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"He must go back now," she explained to Carter. "He says our way is plain from here on. We are to follow this path until daylight. By then we should reach a similar clearing, where his brother, Carl, has his ovens. There we can get shelter. When we have had sufficient rest, Carl will guide us to the frontier. That last part of the road Hans does not know. Once at the river, he says, there is a ferry, used by peasants, which will take us across to Austria."
"Why must he go?" Carter inquired, his every suspicion aroused for the woman he loved.
"Should he be missing in the morning from his hut, the soldiers would guess the reason for his absence. His wife and infant would probably pay for his loyalty with their lives."
"And this Carl, how can he vouch for his loyalty?" Carter persisted.
"I know Carl," said the girl sweetly. That was enough.
The peasant stood to one side as the pair passed him. One glance into the honest eyes was sufficient to convince Carter that the man had spoken the truth.
Soon nothing could be seen of the shadowy figure on the forest edge which stood watching until darkness swallowed the form of his beloved suzerain. Side by side again, the two persisted along the starlit way of their hopes, until they, too, entered another forest beyond. Here, though aided by the lantern Hans had left with them, they lost the narrow lane a score of times; disuse had made it almost invisible.
At last, gray with mourning, the tardy day awoke. With heavy limbs and straining eyes, they stumbled at last into view of the promised haven of thatch.
A premonition of something amiss caused Carter to pause as they hastened toward it. The door, unlatched, swung open desolately upon creaking hinges. No smoke beckoned from its chimneys, no sign of personality bade them draw near. Trusia choked back the sob as she clung heavily to Carter's arm.
"It is empty," she prophesied.
"The fellow is about some place, doubtless," Carter answered cheerfully, that she might not be panic-stricken by his acquiescence. "You stay here. I'll scout about a bit, – and find him," he added as an afterthought. Leaving both his pack and revolver with her, he approached the house with the same caution he would have displayed in routing out a grizzly bear.
In the tiny enclosure in front of the cabin, he found the disturbing evidence of the visitation of a number of horses in the marred and furrowed soil of the garden, torn by a score of hoofs. Cossacks had been here. He paused, with straining ears, by the door, listening for some portent from within. No sound gave him a clue as to the situation inside the single room which made up the peasant home. He entered boldly.
Trusia's heart pounded in lonely centuries, it seemed, as she prayed fervently for his reappearance. Presently, staggering beneath a burden of suggestive shape, Carter came out and took his way to the dense underbrush behind the cabin. He returned to the hut for a spade and pick and went back to the underbrush. His absence seemed interminable. Then, with blistered hands, he stepped out of the thicket at her side.
"What was it? What kept you so long?" she asked, startled by his sudden appearance and petulant with exhaustion.
"Don't ask me, sweet," he begged, "but come and rest for an hour or so. I'll be the sentry at your gate."
"But the Cossacks may come," she hesitated.
"Lightning never strikes twice in the same place," he assured with a grim meaning for himself in the words. "Come, the coast is clear."
"But that you carried," she held back as the doubt arose, for she had seen.
"Without benefit of clergy, poor fellow," he replied seeing that it was too late to deceive her. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."
Gently he urged her to the hut. Freshening the pallet with twigs and leaves, he spread the double blanket they had brought upon the bed and then withdrew to mount guard while she might snatch some rest.
With his back against the wall, seated on a rude bench outside the cabin, he watched the heavy-eyed sun arise and yawn. Once from the cabin a sigh floated.
"Rest well, sweetheart," he called. "Our flight has just commenced."
XXV
THEY MEET JOSEF
He dared not sleep. Thousands of aching demons in his weary limbs promised him surcease if he would. Every stir in nature, each drowsy twitter of the birds, coaxed him to relax his watchfulness, but he resisted. Time seemed a paralytic as Carter waited the passing of the day. A score of times his head bent forward in weariness. He could feel pain pass from him like a sigh, only to be called back as in reaction he would jerk his head up to wakefulness.
Slumber reigned indoors. As the hours dragged on, it seemed to the watchful lover that something was surely wrong. He had heard no sound, no stir, no sigh, for an age of patience. Half ashamed of his own boldness, he tiptoed in to where she lay. Her face was pale with languor; no breath appeared to stir her breast. With a great leap his mind went back, fearing, to that scene by the roadside as she lay fainting in his arms. He reached out and touched her wrist. Again he gave thanks that, beneath his finger, life flowed serenely in its course.
He turned and went back to his seat on the bench. He counted time now by the throbbing of his nerves. The sun passed its zenith, began to droop; still Trusia slept and Carter kept a sleepless vigil. Great and red, in the west, the sun was setting as the girl came out and laid a soft, comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"I have been selfish, Calvert," she said in self-accusation. "I should have let you rest first. You have had the greater labor and worriment. We will eat something now, then I shall watch while you sleep."
"I am not tired," he protested, yawning as he spoke. "Even though I have not slept I have dreamed – of you." He marveled at the mystery which bade a rose pink creep into a girl's cheek and pass and come again.
The simple food provided by Hans was a delectable feast to the wayworn pair, who appreciated it down to the last allotted crumb.
After the final morsel had disappeared, they quietly conversed, but while they talked, Carter's head lurched forward and he was asleep. Sweetly, with the maternal impulse found even in maidens, she drew the heavy head to her and smiled happily at its weight upon her breast. She bent forward to listen, for sweetened in the dream he held, she heard her name whispered in adoration.
The shadows were creeping upon them. Evening had drawn the curtain across reluctant day. In the dusk, sinister figures appeared to crouch and creep by every bush and tree. Inevitable as darkness it seemed, they gathered from every side. Her fright numbered them as a myriad. They were three. Unwilling in her solicitude to disturb her sleeping lover until the last moment, she drew her revolver. Then with chilling misgivings she realized that these men had followed the path used by herself and Carter.
Some acute sympathy – maybe his dreams, maybe a prescience which never slumbers – awoke Carter with a full realization of the imminent danger which threatened.
"Come," he said, arising to his full height, "you must go in." He pushed her through the door and stood in the narrow entrance, awaiting the onslaught. "They outnumber me," he laughed, "but it is a dark night. That reduces the odds. You see, sweetheart, that while in the gloom they may hit friends, yet if it comes to sword play I can't possibly hit any one else but them." He actually chuckled as he rolled back the sleeve on his right arm. "They won't use pistols unless I do, for they don't know how near we are to reinforcements. Neither do we for that matter," and he smiled again. "Have you that revolver?" he inquired, quite serious this time. "No, I don't want it," he said as she held it out to him. "You know what to do with it if the time comes."
They had not long to wait. Their opponents, confident of success, came rapidly forward. One figure was familiar even in the gloom. It was Josef. With a leap the trio were upon Carter. He felt the impact of their blades like pulse beats in the darkness as they met his own steel. As weapon met weapon in clanging song his spirits arose. He wanted to chant to the dainty, cruel rhythm of the tempered strokes. He knew on the instant that he should vanquish these foes. Muscle after muscle, sinew after sinew, thickened and grew lean alternately as thrust followed guard. His body, moving with his arm, seemed following some primitive dance – the orgy of the Sword, the prince of battle weapons.
He heard a smothered gasp in the darkness, succeeded by a curse in a familiar voice.
"You, Josef?" he queried with a satisfied laugh.
"Not yet, m'sieu the American," came back the sneering answer. "You first," it taunted, just beyond Carter's reach in the gloom. The remark was followed by a slight touch in the shoulder from which the warm blood spouted as the keen point was withdrawn.
"Not quite low enough for me, Josef," answered Carter. "That was only a scratch. Try a ripost. I don't intend to wound you. I am going to kill you."
"You'll have no chance. We are three and we will carry off the Lady Trusia. She'll be a dainty bit for our feasting." A sob behind him apprised him that she had heard.
"Cur," Carter cried, and drove straight for the neck he knew held a smirking face. With the slipping of Carter's foot, Josef escaped death at the price of a companion's life, behind whom Josef had escaped Carter's vengeance. The American, hearing the suggestive thud in the darkness, pushed his advantage, with the result that soon an angry snarl told him that the second Russian was wounded. The fellow dropped his sword to clasp his right wrist, then fled, closely followed by the discreet servitor. When Calvert had recovered his balance, the Gray Man had disappeared.
"There is no time to lose," he called to Trusia, "we must start at once before that old rascal brings reinforcements." Though he jestingly belittled its importance, she insisted upon bandaging the wound in his shoulder and made much of him, womanlike.
"I do not care if they should send a dozen men," she said, dazzling the gloom with her eyes; "my king, my lover, could defeat them all!" He dared not kiss her, then, as they both would have wished. Her isolation made her holy.
"That," he said, pointing southwardly, "is our general direction. Fate must guide our steps."
XXVI
THE VISTULA!
It was a weary journey. Confused, discouraged, losing their paths a score of times each hour, they lurched forward through the gloom of night and the unfeeling dawn of the next day. They prayed a ceaseless prayer for succor and – the Vistula. They were hungry, for the last crumb of food had been lost in fording a boisterous stream in their road, and in the darkness they had been unable to recover it. Rough stones cut Trusia's feet, but she uttered no complaint. The brambles tore her clothes, and scarred her hands, while more than one low-hanging limb clutched at her hair. Nor did Carter fare any better.
The second morning found them helplessly lost in the forest. By sheer strength he broke down saplings and built a wigwam in which Trusia could rest. He caught a rabbit, off which they fared for one meal and still frugally saved a portion for the necessities of mid-day. When that time came around, the girl generously insisted that he should take it all, there not being enough for both, and he having been unable to snare any other unwary woodland denizen. Of course he refused. She looked at him, grief-stricken and imploring. Still he would not yield. Then came their nearest approach to a quarrel. Fatigued, depressed, bewildered, it is no wonder that the strained nerves gave way.
"See, Calvert," she said at last, looking at him through tear-dimmed eyes, "I give in. I'll feel like a cannibal, though; I know I shall – eating your strength." Unable to refrain under the yielding influences, he bent toward her for a kiss of reconciliation, but she gently held him off.
"Not yet," she said gravely, "not yet."
With mid-afternoon they resumed their weary advance and maintained their plodding way through the night. Along toward dawn of this, the third, day of their flight, a suggestive, recurrent, monotonous sigh in the air told their hopeful ears that they were drawing near a large body of water.
"Do you hear it, Calvert?" she asked ecstatically, a convulsive hand upon his elbow.
"Yes," he answered in a voice husky with thanksgiving, "it is right over the breast of that bank of firs. Oh, little girl," he said bending the depths of his eyes into her soul, "I am glad for you. You are safe."
"I have been safe all along with you, Calvert," she smiled up into his face.
He half turned away his head, her smile was as intoxicating as strong wine. "Don't say that," he said guiltily. "I am but a man and more than once – in the solitude – I was tempted."
She smiled an Eve-taught reproof. "Yet you did not yield, my lover. Come, let us race the last few steps for the first view of the river."
Their clothes in flags, disheveled, bruised, unkempt, like wild things of the woods, they rushed from the forest to the edge of the river. The Vistula!
"There lies Austria," he cried exultantly, pointing to the other shore.
"And here – and here," she cried with a little sob halting her words, – "and here lies – here lies poor, poor Krovitch." Tears came and saved her reason, for under the heavy strain her senses reeled. Then both together they searched for the ferry; but doubtless miles away from the end of the tiny path, it was a hopeless task to search further. As despondently they gave up the quest, Carter turned a grove-covered bend in the river.
"Look, Trusia," he called back to her; "a yacht – an American yacht! See," he cried in a frenzy of delight, "there is the flag. The flag – the stars and stripes! Oh, fate is kind." He seized the girl and whirled her around in a dervish dance of joy, hallooing at the top of his voice.
There came an answer presently to his cheers. "They have heard us, doubtless," he said, peering shipward. Then his eyes lit with a new discovery. "That's the New York Yacht Club pennant. Owner's aboard and I'm darned – I beg pardon – if it isn't Billy Saunderson's signal at the peak. Funny that they answered our hail when no one seems on deck."
"Hark, Calvert, what is that?" asked Trusia apprehensively. He bent his head fearfully toward the forest. Shouts, the crackling of fallen twigs, cheers and commands in Russian, greeted their ears.
"And we thought it was some one on the boat," was his only comment. "You are too late, Mr. Tsar," he called back as he waved his hand as if in farewell. "My countryman is a friend of mine," he said in explanation to the trembling girl. "He will give us a berth, never fear. We will have to swim for it, though."
"But I can't swim a stroke, Calvert. I will only hamper you. You save yourself, sweetheart. They will never take me. I promise you. Do go, dear."
"Nonsense. Will you trust yourself with me? I can handle two like you."
She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in a woman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.
"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."
In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter was numbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their cruel journey had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from the very start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung to his shoulders.
About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream was accomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledged boundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused the swimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to see the first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Then with a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.
"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.
"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught yet. How close are they?"
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.
Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a companionway.
"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.
"They have gained only about ten yards."
Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. His arms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He made superhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.
"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice rasping out sharply under his strain.
"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she responded solacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.
His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His head throbbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solid thing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.
"I'll make it – I'll make it – I'll make it," he repeated in semi-conscious determination. "How near now?" he gasped back to her.
"They have gained in all about fifty yards." She began to weep softly. It acted like a spur to his flagging strength. It was helpless womankind calling upon man for succor. His eyes felt like overripe fruit, ready to burst, and blue flashes of pain danced before them. Then all things looked black – a veil had fallen in front of him.
"I'll make it – I'll make it – I'll make it," his iteration sounded like a mocking echo flung back into his ears. "I must not sink," he asserted to himself. "Not until I have saved Trusia," his thoughts were becoming incapable of coherence.
"Aboard the Bronx. Aboard the Bronx." His voice sounded a long way off. His movements were becoming feebly automatic. He was sure a maliciously grinning horseman was reaching out for Trusia, though it was impossible to see him.
"Now?" he gasped.
"Only five yards away," she answered calmly.
It is easy to die, easier to drown, when there is no escape.
XXVII
YOU ARE STILL MY KING
It seemed that the shadows were being withdrawn from his eyes, just as a curtain is pulled back from a window. As consciousness became a more certain quantity he wondered vaguely why he did not feel drenched and uncomfortable, instead of cozy and warm. He was aware of a pinkish-gray blur hanging above his head; this slowly resolved itself into a human face. While he could not distinguish the features in the darkened light of the room, he was certain that it was that of a woman.
"Trusia," he cried ecstatically.
"Please be quiet," responded an unfamiliar voice in a tone of undemurrable authority. He pondered. He puzzled. Finally he gathered courage to speak.
"Who are you?" he queried dubiously.
"I am the nurse," came back indulgently through the dim haze of semi-consciousness still enveloping him.
"Nurse," he exclaimed, throwing off the gray mist, to notice for the first time that he was in his own bed and room, in New York City. Accepting conditions as they were for the time being, he settled back and sighed the long, indolent sigh of convalescence. He glanced expectantly toward the door, Carrick should be coming soon with the much needed shaving things. Carrick? It all came back to him now. He no longer was satisfied to lie back comfortably on the pillow and dream the hazy dreams of the convalescent. Carrick was dead and he himself had been drowned – but Trusia? He groaned in great distress. The nurse hastened to his side.
"Are you in pain?" she asked, a trifle surprised that such a symptom should appear in this case.
"No," he said abstractedly, his mind revisiting the banks of the Vistula; "no, I am not in pain. I was thinking."
The nurse held a draught to his lips. Carter resolutely put it to one side. "Wait," he commanded, "I must know how I came here, or I will not rest with a thousand soporifics."
"Mr. Saunderson picked you up just as you were drowning in the Vistula. You have been ill ever since – delirious."
"Good old Billy," he said in gratitude, then turned a silent inquiry on the nurse. She saw the awful heart-hunger in his eyes and, had she followed her impulse, would have thrown a sisterly arm about him in solace, so compelling was the look, so hopeless its message. "Was any – was any one saved with me?" he ventured. "Did any one come with me here? On the boat? For God's sake, nurse, tell me." His quivering life seemed hanging in the balance. The magnitude of his gravity filled the woman with sudden apprehension. She feared equally to tell him or refuse him.
"I was not there, Mr. Carter. I cannot tell," she compromised. "Mr. Saunderson will make his usual call this afternoon. You can ask him; he will doubtless tell you." Partially reassured by this, Carter fell asleep.
When he awoke he felt much stronger. The nurse was standing at the bedside smiling down at him.
"Mr. Saunderson is waiting in the library. If I let him come in to see you, will you be good?"
Carter readily promised, as he would have anything just then, at the opportunity of resolving his doubts. Saunderson was ushered in quietly; when he bent over the patient, the latter wrenched the proffered hand with hysterical strength.
"See here, Carter, this won't do," said his caller, making a wry face; "I believe that you have been shamming these two months."
"Two months?" Carter sat upright. "Have I been laid up that long?"
"To the very day," said Saunderson, smiling.
"Tell me, Billy, how you came to be out there. I want to thank you for saving my life, though I don't know yet whether you have done a wise or a foolish thing."
"So? How soon can you let me know? Dorothy says it's the only sensible, useful thing I've ever done. You always were a favorite of Mrs. Saunderson, you know."
"It's a serious matter, Billy, so I want the truth for what I'm going to ask you. Give it to me straight from the shoulder and don't mince matters. Promise?"
"I must confess, Cal, I don't see what you're driving at, but I suppose it's all right. Yes, I promise. Now, fire away. Wait a minute. Perhaps I'd better lead off with how I got there. You've been pretty loose up here, you know," he touched his forehead by way of illustration. "Perhaps I may save you the worry of framing up questions – my account may cover everything."
"Did I talk much – rot?" asked Carter.
"Yes, rather. Calling all the time for Trusia – said Carrick was a King – and lots more of the same kind. Who was Trusia?"
"The Duchess of Schallberg." Carter's reply was unnaturally grave and his face solemn and tense. "Tell me, Billy," he requested quietly, "when I sank – was there any one with me?"
"It might have been a bundle of rags – it might have been a man or a woman, I rather thought it was a woman. What did you do, Cal, run off with some Cossack's wife?"
"It was Her Grace."
"The deuce it was!" exclaimed Saunderson.
Carter bent forward until their faces were close. "Oh, Billy," he begged piteously, "don't tell me you let her drown! Don't tell me she is dead! Don't – "
"I didn't. She isn't," said Saunderson with more care for denial than lucidity. He laid a restraining, friendly hand on Carter's shoulder.
"You saved her too, then?" The thin talon-like hand clutched Billy's like a vise.
"No," answered Saunderson reluctantly, beginning to see how matters stood.
"Where is she then?" was the eager question.
"See here, Cal, you haven't given me a chance to tell you how I came to be there. I'm just aching for the opportunity too. You don't know it, but I had a bet with Jackson that you'd go over there when the matter became known to you. Naturally I took more than a casual interest in Krovitch after that. Reports got disturbing, so I ran the Bronx over to sort of hang around until needed. To be perfectly frank, I was looking for you. When the skipper called me that morning and said some one was swimming for the boat I took a long guess that it was you. The first time you sank the launch was almost on top of you. We pulled you out of the very claws of a Cossack."