatherbloom wildly, on the spur of themoment, compared her in his mind to that fierce beautiful creature). Hewould force her to tell him to go; she would certainly not suffer himto remain there another day if he told her--

"Miss Dalrymple, there is something I ought to say. I could not helpoverhearing you and the prince, one day, several weeks ago, in theconservatory. "

After he said it, he asked himself what excuse he had for saying it. Ifhe had stopped to analyze the impulse, he would have seen how absurd, unreasonable and uncalled for his words were. But he had no time toanalyze; like a diver who plunges suddenly, on some mad impulse, into awhirlpool, he had cast himself into the vortex. 

She looked at him and there was nothing _in nubibus_ to her about hispresence now. The violet eyes saw a substance--such as it was;recognized a reality--of its kind! Before the clouds gathering in theirdepths, Mr. Heatherbloom felt inclined to excuse himself and go on; butinstead, he waited. There was even a furtive smile on his lips thatbelied a quick throbbing in his breast; he thrust one hand as debonairlyas possible into his trousers pocket. His attitude might have beeninterpreted to express indifference, recklessness, or one or more of thesynonymous feelings. She thought so badly of him already that shecouldn't think much worse, and--

"So, "--had she been paler than her wont, or had excess of passion sentthe color from her face?--"you are a spy as _well!_"

His head shot back a little at the accent on the "well", but he thrusthis hand yet deeper into the pocket and strove not to lose that assumedexpression of ease. 

"I--a spy? I did not intend to--you--" He paused; if he wished to sethimself right in her eyes, why should he have spoken at all? Mr. Heatherbloom saw he had not quite argued out this matter as he shouldhave done; his bearing became less assured. 

"Is there"--her voice low and tense--"anything despicable, mean, paltryenough that you are not?"

Mr. Heatherbloom moistened his lips; he strove to think of a reply, sufficiently comprehensive to cover all the features of the case, butnot finding one at once apologetic and yet not so, remained silent. Hemade, however, a little gesture with his hand--the one that wasn't inthe pocket. That seemed to imply something; he didn't quite know what. 

She came slightly closer and his heart began to pound harder. A breathof perfume seemed to ascend between them; the arrows in her eyes dartedinto his. "How much--_what_ did you hear?" she demanded. 

"I--am really not sure--" Was it the orchids which perfumed the air? Hehad always heard they were odorless. The question intruded; his brainseemed capable of a dual capacity, or of a general incapacity ofsimultaneous considerations. He might possibly have stepped back alittle now but there was a wall, the broad blank wall behind him. Hewished he were that void she had first seemed to see--or not to see--inhim. "I didn't hear very much--the first part, I imagine--"

"The first part?" Roses of anger burned on her cheek. "Andafterward?--spy!" Her little hands were tight against her side. 

He hesitated; her foot moved; all that was passionate, vibrant in hernature seemed concentrated on him. 

"I don't think I caught much; but I heard him say something about fate, or destiny, and men coming into their own--that old Greek kind of talk, don't you know--" He spoke lightly. Why not? There was no need of beingmelodramatic. What had to be must be. He couldn't alter her, or what shewould think. "Then--then I was too busy to catch more--that is, if I hadwanted to--which I didn't!" He was forced to add the last; it burst fromhis lips with sudden passion; then they curved a little as if to askexcuse for a superfluity. 

She continued to look at him, and he looked at her now, squarely; astrange calm descended upon him. 

"And that, " he said, "is all I heard, or knew, until this morning, whenI saw in the paper, " dreamily, "he was coming back in the fall for--"

The color concentrated with sudden swift brightness in her cheeks. "Yousaw that--any one--every one saw--Oh--"

She started to speak further, then bit her lip, while the lace stirredbeneath the white throat. Mr. Heatherbloom had not followed what shesaid, was cognizant only of her anger. Her eyes were fastened onsomething beyond him, but returned soon, very soon. 

"Oh, " she said, "I might have known--if I let you stay, through pity, you would--"

"Pity!" said Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"Because I did not want to turn you out into the street--"

She spoke the words fiercely. Mr. Heatherbloom seemed now quiteimpervious to stab or thrust. 

"I permitted you to remain for"--she stopped--"remembering what you oncewere; who your people were! What"--flinging the words at him--"you mighthave been. Instead--of what you are!"

Mr. Heatherbloom gazed now without wincing; an unnatural absence offeeling seemed to have passed over his features, making them almostmask-like. It was as if he stood in some new pellucid atmosphere of hisown. 

"Of course, " he said, as half speaking to himself, "I must have earnedmy salary, or Miss Van Rolsen wouldn't have retained me. So I am not arecipient of charity. Therefore, "--did the word suggest far-awayschool-boy lessons on syllogisms and sophistries--"I have no right tofeel offended in that you let me remain, you say, 'through pity', whenas a matter of fact it was impossible for me to tender my resignation, in view of--" He finished the rest of a rather involved logicalconclusion to himself, taking his hand out of his pocket now and passingit lightly, in a somewhat dragging fashion, over his eyes. Then he gazedmomentarily beyond, as if he saw something appertaining to the "auldlang syne", but recalled himself with a start to the beautiful face, thethreads of gold, the violet eyes. 

"You will see to it now, of course"--his manner became brisk, almostbusinesslike--"that I, as a factor, am eliminated here? That, I mayconclude, is your intention?"

"Perhaps, " said the girl, a sibyl for intentness now, "you would preferto go? To be asked to! You would find the streets"--with swiftdiscerning contempt--"more profitable for your purpose than here, whereyou are known. "

"Perhaps, " assented Mr. Heatherbloom. He spoke quite airily; thensuddenly stiffened. 

At his words, the sight of him as he uttered them, she came abruptly yetnearer; her breath swept and seemed to scorch his cheek. 

"I should think, " she said, "you would be ashamed to live!"

"Ashamed?" he began; then stopped. There was no need of speaking furtherfor she had gone. 

CHAPTER VI

PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT

Mr. Heatherbloom drifted; not "looking for a way", one was forced uponhim. It came to him unexpectedly; chance served him. He would havethrust it from him but could not. During his more or less eccentricperegrinations in Central Park he had formed visual acquaintances withsundry folk; pictures of some of them were very dimly impressed on hisconsciousness, others--and the major part--on his subconsciousness. 

Flat faces, big faces, red faces, pale faces! One countenance in thelast class made itself a trifle more insistent than the others. Itspossessor had watched with interest his progress, interrupted withentanglements, and had listened to the music of his march, the caninefantasia, staccato, affettuoso! Mr. Heatherbloom's halting footstepsin the park generally led him to the heights; it wasn't a very highpoint, but it was the highest he could find, and he could look off onsomething--a lake, or reservoir of water, he didn't know just which, anda jagged sky-line. 

The person that exhibited casual curiosity in his movements and hiscoming thither was a woman. She seemed slight and sinuous, sitting thereagainst the stone parapet, and deep dark eyes accentuated the pallor ofher face. He did not think it strange she should always be at this spotwhen he came; in fact, it was quite a while before he noticed the almostdaily coincidence of their mutual presence at the same place, at aboutthe same time. After her first half-sly, half-sedulous regard of him, she would look away; her face then wore a soft and melancholyexpression; she appeared very sad. 

It took quite a while for this fact to be communicated to Mr. Heatherbloom. Though she shifted her figure often, as if to callattention to the pale profile of her face against a leaden sky, histhoughts remained introspective. Only the sky-line seemed to interesthim. But one day something white came dancing in the breeze to his feet. Absorbed in deep neutral tones afar, he did not see it; his four-footedcharges, however, were quick to perceive the object. 

"Oh!" said the lady. 

Mr. Heatherbloom looked. "Is--is it yours?" he asked. 

"It--was, " she remarked with a slight accent on the last word. 

He got up; there seemed little use endeavoring to rescue thehandkerchief now. 

"I'm afraid I've been rather slow, " he remarked. "Quite stupid, I'msure. "

She may have had her own opinion but maintained a discreet silence. Mr. Heatherbloom stooped and gathered in the remnants. "You will permit me, "he observed, "to replace it, of course. "

"But it was not your fault. "

"It was that of my charges, then. "

"No; the wind. Let's blame it on the wind. " She laughed, her dark eyesfull on his, though Mr. Heatherbloom seemed hardly to see them. 

After that when they met on this little elevation, she bowed to him andsometimes ventured a remark or two. He did not seem over-anxious to talkbut he met her troubled face with calm and unvarying, though somewhatabsent-minded courtesy. He replied to her questions perfunctorily, toldher whom he served, betraying, however, in turn, no inquisitivenessconcerning her. For him she was just some one who came and went, andincidentally interfered with his study of the sky-line. 

By degrees she confided in him; as one so alone she was glad of almostany one to confide in. She wanted, indeed, needed badly, a situation aslady's maid or second maid. She had tried and tried for a position;unfortunately her recommendations were mostly foreign--from Milan, Moscow, Paris. People either scrutinized them suspiciously, or _monDieu_! couldn't read them. It was hard on her; she had had such a time!She, a Viennese, with all her experience in France, Italy, Russia, found herself at her wits' end in this golden America. Wasn't it odd, _très drôle?_ She had laughed and laughed when she hadn't cried aboutit. 

She had even tried singing in a little music-hall, a horribly commonplace, but her voice had failed her. Perhaps there was a vacancy at MissVan--what was her name? There _was_ a place vacant; the maid with thesaucy nose, Mr. Heatherbloom indifferently vouchsafed, had just left tomarry out of service. 

"How fortunate!" the fair questioner cried; then sighed. Miss VanRolsen, being a maiden lady, would probably be most particular aboutrecommendations; that they should be of the home-made, intelligiblebrand, from people you could call up by telephone and interrogate. Hadshe been very particular in his case? Mr. Heatherbloom said "no"--notjoyfully, and explained. Though she drew words from him, he talked tothe sky-line. She listened; seemed thinking deeply. 

"You are not pleased to be there?" Keenly. 

"I?--Oh, of course!" Quickly. 

She did not appear to note his changed manner. "This MissVan Rolsen, --isn't she the one whose niece--Miss ElizabethDalrymple--recently refused the hand and heart of a Russian prince?" shesaid musingly. 

"Refused?" he cried suddenly. "You mean--" He stopped; the words hadbeen surprised from him. 

"Accepted?" She looked at him closer. "Of course; I remember now seeingit in the paper; I was thinking of some one else. One of the otherlords, dukes, or noblemen the town is so full of just now. "

He got up rather suddenly, bowed and went. With narrowing eyes shewatched him walk away, but when he had gone all melancholy disappearedfrom her face; she stretched herself and laughed. "_Voila!_ SoniaTurgeinov, comédienne!"

Mr. Heatherbloom did not repair to the point of elevation the next day, nor the day after; but she met him the third day near the Seventy-secondStreet entrance. More than that, she insinuated herself at his side; atfirst rather to his discomfort. Later he forgot the constraint herpresence occasioned him, when something she said caused him to look uponher with new favor. Beauty had momentarily escaped his vigilance andenjoyed a mad romp after a squirrel before she was captured. 

What, his companion laughingly suggested, would have happened if Beautyhad really escaped, and he, Mr. Heatherbloom, had been forced to returnto the house without her? What? Mr. Heatherbloom started. He might losehis position, _n'est-cepas?_ He did not answer. 

The idea was born; why _not_ lose Beauty? No, better still, Naughty; theprime favorite, Naughty. He looked into Naughty's eyes, and they seemedfull of liquid reproach. Naughty had been his friend--supposititiously, and to abandon him now to the world, a cold place devoid of French lambchops? A hard place for homeless dogs and men, alike! About to waive thetemptation, Mr. Heatherbloom paused; the idea was capable ofmodification or expansion. Most ideas are. 

But he shortly afterward dismissed the entire matter from his mind; itwould, at best, be but a compromise, an evasion of the pact he had madewith himself. It was not to be thought of. At this moment his companionswayed and Mr. Heatherbloom had just time to put out his arm; thenhelped her to a bench. 

She partly recovered; it was nothing, she remarked bravely. One getssometimes a little faint when--it was the old, old story of privationand want that now fell with seeming reluctance from her lips. Mr. Heatherbloom had become all attention. More than that he seemed greatlydistressed. A woman actually in need, starving--no use mincingwords!--in Central Park, the playground of the most opulent metropolisof the world. It was monstrous; he tendered her his purse, with severalweeks' pay in it. Her reply had a spirited ring; he felt abashed andreturned the money to his pocket. She sat back with eyes half-closed; hesaw now that her face looked drawn and paler than usual. 

He, thought and thought; had he not himself found out how difficult itwas to get a position, to procure employment without friends andhelpers? He, a man, had walked in search of it, day after day and feltthe griping pangs of hunger; had wished for night, and, later, wishedfor the morn, only to find both equally barren. 

Suddenly he spoke--slowly, like a man stating a proposition he hasargued carefully in his own mind. She listened, approved, while hopealready transfigured her face. She would have thanked him profusely buthe did not remain to hear her. In fact, he seemed hardly to see her now;his features had become once more reserved and introspective. 

He reappeared at the Van Rolsen house that day without Naughty. Miss VanRolsen, when she heard the news, burst into tears; then became furious. She was sure he had sold Naughty, winner of three blue ribbons, and "outof the contest" no end of times because superior to all competition!

A broken leash! Fiddlesticks! She penned advertisements wildly andsummoned her niece. That young lady responded to protestations andquestions with a slightly indifferent expression on her proud languidfeatures. What did she think of it? She didn't really know; her mannersaid she really didn't care. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, standing with the light of the window fallingpensively upon him, she didn't seem to see at all; he had once morebecome a nullity. He rather preferred that rôle, however; perhaps hefelt it was easier to impersonate annihilation, in the inception, thanto have it, or a wish for it, thrust later too strongly upon him. 

"I adhere to my opinion that he sold Naughty. I should never haveemployed this man, " asserted Miss Van Rolsen, fastening her fiery eyeson Mr. Heatherbloom. "Why don't you speak, my dear, and give me youropinion?" To her niece. 

"I haven't any, Aunt. "

"You are discerning; you have judgment. " Miss Van Rolsen spoke almosthysterically. "Remember he"--pointing a finger--"came without ourknowing anything about him. "

Miss Dalrymple did not stir; a bunch of bizarre-looking orchids on hergown moved to her even rhythmical breathing. "What was he? Who was he?Maybe, nothing more than--" She paused for want of breath, not of words, to characterize her opinion of Mr. Heatherbloom. 

He readjusted his posture. It was very bright outdoors; people went bybriskly, full of life and importance; children whirled along on rollerskates. 

"When I asked your opinion, my dear, as to the wisdom of having employedthis person in the first place, under the circumstances, why did youkeep silent?" Was Miss Van Rolsen still talking, or rambling on to theimpervious beautiful girl? "You should have called me foolish, eccentric; yes, that's what I was, to have taken him in as I did. "

Miss Dalrymple raised her brows and moved to a piano to adjust theflowers in a vase; she smiled at them with soft enigmatic lips. 

"If I may venture an opinion, Madam, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom in afar-away voice, "I should say Naughty will surely return, or bereturned. "

"You venture an opinion!" said Miss Van Rolsen. "You!"

Miss Dalrymple breathed the fragrance of the flowers; she apparentlyliked it. 

"You are discharged!" said Miss Van Rolsen violently to Mr. Heatherbloom. "I give you the two-weeks' notice agreed upon. "

"I'll waive the notice, " suggested the young man at the window quickly. 

"You'll do nothing of the sort. " Sharply. "It'll take me that time tofind another incompetent keeper for them. And, meanwhile, you may besure, " grimly, "you will be very well watched. "

"Under the circumstances, I should prefer--since you _have_ dischargedme--to leave at once. "

"Your preferences are a matter of utter indifference. You were employedwith a definite understanding in this regard. "

Mr. Heatherbloom gazed rather wildly out of the window; two weeks. --thatmuch longer! He was about to say he would not be well watched; he wouldtake himself off--that she couldn't keep him; but paused. A contract wasa contract, though orally made; she could hold him yet a little. But whydid she wish to? He had not calculated upon this; he tried to think butcould not. He looked from the elder to the younger woman. The latter didnot look at him. 

Miss Dalrymple had seated herself at the piano; her fingers--light asspirit touches--now swept the keys; a Debussey fantasy, almost aspianissimo as one could play it, vibrated around them. Outside the whir!whir! of the skates went on. A little girl tumbled. Mr. Heatherbloomregarded her; ribbons awry; fat legs in the air. The music continued. 

"You may go, " said a severe voice. 

He aroused himself to belated action, but at the door he looked back. "I'm sure it will be all right, " he repeated to Miss Van Rolsen. "On myword"--more impetuously. 

At the piano some one laughed, and Mr. Heatherbloom went. 

"Why on earth, Aunt, did you want to keep him two weeks longer?" heheard the girl's now passionate tones ask as he walked away. 

"For a number of reasons, my dear, " came the response. "One, because hewanted to leave me in the lurch. Another--it will be easier to keep aneye on him until Naughty is returned, or"--her voice had the vindictivering of a Roman matron's--"this person's culpability is proven. Naughtyis a valuable dog and--"

Mr. Heatherbloom's footsteps hastened; he had caught quite enough, butas he disappeared to the rear, the dream chords on the piano, nowlouder, continued to follow him. 

CHAPTER VII

DEVELOPMENTS

That night, as if his rest were not already sufficiently disturbed, adisconcerting possibility occurred abruptly to Mr. Heatherbloom. It wasborn in the darkness of the hour; he could not dispel it. What if theperson in whom he had confided in the park were not all she seemed? Hehated the insinuating suggestion but it insisted on creeping into hisbrain. He had once, not so long ago, in his search for cheap lodgings, stumbled upon a roomful of alleged cripples and maimed disreputables whomade mendicancy a profession; their jibes and jests on the credulity ofthe public yet rang in his ears. What if she--his casual acquaintance ofthe day before--belonged to that yet greater class of dissemblers whoply their arts and simulations with more individualism and intelligence?

Mr. Heatherbloom sat up in bed. Naughty might be worth five or even tenthousand dollars. He remembered having read at some previous time abouta certain canine whose proud mistress and owner was alleged to haverefused twenty thousand for him. The perspiration broke out on Mr. Heatherbloom's face. Was Naughty of this category? He looked very"classy, " as if there couldn't be another beast quite like him in theworld. What had been the twenty-thousand-dollar mistress' name; notVan--impossible!

But the more he told himself "impossible", the more positive grew acertain perverse inner asseveration that it was quite possible. And whatif the person in the park had known it? He reviewed the circumstances oftheir different meetings; details that had not impressed themselves uponhim at the time--that had almost escaped his notice, now stood outclearer--too clear, in his mind. He remembered how she had brightenedastonishingly after the brief fainting spell when he had made hisill-advised proposal. It had been as elixir to her. He recalled how shehad met him every day. Had it been mere chance? Or--disconcertingsuspicion!--had she deliberately planned--

For Mr. Heatherbloom there was no sleep that night. At the first signsof dawn he was up and out, directing his steps toward the park, as acriminal returns to the haunts of his crime. No faces of any kind nowgreeted him there; only trees confronted him, gaunt, ghostlike in theearly morning mists. Even the squirrels were yet abed in their miniatureSwiss chalets in the air. The sun rose at last, red and threatening. Henow met a policeman who looked at him questioningly. Mr. Heatherbloomgreeted him with a blitheness at variance with his mood. Officialdomonly growled and gazed after the young man as if to say: "We'll gatheryou in, yet. "

It was past nine o'clock before Mr. Heatherbloom ventured to approachthe house; as he did so, the front door closed; some one had beenadmitted. He himself went in through the area way; from above camejoyous barks, a woman's voice; pandemonium. Mr. Heatherbloom listened. Later he learned what had happened; a young woman had brought backNaughty; a very honest young woman who refused all reward. 

"Sure, " said the cook, who had the story from the butler, "and she spokeloike a quane. 'I can take nothing for returning what doesn't belong tome, ma'am. I am but doing my jooty. But if ye plaze, would ye be lookin'over these recommends av mine--they're from furriners--and if yez behavin' ony friends who be wanting a maid and yez might be so good as torecommind me, I'd be thankin' of yez, for it's wurrk I wants. ' Think avthat now. Only wurrk! Who says there arn't honest servin' gurrls, nowadays? The mistress was that pleased with her morals an' hermanners--so loidy-loike!--she gave her the job that shlip av a Jane had;wid an advance av salary on the sphot. "

"You mean Miss Van Rolsen has actually engaged her?" Mr. Heatherbloom, face abeam, repeated. 

"Phawt have I been saying just now?" Scornfully. "Sure, an' is it earsyou have on your head?"

Mr. Heatherbloom, a weight lifted from his shoulders, departed from thekitchen. He had wronged her--this poor girl, or young woman, who, in herdire distress, had appealed to him. How he despised now the uncharitabledark thoughts of the night! How he could congratulate himself he hadobeyed impulse, and not stopped to reason too closely, or to questiontoo suspiciously, when he had decided to act the day before!

All is well that ends well. All he had to do now was to complete asunostentatiously as possible his term of service--But perhaps he wouldbe released at once?

No; not at once! Those anxious to supersede him began to dribble in, itis true; but they faded away, one by one, after interviews with Miss VanRolsen, and returned no more. They were a mournful lot, these would-be, ten-dollar-a-week custodians; Mr. Heatherbloom wondered if his ownphysiognomy in a general way would merge nicely in a compositephotograph of them?

His duties he performed now as quietly as he could. Two weeks more, tendays, nine, eight! Then? Ah, then!

He did not see Miss Van Rolsen again nor Miss Dalrymple. He encounteredthe fair unknown, though, his acquaintance of the park, occasionally, asshe in demure cap and white ruffled apron glided softly her allottedway. Sometimes he nodded to her in distant fashion, sometimes she got bybefore he actually realized he had passed her. She seemed to move soquickly and with such little ado; or, it may be, he was not veryobservant. He didn't feel very keen on mere minor details these days; heexperienced principally the sensation of one who was now merely "markingtime", as it were--figuratively performing a variety of goose-step, theway the German soldiers do. 

But one day she--Marie, they called her--stopped him. 

"I understand from one of the servants that it cost you your positionto--do what you did. You know what I mean--"

He looked alarmed. "Don't worry about that. "

"But shouldn't I?" Steady dark eyes upon him. 

"On the contrary!" Vigorously. 

"I don't understand--unless. --"

"The salary--it is nothing here"--Mr. Heatherbloom gestured airily. "Ishould do much better--one of my ability, you understand!--elsewhere. "

"Could you?" She regarded him doubtfully. "But, perhaps, they--It wasnot very pleasant for you here, anyway. Miss Van Rolsen--her niece, MissDalrymple--does not like you. " He started. "It was easy to see that;when I mentioned regretfully that the good fortune that brought me wherethere is plenty; to eat should have been the cause of your being indisfavor, she stopped me short. " Mr. Heatherbloom studied the distance. "'The person you speak of intended leaving anyhow, ' she said, and hervoice was--_mon Dieu_!--ice. "

The listener swallowed. "Quite so, " he said jauntily. "Miss Dalrympleis absolutely correct. "

She regarded him an instant with sudden, very mature gaze. "I can'tquite make you out. "

"No one ever can. Don't try. It isn't worth while. Which reminds me"--herattled on--"I did you an injury; an injustice--"

"Ah?" she said quickly. 

"In my mind! You will excuse me, but do you know that night after I hadconsigned him to your care in the park, I afterward felt quiteanxious--"

"For what?" She came closer. 

"Wondering if you--Ha! ha!" Mr. Heatherbloom stopped; in his confusion, his endeavor to turn the conversation from himself and Miss Dalrymple, he seemed to be getting into deep waters. 

"You wondered what?" In a low tone. 

Since he now felt obliged to speak, he did, coolly enough. "If you hadsome ulterior motive!" he said with a quiet smile. 

She it was who now started back, and her face paled slightly. "Why?--what ulterior motive? What do you mean?"

He told her in plain words. She breathed more evenly; then smiledsweetly. She had a strange face sometimes. "Thank you, " she said. "Youare very frank, _mon ami_. I like you none the less for it. Though youdid so injure me--in your thoughts!" Her eyes had an enigmatic light. "Well, I must go now to Miss Dalrymple. She is beginning to be so fondof me. " She drawled the last words as if she liked to linger on them. "You see I, too, have a little Russian blood in me. " Mr. Heatherbloomlooked down. "And I think she loves to hear me tell of that wonderfulcountry--the white nights of St. Petersburg--the splendid steppes--thegrandeur of our Venice of the north. Of course, she is immenselyinterested in Russia now. " Significantly. "Its ostentation, itssplendor, its barbaric picturesqueness! But tell me, what is her princelike? He is very handsome, naturally! Or she would not so dote on him!"

Mr. Heatherbloom's features had hardened; he did not answer directly. "She likes to talk about Russia?" he said, half to himself. 

Marie shrugged. "Is it not to be her country some day?"

"No, it isn't!" The words seemed forced from his lips; he spoke almostfiercely. "She may live there with him, but it will never be hercountry. This is her country. She is its product; an American to herfinger-tips. And all the grand dukes and princes of the Winter Palacecan't change her. She belongs to old California; she grew up among theorange trees and the flowers, and her heart will ever yearn for them inyour frozen land of tyranny!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" said Mademoiselle Marie. "How eloquent monsieur can be!Quite an orator! One would say he, too, has known this land of orangetrees and flowers!"

"I?" Mr. Heatherbloom bit his lip. 

But she only shook a finger. "Oh! oh!" Altogether like a differentperson from his casual acquaintance of the park! He gazed at hercloser; how quickly the marks of trouble, anxiety, had faded from herface; as if they had never existed. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking into eyes now full of a new andpeculiar understanding. 

"Nothing, " she said and vanished. 

He gazed where she had been; he could not account for a sudden strangeemotion, as if some one had trailed a shadow over him. A premonition ofsomething going to happen; that could not be foreseen, or averted!Something worse than anything that had gone before! What nonsense! Hepressed his lips tightly and went about his duties like an automaton. 

Eight days--seven days--six days more!--only six--

CHAPTER VIII

THE UNEXPECTED

The blow fell, a thunderbolt from the clear sky. It dazed certain peopleat first; it was difficult to realize what had happened, or if anything_had_ really happened. For might not what seemed a deep and dire mysteryturn out to be nothing so very mysterious after all? A message wouldsoon come; everything would then be "cleared up" and those mostconcerned would laugh at their apprehensions. But the hours went by, andthe affair remained inexplicable; no word was heard concerning MissDalrymple's whereabouts; she seemed to have disappeared as completely asif she had vanished on the Persian magic carpet. What could it mean? Thecircumstances briefly were:

Miss Dalrymple, four or five days before Mr. Heatherbloom's term ofservice came to an end, had expressed a desire to revisit her old homeand friends in the West. One of a party made up mostly of otherCalifornians--now residents of New York city--the girl had failed toappear on the private car at the appointed time, and the train hadpulled out, leaving her behind. At the first important stop a telegramhad been handed to a gentleman of the party from Miss Dalrymple; itexpressed her regret at having reached the station too late owing tocircumstances she would explain later, and announced her intention ofcoming on, with her maid, in a few days. They were not to wait anywherefor her but to go right along. 

The party did; it was sorry to have lost one of its most popular membersbut no one thought anything more of the matter until at Denver, after atelegram had been forwarded to the Van Rolsen house, in New York, askingjust when Miss Dalrymple would arrive, as camping preparations for ajoyous pilgrimage in the mountains were in progress. 

Miss Van Rolsen gasped when this message reached her. Miss Dalrympleand her maid--a young woman newly engaged by Miss Van Rolsen--had leftthe house for the train to which the private car was attached; neitherhad been heard from since. The aunt had, of course, presumed her niecehad gone as planned; she had received no word from her, but supposingshe was of a light-hearted, heedless company thought nothing of that. Itwas possible Miss Dalrymple had actually missed her train; but if so, why had she not returned to her aunt's house?

Where had she gone? What had become of her? No trace of her could befound. Certain forces in the central railroad office at New York couldnot discover any evidence that the young girl had taken a subsequenttrain. There was no record of her name at any ticket office; nostate-room had been reserved by, or for her; in fact, telegrams toofficials in Chicago and other points west failed to elicit satisfactoryinformation of any kind. 

Miss Van Rolsen found herself with something real to worry about; sherose to the occasion; her niece, after all, was everything to her. TheVan Rolsen millions were ultimately for her, and the old lady's everyambition was centered in the girl. She had been proud of her beauty, hersocial triumphs. 

With great determination she set herself to solve the puzzling problem. Could people thus completely disappear nowadays? It seemed impossible, she asserted, sitting behind closed doors in her library, to the privateagent of the secret-service bureau whom she had just "called in. "

He begged to differ from her and pointed to a number of cases which hadseemed just as strange and mysterious in the beginning. Ransom--the"Black Hand"--Who could say what secret influences had been at work inthis case? It was a very important one; Miss Dalrymple had money of herown; she was known to be her aunt's heiress. The conclusion?--But thiswas not Morocco, or Turkey, Miss Van Rolsen somewhat vehementlyreturned. 

True; we have had, however, our "civilized" Ransuilis, answered theagent and mentioned a number of names in support of his theory. Nodoubt, after an interval, Miss Van Rolsen would have news of herniece--through those who had perpetrated the outrage; or she might evenreceive a few written words from the girl herself. After that it was aquestion of negotiating, or, while professing to deal with theperpetrators, to ferret them out if one could. The latter course wasdangerous, for those who stoop to this particular crime are usually of adesperate type; he and Miss Van Rolsen could consider that questionlater. Meanwhile she must avoid worry as much as possible. The younggirl would, no doubt, be well treated. 

Had the speaker looked around at this moment, he might have observedthat the heavy curtains, drawn before the door leading into the hall andclosed by Miss Van Rolsen, moved suddenly, but neither the agent norMiss Van Rolsen, engrossed at the far end of the room, noticed. Thedrapery wavered a moment; then settled once more into its folds. 

The telegram purporting to be from Miss Dalrymple to one of the party onthe train, could--the agent went on--very easily have been sent by someone else; no doubt, had been. The miscreants had seized upon a luckycombination of circumstances; for two or three days, while MissDalrymple was supposed to be speeding across the continent, they, unsuspected and unmolested, would be afforded every opportunity toconvey her to some remote and, for them, safe refuge. It was a cleverlyplanned coup, and could not have been conceived and consummatedwithout--here he spoke slowly--inside assistance. 

The curtain at the doorway again stirred. 

"And now, Madam, we come to your servants, " said the police agent. "Ishould like to know something about them. "

"My servants, sir, are, for the most part, old and trusted. "

"'For the most part'!" He caught at the phrase. "We will deal first withthose who do _not_ come in that category. "

"There's a young man recently employed that I have not been at allpleased with. He leaves to-morrow. "

"Ah!" said the visitor. "Not the person I met going out of the areaway, with the dogs as I came in?"

She answered affirmatively. 

"H--mn!" He paused. "But tell me why you have not been pleased with him, and, in brief, all the circumstances of his coming here. "

Miss Van Rolsen did so in a voice she strove to make patient althoughshe could not disguise its tremulousness, or the feverish anxiety thatconsumed her. She related the most trivial details, seemingirrelevances, but the visitor did not interrupt her. Instead, he studiedcarefully her face, pinched and worn; the angular figure, slightly bent;the fingers, nervously clasping and unclasping as she spoke. He watchedher through habit; and still forbore speaking, even when she referred tothe escape of her canine favorite from his caretaker and how the dog hadlater been returned, though the listener's eyes had, at this point, dilated slightly. 

"After his carelessness in this matter, he seemed to want to get awayfrom the house at once, " observed Miss Van Rolsen, "without availinghimself of the two-weeks' notice I had agreed to give him. "

The visitor relapsed into his chair; an ironical light appeared in hiseyes. 

"Perhaps, " added Miss Van Rolsen, "you attach no significance to thefact?"

"On the contrary, I attach every importance to it. Has it not occurredto you there was a little collusion in this matter of the lost dog?"

"Collusion?" Miss Van Rolsen's accents expressed incredulity. "You mustbe wrong. Why, the young woman wouldn't even accept the reward. And itwas not a small one!"

"Two hundred or so dollars, ma'am! Not her stake!" he murmuredsatirically. "I am afraid two hundred thousand dollars would be nearerthe mark these people have set for themselves!"

"But she didn't ask for a place here; only for me to look over herreferences--one was from a lady I knew in Paris--and to recommend her tomy friends--"

"She knew your other maid had left; this confederate had, of course, told her. It was all arranged that she should come here. Rest assured ofthat. And having accomplished her purpose--clever that she is!--she atonce started to ingratiate herself with your niece, to make herselfuseful. As a mistress of languages she _was_ useful, in fact more sothan any ordinary maid. Where did she come from? Find out whom sherepresents, and--we'll have the key to the mystery. But she, too, hasdisappeared; after turning the game over to the others, perhaps. I wouldsuggest cabling those foreign references this young woman gave you. Theywill, of course, including your Paris friend, know nothing of her; thename she gave you was not her own. "

"But by what unfortunate combination of circumstances"--Miss Van Rolsenspoke somewhat incoherently--"should these people have been led tosettle on my niece as the victim of their cowardly designs? There are somany others--"

"You forget the publicity concerning this prince your niece is tomarry. " The old lady stiffened. "Pardon my mentioning it, but MissDalrymple has in this connection been very much before the public gaze. "

"Against her wish, sir, and mine!" snapped Miss Van Rolsen. "She--I--have both lamented the fact. But what can one do? Thejournalists settled on the prince as a fruitful source for speculation. He is of noble family, very wealthy, no fortune-hunter; which has madeit all the more distressing for him and us. " She seemed about to saysomething further; then her lips suddenly tightened. "As I say, it hasbeen very distressing, " she ended, after a pause. "I expect it was oneof the reasons my niece wanted to get away from New York for a time. "

"No doubt!" The caller's voice was courtesy itself although he probablybut half-credited Miss Van Rolsen's protestations in the matter. Peopleliked to complain of the press and newspaper notoriety, when in theirhearts, perhaps, they were not so displeased to be in that terriblelime-light; especially when the person associated with them happened tobe a count, or a duke, or a prince. "Unfortunately, one has to put upwith these things, " he now added. "But you are positive you have told meeverything?"

An instant she seemed to hesitate. "I am positive you know everythingrelative to the subject. "

He arose. "In that event"--his manner indicated a suddenresolution--"there is one little preliminary to be attended to. "

"Which is--"

"To arrest this fellow, Heatherbloom!"

"Arrest? When?"

"At once! There is no time to be lost. Already--" He gave a suddenexclamation. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

He stepped toward the curtain; it moved perceptibly. 

"Some one has been listening, " exclaimed Miss Van Rolsen excitedly. 

"Yes, some one. " Significantly. As he spoke he threw back the curtainand revealed the door partly ajar. 

"It must have been--Not one of my old servants--- They would nothave--"

He stopped her. "There's the front way out of this house and the areaway below, " he said rapidly. "Is there any other way of escaping to thestreet?"

"No. "

He darted out of the room to the front door. She followed. 

"Quite in time!" he said, casting a quick look both ways along theavenue and then letting his glance fall to the servants' entrance below. 

"You think he will try to--"

He regarded her swiftly. "While I stand guard here, would you mindgetting some one to 'phone my office and ask two or three of my men tostep over at once? Not that I doubt my own ability to cope with thecase"--fingering the handle of a weapon on his pocket--"only it isalways well to take no chances. Especially now!"

"Now?"

"Since he has practically convicted himself and confirmed my theory. Weshall get at the truth through him. We're nearer the solution of thematter than I dared hope for. "

"I'll telephone myself!" she cried. And started back to do so when anexcited face confronted her. 

"If ye plase, ma'am!" It was the cook. 

"What is it?" Miss Van Rolsen spoke sharply. 

"If ye plase, I think, ma'am, this Mr. Heatherbloom has taken lave avhis senses. "

"Why, what has he been doing?"

"He has, faith, just jumped over the fence into our neighbor's yard onthe corner, and--"

The man on the steps did not wait to hear more; with something thatsounded like an imprecation he sprang quickly down to the sidewalk andran toward the corner. 

CHAPTER IX

WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS

As Mr. Heatherbloom prepared to issue from his neighbor's gate openingon the side street, the feminine voice of one of the servants in therear of the corner house called out in alarm at sight of the strangefigure speeding across their metropolitan imitation of a back yard. Ifanything were needed to stimulate the fugitive's footsteps, it was thesound of that voice. He stayed not on the order of his going, butpushing back the heavy bolt--fortunately his egress was not barred by alocked door--he tore open the gate and sprang to the sidewalk. Thenwithout stopping, he ran on, away from the fashionable avenue. Thestreet he traversed like many thoroughfares of its kind wascomparatively deserted most of the time; nobody impeded his progress, though one or two people gazed after him from their windows. 

He had gone about three-quarters of a block when the window spectatorsdiscerned a heavier built figure come lumbering around the corner, apparently in hot pursuit. Mr. Heatherbloom, glancing over his shoulder, also observed this person; his capture and subsequent incarcerationseemed inevitable. Already the fugitive was drawing near to busierFourth Avenue; there he would be obliged to relax his pace; he could notsprint down that thoroughfare without attracting undue attention. Behind, the pursuer called out; he was, however, too short of breath forcompelling vocal effect. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, on the contrary, had good control of his breathing andwas, moreover, yet fresh and physically capable. Which fact made it themore difficult for him to settle down to a forced, albeit sharp walk ashe approached the corner, when his gait suddenly accelerated once more. 

A street-car had just started not very far from him and Mr. Heatherbloomran after it. A fine pretext for speed was offered him; as he "lethimself go" in the way he had once gone somewhere in the past in ahundred-yards' dash, he felt joyously conscious both of covering spacequickly and that he did so without making himself particularlyprominent. Fools who ran after street-cars were born every moment; hewas happy to be relegated to that idiotic class by any onlookers. Hecaught the car while it was going; he didn't want it to stop for him. 

Neither did it stop to pick up any one else for several blocks; therewas a space before it unobstructed by traffic. The motorman turned onmore power and Mr. Heatherbloom listened gratefully to the hummingwheels. At the same time he looked back; at the corner where he hadturned into Fourth avenue he fancied a number of people were gathering. He could surmise the cause; the stockily-built man--his pursuer--wasasking questions; he had learned what had become of the fugitive and waspresumably looking around for a "taxi. " In vain. At least, Mr. Heatherbloom so concluded, because one did not appear in hot chasebehind them. 

The motorman still gave "rapid service"; the conductor looked at hiswatch, by which Mr. Heatherbloom imagined they had time to make up. Hehoped so, then resented a pause at a corner for an old lady. How hewished she had not been afflicted with rheumatism, and could have got onwithout help! But at length the light-weight conductor did manage topull the heavy-weight passenger aboard. Time lost, thirty seconds! Themotorman manipulated the lever more deliberately now and they gatheredheadway slowly. Mr. Heatherbloom dared not remain longer where he was;as the car approached a corner near an elevated station, he got off. Hewas obliged to walk now a short distance but he did so hastily. Drawingnear the iron steps, leading upward, he once more looked back; a "taxi"_was_ whirling after him and he had no doubt as to its occupant. Thestreet-car could easily have been kept in sight and his leaving it beennoted. 

Mr. Heatherbloom now threw discretion to the winds; dashing toward thestairway he ran up. Just as he reached the ticket window, the pursuingvehicle stopped below. Some one sprang out, did not pause to pay thechauffeur, but calling out to him his name, started after Mr. Heatherbloom. That gentleman had by this time boarded the train waitingabove; he stood on the rear platform. Any moment the pursuer wouldappear. He did appear as the gates of the train were closed and the carshad started on their way. 

Yet he did not give up for running alongside the last car he called outto the guard:

"Fugitive from justice! Criminal--on this train! Open the gate for me!"

An instant the guard hesitated; rules, however, were rules. 

"Five hundred dollars if you let me on!" the voice panted. 

The guard in his own mind decided he would let the other on--too late;the last car dashed past the end of the platform. A faint sigh of relieffrom Mr. Heatherbloom was drowned in the tumult of the wheels; then heendeavored to appear indifferent, apathetic. It was not easy to do so;the secret-service agent had been heard by many others. 

A "fugitive from justice" on the train! Mr. Heatherbloom tried to lookas little the part as possible, to simulate by his expression apreoccupied young business man of heavy responsibilities. Fortunatelythe train was crowded; nevertheless he fancied people glanced especiallyat him. He wished now he were better dressed; good clothes may cover amultitude of sins. Still there was no reason why he should be suspectedmore than sundry other indifferently-dressed people. He would dismissthe thought, tell himself he was going down town on some little errand;he even devised what that errand should be--to procure theater tickets. But his brain did not seem quite capable of concentrating itself solelyon desirable orchestra chairs; it constantly and perversely reverted tothat other disagreeable subject--a "fugitive from--"

Whoever could the fellow be? He endeavored by a mental process toeliminate himself and see but a mythical some one else in a mythicalbackground. A short person; a tall one? What kind of person would theimaginary individual be, anyhow? And what had he done, what crimecommitted? Mr. Heatherbloom tried to think with the minds of all theseother people on the train, to put himself figuratively in their shoes. 

One young sprig of a girl, about fourteen, with sallow complexion andbead-like black eyes, kept regarding him. He conceived a profounddislike for her, shifted a foot; then straightened and banished herperemptorily from his environment. His principal interest lay now incasual glimpses of windows and speculation as to what was behind them. He varied this employment in a passing endeavor to decipher sundry signsthat obtruded incidentally within range of vision. 

He had made out only a few when the, train slackened and came to astandstill. Mr. Heatherbloom told himself he would get off as quickly aspossible; then changed his mind and remained. People would, of course, argue that, under the circumstances, the unknown criminal would beamong those to leave the train at the first opportunity. 

A number got out; Mr. Heatherbloom noted the passengers who remainedaboard and watched closely the departing ones. A few of the latterseemed slightly self-conscious, notably, an elderly spinster who, havingnever done anything wrong, was possessed of an unusual sensitiveness. 

"See that slouchy chap--By jove, I believe--"

"Does look like a tough customer--"

"On the contrary, he just looks poor. " Mr. Heatherbloom turned upon thetwo speakers warmly. 

Why could he not have kept silent; why was he obliged to obtrude hisopinion into their conversation?

They stared and he half turned as the train banged itself along oncemore. Where should he go? Reaching for a paper that some one haddiscarded, he sank into a vacant seat and opened the sheet withmisgiving. 

What would the big types say? Nothing! Miss Van Rolsen had managed tokeep the strange affair of her niece's disappearance out of the columnsof the papers. They knew nothing about it as yet--Only a single littleitem in the shipping news, in fine print, which suddenly caught his gazebore in any way, and that a remote one, upon her niece and her affairs. Mr. Heatherbloom regarded it with dull glance. The few lines meantnothing to him--then; later he had cause to turn to them with abruptwondering avidity. Now his eyes swept with simulated interest thegeneral news of the day; he professed to read cable dispatches. 

But an odd reaction seemed to have settled on him; the excitement of thechase became, for the moment, forgotten. The scope of his mentalvisuality no longer included the figure of the agent from the privatedetective bureau. An anxiety more poignant moved him; his thoughtscentered on that other matter--the cause of Miss Van Rolsen'sapprehensions--the while those emotions that had held him a listenerbehind the curtain in her library again stirred in his breast. He hadnot played the eavesdropper for any selfish purpose or through a senseof personal apprehension. The sudden realization of his own danger, had, perforce, awakened in him the need for quick action if he would savehimself. 

If? What chance had he? But for one compelling reason, one consumingpurpose, he would not have fled at all; he would have faced them, instead! But he had work to do--he! A fugitive, a logical candidate forthe prison cell! Ironical situation! Even now he heard a voice at hiselbow. 

"Mr. Heatherbloom!" Some one spoke suddenly to him and he wheeled withabrupt swift fierceness. 

"Well, are you going to eat me up?" the voice laughed. 

He looked into the pert face of Jane--the maid with the provokingnose--who had been at Miss Van Rolsen's. She had got on at the other endof the car at the last station, and after waiting a few moments for himto see her, had moved toward him, or a seat at his side just thenvacated by some one preparing to leave. Mr. Heatherbloom's face cleared;he banished the belligerent expression. 

"You look edible enough!" he said with forced jocularity. 

"Indeed?" she retorted, surprised at such gallantry from one who hadheretofore not deigned to pay her compliments. "I'll have to tell myhusband about you. " Playfully. "But how are things at Miss Van Rolsen's?Anything new?"

Mr. Heatherbloom murmured something about the customary routine; then, even as he spoke, became conscious of a sudden new disconcertingcircumstance. The tracks for the up and the down trains on the elevatedhad widely separated and ran now on the extreme sides of the broadthoroughfare. From his side of the car the young man was afforded a viewof the pavement below, between the two sustaining iron structures. Achill shot through him and his smile became set. Gazing down hediscerned, on the street beneath and a little to one side of them, amotor-car, speeding fast, apparently bent on keeping up with them. 

"How--how's your husband?" he said irrelevantly. The car _was_ keepingup with them. 

"Very well, thank you. " (Would _it_ reach the next station before them?)

"You--you have a pleasant home?" he asked. (A slight blockade belowimpeded, momentarily, the "taxi". Mr. Heatherbloom raised hishandkerchief to his moist brow. )

"Lovely, " she answered. "Are you going far?"

"Brooklyn, " he said at random. What _were_ they talking about? (The carwas once more under way; fortunately their progress overhead would notbe impeded by a press of vehicles. )

"That's where we live--Brooklyn, " she said. 

"Is it? Got a nice house?" He had practically asked this questionbefore; but he hardly knew what he was saying. A policeman had stoppedthe "taxi" and was shaking his head, as at a rather "fishy" story. Mr. Heatherbloom by a species of telepathy, seemed to overhear the excitedtalk waging below. 

"Oh, yes; lovely!" Jane's accents were but parenthetical to somethingelse. The "taxi" had been allowed to proceed, in spite of the detainingthought-waves Mr. Heatherbloom had launched toward the officer of thelaw. The occupant had probably showed a badge; Mr. Heatherbloomstretched his neck out of the window. 

"You can come around and see, sometime, if you want to. " Pride in hervoice. "And meet my husband. " Husband was a very substantial baker. 

"Charmed, I'm sure! Ha! ha!" He suddenly laughed. 

"What is it?" She looked startled. 

"Funniest accident!" He waved his hat, as at some one, out of thewindow. "See that taxi! Bumped into a dray. Ha! ha!"

"I don't see anything so funny in that. " Straightening. 

"No? You should have seen the expression on his face--"

"His? Whose?"

"The--ah, drayman's, of course! He--looked so mad. "

"I should have thought, " she observed, "the man in the car would havebeen the maddest It couldn't have hurt the dray much. "

"No? Perhaps that's what made it seem so funny to me. "

"Well, " she said, "I never noticed before that you had a great sense ofhumor. "

"You never knew me. " Jauntily. 

They got off at Brooklyn Bridge together. As they made their way throughthe crowd, Mr. Heatherbloom appeared most care-free and very sedulous ofhis companion's welfare, especially when they passed one or twoloiterers who seemed eying the passengers rather closely. 

"Two for Brooklyn. " Mr. Heatherbloom laid down a dime at the ticketoffice. 

Soon, unmolested, he sped on once more; but as they crossed the busyriver all his light-heartedness seemed suddenly to desert him; thequestions he had been vainly asking himself earlier that day werereiterated in his brain. Where was she? What had become of her? Hishands clasped closely. A red spot burned on his cheek. 

CHAPTER X

A NEW-FOUND THEORY

"No; the prince isn't coming back to America, and she--MissDalrymple--isn't going to marry him!"

Jane's voice, running on rather at random, suddenly with unusual forcepenetrated Mr. Heatherbloom's consciousness. 

"Not going--isn't--What are you talking about?" The young man's waveringattention focused itself on her now with swift completeness. He hadhardly heard her, until a few moments before, when her conversation hadfirst drifted to that ever fascinating feminine topic of foreign lordsand American heiresses, then narrowed down, much to his inwarddisapproval, to one particular titled individual and one particularheiress "But you are mistaken, of course!" he said bruskly. 

"Oh, am I?" she retorted. "I suppose you believe everything you read inthe newspapers?"

Mr. Heatherbloom did not answer now; he was staring out of the window. Against the sky the jutting lines of buildings seemed to waver; newextraordinary angles and jogs seemed to assert themselves. His gaze hada glittering brightness when it turned. "Have you any better authority?"

His tone was a challenge. "I heard her tell him so myself, " she saidsuccinctly. "That she could never marry him and that he must never comeback. "

Mr. Heatherbloom's hand crumpled the newspaper; then mechanically hefolded it and put it in his pocket. His look was once more bent outward;tiny specks, that were big steamboats going very fast, seemed motionlesson the sparkling surface of the water afar. His thoughts scattered; hetried to collect them, to realize where he was, how he happened to bethere; the identity of the speaker and what she had been saying! Certainpreconceived, fixed ideas and conclusions had been toppled over, brushed aside in an instant. Was it possible?

"I was waiting to trim and fill the lamps, " said Jane. (Miss Van Rolsenclung to oil lamps for reading. ) "The prince and she were in thelibrary. He has a loud voice, you know. "

The young man did. "But why--"

"Search me!" Vivaciously. "He was the very pick of the whole cargo ofdukes and the like. There isn't another girl in New York would have doneit. "

"But surely, " scarcely hearing her last words, "no newspaper would dareto announce such a thing without--"

"Oh, wouldn't it? When it called up the house every day, almost, andgot: 'There is nothing to say'? Didn't I answer the 'phone once or twicemyself? 'Miss Van Rolsen declines to be interviewed concerning herniece. She has nothing to say. ' I think I once giggled, the man's voiceat the other end was so aggressive. He said he was the city editorhimself. Is that very high up?"

Mr. Heatherbloom did not seem to hear. He scarcely saw his companionnow; nevertheless, he was conscious of a desire to be alone, in order toconcentrate, consider, reach for light and find it. But where could hediscover a safe spot; his problem was a dual one; primarily, he mustconsider himself; he must not forget his own desperate situation anddanger. The train, beginning to slacken, brought the sense of it oncemore poignantly to mind. His companion hadn't reached the station yetbut he suddenly rose. The car stopped with a jerk; Mr. Heatherbloommurmured something hurriedly and dived for the door. 

On the street he breathed deeply, standing as in a daze while thethunder of iron-rimmed wheels surrounded him. He was cognizantprincipally of certain words humming in his brain: The prince and shewere not engaged! The nobleman not returning to America in the fall!Never coming back!

But that item in fine print in the newspaper he had in his pocket--whatdid it mean? Nothing, of course, beyond what it said; still--

Some one bumped into Mr. Heatherbloom; whereupon he suddenly realizedthat he was standing on one of the busiest corners and had been makinghimself as conspicuous as possible. Hastily he moved on. To whatdestination? He glanced toward a convenient saloon; it looked hospitableand inviting. Then he remembered they--man-hunters, in general--alwayssearched the saloons first for criminals. 

He started toward a side street but paused, reasoning that he was moreprominent on comparatively isolated thoroughfares than on the swarmingones. A stream of women flowing into a big department store, exercisedan odd attraction for him. Safety lay, perhaps, among numbers; at least, for the time, until he could devise a course of action. If he couldconceive of one! If--

He must; he would. Every nerve in his body seemed to respond. Had he notembarked before this on desperate adventures; had he not fought in theface of overwhelming odds, and managed to hold his head up? A peculiarlittle smile played around the corner of his thin lips; it was like theflash of light on a blade. He joined the inflowing eddy. 

Bargain day! He was crushed and crumpled but found himself ultimately ona stool in the rear of the store. No; he didn't want any marked-downcollars or cuffs; he conveyed an impression to the solicitous clerk ofsome one waiting for some one. Patiently, uncomplainingly! With anunseeing eye for the hurrying and scurrying myriads! Time passed; heremained oblivious to the babble of voices. Timon in the wilderness, Diogenes in his tub, could not have been mentally more isolated fromannoying human consociation than was at the moment Mr. Heatherbloom, perched on a rickety stool amid a conglomeration of females strugglingfor lingerie. 

Suddenly he stirred. "Have you a book department?" he asked an employee. 

"Straight across; last aisle to the left. "

Mr. Heatherbloom got up; his tread was slow; a somnambulistic gleamappeared in his eye. Yet he was very much awake; he had never felt morekeenly alert. He reached the book section. 

Did they have any Russian fiction? Oh, yes; what kind did he want, nihilistic or psychological? _The Fire and Sword_ kind, whatever thatwas; the second volume of the trilogy, if they had it in stock? Surethey had; but had he read the first volume? No; he didn't want that; hewould begin in the middle of the trilogy. He always read trilogies thatway. 

The young lady in charge looked what she thought as she handed him thebook. He paid her; unfortunately it cost more than the popular novels ofthe day. He rather gravely contemplated the few small bills he had left;the amount of his capital would not carry him very far, especially ifunusual expenses should occur. Miss Van Rolsen still owed him a littlemoney but he didn't see how he could collect that now. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, armed with his book, sought a different part of thestore--- a small reception-room, where customers of both sexes were atliberty to read, write, or indulge in mental rest-cure, after bargainpurchases. There he perused hurriedly, and by snatches, the volume;there was plenty of fire and plenty of sword in it; human passionsbubbled and seethed. Suddenly he sat up straight and a suppressedexclamation fell from his lips; he closed the book sharply. 

One or two old ladies looked at him but he did not see them. His vision, clairvoyant-like, seemed to have lifted, to traverse broad seas, limitless steppes. His hands opened and closed, as if striving to reachand clutch something beyond flame of battle, scenes of rapine. 

He got up dizzily. As he stepped once more into the street, the shadowshad lengthened; twilight was falling. He stopped at a pawnbroker's, purchased a revolver and cartridges. He might need the weapon now morethan ever. And money--he needed far more of that than he had. He spreadin his palm the little wad of greenbacks he took from his pocket;counted them and a few silver pieces. Then seeking a ticket office, hemade a few casual inquiries; a shadow rested on his countenance as heemerged from the place. 

Next door to it a pile of gold pieces in a bank window shone mockinglybefore his eyes. So near--with only the plate-glass between him and thebright discs! Mechanically he began to count them, but suddenly turnedfrom that profitless occupation and stood with his back to the window. 

What availed resolution without dollars? His purpose might be strong, but poverty, a Brobdingnagian giant, laid its hand on his shoulder, crushing him down, holding him there, impotent, until the stocky man andhis cohorts of the private detective office should come over and gethim--to send him to the little island he had thought of when crossingthe bridge to Brooklyn!

He fell back into a doorway. More money!--he must get it; must! Hefolded his arms tight over his breast. To think that this should be hisone great, crying need--his!

Above, he heard footsteps descending the stairway at the foot of whichhe stood; Mr. Heatherbloom slipped out of the passage to the sidewalkand moved on. Chance took him back the way he had come; he had no choiceof direction. Now he looked once more at the window of the pawnbroker, where he had stopped a short time before. He regarded the unredeemedpledges; seal-rings, watches, flutes, old violins; what not? If he onlyhad something left; but all had gone--long ago. 

All? He started slightly; considered; walked on. But he turned around, hesitatingly, and came slowly back. As he approached the door, his stepgrew more resolute. He walked briskly in. Without giving the proprietortime to come to the front of the shop, Mr. Heatherbloom moved at once tothe back where the other sat behind his dusty glass cases. 

"Here I am once more. " He spoke with forced gaiety. 

"What you want to buy now?"

"I don't want to buy anything; I want to sell something. "

The pawnbroker's interest in the visitor at once departed. 

"I have everythings! Everythings!" he grumbled. "Nearly every one wantsto sell. I have no room for noddings more. Good night!"

"But I've something special, " said Mr. Heatherbloom. As he spoke he tookfrom an inner pocket a little parcel in pink tissue-paper; he fingeredit a moment, removing an ivory miniature from a frame, passed the paperquickly about the picture once more, and returned it to his pocket. Thenhe handed the frame, over the case, to the pawnbroker. "What do youthink of that, my Christian friend?" he said with a show of jocularitythat didn't ring quite true. 

The pawnbroker bent his dull face close to the article; it was gold. Apretty trinket, set with a number of brilliants, it might have come fromthe Rue Royale or the Rue de la Paix. 

"Cost about five hundred francs, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom, watchingthe other closely. "One hundred dollars, without the duty. "

"Where'd you get it?"

"None of your business. " With a smile. 

The man moved toward a telephone at his back. "Do you know what I'mgoing to do?"

"I am curious. "

"'Phone the police. "

"Is that an invitation for me to depart? If so--" Mr. Heatherbloomreached for the little gold frame. 

"Oh, no, " said the man, retaining the graceful article. "The police willfind out who this belongs to. "

"Tut! tut!" observed Mr. Heatherbloom lightly. Something on the edge ofthe showcase pointed over it; the hand the proprietor professed to raisetoward the telephone fell to his side; he seemed about to call out. "Don't!" said the visitor. "It's loaded; you saw me put in thecartridges yourself. Your little game is very passe; I had it worked onme once before, and placed you in your class--a fourth-rater, with acrib for loot!"

The other considered; this customer's manner was ominously quiet andeasy; he didn't like it. A telepathic message that flashed from thegleaming gaze above the shining tube suggested an utterly frivolousindifference to tragic consequences. The proprietor moved away from thetelephone. 

"Fifteen dollars, " he said. 

"Twenty, " breathed Mr. Heatherbloom insinuatingly. 

The man put his hand in his pocket and counted out the money. The callertook it, said something in those same blithe significant accents aboutwhat would happen if the other made a move in the next two or threeminutes, then vanished from the store. He did not keep to the busythoroughfare now, but shot into a side street. Would the pawnbroker hidethe frame and then call the police? It was quite possible he might thusseek to get into their good graces and revenge himself at the same time. Mr. Heatherbloom turned from dark byway to dark byway. He knew there wasa possibility that he might keep going throughout the night withoutbeing taken; but what would he attain by so doing, how would that profithim?

He had to get back to New York at once, and as speedily as possible!The shining face of a street clock that a short time before he hadlooked at, admonished him there were no moments to spare, if he wouldcarry out his plan, his headstrong purpose--to verify or disprove acertain wild theory--which would take him where, lead to what? Nomatter! Above, between black shadows of tall buildings, he saw a star, bright, beautiful. Something in him seemed to leap up to it--to thatlight as frostily clear as her eyes! A taxi passed; he hailed it. 

"How much to Jersey City?" he asked in feverish tones. 

The man approximated a figure; it was large, but Mr. Heatherbloom atonce got in. 

"All right, " he said. "Only let her go! I've a train to catch. "

"You don't want to land us in the police court, do you?" asked thechauffeur. 

Mr. Heatherbloom devoutly hoped not. 

CHAPTER XI

MISCALCULATIONS

Two days later, on a bright afternoon, a young man stood on the edge ofa sea-wall called the Battery. It was not _the_ Battery, commanding aview of the outgoing and incoming maritime traffic of the continent'smetropolis, but another Battery, overlooking another harbor, or estuary, landlocked save for an entrance about a mile in width. Behind him lay, not a great, but a little, city; hardly more than a big town; before hima few vessels of moderate tonnage placidly plied the main or swashchannels. 

The scene was tranquilizing; nevertheless the young man appeared out ofharmony with it. His face wore a feverish flush; his eyes had a restlessgleam. He had only a short time before come to town, entering inunconventional fashion. As the train had slackened at a siding on theoutskirts he had quietly, and unperceived, slipped off the back platformof the rear car; then made his way by devious and little frequented sidestreets to the sea-front. 

There, his eager gaze scanned the craft, moving in the open, ormotionless at the distant wharfs. An expression of acute disappointmentpassed over his features; his eyes did not find what they sought. Hadthat mad flight been for nothing? Had he but run into a new kind of"pocket" here, all to no purpose?

Mr. Heatherbloom sat down; he was weary and worn. The dancing sparkleslaughed at him; he did not feel like "laughing back". Even as he leanedagainst the parapet a newsboy close at hand called out:

"All about the mysterious abduction! One of the miscreants traced tothis city! Superintendent of police warned of his probable arrival!"

The lad looked at Mr. Heatherbloom as he shouted; that gentlemanreturned his gaze with unflinching stolidness. 

"What abduction?" he asked. 

"Beautiful New York heiress. "

The voice passed on; the fugitive was once more alone with his thoughts. If they had been wild, turbulent before, what were they now? His handsclosed; at the moment he did not bemoan his own probable fate, only thefact that the clue bringing him here had been false--false!

Another voice--this time a man's--accosted him. Mr. Heatherbloom sprangswiftly to his feet but the person, an old darky, did not appear veryformidable. 

"Got a match, boss?" he inquired mildly. 

Mr. Heatherbloom's bright suspicious glance shot into the good-humored, open look of the other; that person's manner betrayed no ulteriormotive. Perhaps he had not yet heard the newsboy; did notknow--Mechanically the young man answered that he did not possess thearticle required, but the intruder still lingered; he had accosted theother partly because of a desire for desultory conversation. Mr. Heatherbloom, after a moment's careful scrutiny, showed a disposition tobe accommodating in this regard; he even took the initiative--suddenly, asking question after question about this boat and that. Her name; whenshe had come; where she was going; of what her cargo consisted? Theother replied willingly. Like many of his kind in the port, although hecould not read or write, he was wise in harbor-front knowledge, knew allthe floating tramps and the sailing craft. 

"I suppose it's always about the same old boats drop in here?" Mr. Heatherbloom, after a little, observed insinuatingly. 

"Yes, always de same ole tubs, " assented the darky. 

A shadow crossed the other's face, but he managed to assume a light air. "Battered hulks and sailing brigs of a past generation, eh?" He put thecase strongly, but the darky only nodded smilingly. His strong point inconversation was in agreeing with people; he even forgot patriotismtoward his own port in being amiable. 

Mr. Heatherbloom glanced now beyond them to the right and the left; butno one whom he had reason to fear came within scope of his vision. Hisfigure relaxed. When would they come to take him? The newsboy's wordsreiterated themselves in his mind. "Traced to this city!" Of course;Miss Van Rolsen's millions were at the command of the secret-servicebureau; his description had been telegraphed far and wide. And when itshould be fruitful of results, what would become of his theory?Nevertheless, he would go on, while he could, to the last. 

If he tried to explain they would consider it but a paltry blind tocover his own criminality. He could expect no help from them; he had totriumph or fail through his own efforts. To fail, certainly; it wasdecreed. 

For the moment something in his breast pocket seemed to burn there, atiny object, now without the frame. Involuntarily he raised his hand;then his figure swayed; the street waved up and down. He had eatenlittle during the last two or three days. Scornfully in his own mind heberated that momentary weakness and steadied himself. His eyes, cold andclear, now returned to the colored man; he groped for and took up thethread of the talk where he had left it. 

"Old hulks and brigs! You don't ever happen to have any really fineboats come in here, do you? Like Mr. Morgan's big private yacht, forexample?"

"No; we ain't never seen dat craft yere. Dis port's more for lumberand--"

Mr. Heatherbloom looked down. "I saw an item in the paper"--he strove tospeak unconcernedly--"a Marconigram--that a certain Russian prince'sprivate yacht--the _Nevski_--had damaged her propeller, or some otherpart of her gear, and was being towed into this harbor for emergencyrepairs. "

"Oh, yes, boss!" said the man. The listener took a firmer grip on theparapet. "You done mean de big white boat w'at lies on de odder side obde island; can't see her from yere. Dey done fix her up mighty quick an'she gwine ter lebe to-night. "

"Leave to-night!" Mr. Heatherbloom's face changed; suppressed eagerness, expectancy shone from his eyes; he turned away to conceal it from theother. "Looks like good fishing over there near the island, " he observedafter a pause. 

"Tain't so much for fishin' as crabbin', " returned the other. 

"Crabbing!" repeated Mr. Heatherbloom. "A grand sport! Now if--are you acrabber?" The darky confessed that crabbing was his main occupation; hisboat swung right over there; for a dollar he would give the otherseveral hours' diversion. 

Mr. Heatherbloom accepted the offer with alacrity. A few moments later, seated in a dilapidated cockle-shell, he found himself slamming over thewater. The boat didn't ship the tops of many seas but it took in enoughspray over the port bow to drench pretty thoroughly the passenger. Inthe stern, the darky handling the sheet of a small, much patched sail, kept himself comparatively dry. But Mr. Heatherbloom didn't seem to mindthe drenching; though the briny drops stung his cheek, his facecontinued ever bent forward, toward a point of land to the right ofwhich lay the island that came ever nearer, but slowly--so slowly!

He could see the top of the spars of a vessel now over the highsand-hills; his body bent toward it; in his eyes shone a steely light. Their little boat drew closer to the near side of the island; thehillocks stood up higher; the tapering topmasts of the craft on theother side disappeared. The crabber's cockle-shell came to anchor in atranquil sandy cove. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, although inwardly chafing, felt obliged to restrainimpatience; he could not afford to awaken the darky's suspicions, therefore he simulated interest and--"crabbed". He enjoyed a streak ofgood luck, but his artificial enthusiasm soon waned. He at lengthsuggested trying the other side of the island, whereupon his pilotexpostulated. 

What more did his passenger want? The latter thought he would stretchhis legs a bit on the shore; it made him stiff to sit still so long. Hewould get out and walk around--he had a predilection for desertedislands. While he was gratifying his fancy the darky could return to hismore remunerative business of gathering in the denizens of the deep. 

Five minutes later Mr. Heatherbloom stood on the sandy beach; he startedas if to walk around the island but had not gone far before he turnedand moved at a right angle up over the sand-hill. The dull-hued bushesthat somehow found nourishment on the yellow mound now concealed hisfigure from the boatman; the same hardy vegetation afforded him ashelter from the too inquisitive gaze of any persons on the yacht whenhe had gained the summit of the sands. 

There, he peered through the leaves down upon a beautiful vessel. Shelay near the shore; whatever her injury, it seemed to have been repairedby this time for few signs of life were apparent on or about her. Steamwas up; a faint dun-colored smoke swept, pennon-like, from her whitefunnels. Some one was inspecting her stern from a platform swung overthe rail, and to Mr. Heatherbloom's strained vision this person'sinterest, or concern, centered in the mechanism of her rudder. Thetrouble had been there no doubt, and if so, the yacht had probably come, or been brought near the island at high water, and at low tide anydamage she might have suffered had been attended to. Her injury musthave been more vexatious than serious. Would she, as the darky hadaffirmed, leave when the tide was once more at its full? Her lying inthe outer, instead of in the inner harbor, seemed significant. Timepassed; the person on the platform regained the deck and disappeared. Inthe bushes the watcher suddenly started. 

Something at one of the port windows had caught his glance. A ribbon? Afluttering bit of lace? A woman's features that phantom-like had comeand vanished? He looked hard--so steadily that spots began to dancebefore his sight, but he could not verify that first impression. Yet heremained. The shadows on the furze grew longer, falling in strangeangular shapes down the hillside; the sun dipped low. At length Mr. Heatherbloom, after the manner of one who had made up his mind tosomething, abruptly rose. 

He walked back toward the cove where he had disembarked. As he drew nearthe darky caught sight of him, pulled up "anchor" and paddled his boatto the shore. But Mr. Heatherbloom did not at once get in; his eyesrested on the bushel or so of freshly caught, bubble-blowing crabs. Hestrove to appear calm and matter-of-fact. 

"What do you expect to get for them?" he asked, pointing. 

"'Bout fifty cents de dozen, boss. Crab market ain't what it ought terbe jest now. "

"Why don't you try to sell them to the yacht over there?" Mr. Heatherbloom managed to speak carelessly but it was a difficult task. 

"Jest becos she is 'over there', boss, " returned the darky lazily. "Mighty swift tide sweeping around de head of dat island!" heexplained. 

"And you don't like rowing against it?" Quickly. "See here, I'll tellyou what I'll do. I like a bit of exercise, and just for the gamble, I'll give you sixty cents a dozen for the lot, and keep all I can getover that. The owner of that craft is a Russian and all Russians likesea food. When they can't get caviar, they'll no doubt make a bid forcrabs. "

"Dat sounds like berry good argumentation, boss. Make itseventy"--avarice struggling on the dusky countenance--"an'--"

"Done!" said Mr. Heatherbloom, endeavoring to disguise the fierceeagerness welling within him. "Here's on account!" Tossing his last billto the other. "And now, get out. It'll be easier pulling without you. "

The darky grinned and obeyed. This was a strenuous passenger truly, notaverse to stiff rowing, after a stiff walk, "jest for pleasure". But thedusky pilot had met these anomalous white beings before--"spo'tsmen", they called themselves. And a certain sense of humor, as Mr. Heatherbloom sat down to the oars, caused the colored man involuntarilyto hum: _I'se got a white man a-workin' for me_. He had only finished abar or two, however, when the tune abruptly ceased on his lips. "Dat'stoo bad, " he said. "I guess de deal's off, boss. " Regretfully. 

"Eh?" Mr. Heatherbloom looked around. He meant to keep the man to hisbargain now, by force if necessary. 

"Look dar!" continued the darky. 

Mr. Heatherbloom did look in the direction indicated. A puff of blacksmoke could be seen rising over the island, and--significant fact!--thedark smudge seemed to be crawling along beyond the sky-line of thesand-hill. The young man turned pale. 

"It's de Russian yacht, boss. She's under way all right!"

Mr. Heatherbloom continued to gaze. Where the island was lower he sawthe topmasts moving along--then the boat herself, white, beautiful, swinging out from behind, with bow pointed seaward and steaming fast. 

"Dat's too bad, " murmured the colored man. "I done be powerfuldisappointed, boss!"

The other did not answer. Going! going! He had waited too long to boardher. He could not reach her now--he would never reach her. The flame ofthe dying sun flared in Mr. Heatherbloom's face, but he continuedmotionless. 

CHAPTER XII

ON THE ROAD

Gone! It was the only word he, could think of. Every thought, everyemotion centered around it. He could not reason or argue. No planoccurred to him now. He continued to sit still, seeing but onepicture--a boat vanishing. Night had begun to fall as they returned tothe city. Its lights played mockingly in the darkness. Mr. Heatherbloomviewed them with apathetic gaze. The secret-service man, the chief ofpolice and his assistants were on shore somewhere waiting to capturehim, but he did not care. Let them take him now! What did it matter?

When the boat reached land he got out like an automaton. Perhaps he madeanswer to the darky's last cheerful good night, but if so he spokewithout knowing it. The boatman let him go, willingly; Mr. Heatherbloomhadn't asked for his last bill back again and the other overlookedreminding him of his remissness. The greenback was considerably morethan the fare. 

Indifferent to his fate, Mr. Heatherbloom moved on; no one molested him. He walked along dark highways, not through fear of being apprehended, but because his mood was dark. He did not even notice where he went; hejust kept going. He forgot he was hungry, but at length, as in a dream, he began to realize a physical weariness. Overwrought nature asserteditself; he was not made of iron; his muscles responded reluctantly. Without observing his surroundings, he sank listlessly to the earth; thecool grass received his exhausted frame. Beyond, some distance away, thelights of the city threw now a sullen glow on the sky. All wascomparatively still about him; the noise of the city was replaced by thelighter sound of vehicles on the well kept, almost non-resoundingcountry road. It seemed to be a main thoroughfare, but with little lifeand animation about it at that evening hour. A buggy did go byoccasionally, however, and, not far from Mr. Heatherbloom, at a curb, stood a motor-car. 

He had suffered himself to relax on the ground in front of a small houseset well back among spectral-looking trees and surrounded by a stonewall overgrown with foliage. Mr. Heatherbloom remained unmindful of hissurroundings. The lamps of the car near by were not lighted; a singlefigure on the front seat was barely distinguishable. Now this person gotdown and lighted a cigarette; he seemed restless, walked to and fro, andglanced once or twice at the house. From a single window a faint lightgleamed; then it vanished, only to reappear a few moments later atanother window. Among the masses of foliage fireflies glistened; atree-toad began to make a sound but almost immediately stopped. Thefront door had apparently opened and some person or persons came out. The faint crunchings on the gravel indicated more than one person. Nowthey stepped on the grass, for there were no audible indications oftheir approach. The man near the machine threw quickly away hiscigarette and opened the door of the car. Several people, issuing fromthe gate, crossed the sidewalk and got in. Mr. Heatherbloom was hardlyaware of the fact; they seemed but unmeaning shadows. 

The driver bent over and lighted one of his lamps. As he did so, theflare revealed for an instant his face--square, rather handsome andbearded. A faint flicker of interest, for some reason undefinable tohimself at the moment, swept over Mr. Heatherbloom. He had been lyingwhere the grass was tall and now raised himself on his elbow, the betterto peer over the waving tops. The car had gathered headway and swung outinto the road, when suddenly some one in it laughed and uttered anexclamation in a foreign tongue. That musical note--a word he did notunderstand--was wafted to Mr. Heatherbloom. It acted upon him like agalvanic shock; he sprang to his feet and, bewildered, stared after themachine. What had happened; was he dreaming? He could hardly at firstbelieve the evidence of his senses, for the laugh, coming back to him inthe night, was that of the woman for whom he had procured employment atMiss Van Rolsen's. He could have sworn to the fact now. And the manwhose countenance he had so briefly seen was, no doubt, of her ownnationality--a Russian!

Involuntarily, without realizing what he did, Mr. Heatherbloom startedto run in the direction the car had gone, but he soon stopped. Whatmadness!--to attempt to catch a sixty-horse-power machine! Why, it wasnearly a mile away already. The young man stood stock-still while acogent reaction swept over him. The woman had passed within fifty feetof where he had lain, head near the earth, moping. A mocking desire toatone for a great remissness found him impotent. There seemed nothingfor him to do now but to reconcile himself to the irreconcilable, tostay here, while every desire urged him to follow her, to learn why thiswoman was in the car and who was with her. Naturally, he had expectedshe would be on the yacht now steaming away out to sea, and here shewas. A new enigma confronted him. 

Mr. Heatherbloom continued to stand in the center of the road. His headwhirled; he panted hard, out of breath from his recent dash. A loudhonk! honk! from another machine coming unexpectedly up behind, causedhim to leap aside just in time. The second car whizzed by, althoughobeying an impulse born on the instant, he called out wildly, waving hisarms to bring it to a halt. If they saw his strange motions--which wasunlikely, the night being dark--they did not heed them. Soon the secondmachine was some distance away; then its rear light gleamed like avanishing coal and suddenly disappeared altogether around a bend of theroad. 

He looked back; no other vehicle of any description was in sight now. But it profited nothing to continue passive, immovable. He had to act, to walk on, no matter how slowly; his face, at least, was set in thedirection the woman had gone. How long it took him to reach the turn ofthe thoroughfare he could not tell, but at length there, he came againto an abrupt stop. Some distance ahead in the road appeared a machine, motionless--waiting, or broken down. 

Which car was it? The one containing the woman, or the other that cameafter? If the former--He pressed on eagerly, yet keeping to the shadows, alive once more to the need of caution. His heart pounded hard; he couldsee a form passing in front of the machine; the light of the lampenabled him now to make out the other occupants--three men. No woman waswith them. This became poignantly, irrefutably evident as he drewnearer. He could see plainly the empty car and the trio of figures; hecould hear them talking but was not yet able to distinguish what theysaid. These were the people whose attention he had tried to attract backthere in the road. His purpose then, occurring to him in a flash, renewed itself strongly now. He would ask their aid; circumstances mightenable him to do so now with better grace. He had had a good deal ofexperience with cars of divers kinds and makes at different times in thepast. Why not proffer these strangers his fairly expert services? Hefelt sure he could soon learn, and repair, what was wrong with themachine. Having made himself useful, he could then intimate that a"lift" down the road would be acceptable. And he would probably get it. 

But he did not carry out his intention. Something he heard as he camecloser to them caused him to hesitate and reconsider. Mixed withanathemas directed against the car, of rather a cheap type, were wordsthat had for him more than passing significance. These men were aftersome one, and that the some one was none other than himself, Mr. Heatherbloom soon became fully convinced. Fate had been kinder to himthan he knew when he had endeavored, and failed, to win their notice. Hecrouched back now against a rail fence; their low disgruntled tones werestill borne to him. For some moments they continued to work over themachine without apparently being able to set it to rights. 

"If this goes on much longer, " said one of them, "he'll get away fromBrownville. "

"Providin' he's there!" grumbled another. "People are always seeing anescaped criminal in a dozen different localities at the same time. "

Brownville! The listener soon divined, from a sentence dropped here andthere, that the place was a little fishing village a short distance downthe coast. He surmised, also, that they had by this time the main harborof the city fairly watched as far as outgoing vessels were concerned, and were reaching out to prevent a possible exit from the smallercommunity. Fishing craft leaving from there could easily take out afugitive and thus enable him to escape. This contingency the authoritieswere now endeavoring to avert; that they also had some kind of a clue, pointing to their present destination and inciting them to make hastethither, was evident from the skeptical remark Mr. Heatherbloom hadoverheard. 

A series of explosions, as sudden as spasmodic, broke in on thelistener's thoughts. "Hurray!" said one. "We're off!"

And they were, quickly. Mr. Heatherbloom also moved with extremeabruptness and expedition. Waiting in the shadow until they had allsprung into the car and the machine had fairly started, he then dartedforward, seized a strap and clinging as best he might, hoisted himselfto the place in the rear designed for a trunk. One desire only, inresorting to this expedient, moved him--to get in touch as soon aspossible, if possible, with the other car. This machine, of inferiorbuild, suggested, it is true, a dubious way to that end but it was thebest that offered. 

He did not see the incongruity of his position, of being a passenger, though secretly and surreptitiously, of the car containing thoseembarked on a mission so closely concerning himself. Instead of fleeingfrom them he was actually courting their company, pursuing himself, asit were! At another time he might have smiled; now the situation had forhim nothing of the comic; it was tragically grim, also decidedlyunpleasant. A strong odor of gasolene permeated his nostrils until hewas nearly suffocated by it and all the dust, stirred by their flight, swirled up on him, making it difficult to refrain from coughing. Fortunately the machine had a monopoly on noises, and any sound from himwould have passed unnoticed. He had ridden the "bumpers" not so long agoon freights, and, perforce, indulged in kindred uncomfortable methods offree transportation in the course of his recent career, but he had neverexperienced anything quite so little to be desired as this. 

The driver had begun to speed; as if to make up for lost time, he wasforcing the engine to its limit. The machine, of light construction, shook violently, negotiated the steep places with jumps and slid down onthe other side with breakneck velocity. The dust thickened about Mr. Heatherbloom's head so that he could scarcely see. His arms ached andevery bump nearly tore him loose. He wound the strap around his wristand strove to ensconce himself deeper in a place not large enough forhim. He was on an edge all the time, and felt as if he were fallingover every moment; the edge, too, was sharp and dug into him. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, however, had little thought of bodily discomfort; hewas more concerned in making progress and the difficulty of maintaininghis position. His only fear was that he would be compelled to abandonhis place because his physical energy might not be equal to the demandsput upon it. He set his teeth now and began to count the seconds. Thefaster they went, the better was his purpose served; he strove to findencouragement in the thought. The other car could make a superiorshowing in the way of speed, but it might stop voluntarily somewhereafter a while, or something might happen to arrest its progress. Therace did not always belong to the swift. He endeavored to formulate someplan as to just what he would do if he did finally manage to overtakethe woman and her party, but at length ceased trying. Sufficient untothe moment were the problems thereof; he could but strive in thepresent. He dispelled the fear that he could not hold on much longer, and filled himself with new determination not to yield. But even as hedid so, a bigger bump than any they had yet encountered jerked himabruptly from his place. 

When finally he managed to collect himself and his senses and sit upuncertainly in the road, the car was far away. The snap of explodinggasolene grew faint--fainter--then ceased altogether. 

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE NIGHT

A wayworn figure, some time thereafter, moved slowly along the desertedroad, where it ran like a winding ribbon over the top of a great bluff. A sea wind, coming in varying gusts, bent low the long grass and rustledin the bushes. The moon had escaped from behind dark clouds in a stormysky and threw its rays far and wide. They imparted a frosty sheen to thewavy surface between road and sea and brightened the thoroughfare, which, lengthening tortuously, disappeared beneath in a tangle of forestor underbrush. 

Mr. Heatherbloom gazed wearily down the road, then over the grass. Inthe latter direction, afar, a strip of ocean lay like an argent streamflowing between the top of the bank and the horizon. Toward thatillusory river he, leaving the main highway, walked in somewhatdiscouraged fashion. It might avail him little, so much time hadelapsed, but from the edge of the bluff he would be afforded a view ofthe surrounding country and the topography of the coast. 

A vast spread of the ocean unfolded to his gaze before he had reachedthe brink of the prominence. His heavy-lidded eyes, sweeping to theright, rested on a heterogeneous group of dwellings scattered well abovethe sands and directly below a wooded uprising of land. Myriad specks oflight glimmered amid shadowy roofs. Brownville? Undoubtedly! A boardwalk ran along the ocean and a small pier extended like an arm over thewater. On the faintly glistening sands old boats, drawn up here andthere, resembled so many black footprints. 

Not far from where Mr. Heatherbloom stood a path went downward, ashorter way to the village than by the road he had just left. He staredunthinkingly a moment at the narrow walk; then began mechanically todescend. A dull realization weighed on him that when he reached hisdestination the woman would be far away. He wondered why he had gone on, under the circumstances--why he had ever thought he stood a ghost of achance of overtaking her? Only the hopelessness of the situation, in allits grim verity, faced him now. 

The path zigzagged through the bushes. At a turn the village was lost tosight; in front was a sheer fall to the sea. As he kept on, projectingbranches struck him and raising his hand to guard his face, he, trippedand almost fell. Recovering himself, he glanced down; something hadcaught on his shoe and he leaned over to loosen it. His fingers closedon a long strip of soft substance--a veil, the kind worn by womenmotoring! Mr. Heatherbloom's eyes rested on it apathetically, then witha sudden flash of interest; a faint but heavy perfume emanated from thesilky filament. It was darkish in hue--brown, he should say; the Russianwoman was partial to that color. The thought came to him quickly; hestood bewildered. What if it were hers? Then how had it come here, onthis narrow foot-path, unless--Had the big car stopped at the top of thepromontory and discharged its passengers there? But why should it havedone so; for what possible reason?

He could think of none. Other women came this way--the path was notdifficult. Other women wore brown veils. And yet that odd familiarfragrance--It seemed to belong to a foreign bizarre personality such asSonia Turgeinov's. 

Crushing in his palm the veil he thrust it into his pocket. He wouldfind out more below, possibly; if she had actually passed this way. Afeverish zest was born anew; the authorities were looking for her aswell as for himself, he remembered. She, apparently, had so far cleverlyevaded them; if he could but lead them to her he would not mind so muchhis own apprehension. Her presence in the locality at the same time the_Nevski_ had been in the harbor would fairly prove the correctness ofhis theory of Miss Dalrymple's whereabouts. If he could now deliver theRussian woman into the hands of the law, he would have a wedge to forcethe powers that be to give credence to at least the material part of hisstory--that the prince had left port with the young girl--and to compelthem to see the necessity of acting at once. That he, himself, would beheld equally culpable with the woman was of no moment. 

Fatigue seemed to fall from his shoulders. He went along more swiftly, inspired with new vague hopes. Down--down! The voice of the sea grewnearer; now he could hear the dull thud of the waves, then the weirdwhistling sounds that succeeded. Springing from a granite out-jutting tothe sands, he looked eagerly, searchingly, this way and that. He saw noone. His gaze lowered and he walked from the dry to the wet strand. There he stopped, an exclamation escaping his lips. 

A faint light, falling between black rocks, revealed fresh footprints onthe surface of the sands, and, yes!--a long furrow--the marks of thekeel of a boat. He studied the footprints closer, but withoutdiscovering signs of a woman's; only the indentations of heavy seamen'sboots were in evidence. Mr. Heatherbloom experienced a keendisappointment; then felt abruptly reassured. The impress of her lightertread had been eliminated by the men in lifting and pushing to launchthe boat. Their boots had roughly kicked up the sand thereabouts. 

He was fairly satisfied the woman had embarked. The seclusion of thespot favored the assumption; the fishing-boats were all either stranded, or at anchor, nearer the village. But why and whither had she gone? Theocean, in front, failed to answer the latter question, and his glanceturned. On the one hand was the village; on the other, high, almostperpendicular rocks ran seaward, obscuring the view. It would not beeasy to get around that point; without a boat it could not be done. 

Mr. Heatherbloom began to walk briskly toward the village; the moonthrew his shadow in odd bobbing motions here and there. Once he stoppedabruptly; some one on the beach afar was approaching. A fisherman? Mr. Heatherbloom crouched back among the rocks, when the person came to ahalt. Clinging to the shadows on the landward side of the beach theyoung man continued to advance, but cautiously, for a single voice mightnow start a general hue and cry. Beyond, closer to town, he could seeother forms, small dark moving spots. Not far distant, however, lay thenearest boat; to get to her he had to expose himself to the paleglimmer. No alternative remained. He stepped quickly across the sand, reached the craft and strove to launch her. But she was clumsy andheavy, and resisted his efforts. The man, whoever he might be, wascoming closer; he called out and Mr. Heatherbloom pushed and struggledmore desperately--without avail! He cast a quick glance over hisshoulder; the man was running toward him--his tones now rang out loudly, authoritatively. Mr. Heatherbloom did not obey that stern command tohalt; instead he made a wild abrupt dash for the sea. The report of arevolver awoke the echoes and a bullet whizzed close. Recklessly heplunged into the water. 

The man on the shore emptied his weapon, but with what success he couldnot tell. A head amid the dark waves was not easily discernible. Anotherand larger object, however, was plainly apparent about a hundred yardsfrom land--a fishing-boat that swung at anchor. Would the other succeedin reaching it, for that was, no doubt, his purpose, or had one of theleaden missives told? The man, with weapon hot, waited. He scanned thewater, then looked toward the town. A number of figures on the beachwere hastening in his direction; from the pier afar, a naphtha put out;he could hear faintly the sound of the engine. 

Suddenly, above the boat at anchor near the man on shore, a sail shotup, then fluttered and snapped in the wind. A moment later it was drawnin, the line holding the craft to the buoy slipped out, and the bowswung sharply around. Mr. Heatherbloom worked swiftly; one desire movedhim--to get around that point before being overtaken--to discover whatlay beyond. Then let happen what would! He reached for a line andhoisted a jib, though it was almost more canvas than his small craftcould carry. She careened and plunged, throwing the spray high. Heturned a quick glance back toward the naphtha. The sky had becomeovercast, and distant objects were not so easily discernible on thesurface of the water, but he made out her lights--two! She was head onfor him. 

He looked steadily ahead again. The grim line of out-jutting rocks--ablack shadow against the sky--exercised a weird fascination for him. Hewas well out in the open now where the wind blew a half-gale. His figurewas wet from the sea but he felt no chill. Suddenly the hand grippingthe tiller tightened, and his heart gave a great bound; then sank. Notfar from that portentous point of land he saw another light--green! Aboat was emerging from the big basin of water beyond. The starboardsignal, set high above the waves, belonged to no small craft such as thewoman had embarked in. The sight of it fitted a contingency that hadflashed through his brain on the beach. The realization left himhelpless now--his last opportunity was gone!

He shifted the tiller violently, recklessly. At that moment a shrillwhistle from behind reminded him once more of the naphtha; he could havelaughed. What was the wretched little puffing thing to him now? Thesingle green light--that alone was the all in all. It belonged to the_Nevski_ he was sure; for one reason or another she had but madepretense of going to sea, and, instead, had come here--to wait. Thewoman was on her now, and, also--The thought maddened him. 

Again that piercing whistle! The naphtha was coming up fast; amid theturmoil of his thoughts he realized this vaguely. He did not wish tofind himself delivered unto them yet--not just yet! A wilderrecklessness seized him. Clouds sped across the heavens like grippingfuries' hands; the water ran level to his boat's gunwales but he refusedto ease her. All the while he was drawing nearer the single greenlight--a mocking light, signal of a mocking chase that had led, andcould lead, to nothing. Still he went on, tossed by the waves--sport ofthem. He had to play the play out. Oh, to see better, to visualize tothe utmost the last scene of his poignant drama of failure!

In the naphtha some one's voice belched through a megaphone; he laughedoutright now. Come and get him, if they wanted him! He would give themas merry a dash as possible. His boat raced madly through thewater--nearer, yet nearer the green light. Now a large dark outlineloomed before him; he would have to stop, to come about in a moment, or--A great wave struck him, half filling his boat, but he did not seemto notice. 

A dazzling white glow suddenly surrounded him; from the naphtha asearch-light had been flashed. It fell on him fully, sprinkled over onthe wild hurtling waves beyond, and just touched the side of theoutgoing vessel. Mr. Heatherbloom looked toward the vessel and hispupils dilated. The light leaped into the air with the motion of thenaphtha, and, in an instant was gone, but the impress of a single detailremained on his retina--of a side ladder, lowered, no doubt, for thewoman, and not yet hoisted into place on the big boat. 

The wildness of the sea seemed to surge through Mr. Heatherbloom'sveins; he did not come about; he did not try to. Now it was too late!That ladder!--he would seize it as they swept by. Closer his boat ran; aswirl of water caught him, threw him from his course. He made a franticeffort to regain it but without avail. The big steel bow of the greatboat struck and overwhelmed the little craft. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE CRISIS

On the _Nevski_, the lookout forward walked slowly back and forth. Onceor twice he shook his head. But a few moments before the yacht had rundown a small boat, he had reported the matter, and--the _Nevski_ hadcontinued ahead, full speed. She had not even slackened long enough tomake the usual futile pretense of extending assistance to theunfortunate occupant, or occupants. His excellency, Prince Boris, evidently did not wish, or had no time, to bother with blunderers; ifthey got in his way so much the worse for them. The lookout, pausing tostare once more ahead, suddenly started. Though apathetic, like most ofthe lower class of his countrymen, he uttered a faint guttural ofsurprise and peered over the bow. A voice had seemed to rise from thevery seething depths of the sea. Naturally superstitious, he made thesign of the cross on his breast while tales of dead seamen who came backplayed through his dull fancy. 

Once more he heard it--that voice that seemed to mingle with the wailingtones of the deep! The little swinging lantern beneath the bowspritplayed on his bearded face as he bent farther forward, and, with growingwonder not unmixed with fear, now made out something dark clinging toone of the steel lines that ran from the projecting timber to the ship. It took the lookout a few moments to realize that this dark object thathad a voice--albeit a faint one--could not be other than a recentoccupant of the small boat he had seen disappear. This person must haveleaped upward at the critical moment, and caught one of the taut strandsupon which he had somehow managed to hoist himself and to which he nowclung desperately. It was a precarious position and one that the motionof the yacht made but briefly tenable. 

Satisfied that the dark object was a reality and not an unwontedvisitation, the lookout began deliberately to unloosen a gasket. Momentsmight be eternity to the man below, but Muscovite slowness is not to behurried. The yacht's bow poised in mid air a breathless instant; chaosseemed leaping upward toward Mr. Heatherbloom, when something--aline--struck and rubbed against his cheek. He seized and trusted himselfto it eagerly. The sailor was strong; he pulled in the rope. Mr. Heatherbloom came up, but his strength was almost gone. He would havelet go when iron fingers closed on his wrists, and after that heremembered no more. 

He awoke in a berth in a fo'castle, and it was daylight. Through apartly-opened hatch he could see the fine spray that came over the sideof the yacht. Amid misty particles touched by the sun shone a tinysegment of rainbow. This Mr. Heatherbloom watched with a kind ofchildish interest; then stretched himself more luxuriously on the hardbunk. It was very fine having nothing more important and arduous to dothan watching prismatic hues; his thoughts floated back to longforgotten wonder-days when he had possessed that master-marvel of toys, a kaleidoscope, and on occasion had importantly permitted thegolden-haired child in the big house on the top of the hill to--

The dream was abruptly dispelled by some one laying a tarry hand on hisshoulder. Mr. Heatherbloom raised himself. The person had acharacteristic Russian face. For a moment the young man stared at thestolid features, then looked around him. He saw the customaryfurnishings of such a place; hammocks, bags and chests, several of thelast marked with Russian characters. A trace of color sprang to Mr. Heatherbloom's face; he realized now what boat he was actually on, andwhat it all meant to him. He could hardly believe, however, andcontinued to regard the upside down odd lettering, when the sailor, whohad so unceremoniously disturbed him, motioned him to get out. Mr. Heatherbloom obeyed; he felt very stiff and somewhat light-headed, buthe steadied himself against the woodwork. The sailor drew a dipperfulof hot tea from a samovar and thrust it into his hand. He drank withavidity; after which the sailor made him to understand he was to follow. 

The young man hesitated--a new risk confronted him. To whom would he betaken? The prince? He had once been standing in the area way of the VanRolsen house when the nobleman had approached. Had the distinguishedvisitor then been so absorbed in the sight of Miss Dalrymple coming downthe steps that he had utterly failed to observe the humble caretaker ofcanines? Possibly--and again possibly not. In the former contingency hemight yet have a brief breathing-spell to think--to plan for the future, unless--There was another to reckon with--the woman he had met in thepark, whose automobile he had attempted to follow. She, too, was on theboat! He had been her dupe once. Was he now to become her victim?

The young man's jaw set. There was no holding back now, however; he hadto go on--and he did, with seeming indifference and bold enough step. At the top of the ladder the sailor passed him on to some one else--anofficer--who led him this way and that until they reached a secludedpart of the deck, where, near the rail, stood a tall dark figure, glassin hand. Until the last moment Mr. Heatherbloom had hoped it might beonly the captain he would be called on to encounter, and that thataugust person would summarily dispose of him, ordering him somewhere outof sight, below, to work his passage in the sailors' galley, perhaps. Hewould have welcomed the most ignominious service to have found now arespite--to be enabled to escape discovery a little longer. But thewished-for contingency had not arisen. He faced the inevitable. 

"The man, your Excellency!"

His excellency looked. He had been scanning the horizon and hisexpression was both moody and preoccupied. Mr. Heatherbloom bentslightly forward; his lids fell to conceal a sudden glitter in his eyes;his hand touched something hard in his pocket. If his excellencyrecognized him--There was one way--a last mad desperate way to serve, to save her. It would be the end-all for him, but his life was a verysmall thing to give to her. He did not value it greatly--that physicalself that had been such an ill servant. He gazed at the prince now withveiled expectancy, his attitude seemingly relaxed, innocent ofstrenuosity. Would the prince's gaze flare back with a spark ofremembrance? If in that tense instant it had done so, then--

But his excellency regarded Mr. Heatherbloom blankly; his eyes wereemotionless. 

"You mean the fellow we ran down?" The prince spoke as if irritated bythe intrusion. 

"The same, Excellency!" The officer stepped back. Mr. Heatherbloom didnot move. 

"What did you get in our way for?" The prince's voice had a metallicring; he towered, harshly arrogant, over his uninvited passenger. "Don'tyou know enough to get out of the way?"

"It appears not, sir. " Heatherbloom wondered at the sound of his ownvoice. It seemed to come, small and quiet, from so far off. Hisexcellency had not recognized him, but was he suspicious? Maybe not. Noone would be fool enough to get deliberately in the way of thefast-steaming _Nevski_. Small craft were numerous in the bay andaccidents to them would happen. There was nothing so out of the ordinaryfor a big boat to run down a tiny craft. It was somewhat uncommon forany one in the wee boat to save himself, truly, but even in this featureof the present case the prince experienced but a mild interest. 

"Who are you?" he said. "A fisherman?"

"Not exactly, " answered Mr. Heatherbloom, "though sometimes I crab. Iwas crabbing yesterday. "

As he spoke his gaze swept beyond to not far-distant cabin doors andwindows. He and the prince were standing on the starboard side of theboat; it was this side that had faced the island when the young man hadgazed down upon the yacht from the big sand-hill, and fancied he hadseen--

"What am I going to do with you?" The prince seemed more out of tempernow. "My crew are all Russians and I don't want any of your--" Hestopped; shifting lights played ominously in his gaze; a fewdissatisfied lines on his face deepened. "I didn't ask you to comeaboard, " he ended with an angry gesture. 

"Sorry to intrude!" Mr. Heatherbloom spoke at random. "But I reallycouldn't help it, don't you know. No time to ask permission. "

His excellency frowned. Did he suspect in these words an attempt at thatinsidious American humor he had often vainly endeavored to fathom? Mr. Heatherbloom gazed at him now with seemingly innocent but really veryattentive eyes. 

A superb specimen of over six feet of masculinity, the prince waspicturesquely attired in Russian yachting-garb while a Cossack capadorned a visage as bold and romantic as any young woman might wish togaze upon. And gazing upon it himself--that rather stunning picture theprince presented on his own yacht--a sudden chill ran through Mr. Heatherbloom. This titled paragon refused by Miss Dalrymple? A feudallord who made your dapper French counts and Hungarian barons appear butsmall fry indeed, by contrast! The light of the sea seemed suddenly todazzle Mr. Heatherbloom. A wild thought surged through his brain. BettyDalrymple, bewildering, confusing, made up of captivatinginconsistencies, had sometimes been accused by people of a capacity fordoing the wildest things. Had she for excitement--or any otherreason--eloped with the prince? Were they, perhaps, married even now? Hedismissed the thought quickly. All the circumstances pointed againstthis theory; his original one was--must be--correct. 

"Well, now you are here, I suppose I've got to keep you. " The prince hadagain spoken. 

"I suppose so, " said Mr. Heatherbloom absently. He was studying now thenear-by cabin windows. One, with beautiful lace and glimpses of pinkbeyond, caught his glance. 

"What can you do?" Sharply. 

"Oh, a lot of things!" Had the curtain waved? His heart thumped hard--hescarcely saw the prince now. 

"Not manage a sail-boat, I'm convinced. " He forced himself to turnagain, as through a mist was aware of his excellency's sneeringcountenance. "Judging from your recent performance!"

"That was hardly a fair test, " Mr. Heatherbloom replied anyhow. Histhoughts were keyed to a straining-point; his glance _would_ swerve; hestrove his best to control it. She was there--there--Shrouds and staysseemed to sing the words. He would have sworn he caught the flash of awhite wrist. 

"Why not?" Was the prince still examining, questioning him? Again aprimal impulse was suppressed, though his muscles were like whipcords. He yet compelled himself to endure the ordeal. What was the query about?Ah, he remembered. 

"Well, you see, I must have lost my head. " It was not a bright answerbut he did not care; it was the best that occurred. 

The prince strode restlessly away a few paces, then returned. "Were youever at sea before?"

"I once owned a y----" Mr. Heatherbloom paused--with an effort resumedhis part and a smile somewhat strained: "I once went on a cruise on agentleman's yacht. " Some one _was_ in the state-room; was overhearing. His head hummed; the refrain of the taut lines rang louder. 

"What as? Cabin-boy, cook?"

"Why, you see--" The prince certainly did not see him--he was once morestaring away, over the dark water--"I acted in a good many capacities. Kind of general utility, as it were. Doing this, that, and the other!"

"'The other', I should surmise. " Contemptuously. 

Mr. Heatherbloom moved; the curtain had moved again. "Where are yougoing?" he asked a little wildly. "You see I might have importantbusiness on shore. " Foolish talk, --yet it fitted in as well as anything. 

The prince, for his part, did not at first seem to catch the other'swords; when he did he laughed loudly, sardonically. "That is good;excellent! _You_ have 'important business'!"

"Yes; important, " repeated Mr. Heatherbloom. "I--" He got no further. His eyes met another's at the window, rested a moment on a woman's facewhich then suddenly vanished. But not before he realized that she, too, had seen him--seen and recognized. He had caught in that fleetinginstant, wonder, irony, incredulity--a growing understanding! Then heheard a soft laugh--a musical but devilish laugh--Sonia Turgeinov's!

CHAPTER XV

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Mr. Heatherbloom stood as if stunned, his face very pale. For theinstant all his suppressed emotion concentrated on this woman--his evilgenius--who had betrayed him before and who would betray him again, now. He waited, breathing hard. Why did she not appear? Why did not the blowfall? He could not understand that interval--nothing happening. Was shebut playing with him? The prince had abruptly turned; apparently he hadnot heard that very low laugh. Bored, no doubt, by the interview, he hadstarted to walk away, almost at the same time Mr. Heatherbloom hadcaught sight of the face at the window. As in a dream Mr. Heatherbloomnow heard his excellency's brusk voice addressing a command to theofficer, listened to the latter a moment or two later, addressing him. 

"Come along!" The officer's English was labored and guttural. 

Mr. Heatherbloom's eyes swung swiftly from the near-by door throughwhich he had momentarily expected the woman to emerge. Involuntarily hewould have stepped after the vanishing figure of the prince--what to do, he knew not, when--

"_Non, non_, " said the officer, intervening. "Hees excellenz dislikes tobe--importuned. " The last word cost the speaker an effort; to thelistener it was hardly intelligible, but the officer's manner indicatedplainly his meaning. Mr. Heatherbloom managed to hold himself still; heseemed standing in the center of a vortex. The prince had by this timegone; the woman did not step forth. This lame and impotent conclusionwas out of all proportion to the seemingly inevitable. He could scarcelyrealize it was he--actually he!--who, after another pause, followed theofficer, with scant interest, hardly any at all, to some inferno whereflames leaped and hissed. 

He could not but be aware of them, although the voice telling him thathe would remain here, make himself useful, and, incidentally, work hisway among the stokers, sounded very far off. He could have exclaimedscoffingly after the disappearing officer, not anxious to linger anylonger than necessary here. Work his way, indeed! How long would he bepermitted to do so? When would he be again sent for, and dealt with--inwhat manner?

He shoveled coal feverishly though the irony of the task smote him, forin feeding the insatiable beds, he was with his own hand helping tofurnish the energy that wafted her, he would have served, farther andfarther from the home land. Every additional mile put between that shoreand the boat, increased the prince's sense of power. He was working forhis excellency and against her. In a revulsion of feeling he leaned onhis shovel, whereupon a besooted giant of the lower regions tapped hisshoulder. This person--foreman of the gang--pointed significantly to theinactive implement. His brow was low, brutish, and he had a fist like ahammer. Mr. Heatherbloom lifted the shovel and looked at the low browbut, fortunately, he did not act on the impulse. It was as if somedetaining angel reached down into those realms of Pluto and, at thecritical moment, laid a white hand where the big paw had touched him. 

The young man resumed his toil. After all, what did it matter?--some onewould shovel the stuff. That brief revolt had been spasmodic, sentimental. Here where the heat was almost intolerable and the redtongues sprang like forked daggers before dulled eyes, brutality andhatred alone seemed to reign. The prince might be the prodigal, free-handed gentleman to his officers; he was the slave-driver, byproxy, to his stokers. He who dominated in that place of torment hadbeen an overseer from one of the villages the prince owned; these menwere the descendants of serfs. 

Once or twice Heatherbloom rather incoherently tried to engage one ortwo of them in conversation, to learn where the yacht was going--toSouthern seas, across the Atlantic?--but they only stared at him as ifhe were some strange being quite beyond their ken. So he desisted; ofcourse they could not understand him, and, of course, they knew nothinghe wished to know. In this prison a sense of motion and direction was asnaught. 

Fortunately Mr. Heatherbloom's muscles were in good condition and therewas not a superfluous ounce on him, but he needed all his energies toescape the fist and the boot that day, to keep pace with the others. Theperspiration poured from his face in sooty rivulets; he knew if he gaveway what kind of consideration to expect. He was being tested. Theforeman's eyes, themselves, seemed full of sparks; there was somethingtentative, expectant in their curious gleam as they rested on him. Heatherbloom now could hardly keep to his feet; his own eyes burned. Theflames danced as if with a living hatred of him; in a semi-stupor healmost forgot the sword, without, that swung over him, held but by athread that might be cut any instant. 

He could not have lasted many minutes more when relief came; soddensullen men took the places. Heatherbloom staggered out with his ownherd; he felt the need of food as well as rest. He groped his waysomewhere--into a dark close place; he found black-looking bread--or, was it handed to him? He ate, threw himself down, thought of her!--thenceased to think at all. The sword, his companions or specters no longerexisted for him. 

It may be some spiritual part of him during that physical coma, drewfrom a supermundane source beatific drafts, for he awoke refreshed, hismind clear, even alert. He gazed around; he, alone, moved. Hiscompanions resembled so many bags of rags cast here and there; only thesnores, now diminuendo, then crescendo, dispelled the illusion. Asmoking lamp threw a paucity of light and a good deal of odor aroundthem. Was it night? The shadows played hide-and-seek in corners; therewas no sound of the sea. 

Mr. Heatherbloom moved toward a door. His pulses seemed to throb inrhythm with the engines whose strong pulsations shook those limpunconscious forms. He opened the iron door and looked out. Onlyblackness, relieved by a low-power electric light, met his gaze. Hecrept from the place. 

Why did not some one rise up to detain him? Surely he was watched. Heexperienced an uncanny sense of being allowed to proceed just so far, when invisible fingers would pounce upon him, to hurl him back. The sootstill lay on his face; he had seen no bucket and water. At the mouth ofa tunnel-like aperture, he hesitated, but still no one sprang in front, or glided up from behind to interfere with his progress. He went on; aperpendicular iron ladder enabled him to reach an open space on thedeserted lower deck. Another ladder led to the upper deck. Could hemount it and still escape detection? And in that case--to what end?

A bell struck the hour. Nine o'clock! He counted the strokes. Much timehad, indeed, passed since leaving port. The yacht, he judged, should becapable of sixteen knots. Where were they now? And where was she--inwhat part of the boat had they confined the young girl? Come what might, he would try to ascertain. Creeping softly up the second ladder, hepeered around. Still he saw no one. It was a dark night; a shadow laylike a blanket on the sea. He felt for his revolver--they had not takenit from him--- and started to make his way cautiously aft, whensomething he saw brought him to an abrupt halt. 

A figure!--a woman's!--or a young girl's?--not far distant, lookingover the side. The form was barely discernible; he could but make outthe vague flutterings of a gown. Was it she whom he sought? How could hefind out? He dared not speak. She moved, and he realized he could notlet her go thus. It might be an opportunity--no doubt they would sufferthe young girl the freedom of the deck. It would be along the line of aconciliatory policy on the prince's part to attempt to reassure her asmuch as possible after the indignities' she had suffered. The watcher'seyes strained. She was going. He half started forward--to risk all--tospeak. His lips formed a name but did not breathe it, for at that momentthe swaying of the boat had thrown a flicker of light on the face andMr. Heatherbloom drew back, the edge of his ardor dulled. 

The woman moved a few steps, this way and that; he heard the swish ofher skirts. Now they almost touched him, standing motionless where theshadows were deepest, and at that near contact a blind anger swept overhim, against her--who held him in her power to eliminate, when shewould--When? What was her cue? But, of course, she must have spokenalready--it was inconceivable otherwise. Then why had the prince notacted at once, summarily? His excellency was not one to hesitate aboutdrastic measures. Mr. Heatherbloom could not solve the riddle at all. Hecould only crouch back farther now and wait. 

Through the gloom he divined a new swiftness in her step, a certainsinuosity of movement that suddenly melted into immobility. A red spothad appeared close by, burned now on blackness; it was followed byanother's footstep. A man, cigar in hand, joined her. 

"Ah, Prince!" she said. 

He muttered something Heatherbloom did not catch. 

"What?" she exclaimed lightly. "No better humored?"

His answer was eloquent. A flicker of light he had moved toward revealedhis face, gallant, romantic enough in its happier moments, but nowdistinctly unpleasant, with the stamp of ancestral Sybarites of thePetersburg court shining through the cruelty and intolerance ofsemi-Tartar forbears. 

The woman laughed. How the young man, listening, detested that musicalgurgle! "Patience, your Highness!"

The red spark leaped in the air. "What have I been?"

"That depends on the standpoint--yours, or hers, " she returned in thesame tone. 

"It is always the same. She is--" The spark described swift angrymotions. 

"What would you--at first?" she retorted laughingly. "After all thathas taken place? _Mon Dieu_! You remember I advised you against thismadness--I told you in the beginning it might not all be like Watteau'smasterpiece--the divine embarkation!"

"Bah!" he returned, as resenting her attitude. "You were ready enoughfor your part. "

She shrugged. "_Eh bien?_ Our little Moscow theatrical company had cometo grief. New York--cruel monster!--did not want us. _C'en est fait denous_! Your Excellency met and recognized me as one you had once beenpresented to at a merry party at the Hermitage in our beloved city ofchurches. Would I play the _bon camarade_ in a little affair of theheart, or should I say _une grande passion_? The honorarium offered wasenormous for a poor ill-treated player whose very soul was ready to sing_De Profundis_. Did it tempt her--forlorn, downhearted--"

She paused. Close by, the spark brightened, dimmed--brightened, dimmed!Mr. Heatherbloom bent nearer. "At any rate, she was honest enough toattempt to dissuade you--in vain! And then"--her voice changed--"sinceyou willed it so, she yielded. It sounded wild, impossible, the plan youbroached. Perhaps because it did seem so impossible it won over poorSonia Turgeinov--she who had thrown her cap over the windmills. Therewould be excitement, fascination in playing such a thrilling part inreal life. Were you ever hungry, Prince?" She broke off. "What an absurdquestion! What is more to the point, tell me it was all well done--thedevice, or excuse, of substituting another motor-car for her own, themad flight far into the night, down the coast where save for thatmishap--But I met all difficulties, did I not? And, believe me, it wasnot easy--to keep your little American inamorata concealed until the_Nevski_ could be repaired and meet us elsewhere than we had originallyplanned. _Dieu merci!_ I exclaimed last night when the little spitfirewas brought safely aboard. " Mr. Heatherbloom breathed quickly. BettyDalrymple, then, had been with the woman in the big automobile--

"Why don't you praise me?" the woman went on. "Tell me I well earnedthe _douceur_? Although"--her accents were faintly scoffing--"I neverdreamed _you_ would not afterward be able to--" Her words leaped into anew channel. "What can the child want? _Est-ce-qu'elle aime un autre_?That might explain--"

An expletive smacking more of Montmartre than of the BoulevardCapucines, fell from the nobleman's lips. He brushed the ash fiercelyfrom his cigar. "It is not so--it won't explain anything, " he returnedviolently. "Didn't I once have it from her own lips that, at least, shewas not--" He stopped. "_Mon Dieu!_ That contingency--"

Suddenly she again laughed. "Delicious!"

"What?"

"Nothing. My own thoughts. By the way, what has become of the man wepicked up from the sail-boat?"

The prince made a gesture. "He's down below--among the stokers. Why doyou ask?"

"It is natural, I suppose, to take a faint interest in a poor fishermanyou've almost drowned. "

"Not I!" Brutally. 

"No?" A smile, enigmatical, played around her lips. "How droll!"

"Droll?"

"Heartless, then. But you great nobles are that, a little, eh, _monami_?"

He shrugged and returned quickly to that other more interesting subject. 

"_Elle va m'epouser!_" he exclaimed violently. "I will stake my life onit. She will; she must!"

"Must!" The woman raised her hand. "You say that to an American girl?"

"We're not at the finis yet!" An ugly crispness was manifest in histones. "There are ports and priests a-plenty, and this voyage is apt tobe a long one, unless she consents--"

"Charming man!" She spoke almost absently now. 

"Haven't I anything to offer? _Diable_! One would think I was a beggar, not--am I ill-looking, repugnant? Your sex, " with a suspicion of asneer, "have not always found me so. I have given my heart before, youwill say! But never as now! For she is a witch, like those that come outof the reeds on the Volga--to steal, alike, the souls of fisherman andprince. " He paused; then went on moodily. "I suppose I should havegone--allowed myself to be dismissed as a boy from school. 'I haveplayed with you; you have amused me; you no longer do so. Adieu!' So shewould have said to me, if not in words, by implication. No, _merci_, " hebroke off angrily. "_Tant s'en faut_! I, too, shall have something tosay--and soon--to-night--!"

He made a swift gesture, threw his cigar into the sea and walked off. 

"How tiresome!" But the words fell from the woman's lips uneasily. Shestretched her lithe form and looked up into the night. Then she, too, disappeared. Mr. Heatherbloom stood motionless. She knew who he was andyet she had not revealed his secret to the prince. Because she deemedhim but a pawn, paltry, inconsequential? Because she wished to save thehot-headed nobleman from committing a deed of violence--a crime, even--if he should learn?

The reason mattered little. In Mr. Heatherbloom's mind his excellency'slast words--all they portended--excluded now consideration of all else. He gazed uncertainly in the direction the nobleman had gone; suddenlystarted to follow, stealthily, cautiously, when another personapproached. Mr. Heatherbloom would have drawn back, but it was toolate--he was seen. His absence from the stokers' quarters had beendiscovered; after searching for him below and not finding him, the giantforeman had come up here to look around. He was swinging his long armsand muttering angrily when he caught sight of his delinquent helper. Theman uttered a low hoarse sound that augured ill for Mr. Heatherbloom. The latter knew what he had to expect--that no mercy would be shown him. He stepped swiftly backward, at the same time looking about forsomething with which to defend himself. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE DESPOT

Prince Boris, upon leaving Sonia Turgeinov, ascended to the officers'deck. For some moments he paced the narrow confines between thelife-boats, then stepped into the wheel-house. 

"How is she headed?"

An officer standing near the man at the helm, answered in French. 

"This should bring us to"--the nobleman mentioned a group ofislands--"by to-morrow night?"

"Hardly, Excellency. "

The prince stared moodily. "Have you sighted any other vessels?"

"One or two sailing-craft that have paid no attention to us. The onlyboat that seemed interested since we left port was the little naphtha. "

The nobleman stood as if he had not heard this last remark. About tomove away, he suddenly lifted his head and listened. "What was that?" hesaid sharply. 

"What, your Highness?"

"I thought I heard a sound like a cry. "

"I heard nothing, Excellency. No doubt it was but the wind--it is loudhere. "

"No doubt. " A moment the nobleman continued to listen, then hisattention relaxed. 

"Shall I come to your excellency later for orders?" said the officer asthe prince made as if to turn away. 

"It will not be necessary. If I have any I can 'phone from the cabin--Ido not wish to be disturbed, " he added and left. 

"His excellency seems in rather an odd mood to-night, " the officer, gazing after, muttered. "Nothing would surprise me--even if he commandedus to head for the pole next. Eh, Fedor?" The man at the helm madeanswer, moving the spokes mechanically. Nor' west, or sou' east--it wasall one to him. 

Prince Boris walked back; before a little cabin that stood out like anafterthought, he again paused. 

Click! click! The wireless! His excellency, stepping nearer, peeredthrough a window in upon the operator, a slender young man--French. Amessage was being received. Who were they that thus dared span space toreach out toward him? _Ei! ei_! "The devil has long arms. " He recalledthis saying of the Siberian priests and the mad Cossack answer:"Therefore let us ride fast!" The swaying of the yacht was like therhythmic motion of his Arab through the long grass beyond the Dnieper, in that wild land where conventionality and laws were as naught. 

He saw the operator now lean forward to write. The apparatus, which hadbecome silent again, spoke; the words came now fast, then slow. Flame offlames! What an instrument that harnessed the sparks, chased destinyitself with them! They crackled like whips. The operator threw down hispen. 

"Excellency!" He almost ran into the tall motionless figure. "Pardon! Amessage--they want to establish communication with the _Nevski_--tolearn if we picked up a man from--"

"Have I not told you to receive all messages but to establishcommunication with no one? _Mon Dieu_! If I thought--"

"Your excellency, can depend upon me, " Francois protested. "Did not myfather serve your illustrious mother, the Princess Alix, all his life ather palace at Biarritz? Did not--"

The prince made a gesture. "I can depend upon you because it is to youradvantage to serve me well, " he said dryly. "Also, because if youdidn't--" He left the sentence unfinished but Francois understood; inthat part of the Czar's kingdom where the prince came from, life washeld cheap. Besides, the lad had heard tales from his father--agarrulous Gascon--of his excellency's temper--those mad outbursts evenwhen a child. There was a trace of the fierce, or half-insanetemperament of the great Ivan in the uncontrollable Strogareff line, sothe story went. Francois returned to his instrument; his excellency'slook swept beyond. He heard now only the sound of the sea--restless, inunending tumult. The wind blew colder and he went below. 

But not to rest! He was in no mood for that. What then? He hesitated, atwar with himself. "Patience! patience!" What fool advice from SoniaTurgeinov! He helped himself liberally from a decanter on a Louis Quinzesideboard in the beautiful _salle à manger_. The soft lights revealedhim, and him only, a solitary figure in that luxurious place--master ofall he surveyed but not master of his own thoughts. He could order hismen, but he could not order that invisible host. They made him theirservant. He took a few steps back and forth; then suddenly encounteredhis own image reflected in a mirror. 

"Boris, the superb"; "a tartar toreador of hearts"; "Prince of roublesand kopecs"! So they had jestingly called him in his own warm-coldcapital of the north, or in that merry-holy city of four hundredchurches. His glance now swept toward a distant door. "Faint heart ne'erwon--"

Had he a faint heart? In the past--no! Why, then, now? The passionatelines of the poets sang in his ears--rhythms to the "little dove", the"peerless white flower"! He passed a big hand across his brow. Hisheart-beats were like the galloping hoofs of a horse, bearing himwhither? Gold of her hair, violet of her eyes! Whither? The raving madpoets! Wine seemed running in his blood; he moved toward the distantdoor. 

It was locked--of course! For the moment he had forgotten. Thrusting hishand into his pocket, he drew out a key and unsteadily fitted it. Butbefore turning it he stood an instant listening. No sound! Should hewait until the morrow? Prudence dictated that course; precipitancy, however, drove him on. Now, as well as ever! Better have anunderstanding! She would have to accede to his plans, anyway--and thesooner, the better. He had burned his bridges; there was no drawing backnow--

He turned slowly the knob, applied a sudden pressure to the door andentered. 

A girl looked up and saw him. It was a superbly decorated salon he hadinvaded. Soft-hued rugs were on the floor and draperies of cloth of goldveiled the shadows. Betty Dalrymple had been standing at a window, gazing out at night--only night--or the white glimmer from an electriclight that frosting the rail, made the dark darker. She appeared neithersurprised nor perturbed at the appearance of the nobleman--doubtlesslyshe had been expecting that intrusion. He stopped short, his dark eyesgleaming. It was enough for the moment just to look at her. Place andcircumstance seemed forgotten; the spirit of an old ancestor--one of thegreat khans--looked out in his gaze. Passion and anger alternated on hisfeatures; when she regarded him like that he longed to crush her to him;instead, now, he continued to stand motionless. 

"Pardon me, " he could say it with a faint smile. Then threw out a hand. "Ah, you are beautiful!" All that was oriental in him seemed to vibratein the words. 

Betty Dalrymple's answer was calculated to dispel illusion and glamour. "Don't you think we can dispense with superfluous words?" Her voice wasas ice. "Under the circumstances, " she added, full mistress of herself. 

His glance wavered, again concentrated on her, slender, warm-hued as anhouri in the ivory and gold palace of one of the old khans--but an houriwith disconcerting straightness of gaze, and crisp matter-of-factdirectness of utterance. "You are cruel; you have always been, " he said. "I offer you all--everything--my life, and you--"

"More superfluous words, " said Betty Dalrymple in the same tone, theflash of her eyes meeting the darkening gleam of his. "Put me ashore, and as soon as may be. This farce has gone far enough. "

"Farce?" he repeated. 

"You have only succeeded in making yourself absurd and in placing me ina ridiculous position. Put me ashore and--"

"Ask of me the possible--the humanly possible--" He moved slightlynearer; her figure swayed from him. 

"You are mad--mad--"

"Granted!" he said. "A Russian in love is always a madman. But it wasyou who--"

"Don't!" she returned. "It is like a play--" The red lips curved. 

He looked at them and breathed harder. Her words kindled anew the flamein his breast. "A play? That is what it has been for you. A mild comedyof flirtation!" The girl flushed hotly. "Deny it if you can--that youdidn't flirt, as you Americans call it, outrageously. "

An instant Betty Dalrymple bit her lip but she returned his gazesteadily enough. "The adjective is somewhat strong. Perhaps I might havedone what you say, a little bit--for which, " with an accent ofself-scorn, "I am sorry, as I have already told you. "

He brought together his hands. "Was it just a 'little bit' when atHomburg you danced with me nearly every time at the grand duchess' ball?_Sapristi_! I have not forgotten. Was it only a 'little bit' when youlet me ride with you at Pau--those wild steeplechases!--or permittedme to follow you to Madrid, Nice, elsewhere?--wherever caprice tookyou?"

"I asked you not to--"

"But with a sparkle in your eyes--a challenge--"

"I knew you for a nobleman; I thought you a gentleman, " said BettyDalrymple spiritedly. 

Prince Boris made a savage gesture. "You thought--" He broke off. "Iwill tell you what you thought: That after amusing yourself with me youcould say, _'Va-t-en!'_ with a wave of the hand. As if I were a clodlike those we once had under us! American girls would make serfs oftheir admirers. Their men, " contemptuously, "are fools where their womenare concerned. You dismiss them; they walk away meekly. Another comes. _Voila!_" He snapped his fingers. "The game goes on. "

A spark appeared in her eyes. "Don't you think you are slightlyinsulting?" she asked in a low tense tone. 

"Is it not the truth? And more"--with a harsh laugh--"I am even toldthat in your wonderful country the rejected suitor--_mon Dieu!_--oftenacts as best man at the wedding--that the body-guard on the holyoccasion may be composed of a sad but sentimental phalanx from the armyof the refused. But with us Russians these matters are different. We cannot thus lightly control affairs of the heart; they control us, and--those who flirt, as you call it, must pay. The code of our honordemands it--"

"Your honor?" It was Betty Dalrymple who laughed now. 

"You find that--me--very diverting?" slowly. "But you will learn this isno jest. "

She disdained to answer and started toward a side door. 

"No, " he said, stepping between her and the threshold. 

"Be good enough!" Miss Dalrymple's voice sounded imperiously; her eyesflashed. 

"One moment!" He was fast losing self-control. "You hold yourself fromme--refuse to listen to me. Why? Do you know what I think?" Vehemently. The words of Sonia Turgeinov--"_Est ce qu'elle aime un autre_?"--flamedthrough his mind. "That there is some one else; that there always was. And that is the reason you were so gay--so very gay. You sought toforget--"

A change came over Betty Dalrymple's face; she seemed to grow whiter--tobecome like ice--

"You let me think there wasn't any one; but there was. That story ofsome one out west?--you laughed it away as idle gossip. And I believedyou then--but not now. Who is he--this American?" With a half-sneer. 

"There is no one!--there never has been!" said the girl with suddenpassion, almost wildly. "I told you the truth. "

"Ah, " said Prince Boris. "You speak with feeling. When a woman denies ina voice like that--"

"Let me by!" The violet eyes were black now. 

"Not yet!" He studied her--the cheeks aflame like roses. "He shall neverhave you, that some one--I will meet him and kill him first--I swearit--"

"Let me by!"

"_Carissima!_ Your eyes are like stars--the stars that look down on onealone on the wild steppe. Your lips are red flowers--poppies to lure todestruction. They are cruel, but the more beautiful--"

He suddenly reached out, took her in his arms. 

The cry on her lips was stifled as his sought and almost touched them. At the same moment the door of the cabin, by which the prince hadentered, was abruptly thrown open. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRINCE IS PUZZLED

His excellency turned. The intruder's eyes were bloodshot from the glareof the furnaces, his face black, unrecognizable, from the soot. "Whatthe dev--" began the nobleman, as if doubting the evidence of hissenses. 

He must have relaxed his hold, for the girl tore herself loose. She didnot pause, but running swiftly to the inner door she had just turnedtoward, she hastily closed and locked it behind her. As she disappearedMr. Heatherbloom stopped an instant to gaze after her; but the prince, with sagging jaw and amazement in his eyes, continued to regard onlyhim. 

"Who the--" he began again furiously. 

The intruder's reply was a silent one. His excellency would have steppedback but it was too late. Mr. Heatherbloom's fist struck him fairly onthe forehead. Behind the blow was the full impetus of the lithe formfairly launched across the spacious cabin. The prince went down, striking hard. 

But he was up in a moment and, mad with rage, made a rush. The other, quick, agile, evaded him. The prince's muscles had lost some of theirhardness from high living and he was, moreover, unversed in the greatAnglo-American pastime. He strove to seize his aggressor, to stranglehim, but his fingers failed to grip what they sought. At the same timeMr. Heatherbloom's arms shot up, down and around, with marvelousprecision, seeking and finding the vulnerable spots. The prince soonrealized he was being badly punished and the knowledge did not serve toimprove his temper. Had he only been able to get hold of his opponent hecould have crushed him with his superior weight. A stationary table, however, in the center of the room assisted Mr. Heatherbloom in eludingthe wild dashes, the while he continued to lunge and dodge in a mostbusinesslike manner. 

Panting, the prince had, at length, to pause. His face revealed severalmarks of the contest and the sight did not seem displeasing to Mr. Heatherbloom. A quiet smile strained his lips; a cold satisfaction shonein the bloodshot eyes. 

"Come on, " he said, stepping a little from the table. 

The prince did not respond to the invitation. His dazed mind was workingnow. Through bruised lids he regarded the soot-masked intruder--anihilist, no doubt! His excellency had had one or two experiences withmembers of secret societies in the past. There was a nest of them in NewJersey. Though how one of them could have managed to get aboard the_Nevski_, he had no time just then to figure out. The nobleman lookedover his shoulder toward a press-button. 

"Come on!" repeated Mr. Heatherbloom softly. 

The nobleman sprang, instead, the other way, but he did not reach whathe sought. Mr. Heatherbloom's arm described an arc; the applicationwas made with expert skill and effectiveness. His excellency swayed, relaxed, and, this time, remained where he fell. Mr. Heatherbloom lockedthe door leading into the dining _salle_--the other, opening upon thedeck, he had already tried and found fastened--and drew closer thedraperies before the windows. Then returning to the prince, he proddedgently the prostrate figure. 

"Get up!" His excellency moved, then staggered with difficulty to hisfeet and gazed around. "You'll be able to think all right in a moment, "said Heatherbloom. "Sit down. Only, " in crisp tones, "I wouldn't movefrom the chair if I were you. Because--" His excellency understood;something bright gleamed close. 

"Are you going to murder me?" he breathed hoarsely. His excellency'scousin--a grand duke--had been assassinated in Russia. 

"I wouldn't call it that. " The prince made a movement. "Sit still. " Thecold object pressed against the nobleman's temples. "If ever a scoundreldeserved death, it is you. "

Plain talk! The prince could scarcely believe he heard aright; yet thethrill of that icy touch on his forehead was real. His dark face showedgrowing pallor. One may be brave--heroic even, but one does not like todie like a dog, to be struck down by a miserable uncleanterrorist--hardly, from his standpoint, a human being--unfortunately, however, something that must be dealt with--not at first, under thesecircumstances, with force--but afterward! Ah, then? The prince's eyesseemed to grow smaller, to gleam with Tartar cunning. 

"What do you want?" he said. 

"Several things. " Mr. Heatherbloom's own eyes were keen as darts. "First, you will give orders that the _Nevski_ is to change hercourse--to head for the nearest American port. "

"Impossible!" the prince exclaimed violently. 

"On the contrary, it is quite possible. We have the fuel, as I cantestify. "

His excellency's thoughts ran riot; it was difficult to collect them, with that aching head. The fellow must be crazy; people of his classusually are, more or less, though they generally displayed a certainmethod in their madness, while this one--

"I must remind your excellency that time is of every importance to me, "murmured Mr. Heatherbloom. "Hence, you will do what I ask, _at once_, or--"

"Very well. " His excellency spoke quickly--too quickly. "I'll give theorder. " And, rising, he started toward the door. 

"Stop!"

The prince did. Venom and apprehension mingled in his look. Mr. Heatherbloom made a gesture. "You will give the order; but here--and asI direct. " His voice was cold as the gleaming barrel. "That 'phone, "indicating one on the wall, "connects with the bridge, of course. Don'tdeny. It will be useless. "

His excellency didn't deny; he had a suspicion of what was coming. 

"You will call up the officer in command on the bridge and give him theorder to make at once for the nearest American port. You will ask himhow far it is and how soon we can get there? Beyond that, you will saynothing, make no explanations, or utter a single superfluous word. "

"Very well. " The prince, seemingly acquiescent, but with a dangerousglitter in his eyes, moved toward the telephone. 

"One moment!"

The nobleman stopped with his hand near a receiver. His fingerstrembled. 

"You will speak in French. A syllable of Russian, just one, and--" Mr. Heatherbloom's expression left no doubt as to his meaning. 

"Dog!" His excellency's swollen face became the hue of paper. An instanthe seemed about to spring--then managed to control himself. "But whyshould I not speak in Russian? My officers know no French. "

"A lie! Nearly all Russian officers speak French. I happen to know yoursdo. " A newspaper article had made the statement and he did not doubt it. "Anyhow, you give the order in French and we'll see what happens. "

The blood surged in the nobleman's face. The fierce desire to avengehimself at once on this man who threw the lie at him--august, illustrious--mingled, however, with yet another feeling--one ofbewilderment. The fellow had spoken these last words in French, andchoice French at that. His accents had all the elegance of the FaubourgSaint Germain. 

"Quick!" The decision in the intruder's manner was unmistakable. "I havewasted all the time I intend to. My finger trembles on the trigger. "

The prince, perforce, _was_ quick. The telephone of foreign design, hadtwo receivers. His excellency took one. Mr. Heatherbloom reached for theother and held it to his ear with his left hand. His right, holding theweapon, was behind the prince, as the latter poignantly realized. Ill-suppressed rage made his excellency's tones now slightly wavering:

"Are you there, M. Le Capitaine?"

"Steady!" Mr. Heatherbloom whispered warningly in his excellency's freeear, emphasizing the caution with a significant pressure from his righthand. At the same time he caught the answer from afar--a deferentialvoice:

"_Oui, _ Excellence. " There was, fortunately, on the wires a singingsound that would serve to drown evidences of emotion in the nobleman'stone. "Excellence wishes to speak with me?" went on the distant voice. 

"I do. " The prince breathed fast--paused. "You will change the boat'scourse, and--" He spoke with difficulty. A warmer breath fanned hischeek; he felt a sensation like ice on the back of his neck. "Make forthe nearest American port. How far is it?" Mr. Heatherbloom's promptingwhisper was audible only to his excellency. 

"Five hours, " came over the wire. 

Mr. Heatherbloom experienced a thrill of satisfaction. They were nearerthe coast than he had supposed. He knew the yacht had been taking asoutherly course; he had considered that when the bold idea came to actas he was doing. Possibly the prince had been driven out of the lastport by the publicity attendant upon Mr. Heatherbloom's presence there, before certain needed repairs had been completed. These, Mr. Heatherbloom now surmised, it was his excellency's intention to haveattended to in some island harbor before proceeding with a longervoyage. 

Only five hours!

"Good-by!" now burst from the nobleman so violently that Mr. Heatherbloom's momentary exultation changed to a feeling ofapprehension. But M. Le Capitaine had evidently become accustomed tooccasional explosive moments from his august patron. He concernedhimself only with the command, not the manner in which it was given. 

"Eh? _Mon Dieu_! Do I hear your excellency aright?" His accentsexpressed surprise, but not of an immoderate nature. He, no doubt, received many arbitrary and unexpected orders when his excellency wenta-cruising. 

"Repeat the order. " Heatherbloom's whisper seemed fairly to sting thenobleman's disengaged ear. 

The latter did repeat--savagely--jerkily, but the humming wires temperedthe tones. M. Le Capitaine understood fully; he said as much; hisexcellency should be obeyed--Mr. Heatherbloom pushed the nobleman's headabruptly aside, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. Perhaps hedivined that irresistible malediction about to fall from hisexcellency's lips. 

"Hang it up, " he said. 

The nobleman's breath was labored but he placed his receiver where itbelonged; Mr. Heatherbloom did likewise. Both now stepped back. Upon theprince's brow stood drops of perspiration. The yacht had already slowedup and was turning. His excellency listened. 

"May I ask how much longer you are desirous of my company here?"

"Oh, yes; you may ask. "

The boat had begun to quiver again; she was going at full speed oncemore. Only now she headed directly for the land Mr. Heatherbloom wishedto see. Five hours to an American port! Then? He glanced toward the doorthrough which the girl had disappeared. Since that moment he had caughtno sound from her. Had she heard, did she know anything of what washappening--that the yacht was now turned homeward? He dared not lingeron the thought. The prince was watching him with eyes that seemed todilate and contract. A moment's carelessness, the briefest cessation ofwatchfulness would be at once seized upon by his excellency, enablinghim to shift the advantage. The young man met that expectant gleam. 

"Sorry to seem officious, but if your excellency will sit down oncemore? Not here--over there!" Indicating a stationary arm-chair before adesk in a recess of the room. 

The prince obeyed; he had no alternative. The fellow must, of course, bea madman, the prince reiterated in his own mind unless--

"I told your excellency I had no wish for a long sea voyage. " A mockingvoice now made itself heard. 

The nobleman started, and looked closer; a mist seemed to fall frombefore his gaze. He recognized the fellow now--the man they had rundown. The shock of that terrible experience, the strain of thedisaster, had turned the fellow's brain. That would explaineverything--this extraordinary occurrence. There was nothing to do butto humor him for the moment, though it was awkward--devilish!--or mightsoon be!--if this game should be continued much longer. 

Mr. Heatherbloom glided silently toward the hangings near the alcove. What now?--the prince asked with his eyes. Mr. Heatherbloom unloosenedfrom a brass holder a silk cord as thick as his thumb. 

"If your excellency will permit me--" He stepped to the prince's side. 

That person regarded the cord, strong as hemp. 

"What do you mean?" burst from him. 

"It is quite apparent. "

An oath escaped the prince's throat; regardless of consequences, hesprang to his feet. "Never!"

A desperate determination gleamed in his eyes. This crowning outrage!He, a nobleman!--to suffer himself to be bound ignominiously by somelow _polisson_ of a raffish mushroom country! It was inconceivable. "_Jamais!_" he repeated. 

"Ah, well!" said Mr. Heatherbloom resignedly. "Nevertheless, I shallmake the attempt to do what I propose, and if you resist--"

"You will assassinate me?" stammered the nobleman. 

"We won't discuss how the law might characterize the act. Only, " thewords came quickly, "don't waste vain hopes that I won't assassinateyou, if it is necessary. I never waste powder, either--can clip a coinevery time. One of my few accomplishments. " Enigmatically. "And"--as theprince hesitated one breathless second--"I can get you straight, firstshot, sure!"

His excellency believed him. He had heard how in this bizarre America asingle man sometimes "held up" an entire train out west and had his ownsweet way with engineer, conductor and passengers. This madman, on theslightest provocation now, was evidently prepared to emulate thatextraordinary and undesirable type. What might he not do, or attempt todo? The nobleman's figure relaxed slightly, his lips twitched. Then hesank back once more into the strong solid chair at the desk. 

"Good, " said Mr. Heatherbloom. A cold smile like a faint ripple on amountain lake swept his lips. "Now we shall get on faster. "

CHAPTER XVIII

THE COUP

Mr. Heatherbloom, with fingers deft as a sailor's, secured the prince. The single silken band did not suffice; other cords, diverted from theornamental to a like practical purpose, were wound around and around hisexcellency's legs and arms, holding him so tightly to the chair he couldscarcely move. Having completed this task, Mr. Heatherbloom next, withvandal hands, whipped from the wall a bit of priceless embroidery, threwit over the nobleman's head and, in spite of sundry frenzied objections, effectually gagged him. Then drawing the heavy curtains so that theyalmost concealed the bound figure in the dim recess, the young manstepped once more out into the salon. 

How still it suddenly seemed! His glance swept toward the door throughwhich the young girl had vanished. Why had he heard no sound from her?Why did she not appear now? She must have caught something of what hadbeen going on. He went swiftly to the door. 

"Miss Dalrymple!"

No answer. He rapped again--louder--then tried the door. It resisted; heshook it. 

"Betty!" Yes; he called her that in the alarm and excitement of themoment. "It's--it's all right. Open the door. "

Again that hush--nothing more. Mr. Heatherbloom pulled rather wildly atthe lock of hair over his brow; then a sudden frenzy seemed to seizehim. He launched himself forward and struck fairly with hisshoulder--once--twice. The door, at length, yielded with a crash. Herushed in--fell to his knees. 

"Betty! Oh, Betty!" For the moment he stared helplessly at themotionless form on the floor, then, lifting the girl in his arms, helaid her on a couch. One little white hand swung limp; he seized it withgrimy fingers. It was oddly cold, and a shiver went over him. He feltfor her pulse--her heart--at first caught no answering throb, for hisown heart was beating so wildly. The world seemed to swim--then hestraightened. The filmy dress, not so white now in spots, had flutteredbeneath her throat. He gazed rapturously. 

"It'll be all right, " he said again. "Darling!"

He could say it now, when she couldn't hear. "Darling! Darling!" herepeated. It constituted his vocabulary of terms of endearment. He feltthe need of no other. She lay like a lily. He saw nothing anomalous incertain stains of soot, even on the wonderful face where his hadunconsciously touched it when he had raised her and strained her to himone mad instant in his arms. In fact, he did not see those stains; hiseyes were closed to such details--and the crimson marks, too, on hergown! His knuckles were bleeding; he was unaware of it. He was not, outwardly, a very presentable adorer but he became suddenly a mostdaring one. His grimy hand touched the shining hair, half-unbound; heraised one of the marvelous tresses--his hungry lips swept itlightly--or did he but breathe a divine fragrance? By some inner processhis spirit seemed to have come that instant very near to hers. He forgotwhere he was; time and space were annihilated. 

He was brought abruptly back to the living present by a sudden knock atthe door without, which he had locked after entering that way from thedeck. Mr. Heatherbloom listened; the person, whoever he was, onreceiving no response, soon went away. Had they discovered what hadhappened to the foreman of the stokers whom Heatherbloom had struck downwith a heavy iron belaying-pin? The man had attacked him with murderousintent. In defending himself, Heatherbloom believed he had killed thefellow. The chance blow he had delivered with the formidable weapon hadbeen one of desperation and despair. It had been more than a question ofhis life or the other's. Her fate had been involved in that criticalmoment. He had dragged the unconscious figure to the shadows behind alife-boat. They would not be likely to stumble across the incriminatingevidence while it was dark. Nor was it likely that the foreman's absencebelow would cause the men to look for him. The overworked stokers wouldbe but too pleased to escape, for a spell, their tyrannous master. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, standing near the threshold of the dressing-room, glanced now toward the little French clock without. Over four hours yetto port! How slowly time went. He turned out all the lights, save oneshaded lamp of low candle-power in the cabin; then he did the same inthe room where the girl was. No one must peer in on him from unexpectedplaces. He looked up, and saw that the skylights were covered withcanvas. Mr. Heatherbloom remained in the salon; he needed to continuemaster of his thoughts. In the dressing-room he had just now forgottenhimself. That would not do; he must concentrate all his faculties, everyenergy, to bringing this coup, born on the inspiration of the moment, to a successful conclusion. Desperate as his plan was, he believed nowhe would win out. By the vibrations he knew the boat was still steamingfull speed on her new course. The conditions were all favorable. Theywould reach port before dawn; at break of day the health officers wouldcome aboard. And after that--

The telephone suddenly rang. Should he answer that imperious summons?Perhaps the man who had just knocked at the door had been one of theofficers, or the captain himself, come in person to speak with hisexcellency about the unexpected change in the boat's course, or sometechnical question or difficulty that might have arisen in consequencethereof. 

He looked toward the recess; between the curtains he caught sight of theprince's eyes and in the dim light he fancied they shone with suddenhope--expectancy. The nobleman must have heard the crashing of the doorto the dressing-room. What he had thought was of no moment. A viperishfervor replaced that other brief expression in his excellency's gaze. 

Once more that metallic call--harsh, loud, as not to be denied! Mr. Heatherbloom made up his mind; perhaps all depended on his decision; hewould answer. Stepping across the salon, he took down the receivers. Thesinging on the wires had been pronounced; he could imitate the prince'sautocratic tones, and the person at the other end would not discover, inall likelihood, the deception. 

"Well?" said Mr. Heatherbloom loudly, in French. "What do you want?Haven't I given orders not to be--"

His voice died away; he nearly dropped the receivers. A woman answered. Moreover, the wires did not seem to "sing" so much now. SoniaTurgeinov's tones were transmitted in all their intrinsic, flute-likelucidity. 

"What has happened, your Excellency?" she asked anxiously. 

"Happened?" the young man managed to say. "Nothing. "

"Then why has the yacht's course been changed? I can tell by the starsfrom my cabin window that we are not headed at all in the same directionwe were going--"

He tried to speak unconcernedly: "Just changed for a short time onaccount of some reefs and the currents! Go to sleep, " he commanded, "andleave the problems of navigation to others. "

"Sleep? _Mon Dieu_! If I only could--"

Mr. Heatherbloom dared talk no more, so rang off. The prince might havebeen capable of such bruskness. Sonia Turgeinov had not seemed tosuspect anything wrong; she had merely been inquisitive, and had takenit for granted the nobleman was at the other end of the wire. Mr. Heatherbloom strode restlessly to and fro. Seconds went by--minutes. Hecounted the tickings of the clock--suddenly wheeled sharply. 

 * * * * *

The young girl stood in the doorway--he had heard and now saw her. Shecame forward quickly, though uncertainly; in the dim light she lookedlike a shadow. He drew in his breath. 

"Miss--" he began, then stopped. 

Her gaze rested on him, almost indistinguishable on the other side ofthe salon. 

"What does it mean? Who are you?" She spoke intrepidly enough but he sawher slender form sway. 

Who was he? About to explain in a rush of words, Mr. Heatherbloomhesitated. To her he had been, of course, but a conspirator of theRussian woman in the affair. Miss Van Rolsen had deemed him culpable;the detective had been sure of it. Would Miss Dalrymple think moreleniently of him than mere unprejudiced people, those who knew less ofhim than she? His very presence on the yacht, although somewhatinexplicably complicated in recent occurrences, was _per se_ a primaldamning circumstance. But she spared him the necessity of answering. Shedivined now from his blackened features what his position on the yachtmust be. He was only a poor stoker, but--

"You are a brave fellow, " cried Betty Dalrymple, "and I'll not forgetit. You interfered--I remember--"

"A brave fellow!" It was well he had not betrayed himself. Let her thinkthat of him, for the moment. A poignant mockery lent pain to the thrillof her words. 

"You rushed in, struck him. What then?"

"He won't play the bully and scoundrel again for some time!" burst fromMr. Heatherbloom. His tones were impetuous; once more he seemed to seewhat he had seen during those last moments on the deck--when he had beenunable to restrain himself longer--and had yielded to a singlehot-blooded impulse. "The big brute!" he muttered. 

She seemed to regard him in slight surprise. "Where is he? What hasbecome of him?"

"He is safe--"

"You mean you conquered him, beat him--you?" Her voice thrilled. 

"You bet I did, " said Mr. Heatherbloom with the least evidence ofincoherency. Her words had been verbal champagne to him. "I gave himthe dandiest best licking--" He stopped. Perhaps he realized that hisexplanation was beginning to seem slightly tinged with too greatevidence of personal satisfaction if not boastfulness. "You see I had agun, " he murmured rather apologetically. 

"But, " said the girl, coming nearer, "I don't understand. "

He started to meet that advance, then backed away a little. "I've gothim safe, where he can't move, or bother you any more. " Mr. Heatherbloomglanced over his shoulder; but he did not tell her where he "had him". "And the yacht's going back to the nearest American port, " he couldn'thelp adding, impetuously, to reassure her. 

"Going back? Impossible!" Wonder, incredulity were in her voice. 

"It's true as shooting, Bet--"

She was too bewildered to notice that slight slip of the tongue. "It's afact, miss, " he added more gruffly. 

"But how?" Her tones betrayed reticence in crediting the miracle. Yetthis blackened figure must have prevailed over the prince or the latterwould not have so mysteriously disappeared. "How did it happen?"

"Well, you see I just happened around. "

"You, a stoker?"

Stokers, he was reminded by her tone, did not usually "happen around" ondecks of palatial private yachts. He must seek a different, moredefinite explanation. He thought he saw a way; he could let her knowpart of the truth. "The fact is, I was looking for this boat at the lastport she stopped at. I had cause to think you would be on her. Couldn'tstop the yacht from going to sea, for reasons too numerous to mention, so I just slipped out and came aboard in a kind of disguise--"

"A disguise? Then you are a detective?"

"I think I may truthfully say I am, but in a sort of private capacity. When a really important case occurs, it interests me. Now this was animportant case, and--and it interested me. " He hardly knew what he wassaying, her eyes were so insistent. Betty Dalrymple had always had themost disconcerting eyes. "Because, you see, your--your aunt was soanxious--and"--with a flash of inspiration--"the reward was a big one. "

"The reward? Of course. " Her voice died away. "You hoped to get it. Thatis the reason--"

He let his silence answer in the affirmative; he felt relieved now. Shehad not recognized him--yet. In the recess behind the draperies thechair in which his excellency was bound, creaked. Was he struggling torelease himself? Mr. Heatherbloom had faith in the knots and the silkencords. The girl turned her head. 

"Don't you think it would be better"--he spoke quickly--"for you toreturn to your cabin? I'll let you know when I want you and--"

"But if I prefer to stay here? May I not turn on the lights?"

"Not for worlds!" Hastily. "It is necessary they should not see me. Ifthey did--"

He was obliged to explain a little of the real situation to her; of thestratagem he had employed. This he did in few words. She listenedeagerly. The mantle of the commonplace, which to her eyes had fallen afew moments before on his shoulders, became at least partly withdrawn. She divined the great hazard, the danger he had faced--was facing now. Detective or not, it had been daringly done. Her voice, with a warmthrill in it, said as much. Her eyes shone like stars. She came of alive virile stock, from men and women who had done things themselves. 

"If only I, too, had a weapon!" she said, leaning toward him. "In casethey should discover--"

"No, no. It wouldn't do at all. "

"Why not?" the warm lips breathed. "I can shoot. Some one once taughtme--"

She stopped short. A chill seemed descending. "You were saying--" heprompted eagerly. 

But she did not answer. The sweep of her hair made a shadowy veil aroundher; his mind harked swiftly back. She had always had wondrous hair. Ithad taken two big braids to hold it; most girls could get their hair inone braid. He had been very proud, for her, of those twobraids--once--with their blue or pink ribbons that had popped below theedge of her skirts. He continued to see blue and pink ribbons now. 

Both were for some time silent. At length she stirred--seated herself. Mr. Heatherbloom mechanically did likewise, but at a distance from her. He tried not to see her, to become mentally oblivious of her presence, to concentrate again solely on the matter in hand. A long, long intervalpassed. Chug! chug! the engines continued to grind. How far away theysounded. Another sound, too, at length broke the stillness--a stealthyfootfall on the deck. It sent him at once softly to the window; he gazedout. She followed. 

"Are--are we getting anywhere near port?"

He did not tell her that it was not port he was looking for so soon ashe gazed out searchingly into the night. 

"What is it?" She had drawn the curtain a little. Her shoulder touchedhim. 

Suddenly his arm swept her back. "What do you mean"--he turned on hersternly--"by drawing that curtain?"

"Was any one there?"

"Any one--" he began almost fiercely; then paused. The figure he hadseen in that flash looked like that of the foreman of the stokers. Inthat case, then, the fellow was not dead; he had recovered. Through amistaken sense of mercy Mr. Heatherbloom had not slipped the seeminglylifeless body over the side. Now he, and she, too, were likely to paydearly for that clemency. Bitterly he clenched his hands. Had the mancaught a glimpse of him at the window? A flicker of electric light, without, shone on it. 

The girl started again to speak. "Hush!" He drew her back yet farther. Above, some one had raised the corner of the canvas covering theskylight. It was too dark, however, for the person, whoever it might be, to discern very much below. Neither Mr. Heatherbloom nor his companionnow moved. The tenseness and excitement of the moment held them. Thegirl breathed quickly; her hand was at his sleeve. Even in that momentof suspense and peril he was conscious of the nearness of her--the litheyoung form so close!

The creaking of the chair in the recess was again heard. Had hisexcellency caught sight of the person above? Was he endeavoring toattract attention? And could the observer at the skylight discern thenobleman? It seemed unlikely. The glass above did not appear to extendquite over the recess. Through a slight opening of the draperies Mr. Heatherbloom, however, could see his captive and noticed he seemed to betrying to tip back farther in his chair, to reach out behind with hisbound hands--toward what? The young man abruptly realized, and halfstarted to his feet--but not in time! The chair went over backward andcame down with a crash, but not before his excellency's fingers hadsucceeded in touching an electric button near the desk. A flood of lightfilled the place. 

It was answered by a shout--a signal for other voices. Fragments ofglass fell around; a figure dropped into the salon; others followed. Thedoor to the deck yielded to force from without. Mr. Heatherbloom, thoughsurprised and outnumbered, struggled as best he might; his weapon rangout; then, as they pressed closer, he defended himself with the butt ofhis revolver and his fist. 

There could be but one end to the unequal contest. The girl--a helplessspectator--realized that, though she could with difficulty perceive whattook place, it was all so chaotic. She tried to draw nearer, but beardedfaces intervened; rough hands thrust her back. She would have called outbut the words would not come. It was like an evil dream. As through amist she saw one among many who had entered from the deck--a giant insize. He carried an oaken bar in his hand and now stole sidewise withmurderous intent toward the single figure striving so gallantly. 

"No, no!" Betty Dalrymple's voice came back to her suddenly; sheexclaimed wildly, incoherently. 

But the foreman of the stokers raised the bar, waited. He found hisopportunity; his arm descended. 

CHAPTER XIX

AND THEN--

Mr. Heatherbloom regained consciousness, or semi-consciousness, in anill-smelling place. His first impulse was to raise his hands to hisaching head, but he could not do this on account of two iron bands thatheld his wrists to a stanchion. His legs, too, he next became vaguelyaware, were fastened by a similar contrivance to the deck. He closed hiseyes, and leaned back; the throbbings seemed to beat on his brain likethe angry surf, smiting harder and harder until nature at length came tohis relief and oblivion once more claimed him. 

How long it was before he again opened his eyes he could not tell. Theshooting throes were still there but he could endure them now and eventhink in an incoherent fashion. He gazed around. The light grudginglyadmitted by a small port-hole revealed a bare prison-like cell. Realization of what it all meant, his being there, swept over him, and, in a semi-delirious frenzy, he tugged at his fastenings. He did notsucceed in releasing himself; he only increased the hurtling waves ofpain in his head. What did she think of her valiant rescuer now, he whohad raised her hopes so high but to dash them utterly?

Some one, some time later, brought him water and gave him bread, releasing his wrists while he ate and fastening them again when he hadfinished. The hours that seemed days passed. During that time he halfthought he had another visitor but was not sure. The delirium hadreturned; he strove to think lucidly, but knew himself verylight-headed. He imagined Sonia Turgeinov came to him, that she lookeddown on him. 

"_Mon Dieu_! It is my canine keeper; the man with the dogs. What a lameand impotent conclusion for one so clever! I looked for something betterfrom you, my intrepid friend, who dared to come aboard in thatthrilling manner--who managed to follow me, through what arts, I do notknow. How are the mighty fallen!"

Her tone was low, mocking. He disdained to reply. 

"Really, I am disappointed, after my not having betrayed who you were tothe prince. "

"Why didn't you?" he said. 

She laughed. "Perhaps because I am an artist, and it seemed inartisticto intervene--to interrupt the action at an inopportune moment--tostultify what promised to be an unusually involved complication. Whenfirst I saw and recognized you on the _Nevski_, it was like one of thosedivine surprises of the master dramatist, M. Sardou. Really, I wasindebted for the thrill of it. Besides, had I spoken, the prince mighthave tossed you overboard; he is quite capable of doing so. That, too, would have been inartistic, would have turned a comedy of love into rankmelodrama. "

Rank nonsense! Of course such a conversation could not be real. But hecried out in the dream: "What matter if his excellency had tossed meoverboard? What good am I here?"

"To her, you mean?"

"To her, of course. " Bitterly. 

The vision's eyes were very bright; her plastic, rather mature form bentnearer. He felt a cool hand at the bandage, readjusting it about hishead. That, naturally, could not be. She who had betrayed BettyDalrymple to the prince would not be sedulous about Mr. Heatherbloom'sinjury. 

"Foolish boy!" she breathed. Incongruous solicitude! "Who are you? Nocommon dog-tender--of that I am sure. What have you been?"

"What--" Wildly. 

"There! there!" said half-soothingly that immaterial, now maternalvisitant. "Never mind. "

"How is she? Where is she?" he demanded, incoherently. 

"She is well, and is going to be, very soon now, the prince's bride. "

"Never. "

"Don't let his excellency hear you say so in that tone. He thinks youonly a detective, not an ardent, though secret wooer yourself. TheStrogareffs brook no rivals, " she laughed, "and he is already like amadman. I should tremble for your life if he dreamed--"

"Help me to help her--" he said. "It will be more than worth your while. You did this for--"

She shook her head. "I have descended very low, indeed, but not so lowas that. Like the bravos of old"--was it she who spoke bitterlynow?--"Sonia Turgeinov is, at least, true to him who has given her thelittle _douceur_. No, no; do not look to me, my young and Quixoticfriend. You have only yourself to depend upon--"

"Myself!" He felt the sharp iron cut his flesh. That seemedindubitable--no mere fantasy of pain but pain itself. 

"Let well enough alone, " she advised. "The prince will probably put youashore somewhere--I'll beg him to do that. He'll be better naturedafter--after the happy event, " she laughed. "Perhaps, he'll even slip alittle purse into your pocket though you did hurt a few of his men. Notthat he cares much for them--mere serfs. You could find a littleconsolation, eh? With a bottle, perhaps. Besides, I have heard theseisland girls have bright eyes. " He could not speak. "Are you adamant, save for one?" she mocked. "Content yourself with what must be. It is agood match for her. The little fool might scour the world for a betterone. As for you--your crazy infatuation--what have you to offer? _Trèsdrôle!_ Do dog-tenders mate with such as she? No; destiny says to her, be a grand lady at the court of Petersburg. I am doing her a greatfavor. Many American families would pay me well, I tell you--"

She paused. "You will smile at it all, some day, my friend. You playedand lost. At least, it was daringly done. You deceived even me over thetelephone. 'Go to sleep, ' forsooth! You commanded in a right princelytone. And I obeyed. "

An instant her hand lingered once more near the bandage. It wasridiculous, that tentative, almost sympathetic touch. Then, she--afigment of disordered imagination--receded; there was no doubt about hislight-headedness now. 

They sent again bread and water, and, after what seemed an intolerableinterval, he found himself eating with zest; he was exceedingly hungry. He also began to feel mentally normal, although his thoughts were thereverse of agreeable. Days had, no doubt, gone by. He chafed at thisenforced inaction, but sometimes through sheer weariness fell into asemblance of natural sleep despite the sitting posture he was obliged tomaintain. On one such occasion he was abruptly awakened by a lightthrown suddenly on his face. He would have started to his feet but thefetters restrained him. 

It was night; a lantern, held by a hand that shook slightly, revealed aface he did not know. He felt assured, however, of his mental lucidityat the moment. The new-comer, though a stranger, was undoubtedly fleshand blood. 

"What do you want?" said the prisoner. 

"A word with you, Monsieur. " The speaker had a smooth face and darksoulful eyes. His manner was both furtive and constrained. He lookedaround as if uncomfortable at finding himself in that place. 

"Well, I guess you can have it. I can't get away, " muttered the manacledman. 

"Miss Dalrymple sent me. "

Mr. Heatherbloom's interest was manifest; he strove to suppress outwardsigns of it. "What--what for?"

"She wanted to make sure you were not dead. "

The prisoner did not answer; his emotion was too great at the moment topermit his doing so. She was in trouble, yet she considered the poordetective. That was like her--straight as a string--true blue--

The visitor started to go. "Hold on!" said Mr. Heatherbloom, whose ideaswere surging fast. This youth had managed to come here at herinstigation. Had she made a friend of him, an ally? He did not appear anheroic one, but he was, no doubt, the best that had offered. BettyDalrymple was not one to sit idly; she would seek ways and means. Shewas clever, knew how to use those violet eyes. (Did not Mr. Heatherbloomhimself remember?) Who was he--this nocturnal caller? Not an officer--hewas too young. Cabin-boy, perhaps? More likely the operator. Mr. Heatherbloom had noticed that the yacht was provided with the wirelessoutfit. 

"How long have I been here?" he now asked abruptly. 

"It is three days since monsieur was knocked on the head. "

Mr. Heatherbloom looked down. "Three days? Well, it cost me a fortune, "he sighed, remembering the rôle of detective that had been thrust uponhim. "I could have stood for the sore head. "

The other had his foot at the threshold but he lingered. "How much of afortune? What was the reward?" He strove to speak carelessly but therewas a trace of eagerness in his tones. 

"You mean what _is_ it?" returned Mr. Heatherbloom, and named an amountlarge enough to make the soulful eyes open. "And to think, " watchfully, "one little message to the shore might procure for the sender such asum!"

"Monsieur!" Indignantly. "You think that I would--"

"Then you _are_ the wireless operator?"

"I was. " Francois spoke more calmly. "His excellency has had theapparatus destroyed. He will take no chances of other spies ordetectives being aboard who might understand its use. "

The prisoner hardly heard the last words; for the moment he wasconcerned only with his disappointment. A sudden hope had died almost assoon as it had been born. "Too bad!" he murmured. Then--"How did you gethere?"

"The third officer has the keys and our cabins are adjoining. I seizedan opportune moment, slipped in, and took a wax impression of what Iwanted. Then with an old key and a file--Monsieur is a great detective, perhaps, but I, too, " with Gaston boastfulness, "can aspire to a littlecleverness. "

"A great deal, " said Mr. Heatherbloom, the while his brain workedrapidly. Betty Dalrymple must have paid the youth well for serving herthus far. Thrift, as well as sentiment, seemed to shine from Francois'eloquent dark eyes. Could he be induced to espouse her cause yetfurther?

"Monsieur must not think I would prove disloyal to his excellency, myemployer, " spoke up the youth as if reading what had been passingthrough the other's mind. "There could be no harm in a mere inquiry asto monsieur's state of health. "

"None at all, " assented the prisoner quickly. "Though"--a suddeninspiration came to Mr. Heatherbloom--"contingencies may arise when onecan best serve those who employ him by secretly opposing them. "

"I don't understand, Monsieur, " said Francois cautiously. 

"The prince is a madman. By incurring the enmity of his Imperial Masterhe would rush on to his own destruction. Suppose by this misalliance, the very map of Europe itself were destined to be changed?"

The words sounded portentous, and Francois stared. He had imagination. The beautiful American girl had told him that this man before him was agreat and daring detective. He spoke now even as an emissary of the czarhimself. The prince was a high lord, close to the throne. These weredeep waters. The youth looked troubled; Mr. Heatherbloom allowed thethought he had inspired to sink in. 

"What is our first port?" his voice, more authoritative, now demanded. 

Francois mentioned an island. 

"When do we get there?"

"We are near it to-night but on account of the rocks and reefs, I heardthe captain say we would slow down, so as not to enter the harbor untildaybreak. "

Daybreak! And then? Mr. Heatherbloom closed his eyes; when he againopened them they revealed none of the poignant emotion that had sweptover him. "What time is it now?"

"About ten. "

"My jailer--the third officer, you say--visits this cell once everynight. Do you know what time he comes?"

"I shouldn't be here, Monsieur, at this moment, if I didn't know that. He comes in an hour, after his watch is over, with the bread andwater--monsieur's frugal fare. And now"--those apprehensions, momentarily dulled by wonderment seemed returning to Francois--"I willbid monsieur--"

"Stay! One moment!" Mr. Heatherbloom's accents were feverish, commanding. "You must--in the name of the czar!--for the prince'ssake!--for hers--for--for the reward--"

"Monsieur!" Again that flicker of indignation. 

Mr. Heatherbloom swept it aside. "She has asked you to help her escape?"he demanded swiftly. 

Francois did not exactly deny. There were no listeners here. "It wouldbe impossible for her to escape, " he answered rather sullenly. 

"Then she did broach a plan--one you refused to accede to. What was it?"

"Mere madness!" Scoffingly. "Mademoiselle may be generous, and _monDieu_! very persuasive, but she doesn't get me to--"

"What _was_ her proposal? Answer. " Sternly. "You can't incriminateyourself here. "

Francois knew that. The cell was remote. There could be no harm inletting the talk drift a little further. He replied, briefly outliningthe plan. 

"Excellent!" observed Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"Mere madness!" reiterated Francois. 

"Not at all. But if it were, some people would, under thecircumstances, " with subtle accent, "gladly undertake it--just as youwill!" he added. 

"Oh, will I?" Ironically. 

"Yes, when you hear all I have to say. In the first place, I relinquishall claim to the reward. Sufficient for me--" And Mr. Heatherbloommumbled something about the czar. 

"Bah! That sounds very well, only there wouldn't be any reward, "retorted Francois. "The prince would only capture us again and then--"He shrugged. "I know his temper and have no desire for the longer voyagewith old man Charon--"

"Wait!" More aggressively. "I have not done. No one will suspect thatyou have been here to-nigh't?" he asked. 

"Does monsieur think I am a fool? No, no! And now my little errand formademoiselle being finished--"

"You can do as Miss Dalrymple wishes, achieve an embarrassment ofriches, and run no risk whatever yourself. "

"Indeed?" Starting slightly. 

"At least, no appreciable one. " Mr. Heatherbloom explained his planquickly. Francois listened, at first with open skepticism, then withgrowing interest. 

"_Mon Dieu_! If it were possible!" he muttered. South-of-Franceimagination had again been appealed to. "But no--"

"Remember all the reward will be for you"--swiftly--"sufficient to buyvineyards and settle down for a life of peace and plenty--" Francois'eyes wavered; any Frenchman would have found the picture enticing. Already the beautiful American girl had, as Mr. Heatherbloom suspected, surreptitiously thrust several valuable jewels upon the youth as areward for this preliminary service. Having experienced a foretaste ofriches, Francois perhaps secretly longed for more of the glittering gemsand for some of those American dollars which sounded five times as largein francs. Besides, this man, the great detective, or emissary, inspiredconfidence; his tones were vibrant, compelling. 

"And for you, Monsieur?--the risk for you--" Francois faltered. 

"Never mind about me. You consent?"

The other swallowed, muttered a monosyllable in a low tone. 

"Then--" Heatherbloom murmured a few instructions. "Miss Dalrymple isnot to know. "

"I understand, " said Francois quickly. And going out stealthily, heclosed and locked the door behind him. 

CHAPTER XX

INTO THE INFINITE

The midnight hour drew near, and, above deck, tranquillity reigned. Itwas, however, the comparative quiet that follows a storm. A threateningday had culminated in a fierce tropical downpour--a cloud-burst--whenthe very heavens had seemed to open. The _Nevski_, steaming forward athalf speed, had come almost to a stop; struck by the masses of water, she had fairly staggered beneath the impact. Now she lay motionless, while every shroud and line dripped; the darkness had become inky. Onlythe light from cabin windows which lay on the wet deck like shafts ofsilver relieved that Cimmerian effect. The sea moaned from the lashingit had received--a faint undertone, however, that became suddenlydrowned by loud and harsh clangor, the hammering on metal somewherebelow. Possibly something had gone wrong with a hatch or ironcompartment door inadvertently left open, or one of the ventilators mayhave got jammed and needed adjusting. The captain, as he hastened down acompanionway, muttered angrily beneath his breath about water in thestoke room. The decks, in the vicinity of the cabins, seemed nowdeserted, when from the shadows, a figure that had merged in the generalgloom, stepped out and passed swiftly through one of the trails oflight. Gliding stealthily toward the stern, this person drew near therail, and, peering cautiously over, looked down on one of the smallboats swung out in readiness for the landing party at dawn. 

"Mademoiselle, " he breathed low. 

"Is that you, Francois?" came up softly from the boat. 

He murmured something. "Is all in readiness?"

"Quite! Make haste. "

The person above, about to swing himself over the rail, paused; a cabindoor, near by, had been thrown open and a stream of light shot near him. Some one came out; moreover, she--for the some one was a woman--did notclose the door. The youth crouched back, trying to draw himself fromsight but the woman saw him, and coming quickly forward spoke. Shethought him, no doubt, one of the sailors. He did not answer, perhapswas too frightened to do so, and his silence caused her to draw nearer. More sharply she started to address him in her own native Russian butthe words abruptly ceased; a sudden exclamation fell from her lips. He, as if made desperate by what the woman, now at the rail, saw or divined, seemed imbued with extraordinary strength. The success or failure of theenterprise hung on how he met this unexpected emergency. Heroic, ifneeds be, brutal measures were demanded. Her outcry was stifled butSonia Turgeinov was strong and resisted like a tigress. Perhaps shethought he meant to kill her, and in an excess of fear she managed tocall out once. Fortunately for the youth, the hammering belowcontinued, but whether she had made herself heard or not was uncertain. Confronted by a dire possibility, he exerted himself to the utmost tostill that warning voice. In frenzied haste he seized the heavy scarfshe had thrown around her shoulders upon leaving the cabin and wound itabout her face and head. The sinuous body seemed to grow limp in hisarms. His was not a pleasant task but a necessary one. This woman haddelivered the girl to the prince in the first place; would now attemptto frustrate her escape. Any moment some one else might come on deck anddiscover them. 

"Quick! Why don't you come?" Betty Dalrymple's anxious voice ascendedfrom the darkness. 

The youth knew well that no time must be lost, but what to do? He couldnot leave the woman. She might be only feigning unconsciousness. Andanyway they would soon find her and learn the truth. That would meantheir quick recapture. Already he thought he heard a footstep descendingfrom the bridge--approaching--With extraordinary strength for one ofFrancois' slender build, he swung the figure of the woman over the side, dropped her into the boat and followed himself. A breathless moment ofsuspense ensued; he listened. The approaching footsteps came on; thenpaused, and turned the other way. The youth waited no longer. The littleboat at the side was lowered softly; it touched the water and floatedaway from the _Nevski_ like a leaf. Then the darkness swallowed it. 

"How far are we from the yacht now, Francois?"

"Only a few miles, Mademoiselle. "

"Do you think we'll be far enough away at daybreak so they can't seeus?"

"Have no fear, Mademoiselle. " The voice of Francois in the stern, thrilled. "There's a fair sailing wind. "

"Isn't it strange"--Betty Dalrymple, speaking half to herself, regardedthe motionless form in the bottom of the boat--"that she, of allpersons, and I, should be thus thrust together, in such a tiny craft, on such an enormous sea?"

"I really couldn't help it, Mademoiselle"--apologetically--"bringing herwith us. There was no alternative. "

"Oh, I'm not criticizing you, who did so splendidly. " The girl's eyesagain fell. "She is unconscious a long time, Francois. "

The youth's reply was lost amid the sound of the waters. Only the seatalked now, wildly, moodily; flying feathers of foam flecked the night. The boat took the waves laboriously and came down with shrill seething. She seemed ludicrously minute amid that vast unrest. The youth steeredsteadily; to Betty Dalrymple he seemed just going on anyhow, dashingtoward a black blanket with nothing beyond. It was all very wonderfuland awe-inspiring as well as somewhat fearsome. The waves had a cruelsound if one listened to them closely. A question floating in her mindfound, after a long time, hesitating but audible expression:

"Do you think there's any doubt about our being able to make one of theislands, Francois?"

"None whatever!" came back the confident, almost eager reply. "Not theslightest doubt in the world, Mademoiselle. The islands are very nearand we can't help seeing one of them at daybreak. "

"Daybreak?" she said. "I wish it were here now. "

Swish! swish! went the sea with more menacing sound. For the momentFrancois steered wildly, and the boat careened; he brought her upsharply. The girl spoke no more. Perhaps the motion of the little craftgradually became more soothing as she accustomed herself to it, for, before long, her head drooped. It was dry in the bow; a blanketprotected her from the wind, and, weary with the events of the last fewdays, she seemed to rest as securely on this wave-rocked couch as achild in its cradle. The youth, uncertain whether she slept or not, forbore to disturb her. Hours went by. 

As the night wore on a few stars came out in a discouraged kind of way. Heretofore he had been steering by the wind; now, that scantyperipatetic band, adrift on celestial highways, assisted him in keepinghis course. When one sleepy-eyed planet went in, another, not far away(from the human scope of survey) came out, and Francois, with theperspicacity of a follower of the sea, seemed to have learned how togage direction by a visual game of hide-and-seek with the pin-points ofinfinitude. Between watching the stars, the sea and the sail, he foundabsorbing occupation for mind and muscle. Sometimes, in the water'sdepressions, a lull would catch them, then when the wind boomed againover the tops of the crests, slapping fiercely the canvas, a briefperiod of hazard had to be met. The boat, like a delicate live creature, needed a fine as well as a firm hand. 

His faculties thus concentrated, Francois had remained oblivious to thedark form in the center of the boat, although long ago Sonia Turgeinovhad first moved and looked up. If she made any sound, he whose glancepassed steadily over her had not heard it. She raised herself slightly;sat a long time motionless, an arm thrown over a seat, her eyesalternating in direction, from the seas near the downward gunwale, tothe almost indistinguishable figure of him in the stern, the while herfingers played with a scarf--the one that had been wound around herhead. Once she leaned back, her cheek against the sharp thwart, her gazeheavenward. She remained thus a long while, with body motionless, thoughher fingers continued to toy with the bit of heavy silk, as if keepingpace with some mercurial rush of thoughts. 

A wastrel, she had been in many strange places, but never before had shefound herself in a situation so extraordinary. To her startled outlook, the boat might well have seemed a chip tossed on the mad foam of chaos. This figure, almost indistinguishable, yet so steadfastly present at thestern of the little craft, appeared grim and ghostlike. But that he wasno ghost--His grip had been real; certainly that. He had been, too, perforce, a master of action. She leaned her head on her elbow. Strangely, she felt no resentment. 

The tired stars, as by a community of interest and commonunderstanding, slowly faded altogether. The woman bent her glancebow-ward. The day--what would it reveal? She understood a good deal, yetmuch still puzzled her. As through a dream, she had seemed to hear thename, "Francois"--to listen to a crystalline voice, fresh as thetinkling bells in some temple at the dawn. The darkness of the sky fusedinto a murky gray, and as that somber tone began, in turn, to bereplaced by a lighter neutral tint, she made out dimly the figure of thegirl. As by a species of fascination, she continued to look at her whilethe morn unfolded slowly. From behind a dark promontory of vapor, Aurora's warm hand now tossed out a few careless ribbons. They lightenedthe chilly-looking sea; they touched a golden tress--just one, thatstole out from under the gray blanket. The girl's face could not beseen; the heavy covering concealed the lines of the lithe young form. 

As she continued to sleep--undisturbed by the first manifestations ofthe dawn--the woman's glance swept backward to him at the helm. Theshafts of light showed now his face, worn and set, yet strangelytransfigured. He did not seem to notice her; beneath heavy lids hisquick glances shot this way and that to where wisps of mist on thesurface of the sea partly obscured the outlook. Sonia Turgeinov divinedhis purpose; he was looking for the _Nevski_. But although he continuedto search in the direction of the yacht, he did not catch sight of her. Only the winding and twining diaphanous veils played where he feared shemight have been visible. An expression of great satisfaction passed overhis features. 

Then he swayed from sheer weariness; he could have dropped gladly to thebottom of the boat. Brain as well as sinew has its limitations and thenight had been long and trying. He had done work that called fortenseness and mental concentration every moment. He had outlasted diversand many periods when catastrophe might have overwhelmed them, and nowthat the blackness which had shrouded a thousand unseen risks and perilshad been swept aside, an almost overpowering reaction claimed him. Thisnatural lassitude became the more marked after he had scanned thehorizon in vain for the prince's pleasure-yacht. 

His task, however, was far from over, and he straightened. To SoniaTurgeinov, his gaze and his expression were almost somnambulistic. Hecontinued steering, guiding their destinies as by force of habit. Luckily the breeze had waned and the boat danced more gaily thandangerously. It threw little rainbows of spray in the air; he blinked atthem, his eyes half closed. In the bow the old dun-colored blanketstirred but he did not see it. A glorious sun swept up, and began to lapthirstily the wavering mists from the surface of the sea. 

Sonia Turgeinov spoke now softly to the steersman. What she said he didnot know; his lack-luster gaze met hers. All dislike and disapprovalseemed to have vanished from it; he saw her only as one sees a face in adaguerreotype of long ago, or looks at features limned by a soullessetcher. 

"Do you see it?" he asked. 

"What?"

"Trees? Aren't those trees?"

"I see nothing. "

"You do. You must. They are there. " He spoke almost roughly, as if sheirritated him. 

"Oh, yes. I think I do see something, " she said, and started. "Like aspeck?--a film?--a bird's wing, perhaps?"

In the bow the blanket again stirred. Then, as from the dull chrysalisemerge brightness and beauty, so from those dun folds sprang into themorning light a red-lipped, lovely vision. 

"Trees, " repeated the steersman to Sonia Turgeinov. "I am positive--" hewent on, but lost interest in his own words. Fatigue seemed to fall fromhim in an instant; he stared. 

From beneath her golden hair Betty Dalrymple's eyes flashed full uponhim. 

"You!" she said. 

Mr. Heatherbloom appeared to relapse; his expression--that smile--vague, indefinite--again partook of the somnambulistic. 

CHAPTER XXI

AN ANOMALOUS SITUATION

The most unexpected and extraordinary thing in the world had happened, yet Betty Dalrymple asked no questions. Had she done so, it is probablethat Mr. Heatherbloom would have been physically unequal to thelabyrinthine explanation the occasion demanded. For a brief spell thegirl had continued to regard him and she had seemed about to speakfurther. Then the blue light of her gaze had slowly turned and her lipsremained mute. He was glad of this; of course he would later have totell something, but sufficient unto that unlucky hour were theperplexities thereof. Sonia Turgeinov had been surprised, too, but itwas Betty Dalrymple's surprise that had most awakened her wonder. "Why, didn't you know it was he?" the dark eyes seemed to say to the younggirl. "Who else, on earth, did you think it was?" The mystery for her, as well as for Betty Dalrymple, deepened. Only for Mr. Heatherbloomthere existed no mystery; it was all now clear as day. He had done whathe had set out to do. She would soon be enabled to find her way back tocivilization. His present concern lay with the occupation of the moment. 

The tree _was_ a tree; this was the most momentous immediateconsideration; a few more miles had established that fact withpositiveness. But distances on the water are long, and they three wouldhave to journey together on the sea yet a while. He bethought him of hisduties, as host; these--his two passengers-were in his care. 

"You should find biscuits in a basket and water in a cask, " he said, speaking to both of them, and, at the same time, to immeasurabledistance. "If you don't mind looking--I can't very well. "

At that, a nervous laugh welled from Sonia Turgeinov's throat; she hadto give way. Possibly the absurd thought seized her that all thetragedies and comedies might be simmered down to one thing. Were therebiscuits in the basket? But Betty Dalrymple did not laugh; her eyes werelike stars on a wintry night; her face was white as paper. It was turnednow from the steersman--ahead. She saw the blur before them become adefinite line of green; later she made out details, the large heads ofsmall trees. The former looked like big overflowing cabbages; thetrunks, beneath, sprawled this way and that, as the vagaries of the windhad directed their growth. In front of them and the vernal strip, awhite line slowly resolved itself into moving foam. She--they all couldhear it now, faintly--they were very near; no thunderous anthem itpealed forth; its voice seethed in soft cadences. 

Mr. Heatherbloom, with sheet taut, ran his craft toward the sands butthe boat grounded some little distance from the shore. It was useless toattempt to go farther so he let his sail out, got up and steppedoverboard. The water was rather more than knee deep; he tugged at theboat and attempted to draw her up farther without much success. She wastoo heavy, and desisting from his efforts, he approached Miss Dalrymple. The young girl shrank back slightly, but seeming not to notice thatfirst instinctive movement, he reached over and lifted her out. It wasdone in a businesslike manner and with no more outward concern than aKikuji porter might have displayed in meeting the exigencies of a likesituation. The bubbles seethed around Mr. Heatherbloom's legs; unmindfulof them or the shifting sands beneath foot, he strode straight as mightbe for the shore. His burden was not a heavy one but it seemed verystill and unyielding. He released her at the earliest possibleopportunity and in the same matter-of-fact way (still that of a humanferry on the banks of the turbulent Chania) he returned for his otherpassenger. Around Sonia Turgeinov's rich lips a mocking smile seemed toplay; she arose at once. 

"How charming! How very gallant!" she murmured. "First, you nearlystrangle one, and then--"

Her soft arm stole about his neck, and her warm breath swept his cheekas, stony-faced, he trudged along. This time his burden was heavier, although there were men who would not have minded that under thecircumstances. The dark eyes, full of sparkles and enigmas, turned uponhis frosty ones. But she did not see very far into that so-called mediumof the soul; she received only an impression one gets in looking at awall. 

He put her down--gently. Whereupon, her dark brows lifted ironically. He, gentle--to her? Did she dream? She felt again that fierce clasp ofthe night before, and mentally told herself she would like to label himan artistic study in contrasts. Really the adventure began to be "worthwhile"; she felt almost reconciled to it. He had carried her off as therough, old-fashioned pirates bear away feminine prizes from a town theyhave looted. From dog-tender to bucaneer--he appealed to herimagination. She experienced a childlike desire to sit down where he hadleft her and play with the shells. But instead she looked toward BettyDalrymple. That young girl, however, did not return her regard, thoughthe golden head, a few moments before, had lifted once, with a swift, bird-like motion toward Sonia Turgeinov, en route beachward. Now thegirl's features were steadfastly bent away; whatever gladness she mayhave felt in thus, after many vicissitudes, reaching land safely, shekept to herself. 

Mr. Heatherbloom resumed the task of porter; his next burden--thewater-cask--was the heaviest of all. He struggled with it and oncenearly went down, so tired was he, but he got it ashore, and the basketof biscuits, too, and some other things. The boat, floating morelightly, he now pulled to the strand; then he took out the spar and thesail. This done, he gazed around; the place was deserted by man, thoughof birds and crabs and other crawling objects there were a-plenty. Mr. Heatherbloom stood with knitted brow; it was a time for contemplation, visual and mental. For the latter he did not feel very fit as he stroveto think what was best to do next. The other two--he still forcedhimself to keep to the purely impersonal aspect of the case--were hischarges. Being women, they were mutually and equally (the mockery ofit!) dependent on him. He was responsible for their welfare andwell-being. In the sail-boat he had been captain; ashore, he becamecommandant, an answerable factor. He began to plan. 

What kind of place had they come to?--was it big or small?--inhabited, or deserted? All this would have to be ascertained, later. Meanwhile, temporary headquarters were needed; he would erect a tent. The spar andboom served for the ridge and front poles, the sail for the canvascovering, the sheet and halyards for the restraining lines. SoniaTurgeinov again watched him; her interest was now of that vague kind shehad sometimes experienced when the manager appeared on a darkened stage, with a fresh crackling manuscript. Then she had lolled back and listenedto the first reading. She would have lolled back now--for the air wassoporific--but, instead, she started suddenly. The old wound on Mr. Heatherbloom's head, heretofore concealed by the cap Francois hadprocured for him, had reopened as he exerted himself; he raised his handquickly and seemed a little at a loss. She stepped to him at once. 

"The scarf, Monsieur?"

"Thank you. " He took it absently. 

"It serves divers purposes, " she murmured. And Mr. Heatherbloom, remembering the more violent employment he had found for it the nightbefore, flushed slightly. 

She added delicate emphasis to her remark by assisting him. With her ownfingers she tied a knot, and rather painstakingly spread out the ends. He endured grimly. Miss Dalrymple appeared not to have observed theepisode but, of course, it had in reality been all quite fully revealedto her. It was in keeping with certain circumstances of the past thatthe Russian woman should not be unmindful of him, her confrère in theconspiracy. That much was patent; but other happenings were not soeasily reconciled. What had taken place on the deck of the _Nevski_ inthose breathless last few moments as they were escaping, was in illconformity with those amicable relations which should have existedbetween the two. This man's presence in the boat, in the place ofFrancois, could be explained by no logical process with the premises shehad at her command. 

The bandage possessed a subtly weird and bizarre interest for the younggirl. He had been injured. How? For what reason? Betty Dalrymple's mindswept, seemingly without very definite cause, to another scene, one ofviolence. Again she heard the crashing of glass and saw forms leapinginto the cabin. Her thoughts reverted, on the instant, to the unknownhelper she had been obliged to leave behind. Somehow, real as he hadbeen, he seemed at this moment strangely apart, something in theabstract. Then all illusive speculations merged abruptly into arealization that needed no demonstration. Sonia Turgeinov possessed acertain outré attractiveness the young girl had never noted before. Theviolet eyes, shining through the long shading lashes, rested a moment onher; then passed steadily beyond. 

"I'm off for a look around. " Mr. Heatherbloom, having transferred theirmeager possessions to the tent, now addressed Miss Dalrymple, or SoniaTurgeinov, or an indefinite space between them. "Better stay right herewhile I'm gone. " His tones had a firm accent. "Sorry there are onlybiscuits for breakfast, but perhaps there'll be better fare before long. If you should move around"--his eye lingered authoritatively on BettyDalrymple--"keep to the beach. "

"How very solicitous!" laughed Sonia Turgeinov as the young man strodeoff. "That was intended especially for you, Mademoiselle. As for me, itdoes not matter. " With a shrug. "I might stroll into the wood, bedevoured by wild beasts, and who would care?"

Betty Dalrymple did not answer. 

"A truce, Mademoiselle!" said the other in the same gay tone. "I knowvery well what you think of me. You told me very clearly on the_Nevski_, and before that, on shore. In this instance, however, since itis through no fault or choice of mine that we are thrown thus closelytogether, would it not be well to make the best of the situation?"

"There seems, indeed, no choice in the matter, " answered the young girlcoldly. 

"None, unless like those in the admirable play, we elect to pitch ourrespective camps at different parts of the beach. But that would beabsurd, wouldn't it? Besides, I have my punishment--no light one forSonia Turgeinov who herself has been accustomed to a little adulation inthe past. I am _de trop_. "

"_De trop_?" There was a faint uplifting of the brow. "_You_ should notbe altogether that. "

"You mean I should be very friendly with him, my colleague andconfidant, _n'est ce pas_?" Sonia's dark eyes swept swiftly the proudlovely face. "In truth he proved an able assistant. " Her voice was alittle mocking. "What if I should tell you it was he who planned it all--devised the ways and means?" A statue could, not have been moreimmovable than Betty Dalrymple. "Or, " suddenly, "what if I should sayquite--_au contraire_. " The girl stirred. Sonia Turgeinov seemed toruminate. "Should I be so forgiving--after last night?" she murmured. "It would be inconsistent, wouldn't it?--or angelic? And I am no angel. "

The girl's lips started to form a question but she did not speak. Afar, Mr. Heatherbloom's figure could be seen, almost at the vanishing point. He was toiling up an incline. Then the green foliage swallowed him. Sonia Turgeinov smiled at vacancy. "Though I do owe him a little, " shewent on, half meditative. "He _was_ kind to me in the park. He was sorryfor me. Think of it, and without admiring me. Other men have professedfor poor Sonia Turgeinov a little interest or solicitude at divers timesand places, but it has always been accompanied with something else. Isthat beyond the understanding of your pure soul, nourished in ahothouse, Mademoiselle?" There was a sudden hard ring of rebellion inher tones. "Am I handsome? Your eyes said it not long ago. _Ma foi_!"Her voice becoming light again. "It was Parsifal himself who talked withme in the park--that place for rendezvous and romances. " Her thoughtsleaped over time and space. "The first light of the sun revealed to youthis day the last face you expected to see. It was as if a bit ofmiracle, or a little diablerie had happened. I, too, was in a haze, notso great--though on the deck the night before I little expected toencounter one I had last seen in chains, a prisoner--"

"A prisoner--in chains--he--" Betty Dalrymple stared. 

"You did not know? What on earth did you expect? That the prince wouldgive him the _suite de luxe_ after the beating his excellencyreceived--"

"The beating?" half-stammered the girl. "Then the man in the salon whoclaimed to be a detective was--"

"What? He claimed that?" laughed Sonia Turgeinov. "_Très drôle!"_

But Betty Dalrymple did not laugh. Her eyes, bent seaward, saw nothingnow of the leaping waves; her face was fixed as a cameo's. Only her hairstirred, wind-tossed, all in motion like her thoughts. And regardingher, Sonia Turgeinov's eyes began to harden a little. Did the womanregret for the moment what she had said, divining again some play withina play? Yet what could there be in common between this beautiful heiressand the _gardeurde chiens_? No! it was absurd to conceive anything ofthe kind. Nevertheless Sonia Turgeinov unaccountably began to experiencea vague hostility for the young girl; this she might partly attribute tothe great gaps of convention separating them. Her own life, in confusedpictures, surged panorama-like before her mental vision: The garretbeginning; the cold and hunger hardships; the beatings, when a child;the girl problems--so hard; the woman's--Faugh! what a life! Would thatthe flame of the artist had burned more brightly or not at all. Shetried to imagine what she would have been, if she, too, had been born toa golden cradle. 

A great ennui swept over her. How old she felt on a sudden! And howhomesick, too. Yes; that was it--homesickness. She could have stretchedout her arms toward her much beloved and, sometimes, a little hated, Russia. The bright domes of her native city seemed to shine now in hereyes. She walked in spirit the stony pavement of the Kremlin. Cruelty, intolerance, suffering--all these reigned in the city of extremes, butshe would have kissed even the cold marble at the feet of dead tyrants, the way the people did, if she could have stood at that moment in one ofthe old, old sacred places. Her brief flight into the new world had ledher to no pots of gold at rainbow end. The little honorarium from hisexcellency for her part in this adventure, she did not want now. Sheregretted that she had ever embarked upon it. What penalty might she nothave to pay yet? The law, with dragon fingers would reach out--no doubtwas reaching out now--to grip her. Well, let it. 

A crisp, matter-of-fact voice--concealing any agitation the speaker mayhave felt--broke in upon these varied reflections. Mr. Heatherbloom, rather out of breath but quiet and determined, stood before them. 

"Miss Dalrymple!--Mademoiselle! There is no occasion for alarm but itwill be necessary; for us to leave here at once!"

CHAPTER XXII

AN UNEXPECTED OFFER

"To leave?" It was Sonia Turgeinov who spoke. "You mean--" Her eyesturned oceanward but saw nothing. 

He made a quick gesture toward a break in the outline of the shore wherethe island swept around. "Beyond!" he said succinctly and she had nodoubt as to his meaning. The tent he had put up where it could not beseen from the sea. But their boat--He looked at the little craft, a toodistinct object on the sands. Those on a vessel skirting the shore couldnot fail to discover that incriminating bit of evidence with theirglasses. And there was no way of getting rid of it. He could not destroyit with his bare hands. It was unsinkable. If he set it adrift, wind andsea would drive it straight back. 

"They probably discovered our absence about daybreak and surmisedcorrectly the direction the breeze would carry us, " he muttered halfbitterly. "We must go at once. " These last words he spoke firmly. 

"But where?" Again it was Sonia Turgeinov who questioned him. BettyDalrymple remained silent; her eyes shone with a new inscrutable light;her cheek, though pale, had the warmth of a live pearl. She touched thesands with the tip of her shoe. 

But he did not regard her, nor did he answer Sonia Turgeinov. Going tothe tent, he bent over the basket of biscuits and hastily filled hispockets. Then, throwing a woman's heavy cloak over his arm, he steppedquickly to Miss Dalrymple's side. 

"Come, " he said laconically. 

Her foot, Cinderella's for daintiness, ceased its motion; she turned atonce. Around her lips a strange little smile flitted but faded almostimmediately. Save for her straightness and that proud characteristicpoise of the head, she might have seemed, at that moment of emergency, a veritable Griselda for acquiescence. He started to walk away, when--

"What about me?" cried Sonia Turgeinov. 

"You can come or you can stay, " said Mr. Heatherbloom. "The chances arethat the prince will see the boat, land and get you. "

"And if he doesn't?"

"There are plenty of biscuits, and I'll send back for you when I can. "

"That prospect is not very inviting, " she demurred. "Suppose I elect notto risk it--to go with you?"

"It is for you to decide, and quickly, " he said in a cold crisp tone. 

"You dismiss my fate bruskly, Monsieur, " she returned. 

"There is no time to bandy words, Madam, " he retorted warmly. "I am notoblivious to you--I trust I would not be to any woman--but every minutenow is precious. "

"Of course!" An instant she looked at the girl and a spark appeared inthe dark eyes. Then Sonia Turgeinov's features abruptly relaxed and shewaved her hand carelessly. "I have decided, " she said in her oldmanner. "Go! My best adieus, Monsieur--Mademoiselle. " With a gaycourtesy. "Farewell! babes in the wood!" Her voice was once moremocking. They moved silently away but before they had gone far enough todisappear in the forest she suddenly ran toward them. "No, no!" she saidin a different voice. "I have changed my mind. It is such a tiny, thing, that boat--in the glare and shine. They might not see it, and then--"She shuddered, "How frightfully lonesome!--the terrible nights--"

He made an impatient gesture. "After me, then! You, Miss Dalrymple, willcome last. "

"Ah, you think I am coming because I may wish to help them?" SoniaTurgeinov said quickly. 

"I intend to take no chances, " he returned in the same tone. And thethree moved on. 

He set a sharp pace; if there was need for haste at all it was now, atthe beginning of their flight. They plunged deeper into the forest; noone spoke; only the crackling under foot and certain wood sounds brokethe stillness. Unfortunately the soil was soft so that their footprintsmight be followed by any one versed in woodcraft. At times they wereforced to skirt unusually thick places, but in spite of these deviationsMr. Heatherbloom was enabled generally to keep to their course byconsulting a small compass he had found in the boat. It was essential tomaintain as straight a line as possible. People sometimes walked roundand round in forests; he took no chance of that; better a moment lostnow and then, while stopping to wait for the quivering pointer tosettle, than returning, perhaps, to the very spot they had left. 

As thus they advanced, often he looked around to reassure himself thatthe young girl, in spite of the roughness of the way, yet followed. OnceSonia Turgeinov arrested that swift backward look; her own shone withcuriosity. 

"How in heaven's name did you do it, Monsieur?" she asked suddenly, drawing nearer. "Get out of that cell, I mean. When last I saw you onthe ship, you were as securely fastened as a prisoner in the fortress atPetersburg. Of course you must have had some one to help--"

He answered coldly, recalling a promise to protect Francois. He could, however, and did, tell her the truth in this without involving theyouth. "When the third officer, my jailer, came to the cell and releasedmy hands--well, I did the best I could, surprised him, got the keys andleft him there in my stead. A little Jap trick for handling men that Ilearned in San Francisco long ago, " he added. 

Her dark eyes lingered on him not without a trace of admiration. "Mademoiselle is fortunate, indeed, in her champion, " she murmured. "Andyet that does not explain the preparations for departure--the provisionsin the boat--other little details. How came you by that compass, forexample?"

"It explains all that will be explained. "

"Which means, once more, you do not trust me?" She shrugged. "_Ehbien_!" And again they went on in silence. 

Toward noon, reaching a fringe of the forest, they found before them awide open space where the ground was higher and dry, but the walkingmore difficult. The grass, long and tenacious, twined snake-like aroundtheir ankles; they had to go more slowly, but reached, at length, thetop of the eminence. Here Mr. Heatherbloom stopped. They ate theirbiscuit and rested, but only for a brief while. Scanning the distance, in the direction they had come, he suddenly discerned moving forms onthe farthest edge of the open space--forms which advanced toward them. No doubt as to their purpose could be entertained; his excellency hadlanded and was already in pursuit. A smoldering fire leaped from Mr. Heatherbloom's eyes while rage that she should thus be driven harderfilled his breast. Fool! that he had not killed the prince whenopportunity had offered that night in the cabin. His clemencymight--probably would--cost her dear. 

"We've got to go on, and faster, " said the young man. His hands wereclenched; his arms were stiff at his side. "Can you do it?" he askedBetty Dalrymple. She answered; standing in a green recess, she had neverappeared more beautiful to him than in that moment of peril. Green andred things flashed behind her--tiny feathered creatures that shone likejewels. The dewdrops from the branches in sunless places were glisteningbrilliants in the gold of her hair. But he had no time to gaze. Thefigures were drawing nearer. 

"You used to be able to run, Betty. It seems as if it's all myfault"--hoarsely--"but you'll have to do so now. "

Again that ready response from her! Did she, in the excitement of themoment, call him by a Christian name not Horatio? He did not takecognizance of it; neither did Sonia Turgeinov seem to. 

The latter spoke quickly: "I remain here. "

"Of course, " said Mr. Heatherbloom, with a glance back toward the openspace. 

She overlooked the significance or bitterness in his accent. "Keep tothe right, " she said swiftly. "Believe me or not, I'll send them to theleft. It's your only chance. Otherwise they would overtake you in anhour. Among the prince's men are Cossacks trained to feats ofendurance. "

"You would do that?" He looked at her quickly. The dark eyes did notswerve from the gray ones. 

"Did I betray you on the boat?" said Sonia Turgeinov rather haughtily. 

"No, " he conceded. 

"And yet I knew you! You know that, " she affirmed. 

"Yes; you knew me. " Slowly. 

"Did I tell his excellency who you were, when he had you, a prisoner?"she demanded. 

And--"No, " he was obliged to say again. 

"See. " She took from her breast a tiny cross. "I had that as a child. Would I kiss it, and--tell you a lie in the next breath?" He did notanswer. "I have lived up to the letter of my contract with hisexcellency. It is at an end. Perhaps I am a little sorry for my ownpart"--with a laugh slightly reckless--"or maybe"--with a flash ofseriousness--- "I have become, in the least, afraid. Your laws are verysevere, and--I had not counted on mademoiselle's steadfast resistanceto--_mon Dieu!_--a prince who had been considered irresistible--whoseprincipality is larger than one of your states--who would have made her, in truth, a czaritza. I had fancied, " in a rush of words, "the madepisode might end as it did in the prince's favorite _Fire and Sword_trilogy, with wedding-bells and rejoicing. " She paused abruptly. "I hadalso not counted on the all-important possibility that mademoisellemight have bestowed her heart on another--"

"Madam!" It was Betty Dalrymple who spoke quickly. 

Sonia Turgeinov laughed maliciously. "Go, " she said, "or"--almostfiercely--"I may change my mind. "

They went; Sonia Turgeinov turned and looked out over the open space. The approaching figures were now much nearer. 

CHAPTER XXIII

STARLIGHT

Dusk had begun to fall, but still two figures went on through theforest--slowly, with obvious effort. One turned often to the other, heldback a branch, or proffered such service as he might over rough places, for Betty Dalrymple's movements were no longer those of a lithewood-nymph; she had never felt so weary before. The first shades oftwilight made it harder to distinguish their way amid interveningobjects, and once an elastic bit of underbrush struck her sharply in theface. The blow smarted like the touch of a whip but she only smiledfaintly. The momentary sting spurred her on faster, until her footcaught and she stumbled and would have fallen except that Mr. Heatherbloom had turned at that moment and put out an arm. 

"Forgive me. " His voice was full of contrition. "It has been brutal tomake you go on like this, but I had to. "

"It doesn't matter. " The slender form slid from him over-quickly. "You, too, must be very tired, " she said with breath coming fast. 

He glanced swiftly back; listened. "We'll rest here, " he commanded. "We've got to. I should have stopped before, but"--the words came in aharsher staccato--"I dared not. "

"I'll be all right in a few moments, " she answered, resting on a fallenlog, "and then--"

"No, no, " he said in a tone of finality. "After all, there is smalllikelihood they'll find us now. Besides, it will soon be too dark to goon. Fortunately, the night is warm, and I've got this cloak for you. "

"And for yourself?" Her voice was very low and quiet, or perhaps itseemed so because here, in the little recess in the great wood, the hushwas most pronounced. 

"Me?" he laughed. "You seem to forget I'm one of the happy brotherhoodthat just drop down anywhere. Shouldn't know what to do with a silkeiderdown if I had one. "

His gaiety sounded rather forced. She was silent and the quietudeseemed oppressive. The girl leaned back to a great tree trunk and lookedup. The sky wore an ocher hue against which the branches quivered inzigzags of blackness. Mr. Heatherbloom moved apart to watch, but stillhe neither saw nor heard sign of any one drawing near. The sad ochermerged into a somber blue; the stars came out, one by one, then inshoals. She could hardly see him now, so fast had the tropical nightdescended, but she heard his step, returning. 

"Quite certain there's no danger, " he reassured her. "Went back a way. "

"Thank you, " she said. And added: "For all. "

"Betty. " The stars twinkled madly. Pulsating waves seemed to vibrate inthe air. A moment he continued to stare into the darkness, then againturned. He had not seen how the girl's hand had suddenly closed, and herslender form had swayed. As restlessly he resumed his sentinel's duty, Sonia Turgeinov's last words once more recurred to him. How often hadhe thought of them that long afternoon, and wondered who was the one theyoung girl would now shortly be free to turn to? There had been many inthe past who had sought her favor. Perhaps the unknown was one of these;or, more likely, one of the newer many that had arisen, no doubt, since, in the gayer larger world of New York, or the continent. BettyDalrymple's manner at the Russian woman's words indicated that thelatter had--how Mr. Heatherbloom could not imagine--hit upon a greatkernel of truth. Again, in fancy, he saw on her cheek that swift flushof warm blood. Lucky, thrice lucky, the man who had caused it! SoftlyMr. Heatherbloom moved nearer. 

Was she sleeping? He, himself, felt too fagged to sleep. Like Psyche, inthe glade, she was covered all with starlight. He ventured closer, bentover; the widely opened eyes looked suddenly into his. 

"The woman told me you had nothing to do with it--that plot of hers andthe prince, " she said slowly. "I know now why you were on the boat, and--all the rest--what it meant for me, your being there. "

"You know, then"--embarrassed--"the awful mess I made of it all--"

"You dared a great deal, " she said softly. 

"And came an awful cropper!"

She did not answer directly. "At first Francois was most reluctant torisk going with me, " she went on. "I thought it odd, at the time, heshould change so suddenly, become so brave. Now I understand, at least, a little--in a general way. I have been over-quick to think evil of you, ever since we met again. Perhaps, in the past, too"--slowly--"I havebeen--"

"Betty!" he cried uneasily, and seemed about once more to move away, when--

"Don't go, " she said. "I'll not talk if you command me not to. You'vebeen the master to-day, you know, " with subtle accent. 

"Have I?" His voice showed evidence of distress. "I didn't reallymean--it was necessary, " he ended firmly. 

"Of course it was, " said the girl. Her accent conveyed no note ofdispleasure. Profile-wise he saw her face now--the young moon beyond. "Don't think I'm blaming you. I'm not quite so hard, perhaps, as I oncewas. " Mr. Heatherbloom stood back a little farther in the shadow. "Maybe, my poor little standard of judgment--" she stopped. "I have beenheedless, heartless, perhaps--"

"You!" he exclaimed. "You!" There was only unfaltering adoration in histone--faith, unchanged and unchangeable. 

She spoke with a little catch in her voice: "Oh, I haven't cared. I_did_ flirt with the prince; he accused me of that. He was right. Whatdid it matter to me, if I made others suffer? I haven't always had sogood a time as I seemed to--" There was a ring of passion in her tonenow. "What happened?" she said, turning on him swiftly. "What hashappened? I want to know all--"

"You mean about the prince?"

"I know all I want to know about him, " scornfully. "I mean"--her slenderfigure bent toward Mr. Heatherbloom--"you! What has taken place, andwhy has it? What does it all mean? Don't you understand?"

He drew in his breath slowly. 

"Tell me, " she said, still tensely poised, her eyes insistent in theshadow of her hair. 

"Miss Dalrymple--Betty--" he half stammered. 

"I want to know, " she repeated. There was an inexorable demand in hergaze. Mr. Heatherbloom straightened. The ordeal?--it must be met--thoughthat box of Pandora were best left unopened. He could not refuse heranything; this she asked of him was not easy to grant, however. 

"Where shall I begin?" he said uncertainly. "You know a great deal. There doesn't seem much worth talking about. "

"Begin where we left off--"

"Our boy-and-girl engagement? You broke it. Quite right of you!" Shestirred slightly. "It was, at best, but a perfunctory business, halfarranged by our parents to keep the millions together--"

"You never blamed me a little, then?" she asked. 

"I--blame you?" wonderingly. "You were as far from me as a star. Whatyou thought of me, you told me; it was all right--true stuff. Though itsank in like a blade. I was nothing--worse than nothing. A rich man'sson!--a commonplace type. A good fellow some called me at Monte Carlo, Paris, elsewhere. " He paused. A moment he seemed anotherpersonality--that other one. She saw it anew, caught a glimpse of itlike a flash on a mirror; then he seemed to relapse farther back intothe shadow. "I really don't want to bore you, " he said perfunctorily, raising an uncertain hand to the stray; lock on his forehead. 

"You aren't--doing that. Go on. " Her eyes were full of questions. "AfterI saw you that last time"--he nodded--"you disappeared. No one everheard anything of you; again, or knew what had become of you. "

"As no one cared, " he said with a short laugh, "what did it matter?"

"You were lost to the world--had vanished completely, " she went on. "Sometimes I thought--feared you were dead. " Her voice changed. 

"Feared?" he repeated. "Ah, yes! You did not want me to go out likethat. "

"No, " she said slowly. "Not like that. "

He looked at her comprehendingly; in spite of the bitter passionaterepudiation of him, she had been a little in earnest--had cared, in theleast, how he went down. 

"Why, " he said, with a forced smile, "I didn't think you'd bother togive the matter a thought. "

"You had some purpose?" she persisted, studying him. "I see--seem tofeel it now. It all--you--were incomprehensible. I mean, when I saw youagain that first time, in New York, after so long--"

"It was funny, wasn't it?" he said with rather strained lightness. "TheChariot of Concord--_What's the Matter with Mother_?--the gaping orjibing crowd--then you, going by--"

Her eyelids drooped; he stood now erect and motionless; in spite of thedetermination to maintain that matter-of-fact pose, visions appearedmomentarily in his eyes. The glamour of the instant he had referred tocaught him. All he had felt then at the unexpected sight ofher--beautiful, far-away--returned to him. She was near now, but stillimmeasurably distant. He pulled himself together; he hadn't explainedvery much yet. He was forced to go on; her eyes once more seemed to drawthe story from him. 

"Yes; I had some purpose in going away like that. The idea came to me atthe sanatorium, when I was about 'all in'. They'd managed to keep thedrugs and the drink from me, and one day I seemed to wake up and realizeI hadn't ever really lived. Just been a tail-ender who had 'gone thepace'. Hadn't even had a beginning. Was it too late to start over again?Probably. " His voice came in crisp accents. "But it was a last chance--afeeble one--a straw to the drowning, " he laughed. "That sounds absurdto you but I don't know how to explain it better. "

"No; it doesn't sound absurd, " she said. 

"The idea of mine?--how to carry it out? Ways and means were not hard tofind. I went to"--he mentioned a name--"an old friend of my father's. Hethought I was a fool, " bruskly, "but in the end he approved, or seemedto. Anyhow, I persuaded him to take all my bonds, securities and therest of (for me) cursed stuff. At the end of a certain time, if I wantedback the few millions I hadn't yet run through, he was to give them tome, minus commissions, wage, etc. "

"You mean, " said the girl, "that was the way you took to go back to thebeginning, as you call it?" Her eyes were like stars. "You practicallygave away all your money so as to start by yourself. "

"How could I start with it?" he asked, with a faint smile. "Don't yousee, Betty"--in a momentary eagerness he forgot himself--"there couldn'tbe any compromising? Besides, it came to me--you will laugh"--she didnot laugh--"that some day, somewhere else, if not here, I'd have to makethat beginning, to be something myself. Remember that old Hindu fellowwith a red turban who sat on your front lawn, beneath the palms, and hadthe women gathered around him in a kind of hypnotic state? He saidsomething like that--I thought him an old fakir at the time. He used alot of flowery language, but I guess, boiled down, it meant start at thebottom of the ladder. Build yourself up, the way my father did, " with acertain wistful pride. "You remember him?"

Her head moved. "Fine looking, wasn't he?" ruminatively. "He got therewith his hands and brains, and honestly. While I hadn't ever usedeither. I hope, " he broke off, "all this doesn't sound like preaching. "

"No, " she said. 

An instant his gaze lingered on her. "You're sleepy now, " he spokesuddenly. 

"No, I am not. You found it a little hard, at first?"

"A little. When a man is relaxed and the reaction is on him--" Hestopped. 

"Tell me--tell me all, " she breathed. "Every bit of it, Harry. "

His lips twitched. To hear his almost forgotten name spoken again byher! A moment he seemed to waver. Temptation of violet eyes; wonder ofthe rapt face! Oh, that he might catch her in his arms, claim her anew;this time for all time! But again he mastered himself and went onsuccinctly, as quickly as possible. Between the lines, however, the girlmight read the record of struggles which was very real to her. He hadreverted "to the beginning" with poor tools and most scanty experience. And there was that other fight that made it a double fight, the fiercerconflict with self. Hunger, privation, want, which she might divine, though he did not speak of them, became as lesser details. She listenedenrapt. 

"I guess that's about all, " he said at last. 

She continued to look at him, his features, clear-cut in the whitelight. "And you didn't ever really go back--to undo it all?"

"Once I did go back to 'Frisco"--he told her of the relapse with coldcandor--"out at heels, and ready to give up. I wanted the millions. Theywere gone. "

"You mean, lost?"

"Yes; he had speculated; was dead. Poor fellow!"

"You say that? And you have never tried to get any of the money back?"

"Fortunately, he died bankrupt, " said Mr. Heatherbloom calmly. 

"And you failed to show the world he was a--thief?" Something in theword seared her. 

"What was the use? He left a wife and children. Besides, he reallyserved me by what the world would call robbing me. I _had_ to continueat the beginning. It was the foot of the ladder, all right, " he added. 

Her face showed no answering gaiety. "You are going to amount to a greatdeal some day, " she said. "I think very few of us in this world findourselves, " she added slowly. 

"Perhaps some don't have to hunt so hard as others, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"Don't they?" Her lips wore an odd little smile. 

He threw back his shoulders. "Good night, now. You are very tired, Iknow. "

She put out her hand. He took it--how soft and small and cold! Theseconds were throbbing hours; he couldn't release it, at once. Thelittle fingers grew warmer--warmer in his palm--their very pulsationsseemed throbbing with his. Suddenly he dropped her hand. 

"Good night, " he said quickly. 

He remembered he was nothing to her--that they would soon part for ever. 

"Good night, " she answered softly. 

Then, silence. 

CHAPTER XXIV

AN EXPLANATION

Morn came. They had heard or seen nothing of the prince and his men. Mr. Heatherbloom walked back for a cold plunge in a stream that hadwhispered not far from their camping spot throughout the night. He andBetty Dalrymple breakfasted together on an old log; it wasn't much of ameal--a few crackers and crumbs that were left--but neither appeared tomind the meagerness of the fare. With much gaiety (the dawn seemed tohave brought with it a special allegrezza of its own) she insisted upona fair and equitable division of their scanty store, even to theapportioning of the crumbs into two equal piles. Then, prodigal-handedfor a castaway who knew not where her next meal might come from, shetossed a bit or two to the birds, and was rewarded by a song. 

All this seemed very wonderful to Mr. Heatherbloom; there had neverbefore been such a breakfast; compared to it, the _dejeuner à lafourchette_ of a Durand or a Foyot was as starvation fare. It wassurprising how beautiful the dark places of the night before looked now;daylight metamorphosed the spot into a sylvan fairyland. Mr. Heatherbloom could have lingered there indefinitely. The soft moss wooedhim, somewhat aweary with world contact; she filled his eyes. The faintshadowy lines beneath hers which he had noted at the dawn had nowvanished; the same sun-god that ordered the forest flowers to lift theirgay heads commanded the rosebuds to unfold their bright petals on hercheeks. Her lips were as red berries; the cobwebs, behind, alight withsunshine, gleamed no more than the tossed golden hair. She had strivenas best she might with the last, not entirely to her own satisfactionbut completely to Mr. Heatherbloom's. His untutored masculine senserather gloried in the unconventionally of a superfluous tangle or two;he found her most charming with a few rents in her gown from branch orbrier. They seemed to establish a new bond of camaraderie, to makeblithe appeal to his nomadic soul. It was as if fate had directed herfootsteps until they had touched and lingered on the outer circle of hisvagabondage. Both seemed to have forgotten all about his excellency. 

"Rested?" queried Mr. Heatherbloom. 

"Quite, " she answered. There was no trace of weariness in her voice. "And you?"

"Ditto, " he laughed. Then, more gravely, "You see, I fell asleep whilewatching, " he confessed. 

"I'm glad. "

"You'd make a lenient commanding officer. Shall we go on?"

"Where?"

"I don't exactly know, " he confessed. 

"That's lovely. " Then, tentatively, "It's nice here. "

"Fine, " he assented. There was no hardness in the violet eyes as theyrested on him. He did not pause to analyze the miracle; he onlyaccepted it. A moment he yielded to the temptation of the lotus-eaterand continued to luxuriate in the lap of Arcadia. Then he bestirredhimself uneasily; it was not sufficient just to breathe in the goldengladness of the moment. "Yes; it's fine, " he repeated, "only you see--"

"Of course!" she said with a little sigh, and rose. "_I_ see you aregoing to be very domineering, the way you were yesterday. "

"I? Domineering?"

"Weren't you?" she demanded, looking at him from beneath long lashes. 

"I'm sure I didn't intend--" He stopped for she was laughing at him. They went on and her mood continued to puzzle him. Never had he seen herso blithe, so gay. She waved her hand back at the woodland spot. "Good-by, " she said. 

Then they came upon the little town suddenly--so suddenly that bothappeared bewildered. Only a hillock had separated them from the sight ofit the night before. They looked and looked. It lay beneath an upwardsweep of land, in a cosy indenture of a great circle that swept fararound and away, fringed with cocoanut trees. Small wisps or corkscrewsof smoke defiled the blue of the sky; a wharf, with a steamer at theend, obtruded abruptly upon the curve of the shore. Mr. Heatherbloomregarded the boat--a link from Arcadia to the mundane world. He shouldhave been glad but he didn't seem overwhelmed at the sight; he stoodvery still. He hardly felt her hand on his sleeve; the girl's eyes werefull of sparkles. 

"What luck!" he said at length, his voice low and somewhat more formal. 

"Isn't it?" she answered. And drawing in her breath--"I can scarcely, believe it. "

"It's there all right. " He spoke slowly. "Come. " And they went down. Acolored worker in the fields stared at them, but Betty nodded gaily, andasked what town it was and the name of the island. He told them, growingwonderment in his gaze. How could they be here and not know that; wherehad they come from? To him they were as mysterious as two visitantsfrom Mars. Regardless of the effect they produced on the dusky toilerthey walked on. The island proved to be larger than they had thought andcommercially important. They had, the day before, but crossed a neck ofit. 

Soon now they reached the verge of the town and stood on its main arteryof traffic; the cobblestone pavement resounded with the rattling ofcarts and rough native vehicles. At a curb stood a dilapidated publicconveyance to which was attached a horse of harmoniously antique aspect. Miss Dalrymple got in and Mr. Heatherbloom took his place at her side. 

"The cable office, " said the girl briefly, whereupon a lad of mixedancestry began to whack energetically the protuberant ribs of the drowsysteed. It woke him and they clattered down the narrow way. Mr. Heatherbloom leaned back, his gaze straight ahead, but Betty Dalrymplelooked around with interest at the people of divers shades and hues, and, for the most part, in costumes of varying degrees of picturesqueoriginality. After having narrowly escaped running over a smallproportion of the juvenile colored population overflowing from oddlittle shops and houses, they reached the transportable zinc shed thatserved as a cable office. Here Miss Dalrymple indited rapidly a mostvoluminous message, paid the clerk in a businesslike manner, and, unmindful of his amazed expression as he read what she had written, tranquilly re-entered the carriage. 

"Miss Van Rolsen will be relieved when she gets that, " observed Mr. Heatherbloom mechanically. "It'll be a happy moment for her, "meditatively. 

"And won't she be gladder still when she sees us?" answered the girlgaily. 

The use of the plural slightly disconcerted Mr. Heatherbloom for themoment, but he dismissed it as an inadvertence. "Where now?" he asked. 

"Where do you think?" with dancing eyes. "Shopping, of course. Fortunately I drew plenty of money before starting for California. "

An hour or so later Mr. Heatherbloom sat with parcels in his arms andbundles galore around him. He accepted the situation gracefully; indeed, displayed an almost tender solicitude for those especial packages sheherself handed him. 

"What next?" She had at length exhausted the somewhat limited resourcesof the thoroughfare. 

"Drive to the best hotel, " was her command. She laughed at the picturehe made, or at something in her own thoughts. She had unconsciouslyassumed toward him a manner in the least proprietary, but if he noticedhe did not resent it. They went faster; her voice was a low thread ofmusic running through an accompaniment of crashing dissonances. She worea hat now--the best she could find. He considered it most "fetching", but her thrilling derision overwhelmed his expression of opinion. Thoughthe way was so rough that they were occasionally thrown rather violentlyone against another, they arrived in high spirits at their destination, Mr. Heatherbloom having performed the commendable feat of preservingintact the parcels and bundles en route. In the "best hotel" they weregiven two rooms overlooking a courtyard redolent with orchids. The girlnodded a brief farewell to him from the threshold of her room. 

"In about an hour, please, come back. "

He did, brushed up and with shoes shined, as presentable as possible. She wore the same gown, but the sundry rents were mended and there hadoccurred other changes he could divine rather than define. He broughther information--not agreeable, he said. He was very sorry, but the nextboat for the United States would not call at the island for a fortnight. He expected her to show dismay, but she received the news withcommendable fortitude, if not resignation. 

"I can cable aunt every day--so there can be no cause for worry--and shewill only be the more pleased when we actually do arrive. "

Again the plural! And once more that prophetic picture which includedMr. Heatherbloom within the pale of the venerable and austere Miss VanRolsen's jubilation. He looked embarrassed but said nothing. During thehour of his exclusion from Miss Dalrymple's company he had sallied forthon a small but necessary financial errand of his own. Francois hadplaced in the basket of biscuits a revolver, and this latter Mr. Heatherbloom, rightfully construing it as his own personal property inlieu of the weapon his excellency had deprived him of, had exchanged fora bit of cardboard and a greenback. The last named, reinforced by thesmall amount Mr. Heatherbloom had left upon reaching the _Nevski_ and ofwhich the prince had not deprived him, would relieve his necessities forthe moment. After that? Well, he would take up the problem presently; hehad no time for it now. This day, at least, should be consecrated toBetty Dalrymple. 

He had an inkling that on the morrow he would see less of her; thegirl's story would get around. The American consul would call and tenderhis services. The governor, too, Sir Charles Somebody, whose palatialresidence looked down on the town from the side of the hill, might beexpected to become officially and paternally interested. The littlecable office, despite rules and regulations, could not long retain itsprodigious secret; moreover Mr. Heatherbloom, in an absent-mindedmoment, had inscribed Miss Dalrymple's name on the register, orvisitors' book. He recalled how the eyes of the old mammy, theproprietress, had fairly rolled with curiosity. No; he would not bepermitted long to have her to himself, he ruminated; better make themost of his opportunity now. Besides, his present monetary positionforbade his presence for more than a day or two at the "best hotel"; itsrates were for him distinctly prohibitive. The exigencies of financialdifferences would soon separate them; she could draw on Miss Van Rolsenfor thousands; he had but five dollars and twelve cents--or was itthirteen?--to his name. 

He kept these reflections, however, to himself and continued to bask inthe sunshine of a fool's paradise. They rode, walked and explored. Theywent to the fruit and the flower market. He bought her a great bunch offlowers, and she not only took it but wore it. For a time he stepped onair; his flowers constituted a fine splash of color on the girl's gown. Her heart beat beneath them; the thought was as wine. 

"Shall we?" They had partaken of tea (or nectar) in a small shop, andnow she paused before that most modern manifestation of a restlesscivilization, a begilded, over-ornamented nickelodeon. "Think of findingone of them way off here! Just as at home!"

"More extraordinary your wanting to go in!" he laughed. 

"Why not? It will be an experience. "

They entered; the place was half filled and they took seats toward theback. There were films, and songs of the usual character; it was verygay. Gurgles of merriment from Creoles and darkies were heard on allsides. They, too, yielded freely, gladly to its infection. HappyCreoles! happy darkies! happy Betty Dalrymple and HoratioHeatherbloom--heiress and outcast! There is a democracy in laughter; yondarky smiled at Miss Dalrymple, while Mr. Heatherbloom laughed withher, with them, and the world. For was she not near, right there by hisside? To Mr. Heatherbloom the tinsel palace had become a temple offelicity and wonder. Suddenly he started and his face changed. 

"The Great Diamond Robbery, " one of the films, was in progress, andthere, depicted on the canvas, amid many figures, he saw himself, themost pronounced in that realistic group. And Betty Dalrymple saw thesemblance of him, also, for she gave a slight gasp and sat more erect. In the moving picture he was running away from a crowd. 

"Shall--shall we go?" The face of the flesh-and-blood Mr. Heatherbloomwas very red; he looked toward the door. 

She did not answer; her eyes continued bent straight before her, and shesaw the whole quick scene of the drama unfolded. Then the street becamecleared, the fleeing figure had turned a corner as an automobile, notengaged for the performance, came around it and went by. A big car--herown--she was in it. She caught, like a flash on the canvas, a glimpse ofherself looking around; then the scene came to an end. Betty Dalrymplelaughed--a little hysterically. 

"Oh, " she said. "Oh, oh!"

He became, if possible, redder. 

"Oh, " she repeated. Then, "Why"--with eyes full of mingled tragedy andcomedy--"did you not explain it all that day, when--"

Of course she knew even as she spoke why he could not, or would not. 

"You had cause to think so many things, " he murmured. 

"But that! How--how strange! I saw you, and--"

He laughed. "And the manager told me I was a 'rotten bad' actor! Thosewere his words; not very elegant. But I believed him, until now--"

"Say something harsh and hard to me, " she whispered, almost fiercely. "Ideserve it. "

The violet eyes were passionate. "Betty!" he exclaimed wonderingly. 

"Do you call that harsh?" she demanded mockingly. "You--you should becross with me--scold me--punish me--"

"Well, " he said calmly, "you haven't believed _that_, lately, anyhow. "

"No; I just set it aside as something incomprehensible, not to bethought of, or to be considered any more. I believed in you, with all mysoul, since last night--a good deal before that, yes, yes!--in myinnermost heart! You believe me, don't you?"

He answered, he hardly knew what. Some one was singing _Put on Your OldGray Bonnet_. Her shoulder touched his arm and lingered there. "Oh, mydear!" she was saying to herself. The pianist banged; the vocalistbawled, while Mr. Heatherbloom sat in ecstasy. 

CHAPTER XXV

GAIETIES

They took her away the next day. The governor--Sir Charles Somebody--hadheard of her and came and claimed her. His lady--portly, majestic--arrived with him. Their carriage was the finest on the islandand their horses were the best. The coachman and footman were coveredwith the most approved paraphernalia and always constituted an unendingsource of wonder and admiration for the natives. The latter gathered infront of the best hotel on this occasion; they did not quite know whatwas taking place, but the sight of the big carriage there drew themabout like flies. 

Mr. Heatherbloom did not linger to speculate or to survey. He had seenbut not spoken to Miss Dalrymple that morning; she had smiled at himacross space, behind orchids. A moment or two he had sat dreaming howfine it would be to live for ever in such a courtyard, with BettyDalrymple's face on the other side, then the hubbub below disturbed anddispelled his reflections. He went down to investigate and to retreat. Sir Charles and his lady were in the hall; they seemed to charge theentire hostelry with their presence. Mr. Heatherbloom walkedcontemplatively out and down the street. 

His mind, with a little encouragement, would have flitted back tocourtyards and orchids, but he forced it along less fanciful lines. Mundane considerations were imperative and courtyards were a luxury ofthe rich. He calculated that, after paying his bill at the best hotel, he wouldn't have much more than half a dollar, or two English shillings, left. The situation demanded calm practical reflection; he strove tobestow upon it the necessary measure of orderly thinking. Yesterday, with its nickelodeon, or temple of wonder, was yesterday; to-day, withits problems, was to-day. He had lingered in the happy valley, orkingdom of Micomicon, but the carriage was before the door--the goldenchariot had come to bear away the beautiful princess. 

Mr. Heatherbloom asked for employment at the wharf and got it. Thesupercargo of the boat, loading there, had been indulging, not wiselybut too well, in "green swizzles", an insidious drink of the country, and, when last seen was oblivious to the world. A red-haired mate, withsuperfluous utterance, informed the applicant he could come thatafternoon and temporarily essay the delinquent one's duties, checking upthe bags of merchandise and bananas the natives were bringing aboard, and otherwise making himself useful. Mr. Heatherbloom tendered histhanks and departed. 

He wandered aimlessly for a while, but the charm of the town hadvanished; he gazed with no interest upon quaint bits most attractiveyesterday, and stolidly regarded now those happy faces he had liked somuch but a short time before. He shook himself; this would not do; butthe work would soon cure him of vain imaginings. 

He returned to the hotel and settled with the landlady. Betty Dalrymplewas gone. Of course, there could be no denying Sir Charles and his lady;one of the young girl's place and position in the world could not, withreason or good grace, refuse the governor's hospitality. Mr. Heatherbloom was hardly a suitable chaperon. But she had left a hastyand altogether charming note for him which he read the last few momentshe spent in the courtyard room. "Come soon;" that was the substance ofit. What more could mortal have asked? Mr. Heatherbloom gazed at anempty window where he had last seen her (had they been there onlytwenty-four hours?), then he took a bit of painting on ivory from hispocket and wrapped the message around it. Before noon he had engagedcheap but neat lodgings at the home of an old negro woman. 

Several days passed. After waiting in vain for him to call at thegovernor's mansion, Betty Dalrymple drove herself to the hotel; here shelearned that he had gone without leaving an address; a message from SirCharles for Mr. Heatherbloom, formally offering to put the latter up atgovernment house, had not been delivered. Mr. Heatherbloom had failed tocall for his mail. 

"Really, my dear, such solicitude!" murmured the governor's wife, whenMiss Dalrymple came out of the hotel. "An ordinary secret-service man, too. "

"Oh, no; not an ordinary one, " said the girl a little confusedly. Shehad not taken the liberty of speaking of Mr. Heatherbloom's privateaffairs to her august hosts. His true name, or his story, were his toreveal when or where he saw fit. In taking her into his confidence hehad sealed her lips until such time as she had his permission to speak. 

"Well, don't worry about the man, " observed the elder lady ratherloftily. "There has been a big reward offered, of course, and he'llappear in due time to claim it. "

"He'll not, " began Betty Dalrymple indignantly, and stopped. 

She had been obliged to explain in some way Mr. Heatherbloom's presence, and the subterfuge he had himself employed toward her on the _Nevski_had been the only one that occurred to her. A brave secret-serviceofficer who had aided her--that's what Mr. Heatherbloom was to thegovernor and his better half. Hence the distinct formality of SirCharles' note to Mr. Heatherbloom, indited at Miss Dalrymple's specialrequest and somewhat against the good baronet's own secret judgment. Apolice agent may be valiant as a lion, but he is not a gentleman. 

Something of this axiomatic truth the excellent hosts strove to instillby means, more or less subtle, in the mind of their young guest; but sheclung with odd tenacity to her own ingenuous point of view. WhereuponSir Charles figuratively shrugged. Reprehensible democracy of the newworld! She, with the perversity of American womankind, actually spokeof, and, no doubt, desired to treat the fellow as an equal. 

She found him one morning, a day or two later. She came down to thewharf, alone, and on foot. He held a note-book and pencil, but that hehad not been above lending physical assistance, on occasion, to thenatives bearing bags and other merchandise, was evident from his handswhich were grimy as a stevedore's. His shirt was open at the throat, andhis face, too, bore marks of toil. Betty Dalrymple stepped impetuouslytoward him; she looked as fresh as a flower, and held out a hand glovedin immaculate white. 

"Dare I?" he laughed. 

"If you don't!" Her eyes dared him not to take it. 

He looked at the hand, such a delicate thing, and seemed still in theleast uncertain; then his fingers closed on it. 

"You see I managed to find you, " she said. "Who is that man who staresso?"

"That, " answered Mr. Heatherbloom smiling, "is my boss. "

"Well, " she observed, "I don't like his face. "

"Some of the darkies he's knocked down share, I believe, your opinion, "he laughed. "Excuse me a moment. " And Mr. Heatherbloom stepped to thedumfounded person in question, handed him the note-book and pencil, with a request to keep tab for a moment, and then returned to the girl. "Now, I'm at your command, " he said with a smile. 

"Suppose we take a walk?" she suggested. "We can talk better if we do. "

A moment Mr. Heatherbloom wavered. "Sorry, " he then said, "but I'vepromised to stick by the job. You see the old tub sails to-morrow forSouth America and it'll be a task to get her loaded before night. Someof the hands, as well as the supercargo, have been bowled over byfire-water. "

"I see. " There was a strained look about her lips. Before them heavilyladen negroes and a few sailors passed and repassed. The burlyred-headed mate often looked at her; amazement and curiosity weredepicted on his features; he almost forgot the duties Mr. Heatherbloomhad, for a brief interval, thrust upon him. Betty Dalrymple, however, had ceased to observe him; he, the others, no longer existed for her. She saw only Mr. Heatherbloom now; what he said, she knew he meant; sherealized with an odd thrill of mingled admiration and pain that even shecould not cause him to change his mind. He would "stick to his job", because he had said he would. 

"I'm interrupting, I fear, " she said, a feeling of strange humilitysweeping over her. "When is your day's work done?"

"About six, I expect. "

"The governor gives a ball for me to-night, " she said. 

"Excellent. All the elite of the port will be there, and, " with slowmeditative accent, "I can imagine how you'll look!"

"Can you?" she asked, bending somewhat nearer. 

"Yes. " His gaze was straight ahead. 

The white glove stole toward the black hand. "Why don't you come?"

"I?" He stared. 

"Yes; the governor has sent you an invitation. He thinks you asecret-service officer. "

Mr. Heatherbloom continued to look at her; then he glanced toward theboat. Suddenly his hand closed; he hardly realized the white glove wasin it. "I'll do it, Betty, " he exclaimed. "That is, if I can. And--theremay be a way. Yes; there will be. "

"You mean, you may be able to rent them?" With a sparkle in her glance. 

"Exactly, " he answered gaily, recklessly. 

Both laughed. Then her expression changed; she suppressed anexclamation, but gently withdrew her hand. 

"How many dances will you give me, Betty?" He had not even noticed thathe had hurt her; his voice was low and eager. 

"Ask and see, " she said merrily, and went. But outside the shed, shestretched her crushed fingers; he was very strong; he had spoiled a newpair of gloves; she did not, however, seem greatly to mind. As for Mr. Heatherbloom, for the balance of the day he plunged into his task withthe energy of an Antaeus. 

 * * * * *

Sir Charles regarded rather curiously that night one of his guests whoarrived late. Mr. Heatherbloom's evening garments were not a Poole fit, and his white gloves, though white enough, had obviously been used andcleaned often. But the host observed, also, that Mr. Heatherbloom heldhimself well, said just the right thing to the hostess, and movedthrough the assemblage with quite the proper poise. He didn't lookbored, neither did he appear overimpressed by the almost palatialelegance of the ball-room. He even managed to suppress any outward signsof elation at the sight of Miss Dalrymple with whom he had but theopportunity for a word or two, at first. Naturally the center ofattraction, the young girl found herself forced to dance often. He, too, whirled around with others, just whom, he did not know; he dipped intoTerpsichorean gaiety to escape the dowager's inquisition regarding thathaphazard flight from the _Nevski_ and other details he did not wish toconverse about. But his turn came with Betty at last, and sooner than hehad reason to expect. 

"Ours is the next?" she said, passing him. 

Was it? He had ventured to write his name thrice on her card, butneither of the dances he had claimed was the next. 

"I put your name down for this one myself, " she confessed to him a fewmoments later. "Do you mind?"

Did he? The evening wore away but too soon; he held her to him a littlewhile, only over-quickly to be obliged to yield her to another. And now, after a third period of waiting, the time came for their last dance. Hewent for it as soon as the number preceding was over; he wanted, notonly to miss none of it, but he hungered to snatch all the prelude hecould. The conventional-looking young personage she had been dancingwith regarded the approaching Mr. Heatherbloom rather resentfully, buthe moved straight as an arrow for her. At once she stepped toward him, and he soon found himself walking with her across the smooth shiningfloor, on into the great conservatory. Here were soft shadows andwondrous perfumes. Mr. Heatherbloom breathed deeply. 

"But a few days more, and we're en route for home. " It was the girl whospoke first--lightly, gaily--though there was a thrill in her tones. 

He started and did not answer at once. "That will be great, won't it?"His voice, too, was light, but it did not seem so spontaneously glad asher own. 

"You _are_ pleased, aren't you?" she said suddenly. 

"Pleased? Of course!"

A brief period of inexplicable constraint! He looked at one of her handsresting on the edge of a great vase--at a flower she held in herfingers. 

"May I?" he said, and just touched it. 

"Of course!" she laughed. "A modest request, after all you've done forme!"

Her fingers placed it in the rented coat. 

"There!" she murmured in a matter-of-fact tone, stepping back. 

His face, turned to the light, appeared paler; his eyes lookedstudiously beyond her. 

"It will be jolly on the steamer, won't it?" she went on. 

"Jolly? Oh, yes, " he assented, with false enthusiasm, when a black andwhite apparition appeared before them, no less a person than SirCharles. 

The governor, as the bearer of particular news, had been looking forher. Mr. Heatherbloom hardly appreciated the preamble or the importanceof what followed. Sir Charles imparted a bit of confidential informationthey were not to breathe to any one until he had verified theparticulars. Word had just been brought to him that the _Nevski_ hadgone on a reef near a neighboring island and was a total wreck. Apassing steamer had stood by, taken off the prince and his crew andlanded them. Still Mr. Heatherbloom but vaguely heard; he felt littleinterest at the moment in his excellency or his boat. Betty Dalrymple'sface, however, showed less indifference to this startling intelligence. 

"The _Nevski_ a wreck?" she murmured. 

"It must all seem like an evil dream to you now, " Mr. Heatherbloom spokeabsently. "Your having ever been on her!"

"Not all an evil one, " she answered. They stood again on the ball-roomfloor. "Much good has come from it. I no longer hate the prince. I onlyblame myself a great deal for many things--"

He seemed to hear only her first words. "'Good come from it?' I don'tunderstand. "

"But for the _Nevski_, and what happened to me, I should have gone onthinking, as I did, about you. "

"And--would that have made such a difference?" quickly. 

She raised her eyes. "What do you think?"

"Betty!"

The music had begun. He who had heretofore danced perfectly, now guidedwildly. 

"Take care!" she whispered. 

But discretion seemed to have left him; he spoke he knew not what--wildmad words that would not be suppressed. They came in contact withanother couple and were brought to an abrupt stop. Flaming poppies shoneon her cheeks; her eyes were brightly beaming. But she laughed and theywent on. He swept her out of the crowded ball-room now, on to the broadveranda where a few other couples also moved in the starlight. On hercurved lips a smile rested; it seemed to draw his head lower. 

"Betty, do you mean it?" Again the words were wrested from him, wouldcome. "What your eyes said just now?"

She lifted them again, gladly, freely--not only that--

"Yes; I mean it--mean it, " said her lips. "Of course! Foolish boy! Ihave long meant it--"

"Long?" he cried. 

"You heard what the Russian woman said--"

"About there being some one? Then it was--"

"Guess. " The sweet laughing lips were close; his swept thempassionately. He found the answer; the world seemed to go round. 

But later, that night, there was no joy on Mr. Heatherbloom's face. Inhis room in the old negro woman's house, he indited a letter. It wasbrought to Betty Dalrymple the next morning as the early sunshineentered her chamber overlooking the governor's park. 

"Darling: Forgive me. I am sailing at dawn on the old tub, for SouthAmerica--"

Here the note fell from the girl's hand. Long she looked out of thewindow. Then she went back to the bit of paper, took it and held itagainst her breast before she again read. She seemed to know now whatwould be in it; the strange depression that had come over her after hehad left last night was accounted for. Of course, he would not go backto New York with her; he would, or could, accept nothing, in the way shewished, from her or her aunt. It was necessary for him still to be Mr. Heatherbloom; he had not yet "found himself" fully; the beginning he hadspoken of was only begun. The influential friends of his father in thefinancial world had become impossible aids; he had to continue as he hadplanned, to go his own way, and his, alone. It would have been easy forhim, as his father's son and the prospective nephew of the influentialMiss Van Rolsen, to have obtained one of those large salaried positions, or "sinecures", with little to do. But that would be only beginning atthe end once more. 

Again she essayed to read. The letter would have been a littleincomprehensible to any one except herself, but she understood. Therewere three "darlings"; inexcusable tautology! She kissed them all, butshe kissed oftenest the end: "You will forgive me for forgettingmyself--God knows I didn't intend to--and you will wait; have faith? Itis much to ask--too much; but if you will, I think my father's son andhe whom you have honored by caring for, may yet prove a little worthy--"

The words brought a sob to her throat; she threw herself back on thebed. "A little?" she cried, still holding the note tight in her hand. But after a spell of weeping, once more she got up and looked out of thewindow. The sunshine was very bright, the birds sang to her. Did shetake heart a little? A great wave of sadness bowed her down, butcourage, too, began to revive in her. 

"Have faith?" She looked up at the sky; she would do as he asked--untothe grave, if need be. Then, very quietly, she dressed and wentdown-stairs. 

EPILOGUE

It is very gay at the Hermitage, in Moscow, just after Easter, and so itwas natural that Sonia Turgeinov should have been there on a certainbright afternoon some three years later. The theater, at which she oncemore appeared, was closed for the afternoon, and at this seasonfollowing Holy Week and fasting, fashionables and others were wont tocongregate in the spacious café and grounds, where a superb orchestradiscourses classical or dashing selections. The musicians played now anAmerican air. 

"Some one at a table out there on the balcony sent a request by the headwaiter for it, " said a member of Sonia Turgeinov's party--a Parisianartist, not long in Moscow. 

"An American, no doubt, " she answered absently, sipping her wine. Thethree years had treated her kindly; the few outward changes could besuperficially enumerated: A little more embonpoint; a tendency toward aslight drooping at the corners of the mobile lips, and moments when theshadows seemed to stay rather longer in the deep eyes. 

"That style of music should appeal to you, Madam, " observed theFrenchman. "You who have been among those favored artists to visit theland of the free. Did you have to play in a tent, and were you literallyshowered with gold?"

"Both, " she laughed. "It is a land of many surprises. "

"I have heard _es ist alles_ 'the almighty dollar', " said a musicianfrom Berlin, one of the gay company. 

"Exaggeration, _mein Herr_!" she retorted, with a wave of the hand. "Itis also a _komischer romantischer_ land. " For a moment she seemedthinking. 

"Isn't that his excellency, Prince Boris Strogareff?" inquired abruptlya young man with a beyond-the-Volga physiognomy. 

She started. "The prince?" An odd look came into her eyes. "Do youbelieve in telepathic waves, Monsieur?" she said gaily to the Frenchman. 

"Not to any great extent, Madam. _Mais pourquoi?"_

"Nothing. But I don't see this prince you speak of. "

"He has disappeared now, " replied her countryman, a fellow-playerrecently come from Odessa. "It is his first dip again into the gaietiesof the world. For several years, " with the proud accents of one able toimpart information concerning an important personage, "he has beenliving in seclusion on his vast estates near the Caspian Sea--ruling akingdom greater than many a European principality. But have you nevermet the prince?" To Sonia Turgeinov. "He used to be a patron of thearts, according to report, before the sad accident that befell him. "

"I think, " observed Sonia Turgeinov, with brows bent as if striving torecollect, "I did meet him once. But a poor actress is forced to meetso many princes and nobles, nowadays, " she laughed, "that--"

"True! Only one would not easily forget the prince, the handsomest manin Asia. "

She yawned slightly. 

"What was this 'sad accident' you were speaking of, _mein Herr_?observed the German, with a mind trained to conversational continuity. 

"The prince was cruising somewhere and his yacht was wrecked, " said theyoung Roscius from Odessa. "A number of the crew were drowned; hisexcellency, when picked up, was unconscious. A blow on the head from afalling timber, or from being dashed on the rocks, I'm not sure which. At any rate, for a long time his life was despaired of, but he recoveredand is as strong and sound as ever. Only, there is a strange sequel; ornot so strange, " reflectively, "since cases of its kind are common. Theinjury was on his head, as I remarked, and his mind became--"

"Affected, Monsieur?" said the Frenchman. "You mean this great noble ofthe steppe is no longer right, mentally?"

"He is one of the keenest satraps in Asia, Monsieur. His brain is asalert as ever, only he has suffered a complete loss of memory. "

Sonia Turgeinov's interest was of a distinctly artificial nature; shetapped on the floor with her foot; then abruptly arose. "Shan't we gointo the garden for our coffee?" she said. "It is close here. "

They got up and walked out. As they did so they passed a couple at oneof the tables on the balcony and a slight exclamation fell from SoniaTurgeinov's lips. For an instant she exhibited real interest, thenhastening down the steps, she selected a place some distance aside. Agreat bunch of flowers was in the center of the table and she moved herchair behind them. 

"You see some one you know, _gnädige_ Madam?" asked the observantTeuton. 

"A great many people, " she answered. 

"There's that American over there who asked for the Yankee piece ofmusic, " said the Frenchman, with eyes on the two people Sonia Turgeinovhad started at sight of, a moment before. "_Mon Dieu!_ What charm! Whatbeauty!"

"_Der Herr Amerikaner?_" blurted the surprised Berliner. 

"No--_diable!_ His _belle_ companion!"

"Where?" said Sonia Turgeinov, well knowing. A face that her tablecompanion regarded, she, too, saw beyond the flowers. The afternoonsunshine touched the golden hair of her she looked at; the violet eyesshone with delight upon bizarre details: of the scene--the waiters inblouses resembling street "white wings" in American cities, the coachmenoutside, big as balloons in their quilted cloaks. 

"_Der Herr Amerikaner_ has the passionate eyes of an admirer, a devoutlover, " murmured the sentimental musician from Berlin. 

"Or an American husband!" said Roscius from Odessa. 

"Sometimes!" added the Frenchman cynically. 

"I haf met him, " observed the _Herr Musikaner_, "at the hotel. We haf talked together, once or twice. He has been in SouthAmerica--Argentine, _ich glaube_--and has made a fortune there. Andmadam, his wife, and he are making a grand tour of the world. Theirwedding trip, I believe. _Sie kommt von einer der ersten Familien_--theDalrymples. _Der Herr Direktor_ of the Russicher-Chinese bank told me. He cashes the drafts--_Her Gott_--_nicht kleine!_"

These prosaic details the Frenchman, pictorially occupied, hardly, heard. "_Mon Dieu_! What a _chapeau_!" he sighed. "No wonder he looksenchanted at that wonderful creation of the Rue de la Paix. "

"He seems quite an exception to some husbands in that respect!" remarkedthe Berliner in deep gutturals. 

Sonia Turgeinov lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at the flowers. There was a resentful cynicism in the act; she leaned back with greaterabandon in her chair. "After all, the unities have been observed, " shesaid with an odd laugh. 

"What unities?" asked Roscius, becoming keen as a young hound on thescent, at the sound of the trite phrase. 

"Oh, I was thinking of a play. " Stretching more comfortably. Suddenlyher cigarette waved; behind the flowers, her eyes dilated. Prince BorisStrogareff was coming down the steps; he passed the American couple theyhad been talking about and looked at them. A light of involuntaryadmiration shone from his gaze, but there was no recognition in it--onlythe instinctive tribute that a man of the world and a gallant Russian isever prone to pay at the sight of an unusually charming member of theother sex. Then, once more impassive--a striking handsome figure--hemoved leisurely down and out of the gardens. The couple, engrossed atthe time in a conversation of some intimate nature or in each other, hadnot even seen or noticed the august nobleman. 

Sonia Turgeinov drew harder on the cigarette; a laugh welled from herthroat. "Oh, I wouldn't have missed it for worlds!" she said. 

Young Roscius with the Tartar eyes stared at her. She threw away thesmoking cylinder. 

"I'm off!"

"Why--"

"Has not the curtain descended?" enigmatically. 

"I don't see any curtain, " said the Frenchman. 

"No? But it's there. " At the gate, however, once more she paused--tolisten, to laugh. 

"_Was jetzt_?" asked the mystified Berliner. 

She only shrugged. 

The orchestra, having played a few conventional selections after_Dixie_, had now plunged into _Marching through Georgia_. 

As Sonia Turgeinov disappeared through the gate, the golden headsurmounted by the "wonderful _chapeau_", bent toward the clean-cut, strong-looking face of the young man on the other side of the smalltable. 

"It's awfully extravagant of you, Harry, --twenty roubles, a tip forthose musicians. But it makes it seem like home, doesn't it?"

"Yes, darling, " he answered. 

THE END