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THE
PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
a IRomance of tbe 2>a?.
JOSEPH HATTON.
1 Everything is two-faced—even virtue."— Balzac.
FIFTH EDITION.
LONDON
HUTCHINSON & CO
34, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1893.
[All rights reserved.]
LONDON t
PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED,
CITY ROAD.
TO
MY DEAR FRIEND AND NEIGHBOUR,
W. J. E.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. How the Trouble Began i
II. The Snow Falls, the Fire Burns . . 17
III. "A Mad World, my Masters" ... 37
IV. Watching and Waiting . . . ' . 49
V. An After-dinner Chat at Cleeve House 63
VI. " A Woman of the World" ... 81
VII. Among the Roses at Cleeve House . . 97
VIII. The Pioneer and the Stay-at-Home . 116
IX. A' Fateful Meeting 132
X. In the Twilight 154
XI. Friend or Foe? 172
XII. From the Arbour to the Library . . 186
XIII. A Mysterious Stranger arrives at
Charlton-Cleeve 200
XIV. "From Grave to Gay" 228
Vlii CONTENTS.
page
CHAPTER
XV. " Not Wisely, but Too Well" . . • 243
XVI. A Viper that Bites • 258
XVII. "The Day before the Wedding" • •
XVIII. Tragedy . • 29l
XIX. A Prisoner • 301
XX. Storm and Tempest . . . • • 3^
XXI. The Coroner, the Police, and tiie
Coming Assize 332
XXII. A Lie for a Lie 35l
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
♦
CHAPTER I.
how the trouble began.
" To see each other, to profess to love each other, to prove
it, to quarrel, to hate, then to separate, that one may seek a
new love—this is the history of a moment, and of every day
in the comedy of the world."—De Varennes.
"The Slav women have a natural grace and strength of
physique, an earnestness of face and fine white teeth that
should make up for the general absence of what in Western
Europe is called beauty of feature. But the Princess—or
barina, as they called her on her husband's estate—possessed
the native characteristic of form and figure with a peculiar
beauty of her own. She had, above all things, that which is
very rarely seen in the Russian woman, a blooming complexion.
It was as if all that is striking in the handsome, cultured, and
aristocratic Russian lady had found a happy commingling
with the typical grace of the woman of the people. Her gait
was regal, her mien queenly, and her voice was music. Not
an ordinary subject of the Czar, you will say; nor was she;
but do not tell me there are no beautiful Russians, and as for
hospitality, why the barina would often have her tumble-down
palace full of guests, and would slaughter no end of calves
and pigs in their honour."—Travels in Russia.
"A lady to see Milord Travers," was the
message of the concierge to the calm and self-
possessed valet of the English traveller.
" It is Madame the Princess," said Mellish
to his master, who rose up from his chair, six
B
2 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
feet odd of careless good nature, brown vel-
veteen, and calf-skin slippers, moved by con-
siderable surprise, not to say embarrassment.
" At this time of night ! " exclaimed
Travers, laying down a half smoked cigar,
dusting some of its ashes from the front of his
jacket, and shaking himself very much as a big
Newfoundland dog might after an unfinished
sleep.
The next moment, framed in the open door-
yvay, with its massive portiere drawn aside,
there stood before him a beautiful woman,
enveloped from head to foot in a cloak of
Russian sables.
" I have quarrelled with the Prince for the
last time; I am here ; I seek your protection,''
she said, in a voice made all the more musical
by a pretty, hesitating, foreign accent.
"Yes," said Travers; " won't you come in?"
"Ah, my friend," she answered, approach-
ing him, "you do not know what indignity ,1
have suffer, and yet my heart tells me it may
be for the best."
"I hope so," said Travers, offering her a
chair by the fire.
"I feel certain that it is so," the Princess
replied.
"The Prince may naturally resent your seek-
ing protection at my hands. What do you
think he will say when he is informed of your
visit, and at this time of night? "
"The Prince has finished what he has to
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN.
3
say," she answered, looking into the fire, her
pale, handsome face catching the ruddy light,
that emphasised the deep, golden red of her
wealth of rippled hair.
"You have taken a very serious step, Prin-
cess,,, Travers replied.
"Ah, you say so; you are not glad to see
me, you do not give me welcome," the Princess
replied, rising from her seat, and as she did so
her cloak of sables fell in a heap upon the floor,
disclosing her fair form in a soft, clinging
evening dress of black lace.
The effect was magical; even to Dick's some-
what slow imagination it suggested the sun
breaking through a sombre cloud. He looked
at his visitor with undisguised admiration, as
he said: " My dear Princess, I should not speak
the truth if I did not say you have given me
a surprise, and I cannot conceal from you or
from myself that the pleasure is as great as the
surprise."
" You English are reticent of nature. It is
your character, but when you speak it is the
truth; and yet I did not look to be received so
cold, so undemonstratif when I seek your
protection against insult—against blows."
4 4 Blows!'' exclaimed Dick.
441 carry their bruises, but I feel the pain
most in my heart, my pride; well, then, if I
seek your friendship in vain, why it is only to
go away again," and she stooped to pick up
her cloak.
4
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"No, no," said Dick, his face flushing; "1
am not a courtier, as you know, but I am at
your command ; it is for you to say what you
wish. I am your slave."
Madame held out her hand with the regal air
of an imperial station. Dick pressed the white
jewelled fingers to his lips, and the Princess
glided back into her seat before the fire.
"You relief my mind," she said, with a sigh.
"You make me happy."
" It is an honour and a delight to serve you,"
said Travers.
The Princess looked into the fire. Her atti-
tude was one of thoughtful repose. A small
foot, in satin shoe, peeped out from beneath
a white frilled petticoat. Her dress was cut
just sufficiently low—and that was all—to show
the white, lovely contour of her shoulders and
delicate bust. Her hair had partly fallen away
from the jewelled fastenings of brooch and pin.
Dick stood by her chair. Neither of them spoke
for some time. Dick felt his heart beat against
his waistcoat. He began to forget the Prince;
his sense of propriety gradually became dulled;
his thoughts were absorbed in the lovely image
before him.
Presently the lovely image looked up into his
face, with the somewhat matter-of-fact remark,
"The Prince leaves Paris early in the morning
for St. Petersburg. I told him I should seek
your advice, and your protection."
"Yes," said Travers, with an alternating
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN.
5
sense of pleasure and anxiety, " and what did
he say ? ''
" He replied, with a wolfish snarl, that I am
not his serf. Ah, my friend, had I been that,
he would have had me flogged, perhaps. You
know that the Prince and I have for a long
time understood the one and the other as to
our mutual responsibilities."
" You informed me on the ship," said
Travers, drawing a chair by her side, and
taking her soft white hand in his great paw.
" Do you love me as you tell me, oh, so
often ? " she asked.
A great diamond, lying serene* on the bodice
of her black lace dress, was not more lustrous
in the fire-light than her great languishing
violet eyes, into whose liquid depths the Eng-
lish traveller gazed with undisguised rapture.
"Do I love you!" he exclaimed. "By
heavens, I ought not to, but I do, with all my
soul," he said, kissing the upturned face.
"Ah, how happy we shall be," she mur-
mured.
Travers was not clever enough to shape
his best thoughts into words, but he was a man
of observation, and he had something of the
dumb poet in his nature.
It occurred to him that with all her culture
there was a great deal of the unsophisticated
character of the savage Princess in this beauti-
ful woman's wayward abandonment.
" Shall we not be very happy now that I have
6
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
come? " she asked, rising, and surveying the
room, still her hand in his.
" You have come to remain? "
"Oh yes."
" You have dismissed your carriage ?"
" Oh yes ! " she said in her dreamy way; and
then suddenly turning to him exclaimed, " Did
you not understand? "
u Why, dearest, of course," he said, more in
response to her upbraiding eyes than in reply
to her question.
" Did you not say on board thz-Oriental that
if ever I should desire a friend, a true friend, I
should come fo you ? "
u Yes, yes; of course, my love."
" And at the Embassy Ball, two nights ago,
that you died of envy of the Prince; and oh,
how you would give the world to call me your
own ? Mon Dieu! have I to remind you of
these things ? What have I done ? Oh, but it
is not too late : I go ! "
She took up her cloak, but as she wrapped it
about her fair shoulders, Travers suddenly drew
her into his arms.
" Princess, forgive me," he said, bending
over her, " I am mad with joy; I do not realize
the happiness you offer me; do not leave me.
I was only thinking of you—the trouble that
might come out of this love for you, not for
me, for you. I love you ! I love you!"
" Is it that I stay then?" she asked, her
cloak slipping to the ground, leaving her once
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN.
7
more in full view, a lovely woman in evening
dress, black lace and diamonds; syren-like,
beautiful, with hair of Titian hue, piled upon
her well shaped head and fastened with a poig-
nard sparkling with gems. Her complexion
was of that "rich " tone which Lord Beacons-
field always associated with the highest class of
aristocratic beauty. Her mouth was full and
generous in its lines; her nose somewhat small,
but giving piquancy to features that otherwise
might have seemed coarse, if not sensual. In
short she was a fine, well-built, handsome,
showy, graceful woman ; and one might well
be permitted to wonder why the Prince, her
husband, had parted from her with so much
apparent ease and freedom.
Having satisfied himself that the Princess
had really resolved to take up her abode, at
least for the time being, in the Place Vendome,
Travers summoned his man, a silent, respectful,
sleek, grey-headed servant—valet, secretary,
and sometimes companion, all in one—and re-
quested him to call Madame the housekeeper,
and meanwhile to bring some tea for Madame
the Princess.
" There are two rooms overlooking the quad-
rangle," said the Englishman to his lovely
guest, "they are occupied by the King's mes-
senger; I had set them apart for any such
guest, and I was going to ask a compatriot from
England to come and see me; but I little
thought how much more honoured the rooms
8
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
would be; to-morrow you shall refurnish them
as you please; to-night the housekeeper shall
make such arrangements as circumstances will
permit. What luggage have you ? "
"A very little for to-night; my maid, Estelle,
will bring it in a short time, and in the morn-
ing I will arrange for the remainder; you are
very thoughtful, dear friend."
" Tea for Madame the Princess," said Mel-
lish, the Englishman's valet, introducing, with
a silver tray upon which were various confec-
tions, a smart French maid, who proceeded
while she waited upon the Princess, to announce
that Madame the housekeeper would at once
present herself before milord for his com-
mands.
Milord, it will be well at once to state, was
simply Richard Gordon Travers, the only son
of the famous ironfounder of Middlesborough,
in England, and Middlesborough, in America,
Sir Gordon Travers, M.P., one of the wealthiest
of Northcountrymen, and one of the most de-
voted fathers in the world.
Travers had been educated at Oxford, but
had been unable to do more than get up a
tremendous reputation for strength of limb
and capacity for everything that combined
common sense with physical capacity. He
was a big-hearted, brave, kindly fellow, six feet
two in his stockings, with large hands and
feet, large mild grey eyes, a hearty laugh, and
a cultivated manner, that on a first acquaint-
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN.
9
ance suggested the brains of a don with the
easy air of a gentleman.
But when we meet Travers in Paris the
captive of Cupid's most lawless arrow, he had
only just returned from a three years' absence
in the wilds of Africa, where he had, at his own
expense, conducted an expedition of investiga-
tion and sport, and had " put in " at Paris, as he
phrased it, to get a taste of the finest civilisation
before he went down into the heart of York-
shire, to see his kith and kin and take a long
rest.
As luck or misfortune would have it, his
father was away; gone to Norway to see some
new mines, and was probably ignorant of Dick's
return. The traveller, therefore, felt little com-
punction in extending his visit to the gay city,
and awaiting news of his father. He had met
the Prince and Princess Mazaroff at Brindisi,
and had travelled with them to Paris. The
Princess had been the admired of all admirers
on board the P. and O. steamer, and Travers
had successfully competed with some half a
dozen gallants for her special favour; he had
joined her and the Prince in their state-room
at tiffin, had played ecartd with them and a
couple of French officers ; had lost heavily, and
with a charming sangfroid that had made him
quite pleasantly conspicuous.
Within only a few days the Princess had
confided to the easy-going young Englishman
the fact that she was not happy with the Prince;
IO THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
that she hated his country, that she was, in
short, a miserable wpman.
" Permit me to say that you do not look the
part," Travers had said; "you look as happy
as you are beautiful."
" Ah, you cannot read the heart," she had
replied; " and you think the Prince is sincere in
all the pretty compliment that he pay to me."
"He treats you, it seems to me, with great
courtesy and respect," Travers had replied.
"That is his cunning Russian way," she had
answered; "but you do not know him; some
day, perhaps, you will be better acquainted."
" But you are a Russian, Madame, are you
n°t?"
"I am a cosmopolitan, Monsieur," she re-
plied; "my father was a French count, my
mother a Russian of the Court of Alexander. I
have travelled much, I was married at seven-
teen, and I have never been a happy woman
until I met you ! "
With such a prologue as this, enacted in the
moonlight on sunny seas, it is not difficult to
imagine the possibilities of the scene which
opens our drama of life in these free-and-easy
days of the world's social revolutions.
"By Jove, I don't half like it!" said Travers,
when his guest had left the ro6m with the
housekeeper to be introduced to the apartments
which he had mentioned for her use. " I should
have had a bad quarter of an hour with an
English housekeeper, but an English milord,
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN. II
with his hands continually in his pocket, can do
what he likes on this side of the channel. I
have come across queer husbands in my time,
not to mention brutes, but Mazaroff is a rum
'un, as Mellish would say. Perhaps they manage
these things differently in Russia. I had pretty,
if dusky, ladies offered to me as presents away
beyond the Upper Congo, but no chief offered
me his wife. Well, Mazaroff has not exactly
done that! I suppose I shall get into some
deuce of a mess. One makes a tour of Europe
and Asia, and comes through a three years'
tramp of Africa, to get into trouble within the
last few miles of home. Well, that's common
enough. Speke carried his rifle through the
heart of Africa to shoot himself accidentally
at Bath. I have stood the fire of a thousand
flashing eyes in Italy, Egypt, Greece, Turkey,
France ; have indulged in mild flirtations with
ebony Venuses, to fall at last before a Russian,
and that Russian a wife and a Princess. What
will be the end of it? Well, who cares; in for
a penny, in for a pound! It is not my doing
—by Jove it is not. I would have avoided it.
Hello, Dick ! are you going on the old A.dam
lay—the woman tempted me and I did eat ?
No, old chap, take your pleasure and your
punishment like a man! "
If the Princess had said that the Prince had
bought her, a loveless bride, she would have
spoken the truth. He was thirty years her senior
—a shrivelled, querulous martinet, whom Khe-
12
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
rasoff, where he lived, neither loved nor
respected.
They had been married some three or four
years and had parted on two occasions, as was
known to the gossips of the town, who dis-
cussed the domestic differences of the Mazaroffs
with a freedom they did not permit themselves
in the more important matter of imperial policy.
Everybody admitted that the Princess was
much too good for the Prince. One of the
chief officials of the district, in an attempted
flirtation, had as good as told her so, but got
nothing by his candour. The Princess informed
him that when she desired his sympathy she
would send for him.
Everybody at Kherasoff knew that she and
the Prince had many and violent quarrels.
Indeed, at Kherasoff everybody knew every-
body else's business.
Once a year, in connection with some sinecure
office of Court and Government, Prince Maza-
roff was called upon to put in an appearance
at St. Petersburg; and it is not to be wondered
at that an excitable, vain, and beautiful woman
should have found in that city attractions
that were denied to Kherasoff.
A noble in the third degree, Mazaroff's
title of Prince had not the significance that
belongs to that distinction in some other coun-
tries; it nevertheless conferred honour and
distinction and precedence, flattered the vanity
of the Princess, gave her the entree to the
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN.
13
very highest society, and enabled her to com-
pare her dull, stupid, martinet of a husband
with the more gallant men of the social world
of St. Petersburg, and later with the men of
Paris and Berlin. Mazaroff often treated her
as if she were a serf; he had occasional fits of
drunkenness, in which he forgot that she was
his wife, and in various ways gave her cause
for anger and retaliation; and as Kherasoff
well knew, she had twice left him for several
months, to return each time, after a visit to his
relatives in St. Petersburg, with diamonds and
brocades fit for an imperial princess. It was
whispered that she had broken the bank at
Monte Carlo ; it was boldly Stated that she had
a wealthy friend at Court who was not even a
cousin ; and the most that even her few friends
could say for her was that she had come into
a fortune in her own right. As for the Prince,
he rode about his barren acres, exercised a
little official authority over the local police,
dispensed a certain mean but ostentatious hos-
pitality, got drunk once a week, received his
few rents when he could, sold his farm produce
how he might, got his official pay with happy
regularity, and did not care a copeck for
anything or anybody.
On an unexpected and secret mission—
arranged by his wife without his knowledge, or
even a suspicion of what she had done—the
Prince had recently visited one of the Russian
posts in Asia, had made a short stay at
14 the princess mazaroff.
Algiers, and had curiously enough stayed for
some time at Alexandria, accompanied of
course by his wife, whose beauty and extrava-
gance had astonished and delighted the
English and other travellers who had had the
honour of introductions to their Russian high-
nesses. Prince Mazaroff had himself been
more than astonished, he had been annoyed
at the pointed attentions lavished upon his
wife by certain fellow voyagers, whose more
than courteous admiration the Princess had
appeared to encourage and accept.
And thus the Prince and Princess had found
themselves on board the same steamer as that
upon which Travers was sailing homewards.
On the day before the Princess appeared,
without announcement or ceremony, at Travers's
rooms, she and the Prince had had their latest
and most violent quarrel. It had begun with
lightning flashes and tempest, and the mis-
chief done, it had ended in a deep dead calm.
"Let us say no more,'' said the Princess.
" I hate you, and there is an end of it."
"You do not permit me to do anything
more than reciprocate that most unnatural feel-
ing," said the Prince, with vicious courtesy.
"Very well, then let us part."
"For the third and last time," said the
Prince; "is it so?"
" It is so," she said sharply, each little word
like a pistol shot.
" And where will you go this time—to
HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN. 15
whom will you go, I should say if I were the
brute you make me out to be! "
" Well, you have said it. You make the
question no better by apologising for it. I
will tell you. I shall go to Mr. Richard Gordon
Travers ; he has taste and appreciation."
" And money," said the Prince, with a sneer.
"Yes, he paid your winnings without a word."
"Why should he not ? "
" No reason that I know of; but you remarked
that he had money."
"I hope he is very rich," said the Prince,
tugging at his white moustache, and wrinkling
his narrow forehead.
" Let me give you a parting declaration."
" The very last? " he remarked, interrupting
her with a scoffing smile.
" Yes, the very last."
" Then I must bear it."
" You must! If I had met this English gentle-
man before Fate had doomed me to you and
Kherasoff, if he had been the veriest miserable,
I could have loved him—yes, loved him. You
bought me. I own it—bought and paid for me.
But I would have given myself to this man,
and been his slave; I would have worked for
him, tended him in sickness and sorrow, would
have been his abject, devoted, loving wife.
Yes, take that home to your barren halls at
Kherasoff; you have never been a husband to
me; you do not know what it is to love or
hate. I despise you!"
16 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFP.
She hissed these last words between her teeth,
her eyes flashing fire.
The Prince shrank from her for a moment;
then recovering himself said, with an effort at
calmness, " Thank you, Princess; then it is
farewell at last, not au revoir?''
^ It is farewell," she said, taking up her
cloak and drawing a fur hood over her head.
" Farewell for ever!"
And while the Princess, torn with passion
and indignation, went straightway to the ad-
dress which Travers had given her in case she
needed a friend, the Prince, with the assistance
of his body servant, packed his personal be-
longings for an immediate departure to St.
Petersburg, en route for his gloomy palace at
Kherasoff.
CHAPTER II.
the snow falls, the fire burns.
"Young-, beautiful, disappointed, ill-used; she was born
with an infinite capacity for love and friendship. There was
in her soul a well-spring of that holy spirit of self-sacrifice
that gives inspiration to heroic natures. . . . Such women
are not infrequently wrecked by ill-assorted unions and
marriages of convenience. . . . You know not when Fate
is at your elbow. It is not necessary to go forth into the wilds
of Africa to seek him. He shadows you when you least suspect
him. Beware of the day when you are most happy ! . . .
The slavery of Passion is a bitter bondage, but the slavery of
Love is holiday. . . . The revenge of a woman scorned is
as 'a tiger's spring,' so saith the poet Byron, 'deadly and
quick and crushing.' "—Christopher Kenrickts Note Book.
fi There are strange coincidences in life ; they occur so
d propos that the strongest minds are impressed, and ask if
that mysterious and inexorable fatality in which the ancients
believed is not really the law that governs the world."—Alfred
Mercier.
" I hope you like your rooms," said Dick the
next morning at breakfast.
"Very much," said the Princess, smiling
sweetly upon her host.
"Your maid is comfortable, too, I trust?"
said Dick.
"Most comfortable,*" was Madame's reply,
"and you?"
"Oh, I'm all right," said Dick, taking a cup
of coffee which Mellish handed to him.
c
18 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"You have charming apartments; better than
the Prince's at the Grand," said Madame.
" Yes, a friend introduced me to this house
oddly enough three years ago, and I found the
same accommodating and agreeable hostess
here on my return; I telegraphed from Brin-
disi, and my Paris agents secured the place for
me."
"You are thoughtful for your comforts."
" When I get back to civilisation, yes," said
Dick. " Out yonder, in Africa, one has to rough
it. Won't you take a little more chicken? "
"No, thank you. As you were saying,
you——"
" Oh, about roughing it; I can do that as
well as any fellow; and.I can do the other
thing; the best is good enough for me."
" The best! Of course," she said, " and for
me, too."
" Hand Madame the peaches," said Travers
to Mellish, who was watchful, silent, and alert.
Mellish handed to Madame a dish of
peaches, the cost of which, in the summer,
would be something not to be forgotten in
Paris ; but in the winter, Dick's breakfast table,
which was a picture of rare fruits and flowers,
must have been an enormous item in his weekly
bill; but he could afford it; and it amused him,
after his scanty fare in the wilds of Africa, to
heap luxury upon luxury and make feasting a
function of importance. His rooms overlooked
the Place Vendome. They were already deco-
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 19
rated with many of his trophies of the chase
and his relics of savage life, though the bulk
of his collection had gone on, in many cases, to
the Old Hall in Yorkshire.
The eyes of the Princess wandered about the
room, with its three tall windows and its sue-
cessful attempt at a bright and luxurious fire.
She noted all the evidences of wealth and power
that the apartment seemed to suggest. Dick
had been making purchases in Paris for Eng-
lish friends, and they were scattered about;
silver cups, trophies in gold, knives, dressing
cases, jewellery, curious cabinets, laces, and
various other works of Parisian art.
" I have brought home for some of them skins
and idols, knives, spears, elephants' tusks, and
what not; but after all Paris has so many things
that are useful and pretty that I want to sup-
plement the African curios with a few really
good things that Yorkshire will appreciate, even
more perhaps than trifles it has taken me both
time and trouble to get—not to mention an occa-
sional risk of bullets and arrows; Mellish and
I have had some roughish times at what they
call collecting, eh Mellish ? "
" Yes, Excellency," Mellish replied.
" Look here, Mellish," said Dick, " you must
begin to get out of this 'Excellency' business
now; all very well in the east; all very well
when you were in competition with those swell
valets at Cairo, but ' Sir' is good enough now
and henceforth."
c 2
20 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
44 Yes, sir," said Mellish.
" And now you may have these things
removed."
44 Yes, sir."
44 And perhaps you will smoke a cigarette in
the best parlour, as we shall call yonder little
room over the porchway, eh Princess?"
44 By all means, very happy," the Princess
replied, taking the Englishman's arm and
thanking him with a pleasant smile.
Whatever the reader may think of the Prin-
cess in other respects, let me assure them that it
is not considered indecorous, even in the best
Russian society, for a lady to smoke. Indeed,
in some Russian houses the ladies retire to
smoke and chat as gentlemen do in England.
It would, nevertheless, have appeared shock-
ingly Bohemian—and worse—to some of Dick's
Yorkshire friends, if they could have seen him
and the Princess smoking even the daintiest
cigarettes in the best parlour, as he called the
cosy place adjoining the principal apartment of
his double suite of rooms ; it might better have
been called a boudoir—so light and elegant
the furniture, so soft and inviting the cushioned
chairs and lounges.
There was a fire burning on the hearth worthy
of an English home; and the Princess was very
happy.
44 What a kind fate it was that made us
friends," she said, looking at him through a
delicate wreath of smoke.
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 21
" Fate has been good to me always I think,"
said Dick, sitting by her side, and taking her
white hand in his great brawny fist.
"You have deserved it," she said. "You
have the most kind eyes, the most generous
hand."
" Ah, Princess, you overwhelm me ; my eyes
are kind inasmuch as they reflect the light of
your own, my hand generous through the touch
of yours."
" Dear friend ! you have seen many beautiful
women in your travels, eh ? "
" None that could compare with you, Prin
cess."
" Call me Anissia, will you not? That is my
baptismal name, and it will sound sweet as
music on your lips. "
"Anissia!" Dick exclaimed, bending over
to kiss her willing lips.
"And you will call me Dick, will you not?
My name is Richard ; my friends call me Dick,
for short."
" I will call you Deek, for love," she said.
" Deek, how sweet it is, my love of loves; all
my life has been wasted until now."
Dick felt himself blush under the fervid
glance of Anissia's languishing eyes. It was
something quite new to him to be made love
to in this fashion ; and it was something new,
too, for the Princess to be so carried away by
her feelings.
If it may be permitted to speak of the love
22
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
of a woman for a man, who is not her husband,
she being still a married woman, the Princess
was perfectly sincere in her love for her English
host. Her heart had never been touched until
she met him. She had seen the world, had
mixed in its gaieties, had met many of the best
and bravest men in the best society on the
continent and in Russia; but it was the fate
of Richard Travers to light that divine spark
in the woman's heart, that, when it burns with
reciprocal fires in the object loved, makes a
paradise on earth, giving to human imagination
a foretaste of the heaven that is beyond.
It is possible that in these liberal days there
are wise men and women, respectable men and
women, belonging to learned societies in Lon-
don, New York, and Boston, who would not
hesitate to justify the love of the Princess Maza-
roff, and the conduct of Richard Gordon Travers.
It was not Anissia's fault that she had not met
-Travers before she was betrothed to the Prince.
As for Dick, he had no responsibilities to any
other woman. He was not married, not even
engaged; he was a free man, a bachelor who
had not yet met his affinity unless this was her,
this Princess of the red-gold hair, and violet
eyes; and there are, no doubt, some of those
wise and thoughtful ladies of the societies of
Shelley and Browning, of Sorosis and Blavat-
sky, who would glory in the triumph of her beauty
over the great, strong, unimaginative, honest
Englishman, who had braved the dangers of
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS.' 23
savage tribes, of river, and morass, of wild ani-
mals and deadly climates; who had fought both
wild beasts and wild men, had done battle with
Nature too in her wildest haunts, and had come
out of the wilderness the calm, modest fellow
that he was, when, without flag or banner, with-
out troop or trumpet, he had entered upon his
great march of discovery.
Whatever the opinion of the wise men and
women of these cultured days of Communism,
Ibsenism, Shelleyism, and Theosophy, there
was undoubtedly a deal of human nature in the
loves of Anissia the Princess, and Travers the
pioneer; and one can hardly see how Travers at
least could have avoided the situation in which
he found himself on this winter day in Paris, when
the snow falling without, made " the best par-
lour" the very best place in the world, the
warmest, the coziest, and the most delightful.
44 One day, when you know me still better
than you know me now," said the Princess,
"shall I not get a divorce from Prince Mazaroff,
and let us two be married indeed; ah, do not
speak, you only know me yet for my great love ;
but you shall make yourself satisfy of my posi-
tion, my career, my honour, my truth; and for
you I ask not one single question—I love you;
I place your foot upon my neck, I am your bond-
woman, your serf, your slave."
She buried her face in his neck, and sobbed.
Dick took her into his arms and swore to her his
everlasting constancy. And he meant it at the
24
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
moment. All his heart was in the declaration.
Home, father, friends, sister, everything-, every'
body were forgotten in that fond embrace.
The snow fell without; the white flakes pass-
ing the window looked like down from angelic
wings. The wood fire upon the marble hearth
made a pleasant splutter, and the atmosphere
was full of the perfume of pine logs and roses.
From the window the Napoleon column and all
its surroundings were blocked out of view by the
falling snow; not that either the Princess or her
lover had been concerned with the outer view, or
with the falling snow; they were as egotistical
as most youthful lovers; and they had no know-
ledge of the shadow that was growing up behind
the sunshine of their happy vows of constancy.
The shadow was there all the same. You
cannot break the most ordinary laws of society
and the world, the most commonplace laws of
life without some after payment, some unex-
pected but certain punishment. There are
pleasures, many think, that are worth the pay-
ment which law and nature exact; but you may
not regulate your punishment ; you may not
compromise with fate; you cannot devise nor
measure the nature of the penalty.
The Princess began her penance within a
month of her new life of love.
Travers grew restless. He must go home, he
said, for a time. His father had returned. Very
shortly his sister was to be married. His friends
too had learnt of his arrival in Paris. The
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 25
Princess hinted her desire to go with him ; but
he had said immediately, " I will return to you;
they would not understand you at present, my
people; they are simple-minded folk with curi-
ously straight-laced ideas; my sister, for in-
stance, found more horror in the reflection that
I should see naked savages on my journey than
in the notion that I might have to fight with
them."
" Ah 1 she knew how the women would admire
you, and how easily you would vanquish the
men," said the Princess.
Dick's splendid physique, his noble stature,
his courage, were the constant themes of the
Princess, who associated with his manfulness all
the great stories she had heard of the bravery
of the English; and she did not forget that
she once heard a certain veteran of the Russian
army, who had fought in the Crimea, pay tri-
bute to the splendour of English valour, of which
to her mind Richard Travers was the very em-
bodiment.
A few days after the Princess had settled
down with her maid, Estelle, in the rooms set
apart for her in the Travers suite, this splendid
physique and courage, which were the admira-
tion of Anissia, were put to a rough and vigorous
test.
Travers was in the habit of visiting at the
Hotel Bristol a friend whom he had encoun-
tered during his travels, a sportsman like him-
self, and a man to whom the hard work of
26 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
pioneering- was a recreation and a pleasure. He
lounged into the hotel after breakfast, in his
brown velveteen jacket, to smoke a cigar and
talk over the news of the day. The Princess
had laughed at his careless mode of dress, but
Dick said an old coat was like an old friend, it
fitted your temper and your mood, and you were
at home with it. Anissia allowed that he looked
picturesque in it, and so he did. It was a kind
of old-fashioned shooting coat, with many
pockets, a trifle faded, but perfect in cut and fit.
He wore with it a white silk neckerchief, tied in
a sailor's knot; a pair of grey trousers, and
untanned boots, and a brown felt hat.
As he stood at the hotel door, smoking a
cigar and chatting with his friend, a casual
acquaintance, he looked the very picture ot a
well-bred English country gentleman ; his laugh
was loud and frank, his teeth white and strong;
he wore a slight moustache, his hair was brown
and closely cropped, and he was the very
embodiment of health and strength.
Suddenly, there was a great cry in the Rue
Castiglione, and the next moment a pair of
horses, with a close carriage, came dashing into
the Place at a furious speed. "A gendarme
rushed at their heads and was traippled upon.
The driver fell from the box as the wheels went
over the prostrate officer, and the carriage
rocked like a ship in a storm; the horses flew
onward, scattering sparks at every blow on the
granite roadway. The lookers on were para-
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 2J
lysed : all of them except Travers, who, calmly
dropping" his cigar, flung himself upon the
mad team. There was a sudden quick and
desperate struggle, in which man and horses
were for a moment a confused mass; and the
next, all three stood trembling in the midst of
an excited crowd.
From the carriage there stepped forth, pale
and anxious, a white-headed gentleman and a
young woman, his daughter. They were Eng-
lish. The coachman, having gathered himself
together, and being only slightly hurt, came
up as Travers was walking away. He pointed
him out to the lady and her father; the lady ran
forward to speak to their preserver.
" Oh, sir, pray accept our thanks, at least,"
she said; "you have probably saved our lives
—at least, you risked your own."
"Not at all, my dear young lady; it was
nothing, I assure you."
" But your hand is bleeding," she exclaimed.
" Oh papa, see, he is hurt! "
"It is only a scratch," said Dick, wrapping
his handkerchief about his hand. "I assure you
it is nothing ! "
"My dear sir, we are deeply indebted to you."
" That's all right; we are all English ; don't
let us make a fuss about it. I am used to horses,
and I am not hurt, believe me."
The girl shrank back at his earnest protest
against what he called a fuss, but her brown
eyes rested admiringly upon his face, and he
28
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
was proud of his countrywoman. She was tall,
graceful, stately—not pretty, but distinguished.
There was something more than beauty in the
expression of her fair face, there was purity and
truth.
As Dick raised his hat and strode away, he
felt the better for having seen her; and some-
how, while he related the incident to the Prin-
cess, who had heard of it from Mellish, a curious
feeling of reserve came over him. He did not
wish to describe his young countrywoman to
the Princess; it was as if he were introducing a
sweet, pure, high-minded girl to questionable
society. He was half angry with himself for
the feeling, and he was glad to excuse himself
from further questions.
"I must wash the dirt from my hands," he
said; and then the Princess saw that he was hurt.
" Oh, mon Dieu ! " she exclaimed, •' you
bleed, you are hurt! " and as he reassured her
and went to his room with Mellish, he found
himself thinking of the difference between the
two voices and the two women who had ad-
dressed him almost in the same words ; and
there was a sweet, familiar, home-like music
in the simple, pure English of the young girl
with the brown eyes, the memory of which
affected him almost to tears. But the truth was,
his hand was badly lacerated, and strong and
masterful as he was, he felt faint and ill.
" Some brandy, Mellish," he said, turning
pale.
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 2Q
" Here it is," said the watchful Mellish.
Travers took a deep draught, and sat down
by his dressing table.
" Hot water, the sponge, some lint," he said.
"Yes, sir, they are here."
" Cut my sleeve off."
" Yes, sir."
The coat was duly mutilated, and in a few
minutes the wound was dressed and bandaged ;
but Travers carried to his death a severe
souvenir of his service to the fair young
Englishwoman and her father, who left Paris
the next morning, but not without desiring the
director of their hotel if possible to find out the
name of their compatriot, that they might at
least write to him from England a formal letter
of gratitude. But they heard nothing from the
hotel, and Travers did not seek to learn who
the girl might be. He rather tried to forget
her and the incident altogether; while on the
contrary she thought of it continually, and trea-'
sured the memory of his rather shy look, and
his somewhat bashful protest that he had done
nothing, and did not desire a fuss.
Time wore on. The Princess began to feel
that she was not so important a factor in Dick's
life as she desired to be. She pretended to be
jealous, perhaps she was. Her love was exact-
ing. She professed one day that she thought
the attraction for Dick at the Hotel Bristol was,
not his comrade, but his comrade's wife. This
irritated Dick just a little; the suspicion was
30 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
so utterly unfounded. On another occasion,
when he lingered with especial fondness over
a letter from his sister, the Princess playfully
remarked that she was glad the billet doux from
Mademoiselle of the pale face and the brown
eyes, the heroine of the affair of the runaway
horses, was so very chic and tender. Dick did
not understand this kind of espionage, and he
said so; but these little shadows were soon
dispersed by the sunshine of Anissia's afifec-
tionate penitence and deep regrets. The truth
is the Princess felt in her heart that her hold
upon her English lover was not'the firm, strong
influence of a pure and righteous love; and
she bewailed her fate that it was not so, for she
felt that it might have been ; she felt that she
had been cheated out of her chance of esteem
and honour; and yet it might have been true,
as she told Travers over and over again, that he
could never again win a love such as hers, so
absorbing, so self-denying, so constant, and so
sincere. It would possibly have been better
for the Princess had she been less fond. Dick
hated what he called scenes, and he loved
freedom.
One day, towards the end of what she called
her first month of happy days, the Princess,
recounting some of the legends of her native
Russia, had dwelt nervously upon a tale of love
and vengeance which was a verified chapter of
the local annals of Kherasoff. A woman had
given up everything for a man ; she loved him
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 31
with all a woman's devotion; he left her for
another; she tracked him down in some dis-
tant land, and killed him and herself, leaving
that other woman to mourn her lover, and even
to be in danger of having to expiate his death.
" If you were to desert me, Deek," she said,
laying her head upon his shoulder, and looking
up into his genial face, " I believe I could kill
you."
" Well, and you may if I do desert you," he
said, laughing; but he was conscious, as he
said so, of a chilly feeling in the region of his
heart.
" Do you know what is stronger than love ? "
she asked, still gazing into his face.
"No, my dear; what is ? "
" Hate," she said; " hate is stronger than
love! "
"And could you hate me?" he asked,
stroking her hair, and stooping to kiss her
eyelids.
" Yes, if I saw you doing to some other
woman what you just then did to me."
"You will never see that, my dear."
" I could almost hate you if I suspected it,"
she went on, with a strange persistency.
" But, my dear, why do you think of such
things ? What is the matter ? "
" Don't you think that outraged woman who
killed them both had the right of justice with
her. Was it not a righteous revenge ? "
" It was a very cruel one," said Dick.
32 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"It is your sister who is to be married,
eh? " asked the Princess, without noticing his
remark.
" My sister, yes ; why do you ask ? "
" You seem so much interested; I never had
a sister; I never had a brother; so I do not
know what it is to love a sister or a brother;
and your eyes flash when you speak of your
sister or your father."
"I love them, Anissia, and I have not seen
them—think of it—for close upon three years ;
think of it, and you will understand that I must
leave you for a little while."
"Yes," she said mournfully, withdrawing her
eyes, and seating herself by the fire. " Yes,
you must; oh, but I do not like a parting
when one loves ! Who can tell when we meet
again ? I want a gift from you."
"Name it; the world does not contain any-
thing I would not give you."
" Oh, it is not much; you have given me
your love, what more can I ask? It is that
knife with your name engraven upon it, that
knife which saved your life in that jungle fight
with'the Wanyema."
" It is a strange gift," said Dick.
" If you do not come back to me when you
say, if you are not true to me I will kill myself
with that knife; so you may know, dear friend,
that if you wish to be rid of me, I shall not
stand in your way. I shall know how to
die."
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 33
44 It makes me miserable to hear you talk
like this ; you are not well."
" Will you give me that knife, dear one ? "
''Give it you, yes, since you ask it; but
promise me you will not unsheath it until we
meet again."
She hesitated, and he kissed her fervently,
with fresh expressions of love and with an
urgent repetition of his request that she would
make the promise he desired.
"Yes, I promise," she said, taking from him
the knife in its heavy leathern sheath.
" A very ugly gift for a lady," he said, " like
its master; do you know, Anissia, at college
they used to call me ugly Travers. They did,
really. And I was a cub, you bet, as my Yankee
friends say."
" Ugly! they were barbarians; nor is any-
thing ugly you ever touched or wore; it is
made ideal. Oh, mon ami, you will always
love me!"
"Always, indeed," said Dick; who did not
disguise from himself, when he presently retired
to his own room to write some letters, that she
had rather bored him of late with her doubts
and fears, and her everlasting demands of vows
and assurances of his love. Now that he began
to think of home and friends he found his interest
drifting very much away from Paris, and his
love for the Princess, somehow, only a part of
his sojourn in the gay city. He begun to wish
she loved him less or disguised it more. It was
D
34 the princess mazaroff.
rather a bother to have a woman perpetually
calculating what she should do if he deserted
her. She was not his wife; there was no par-
ticular moral claim upon him to go on spoon-
ing and love-making. For a moment he almost
wished that he had never seen her; and yet
when he recalled the dream-like time he had
had in her society, the something like paradise
that she had made of his stay in Paris, he
was inclined to upbraid himself for ingrati-
tude.
" You are thinking of me," said a soft voice
at his elbow. " I know it by my heart beating
fast. You are wondering if you still love me,
or if it is not all a dream. Is it not so ? "
"I Was thinking of you," Dick replied;
wheeling his chair from the writing, table and
facing her.
" And you are writing to tell your sister you
are coming ? "
" Yes, dearest, I was telling her of the train
that I hoped to catch and the time it would
land me at York, where they are to meet me
with the carriage."
"And you will come back to me in one
month ? "
"Yes, in four weeks, perhaps earlier; and,
Princess, I want to ask you a favour."
" You call me Princess ; why ? "
" Anissia, then, don't be unkind; I called
you Princess in connection with the thought I
had about you."
THE SNOW FALLS, THE FIRE BURNS. 35
" Yes, it was a kind thought, I am sure. I
see it in your eyes—hear it in your voice."
" You will not be offended at what I am
going to say, will you? "
"No, dear."
"You will not want to unsheath that ugly
knife and kill me," he said, taking her face
between his great hands and kissing it.
"Ah, you laugh at me !" she said, kissing
him in return.
"No, truly, I do not laugh; and if I do
it would only be to make you feel cheerful,
and to let you see that you need not fear I
shall not come back to the day, to the minute;
how do you think I am going to stay away
from you ? How do you think I am going to
live without you ? ''
" I do not think you are going to live without
me," she said, just a trifle grimly, considering
his protestations; " but what is the favour you
ask?"
"We have never spoken of money, you and
I," he said; "but there is no getting along
without it, is there ? And, now don't frown,
as I shall be away for a whole month, I want
to say that I have opened an account at the
Paris bank in your name, and that this little
parcel directed to you contains a cheque
book."
" That is thoughtful, dear, and I like you for
it—love takes account of such things. I do
not need it, but I accept it as you give it; and
d 2
36 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
it shall open when you return, to make festival
in honour of that happy day! Will that please
you? "
" Spoken like the noble woman you are !
and now, Anissia, trust me, will you not? "
" I will," she said; "no more tears, no
more questions, no more doubts; you are
mine, I am yours; I trust you with my life and
soul I"
CHAPTER III.
"A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS."
"She sat alone and waited, nursing her hopes and fears
Chance had led her into an unlooked-for world of bliss. Fate
was jealous of her happiness. Already dark clouds were
gathering about the sun, and Love cowered, fearful of the storm.
"He mistook passion for love; and bonds which at first
were silver, soft, and pleasant to the touch, became as iron
chains that galled the flesh."—The Keepsake.
And so they went their several ways to per-
dition ; for it could not be that there was any
hope in the future for a husband so careless
of his wife's honour as the Prince Mazaroff
had shown himself to be; nor for a wife so
regardless of name and fame as the Princess;
nor for an honest Yorkshire gentleman, who
could make love to another man's wife, and
receive her as his guest.
Such, at all events, must be the conclusion of
the virtuous and honourable reader; and the
historian of these adventures is bound to admit
that the outlook is not without suggestions of
toil and trouble. Have we not, indeed, already
felt the shadow that has fallen on the high
spirits of the Princess herself?
Truth to tell, the Princess Mazaroff was in
love for the first time. She had lived in an
38
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
atmosphere of social freedom that had lulled
her appreciation and understanding of what is
right and wrong, where the promptings of the
senses are concerned.
If one wanted an instance of the influences
of heredity, the case of the Princess Mazaroff
might easily be quoted.
The author of " Marriage and Heredity" is
careful to explain that no fixed laws of morality
or virtue are to be found in human nature.
Habits and circumstances are the basis of
morality. What is regarded as right in the
East is not necessarily right in the West.
Even neighbouring countries, like France and
England, set up different standards of pro-
priety; but all nations agree that the traitor
who, especially in war-time, leaves his own
country to betray it to the enemy, is a villain
of the deepest dye; and such was Anissia's
father, who during the Crimean campaign did
this for Russia. Her mother was a native
Russian of decent family, whose dowiy came
from the Governor of the Province.
From her father, Anissia received the best
part of her education, more particularly in lan-
guages. Her beauty must have been trans-
mitted with her red-gold hair, her deep violet
eyes, and her delicate yet fine physique. She
possessed the beauty of some great ancestress,
her mother's capacity for love, her father's
crooked courage; she was a strange mixture
of good and evil, of passion and devotion ;
"a mad world, my masters." 39
and it was an ill day for her, and an ill day for
him, when she met Richard Gordon Travers—
or as she now called him, in her pretty broken
English, Deek!
The only one of the trio who did not worry
himself about what had happened was the
Prince; but he had so few years to stay in this
world, that he had become philosophically
selfish, and had determined to take things easy.
If Anissia had been guided more by her head
than her heart, she would have laughed when
Deek left her, instead of crying, in spite of her
declaration that there should be no more tears,
no more questions, and no more doubts. Her
maid could do nothing with her. She would
not be comforted ; she would not go out.
Opera, theatre, ball, nothing had any more
attraction for her. The things she had loved
she loved no more. She would not even dress
herself; she lay upon her couch and moaned :
her eyes were almost as red as her hair; her
face as pale as her white silk dressing-gown.
"Madame," exclaimed the maid, "you will
kill yourself."
" Let me, let me," she replied.
"But why? "
" I shall never see my love again—never."
"Oh yes, in a month," said the maid,
smoothing her hair.
" Never, I feel it in my heart; oh, if we had
never met! "
"Then, perhaps, you would never have
40
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
loved, dear Princess, and at least you have
been happy."
"Yes, too happy; but only for one short
hour, as it seems, and not rightly happy,
Estelle ; and something of that it was he said,
I could not understand, only feel. Oh, I am
most wretched !''
" But you will be better soon ; it is cold, and
there is snow, and that makes you sad."
" The snow falls upon my heart, Estelle, like
a grave, as if it would bury my love and leave
me widowed indeed, desolate, lost! "
" My dear, sweet Madame, I have never seen
you so triste, you make me cry. What shall I
do for you ?"
" Leave me alone,. Estelle, with my grief. Do
not weep, it is only I who should weep."
"But why? He will come again; he says
so ; I hear him ; and to me he said, ' We shall
meet again.' "
" Ah, yes; but there is something when one
loves for the first time, Estelle, that gives a
woman a second sight; she reads in the future ;
she knows by the tone of the voice, the turn of
the hand, the glance of the eye, whether all her
love is returned. Why could I not have tra-
veiled with him ? His kindred would not have
cared for me. No, he did not say so, but he
thought like that; and they are severe in their
marriage laws, the English, and their women
are statues of virtue; and oh, Estelle, my heart
will break!"
"A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS." 41
Estelle kneeled by the side of the couch and
rocked the Princess as if she had been a child,
rocked her and cooed to her, sung snatches of
songs, and patted her wet cheeks, and mur-
mured sweet, reassuring words. Presently, all
of a sudden, and with passion, the Princess
rose to her feet.
• " But if he should desert me, let him pray to
Heaven. I will show him no mercy. I told him
hate is stronger than love. If we women are
constant in love, what are we in hate ? Estelle,
hold me, I think I am going mad ! "
Estelle twined her arms about the trembling
limbs of the beautiful woman—picturesque in
her distress, unconsciously artistic in every
movement—and led her to her chamber.
Dick Travers breathed a deep sigh of relief
when he was fairly settled in his special coupe
for Calais. He did not trouble the faithful
Mellish to minister to him as Estelle had been
called upon to minister to the Princess.
Mellish sat calmly in the adjoining compart-
ment, but he was thinking of what he called
"the rum go" in which his master had been
engaged.
Men and women were more or less " rum-
'uns " to Mellish, and life generally was "a
rum go." He took things very quietly, all the
same. His coolness under fire in the bush on
one memorable occasion had obtained for him
a reputation for courage; yet, after all, his
seeming stoicism and pluck were nothing more
42
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
than a matter of habit. Mellish had come of
an old family of retainers. The acme of perfect
service is repose. The Mellish family had been
trained in this belief. They had an aptitude
for service ; and Dick's servant, Ephraim Mel-
lish, the descendant of the Mellishes of plush
and butler renown in Yorkshire, was worthy of
the best traditions of his race.
" I wonder what Mellish thinks of it all,"
said Dick to himself, as the train began to
steadily beat the iron rails on its way to Calais.
" I would like to know. He'll say nothing but
what is wise and discreet, I know that; but I
wonder what he thinks. Am I, in his opinion, a
devil of a fellow or an utter bad lot; a knowing
one, or a fool? Of course he is of opinion that
the Princess is 1 a rum'un' ; perhaps he thinks
she is not a Princess at all."
Knowing how little Mellish would say, even if
he asked him questions, and really regardless
of Mellish's opinions about anything, it was
odd that Travers should trouble himself as to
what Mellish thought of his doings in Paris;
and it said a great deal for Anissia's forebod-
ings that Dick's thoughts should be running
in such a trivial direction—the possible opini-
ons of Mellish in regard to their happy time
and the future that he had promised her.
By-and-by Dick drew from his coat a pocket-
book containing several letters which he had
not yet opened. One was from his sister,
another from an old college chum, his one dear,
" A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS." 43
close, intimate friend, John Tremont—the Rev.
John Tremont—who had carried off the highest
honours at Oxford, while Dick had literally done
nothing but establish a reputation for being a
jolly good fellow, and the best and bravest of
athletes.
" Let's see what my sister says first," he
said to himself, bending over her letter. " Wei-
comes me home, of course; the Old Hall opens
its arms to me; father has just returned from
Norway, sends his best love, and is impatient
for my coming."
" The dear old chap," Dick exclaimed, laying
the letter aside for several minutes and looking
meditatively at the flying landscape.
Then, continuing the letter, he went on read-
ing, " You will hardly know the place, so many
improvements, but your rooms are just the
same; father would not have them touched,
except to have them cleaned up and all that.
It has been hinted that father can have a
peerage if he desires it, and that is one of the
many things he wants to talk to you about; he
would not, as you know, dear Dick, have
accepted the baronetage, only that he desired
to leave a title for you when he is gone, which
we hope will be never, though I suppose we are
all mortal after all. How often we have all
prayed for your safe return, dear Dick; and
how often we have been afraid something
serious had happened to you; indeed, we had
presentiments about you once or twice. You
44
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
approve of Howarth Selby, whom I am going
to marry, do you not? I am sure you do."
" Well, I don't know," said Dick again, look-
ing meditatively through the carriage window.
" Howarth Selby! Three years seems an eter-
nity when you want to remember a fellow you
don't know much about, and don't care much
about. The Selbys of Lee; first-rate family;
oh, yes, he's all right; I remember him in the
Yorkshire Eleven when they beat the Mid-
dlesex fellows at Lord's; oh, yes, he'll do.
Besides, you would not be likely to love a chap
who was not all he should be, sister Gertie!
But where is the fellow who is all he ought to
be, eh ? Well, well; we have to take the world
as we find it. What's the next news, Gertie?
Oh, the tenants are going to turn out to wel-
come me ! I wish they wouldn't. Shall have
to make a speech. What shall I say ? By
Jove, what a lot I could say if I only knew
how!"
Once more the landscape became very in-
teresting to Dick Travers, and many of the
incidents of the past three years passed before
his mind, gradually leading up to the final
picture of his long absence from home—the
Princess drying her tears and saying " Au
revoir." " Poor Princess!" he said, with a
sigh ; and then folding up his sister's letter and
replacing it in his pocket-book, he opened that
from Charlton-Cleeve, in Worcestershire, and
read as follows:—
" A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.'* 45
" My dear Dick. How happy your father
and sister must be at your safe return ; I think
I know how happy by my own feelings. I wish
I could go and help them to receive you at
the Old Hall, but I am tied here by duty and
habit, by work and books, and by many other
things. My heart will be with you all the same,
you know that, old friend.
"It is strange that our paths in life should
have been so divergent, yours leading all over
the world, mine bounded almost by the frontiers
of this little parish in a very interesting county;
and I have a great world in my library, a world
which is never fully explored, a world full of
friends who are always amiable and true.
" I never forget our old days at College, nor
our pleasant vacation in Yorkshire, and I feel
to-day as freshly as ever the affection I have for
you, dear old chap, and my admiration for your
character; and now that you are the world's
hero as well as mine, I am as proud of you as I
was when you rescued Harry Meadows from
drowning and thrashed the insolent bargee at
Mortlake after the boat-race. You see, although
you called me the Don simply because I had a
better memory for Latin than you could boast
of; and although I have become a bit of a book-
worm—I confess it—I have the old love still
alive, and it would be active, dear Dick, just the
same, whatever might have been your career or
my own.
"Could you not come and spend a week or
46 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
two here ? It would give me the greatest hap-
piness to have you as my guest at the Manor
House; you would like Charlton-Cleeve, I know,
and I can give you both shooting and fishing,
even now, in this wintry weather. Better still,
I can assure you pleasant society. My best
friends here are Mr. Grafton Somers and his
sister, and I must not forget his daughter
Evelyn, one of the most charming of clever
girls, combining with Girtonian knowledge such
common sense and generous views of life as you
would, I am sure, heartily appreciate. The
Somerses already know a great deal about you
from your old College chum, who looks forward
to the pleasure of a long personal account of
your African adventures.
"Write to me from home, dear Dick, and let
me know what your movements are; and always
believe me your affectionate and true friend,
John Tremont."
"Believe it! yes, by Jove, I know you are
always my dear old true kind friend, and I
yours twenty-fold," said Dick, placing the letter
in his pocket-book and wiping his eyes. ' Jack
Tremont, you are the best fellow in the world,
and the cleverest and the bravest. It's nothing
to be brave with your body, nothing to be
brave with a pair of big fists and strong mus-
cles, but it is something to be brave with your
mind, to be brave in your thoughts, to be broad
and big in your opinions, and not to care a
hang. The bigots and the narrow-minded of
"a mad world, my masters." 47
Oxford, old chap, they knew how brave you
were, and how strong; the good fellows and the
learned they knew also; by Jove ! how you hit
'em in debate! You might have been Prime
Minister in time, and yet you chose to go home
to that old living and that old Manor House
and succeed your father, and live with your
books and your thoughts, and lounge quietly
through life as if you knew as little Latin as I do,
and were a failure, rather than one of the big-
gest of Oxford's successes. Well, perhaps you
know best, Jack; you have your compensations,
I suppose. I wonder what you would have said
to the Princess if she had walked into your
chambers. Would you have given her the
excuse I gave her? "
Time and tide went on, boat and train, and
Dick Travers sped farther away, in fact and
thought, from the Princess Mazaroff, who felt
the hours fall like lead upon her heart.
A night at the Travellers' Club in London;
a night of feasting and chat; then a day flying
northwards, and in the evening shouts of wel-
come ringing through the hall of his fathers,
the fires burning the brighter for the crisp air
without. It was a frosty night, the dark blue
heavens thick with stars, the oaks and elms and
sweeping birches white with frost; the Travers
tenants crowding the spacious entrance hall
and shaking hands with the son and heir; Sir
Gordon, the hale and hearty father, proudly
repressing his tears of joy; sister Gertie laugh-
48 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
ing and weeping; Howarth Selby, her lover,
looking sheepish and feeling " a little out of
it" ; what a happy home-coming it was !
But when it was all over, when the fatted
calf had been eaten, the healths drunk, the last
toast proposed, and the last prayer of thank-
fulness uttered by father and sister for their
dear one's return, somehow Dick did not feel
quite happy. Of the three whose destinies had
suddenly run together on board the P. and O.
steamer, the Prince, in his mouldy palace at
Kherasoff, was the only one who slept soundly.
He did not care, he had no feelings, he had no
pride, he had no heart. Dick tried to think he
did not care also, but he did care; he had a
heart, and it is perhaps a pity he did not act
upon its dictates, which were kindly; but his
heart was not strong enough to govern his head,
and even had it been so, there might have been
a tragedy in this story all the same—who knows?
But the Princess gave herself up entirely to the
heart she had only recently discovered—a heart
that under fortunate and benign circumstances
might have been a boon to herself and a bless-
ing to some masterly if loving companion.
Who knows?
CHAPTER IV.
watching and waiting.
" We came crying hither,
Thou know'st the first time that we smelt the air
We wawl and cry.—
When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools,"—Shakespeare.
The snow had gone, the air was frosty, but the
skies were blue. Paris, indeed, began to give
token of the possibilities of spring. It is true
January was only just going out and February
looking over the winter fence. For all that it
was sunny weather. The cold was dry. There
were flowers in the windows and in the streets.
The Princess felt these genial influences in her
poor little heart, and a great hope fluttered
there.
"The day has come," she said to Estelle;
" the one month is over at last; has the house-
keeper prepared monsieur's room ? "
"Yes, madame, and the concierge has
warning of his desired approach."
There were no other rooms let off in the
house except those which Travers, the Princess,
and the owner occupied, but the establishment
had, nevertheless, its concierges—man and
wife—with their two little rooms inside the
E
50 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
gates of the old mansion; in the upper regions
of which resided the owner, who kept himself
free from the knowledge and recognition of
the lodgers who honoured his chambers and
enabled him to invest in rentes and dine twice
a week at the most celebrated of restaurants.
The Princess had but once or twice left her
rooms, and then only for a drive in a close
carriage, since she parted with her lover. She
was desperately and everlastingly in love, and
she took no account of her title or otherwise
to a sincere return of her passion. She only
knew that she had never loved before ; she only
judged of her position from her experiences of
the society to which she had been accustomed
in St. Petersburg and Paris. She had no rules
of life to guide her. What she knew of her
father was not calculated to inspire respect or
admiration. Her mother probably died of a
broken heart. She only remembered her as a
soft, tender, kind-hearted, plump, sweet-voiced
woman, with deep blue eyes and golden hair, a
woman somewhat tearful in her embraces of her
child ; and while she did not quite understand
what had happened when this good mother died
and her place was empty, she had a full appre-
ciation of her father's death, which occurred
during a quarrel with the police of St. Peters-
burg soon after he had sold her to the Prince
Mazaroff; she had not shed one tear at the
recital of his violent ending.
"Ah, I have had a sad life, Estelle," she
WATCHING AND WAITING. 51
said, toasting her slippered feet at the fire; "a
life of sorrow until I saw Monsieur Deek. Do
you remember when we first spoke to each
other that summer night at sea? "
"Yes, madame, and I was rejoiced to see
you so merry; you had been so triste, and the
Prince so much of the bear."
" Estelle, am I a wicked woman? "
"You! Oh, your highness, what a thought!
You wicked!"
"You are good, Estelle; you go to mass;
you pray always; I am not; do you pray for
me ? "
" Always, Princess, and I have acquainted
the reverend Father how good you are, what
you do for the poor, how generous your
nature."
" I wish I was worthy of all your praise and
prayers, Estelle, and yet I do not think I am
bad; if the Prince had been kind to me, if he
had treated me as well as his dogs I would
have been his faithful wife. I think, even now,
if he had said, 1 Anissia, do not leave me, I love
you,' I would not have gone away, much as I
loved Mistaire Travers, my dear Deek. There
was, Estelle, more in what he did not say than
in what he said that made me love him, and to
love him seemed to me to be good. But the
Prince, he scoffed me, he snarled like the wolf,
he despised me ; and the devil was in my heart
the devil and my new love, and they struggle
together, and I came here to my paradise, my
52
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
new world: oh, Estelle, if after all he do not
love me!"
"It is to wrong him that you have such a
thought, madame," said Estelle, who was sitting
a short distance from her mistress, busily en-
gaged in some needlework ; she was a bright-
eyed, neat, watchful little woman, with a thin,
pointed face, and long fingers that made quick
work of her knitting.
The Princess did not turn to her as she spoke,
but looked into the fire, and sometimes seemed
to be addressing herself.
" I never thought I was not a good woman
until my love went away. When he was here I
did not think. When the Prince scoffed and
snarled, and I remember all the sweet things
Deek say to me on the ship with the moon
embracing us, I only think I go to him straight-
way; he loves me, he has said so; but a little
before the time when he go away to see his
father and his sister and his friends, it come to
me to think of myself, and to think if we could
be married, and to remember that one day driv-
ing with him the Countess de Grammont, she
make no attention to my salute, she give me
the go-by ; and I see what was, perhaps, a blush
of shame come into the face of Deek, for he
see the intended slight, and I wonder after-
wards if that lose me his respect."
" Oh, madame, you have thought too curi-
ously of that, and since you have been alone
and would not go out, and refuse yourself to
WATCHING AND WAITING.
53
every caller, your mind has troubled itself with
many thoughts that are like the shadows of
the winter. Oh, hark, madame, there is a car-
riage at the door."
Estelle ran to the window, and the Princess
rose to her feet, her hand upon her heart. She
was very pale now, her eyes were shrunken, her
lips had a softer expression than heretofore,
and she looked anxiously towards Estelle, who,
after a moment or two, with a little shiver of
disappointment, returned to her knitting.
" I did not expect him so early in the day
Estelle," said the Princess, taking her seat
once more by the fire, and hiding her tears
from the maid, who, however, noticed them in
the tone of her voice.
"No, the train is not due for arrival yet I
think, and there are so many delays of tickets
and the officials."
" Yes," said the Princess with a sigh, " I
sometimes think it would have been better we
had never met, Estelle ; men are less true than
women; for them the world has many con-
quests; and do not these English lords of the
earth make their way on their march about the
globe with gold ? Is it not so ? "
"They are very rich and strong, and mas-
terful; but their word is as gold—it keeps it as
a bond ; and this Milord Travers he was surely
amiable and engaging, and he devoured you
with his eyes, and I would trust him above all
the world."
54
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Estelle, you love me, I know it by the
sound of your voice when you praise him, the
tone of verity, but I know it is also to give me
pleasure; yes, yes, do not say no, and it does
give me delight; and if I thought it were not
true I should go mad, or freeze in every vein,
and become as Medea or Clytemnestra, or
worse."
" I never heard of them, Princess ; but there
is a proverb I know, 'Much love, much hate';
but I do not believe it is so; where love is, or
where love has been, there can be no place
for hate."
" Do you remember the woman who killed
her rival, and laid the murder at the door of
her false lord, at Moscow, five years ago? "
asked the Princess, turning about for a moment
and facing Estelle.
" He was executed, and then she confessed? "
replied the maid, in a matter-of-fact way.
" Yes; and she had loved him with a love that
had borne all things but the insult he put upon
her through a mistress. Love, Estelle, is a sort
of madness; but it is capable of the divinest
sacrifice. Do you think there is any martyrdom
I could not undergo for love ? ''
" Oh, my dear madame ! " exclaimed Estelle,
laying down her knitting and kneeling by her
side, "do not give up your soul to such fore-
bodings of unhappiness. You will be ill again,
and I shall have to ask the concierge to bring
the physician; be calm, dear, sweet Princess,
WATCHING AND WAITING.
55
your eyes are wet with tears, your lips are blue.
Dear love, think of your appearance then; he
may be here any minute, and you would not
receive him thus. Is it not so ? "
" You are right, Estelle, that is true, I make
myself too sad, and all without a cause. I am
ill, little sister, my heart is heavy, my soul is full
of fears, but I will try to be more cheerful."
"Yes, yes, that is well said ; come first and
lie down awhile," the maid replied, leading the
Princess towards her chamber. "Yes, indeed,
dear madame, you must, dear love; there, that
is well, you come to your room and I will bring
you a little wine or a little soup; you have
eaten nothing to-day."
"To-night I will; there is to be a feast, you
know, Estelle."
"Yes, dear Princess, sweet madame, I have
given the orders that you wished; but you
must rest; and I shall play to you those sweet
melodies in which you find a solace—yes,
yes."
She led the Princess, all pale and trembling,
to her room, and induced her to lie down, and
talked to her while she drank a little wine;
and then, sitting down to a small upright piano
of inlaid satin-wood which Dick had bought for
his idol, Estelle soothed the Princess with reas-
suring words that breathed and spoke through
Estelle's pleasant impromptu chords and single
speech-like notes. And once now and then there
were faint hints of melodies of the crooning days
56
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
of childhood and bits of Muscovite song all
weird and sad, followed by reminiscences of
Gascon ballads and Roumanian melody; and
such a polyglot of musical thought and fancy
that betokened not only skill of execution and
tasteful memories, but a heart of tender fibre
and a soul that knew nought of treasons, strata-
gems, and spoils, a soul to be trusted, a heart to
be desired.
And by-and-by, through the lulling sounds
of melodious harmony, the Princess slept and
dreamed. If she had had a sweet and blessed
childhood of which to dream, she would surely
have dreamt of those early days, since it seemed
that fate had smiled upon her in her sleep.
Crushed with fatigue, and worn out with hopes
that were not destined to be fulfilled, she dreamed
of the ocean ship purling softly through the lap-
ping Mediterranean waves. The beat of the
throbbing cylinders marked time with her own
heart as she listened to the strange tales of dis-
tant lands that a pleasant, manly voice poured
into her willing and delighted ears. He told
her of dusky people living wild lives of love and
war in forest lands ; of jungle flowers and
strange untamed beasts; of dwarfs with tiny
wives ; of birds of curious shape and wing; of
mountains capped with snow sunning them-
selves in blue lakes half hid in leafy valleys;
and when the moon was high in the heavens
and only the swish swish of the ship and the
beat beat of the never-tiring engines could be
WATCHING AND WAITING.
57
heard, she returned the pressure of his hand,
and prayed the ship might sail on for ever.
All the same, the day was over at last. The
night came and there was no feast, not for the
Princess at least, but for Dick life just then was
one continual feast; so merry, so jubilant, that
he had only paused once now and then to think
of Paris and the Princess; and when he had
thought of either one or the other, there had
risen up in his memory the sweet pure face and
the soft brown eyes of his girlish countrywoman,
who had insisted upon exaggerating a simple
service into an act of heroism and danger.
At night, that very night when the Princess
had expected him back again in Paris, it had
suddenly occurred to him that the end of the
month of absence had come. He wished that
without an effort he could look in upon the
Princess and console her. Then some passing
renewal of the feeling which had first moved
him to address her in his blandest accents re-
turned to him, and his pulse beat a point or two
more rapidly, only, however, to become normal
in as brief a time.
" I suppose I ought to do something, write
to her, telegraph, or perhaps send Mellish over
with messages of delay and some trinket for
remembrance. By Jove, if I had thought she
would have left the Prince I think I would have
called upon my judgment to take care of my
heart, or what a fellow calls his heart. But how
the deuce was a man to be responsible for his
58 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
actions after living outside the pale of civilisa-
tion for three years ? and, by Jove, how lovely
she was ! And is! I sometimes think if I had
never seen that English face I would have gone
on being that other woman's slave; I used to
love to hear her broken English, her taking
little foreign accent; but when I heard that
English girl's clear pure voice, her simple lan-
guage unrestrained, and as our best girls speak
it down here in Yorkshire and up there in town,
by Jove something seemed to snap in what I
please to call my mind, and Anissia was never
the same again. Well, I don't know what to
do ? I have been a confounded fool. The won-
der is that the Prince did not call me out. I
think I would have liked the Princess all the
better if he had. I got her too easily. It's true
I was persevering on the boat, and ought to
have been kicked by every honest man aboard ;
but, great heavens! you could have knocked
me down with a feather when she walked in that
night and said she had come! And, great
heavens ! did anybody ever see such a picture!
Was she got up for the occasion ? No, hang it,
Dick, don't be so heartless ! What's come over
you ? I have a good mind to run over to Paris
and see the little woman !"
''Father," he said, next morning at break-
fast, " I must run over to Paris. I will only be
away a week."
Then, turning to his sister, he said, "You
won't mind, Gerty, will you ? "
WATCHING AND WAITING.
59
" If you must go, of course you must," said
Gerty, a bright little Yorkshire lass of twenty,
fresh in complexion and manner, with merry
eyes, a frank, generous mouth with white teeth,
that made her laugh pleasant to see as well
as to hear, and which bewildered and delighted
her reticent lover, Howarth Selby. He would
stand by her side speechless, but at the same
time giving evidence of internal emotion that
would start friends off into fresh laughter after
they had paid full tribute to the infectious
character of Gerty's mirth.
"Yes, I suppose you won't miss me, Gerty,"
said Dick. " Selby is all in all to you, eh ? "
" Oh, no, he is not, but he is a very good
fellow, is he not, father ? "
" Oh, Selby will pass muster," replied Sir
Gordon, smiling.
" More; he is clever and he is wise, though
Dick does not think so; he has plenty of
clever ideas, but he does not talk of them."
" No, indeed, he does not," said Dick
laughing.
" You think he is a fool, brother," said Gerty,
with a pretty little frown.
"No, I do not," said Dick. "The young
fellow who has won the good opinion of Gerty
Travers is no fool."
" Thank you ; but that is not the only wise
thing he has done, let me tell you."
"No," said Dick, laughing and nodding at
his father, as much as to say, " this is good
60 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
fun, is it not?" "He has made Gerty believe
he is clever."
" And that argues, then, that Gerty is a fool,
eh ? " said the girl, her eyes flashing.
" Come, come, what are these expressions,
Gerty; fool does not sound well in the mouth
of a young lady, does it? " said Sir Gordon.
"Oh, it's onlyGerty's fun," said Dick, rising
to pat her head and kiss her, " is it, Gerty ? "
"No, it's only my fun," she said, smiling;
" but I will not have Howarth ridiculed."
Sir Gordon Travers was an old man, but hale
and hearty. Ironmaster, landowner, politician,
he had won fame and honour for the old York-
shire name, and he wore his wealth and his
title with modesty, but not without a full
appreciation of all he had done, and the name
and wealth he hoped to bequeath to his only
son. Lady Travers had been dead some ten
years, and the old man still grieved for her;
but he kept his sorrow, as he did his prayers,
for his closet, though neither his prayers nor
his sorrow were any the less sincere that they
were solitary. Sir Gordon was a religious man
in the best sense. He was tolerant of every
religion, of every earnest opinion, and he was
in no wise bigoted in regard to his own prin-
ciples. He was a Churchman, taking for him-
self all the margin the Church accords to its
children, but he was jealous for the interests
and influence of the establishment.
"You like Paris, Dick," he said. "I've
WATCHING AND WAITING. 61
only been there once or twice on business. It
did not strike me as a city for aught but play.
Well, too much play is not good, though I
reckon, lad, you have had a roughish time,
and I don't begrudge thee a surfeit of it, but
get it over and settle down as soon as you
can."
When Sir Gordon was very much in earnest,
or felt his affections move him strongly he
invariably spoke in the vernacular, and his
thee's and thou's came unconsciously to his
lips.
" The works will need thee. I am not as
tough as I was; and the land will need thee
also, for I've added to it by a farm or two
since thou went out to Africa; and, moreover,
there are business schemes and plans in connec-
tion with Africa which call for thy consideration.
You've had your fling, lad, you've laden us up
with strange trophies. We are very proud of
all you've done, but time has come for action
at home, for work and downright labour. I
want to pass on to thee a heap of things I
would like thee to take off my hands."
" All right, father, I understand, and I will
not disappoint you. Perhaps I won't go to
Paris, but there's a friend of mine at the
Bristol whom I would like to see again, and
there are one or two purchases I want to make,
and in short, I did not quite finish what I had to
do there in the way of both business and plea-
sure. I wanted to get back home the moment
6 2 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
I heard you had returned—but we'll see; I'll
think it over, I may not go after all."
"Don't let me stop thee, lad, if you'd like
it," said Sir Gordon. " I don't want to lecture
thee, God forbid, but I only tell thee I am ready
for thy helping hand ; and thy inheritance is
ready for thee to begin and get used to it."
CHAPTER V.
an after-dinner chat at cleeve house.
"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for
adversity.''—Proverbs.
" I don't know a more natural ambition than a
desire to see the world," said Evelyn Somers,
in response to a remark of the Rev. John Tre-
mont. " Travel is the highest education."
"Yes, travel as you understand it, Miss So-
mers, but there are thousands who travel for
the mere pleasure of change, or because it is
fashionable, or for the reason that they are rest-
less, or for any reason but that which takes you
and your father away on your annual trips to
the continent," said the young Rector of Charl-
ton-Cleeve.
"But your friend, Richard Travers, had
better reasons than any of these negative
ones," said Miss Somers, interrogatively.
" Instinct, I think, not reason," said Tre-
mont, "is the impulse which takes most young
Englishmen into unexplored regions. As a
friend of mine says in the preface of a book on
the eastern seas, the Englishman is born to the
inheritance of unexplored possessions; and the
64 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF;
more tenderly he is nurtured, the happier his
home, the readier he is to court privation and
danger, in order to plant his country's flag in
some hitherto untrodden tract, and add to the
scientific, geographical, and commercial pres-
tige of his native land."
" But I did not understand that Mr. Travers
had any special mission to Africa," said Eve-
lyn, looking up from a low seat at the Rector,
who occupied a central position in the room, and
towards whom the attention of the little family
party was directed.
Tremont was one of those men who com-
manded attention, not by any ostentation of
manner, but on account of his deep winning
voice and the air of unconscious authority with
which he emphasised whatever he had to say.
" No, Travers had no special mission," the
Rector replied, " he was not the accredited
agent of any company or government, he went
out under what might be called a miscellaneous
ambition of discovery and sport."
" The Yorkshire newspaper you sent me
gives his journey a far higher significance than
that," said Evelyn.
" Oh, yes; Travers has made several dis-
coveries in natural history, and his botanical
collection is the surprise and delight of Kew.
At the same time, his chief motive for going
out was to satisfy the craving of a restless desire
for adventure. That much good has come out
of his trip says a great deal for his training and
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 65
skill. The Geographical Society have already
voted him their thanks and their medal."
" He must always, I suppose, have had a
call in the direction of pioneering," said Evelyn.
" Were any of his ancestors great travellers ? "
" Not that I am aware of,"' said the Rector;
" but he was always a restless, adventurous
fellow, and of a curiously inquiring mind in
respect of everything out of doors. Nothing
would keep him close to his studies; but he
knew every nook and corner of the country for
twenty miles round, every tiny haunt of bird
and beast, every shrub and flower; he was on
speaking terms with everything animate and
inanimate; he knew every man in the town
who had been anywhere or had done anything;
there was not a Don who did not regard his
non-collegiate knowledge with kindly consider-
ateness; not a boatman on the river who did
not feel proud of him."
" A kind of athlete, with intellectual gifts in
the wrong direction," said Evelyn.
" So far as Oxford was concerned, yes," said
the Rector. " One admires greatly in others
gifts one does not possess oneself. I remember
one vacation I spent with him in Yorkshire at
his father's place, the Old Hall, that he was
wonderful to see on horseback; during the few
weeks I was there, every difficult colt in the
neighbourhood, every vicious horse was brought
to Dick, who charmed them with his caresses or
broke them with his strength."
F
66
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
44 Did he ever spend a vacation with you at
Charlton Manor? " asked Evelyn.
44 No, somehow he had no time, and I did
not press him much, for my father, as you know,
was an invalid, and I did not feel that I could
offer him any particular attraction. He did not
love books as I did; he did not care for anti
quities, for old houses and old histories; he
loved the field, the chase, the sea, the river;
excitement in the open air; and his father was
one of those strong-armed, strong-headed men,
who could almost rival the son in his physical
feats and animal spirits."
44 That sort of person is all very well for the
hunting field and the farm," said a somewhat
sharp, emphatic voice, from a distant corner of
Ihe room, 44 but among quiet, refined people,
as much out of place as an untamed mastiff in
/n drawing-room."
44 Or a bull in a china shop, to use a more
familiar, if less elegant, simile," remarked Mr.
Grafton Somers, looking up from his newspaper
in the direction of his widowed sister, Mrs.
Burford Winnington, who, when she chose to
be in evidence received just, as much attention
as the Reverend John Tremont.
44 Oh, but he was quite a gentle young fellow
hi his way," said the Rector.
44 In his way ! " said Mrs. Winnington, a
little scornfully.
44 It was a very good way, I assure you. He
was modest, gentleman-like, unaffected, quite
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE.
6?
unconscious of his strength, except, perhaps,
to fancy that it was a trifle vulgar to be so tall
and have such large hands as he undoubtedly
had; and I am bound to say he did look a
trifle awkward in a drawing-room."
" So does Mr. Gladstone," said Evelyn," and
Lord Derby is as self-conscious and as shy as
if he had done all the awful things his party
charge him with."
"No politics, Evelyn," said the master of
the house.
" Certainly not, father," Evelyn replied,
turning a pair of laughing eyes upon her father,
whose rubicund face was looking at her over the
daily paper. "You know I don't like politics;
but I don't know that it is anything against a
man that he does not look like a tailor-made
nonentity in a drawing-room."
"Quite right," said Mr. Somers, "and be-
tween ourselves, I am not so sure that Lord
Derby could successfully defend himself from
the charge of being a trimmer."
" No politics," said Evelyn, and the Rector
had the speaker's eye; " go on, Mr. Tremont."
" Dick Travers never looked anything like a
nonentity, and he was too much of a man ever
to be a trimmer, under any circumstances; and
I am sure you will be glad to know, Mrs. Win-
nington, that he was always most courteous to
ladies; his manners were far more refined than
his hands."
"Ishall be quite prepared to learn that he
68
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
has changed all that," she answered, marking
time with each word like an elocutionary mar-
tinet. " The sort of adventures in which he has
been engaged are not likely to elevate a man's
character."
" And why not, aunt?" asked Evelyn, with
a controversial kind of expression in the tone
of her musical voice.
" Well, I cannot imagine anything more
calculated to degrade a man's higher nature
than a long sojourn among savages. My dear,
the license men allow themselves in those
distant climes—well, there, I don't think it a
proper subject for a general discussion."
" Oh, excuse me, aunt, that is nonsense,"
said Evelyn, looking towards her aunt with
a quiet smile of challenge ; "why, we have all
read our books of travel—Burton, Stanley,
Speke, Thompson, and the rest, to say nothing
of Schopenhauer and Spencer, and Nisbet on
Marriage and Heredity. My dear aunt, we no
longer live in the dark ages."
" No, indeed we do not," said Mrs. Win-
nington. "I sometimes wish we did; what
with heredity and theosophy and one thing and
another, I declare life in England has degene-
rated into one long French novel."
"That's a hard hit, sister," said the master of
the house, looking up once more from his paper.
" It is not harder than is warranted by the
state of Society," Mrs. Winnington replied.
"As a woman of the world who has seen the
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 69
world, which Evelyn thinks the highest educa-
tion, I do not hesitate to declare that the privi-
leges which young ladies allow themselves in
these days are positively shocking."
" Thank you, aunt," said Evelyn, smiling.
"My darling, don't thank me, and in that
tone of voice. I have nothing to say against
your studies. You have a head and a heart—
as much heart as head, thank goodness; and
you have examples at home and around you;
nothing can hurt you, my dear. I must con-
fess, nevertheless, that you do occasionally
make me grow hot and cold when you let
yourself go, as Grafton says. It would not
sound half as bad in London. But down here,
in such homes as Cleeve House, sheltered
among immemorial elms, as the poet would
say, it seems shocking."
" What, dear, what seems shocking ? "
" Why, any reference to the subjects that
women, when I was a girl, did not discuss,
even among themselves, but which girls hardly
out of their teens now talk about to young men
who are no older."
"Surely you exaggerate, my dear aunt,"
said Evelyn.
" I am quite willing to allow for the broader
education that women receive in these days,
and for the higher intelligence that is to be
found in all classes of Society; but the greater
freedom that is now allowed is very much
abused by poor weak creatures, who think they
7°
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
are wise when they are only idiots, often quoting
words they do not understand, and making
their pretended knowledge a cloak for their
shocking improprieties."
With which outburst Mrs. Burford Win-
nington rose from her seat, went straight to
Evelyn, and stooped down to kiss her, with
the assurance that nothing she said referred to
a clever, sensible, dear girl, such as her dear,
clever, level-headed niece—the best girl she
ever knew, or was likely to know.
" That's the way to make it up! " said the
master of the house, laying aside his news-
paper altogether. "I will say this for sister
Maria, that there is no malice in her hardest
words, and as for scolding people, affront and
apology go hand in hand with her, that's a
fact; she quarrels with her maid twice a day,
and apologises at least three times."
" I do nothing of the kind, Grafton, but I
must offer the protest of a woman of the world
against the unfeminine movements of the day,
the Shelley Societies, the Political associations,
the Blavatsky rubbish, the Ibsenite craze, kept
alive by women, and so on," she said, standing
for a moment in the middle of the room in an
attitude of defiance.
" But don't you think women have a right
to know all about the world in which they live,
and the conditions under which they enjoy what
you would call the privileges of existence ? Eh,
aunt, don't you think so, dear ? "
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 71
" It depends, my child—my child, it depends;
most women are idiots, and, unfortunately,
those who are the least equipped for strong
knowledge seek it most, and understand it
least, and come to grief and trouble over it! "
" Do you think so ? " asked Evelyn with a
puzzled look.
" I do, indeed, and I am a woman of the
world.''
"Yes, I know," said Evelyn, who was
always inclined to be more than usually agres-
sive on the woman question when her aunt
flung into the arena that gauge of battle, " I
am a woman of the world."
" And I can only say that, with all my ex-
perience, and I have had a great deal, and in
various countries, I should be very sorry to
measure myself against man in regard to the
great problems of life; and I am quite sure
that the studies of women should be limited."
" To what, dear ? "
"Well, to woman's sphere," said Mrs. Win-
nington.
" And what is woman's sphere ? "
" Very much what it was at first, when the
man went out to hunt for the pot, and the
woman stayed at home to take care of the hut,
and be ready to cook the spoils of the chase,
when the hunter brought it home," was the
emphatic reply.
"Oh-oh-oh!" exclaimed the master of the
house, once more surveying the ground from
72
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
his newspaper, and, desirous of putting" an end
to a discussion he did not care to encourage,
" that comes well from you, sister. Oh-oh !
excuse me for laughing. But really! Well,
you know, Evelyn, that your aunt is, even
now, quite equal to doing her own hunting;
but as to waiting at home, and cooking the
venison when it arrived, why, she would have
flung it at the hunter's head ! "
"You give me a sweet character, Grafton,"
Mrs. Winnington replied. " I hope I should
have done my duty in the age in which I was
born, whether it had been in the primeval or
otherwise."
Evelyn and the Rector both laughed at the
widow's last remark, and Mrs. Somers evi-
dently thought it was now her turn to speak.
What she had to say was brief, and to the
point, being simply, " Grafton, will you ring? "
During the foregoingdiscussion, Mrs. Somers
had been sitting in the firelight engaged upon
some needlework. She had listened calmly to
all that had been said, now and then smiling
her aquiescence, now and then shaking her head.
" Certainly, my dear," said the master of the
house, rising and signalling the servants' hall,
in response to which there arrived upon the
scene a man-servant, in a quiet black livery.
"Coffee! " said Mrs. Somers, folding up her
needlework and putting it away in an old oak
chest, while the servant proceeded to spread
out the leaves of a quaint many-legged table.
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE.
73
"I am not a woman of the world," she said,
in a pleasant, propitiatory voice ; " I suppose
you would only condescend to call me a woman
of the household, Maria? "
"If women would only consider the special
sphere for which they are fitted," said Mrs.
Winnington, " there would be no trouble; some
women, of course, are notably gifted; let them
have elbow room by all means; some women
sacrifice themselves either in household duties
or otherwise ; they are not to be despised, but
I don't want them talking philosophy: and I
don't want women who know nothing of house-
keeping pretending they are fitted for higher
work when they are not; or who, inspired by
the folly and degenerate physique of a Nor-
wegian village, try and imagine that they are
too good for their husbands, or some nonsense
of that kind."
" There you go again," said Somers. "I
declare I never knew Maria so wound up.
What is the matter, Maria? What is.it ? "
" Oh, nothing, dear ! I was merely going to
say that some women have not the capacity
for keeping house."
"Or anything else, that's a fact," said
Somers, laughing. "You never had, my dear
sister; of all the careless, happy-go-lucky
households I ever was in, yours was surely the
happiest-go-luckiest.''
"Don't be unkind, Grafton; you were
always welcome; and Burford Winnington and
74
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
I always did our best to make you comfort-
able."
" That is quite true, Maria," said Mrs.
Somers, " and I have heard Grafton praise your
dinners, and that frequently."
"Oh, yes, that's a fact," said Somers, "but
who could help giving good dinners with such
a cook and such a banking account? "
44 Do you think it only needs a cook and
money for good dinner giving?" said Maria.
44 Ask your wife."
441 don't care what she may say on that
point," Somers replied, winking at the Rector,
44 yours was a happy-go-lucky household, you
can't deny it. Hospitable, oh yes, have all you
wanted, or all you could get, and welcome;
but nobody ever knew the dinner hour; the
clocks were always wrong; you could never
get a carriage up in time to catch a train, and
yet, Maria, you were always regulating all the
world as you are now; that's a fact, and you
know it, dear, you know it."
441 know you are very rude," said Mrs.
Winnington.
44No, dear,truthful," Somers replied. " And
do you think I love you any the less because of
your eccentricities, Maria? Not an iota, and
if any one else criticised you as I do I should
be very angry with them; yes, indeed I
should."
44 It is all very well to say that when you
have hurt my feelings and made me look small
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 75
in the eyes of the Rector,'' said Mrs. Win-
nington, with a slight tremor in her voice.
" Don't pay any attention to him, he is only
teasing you, Maria," said Mrs. Somers, sitting
down to dispense coffee and tea,with the daintiest
of thin bread and butter and the finest of hot-
house fruits, for they were so unaccustomed to
linger in the dining-room after dinner that
Mrs. Somers always continued the dessert with
coffee ; and, moreover, she said it made the tea-
table look pretty; besides, Somers liked fruit
with his cigar, and he was allowed, with Mr.
Tremont or any privileged guest, the freedom
of smoking one mild cigar in the drawing-
room.
They were a typical English family party.
Mr. Grafton Somers was the master of the
house, a landowner and gentleman farmer on
a large scale. He had inherited Cleeve House
from a wealthy father, who had filled the highest
local offices, and Somers's name had been
pricked by the Queen for next year's High
Shrievalty of the county. His wife was a
Coventry, of Comberton, a pleasant, round,
comfortable housewife, fairly well educated,
but with a gift for household management and
jams; clever in giving parties and conducting
a large establishment; who never passed a
day without going into her kitchen, and who
always went into the accounts with her house-
keeper-cook once a week. She was a sensible,
lovable, clever woman, without ambition be-
76 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
yond her house and county. Evelyn was her
only daughter. She had lost two children when
most she hoped to rear them, and she and her
husband had grieved much over their loss, but
had found solace in the affection of their
daughter, who was not only intellectually strong
but of a fine physique, and of a stately and
handsome presence.
Mrs. Burford Winnington was a widow of
forty, and looked ten years younger. She
was a bright-eyed, neat, dapper little woman,
with a trim figure and a pretty nervous mouth
that looked as if it was always getting ready
for a remark. There were a few genial
wrinkles about her eyes, but her small compact
forehead was smooth and open, and she spoke
with a consciousness of the importance of all
she had to say. It was quite a habit with her
to raise the forefinger of her right hand in a
forensic fashion when she wished to give special
point to some more or less oracular observa-
tion. With all her little peculiarities, her
foibles, and her iterations of the announce-
ment that she was a woman of the world, she
was an agreeable, clever, and entertaining
companion.
She was on a visit to Cleeve House, where
she was always welcome; but she lived in
London. She had chambers overlooking Hyde
Park, and was well known in the best artistic
society of the metropolis. She had a sincere
friendship for the Reverend John Tremont, had
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 77
known his father and knew the son to be a
worthy, modest, learned, self-sacrificing young
clergyman. Furthermore, she believed that he
was deeply in love with her niece, Evelyn, and
with a woman's keen observation she saw that
Tremont was making upon her niece's mind
such an impression of the name and fame of
Dick Travers as was not calculated to advance
his own interests or prospects.
" I really don't believe very much in the
great courage and prowess of some of these
travellers," she said, when once more Tremont
had mentioned the name of Dick Travers.
" I have met many of them. They go through
a country with fire and sword, backed by hired
rifles and irresponsible cut-throats."
"But many, my dear Mrs. Winnington,"
said Tremont, "have gone alone, unsupported
by soldiers or even carriers. You don't dispute
the heroism and disinterestedness of Living-
stone, for example? "
" Oh, yes, I do; you should hear what some
African travellers say about Livingstone; he
did not want to come home; he was much
happier where he was. Oh, don't tell me that
men go out and stay for years and years without
there is some much greater attraction than
science or geography, or even religion ! "
"You are in a censorious mood, aunt," said
Evelyn, drawing her chair close to the tea-table
and completing the family group around the
fire, for although it was the merry month of
78 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
May, the spring was coming to Charlton-Cleeve
somewhat severely. The trees were beginning
to put forth green buds, chestnuts were full of
floral promise, the thrush was singing his even-
ing song in the elms by the lake, but Mrs.
Somers kept her fire going until the summer
really came, and the drawing-room of Cleeve
House always looked as cozy as it was rich
and artistic.
It was a notable room, with a dado of old
panelled oak that sprung from the fire-place,
which was open and wainscoted within a few feet
of the ceiling. Mrs. Somers had an idea not
to follow the general example as to drawing-
rooms, so Cleeve was unique in its way. Above
the dado was massed a fine collection of the
rarest modern etchings and engravings. The
mantelpiece was perfectly plain, without an
ornament, except as in the matter of a fine old
mirror and a couple of rare Oriental jars. The
floor was of polished oak, beautifully laid and
partly covered with rich Persian rugs. The
furniture was Adam and Chippendale, supple-
mented by a beautiful carved and cushioned
oak seat occupying the full length of the room
facing the fire-place, while a similar seat filled
the spacious bay window overlooking a great
stretch of level lawn that dipped down to a lake,
which reflected in its deep blue waters a noble
cluster of fine old elms.
There was a grand piano, the tail of which
A CHAT AT CLEEVE HOUSE.
79
was half lost in a recess near the fire; and
presently John Tremont sat down to the instru-
ment, and extemporised in a masterly way
reminiscences of Wagner, Beethoven, Mozart,
and Weber, drifting eventually into old English
ballad music which, as he said insinuatingly
by-and-by, required words for a full under-
standing of the beauty of the descriptive
melodies. Evelyn, nothing loth, sang several
familiar songs in a rich contralto voice, and
with fine sympathetic feeling; and, after awhile,
John Tremont took his leave, and went home
to his own house.
Until long after midnight he sat smoking,
or walking to and fro in his fine old library,
surrounded by the books he loved, yet hardly
thinking of them, for a wonder. They might
have known it, so silently were they grouped
together, so motionless on their oaken shelves.
It was his habit to take them down, to meta-
phorically shake hands with them, to speak to
them. The lamplight fell upon their varied
and various faces, but he noted them not. If
streets and houses have physiognomies, surely
books have. Tremont studied their character-
istics, and gave them dresses accordingly, and
when he sought their companionship he ap-
proached them in different ways, some with
deference, others apologetically, many with
friendly familiarity, but all with respect, for
he loved them. On this particular night he
8o THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
regarded them not, his mind was occupied
with a book far more difficult to read than
any of them, with a book that talked back at
him, and had lovely eyes, and wore a beauti-
ful puzzle of thoughts and words, and strange
conceits.
CHAPTER VI.
"A woman of the world."
"Dreams, dreams!" said the Hermit, " welcome them,
cherish them, they are the true life ! The past! look back
upon it; what is it but a dream ? The future ! look forward, is
there one landmark in sight ? To-morrow, what is it ? Seek
not to know, dream on, be content! "
C. N.'s Note-Book.
" I am a woman of the world, Mr. Tremont, and
that is more than you can say."
"It is, indeed," replied the Rector with a
quiet smile.
" Oh, yes, take me up," said the fascinating-
widow, " you know what I mean."
" That I am not a man of the world ! "
" Exactly, and simply because I make a slight
lapsus you overlook the observation itself to
smile at a verbal error."
"Not at all, my dear Mrs. Winnington," said
the Rector. " I confess that it did occur to me
for a moment to think what a difference there
is between our experiences of the world—you,
a charming and travelled widow, I a prosaic and
home-loving bachelor."
G
82
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Better go a little farther and mention our
ages ; you, a young man of seven or eight-and-
twenty, the youngest rector, I should say, on the
Clergy List; I'a lone lorn widder,' as some
writer called some poor creature somewhere—
4 a lone lorn widder' of—what shall I say ?
Well, let us say the truth, forty, but with the
experiences of a hundred."
" And who carries her honours and her know-
ledge with the unpretentious grace of twenty,''
said Tremont.
44 If you were a young fortune hunter, and I
was sufficiently attractive in regard to Consols
or landed estates, it is quite possible you would
win me, because you wouldn't care a button for
me, and you would pay me pretty compliments,
and flatter my vanity; but to the woman you
love you are just as stupid as—well, as most
young men when they are really and truly in
love."
" And, as a woman of the world, do you
honestly and truly declare that I am in that
happy and stupid condition ? " asked the
Rector.
441 do ; swear me on the book if you wish! "
44 4 Swear not at all' is a good orthodox com-
mand ; let us talk it over."
Man and woman, widow and bachelor, were
sitting in the shade of a rose-decked porch, the
garden entrance to Cleeve House. Although
it was only a couple of weeks after Mrs. Somers
had invited them to sit round the fire after
"a woman of the world." 83
dinner, it was now Summer. Winter lingering
for ever so many weeks in the lap of Spring had
all of a sudden taken himself off, and Spring,
with tears and laughter had given welcome to
her Summer sister. They seemed to have en-
tered into a delightful collaboration ; for the
opening of the first days of June had all the
freshness of Spring with the soothing warmth
of Summer.
It was a sweet sunny afternoon. Beyond the
level lawn and outside the sunk fence among
the foothills of the Breddons, the uncut hay was
ripening; and again, beyond the tall grass
could just be seen the glow of poppies in the
green wheat, and up above rose the undulating
hills into a gentle summer haze.
The Rector was sitting upon the arm of an
old stone seat, while Mrs. Burford Winnington,
in a white Indian silk dress, brocaded with grey
poppies, was reclining upon many cushions in
a large wicker rocking-chair, the motions of
which brought occasionally into view a pair of
pretty feet enshrined in decorative silk hose,
and shoes of untanned kid.
Considering their importance in the present
narrative, it may be well in this place to give
a detailed description of these two personages,
whose physical and mental calibre have only
hitherto been casually remarked upon.
Mrs. Winnington was not exactly a pretty
woman, but she was eminently attractive. Her
complexion had suffered, perhaps, by foreign
84
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
travel. She had spent three years in India but
her eyes were bright and grey. Her face was
oval. There were wrinkles about the eyes.
Her lips were red, and her teeth white and
regular, with that slight division between the
two front ones which is said to denote good
fortune. It was a pleasant, alert countenance,
the mouth a trifle too nervous, perhaps ; the
eyes a little too near the nose, but on the whole
it was a face you would trust. The forehead
denoted a quick and reliable intelligence, and
the lady's manner gave pleasant evidence of a
desire to please and be pleased. She bestowed
great attention upon her dress. It is quite pes-
sible that her rich brown hair might have silver
streaks here and there in a morning before it
was dressed. She wore wonderful corsets. Her
figure was what women call perfect, and she
was as nimble as a girl—a remarkable woman,
Mrs. Burford Winnington.
The Rector was ahead taller than the widow,
though neither of them were tall. She was
below woman's ordinary height. He was of
medium stature, but broad-chested, broad-
shouldered, and, touching his intellectuality,
one may as well say at once that he was a man
of singularly broad views of life, of conduct,
and of religion. He had a fine, mobile face,
cleanly shaven ; there was nothing in doubt
about it. He had steadfast, hazel eyes, large
and clear; a broad-backed arched nose, firm,
well-defined lips, and a generally frank open
"a woman of the world.'* 85
expression of countenance. His eyes were
kindly though shrewd, and at times thoughtful
and introspective, the complete effect of the
entire physiognomy indicating high, generous
character, intellectual power, devotion, sincerity,
courage.
Occasionally his conversation suggested cyn-
icism, but he was no cynic. On the contrary,
he was courteous, gracious, affable, fair-spoken,
and of a most liberal mind.
Cynicism is sometimes associated with a love
of seclusion, retirement, and rustication; but
seclusion with books is hardly loneliness. To
live half your life in a library is not neces-
sarily to become unsocial, perverse, inhos-
pitable. On the contrary, much may be said in
favour of the social education, the softening in-
fluences of such seclusion. In Tremont's case
they certainly were not harmful or narrowing ;
indeed, his straight-laced curate, Jabez Ogden,
who had grown old in his Master's and in
Tremont's father's service, bewailed the
liberalism, the socialism, he sometimes called
it, of his Rector's opinions, preaching, and
conduct.
By the way, there was never a greater dis-
appointment felt by a certain clique of Og-
denites than when John Tremont came from
Oxford and took over the family living. All
previous accounts were regarded as indicative
of a secular career for the dead Rector's son,
but we are all in the habit of interpreting
86
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
events to our own good ; that is where hope so
often leads us astray. Ogden hoped for pre-
ferment in the direction of the Rectorship.
John Tremont could not help him in that direc-
tion, but he increased his stipend and his duties,
allowed him to preach almost as often as he
pleased, did not agree with him in many church
essentials, but let him have his way and took his
own way also; and all this without leading to
undue controversy or friction. A mile from the
Rectory there was a growing and important
Roman Catholic monastery, and that gave the
parish sufficient opportunity for theological
wrangling and discussion. What puzzled the
community a good deal was Tremont's broad
church views, especially when considered with
his friendship for one of the young Fathers of
the religious house of the Catholics; but Ogden
kept the balance even by holding severely
aloof from the Catholics ; while, at the same
time, it was thought he vied with them in his
services—in truth, he had openly said that he
did not believe in letting the rival church have
things all its own way; if the parish found
comfort in going every now and then to the
chapel on the hill that belonged to the monas-
tery, he hoped to show them that the Churph
of England within her own blessed pale could
refresh the soul with music just as good, and
with formalities just as impressive, as those of
Catholicism, without the mummery and theat-
rical insincerity of the rival church. And so
"a woman of the world." 87
among them the service of the Lord was popu-
larised and made a vital thing; the Rector of
Charlton-Cleeve all the time pursuing the even
tenor of his way, loving with the devotion of a
genial youth and a sturdy manhood, the friend
of his boyhood, Richard Gordon Travers, and
filling the balance of his heart with the soothing,
happy face of Evelyn Somers.
Out of the world as Charlton-Cleeve un-
doubtedly was, it occasionally gave receptions
to the country folk; and recluse as John Tre-
mont loved to be, he once in a way went into
the county town to take part in some special
function of the Church or of the field. He
never missed the hunt dinner once a year, and
he attended the musical festival at the old
church in the pretty little capital of the county.
On the latter occasions he wore the white neck-
cloth that marks the clergyman. In the or-
dinary course of things he dressed as a layman,
and in many respects thought as a layman,
though he was punctilious in the performance
of all his local duties as the Rector of Charlton-
Cleeve. He gave to the poor and to the best
institutions of the Church ten times the income
of his living, which was part of his inheritance
from a line of famous old ancestors who had
lived and died at Charlton Manor and filled the
little church with effigies in marble, effigies in
metals, and armorial reminiscences, quaintly
combined with apostolic biography, in stained
glass.
88
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
But something too much of this. Let us get
back to the widow in her rocking-chair and to
the Rector lounging on the broad arm of the
old seat by her side.
"Yes, my dear Rector, you may indeed say
I am a travelled woman," remarked Mrs. Win-
nington, continuing the conversation so cha-
racteristically begun in the first page of the
present chapter, with a note of admiring ex-
clamation. "Any one who knows what travel
is, especially Eastern travel, could not fail to
envy you your lovely retreat of Charlton Ma-
nor, not to mention your picturesque church,
and your delightful profession of the cure of
souls."
" There are some people, even in this limited
parish, Mrs. Winnington, who think I am utterly
out of place in the Church, and that my idea of
the salvation of souls is about as erroneous as
the American colonel's eloquent lectures, which
aim at convincing the world that none of us
have a soul to save."
" I verily believe that the American colonel
is right as to some people. Indeed, I do not
think it is the vocation of all persons to have a
soul at all! Don't you remember—of course
you do—that the great Master spoke of the
future life as something that did not belong to
everyone—' to him that it shall be given,' I
think were His exact words. But forgive me, I
promised my worthy brother Grafton only
yesterday that I would not talk theology again
"a woman of the world." 89
for a week at least; nor Ibsen, nor theosophy,
nor hypnotism, nor anything in any way con-
troversial."
" I am sorry for that," said Tremont. " Why
did you make so rash a pledge ?''
" Because Grafton quarrelled with me over
the question of hereditary sin, physical and
moral, and Evelyn ventured to remark that her
father did not take so impartial a view of the
Blavatsky cult as he might."
" Evelyn has an open mind about the vexed
questions of the day," said Tremont.
"Too open, too free, I think, Mr. Tremont.
I am myself, as you know, very liberal, but I
draw the line at the faith which sees a visible
man climb skywards up an invisible rope, and
then come back dismembered, to reappear
presently in all the completeness of Hindoo
manhood."
" Yes, that is a feat which taxes the imagina-
tion ; but I confess that the psychic-search men,
the theosophists, and other faddists, so-called,
of the time are collecting together a great deal
of interesting literature upon various occult
things, and I am not inclined to laugh at them,
even if I am amused, not to say amazed, at
some of their wild assertions."
" Yes, that is what Grafton says. He thinks
you encourage Evelyn in what he calls her
pretty wrong-headedness, and that, as a clergy-
man, you ought to assume a certain amount of
orthodoxy, though you have it not. But talking
90
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
of Evelyn brings me back to the point where
you interrupted me."
" Did I interrupt you ? "
" Did you not, when I felt it my duty to
remind you that I am a woman of the world ? "
" Oh, yes, you were saying something about
Dick Travers."
" I was saying that if you have any thought
of Evelyn for yourself, you are going just the
wrong way to win her."
"What do you mean by winning her, Mrs.
Winnington ? "
"I am quite sure you are too much of a
gentleman to perpetrate a pun upon my name,
but you never seem to take me seriously, and I
don't know to what lengths your clerical levity
may lead you. I mean by your winning Evelyn
exactly what you know I mean, and I tell you
that to continually praise another man is not the
way to get a girl's mind concentrated upon
your own merits."
" Can you wonder that such a stay-at-home
as I should find a delightful theme in the
adventures of his oldest and dearest friend ? "
" Oh, no, I don't wonder at that; but I
advise you not to make Evelyn fall in love
with him—that is if you are in love with Evelyn
yourself."
"You have such a practical way with you,
Mrs. Winnington. Who has suggested that I
am in love with Evelyn ? "
" Who has suggested it! Oh, you unsophis-
A WOMAN OF THE WORLD." QI
ticated, clever, broad-shouldered, unorthodox
good fellow ! Who has suggested it! "
Mrs. Burford Winnington leaned back in her
wicker chair, laughed, showed her white teeth,
and declared that Tremont was " too funny for
anything."
"I am glad I amuse you," said the Rector.
" I wish I could make my parishioners laugh at
our monthly Penny Readings; but they treat
me entirely differently from the way in which
you say I treat you ; they take [me seriously,
whether I recite to them a ballad by Tom Hood,
an idyll by Bret Harte, or a passage from
Milton ! Do I then make myself ridiculous with
your niece?"
" My dear Mr. Tremont, ridiculous, no ! But
the ostrich with its head in the sand, calmly
waiting for the hunter to pass, is not more in
hiding than is your love for Evelyn; why, my
dear friend, everybody knows it! The villa-
gers know it."
"Nonsense ! " said Tremont.
" Every one of them," continued the widow.
" Absurd ! " said Tremont.
" Your man, Sandy Macdonald, knows all
about it, and talks you over with the house-
keeper."
"You exaggerate, Mrs. Winnington," said
Tremont.
" If I said Evelyn's Skye-terrier knows all
about it I might exaggerate, perhaps, though
I will not be sure about that; dogs are
Q2 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
often as wise and discriminating as human
beings."
"Very odd, is it not," said Tremont, with
an amused smile, " that Evelyn and I know
nothing of it ? "
" Do you mean to say, my reverend friend,
Rector and Perpetual Curate of Charlton-
Cleeve, and hereditary owner of Charlton Manor
and the lands thereunto belonging, that you
are not over head and ears in love with my
niece, Miss Evelyn Somers, daughter of Mr.
Grafton Somers, Justice of the Peace and Lord
of the Manor ? "
Mrs. Winnington rose to launch this de-
clamatory question at Tremont, who bowed his
head with mock solemnity before the charge,
and then replaced the widow's chair and
motioned her to be again seated.
" No, I cannot sit still," she said, " in pre-
sence of such insensibility. I declare you posi-
tively excite me with your sang froid; you are
as bad as our friend Mr. Edward Wykeham."
"As good, you mean," said Tremont, re-
viving the plumpness of the cushions, which
had given to the shapely form of the excitable
widow.
"As bad I said, and I mean what I say,"
she replied, as Tremont took her hand gallantly
and led her to her seat, into which she almost
disappeared with a sigh among a little cushion
world of swansdown and satin.
" Now don't you think if I were in love with
"A WOMAN OF THE WORLD." 93
your niece, Miss Evelyn Somers, as you say I
am, and as Evelyn's Skye-terrier knows only too
well, that it would be my duty to confess to her
father before I confessed to her aunt, however
sympathetic that kind and genial aunt might
be "
" Oh, yes, laugh at me, and make out I want
to pump you; insinuate that I am inquisitive;
that is so like you."
" Is it? Then I am sorry. I thought I had
a way of speaking frankly. I remember once
that you said I was brusque, that I did not
approach difficult matters with tact; but I have
no doubt you are right; no man knows himself;
it is worth while now and then to have the
opinion of a clever, travelled woman upon one's
peculiarities. Still, as I was saying, don't you
think I ought first to tell Mr. Somers, and next
his daughter, the secret you and the village
and the Skye-terrier have discovered ? "
" Now you are angry!" exclaimed the
widow, looking up at Tremont with all the
sympathy and friendship she could express in
her bright grey eyes.
" Angry ! No, truly; how could I be angry
with you ? I was never angry with a woman in
.my life."
" Ah, you are a bachelor : there is time
enough."
" Nothing that you would be likely to do or
say, my dear Mrs. Winnington, could make me
angry."
94
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"That is, as I said before, because you do
not take me seriously."
" Here is a friend who takes you seriously,
Mrs. Winnington—very seriously, I think—
the gentleman you mentioned only a moment
ago."
" What, that good-natured, genial, but some-
what mysterious Mr. Wykeham ? " she ex-
claimed.
"Yes, he is coming from the house along the
western side."
"Alone!" she asked, arranging her skirts
and assuming the most graceful pose that the
chair and its many cushions would permit.
"No, Evelyn is with him. Shall I go and
meet them ? "
" Shall you go and meet Evelyn you mean ? "
said the widow, laughing.
" And release that good-natured but some-
wjiat mysterious Mr. Wykeham?" the Rector
rejoined.
"You do take one up so! " said the widow.
" I really wonder you keep so bright, living out
of the world as you do."
" It is a reflected brilliance, my dear Mrs.
Winnington ; Charlton-Cleeve plays the moon
to your sunlight."
" Why, they are not coming this way, they
have turned into the rose garden," said the
widow, who had been watching Evelyn and
Wykeham while she was talking to Tremont.
" Have they, really ? Why, that good-natured
"A WOMAN OF THE WORLD." 95
and genial Mr. Wykeham is more mysterious
than ever this morning."
" What a tease you are ! One would think
that I had more than a friendly feeling for the
young man. Pray get that out of your wise
head at once, my dear Mr. Tremont; nothing
will ever induce me to marry again."
" Do you call Wykeham nothing? "
" I don't understand you."
" Nothing will ever induce you to marry
again, you say."
" Very well, then, I will amend the remark
and say nobody will induce me to change my
condition."
" And I will vary my question ; do you call
Wykeham nobody? "
" I declare you are quite a torment to-day. I
don't know what has come over you," said the
widow, unable, with all her travelled experience
of the world, to conceal the pleasure which the
Rector's badinage gave her.
" I think I had better go and see what other
attraction there is for that good-natured, genial
young man, in the rose garden, beyond our
host's fair daughter, eh? "
"Not on my account," said the widow, lean-
ing back in her chair, and closing her eyes.
"But you will excuse me," said the Rector,
taking off his straw hat.
"I will not say another word," the widow
replied. " You are determined to misunder-
stand me."
96 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"I don't think so. Do you like a red rose
or a white rose best—or a blush rose ? "
"Either, so that it has no thorns," said the
widow.
"You are too fastidious," the Rector replied,
"and you cannot have read your Dr. Watts,
who, after complimenting the busy bee, girded
at the 'cursed soil,' 'whose rills of pleasure
have no unpolluted spring, so roses grow on
thorns and honey wears a sting.' Oh, he was a
great philosopher, I assure you—Dr. Watts! I
will go and find out what Mr. Wykeham knows
about him. Aurevoir," and the Rector took his
way round by the western entrance and dis-
appeared behind the tall trim edge of the Cleeve
House flower garden.
" I have hardly ever known the Rector so
merry! What is the meaning of it, I wonder?"
said the widow.
CHAPTER VII.
among the roses at cleeve house.
" Come on, therefore, let v*. enjoy the good things that are
present; and let us speedily use the creatures like as in youth.
"Let us fill ourselves with costly wine, and ointments, and
let no flower of the Spring pass us by.
" Let us crown ourselves with rose-buds, before they be
withered."—Solomon.
An ounce of woman's instinct is worth a bushel
of man's wisdom.
The most shallow-brained widow is a Solon
in petticoats compared with a bachelor in love.
John Tremont ought to have known this. He
should have learnt it in his books.
And yet he took no more notice of Mrs.
Winnington's warnings than he did of her
declaration that she was a woman of the world.
In regard to this latter point he may be for-
given, for instead of the fact becoming the
stronger for repetition, the widow's oral trade
mark had been quite rubbed out by constant
use. Indeed, her friends began to disbelieve
in it altogether. Even that goodnatured, genial
Wykeham disbelieved it inhis secret soul, al-
though his secret soul was full of the image of
H
98 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the pleasant widow, and his memory treasured
■her lightest words.
Her woman's instinct had, however, given
Tremont wholesome warning. Unhappily he
was too wise in his own conceit, at any rate in
regard to his friendship for Travers and his
undeclared love for Evelyn, to take serious
note of the widow's useful hints.
Once or twice he had been on the eve of
making his real feelings towards Evelyn un-
derstood in words. It was true, as Mrs.
Winnington informed him, everybody knew he
was in love with Evelyn Somers. The girl's
mother understood it; she often talked it over
with Grafton, who had confessed that he some-
times wondered that the Rector did not speak
of it. "All in good time," the mother had
said; " Evelyn is not as other girls; she does
not think that the natural destiny of every
woman is to marry; she is in no hurry."
"Which means," the father had replied,
" that she has not made up her mind about
Tremont, and perhaps he knows that, and
therefore says nothing about it."
There was a good deal of truth in this last
view of the situation between Evelyn and
Tremont.
They had known each other intimately
during the last three years of Tremont's rec-
torship. They were well acquainted before
that. Tremont's father was a great friend of
Evelyn's father ; and Evelyn's mother and
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 99
Tremont's mother, as girls, went to the same
school. The two families were, therefore,
very closely connected by ties of locality and
friendship.
Evelyn had finished her education at one of
the higher women's colleges of London, and
in mind and thought, in knowledge and study,
was abreast with the educational movements
of the time, in sympathy with the highest
ambitions of women, and disinclined to be over-
critical, even with regard to the follies into
which literary and lecturing women had
plunged, in their search for the higher wisdom
and in defence of the various cults to which
some of the most learned, or the most eccentric,
of the sex had committed their sympathetic
sisters.
It is, therefore, easy to understand that Miss
Somers found the companionship of John
Tremont both pleasant and instructive. He
was peculiarly broad-minded, as we have,
already seen, in matters of theology, religion,
and politics. He was deeply read; indeed he
knew too much to be a bigot or an enthusiast.
It is the man of one idea who is the enthusiast,
not the student who is omnivorous in his
reading. Knowledge often tames ambition.
It had given Tremont something of the philo-
sophy of the Pope, who instanced the life of
Christ as a warning to reformers, but it had
not dried up his natural sensibilities ; and when
one says he was not an enthusiast, it would
IOO THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
be right to define the meaning of enthusiasm,
in the general acceptation of the term, as
first, the ardent belief in a special revelation
from God, and secondly, as devotion to some
great public cause or object—a devotee, a
zealot ; for Tremont was an enthusiast in one
direction. He was an enthusiast in his friend-
ship for Dick Travers; and Mrs. Winnington
was right in suspecting that a nature . such
as Evelyn's might catch some of Tremont's
intense admiration for his one great intimate
friend, who was heroically enshrined in his
memory and thoughts.
Evelyn possessed more of the character of
an enthusiast, in the rightful meaning of the
word, than Tremont. She believed in the
virtuous supremacy of woman over man. She
believed that women were capable of all that
men had done or could do from an intellectual
stand-point, and it entertained Tremont to
hear her enforce her arguments in these di-
rections. She gave man all his physical
rights, but she insisted on the superior wisdom
of woman as the adviser, the seer, the oracle,
and she resisted with all her eloquence the
idea that women should be the submissive
wives that men had designed they should be.
Tremont was fain to admit that for centuries
men had made the laws for women, and without
the aid or consent of women, and he was in
favour of giving them a much wider freedom
than they now possessed. He liked, as far
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 101
as possible, to agree with Evelyn, and he loved
to discuss all kinds of questions with her, de-
lighted in rousing her to enthusiasm, loved to
see her eyes flash and the colour rush into her
pale, handsome face.
Miss Somers was not beautiful, but she was
something more—she was handsome with an
intellectuality that did not hurt her womanliness.
It was a beauty you experienced; not a beauty
you saw all at once. Evelyn had her moods.
Sometimes she was gentle, tender, feminine,
womanly. Sometimes she was sad, gloomy,
with tearful eyes. Sometimes she was alert
and active in mind and body, ready for anything,
argument, lawn tennis, singing and dancing,
her face aglow, her voice loud, her manners
noisy. She was variable, even frivolous oc-
casionally, but she was never a fool, and she
was always a woman.
What was her age?. Twenty-five. Did she
love John Tremont ? Who can fathom woman's'
heart ? She liked his society and would sing
for him when she would sing for no one else.
She admired his character, sometimes said
he was wasting his life, but at other times
defended his humility, the humility of the
wise and learned man, the humility of the true
philosopher.
Perhaps Tremont was not selfish enough for
a successful lover. The lover who is persistent
in his suit is the lover most-appreciated by
women ; the bold and unceasing wooer, the
102 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
man who declares he cannot live without the
woman to whom he kneels, the lover who
thinks self and talks self, who despairs, who
says life has no object for him but one, who
never takes the trouble to mention the woman's
happiness,. who ignores her share of the bar-
gain except in so far as it administers to his
wishes, to his pleasure. This is the man for
most women, this is the man who wins.
Tremont was not one of these lovers. He
feared to take advantage of his position in the
Somers' family. He hesitated about pushing
his suit through the strategy of discussion.
While he challenged Evelyn's intellect, he
was bashful in regard to the imposition of his
hopes and desires upon her heart. He loved
her so well that he raised her too high for
assault. At the same time, whenever he had
felt himself inclined to start on this thorny
path of suggestion, whenever he had felt he
was approaching that something of word and
look that becomes a declaration almost without
speech, Evelyn had held back every hint or
show of encouragement. And so they went
on from day to day, from week to week, from
month to month, until they were such good
friends and true, that "the rosy god of love"
betook himself to the contemplation and
encouragement of other more combustible
hearts.
Nevertheless,' on this summer afternoon
Tremont was unusually brave. Evelyn did
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. IO3
not remember when he was so light-hearted
and happy. After he had sent Wykeham off to
find the widow he told her all about the chat
he had had with Mrs. Winnington ; how he had
jested with her about Wykeham, how he be-
lieved the widow was really in love with the
young fellow from town, but he said nothing
of the widow's warning.
Evelyn was sitting in what might literally
be called a bower of roses. Mr. Somers was a
famous amateur rose grower. At some of the
local flower shows he had carried off prizes
against all-comers, professional and otherwise.
His rose garden covered a couple of acres,
and—on this June day when Evelyn and
Tremont sat in one of the two summer houses
that dominated it—the place was a paradise
of blooms and perfume. There were roses
of every hue. The unattainable blue rose was
even on its way towards realisation among
the lovely graftings of the Somers' garden.
There had been rain in the early morning,
and here and there a crystal drop sparkled
on leaf and flower. When Evelyn found in
this a reflection touching the sorrows of life
being so closely bound up with its happiness,
Tremont, all unlike himself, likened the rain-
drops, not to nature's tears, but to the diamond
sparkling on the bosom of beauty.
4'You are indeed in a merry mood," said
Evelyn, gathering her long trailing skirts
together, and composing herself in her pretty
ic>4 the princess mazaroff.
garden chair as if for a long and agreeable
talk.
441 have a pleasant surprise for you," he
replied, leaning against the door-post of the
arbour, a contrast of careless dressing com-
pared with Evelyn's pretty costume.
There was nothing in the educational ac-
quirements of Evelyn that induced her to
forget that she was a woman, a good-looking
woman, and a woman who could set off a
pretty dress. This, indeed, was one of the
charms of Evelyn Somers. She was what some
people reproachfully called strong-minded with-
out any of the outward signs of the aggressive
female battling for women's rights; she was
feminine and attractive; and on this pleasant
summer day, she was a bright example of
comely English beauty in her grey Liberty
crape dress, with gloves and shoes of grey
Suede and soft grey chip hat, with its long
trailing sprays of pale pink roses.
Tremont noted this, and looked down with a
little tremor of delight into her brown eyes,
and felt the soft, insinuating influence of the
time.
Evelyn was playing with a parasol of grey
chiffon, about which was repeated the trailing
roses of her hat. Her pale complexion had
caught something of the rosy hues of the
arbour and her own pinky decorations.
If she had never known Tremont so merry,
he had never remarked her as looking so
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. IO5
attractive, so prettily dressed at home. He
had seen her at the local flower shows, the
observed of all observers, not alone for her
noble face but for her pretty and striking- cos-
tume; but to-day she was attired so daintily
and so much, as he thought, in the best
fashion, that her beauty was enhanced by her
costume, and her wit by both.
For a moment he longed to tell her this.
For a moment he forgot his friend and only
remembered himself. For a moment he was
in a humour to confess his love. It is not un-
likely that had he done so, Evelyn might have
been surprised into accepting his homage,
and even naming the day; only for a moment!
What sin had John Tremont committed that
fortune should have let the moment go ?
" And what is the surprise ? " Evelyn asked
presently, when Tremont had done gazing at
her, and letting the one great promising
moment of his life go by without taking the
gift it seemed to offer him.
"Travers is coming to Charlton-Cleeve."
"When?" _
" This evening."
" And that is why you are so gay ? "
"Yes," he said, and there was a momentary
shade of disappointment in the tone of his
answer, responsive to just a momentary shade
of disappointment in the manner in which
Evelyn said, " And that is the reason why you
are so gay ?''
I06 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Is it possible that she had expected a
declaration of love ? Is it possible that in
dressing herself for an afternoon walk in the
grounds, and afternoon tea by the eastern
porchway on the lawn, Evelyn had actually
been moved by thoughts of love ? Is it possible
that the " rosy god," returning for a moment,
had given the dallying couple a passing re-
cognition, and had touched them both, if only
with a brush of his wing?
"This evening," she said rising. "Will
you give me my parasol ? "
"Yes, I hope you will like him," he said,
handing her the sunshade and assisting her
to rise.
" Like him ! Why, of course I shall like him
very much. Was he in Paris in December ? "
" I think he was," said Tremont.
" Do you know," she said, plucking a rose
and bending over it for a moment, " I have
sometimes thought that the strange Englishman
who stopped our horses in the Place Vendome,
at the risk of his life, might have been your
friend Mr. Richard Gordon Travers."
" What a curious fancy ! " said Tremont.
" Oh, I don't know ; he was very much like
your description of Travers. Very tall ? "
"Yes," said Tremont.
" A large mouth, that one could imagine to
be more in sympathy with mirth than with
sorrow ? "
"Yes."
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 107
" Bright grey eyes, fine arched eyebrows ? "
"Yes."
" Rather an apologetic kind of manner? "
" Yes."
" Very proud, nevertheless? "
"Yes."
" Large hands ? "
"Yes, very."
"Careless in dress; wore a brown velvet
shooting coat and grey trousers ; both of
which, when we met, were soiled with mud
and dirt annexed during his struggle with our
horses."
"Quite a good description of Dick," said
Tremont smiling; but, oddly enough, in spite
of himself he did not feel quite happy in listen-
ing to Evelyn's detailed account of her hero of
the Place Vendome.
" And there was a lounging swing in the
manner of his walk," she went on, " partly due
to his height, partly to his indifference to
opinion, which is pride in disguise, and partly
from the habit of riding."
"Yes," said Tremont, "whether it is Dick
or not you will know the man who stopped your
horses, whenever you meet him."
"Yes, I shall never forget him," she said,
and Tremont noticed that she seemed to be
looking into space. She sighed and did not
speak again for some minutes ; neither did he;
and when they did speak they both avoided the
subject of the carriage accident.
I08 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
By this time they had reached the spot where
Mrs. Winnington and Mr. Edward Wykeham
were sitting, and as they approached them a
servant was placing afternoon tea outside the
porch. At the same moment Mrs. Somers came
out of the house in a tea-gown of a soft, but
much befrilled pattern, upon which Evelyn
complimented her.
" But you always look sweet, mother, and,
what is more, you are sweet; and kind hearts
are more than coronets."
"And common sense," added the widow,
" than Norman blood. I declare it has been
quite a poetic afternoon ; the Rector quoted
Dr. Watts to me, and Mr. Wykeham has given
me a taste of Tennyson."
"No; has he though?" said Mr. Grafton
Somers, the Saturday Review in one hand and
half-a-dozen magazines in the other, all of
which he proceeded to lay upon the floor by
the side of the lowest seat at the table.
" He thathumbleth himself shall be exalted,"
he said, nodding at the Rector, and slipping
quietly into his favourite chair.
" And the devil did grin, for his darling sin
is pride that apes humility," rejoined Mrs.
Winnington.
" Oh, you are there," said Somers. "I did
not see you for the moment—thought you were
among the roses, with Wykeham ; oh, no!
Ted is here, too, I see; why, what a happy
party we are ! When did you come, Ted ?"
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. IO9
" By the 1*30," said Wykeham,and from the
manner in which he spoke you would have
expected him to blush ; but he did not. Most
people thought Wykeham blushed and was shy;
but he did not blush and he was not shy. He
had a peculiar manner, and was monotonous
in his movements. He never hurried. When
he said he would be off he was not off—he lin-
gered; indeed, he lingered over everything
and everybody, especially over Mrs. Win-
nington. He lingered in his speech, but he
always said the right thing and at the right
time. He had a slight lisp, very slight, just
enough to emphasise his individuality. He
had a habit of rubbing his hands together,
especially when he was saying something to
the point. And he would linger over the point
quite cleverly, as orators do when they have
got a particularly good one, and want their
audiences to believe they are hesitating for a
word. Not that Wykeham did this inten-
tionally ; it belonged to his intellectual me-
thod; he couldn't help it.
Wykeham was a stock-broker; his father
was a stock-broker; his grandfather before him
had been a stock-broker; though, as Ted said,
when questioned by Mrs. Winnington upon the
subject, " how we came to be in such a low,
common business I never could make out,
seeing that our great ancestor was William
Wykeham, or William of Wykeham, as he pre-
ferred to call himself, being a proud man—
110 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Bishop of Winchester, when it was something
to be a bishop; you should see him in the
portrait that hangs in—father's dining-room—
I tell you it is just something too tremendous
—a mitre, the Attenborough of the time would
have advanced—thousands on, and a cope that
was equally studded—with precious stones."
He did not say all this right off fluently and
without hesitation, but he lingered here and
there to give point to his sentences, and he
maintained, as he always did, the same calm,
imperturbable countenance, not exactly grave,
but unemotional, and always with ever so small
a suspicion of a laugh that had to come in
somewhere but never came.
" Yes, indeed, I must see that portrait," Mrs.
Winnington had said, and sure enough she did
see it, and with all speed, for there had come
to her an invitation to dinner from Wykeham
pere, and she had found it all just as Ted had
described ; and what had delighted her as much
as anything was Wykeham pere s announcement
to her that there had been a great rise in
Egyptians since he had made a certain little
speculative investment for her. And it was
soon after this dinner that Mrs. Winnington
had introduced Edward Wykeham to Mr. and
Mrs. Somers, and since which time, whenever
Mrs. Winnington was visiting Charlton-Cleeve,
Wykeham had obtained an invitation to spend
Saturday until Monday, and the Somers family
grew to be quite fond of Ted, and he made
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. Ill
himself agreeable to everybody in the place.
The Rector even found him an intelligent com-
panion ; for Ted had a store of curious informa-
tion all about the city, foreign investments,
international diplomacy, and the Wykehams ol
Wykeham, in Hampshire, where Wykeham/^
owned quite a large estate.
"Well, Evelyn, did you find out what made
the Rector so gay to-day ? I declare there was
no bearing with his lively sallies this morning."
" His what? " exclaimed Somers.
" His lively sallies," repeated the widow,
defiantly.
"Shocking!" exclaimed Somers, . winking
at Tremont.
" Grafton, you grow worse and worse," said
the widow. "Pray attend to your magazines
and let us alone."
" There! That will keep Grafton quiet," said
Mrs. Somers, handing him a cup of tea, while
the servant placed before him a plate of dainty
bread and butter and a dish of strawberries.
" The Rector has been unusually mirthful,"
said Evelyn ; " but don't you know why ? "
"No ! " said several voices together.
"It is not a secret?" she asked, turning
to Tremont.
" Oh, no; I was going to make a general
proclamation of the news after I had told it to
you."
" Mr. Richard Gordon Traversis expected at
Cleeve Manor this evening."
112 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Really!" said Mrs. Somers, "how in-
teresting!"
"You don't say so!" said Somers. "That is
an event; you will have the district reporter of
the County Journal calling upon you."
"I know why he didn't tell me," said Mrs.
Winnington, raising her oracular finger. "Well,
we shall see."
"Why would he not tell you?" Evelyn
asked.
" Don't ask me at present. I may tell you
some day."
"Won't you take some tea?" asked Ted,
handing a cup to Mrs. Winnington, " and you
have taken no cream with your strawberries."
One ought almost to have Ted's remarks
printed specially, with furtive commas here and
there and lingering dashes ; but the reader will
quite get into the habit, I hope, of feeling that
this is how Ted talks, because, if the reader
does feel like that, he will relish Ted all the
more, and he is a very worthy fellow, though
he is odd and only a stock-broker.
" Mr. Travers is the gentleman who has been
to Africa, I believe?" said Ted, quietly taking
a seat by the side of Mrs. Winnington, when he
was quite sure she had got all the tea and bread
and butter and strawberries she wanted.
"Yes," said the Rector.
" Your old college friend ?" said Ted, mea-
suring his sentences.
"The same," said Tremont
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 113
44 Yes, I saw it in Truth or the World that
he was making- a coaching drive through the
Midlands and the South—he and his father and
his sister. He is a great whip—Mr. Richard
Gordon Travers—it was he who drove the coach
over Harthover Fell, without a skid—and with
the leaders running away—one wheel half over
the—precipice, and yet he got through without
breaking a trace-—much less losing—a life."
44 Did the Rector tell you that ? " asked Mrs.
Winnington.
44 No," said Ted, 44 it was all in the World
or Truth, I forget which—I suppose it's true—
they get some wonderful stories into those
clever—papers. I know a man in the city
who invents—Stories for some of the news-
papers."
"Well, he might invent something worse,"
said Somers, 44 that's a fact; one of you clever
people in the city persuaded me to put some
money into an invention for printing without
types; I lost a thousand pounds over that
invention."
"You got out cheaply," said Ted, 44 they,
might have—induced you to become—a—
director, and there's no knowing where you
would have—been if they had—done that for
you. I know several directors who are serving
their time at—Dartmoor."
44 You don't say so!" exclaimed Somers,
dropping all his papers; 44 is that a fact ? "
44 It is," said Ted, with a decided twinkle in
i
114 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the eye nearest to Mrs. Winnington. " I could
tell you several other—equally startling facts."
" I dare say you could," said Somers; " you
city men have strange experiences."
"Not so strange as some of you county
gentlemen, .who make miscellaneous—invest-
ments—I'm thinking," said Ted, smiling more
significantly than usual at the widow.
" Don't invoke disagreeable memories," said
Mrs. Winnington. " Grafton has sown all his
wild oats in the way of speculation."
"Yes, thank goodness," said Grafton. "I
am quite content with four per cent, nowadays."
"And you thrive on it, Mr. Somers," said
Ted. " As for me I want five-and-twenty, and
sometimes—I get it." In an aside to Mrs.
Winnington he said, " I am only getting even
with him for poking fun at you."
"Well, then, never mind. I would much
rather you would be the pleasant fellow you
are, and I don't want you to get even, as you
call it, for me," Mrs. Winnington replied behind
her tea-cup and saucer.
" Yes, he is driving," said Tremont, answer-
ing a question put by Mrs. Somers. " I had a
telegram from Worcester this morning; he
said he would arrive at six, and he mentioned
his father and sister. I have arranged to enter-
tain them, and it occurred to me that you might
all come and dine with me at seven."
"This evening ? " said Mrs. Somers.
" I know it is a very short notice; but it is
AMONG THE ROSES AT CLEEVE HOUSE. 115
of course without ceremony, merely a dinner of
neighbours and friends."
"We will come, of course," said Mrs. Somers.
" Eh, Evelyn, what do you say ? "
" Oh, yes," Evelyn replied.
" And Mrs. Winnington ? " said Tremont.
"With pleasure," said the widow.
"And you, Mr. Wykeharr.? "
"Thank you very much," said Wykeham.
And just then several callers dropped in for
afternoon tea, including the Rev. Jabez Ogden
and his aged mother; the Miss Wemberleys
of Tewksbury Hall, Sir Peter Storrs and Lady
Storrs; and in the midst of shaking hands and
friendly- gossip and inquiry, Tremont left to
prepare for his guests. Evelyn, begging to be
excused, sought her room, flung herself into a
chair and burst into tears, why she knew not.
Her heart ached sorely. She felt as if the
shadow of some great impending misfortune
had fallen upon her.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE pioneer and the stay-at-home.
" Oh ! happiness ! our being's end and aim !
Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name,
That something still which prompts the eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die."
Pofte.
The little town of Charlton-Cleeve had an
unusually picturesque appearance on this Satur-
day evening of Dick Travers's visit.
To begin with, it was always picturesque,
always well groomed, as Dick's guard would
have said. The streets were clean. The general
tone of colour was brown. The houses were
mostly brick, with stone facings. The town
was one broad street, with a bridge at the end
of it. The houses were chiefly of the Queen
Anne period of architecture. They gave right
on the street, some with fine iron gates, all
with gardens in the rear, all backed by trees,
all with flowers in their windows, all clean and
neat with spick-and-span white blinds, all well-
to-do.
There had been some kind of festival the day
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 117
before, and one or two flags were still waving
in the wind, giving that additional touch of
the picturesque which marked its clean old-
world appearance on this occasion.
Moreover Saturday night was somewhat of
a holiday night.
The men had received their wages; they
strolled about the streets or took an extra glass
at the ale-house. The^ women were more or
less in the streets, some of them shopping,
some of them keeping company with their
young men.
The evening was fine, with a breeze from
the river that tempered the summer heat. There
was not a cloud in the sky. It was one of
those evenings when you might look for a long
lovely twilight. Everything was peaceful, the
town as serene as the sky. Everybody seemed
happy. There did not appear to be an anxious
face in the streets or at the doors and windows.
Here and there the townsfolk stood at their
doors gossiping with their neighbours; here
and there a woman sat at her window half
hidden behind clusters of roses, fuschias, Can-
terbury bells, and lupins, mending clothes or
darning linen for the Sunday.
So quiet and peaceful was it all, so uneventful
the place, that when there resounded on the out-
skirts of the long street the sound of a coaching
horn, everybody paused to listen and to look,
and there was a subdued hum of applause and
admiration as the Travers coach came swing-
118 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
ing round from the broad highway into the
equally broad street of Charlton-Cleeve.
On the box-seat, in grey frock-coat, a rose in
his button-hole, sat Dick Travers, his sister Gerty
by his side, with blush roses in her hat and
blush roses in her cheeks. They were a hand-
some couple, brother and sister, happy, young,
full of health and spirits. On the next seat, grey
but hearty, lithe and bright, with earnest eyes
and cleanly shaven face, sat the father of the
happy couple, Sir Gordon Travers, calmly en-
joying a cigar, and expressing silent approval
of all he saw.
Dick's team consisted of four greys, and they
moved along as if with one step, like soldiers
on the march. It was not necessary that Dick
should put such horses well together; they
knew what was required of them. They kept
up a level steady pace. You might have laid
a pack of cards upon their backs, they would
have ridden without a spill. It was like machi-
nery. This was the verdict of the lookers on.
They had never seen such a team, never such a
whip, never by the way heard such a horn ;
the guard, Tom Williams, played a tune upon
it that was full of the gay cheerful spirit of
the horn and had all the masterful go of the
trumpet. The coach was as neat and artistic
as a coach out of a picture; red the prevail-
ing colour, red and black and silver harness;
and the horses seemed to be just as proud of
it as Dick was of them. He saluted the as-
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. Iig
tonished Charlton-Cleevers respectfully with
his whip, and the team cantered with a musical
rhythm in the tramp of their ringing shoes over
the bridge, and disappeared as if the whole
thing had been a vision.
" They must be going to Cleeve House or to
Charlton Manor,'' said one of the wiseacres,
" or they be goin' right on through to Mai-
vern; I dunno, don't ax I. If they be some
thin' out of a picter and ain't natural at all,
a sort of Will-o'-the-Wisp as one hears tell on,
I wouldn't be surprised."
But they were real enough, coach and horses,
driver, passengers, grooms, guard, and lug-
gage too; and they pulled up fresh as paint
at the gates of Charlton Manor, right under
the rookery where the crows and their families
were cawing to each other their good nights ;
for like the good people of Charlton-Cleeve,
they retired early, and they knew it was Sunday
on the morrow and that they would be up early
for the morning hymn. Queer birds, these
black gentry of the tall elms, they knew all
about Saturday and Sunday just as well as if
they had children to wash, and clothes to put
out, for Sunday school and church ; and when
they were at roost, after the arrival of the
Travers coach, they talked about it until they
went to sleep, and wondered what it might por-
tend, arriving with so much ostentation of horn
and silver trappings on this particular Saturday
evening.
120 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
The coach, as we* have seen, created some
sensation in C.harlton-Cleeve, but when the
horses came to a stand, and guard and two
grooms in q,uiet liveries dropped to the ground,
the Rector's men received it as if they were
accustomed to put up coaches and horses all
their lives. The Rector's stableman had re-
cruited his hands from the Green Dragon in
the town, and Dick's Yorkshire guard, who
was no end of a whip himself, was not a li-ttle
astonished at the efficiency of the Cleeve Manor
helps, and at the excellent appointment of the
stables. He agreed with the local grooms that
the Rector was something like a parson, though
the sententious ostler from the Green Dragon
said the fact was Mr. Tremont was not like a
parson at all, that was where his stables and his
'osses came in; not that he had anything to
say against parsons, for they were a good sort
so far as he knew anything of them, but their
call was not in the direction of 'osses and
coaches, and fishing and shooting, though Mr.
Tremont did all that and more, and he was a
most whacking scholar to boot, for he not
only had the biggest lot o' books in the county,
but he'd heard it said, and he believed it, as
he'd read every mortal one of'em.
While the stable-men and the helps swashed
about with buckets of water, and shisshed and
shisshed with sponges all over the horses and
rubbed them down, and washed out their mouths
and otherwise made a great noise of purring and
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 121
swisshing, and the horses responded with curious
bubbling noises and stamping of hoofs and
lashing of tails, the Rector received his guests,
almost embracing Dick, shaking hands heartily
with Sir Gordon, and handing Miss Travers over
to the housekeeper with many admonitions as to
the young lady's requirements and comforts.
"It is indeed a great delight to have you
here, Dick," said Tremont, following him into
his chamber, which overlooked a fine stretch
of meadow lands and picturesque hedgerows,
backed by the Breddon Hills, which filled the
far distance of the landscape, soft and grey
against the evening sky.
"My dear old chap," said Travers, "when
I look at you I could feel as if we had never
parted."
"Yet we are both a good deal changed,"
said Tremont.
"I am ; you are just the same studious, wise-
looking fellow, and there is the same big heart
beating beneath your waistcoat."
"You were always too prejudiced a friend,
Dick, ever to see any of my faults."
" By Jove, you never had any, except that
you were too much of a stay-at-home, too much
of a bookworm. As for me, oh, don't talk of
me, I am stained with the world's dirt, with the
world's barbarism ; nothing anchors me, that is
my trouble, I must always be on the move. I
fear that will be the rock I and my father will
split upon, if we ever do split."
122 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Which you never will, Dick, you love him
too well, he is too devoted to you."
"He wishes me to settle down now, as he
calls it; the iron works want looking after,
the estate has grown, he and some capitalists
have a great scheme on hand for Africa ; that
is my one hope, they may want me to go out
again to see after that. The truth is I am a
backwoodsman, a pioneer, an explorer, a wan-
derer, an adventurer; I was going to say a
waster, to use a Yorkshire phrase, a ne'er-do-
well."
" Not a bit of it, old fellow, you only have
the same instincts and inclinations that Raleigh,
Gilbert, Cabot, Cook, Speke, Grant, Stanley, and
Livingstone and the rest have had; and surely
it is a noble trait, and a useful one. But I can
understand that it upsets your father's plans,
and I feel with him that it is hard to part with
you. There has not been a day, my dear
Dick, that I have not thought of you."
"I can almost say the same of you, old
fellow," said Dick. "Once or twice in a tight
place I had not time to think of you; otherwise
you were continually in my mind, and I often
said, when we came upon something more
than usually remarkable, 'by Jove, I should
like Tremont to see this' ; and I hope you got
the curios and things I sent you."
"Of course I did. I made an exhibition of
some of them in the school-room here, and
delivered a little lecture about them, and told
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 123
my enthusiastic audience that I hoped one day
to introduce the donor of them to Charlton-
Cleeve."
44 That's too bad," Dick said, laughing and
laying his great right hand upon his host's
shoulder. "I did expect you would let me
be; I did not think that you would make a
show of me. I felt I should have peace and
quiet at Cleeve Manor anyhow."
44 Well, dear friend, and so you shall if you
like. Surely nothing could be quieter than
your reception."
44 Nothing more like dear old JackTremont,"
said the traveller. 44 Parson Tremont now,
eh?" ^ .
44 Oh, yes, if you like. They call me the
Rector, but in a general way I don't think they
have any great opinion of me as a parson;
they forgive me on account of my popular and
venerable curate, who is orthodox, industrious,
and domesticated. You know I never was much
of a theologian."
441 don't know anything of the kind. I know
you were considered to be a most learned
pundit. There was hardly a don that was in it
with you, there was not a coach who did not
compare notes with you, and there was not a
modest fellow in all Oxford who could hold a
candle to you."
" Nonsense, Dick, I am really very ignorant
of most things. It is true I find an endless plea-
sure in books; it is true I know all about what
124 the princess mazaroff.
may be called the literature of theology. But
what is all this ? How comes it that we are
talking about me ? You are the hero of the day,
and, best of all, you are my guest, with your
wallet full of stories and adventures, and yet I
feel as if I wanted to talk about nothing so
much as the old days when we were boys and
college chums.1'
Dick had flung himself down upon a great
old-fashioned sofa. Tremont had taken a seat
facing him, and they had gone on chattering
like a couple of women, forgetful of all the
world but themselves. It seemed to them as
if they had scarcely exchanged words of greet-
ing when the warning gong for dressing buzzed
and hummed, soft and musical, along the
corridor.
"Dinner in half an hour," said the host
rising. " I must leave you now. I will look in
upon your father and see if he finds his room
comfortable. The Manor House has nothing
much to boast of, but it is cosy. It was my
dear father's constant study to make the place
homelike, as he said, not sumptuous, but home-
like."
" So far as I can see it is both, Jack, and if
it were a hovel it would be good enough for me
if it were good enough for you."
The Rector shook his friend's hand once
more, and leaving him to Mellish, who had been
laying out his clothes in the dressing-room,
went off along a balustraded staircase of light-
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 125
coloured old oak to the chamber assigned to
Sir Gordon Travers.
" May I come in ? " he asked, tapping at the
door and partly opening it.
"Of course you may," said a genial voice,
with a note of decision in it ; a voice that
seemed to say, " Make no mistake about me,
I am a business man, one having authority" ;
and this was characteristic of Sir Gordon in all
his relations of life. He was proud but not
arrogant ; he liked to refer to his ancestry,
though it was only a yeoman ancestry; he
loved work, and liked other people to love it;
he was anything but an emotional man, and
would have been ashamed of exhibiting any-
thing like emotion which he regarded as weak
and unmanly ; he was, nevertheless, fully capable
of the sincerest and most warm affection.
The Rector entered, to find Sir Gordon
tying his white cravat and dividing his attention
between the looking-glass and the outlook
across the Rectory grounds and meadows.
"If you may not come in who may?'' said
Sir Gordon, laughing. "What a fine place you
have here, timber right down to the river, and
such timber! By George, sir, I like to see a
bit of good timber; you call the elm your
forest weed in these parts I believe. It is a
weed to be proud of ; glad to see you take
pleasure in your park."
"Oh, yes; I don't know anything more
satisfactory than woods, and fields, and water
126 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
for a stay-at-home," said the Rector, rather
to encourage Sir Gordon to talk than in the
way of contributing anything important to the
conversation.
44 Not too much feed in the meadows, but the
weather has been dry. I'll be sworn you found
everything in the completest order when you
took possession."
"Yes, indeed I did, Sir Gordon," the Rector
replied.
"Your father had my ideas about managing
an estate. I met him in the north, I remember,
and we had a glorious talk. He was a parson,
but he was a man of business—a good farmer.
And why not ? Old Harry the Eighth, I believe
it was, who passed a law against parsons doing
a bit of trade ; but as I say, there is nothing in
the Bible against it, and I like the cloth to set
a good example on their farms. I know you
are of my mind; but what a fellow I am, my
tongue is going like a water-wheel. How do
you think Dick is looking ? "
44 Oh, remarkably well; a little older than
when we parted, bronzed too, but with the same
brisk animal spirits that made him welcome
everywhere at Oxford."
"Yes, he's a fine chap, Dick, no doubt
about it. I needn't say that I am proud of
him."
"And I, too, am proud of him," said the
Rector, heartily.
44 Yes, I know it, and I thank you; until she
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. I21/
was engaged our Gerty used to say she was
jealous of you."
" Gerty ! " said the Rector, inquiringly.
" My only girl—you assisted her off the
coach—Gertrude; we always call her Gerty,
and Dick says she looks the name. Perhaps
she does. She is downright Yorkshire, and
Selby Howarth—well, he is a very quiet sort of
young fellow ; some folks take him for a fool;
but they'll burn their fingers one day, not a
doubt about it, people who take Selby for a
fool; he is engaged to Gerty."
"I am sorry he did not come with you,"
said the Rector.
" Oh, I don't know," said Sir Gordon, "we
can get on without him. I suppose one of
these days you will be giving the Rectory a
mistress, eh? Cleeve must be a trifle lonely
for a bachelor."
" One never knows what may happen," said
the Rector smiling; "but I am not lonely.
When you see my library you will quite under-
stand that."
"Yes, yes, books are good companions,"
said Sir Gordon, " but men and women are the
best books to study, though the books of a big
concern such as the Middlesborough works are
not to be despised, I can tell you. It's just as
you are brought up in these things, a matter
of temperament, I suppose ; but as for me, my
Yorkshire farms and my blazing furnaces are
the finest books and pictures I know."
128 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" One can see where Dick gets his energy
and his animal spirits," said the Rector.
" They are natural to the Travers family,
but between you and me and the gatepost,
Tremont, I fear Dick has not what we call
staying powers; he likes changes, he is never
at rest. I want to get him down solid and
square to business. If hunting and shooting,
and coaching, and breaking in horses, and
travelling to the North Pole was business, why
Dick would be a master man, I make no doubt;
but—ah, well, we'll say no more about that;
we are out for what Dick calls fun, and I must
say I am enjoying it just as much as either
he or Gerty."
" I am glad of it," said the Rector, looking at
his watch. " I had no idea it was so late. I
can dress in five minutes, that is fortunate;
dinner at seven, but we allow ten minutes
grace. Au revoir."
Presently the gong that had hummed its
half-hour warning sent forth a soft musical invi-
tation to dinner. It was a pleasant sound to
Dick and Gerty, both hungry, both dressed and
feeling " fit," as Dick remarked, while they
were descending the grand old stair to the hall,
that was hall and drawing-room, lounge, recep-
tion and breakfast-room all in one : not that
there was any lack of accommodation in the
Manor House, but that the hall was the plea-
santest, snuggest, and most picturesque of its
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 129
many apartments. It was an agreeable sound
to Sir Gordon, the Manor House gong, for the
Yorkshire baronet confessed to himself that he
was as hungry as a hunter. Upon Evelyn the
humming sound of the gong had, on this never-
to-be-forgotten occasion, made an unusual im-
pression. The fabulous history of the instru-
ment came strangely into her mind as she
had once heard Tremont relate it, with Indian
temples and dusky warriors in the narrative,
and a Hindoo maiden who was sacrificed at
some barbaric rite. The vibrations of the thin
worn metal found a weird kind of response in
her own anatomy. She did not remember the
Indian story of the antique relic, but she felt it.
The mystery and sentiment of it touched her
like a pathetic memory. There was a wail in
the sound, and a murmur, half mirthful and half
tearful. She wondered what this feeling might
forbode, for it was her habit to notice and
observe anything that was odd or unusual in
whatever she might see or feel. There was in
her mind an active spirit of inquiry, and she
was very susceptible to influences that some
persons would call superstition.
"Why, what is the matter, Evelyn?" her
aunt asked, as they turned to go into the hall.
"Nothing, dear, except that the story of the
gong suddenly came into my mind; don't you
remember Mr. Tremont narrating it one night
in the winter? "
K
130 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
44 Some nonsense about a Hindoo rite and a
tribal massacre ? A Christmas story, a legend,
made up I dare say for his father's benefit
when he bought the gong, for the benefit of
the dealer, I should say; it is probably not an
old gong to begin with; whether it is or not I
don't see why it should make you shiver. I
remember Winnington used to shiver like that
sometimes, and he would remark, in his odd
way, 4 somebody's walking over my grave !' "
44 Did I shiver ? " asked Evelyn, smiling.
44 Yes, most decidedly, and on a hot day
such as this to shiver means that you have
taken cold; let me advise you, dear, when the
men take their thimbleful of sherry and bitters
to take a little wine yourself."
44 Now you do make me shiver," said Evelyn,
smiling. 44 Believe me, I am quite well, dear,
I never felt better. What a lovely place it is,
this old house of the Tremonts! By the way
where is he, our gracious host, as you call
him?"
44 A thousand apologies," said Tremont,
entering as Evelyn asked the question. 441
really did not know that you had arrived ; and,
furthermore, the truth is I became so engrossed
in a chat with Travers that I hardly gave
myself my usual five minutes to dress."
44 No need for apology," said Mrs. Somers.
441 hope we are sufficiently at home at the
Manor House."
THE PIONEER AND THE STAY-AT-HOME. 131
" Why, of course, of course," chimed in
Somers, who had been examining an Indian
sword, part of a little trophy of weapons in a
recess by the ingle-nook.
But let us describe the scene before the chief
guest of the occasion enters.
CHAPTER IX.
A fateful meeting.
" The world is not so large but that we shall meet again ;
nor so dark, but when we meet we'll know each other. I
would I knew thy name, that I might broider it for a token."
Philomel's Comedy.
" A man who invites friends to dinner and takes no personal
interest in his dinner, is not worthy of friendship."
Brtllal Savarin.
The hall of Charlton Manor was one of the
notable features of the house. A large square
room, with a great, triple, diamond paned bay
window, its outlook was upon the Rectory
flower garden, which on this summer evening
was gay and sweet. On the south side the hall
was entered, from both the drawing and din-
ing-rooms, by doorways hidden behind rich
portieres. At the east end the great staircase
opened upon it, and on the left of the staircase
there was a doorway into the front hall that
gave upon the carriage drive from the highway.
The walls were hung with tapestries. Here
and there a trophy of arms broke the straight
lines of the room. On the western side there
A FATEFUL MEETING.
133
was an old-fashioned ingle-nook, adapted to
modern taste and requirements, with cosy seats
and mysterious cupboards. The whole effect of
the place was one of artistic comfort. There
were old oak seats and cabinets, and in the
ingle-nook an ancient settle. The bay window
was furnished with a fitted lounge. Everything
was in order and in keeping with a general plan
and design. There was not a chair that did not
seem to invite use; not an oaken seat without
rich cushions. The hard, firm, polished floor
was covered with Persian and Turkey rugs;
and in a corner of the room near the bay window
was a small square piano and a pretty single-
action harp. Tremont was a musician as well
as a bibliopole, and, indeed, he had many accom-
plishments that belong to indoor as well as
outdoor life. If he had extolled his college
chum's knowledge of natural history, it was
largely for the reason that he, being also learned
in that direction, appreciated all the more his
friend's more ample knowledge.
When that soft, silvery-toned gong, which
had so curious a charm for Evelyn Somers,
touched the warm atmosphere of the Manor
House with its gentle vibrations, there were
assembled in the hall most of the guests on this
notable evening of our story. Evelyn, in a soft
white Indian muslin gown over white silk, with
a spray of pink carnations, was a picture of
aristocratic English beauty. Her bodice was
cut low, trimmed with a fluffy frill of the muslin
134 the princess mazaroff.
of her dress mixed with tiny bouquets of the
pink carnations, and she wore a single necklace
of pearls. Her brown hair was dressed high
upon her well-shaped head ; ther face was pale,
but her lips were " ruddier than the cherry,"
and her brown eyes were bright with an elo-
quent intelligence. She was tall, her figure
round and graceful; her face was oval ; she
had, for a woman, a strong chin, but it was not
pointed. On a first acquaintance you would
have thought the lady of a very calm disposition,
one of those typical English beauties that belong
to the statuesque order, incapable of enthusiasm,
accomplished as a matter of course, but without
any special character or individuality. You
would have been wrong. Only interest her, only
engage her understanding, and you would have
found her human to her fingers' ends, natural,
womanly, and gentle, despite her English cha-
racteristics of social pose and reticence. She
was a curious mixture, this handsome, lovable,
independent-minded daughter of Cleeve House.
Evelyn was sitting by the window, the lower
bays of which were open to the summer evening
and its summer perfumes. She was talking
with Mr. Edward Wykeham, who, in faultless
evening dress, with white waistcoat and button
hole of white rosebuds, was listening with
marked attention to his host's fair daughter,
only now and then saying a word or two himself,
and always with his customary suggestion of a
stammer, and with his self-conscious, if depre-
A FATEFUL MEETING.
139
especially when Tremont had been describing
to her the noble characteristics of Richard
Travers, his college companion and friend, the
pioneer, who had tramped through Africa, and
might, had he been so inclined, have been
everybody's hero; for his work had made a
great impression in England, and many societies
and institutions were desirous of publicly ac-
knowledging it. Dick, would have none of it.
He hated fuss and worry, and in his own
estimation he had done nothing in particular;
though he had added a river, sundry lakes, a
range of mountains, several tribes of savages and
quite a number of new objects in natural history,
to the world's knowledge of Central Africa.
Travers did not see Evelyn until Tremont
presented him to her; and then pausing for a
moment and looking round at the company he
said, " Miss Somers, I am delighted, I assure
you."
There was something constrained in his
manner. Tremont noticed it. He also saw
that Evelyn was confused.
" I think we have met before," said Dick,
as he took Evelyn's hand and held it for a
moment.
"Yes,'' she answered, and then turning to
her father she said, " don't you remember the
proud gentleman who would hot accept our
thanks, in Paris ? "
"What!" said Mr. Somers. "Why, bless
me, I thought I had seen Mr. Travers before;
I40 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
saved our lives and declined our thanks;
thought our lives so worthless that they were
not worth a thankee, eh ? "
" My dear sir, forgive me," Dick replied,
taking hold of the collar of his coat and tugging
at it as if it was of importance that he should
adjust the set of it, " I thought those Frenchmen
would think we English were not accustomed to
do a little act of courtesy without making a show
of it."
" A little act of courtesy!" said Somers,
" that's a good joke ; throwing yourself at the
heads of two infernal, ill-broken, runaway horses
a little act of courtesy! a big act of courage I
call it. I don't believe, Travers (turning to Sir
Gordon), we should have been here to-night
had it not been for your son."
" Indeed," said Sir Gordon, " why, this is the
first time I ever heard of it; what is it ? "
" Oh, nothing," said Dick. " Miss Somers
and her father were alarmed, and they really
exaggerate the fact that I just stopped their
horses and enabled them by a little timely
assistance to catch the train for Dover."
" That is a very generous way of describing
what you did," said Evelyn. " Will you show
me your left hand ? "
" Why, are you going to begin fortune-
telling before dinner ?" said Somers, laughing.
" I thought that was a study to be considered
over coffee."
"As he turned his back upon us, Mr. Tre-
A FATEFUL MEETING.
141
mont," Evelyn said, addressing the Rector,
"after he had rendered us that trifling act of
courtesy, he was tying his hand up in his hand-
kerchief. I know he was hurt, though he said
he was not."
" Indeed, you thought more of the affair than
it deserved," said Dick; " my hand is the hand
of a backwoodsman, a traveller who has roughed
it. Pray let us talk of something else."
" Then suppose we go in to dinner," said the
Rector, " and will you give your arm to Miss
Somers? you can compare notes before the
coffee; and you, Sir Gordon, I shall bestow
Mrs. Somers upon you. Mr. Wykeham
will be good enough to take Mrs. Burford
Winnington; and as the youngest man in the
room, Mr. Somers, I shall honour you with
Miss Travers. There now, I shall look on and
see that you are all happy. You must tell Mr.
Somers all about Yorkshire, Miss Travers."
The little Yorkshire girl smiled and took the
arm that Somers gallantly offered her, as he
thought of a time, years and years ago, when he
would have promised himself an evening's flirta-
tion with such a girl as Gerty.
A servant drew the portiere, the dining-room
door opened and the company emerged from the
twilight of a summer room into a well-lighted
dining-room, though the blinds were not drawn,
for Tremont was unconventional in most of his
household arrangements, and it was pleasant to
see the last flush of the sunset behind the hills
142 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
that shut in the Charlton Valley from the world
of strife and trouble; or at least appeared to
do so, for, after all, the most secluded and
happy-looking country may conceal in the heart
of its most delightful retreats the active seed of
strife and trouble.
A great contrast to the hall was the dining-
room of Charlton Manor. It had, however, a
similar arrangement of windows. They were
deep bays with seats in them; but the room was
furnished in a lighter manner than the hall.
At the same time it was not without a certain
severity that characterizes the English salle a
manger: a fine oak mantelpiece, bronzes, oil-
paintings, parquette floor with rich Turkey
carpet, palms by the fireplace, noble wine-
coolers. The table was bright with white
cut-glass, white porcelain plates, white porcelain
and silver centre-pieces; and sweet with a low
bank of flowers.
" A regular sybarite, this young parson," said
Sir Gordon to himself, as two sleek men-
servants, under the watchful eye of the butler,
handed round a fine clear turtle soup.
" Is this your first visit to Charlton-Cleeve,
Sir Gordon ? " asked Mrs Somers in her soft,
pleasant voice.
"Yes, it is, Mrs. Somers," said Sir Gordon,
squeezing a lemon into his soup, and accepting
the glass of punch which the butler offered
him, "and I find it most agreeable."
"Your place is in Yorkshire?" she said,
A FATEFUL MEETING.
143
taking her soup without paying any attention to
the punch.
" Old Hall, yes. I shall hope to see you and
Mr. Somers there. Dick shall bring his coach
for you."
" Dear me, what a drive !"
"He would think nothing of it, I assure you,"
said Sir Gordon, " nothing, if you did not con-
sider it too far."
"Not at all," said Mrs. Somers. "I once
drove from Bristol all through Devonshire,
years ago with Grafton. I don't know anything
more gratifying in fine weather."
" No; after all, there is something to be said
for the coaching days; rather slow; you had
to have plenty of time on your hands."
" Lovely place," said Wykeham mentally, as
he stretched his legs, under the great oak table ;
"great hand at feeding, the Church—the old
Wykehams knew all about it—the young 'uns
are not unappreciative."
" Did you speak to me ?" asked Mrs.
Winnington, in a low voice, as she bent over
her soup.
"No, madam," said Wykeham, " but I will if
you wish it."
"That is as you please," said the widow;
" very good soup."
"First-rate," said Wykeham, "beats the
Ship and Turtle."
" Does it, really ? I always like dining at
the Manor House."
144 th£ princess mazarOff.
" It is delightful—so is any place where you
are, Mrs. Winnington," said Wykeham, who
had made up his mind, from the moment he
stepped into the train at Paddington on this
his latest visit to the Cleeve Mansion, to push
his fortunes with Mrs. Burford Winnington,
whom he loved with the first love of a young
man who sees in somebody's widow a jolly
companion and a woman of experience, who
knows how to make the most of her charms
and the best of life, and who, furthermore, is
not without means.
" Thank you, Mr. Wykeham," said the
widow, smiling under her breath, as it were ; for
something in Ted's manner told her that before
the night was over he would propose to her.
He had pressed her arm as he brought her in
to dinner. There was, for so quiet a young
man, a sort of desperation in the way he looked
at her, and he seemed to sit down with an extra
force, as if he was emphasising a decision at
which he had recently arrived.
''Very odd that Evelyn's hero of the Place
Vendome should be your dear friend, of whom
we have heard so much," said Mrs. Somers to
the Rector.
"Yes," said Tremont, "and curiously
enough, only the other night Evelyn re-
marked that my description of Travers re-
called to her the Englishman whose acquaint-
ance she tried to make after the accident."
"Just like Dick," said Sir Gordon, "to go
A FATEFUL MEETING.
145
off and repudiate thanks; a very modest fellow
—always was. I asked him how he had hurt
his hand, and he said, ' how does a fellow get
hurt among horses and dogs, not to mention
savages and poisoned spears ?' but I dare bet
he cut it on the curb of one of those Paris
horses."
" Has his left hand a bad scar ?" asked
Tremont.
" I should say it has; anyhow, you can see
that Dick did not think his hand worthy of
exhibition before ladies; but he may have had
another reason—his gloves are a size larger
than they make in most glove shops, I believe.
By George! Tremont, I can't get my cook to
do whitebait like this ; they don't devil it even
at Greenwich as well as this."
"You have attended the ministerial dinners
at Greenwich, I suppose, Sir Gordon ?" asked
Mrs. Somers.
" Oh, yes, madame, one or two; and very
tiresome they were until the dinner was over.
After all, I don't think there is any good
dining outside private houses and clubs; you
are lucky in your chef, Tremont."
Then, turning to the butler, Sir Gordon said,
"Thank you, I only drink champagne," and
addressing Tremont, he went on, " I take cham-
pagne right through dinner—find it better
than mixing wines. It is a new fashion, I believe
it is a wise one. Our grandfathers, as a rule,
L
146 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
kept to one wine, but mostly drank that one
wine to excess, I fear, after dinner."
" Don't take any wine at all ?" said Mr.
Grafton Somers to Miss Travers. "Well, you
surprise me."
" I don't wear a blue ribbon, Mr. Somers.
I might confer that honour upon myself, and
truly, but for one thing—blue does not suit my
complexion ; and I don't see why one should ask
the world at large to take an interest in the
fact that one is a teetotaller."
" Quite so, my dear young lady, quite so,"
replied Mr. Somers, commending to himself the
timbale de filets de sole, and glancing at the menu
to see what Tremont's chef called the dish. " I
don't know that young people require wine."
" Nor old people either, Mr. Delancy says,
and sometimes father gets quite angry with
him."
" And who is Mr. Delancy ? " asked Somers,
smacking his lips in a furtive way over a par-
ticularly fine glass of hock.
"He is the new curate at the village near
Old Hall, who is so popular, not only there, but
in York and Newcastle, where he lectures on
temperance."
" Oh, indeed; Delancy—hardly a teetotal
name is it ? "
" I don't know," said Gerty, " but he always
wears his blue ribbon."
" Cailles escorties Ortolans Ceudrillonsaid
Wykeham to the widow, laying down the menu,
A FATEFUL MEETING.
147
" and delicious it is. Wonder where the Rector
got his cook ? "
" It is a lovely dinner," replied Mrs. Burford
Winnington," and after all, my dear Mr. Wyke-
ham, what is more charming than to give good
dinners to your friends, especially when they
are appreciative and know what a dinner is ? "
"That is just what I was—thinking, Mrs.
Winnington—though I could not express it as
wed."
" Do you know," said the widow, resigning
her plate to the servant, " I sometimes think
there is a little affectation in your self-dispa-
ragement, Mr. Wykeham."
" Do you really ? then, don't think so any
more, for I assure you it is my—nature to be
self-deprecatory."
" Is it ? '' said the widow. " Well, perhaps it
is, but you remind me of a friend of mine, a great
speaker, who always gets off his orations by
heart, but when he comes to a very important
word that he knows will have special effect, he
pauses and pretends to be thinking of it, when
he knows it through and through. His perora-
tions, as a consequence, are considered to be
masterpieces of natural eloquence."
" And you think I am like him ? "
"Well, in some respects; but it is natural
with you, as you say, and with him it is art—-
natural art."
" But, Mrs. Winnington, I never invented a—
peroration in my life. As for being eloquent, I
148 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
wish I were, for—several reasons. I know when
I am talking to you, I am really and truly always
in search of the best words in my—vocabulary.
Won't you try the Mousse Beatrice ? "
" No, thank you."
" The Terrien de caneton aux petits pois ? "
" No, thank you."
" What a menu, is it not ? As a rule a menu
that is so particular, and goes so much into de-
tail—and French—generally heralds a rather
questionable banquet. Have you not had that
experience, Mrs. Winnington ? "
" Yes, I think I have, but we are at Charlton
Manor, Mr. Wykeham."
" That is another rebuke—thank you, we are
getting on," said Wykeham. " Hope I have not
said anything outri.yi
" Not at all, you are good taste itself," said the
widow, looking round to smile and flash her
bright eyes upon him.
" Thank you," said Wykeham, going for the
terrien de caneton. " I confess I like a good dinner,
and when I say that, I mean this kind of—dinner,
something you might pay your last dollar for, and
could not get even at—Delmonico's—a dinner
that would make Bignon faint to think of as an
event, outside his restaurant. How is it done,
Mrs. Winnington ? "
" Oh, don't ask me, I am not the mistress of
Charlton Manor; but I once dined with your
father, and—"
" Oh, don't say that was a good dinner,"
A FATEFUL MEETING.
149
Wykeham interposed; "good, for the reason
that—you were there—yes, I know, but, oh, my
dear old governor, bless him, he likes joints and
—boiled mutton, rhubarb tart in the—season,
and his cook only knows potatoes boiled or
roasted—why here we are only at the sour bet
au porte, the dinner is only—beginning. If we
were at one of the places just mentioned, we
should smoke a cigarette now."
Wykeham said this quite sotto voce, and drank
off the remainder of a glass of champagne with
evident relish.
" I declare I believe he is fortifying himself,"
the widow said to herself. " I hope he won't
think it necessary to do that. I must encourage
him. I should very much dislike anything of that
sort, such an excellent fellow as he is, with such
a sense of the proprieties, and all that."
" I am sure you will forgive an old fellow,
who knows a good dinner and enjoys it,'' said
Sir Gordon to Tremont, as a dish of haricot
verts and Beurre $ Isiguy was placed before
him; " but I had no idea that Charlton Manor, or,
indeed, any other manor in England, could give
a guest a dinner such as this."
"No ! Ah, well, there is not much to do in
this out-of-the-way corner of the world, but we
try to do what there is as well as we can; do
we not, Mrs. Somers ? "
" Yes, indeed, Rector."
"You have not visited Cleeve House yet,"
said the Rector. " If we gave prizes for the best
150 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
managed palace, as we do for the best managed
cottage, Mrs. Somers would have the brightest
gold medal any honourable society could strike."
"Yes, I have often thought of you, Miss
Somers," said Dick, who had not paid much
attention to the delicious viands which his host
had prepared in his honour; " and, believe me, I
regretted immediately afterwards that I did not
wait to learn your name and address."
" It was very strange conduct," Evelyn replied.
"It was very churlish," said Dick, quickly.
"No, I will not say that," Evelyn answered.
" I shall always feel it was," said Dick.
"Englishmen abroad are odd," Evelyn re-
marked.
"They are odd enough at home," Dick
answered.
" But abroad," said Evelyn, " they seem to
think the eyes of the world are upon them."
" Do you think so ?"
"You were more concerned about what the
F rench people would think of us than with any-
thing we might be thinking of you, or you of us,
on that winter day in the Place Vendome."
" That was my pride, you believe ? "
" Well, not exactly; let us call it your pat-
riotism," said Evelyn.
"In what respect was it patriotic, Miss
Somers ? "
" Well, you wanted to maintain the reputation
of your countrymen for bravery and sangfroid,
and "
A FATEFUL MEETING.
"Stupidity,'' said Dick; "for it was very stupid
of me to forego making a pleasant acquaintance."
" I don't think it was stupid, Mr. Travers,
but- "
" My dear Miss Somers it was stupid ; and it
is not the first stupid thing, by many, that I have
done, both at home and abroad."
" Nor the first brave one," said Evelyn.
" I see we shall never quite agree about it,"
Dick answered; "anyhow, I have had the oppor-
tunity of apologising, for which I am very glad,
and the incident has, at least, made my visit
to Charlton-Cleeve even more interesting and
agreeable than I had expected."
" I have heard so much about you from Mr.
Tremont that I seem to have been acquainted
with you quite a lpng time."
"You have had the advantage of me," said
Dick. "Not that I have not heard of you.
Tremont mentioned you in the first letter I
received on leaving Paris."
" Indeed," said Evelyn, toying with a frozen
peach.
"Yes, it was a very welcome letter," said
Dick.
" My father was one of Mr. Tremont's father's
oldest friends."
" Yes," said Dick, " I only met him once."
Dick felt that there was a little constraint in
his neighbour's manner when she spoke of Tre-
mont. Of course, he interpreted the constraint,
if there were any, quite wrongly. "She is in
152 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
love with Jack," he thought; " does not want to
speak about him herself, but would like to hear
me talk of him. Well, she is a lovely girl: Jack
is to be envied ; perhaps it's a good thing for
him I did not say any more to her in Paris than
to honour her gracious words with a grunt of
British pride. What am I thinking of ?" He
washed down his passing thought, whatever it
was, with a deep draught of champagne.
"Do you stay long at Charlton?" Evelyn
asked.
"A few days," said Dick; "a, few years, I
think, if I might."
"It is a pretty country; but you are of a
restless disposition.''
" Am I ? That is Tremont's report of me, I
suppose."
"Yes," said Evelyn.
"Well, Jack can say anything he likes of me
—I love him, he is my one dear friend."
"He says the same of you."
" Does he ? God bless him! "
Evelyn toyed with her peach.
"You know what a good fellow he is," said
Dick.
"Yes," replied Evelyn.
" One day, I suppose, he will be bringing
home a wife to sit at the head of his table,"
said Dick, venturing upon one of those out-
spoken thoughts that would now and then come
forth in spite of him.
"Do you think so?" Evelyn replied; "the
A FATEFUL MEETING.
153
general opinion in Charlton-Cleeve seems to
be that Mr. Tremont is already a confirmed
bachelor."
Dick could not mistake the tone in which
this remark was made; it said, as plainly as
could be, "don't imagine that I am ever likely
to become Mrs. Tremont."
" Indeed !" said Dick, " you surprise me."
" Really ?" said Evelyn, for the first time turn-
ing her brown eyes upon him, the light of which
seemed to go straight to his heart, and he felt
that he blushed.
"Yes; I thought that"—said Dick, with a
little stammer—" but there, of course, a fellow in
Tremont's position, young, rich, with both head
and heart, a man of culture and accomplished;
one can only come to one conclusion about him."
And Dick's eyes fell as Evelyn turned away
and allowed the butler to hand her a liqueur
which she did not touch.
Every now and then Tremont's attention
wandered towards Dick and Evelyn ; and later,
when the ladies left the table, he could not help
noticing the unmistakable glance of admiration
and approval which Evelyn bestowed upon
Dick, as she left the room.
CHAPTER X.
IN THE TWILIGHT.
" And there is ev'n happiness
That makes the heart afraid."
Hood.
" Often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow."
Coleridge.
The ladies having withdrawn, the men drew
their chairs around Tremont's end of the table,
and the host asked Sir Gordon if he would
smoke, remarking at the same time that he
always smoked the moment dinner was over;
and thereupon a servant handed him a low flat
box of Havannahs, and offered him a light.
" I hate to smoke with good wine,'' said the
baronet.
" Would you smoke with bad wine ? '' asked
the host, smiling.
4'No, and I can't say for wine what the Scotch-
man said of whiskey, that there is no bad
whiskey, but that some whiskey is better than
other whiskey."
"A friend of mine," remarked Wykeham,
IN THE TWILIGHT.
155
<f says he enjoys his dinner because of the
cigar that follows it."
" Thank you," said Dick, " I will smoke.''
Presently smoking was general, and Sir Gor-
don continued to pay attention to the cham-
pagne, insisting that it was a mistake to mix
your liquors. Tremont poured a glass of
benedictine into a small cup of coffee. Somers
said he had never found any claret that was
the worse for a very fine cigar. Dick was of
the same opinion. Wykeham remarked that
he generally took things as they came, just as
he took life, and he found that he got on very
well; he had never eaten a better dinner, if Mr.
Tremont would forgive him for mentioning the
fact, and there was a foolish idea in London
that country gentlemen did not know much
about cigars."
Tremont laughed good-naturedly at Wyke-
ham's compliments, and presently many
wreaths of smoke sailed calmly up to the
panelled ceiling of the Manor House dining-
room.
The after-dinner talk was varied if it was not
brilliant. Mr. Wykeham enlightened the table
concerning stocks and company-mongering. Sir
Gordon had something to say about the state
of the country politically. Mr. Somers thought
the government was doing very well. Tremont
listened with the courtesy of a thoughtful host;
and Dick seemed bent on resisting every effort
to draw him out on the subject of pioneering.
156 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" But you think there are commercial pros-
pects out yonder?'' asked Sir Gordon, who
knew what his son thought, but desired to have
him talk of his expedition.
" Undoubtedly," Dick replied; " and nothing
would give me greater satisfaction than to go
out as the head of a great trading company."
This was exactly what Sir Gordon did not
want Dick to say.
"Ah, that's out of the question," said Sir
Gordon quickly; " your place is at home, Dick."
The father looked at Tremont as he ex-
pressed this emphatic opinion, and Tremont
said he hoped so.
" Once a monk always a monk," said Wyke-
ham, in his deprecatory, but, more or less,
assertive manner—"once a traveller always a
traveller."
"That's just my opinion," said Somers;
"habit is the great thing. Once a man has
acquired a taste for Africa I have heard say he
can never give it up."
"That's nonsense! Excuse me, Mr. Somers,
I don't mean, of course, that what you say is
nonsense, but that view of travel is; a man is
master of himself," said Sir Gordon.
" Not always," said Somers, laughing.
" Why, you don't mean to say you have any
contention with that charming wife of yours,"
said the baronet, willing to change the conver-
sation, for he saw that Dick was in one of his
wilful moods.
IN THE TWILIGHT.
157
" A tyrant, sir, a tyrant, I assure you ; there
never was a more henpecked mortal than your
humble servant. Isn't that so, Tremont ? "
said Somers.
44 My dear Sir Gordon, Mrs. Somers is one of
the sweetest women in the world, and Somers
is the happiest of my parishioners," Tremont
replied.
44 That's a fact," said Somers—441 mean as
regards Mrs. Somers.; and as for me, well, when
my sister, Mrs. Winnington, does not come
down from London to revise our manners and
customs, I may say I am indeed a happy man."
441 wish Mrs. Winnington could have heard
you make that reservation as to the happiness
of Cleeve House," said the Rector.
44 She could not have heard it, I suspect,"
remarked Wykeham in an undertone, 44 be-
cause Mr. Somers would not have said it in her
presence. Would you? "
441 tell you what it is, Mr. Wykeham, you are
a very quiet, pleasant kind of fellow; but of late
you seem to be ranking yourself as a member
of the Somers family," Mr. Somers replied,
looking across the table at Wykeham with
mock reproachfulness.
44 Thank you," said Wykeham.
Dick wondered what this could mean. Was
Wykeham a suitor for the hand of Miss Somers ?
While Somers and Wykeham continued their
pretended wrangle, and Sir Gordon contem-
plated them over his cigar, which he appeared
158 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
to enjoy hugely, Dick turned to Tremont,
remarking, "Rather an odd fish, our friend
Wykeham, eh ? "
" Eccentric, but a good fellow, and clever in
his way," said Tremont.
" What did Mr. Somers mean by that remark
about his becoming a member of the family ? "
" Possibilities between Mr. Wykeham and
Mrs. Winnington," said Tremont.
" Oh ! " exclaimed Dick, with an evident
sense of relief. " Of course I ought to have
understood that Miss Somers would not be
likely to—"
"A very pleasant woman, Mrs. Winnington,"
said Tremont, purposely interrupting his friend;
" a little eccentric, has travelled a great deal,
and if he is to be married I don't know that
Wykeham could do better."
" No, I dare say not," said Dick, not thinking
of Wykeham or the widow for a moment, " if he
is to be married."
"Yes," said Tremont, smiling.
" And you, my dear Jack," responded Dick,
lowering his voice, "what about you? Miss
Somers is all you said she was and more."
"You think so? very remarkable that you
should have met her before you knew who she
was, and under such romantic circumstances ! "
said the Rector.
"Yes, and that you should have mentioned
her to me in that welcome letter which I
received the day I was leaving Pa,ris for home."
IN THE TWILIGHT.
159
^" Why did you hurry away, Dick, when she
wished to thank you? "
" I don't know quite, old chap; she looked so
good and pure, so sweet and "
" Yes ? "
" Well, I don't know."
" She always said it was like an Englishman
to do so, but I did not feel it in that way."
"We are a queer lot, we English, away
from home," said Dick; " MissSomers is right
there."
" But we are courteous to women."
" Not always," said Dick.
" Is that true ? I sometimes regret that I
never had the instinct of travel. But if Eng-
lishmen when they are abroad have an idea
that they represent the flag, and must be brave,
willi nilli, I dont see why they should not be
more than ever gallant to women.''
"No, nor I," said Dick. " I don't know that
I was exactly rude to Miss Somers, but you
know what it is—a fellow simply steps out of
his way to lay his hand upon a couple of
runaway horses, and if there is a lady in the
case people will make such a fuss that you feel
as if you had been getting up a testimonial to
yourself."
"It is wonderful that you should meet again,
and here of all places in the world, is it
not?"
" Yes, I suppose it is," said Dick, " but the
world is very small; I met a fellow from Leeds
l6o THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
in an almost inaccessible valley, far away
beyond the Aruwhimi."
" Do you know I envy you that adventure
in the Place Vendome," said Tremont, lean-
ing back in his chair and looking at Dick
through the smoke of his cigar; "and I love
you too much, old fellow, to envy you any-
thing."
"Then I may congratulate you, eh? That's
what I wanted to get at. You are engaged to
Miss Somers ? "
" No," said Tremont
te No! " exclaimed Dick.
Tremont rose and walked to the window,
throwing open one of the diamond-paned
sashes.
Sir Gordon, Mr. Wykeham, and Mr. Somers
were deep in a conversation of their own.
Wykeham was enlightening the other two in
regard to the system of forming joint stock
companies. Sir Gordon was interested in Wyke-
ham's opinion of a great commercial under-
taking in connection with African exploration,
and Wykeham was very happy; it was a great
pleasure to find himself the centre of attention
between two such important men as Sir Gordon
Travers and Mr. Grafton Somers.
" Something has disturbed you, Jack," said
Dick, placing his hand on Tremont's shoulder.
Tremont was silent. He laid down his cigar
and leaned against the window, looking out into
the night.
IN THE TWILIGHT.
161
"What is it ? " Dick asked, " what has dis-
turbed you ? "
" I don't know that anything has at present,
but something may."
4' Something may!" said Dick. "What
may ? "
"I don't know, I only feel that something
may upset me very much, but I feel it in a
vague, uncertain way. I will tell you, Dick,
what I have not had the courage to tell Evelyn
Somers."
" Yes," said Dick.
"I love her," said Tremont, almost in a
whisper, " and I would give the world if she
could look at me as she looked at you when she
left this room."
" Tremont! " exclaimed Dick, " what do you
mean ? "
"I mean, Dick, that a man ought to know
that however studious, clever, and accomplished
a girl may be, she is hardly likely to be capti-
vated by a mere stay-at-home, even though he
spends his life among the books she loves, and
devotes himself to the studies in which she is
interested. She would naturally admire cou-
rage, active work—the soldier, the pioneer. I
know you will say that she admires you as my
friend; that is true, I have told her about you,
she was prepared to like you; but in her pre-
sence and for her you have done an act of
heroism which counts more than learning, than
wisdom, than anything else in the world. And
M
162 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
I have made a mistake in thinking or dreaming
that it could be otherwise."
Dick would not see the point of Tremont's
exordium, he would not follow the direction of
his thoughts, he feared to think what he might
mean, he dared not trust himself to say what
he himself thought at the moment; he therefore
took up Tremont's confession from the declara-
tion of his love for the girl who had been so
much in his own thoughts ever since that
incident of the Place Vendome.
4 4 And you have not had the courage to tell
her? "
"No."
"And you have known her—for how long?"
" Knew her when I was a boy, but when I
came home from college she was a woman,
learned beyond what one expects in one so
young, reserved, beautiful, and I never really
seem to have had an opportunity to say what
I desired—to tell her what I have told you."
"You surprise me; not that I have had any
experience of that kind of thing. Courtship
and love making appear to be easy enough to
novelists. Perhaps if I had met, say, such a
girl as Miss Somers, I might have distinguished
myself; but there, who knows, it is easy enough
to flirt, easy enough to tell a woman you love
her when you don't, or when you do for five
minutes, but to be sincere and to mean it for
life, well, that is a serious business I grant
you."
IN THE TWILIGHT.
"Yes, I suppose it is," said Tremont, Dick's
remark jarring a little upon him; " but is it not
just as serious to tell a woman you love her
when you do not ? "
" It may be, but you know what I mean ; of
course the time comes in a fellow's life when he
has to look at the question of settling down, as
they call it—when he has sown his wild oats,
as they say ; not that I mean to tie myself up
to any woman—not I."
" Don't you, Dick ? "
" No, my boy, I am fancy free and mean to
remain so; but I can sympathise with you, dear
old friend, and indeed with any man or woman
who is sincerely in love; it is a sort of mad-
ness, I believe, and comes, how a fellow can't
tell, and goes, how a fellow doesn't care,
but—"
Tremont felt that Dick was talking some-
what at random, and that the state of his feel-
ings in regard to Evelyn was a condition of
mind he did not quite understand; and he,
therefore, endeavoured to bring the conversa-
tion to an end.
" It has done me good to unburden myself
to you, to tell you my secret," he said, " but
there let it end. I feel that I have Lbeen rather
selfish in the matter."
" Selfish, how? " Dick asked.
" In disturbing your thoughts with my
affairs."
" My dear Jack, I only wish you could give
164 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
me an opportunity of proving my friendship for
you, I wish I knew Miss Somers well enough
to tell her what a great, generous heart she
has won."
" No, that would never do, Dick. We will
talk of this again some other day before you
leave. It is now time we should join the ladies."
As they turned from the window to follow
Sir Gordon and the other two friends into the
drawing-room, the twilight had taken up the
story of the lovely summer day with breath of
roses and the song of the nightingale. The
moon was rising in crescent shape behind the
elms. Tremont had been watching the chang-
ing lights of the landscape as he conversed with
his old friend, and the influences of the time
had sunk into his heart, somewhat prophetically,
with the feeling that after to-night it would be
too late for him to ask Evelyn Somers to be his
wife.
They found the ladies sitting near the balcony
of the drawing-room, chatting and enjoying the
sweetness of the summer evening, which had
changed imperceptibly into night, and which
would gradually develop into morning with no
more of darkness or shadow. They heard the
nightingale ; and the fragrance of sweet-briar
and honeysuckle was so rich in the air, that it
was a poetic thought of Evelyn's to suggest that
the flowers were paying tribute to the gorgeous
songster, flower and birds pouring out their
souls in sweet breath and song.
IN THE TWILIGHT.
It was a lovely night, and Mrs. Somers had
ventured to put out some of the lights, that host
and guests might enjoy the beauty of it; but
now that the gentlemen had arrived, the candles
were once more relighted, and Mrs. Somers
invited Sir Gordon and the rest to tea.
The absence of that feminine touch which is
so apparent in well-regulated establishments
was hardly felt in the hall and the dining-
room, but in the more elegant quarter of the
house one missed the artistic and homely in-
fluence of a mistress. It was a pretty room,
nevertheless, but it might have been a beautiful
room in the hands of a woman, in the hands of a
wife—one should say. The ladies had remarked
this before the gentlemen came in, more especi-
ally for the benefit of Miss Somers, who had
made no response, except in the way of sur-
prised smiles and wondering nods of the head.
She knew well enough what they meant, and
had the subject been any other than the pro-
bability, and, indeed, the desirability, of her
marrying Tremont, she would have expressed
herself promptly and freely. It is not impossible
that, had the conversation taken place a day or
two previously, she might have evinced at least a
real interest in it, might have encouraged it, for
it is quite certain that there had been moments
when Tremont might have offered himself to
Evelyn and been accepted. She liked him.
His company was always pleasant to her. He
was a man after her own heart, in regard to his
166 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFk.
views of life and its duties. She even con-
sidered him handsome. Once or twice when
he had been on the spur of proposing to her,
when he had felt his heart stand still for a
moment, and the words, " I love you," had
trembled on his lips, she too had • been prepared
for his declaration; but somehow these happy
hopeful moments had passed away just at the
point of fruition, and so the time had gone on.
It is to be presumed that if Evelyn had loved
Tremont she would have helped him to declare
himself, that her woman's nature would have
found a way to make his proposal easy; she
would, at least, have given him the encourage-
mentof sympathetic, not to say loving, glances;
she evidently did not love him, or Tremont
was much too timid a wooer to inspire a
passion. He felt, as he glanced back into the
twilight, that his opportunities were over; he
felt what he would not confess to himself, and
he thought of what Mrs. Winnington, in her
worldly way, had said about his continual com-
mendations of the friend of his youth, and the
man who had marched across Africa. What a
strange ordination of fate it was, that his hero
should be her hero too—the man who had, as
she believed, saved her life.
" The cup which cheers! Yes, by all means,"
said Somers, " I will take a cup of tea."
Sir Gordon, of course, would not, and that led
Mrs. Winnington into a condemnation of the
nonsense medical men talk about tea being
IN THE TWILIGHT.
167
bad for the nerves, and so on ; she had been a
tea drinker all her life, and she would like to
know what was the matter with her nerves ?
Mr. Wykeham, who was sitting near her,
remarked, only for her ear, if any one said a
word against her nerves, that that person, who-
ever he might be, would have to settle with
him.
The fascinating widow whispered a request
that he would not be foolish, and Sir Gordon
hoped Dick and Mr. Tremont had had a good
chat. Dick said yes, they had, and Tremont
said he owed Sir Gordon and the others an
apology, for not observing when they left the
room.
" You were so deeply confidential," said
Someis, "that we did not like to disturb you."
Mrs. Winnington asked Evelyn to sing.
Evelyi said she would rather not. Sir Gordon
wanted to know who played the harp, observing
that l.e had not seen a harp since he visited
his coisin, Dorothy Cleveland, when he was a lad,
and hod just begun to fall in love with her sister.
" Mr. Tremont is the musician of Charlton-
Cleeve," said Mrs. Somers. " Did you not
know that ? "
'No," said Sir Gordon. " Why, Tremont,
yoi are a perfect admirable Crichton — a
jack-of-all trades.''
4 And master of none," said the Rector.
' No, no ! I believe you are master of them
all"
168 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Will you not play for us?" asked Mrs,
Somers.
" The harp is not a solo instrument; perhaps
Miss Somers will sing ? "
"No, thank you," said Evelyn, "I would
rather not sing to-night. You do play the harp
as a solo instrument, sometimes, Mr. Tremont,"
she continued, looking at the Rector. "It
is just a night for the harp; and it is getting
late, we must go soon."
" Oh, if you wish it," said Tremont, directing
a servant to bring the harp.
"It is an old harp, you see; I dare say as
old as the one Sir Gordon knew when he was
a boy," said the Rector sitting down and tuning
one or two strings, "a single-action, quite
out of date; but when I first studied music I
took a fancy to the instrument; all mjusical
instruments are worth studying." As he spoke
he swept his hands over the strings, which
responded with a ripple of harmonious sounds.
" You know the Aeolian harp, Sir Gordon,"
he said, still caressing the instrument, " il used
to be a familiar object in country houses."
" Oh, yes," said Sir Gordon; " we have one
or two now to prop the windows with on stormy
nights."
" And what music they made," said the Reb-
tor, his white hands covering the strings aid
producing the very wild kind of harmonies that
are peculiar to the ^Eolian harp on storny
nights—now soft, now low, now telling of tie
IN THE TWILIGHT. I 69
sea, now of the forest, now with strange cries
as of men in trouble, now singing like angelic
voices. It was a weird kind of music ; it fell
even upon the animal spirits of Sir Gordon
like a charm. It picked up, in Evelyn's imagi-
nation, the murmurs of the silvery gong, with
the story of the Hindoo maiden; and presently
it was so wailing, sweet, and tender that the
tears coursed down her cheeks and she felt
as if she had done the Rector a vile wrong—
as if she would like to get up and say, " Oh,
dear friend, forgive me!" Then the music
grew defiant and strong, wild with passion,
and full of the rhythm of some strange, weird
march of imps and demons, the phrasing fine,
the execution wonderful; and presently the
strains would become so subdued that the
nightingale could be heard between the motives,
as they changed to sweet and lulling measures,
with reminiscences of song and dance and
mirthful stories ; and so the Rector, bringing
back his audience to smiles and happy thoughts,
arose from the instrument, and everybody
applauded; but Evelyn was wiping her eyes,
and Mrs. Somers apologised for her—" Evelyn
is so fond of music that it always taxes her
feelings to the utmost, and the Rector is such
a master!"
" Music affects me in that way sometimes,"
said Dick. " I once heard an organ at Lucern
that imitated storm and sunrise, and a choir
singing the evening hymn, and—I know it
I JO THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
is absurd for a rough fellow like me, a mere
backwoodsman, as I may say—but I was glad
I was sitting in a pew by myself."
"Tut, tut," said Sir Gordon, "men have
no right to be emotional; that's a sensation we
may well leave to the ladies; but you are all
right now, Miss Somers, are you not ? "
" I am very well, thank you, Sir Gordon,"
said Evelyn, and for a moment she disliked
Dick's father, and so did Dick, but only for a
moment; and the old fellow deserved their
resentment, he was so scornful.
A servant here announced the Somers' carri-
ages, and the ladies left to put on their wraps.
On Tremont's invitation the men withdrew into
the hall, where they had been first received, to
take a stirrup-cup; and here, lo and behold,
the roses had been removed from the fireplace,
and a couple of smouldering logs had taken
their place.
"Oh, yes," said Tremont, "we always light
a fire in the hall at night. Even when it is hot
summer, a fire is companionable, especially in
such a room as this. I generally smoke a cigar
here before I go to bed, unless I lose myself
over some books in the library. By the way, I
must show you my literary paradise to-morrow.
If one could have the heaven one would desire,
when life's fitful fever is over, I think I should
vote for a heaven of libraries."
" And good dinners," said Sir Gordon ; M but
IN THE TWILIGHT.
171
we must not talk in this way ; it is nearly Sun-
day. Do you preach to-morrow, Rector? "
" Well, it was not my intention to inflict my
opinions upon the congregation of Charlton-
Cleeve to-morrow; but I will do so if you
desire it."
" Why, yes, certainly," said Sir Gordon,
"nothing would please me better. I only
speak for myself."
" I can assure you, Sir Gordon," said Somers,
"that you speak for all of us; we hear Tre-
mont too seldom, and unorthodox as he is, the
congregation love to hear him preach."
" Very well, then, it shall be so," said Tremont
smiling. " I hope I shall not bore you; anyhow,
I can promise you I will not do so for more
than half-an-hour."
By this time the stirrup-cups were emptied;
in another minute Tremont was saying good-
bye to the Somerses, and a little later, he and
Dick and Sir Gordon smoked a last cigar in
the hall: and thus an eventful evening came to
a prosaic conclusion.
CHAPTER XI.
friend or foe ?
"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ;
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears."
Scott
" Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love."
Shakespeare.
A woman, they say, takes pleasure in playing
with a man's love. She likes to feel her power
over him. She delights to tyrannise the lover
whom she has not yet accepted, to keep back
the word that makes her his own. She knows
that half the delight and strength of her reign
is at an end when she gives her love and ratifies
it with her confession. When the man is secure
of it he is no longer on his knees; she has given
back to her slave at least a semblance of his
liberty.
So does a cat love to play with a mouse, a
poet with a fancy, an orator with an idea, a
novelist with the literary and artistic develop-
ment of a catastrophe; but the historian must
FRIEND OR FOE ?
173
go on manfully with his facts ; not his the right
to trifle with an event, to toy with it and give it
phases; not his the pleasure of holding back
the moment of revolt, of postponing the sound
of the tocsin: Carlyle's masterly pen was even
"rushed" under the pressure of the Revolution
—he might not pause, he could not, he dared
not; the flags were flying, the drums beating,
the trumpet sounding, the tragedians were
waiting at the wings to come on. Time had his
hand continually on the curtain.
Events are great or small by comparison.
Historian of the occurrences of this present
story—momentous to those whom they concern
—we begin to feel at this juncture the impulse
of our facts, the pressure of our drama. We
would like to dwell on the Sunday calm of
Charlton Cleeve; to listen to the Sunday calls
of the rooks up in the tall elms; to tell you how
Sunday comes to such villages as that over which
Tremont presided; to show you the Reverend
Jabez Ogden at the Sunday school, Dick's
groom taking his 'osses for an airing before
church, the little group of horsey men chatting
near the Rectory stables, Sir Gordon Travers
tramping through the newly cut grass, and
calculating the weight of the crops ; the dogs
that knew it was Sunday as well as the rooks
and the villagers; the dewdrops hanging in the
heart of the roses and sparkling on the grass;
the cottage doors open to the sun and breeze,
and the children, neat and trim curtseying to
174 the princess mazaroff.
their betters. We would like to sit down and
compare with you the differences between town
and country; the narrow selfishness of a street
contrasted with the broad open humanity of a
village, the individual interests of the one, the
indifference of the other; the value of little
things, the delight of the seasons, of watching
things grow, the pleasure of early mornings,
and the calm of early nights. We should have
enjoyed the work of putting you through the
entire routine of the village Sunday, the morn-
ing service, the Rector's sermon and the com-
ments thereon, the walk after church, and the
Sunday dinner that follows; but coming up
behind us is the shadow of events that cannot
wait, and there is one shadow in particular
that begins to reach out from Paris to Charlton-
Cleeve, coming between that happy village and
the sunshine.
Charlton-Cleeve knows nothing of this ap-
proaching darkness at present; but there are
those in Charlton-Cleeve who are conscious of
the shadow of another event, hardly less import-
ant to the principal characters in our veritable
history. Mrs. Winnington knows that Evelyn
Somers has come under the spell of the romantic
personality of Dick Travers, romantic to her,
though of a somewhat coarse romanticity. Dick
Travers has a presentiment of it, and he finds
himself strangely drawn towards Evelyn, in
spite of himself, in spite of his friendship for
Tremont. The Rector cannot get out of his
FRIEND OR FOE ?
175
mind the face of Evelyn, as he saw it turned
admiringly upon Travers. Mrs. Somers feels,
with the instinct of a mother, that all her hopes
of seeing Evelyn mistress of the Rectory are at
an end; and Evelyn herself is agitated with the
first consciousness of love, "the first flutter-
ing," to quote Longfellow, " of its silken wings,
the first rising sound and breath of that wind
which is so soon to sweep through the soul, to
purify or destroy." And now she knew that
her sentiments in regard to the Rector were
not love. They were the outcome of friend-
ship, of sympathy, of the mutual pleasures
that belong to a study of subjects in which two
persons of similar tastes may be interested; but
they were not love. More than once, as we
have seen, she had been on the eve of mis-
taking her feelings towards Tremont for love;
more than once she might have consented to so
regard them ; more than once, if Tremont had
asked her to be his wife, she would have con-
sented. Friendship, pity, sympathy, respect are
akin to love, and Evelyn was willing to think
she loved Tremont as other women loved the
men they married ; and in this her very learn-
ing, her education, her studies, her liberal-
mindedness, her knowledge of books, her ac-
quaintance with the great subjects of public
discussion helped the illusion, and had Tremont
been a bold wooer he would have carried off his
choice of women before she had really known
what love might be.
176 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
But all this was at an end. Love had come
to Evelyn without study; a branch of know-
ledge not to be learnt in books, an inspiration
that is not of the library or the college ; a
blessing or a curse that is not exclusive to rich
or poor, a rapture that might be felt as keenly
in the cottage as in the palace ; a sting that
is as sharp, whether it strike the patrician or
the plebeian breast; an impulse of self-sacrifice
that comes as fresh and pure and beautiful to
the peasant maiden, who can neither read
nor write, as it comes to the daughter of the
most noble house in the world of courts and
kings.
Evelyn Somers was learned in many things,
was intellectually proud, knew tongues at as
early an age as Mary and Elizabeth, the Tudor
Queens; had taken the trouble to study the hate-
ful disabilities of Ibsen's blighted village; had
peered through the veil of Isis, in the pages of
Blavatsky; had given herself over for a time to
the fads and worries of the most active minds of
Europe, and might not be blamed for believing
that she knew how the world wagged, and that
she was doing something for the amelioration
of her sex from the reproach of narrowness and
ignorance. She had often thought that she had
no call for the marriage state, and had felt a cer-
tain commiseration for those who had ; she had
longed, however, for the companionship of a
cultured mind, and had found it in friendly
intercourse with John Tremont. Under the in-
FRIEND OR FOE ?
177
fluence of his sweet intellectuality and sympa-
thetic nature, she had hesitated about the
marriage state, and almost come to the conclu-
sion that such interest as she felt in Tremont,
after all, might be love. Furthermore she had
begun to pity him; for she would have been
blind not to know that he was only truly happy
when he was in her society ; and her regard
for him was emphasised by the knowledge of
his goodness, his truth, his honour, his high
character, and his lovable nature. But now
she knew what love was. The light had come
to her, the unmistakable revelation—she loved
John Tremont's friend.
Although Dick's friendship was not the true
sterling gold of which Tremont's was com-
posed, it was strong, as friendship goes; it would
have fought, it would have bled, it would have
endured hardships, it would have given up its
last penny for its friend, but it would have
wanted the immediate impulse, the impact of
necessity. Tremont would have done all these
things, and more, before the necessity was ap-
parent. He would, by intuition, have felt the
stress of his friend, he would have suffered for
him in silence, he would have helped him with-
out seeming to do it. There would have been
no drums or trumpets in his self-sacrifice, but he
would have gone out into the wilderness alone,
if need be, to make his friend happy.
Quixotic you say, perhaps. But the Don was
a lovable character, though it seems a pity that
N
178 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the author found it necessary to justify his
chivalry by making him mad.
There are plenty of examples of the Tremont
friendship in real life. Hardly a day passes
that men do not lay down their lives, not only
for their friends, but for men and women whom
they hardly know, for men and women to whom
they have never spoken. The newspapers are
full of such incidents of sacrifices in mining, at
sea, in conflagrations, in war, at home and
abroad. How much more, then, shall a man
be ready to suffer for the companion of his boy-
hood, the hero of his later life, the friend whom
he has taken to his heart, as Hamlet took
Horatio!
Tremont would not have been the man to
have left the Princess Mazaroff all this time
in Paris without a word. In the first place, he
would not have been the man to contract a
mesalliance. It may be that, after all, this is not
paying any special tribute to his moral charac-
ter, seeing that his temperament was hostile to
such violent delights, while Dick was built in a
coarser mould, and had come from an entirely
different class of ancestry. Dick had plenty of
good qualities, but he could cut his way through
an opposing tribe of dusky warriors without a
regret for the bodies he would leave in his rear.
He was a born pioneer, inasmuch as expediency
was his law of travel. He had the masterfulness
of the soldier, the courage of the sportsman,
and the heart of a child in this respect—that it
FRIEND OR FOE ?
179
was governed by its quick emotions; while its
troubles were as speedily at an end. His pas-
sions were storms, and the more violent the
storm the more soft and gentle and restful the
calm. It was known that he had fought his way
through a portion of Africa with sword and rifle;
it was known that he had executed one of his
scouts, as an example to the others; it had been
said, by one whom he had dismissed from his
service, that he had behaved with cruelty to his
followers, that he had ruthlessly and wrongfully
hanged the scout in question; but there was no
truth in this. Travers had shown himself as
humane as he was brave, and as modest as he
was humane.
Unhappily for Dick, luckily for this ro-
mance, the truth of these charges one day be-
came a factor of some importance to Dick,
under very trying circumstances. We say luckily
for this romance, for the reason that, had these
.trying circumstances not arisen in the life of
Dick Travers, this history would have had no
raison d'etre, and could, therefore, never have
been written.
A man rarely knows when or how or where
his conduct is to be impugned, what enemy is
at work against him, who the enemy is, and why
he is an enemy. As a rule, it is to be feared, he
has in some way or another, consciously or un-
consciously, sown the seed of the bitter poison-
weed that overshadows and chokes his better
products.
l8o THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
The disgraced officer of Dick's expedition,
embittered by his fancied wrongs, in the hope of
using it to his disadvantage, had gathered what
he called evidence against Travers on the
Congo and beyond the Aruwhimi—right away
as far as the farthest point of the pioneer's
operations—and was nursing his imaginary
grievances, waiting for the opportunity when
he might hurl his poisoned arrows at his moral
character, and detract from his reputation for
courage and humanity. So far as the truth was
concerned, Travers had nothing to fear; but
while truth is said to prevail, the denouement
of its victory is sometimes long in coming,
and men have been known to die before their
wrongfully besmirched reputations could be
cleared.
But all this belongs to the shadows that are
coming up behind our narrative, coming up
from Paris, from Russia, from Africa, to culmi-
nate in a storm that will tax all the pioneer's
courage and endurance. In the meantime there
is much to tell, and there is still to come the
avant-couriers of storm and tempest, the lull
and peace, the rest and lotus-like luxury of the
calm that precedes great storms.
It was the day before Dick's departure from
Charlton Manor. He had gone to take after-
noon tea at Cleeve House. He was sitting in
the summer house, where Evelyn and Tremont
had sat not so long before, when the Rector lost
his last chance of realising his most cherished
FRIEND OR FOE?
181
hopes. The roses that had breathed their sweet
perfumes over Evelyn and Tremont were lying-
at the feet of Evelyn and Travers in a shower
of red and white, but fresh buds and blooms
had taken their places.
Evelyn was almost in the same dress, grey
crape, with gloves and shoes of grey suede, and
hat with trailing sprays of pink blooms; she
looked almost beautiful, she was certainly a most
interesting and charming girl. Her brown eyes
were downcast, the dark lashes of her eyelids
shadowed her cheeks. She was making lines
among the rose leaves upon the floor with her
parasol, as she spoke to Travers or listened to
what he had to say.
" I shall be very sorry to leave Charlton," he
said. "I sometimes wish I had not come."
"Yes," said Evelyn, " and why, may I ask? "
"I can hardly tell why," he answered.
"Has it disillusioned your idea of Ar-
cadia ?"
" No, it is just what I expected to find it, and
Jack is the same dear fellow, and it is a fine
thing to see him so happily placed. I don't
know that I ought to feel miserable that my
visit is over, but I do."
" Parting has always a touch of sorrow in it,"
said Evelyn.
"Yes, I suppose so, Miss Somers," saidDick,
moving his chair near her, at which she felt a
pleasant tremor. " I am a plain man, no more,
after all, than a sort of backwoodsman, and I
182 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
would like to ask you a few plain questions, as
Tremont's oldest friend."
" Yes, I will hear you," she said, " and
answer you if I can," her face becoming a
shade paler.
" John Tremont is the best fellow* in the
world and he loves you," said Dick.
Evelyn for the first time since they had en-
tered the arbour raised her eyes and looked at
Travers, with an inquiring, somewhat surprised
expression.
"No, he has not commissioned me to say
so. I can see that is what you are thinking.
Indeed, he wished me not to do so. I did not
ask him if I might, I only said I wished I knew
you well enough to do so."
" And how do you know he loves me ? " she
asked, in a low voice.
" Because he has told me so."
" He has never told me so."
" No, he had not the courage, I ventured to
say to him that there was, I supposed, no
greater sign of love than a man's feeling of
incapacity to confess it to the girl he loves."
" Is that a sign of love ? "
"The first and foremost, I believe; not that
I know by experience, but—"
Evelyn let her parasol fall upon the ground ;
Dick picked it up. She thanked him. The
trifling incident disarranged Dick's thoughts.
He stammered something about the fallen roses,
and picked up a handful of the leaves to strew
FRIEND OR FOE ?
183
them back upon the floor, as he went on speak-
ing in a nervous kind of way.
"As.I was saying," he remarked, "perhaps
I am wrong in taking this business upon myself.
I am not always wise, rarely so, indeed, but I
wanted to ask you, and now I am coming to it
-—plain and straight—if there is no chance for
Tremont."
But for the reason that her heart was engaged
and was no longer under the control of her head,
but that her head was, indeed, entirely out of
the argument, Evelyn would have despised the
bungling commonplace words and manner of
Dick Travers in his voluntary act of ambassa-
dorship; but blinded by her love she found in
all he said the simplicity of a manly and
generous nature.
" What do you wish me to say, Mr.
Travers?" she asked, looking at him once
more, her brown eyes steadily fixed upon his.
" Whatever it is in your heart to say, that is,
if you think I have any right to advise you; and
I doubt I am interfering with affairs that rightly
do not concern me," Dick answered, once more
gathering a handful of rose leaves and scattering
them slowly upon the floor.
"We may not always say what it is in our
heart to say," Evelyn replied, her voice clear
and musical; "but as regards Mr. Tremont,
there is no man for whom I have a greater
esteem, none whom I value more as a friend;
but I could never be Mr. Tremont's wife.''
184 the princess mazarqff.
There was something very calm and decisive
in this declaration. It was like the verdict of a
jury, like the sentence of a judge—it left nothing
more to be said. Dick felt this, and for some
seconds he made no reply. A sudden selfish
desire came into his mind, a quick impulse of
hope, and it came with a rush of emotion that
crimsoned his cheeks. He forgot his friend;
he only remembered the face that had haunted
him in Paris, coming like a sweet eclipse be-
tween him and that other bold beautiful face
that had wept bitter tears for him; he only saw
the lovely vision before him, only heard her
musical voice, only saw her soft dreamy eyes,
looking at him as they had never before looked
at mortal man.
" Miss Travers," he said, trembling, and
taking her hand—" Evelyn, there is someone
you love ; my heart stands still."
She returned the pressure of his hand.
" I am mad to say it, I know I am, but ever
since the day I saw you first, ever since that
moment in the Place Vendome, your face has
been in my mind, and I have loved you, and
I should never have ceased to love you if I had
never seen you again; I thiuk it was because I
loved you that I turned from you ; perhaps I
felt unworthy of you, you looked so good and
pure, so far above me; all the same I loved
you; all the same I love you now; but I did
not come here to tell you that, I came to try
and make Tremont's peace with you, to speak
FRIEND OR FOE ?
for my friend—am I a traitor? I am, surely,
and yet I would die for both of you."
" Do not die for us," Evelyn said, again re-
turning the pressure of his hand, " at least live
for me."
The roses fell in showers about them, as he
took her into his arms and kissed the lips that
Had given to him the love he would have
sought for his friend.
CHAPTER XII.
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY.
"Jf thou can'st not suffer—die ! "—A. de Musset.
" One dies twice : to cease to live is nothing, but to cease
to love and be loved is one insupportable death."—Voltaire.
The morning after the scene in the arbour—
the weather bright and genial. Dick's grooms
washing the coach, the other servants prepar-
ing for departure from Charlton Manor. The
rooks seem to know that the guests are going
away. Sir Gordon has gone over to say fare-
well to the Cleeve House people. Dick had
done this the night previously. Wykeham is
reading his letters in bed and does not come
down to breakfast. Mrs. Winnington is in
Evelyn's room at Cleeve House. There is a
kind of flurry in the atmosphere of the two
houses. The inmates look at each other and
talk as if something of unusual importance has
happened, or is about to happen. The bring-
ing out of the Travers coach has not caused
this general flutter.
The one person who should know most about
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 187
what has occurred to disturb the general calm
of Charlton-Cleeve knows nothing of it. He is
not quite comfortable. He does not look out
into the future with the same kind of hope that
influenced his thoughts before Dick Travers
appeared on the rural scene of Charlton-
Cleeve; but nobody has told him what has
occurred at Cleeve-House. Sir Gordon knows
all about it. Dick has told him. Sir Gordon
has gone out of the way while Dick tells Tre-
mont. Sir Gordon was at first inclined to
receive Dick's confession with anger and with
wrath, but when he had heard the entire story,
and when he learnt that Evelyn had positively
declared that nothing would induce her to
marry Tremont, he softened towards his son;
not, however, without remarking that it is a
pity they ever came to Charlton-Cleeve, and
that love, so called, is the bane of life; he
paused again, however, to say that he meant
when it did not run smoothly, and when the
right man did not fall in love with the wrong
woman. It is hardly needful to remark that
Dick said nothing to his father about the
Princess Mazaroff.
Tremont, lingering over his dressing, late
down to breakfast, is unusually observant.
Miss Travers notices this. Dick is agitated.
Tremont can see that he is not quite him-
self. He feels that a long-looked-for reunion
has come to an end, and that,, not as the fault
of the visit, but as an incident of it, he has dis-
lS8 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
covered that one of his most cherished hopes
has also come to an end. But as yet he does
not dream that Evelyn has pledged herself to
Dick.
We have seen, however, that the Rector had
seriously noticed the expression of warm ad-
miration that came into Evelyn's face when
Dick stood by the doorway after that first
dinner of the Travers visit, and bowed to her
as she went out with the rest of his lady guests.
He felt as if that expression was fixed in his
mind as something he had longed for, as some-
thing he could never obtain; but he had not
associated it with the possibility of Dick having
taken advantage of it to push his own fortunes
in that direction. He had thought about the
incident, nevertheless, almost continuously ever
since. It had come into his mind at all kinds
of opportune and inopportune moments. He
saw the face which he adored beam with an
expression of sympathy, almost of love; but it
was turned from him; and an instinct of dis-
appointment told him that it would not turn his
way. He had often enough seen in Evelyn's
eyes a gleam of pleasure, an approving smile of
interest awakened by something he had said;
once or twice he had felt that he might hope
for the full frank look, of at least a^i expression,
akin to what he felt was in his own eyes as he
bent them upon her; but it had never come;
and yet within an hour or two of her meeting
with Travers, there it was in her eyes, clear,
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 189
and unmistakable; but was that out of compli-
ment to him ? Was it, after all, only the happy
smile of endorsement, which such a woman
might bestow upon such a man, after knowing
that he was not only the hero of all his stories
of the pioneer, but the hero of the one chapter
of romance that adorned her somewhat prosaic
life. Tremont did not formulate these notions
or questions, they came and went in his thoughts
without, as it seemed, any effort of his own.
They had a depressing effect on his spirits;
but they did not in the least affect his feelings
towards his old friend; and, indeed, he had
hardly had time to think the situation out, as
he meant to do when Dick and his party should
have said good-bye. Even if the idea that
Evelyn and Dick had suddenly fallen in love
with each other had occurred to him, the de-
claration of Dick that he would never enter
the married state would have nipped his specu-
lations on that head in their first budding.
Dick, on the other hand, was in a state of
mental pain and perplexity. He had not slept
a wink all night. He had arisen almost with
the first sunbeams and gone down to the river
with an armful of towels, and seeking the
quietest and most secluded nook had plunged
in and dashed about, and swum, and dived,
with an energy that even he rarely permitted
himself, in the way of mere physical pleasure.
He drained a small flask of brandy-and-water
when he had dressed himself, and after a
I go THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
visit to the stable, he took a long- walk along
the valley, and climbed the Breddons ; now
moved by a wonderful sense of exhilaration,
as he thought of Evelyn—now down below zero
in the world of despair, as he thought ol
Tremont and the ill turn he had served him;
and now pausing to feel a pang of sorrow for
the Princess Mazaroff. He had just learnt,
for the first time, what it was to love, as he felt
man should love, with a sincere abandonment
of self; while a passing sense of the kindness
of a fellow-feeling touched him as he thought
of the love the woman in Paris had lavished
upon him. These feelings and sentiments fol-
lowed each other in quick succession ; and
above them all he realised to the full the enor-
mity, on the face of it, of his conduct towards
his friend and host, John Tremont.
Breakfast was on the table when he returned
to Charlton Manor, but Sir Gordon had been
down early, and only Tremont and Gerty were
at table. The first meal of the day at Charlton
Manor was a pleasant incident—it had no
specific time, it began very early, and it went
on until within a couple of hours of luncheon.
This was one of the luxuries Tremont always
allowed his guests, and although it did not
meet with the complete approval of his house-
keeper, his servants were, nevertheless, suffi-
ciently well in hand to make a long breakfast
part of the discipline of the house.
Dick was glad to find his sister with Tre-
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. igl
mont. He found it hard work to eat, but he
got through the meal, though once Or twice he
felt as if it would choke him. He talked at
random about all manner of things, and was
greatly relieved when Tremont rose and pro-
posed a cigar.
Gerty put on a sun-bonnet and went out
into the garden. Dick and Tremont lighted
their cigars and sat in the hall, with the
windows opened to the sweet breath of the
morning.
" Jack, I want to talk to you," said Dick.
" Where are you most at home in this home-
like house?"
" Do you mean where are we likely to be
least disturbed ? " asked Tremont.
" No, not that exactly, although I would
wish that we may be quite private."
"The Library is what Somers calls my
den."
"You feel happier there than anywhere else
in the place ? "
" Sometimes ; but that depends."
"You are firmer there — more at home—
could stand bad news there better than any-
where else ? "
"Oh, I don't know, Dick; I hope I am
enough of a philospher to stand anything that
may come to a man in the ordinary course of
life."
" I have something to tell you that is not in
the ordinary course."
192 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Indeed; well, come along."
Dick followed his host into the library.
Tremont drew down a blind over an oriel
window, where the sun was pouring in a flood
of silvery light upon the main division of his
array of books — shelf upon shelf of varied
learning, bound up in Russia, Morocco, calf,
cloth, in many colours, and with many titles.
They were not exactly in order. Here and
there a volume had evidently been put away
hurriedly. The library was clearly not for
show, but for use. One or two shelves had
quite an everyday appearance, as though
these particular volumes were thumbed favour-
ites, not to say dog-eared. Tremont laid his
hands tenderly upon them, as one who loved
them.
"I was reading late last night," he said,
" and have not had time to put my friends in
their customary places."
" You always call books friends," said Dick.
" The remark is by no means original."
" No ; but you used to say they were a
fellow's best friends," said Dick.
44 Ah, one is apt to exaggerate; they supply
the place of friends, when friends are away, or
when they are dead; your book-friend is always
with you, you know."
"And always the same," said Dick; "yes,
that is so, he does not suddenly -turn traitor
and slap you in the face."
" Why, Dick, what is the matter; you have
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 193
surely not been trying Somers's old brown
sherry so early in the day? "
"No, it would require something stronger
than old brown sherry to make any impression
upon me this morning; I have tried brandy,
but I never believed in Dutch courage."
" What is it ? What is it, Dick ? Something
has happened," Tremont said, facing Dick,
and noticing that his eyes were bloodshot, his
face pale.
" Yes, something has happened—a great
deal has happened—and I am here to tell you.
I have not slept a wink all night. Jack, my boy,
it would have been well for you if we had never
known each other."
"Dick, what are you saying! Calm your-
self, you are distressed, take your time. I can
bear anything you may have to tell me; don't
consider me."
" I have not considered you; I am a traitor;
I have wronged you !''
" Wronged me, Dick ! Not intentionally,
not willingly, and I forgive you before you tell
me what it is."
"Yes, intentionally and willingly," said
Dick. " I am, a miserable wretch when I
suppose I ought to be most happy, for they say
all is fair in love and war, and I would die for
either of you."
The more Dick unpacked his overloaded
conscience with words, the more inexplicable
became his promised news, the more myste-
o
194 the princess mazaroff.
rious his conduct. Tremont felt an inkling" of
what it might be, for he too had had but little
sleep; he had felt the cold touch of the shadow
that was looming up in his sunny atmosphere. ■
44 Sit down and tell me what you mean,
Dick."
"Nay, I cannot sit; and how, in Gcd's
name, can I tell you what I mean, when I
know the confession will break your heart,
judging by my own feelings? "
44 Hearts do not break," said Tremontt.
4 4 they only ache; but what is it? What can
have occurred in which I am so deeply inter-
ested ? You are well ? I know your visit has
come to an end, I am sorry for that."
44 I am sorry it ever began—that is, I ought
to be. Jack, I am a scamp. I hate to look
you in the face; and yet I came to tell you,
as man to man, friend to friend, that I "
44 Yes, Dick, well ? " said Tremont, a tremor
of anxiety in his voice.
44 That I love Evelyn Somers."
44 My God ! " exclaimed Tremont.
44 Curse me!" said Dick, nervously. 441
despise myself; but I would never have told
her or you if I could have helped it."
44 Who could help loving her?" said Tre-
mont, as if speaking to himself.
44 I went to her as your voluntary, uncom-
missioned ambassador. She made a confession
to me that "
44 Yes, tell me all," said Tremont.
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 195
" I did not ask her the question, she told me
she admired, respected, esteemed you; that
you were her dearest friend, but no more; that
you could be no more; that you never had said
you desired to be more; that she could never
be your wife."
" How could I delude myself with the hope
that she might?" saidTremont, still as if com-
muning with himself.
"I am a miserable wretch to tell you this,
but it had to be told ; for in the midst of it all
I discovered that she had kept sacred in her
mind the memory of our first meeting in Paris,
just as I had done; for from that moment I
have never got her face out of my soul, and
when I saw her here my heart stood still, and
I hardly felt that I was responsible for my
actions. We met, we loved, and if I had not
seen her again all my life I would have gone
on loving her."
" And yet you allowed her to go away with-
out a word. Why?" said Tremont, in his
strange, calm way, speaking as if to himself,
and ignoring Dick, except in so far as regarded
his words.
"I felt unworthy to converse with so much
purity and sweetness, or fate made a point for
you. My heavens ! Jack, why did you not tell
her how you felt towards her long ago ? Why
did you not let me come here to find her
your wife ? Then, what otherwise becomes
I96 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
love, would have remained respect, admiration,
friendship."
"I don't know, it was not to be," said
Tremont. "Let us say no more about it—not
just now, at all events."
Tremont rose from his chair, as he had done
once or twice during the conversation, to walk
to and fro, while Dick stood almost in the same
position throughout. Tremont now went to
the window and looked out, leaning against
the wall. He still held his cigar in his right
hand. It was no longer alight. On the other
hand, Dick had kept his burning, pulling at it
violently now and then, and almost eating the
end of it. Tremont did not speak for some
minutes. Presently he walked over to the book-
case, rearranged several volumes, and then
laying down his cigar took another from the
box and begun to smoke steadily. Dick watched
him with a curious solicitude.
"You could not help it, Dick," said Tremont,
looking at him. " Of course it is for the best.
I don't quite know how I feel about it at present.
I shall, I am sure, feel as I ought to feel about
it. You must give me a little time. No doubt
the hand of Providence is in it. I have loved
you so truly, Dick, and so affectionately, that
I can understand all you have told me about
Evelyn. I think something in the nature of a
revelation had been working in my mind, un-
consciously, to prepare me for this—for the
inevitable—but I am a little stunned. Don't
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 197
think me selfish, don't think me ungenerous. I
am not quite myself. I shall be all right
soon."
His manner was that of one who had been
hurt in an accident that had paralysed him.
He moved about uneasily. He went on talking,
now to Dick, now to himself. He again walked
over to one of the bookcases and straightened
a volume that was awry. Presently he took one
down and opened it. He turned to a passage
that was marked, and, with a kind of pitying
smile, read aloud: "Save a man from drowning,
and he marries your sweetheart." I have not
saved you from drowning yet, Dick ; but if you
were drowning and I could save you, I should
do so, all the same. Don't distress yourself,
old friend."
" My dear Jack, is it possible that you can
forgive me?" said Travers, in a low voice.
"It is not possible that I cannot forgive you
anything, Dick ; but let us go into the air, my
den is rather hot this morning."
Tremont, very pale, put out his hand as if
for support. Dick grasped it fervently, and
feeling, that Tremont had suddenly become a
little unsteady, he wound his right arm about
him and placed him in a chair.
"It is nothing," said Tremont, looking at
him. " I am not used to the tax of strong
emotions. No, do not ring. I am quite well.
Yes, quite ; let us walk under the elms."
The Rector leaned upon Dick's arm, and
I98 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
they went out into the garden, where Tremont
quickly recovered himself, and begun to talk
of the coach, and the weather, as if nothing
had happened. Sir Gordon was amazed to
see them together in this way. He feared Dick
had not kept his promise, for the father had
insisted that Dick should make a clean breast
of the whole business before starting for home.
Dick had undertaken to do so, and to tell it all
as near as he could, word for word, if it broke
his heart, and his own too. How well—one
might say, how brutally—he had kept his word,
we have heard and seen.
By-and-by Gerty joined the group, in hat and
light silk scarf, for setting forth. The horses
were being put into the shafts. There was
a little crowd of on-lookers.
" You will call and say good-bye to my Cleeve
neighbours as you pass, I understand," said
Tremont. " Give them my best regards. I had
a mind to accompany you as far, but the fewer
there are to share in good-byes, the better,
perhaps."
"My dear Tremont," said Sir Gordon, "I
have to thank you for a very delightful time.
Believe me, I shall cherish the memory of your
kindness, and count you, if I may, as one of
my dearest friends. The true friendship of an
old man is a thing to be trusted; it has no
prejudices, no barriers that belong to young
friendships. I mean what I say. God bless
you, Tremont, I like you! And when Gordon
FROM THE ARBOUR TO THE LIBRARY. 199
Travers says that, he means it through and
through."
" Thank you," said Tremont, as Sir Gordon
pressed his hand.
" Good-bye, Jack," said Dick, in a voice
trembling with emotion.
"Good-bye," Tremont replied, calm and
quiet.
" Good-bye, Mr. Tremont," said Gerty;
" and I hope you will come and see us."
" I hope to do so," said Tremont. " Good-
bye, Miss Travers, and I wish you all a very
pleasant drive."
By this time they had begun to mount their
seats. Dick was on the box. The three ser-
vants were up behind. The guard blew his
horn ; and the dust of a bright summer morn-
ing soon made a little cloud behind them,
through which Tremont watched the flash of
red and gold, and in which whirl of dust he
felt his best hopes of happiness were whirling
away into a million worthless atoms.
CHAPTER XIII.
A mysterious stranger arrives
at charlton-cleeve.
" Come back to me, who wait and watch for you :—
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what i do i do
Thinking, ' Now when he comes,' my sweetest 'when':
For one man is my world of all men
This whole world holds ; Oh love, my world is you."
Christina G. Rossetti.
When the Princess Mazaroff stepped on board
the boat at Brindisi, she unconsciously altered
all the plans of the people of Charlton House.
She changed the destiny—if it had not already
been fixed—of John Tremont. She put a barrier
between Sir Richard Gordon Travers's schemes
for his son; and she gave to life an aspect
never dreamed of by Dick Travers in his wildest
moments of travel and adventure.
It was by no will or plan of her own that the
Princess Mazaroff came into the lives of these
people. She was but the instrument of a com-
mon Fate; that is how the fatalist would read
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 201
the story of her association with the career of
Richard Travers, and the fatalist may be right.
Or it may be, that the philosophy of every
wrong-doing bringing its sure and certain
punishment, best fits the case. If the Pioneer
had given the Princess no reason to believe
he loved her, no excuse for her visit to his
rooms in the Place Vendome—if he had not
professed to envy the Prince—she might per-
haps have gone home with the master of the
palace of Kherasoff, and endured to the end
the companionship of a tyrannical and unloved
husband.
In that event what would have happened ?
Would the lives of Evelyn and Tremont and
Travers have gone on smoothly to the end?
Who knows ? If Evelyn had not been rescued
from danger by Travers, she might have given
Tremont sufficient encouragement that day in
the rose-garden for her reticent lover to have
proposed for her. Had he done so she would
have accepted him. Nevertheless, might she
still not have met Travers in time to have
regretted her choice, and have broken off her
engagement ? Or might she not have fallen in
love with Travers when it was too late and she
was the wife of another ? In that case what
new complication might not have taken place ?
Evelyn, as we know, was a strong-minded
woman, had very modern views of the relation-
ships of the sexes, and regarded the rights and
privileges of women from what is considered to
202 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
be the most enlightened aspect. Who knows
what revolt might have taken possession of her,
finding herself married to one man and loving
another?
Have you not, friendly reader of these pages,
often looked back on your career at a point
where your fortunes, for weal or woe, developed
powerfully, to consider what would have hap-
pened to you if at that time you had taken
one of the other turnings on life's highway
than that which had brought you to the point
of reflection some years later? You have
regretted that you had not been vouchsafed
by some kind Providence a forecast of the
road you had taken, in preference to one or
two others that were at the time equally well
open to you. You have sorrowed over your
mistake. Or, it may be, if you have been very
successful in your life, that you have congratu-
lated yourself upon your discrimination in not
taking one of the other paths that might have
led to misery, poverty and death. They all
lead to death, you reflect. If you are happy,
you shudder at the thought; if you are miser-
able, you rather welcome it and gloat over it;
but, all the same, your thoughts are not with-
out regrets, and in nine cases out of ten they
are wound up with the commonplace reflection,
" If I had only known ! "
Dick Travers had been in this frame of mind,
more or less, ever since he left Charlton-Cleeve,
in possession of that bright jewel—a good wo-
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 203
man's love. He had qualms of conscience, not
only as touching- his friend Tremont, but his
desertion of the passionate, reckless, loving
woman who was still waiting for him in Paris.
He knew she was waiting for him still, because
his man, Mellish, had been over to the gay
city and had seen her.
Mellish was a quiet, discreet valet, as we have
seen. He had been charged with a mission to
Paris on the very day when Travers had re-
turned to The Old Hall from Charlton-Cleeve;
and he had fulfilled his ambassadorship with
diplomatic judgment. He had watched his
opportunity to meet Estelle; and without
answering her many questions as to Milord
Travers, he had learnt from her what his master
desired to know, namely, "all about the Prin-
cess, where she was, how she was, what she
was doing." He had learnt that she was incon-
solable; that she had been very ill and had
recovered ; that she had been induced to seek
medical advice; that she was better, but not the
same beautiful woman she was, when Milord
was in Paris; that she lived in the hope of his
return ; that she had written to him in England,
but without receiving any reply ; and then Mel-
lish had come to the conclusion that it would be
well for him to wait upon her ladyship with
the gift and the letter which his master had
entrusted to his discretion.
Mellish had been ushered into the Princess's
presence by Estelle, and had unfolded his
204 the princess mazaroff.
mission. He was, as he had explained to his
master, just a little surprised at the gorgeous
dress the Princess wore, being ill, as Estelle
had said, "but women are rum 'uns," was his
comment, "whether they be princess or pea-
sant" ; and she was still very handsome, he
begged to state, for all that she was thinner;
and she received his letter and read it, with a
face that was pale and flushed, and then pale
again; and when she had read it, she simply
asked where Mr. Travers lived in Yorkshire,
and why he had not written before ; was it that
he had gone home to his own marriage, or to
that of his sister, as he had declared ?
"And then," said Mellish, continuing the
account of his interview, " I made so bold as to
say you had no idea of being married ; but that
your sister, Miss Gertrude, was engaged. 'And
is not your Milord Travers engaged, as you
know ?' she said; and I said it was my humble
duty to wait upon her with the letter and the
parcel, and to inquire after her health, inasmuch
as my master was anxious to know, as he could
not come to Paris, and feared she might have
gone home to Kherasoff; and that being so, I
was to travel on and find out if she needed your
services or advice, or words to that effect; and
then she was angry, and said she would write
to you, and I was to come again in an hour;
and I did, and she had no letter ready, but her
thanks to Monsieur Travers, and you should
hear from her; and I had a kind of feeling that
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 205
I was followed when I left; and I soon knew I
was, for though I went round about to my
hotel, I saw the same man on the other side
the street that I saw in the Place; and I saw
him at the station and on the boat, also at
Charing Cross, at the Great Northern, and at
York, when I got to the end of my journey;
and it is that, sir, as makes me uncomfort-
able!"
If Travers had only known what would
have been the upshot of his flirtation on
board the Orient ! He still professed to re-
gard the whole thing as a mere flirtation.
But he knew it was something more than that;
something at least of terrible moment to the
Princess. He tried to lull the reproofs of his
conscience, to forget, to put back the story of
his month in Paris, to count it out of date.
He had also encouraged a vague hope that
the Princess had forgotten him, and might,
perhaps, have gone home to her husband. The
brightness of the sunshine of his love for Eve-
lyn made darkness of everything else. It
burnt up every feeling he had for the Princess,
except one of pity. He heartily pitied the
Russian beauty; pitied her for her love. He
strove to forget her all the same, and had
hoped, as he desired, that she might forget him.
But the Princess could not forget him. She
remembered every word of love he had ever
uttered to her. She recalled all he had said
on those moonlight nights at sea. She che-
206 the princess mazaroff.
rished the remembrance of her happy time in
the Place Vendome, in the very rooms where
she still lived, and she remembered at what
sacrifice she had enjoyed his love and com-
panionship—loss of name, credit, position, and
loss of means—for latterly she had begun to
see the end of her money, and she was too
proud to use the financial privileges which
Travers had given her. Forget! Forgive!
Never !
Travers wondered if he ought to tell Evelyn
about the Princess. She was a woman of com-
mon-sense, had no narrow views concerning the
peccadilloes of men or the mistakes of women
—she had read the modern books of wise men
and women on these subjects; and yet he felt
that there was a purity and innocence, even in
her mention of these things, that seemed to
lift questionable subjects almost upon a reli-
gious platform. He had a great mind, on his
next visit to Charlton-Cleeve, to tell Evelyn
how and where he was living, when they met
in the Place Vendome.
It goes without saying that his first visit had
been almost immediately followed by a second
to Charlton-Cleeve, and that the Somerses had
been driven with all speed by coach to The Old
Hall. The engagement of the lovers had been
quickly ratified, and the date of the wedding
appointed; Evelyn was so firm with her pa-
rents, so infatuated, and Travers so anxious to
" settle down," as his father called it. More*
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 207
over, there was no reason for delay. The
match was what would be called a very good
one for all concerned. Sir Richard delighted
in it. " No more African expeditions," he
would say, " when once Dick is fairly settled " ;
and, indeed, Dick felt all the inclination to
study the interests of Middlesborough and the
Yorkshire estate that his father desired, which
simply means that at last he was deeply in love
—as madly, in a way, as the Princess was, when
she laid at his feet reputation, honour, position,
everything woman holds dear.
It is strange that the friendship of Tremont
and Travers still continued. "True love is
rare, true friendship still rarer." Tremont's
friendship for Travers was grafted upon a
nobler sentiment than the friendship of Travers
for Tremont. The Rector's was a strong, fer-
vent nature—sincere, true. Travers wanted to
be just as good and true, and, once in a way,
thought he was. Travel and association with
the world had broadened his mind without
concentrating his affections. Tremont's love
for Travers was the boyish love of admiration,
and the instinct of friendship. To him Travers
was the happy living remembrance of college
that he had taken home and established among
his treasures. Travers was grateful. He liked
to be admired by Tremont. It was an endorse-
ment of good fellowship, the good word of
Tremont. But in his life there had been com-
peting attractions. He had seen many new
208 the princess mazaroff.
faces, made many acquaintances since he had
parted with Tremont; and habit had confirmed
his capacity to do without his friend. His life
and its ways were wide apart from those of
Tremont. But, all the same, such friendship
as he had to give he gave. He had all the time
regarded Tremont as his dearest friend; and
now that he had returned home to rob him of
the woman he loved, Travers felt as deeply
and as keenly as his nature would permit the
sacrifice which he believed Tremont was making
for him, when he not only still continued his
friendship, but had voluntarily offered to be
his " best man" at the wedding. The truth is,
Tremont could not endure the idea of anything
separating him from the right and privilege of
meeting Evelyn, and still having her personal
friendship and regard.
John Tremont, in the eyes of Mrs. Win-
nington, had made a tremendous sacrifice for
his friend. She had induced Mr. and Mrs.
Somers to think so too ; but Tremont felt that
he had made no sacrifice. He loved Evelyn
it is true; he acknowledged that to himself;
but he loved her too well to make her unhappy.
It was not her fault that she could not feel
towards him as he felt towards her. Nor was
Travers to blame for loving her. The truth is
he had loved her before he had met her at
Charlton Manor. Fate had ordained it. Fate
or Providence. They had met in Paris; Tra-
vers had saved her life, so Somers said, and he
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
209
was entitled to the happiness of making Evelyn
his life's companion.
This is how John Tremont regarded the
forthcoming marriage of his two friends. He
called them his two friends when he spoke of
them. He tried to bury his love for Evelyn
deep in his heart, and he did so bury it, but he
watched over the grave of his hopes and am-
bitions, watched over it and sorrowed. From
the grave of his love there sprung the lovely
flower of resignation, and his friendship for
Travers went on blossoming by its side.
Somers had made a point of talking of the
engagement of his daughter on the very first
opportunity, and Tremont had at once re-
sponded to his frank enquiries as to his feelings
for his daughter with the assurance that he
had never asked Evelyn for her love. If Mrs.
Winnington had suggested that he had done
so, and was now sacrificing himself " on the
altar of friendship/' as she had phrased it,
Mrs. Winnington was mistaken. At the same
time, whatever his feelings might be, Miss
Somers was the person to be considered, and
there was no mistake about her feelings in
regard to his friend Travers, nor Travers's
feelings for her. Somers said he was glad to
hear Tremont speak in these terms, because he
understood there was some little gossip about
the affair in the village which it might be well
to put right; though he must confess that for
himself he was very much astonished at the
p
2IO THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
turn things had taken, and, so far as he and his
dear wife were concerned, they would have
much preferred to have him for a son-in-law
rather than his friend, good a fellow as Mr.
Travers seemed to be, and no doubt was. It
had been a cherished idea at Cleeve House, at
least on the part of himself and wife, that there
might be a close and lasting alliance between
Cleeve and Charlton ; in answer to. which the
Rector had said he hoped there would. Nothing
that he could conceive of was likely to come
between them; Travers was his dearest friend,
Miss Somers was worthy of the best husband
in the world, and would have her deserts in
Richard Travers ; she was a very accomplished
and charming girl, and, as his neighbour's
daughter, would always have his respect and
esteem. He did not see, indeed, why they
should not all rejoice in what had occurred and
in the marriage to follow, for they would en-
large their circle of acquaintances and friends.
Stretching their hands out to Yorkshire, and
Yorkshire responding, they would thus bring
together several families; the Traverses were
well worth cultivating, and then there would, in
due course, be the Selby Howarths, and be-
tween one and the other, there would come
about an interchange of courtesies and visits
that could not fail to be very pleasant for all
parties.
Indeed, the Rector had talked so pleasantly
about the entire business, that Mr. Grafton
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 211
Somers had gone home under the impression
that his sister had, as usual, got hold of the
wrong end of the stick, as he told her, much to
her annoyance ; and she had left the next day,
not on account of this little wrangle with her
brother, but for other important reasons, to be
hereafter mentioned. As she said good-bye,
Mrs. Somers remarked that she was more than
usually superior in her manner, more than
usually self-confident, and more than usually
well dressed, and that her last words were, " I
do not like this hurried arrangement with Mr.
Travers and Evelyn. You may say or think,
dear, what you please, but the Rector was over
head and ears in love with 'her, and it is a pity
she did not have him," which, of course, was
nonsense, as Somers observed, " seeing that the
Rector did not ask her, and that she is deeply
in love with Travers, and that Tremont's friend-
ship for Travers continues, and cannot be more
strongly exemplified than in the fact that he
is to be his best man. Furthermore, when I
questioned Evelyn on the subject the day after
the Traverses left Charlton Manor, she said,
' my dear father, I should never have married
Mr. Tremont.'"
The wedding Jhad been fixed for a day late
in September, early enough, the local gossips
had said, Miss Somers having only known the
young man in the first days of summer; but
other gossips, who knew better, had a mysteri-
ous story to tell of Travers having saved the
212
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
girl's life in foreign lands. It was known that
every year she and her father went abroad,
while Mrs. Somers waited at home to join them
on their return to English soil, and take her
holiday with them at some English watering
place, which showed her good sense ; she was
not for gadding about in foreign lands, but
Miss Somers liked that kind of thing, and that
might be the reason why she had fallen in love
with this traveller, who had lived among sa-
vages, and some said that their blood was upon
his hands.
On this point the blacksmith of Charlton-
Cleeve, who was sitting by the side of a pint
of ale, and smoking a long clay pipe, sur-
rounded by several and sundry of the trades-
men of the place" in the smoking-room of the
" Green Man," remarked, sententiously, that
it was better to kill a savage than have a
savage kill you.
"Aye," said the butcher, " if a man would
go to they outlandish places, you atter kill or
be killed. I 'earn as that yere Stanley, as wor
the prince of travelleis, 'ed gotten to do for a
good many o' they blackies; and Mr. Travers,
I do 'ear say that 'e's ben in some tight
places."
" No doubt," remarked the local grocer,
" and I should say as he could get out on 'em ;
he's a fine, strapping gentleman ; shall never
forget his driving in first time with his coach;
well, he was a pictur, surely "
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 2 13
" And he do love his 'osses, and that's good
enough for me," said the principal liveryman
of the place ; " loves 'em as if they was 'uman,
and when a man loves his 'osses like that, I
tell 'e any woman may be glad to stand up wi'
'im at the altar; and that's all I gotten to
say."
Every man as he spoke glanced towards a
stranger who sat in a corner, right under the
celebrated work of art entitled "Napoleon Cross-
ing the Alps," which was the pride of the
"Green Man " smoke-room; he was not quite a
stranger; he had been in the village all day,
looking at the church, the river, and the monas-
tery on the hill; a traveller, and, the village
thought, a foreigner. In the evening he had
taken his place among the " Green Man "
gossips, and had been respectfully given one
of the best arm-chairs in the most favoured
corner.
" I suppose you are talking of a wedding? "
remarked the stranger, looking up from his
glass of soda and brandy—a drink which, among
the gossips, denoted him to be a person of
some distinction—and taking a fresh cigar from
his case.
" Why, yes,',' said the grocer, who was the
best informed man in the room, and spoke with
a better choice of language than the rest," we
be talking of the union between Miss Somers
and Mr. Richard Travers, son of Sir Richard
Gordon Travers, Baronet."
214 TIIE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
''Yes," said the stranger; "and when is the
wedding to take place? "
"Well, we do 'ear on the 25th of Sep-
tember, but that ain't what we calls official
yet."
"No," said the liveryman, "and that's the
very word ; it reminds me of the 'sizes/'
" Do it, why ? " asked the butcher.
"Well, I dunno," the liveryman replied,
" only somehow it come into my mind, seein'
as the bride's father, you know (turning to the
stranger) is to be next 'Igh Sheriff, and I see it
in what the noosepaper calls ofifishal list, or
somethin' that way, and so it came into my
mind."
"Which is quite natural," remarked the
stranger. " There is money in this match,
eh ? Is the bride rich ? "
" Warmish," said the liveryman, interrupt-
ing the grocer, who was a little disconcerted,
but jumped into the conversation afresh, with
an authoritative cough. " As my friend was
saying, the lady is the daughter of one of our
wealthiest landowners, and as they says, with
accumulations. She is a catch, sir; and they
do say as he is too, and a very fine estate,
besides ironworks."
Here the conversation became general, and
the stranger strolled out into the village, and
wandered over the bridge and down by the
river.
Although it was twilight, and nearly ten
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 215
o'clock at night, all the country side seemed
to be haymaking, and carrying the fragrant
grass to various points where sweet-smelling
ricks were rising up among hedgerows and
darkening elms. It was the middle of July, and
there had been warning of rain. The stranger
was under the medium height, wiry, compact,
watchful. He was the man who had followed
Mellish ; and had, the day before, arrived at
Charlton-Cleeve from York.
He was a man with a history—a man of
property—owned a chateau near one of the
most picturesque spots in the Bois de Boulogne;
and yet was only known as a detective,
though, in his official capacity, he had been
used both by Russia and France on diplomatic
missions where secrecy and discretion were of
importance ; a curious, strange, inexplicable
character, equal to the highest mission of
secret diplomacy, and willing to accept em-
ployment in the meanest business; a police
spy, a conspirator, a fop, a miser, and, as yet
utterly unsuspected by the Princess Mazaroff,
enamoured—in his mean, self-seeking, grovel-
ling, lustful, Caliban way—with the unfortunate
heroine of this romance.
The stranger was under the medium height,
a foreigner, evidently a Frenchman. He was
foppishly dressed. He wore a waxed moustache.
His eyes were unusually close together. His
features were small, except his mouth, which
was wide, his lips thin, the effect vulpine, but
2io the princess mazaroff.
he had a persuasive voice, and his manner was
self-possessed. He had taught himself a certain
frankness of speech, that disarmed Dick's first
bad impressions. He was watchful without
seeming to be watchful, He had white, small
hands, and he wore a curious signet ring,
which, if an opportunity arose for mentioning
the circumstance, he would tell you was given
to him by the Czar, in recognition of a service
rendered to His Majesty in connection with a
Nihilistic plot in St. Petersburg. Mons. Michel'
Vitre was, it is true, well known to the Russian
police, and had worked with them and for
them on several important occasions. He had
also been, at the same time, suspected of being
equally in the pay of a Nihilistic conspirator
of distinction and far-reaching influence. Prince
Mazaroff had known Vitre for years; and the
mysterious diplomat, or detective, or whatever
he chose to call himself, on being sent for by
the Princess, had assured Madame that he
would count himself honoured by any commis-
sion with which she might entrust him. She
did not notice the leer, which he had intended
for a sweet expression of admiration, that spread
over his foxy features as he said so ; she had
only one thought, her mind was away in Eng-
land, with Travers. She had never been to
England, but she imagined the castle where
he might be, the city, the hunting-field, she
knew not what; and she almost envied Vitrd,
because he knew England, had been in York-
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 217
shire, was well acquainted with London, and
undertook to find Travers and convey to him
any letter or message the Princess might desire
to send him ; and so he became the bearer of
her despairing love-message. It was one of
those missions that amused him. He had often
dared to envy the Prince, and he wondered at
his vile treatment of so lovely a woman. His
curiosity was piqued in regard to this heroic
English traveller, who had won her, body and
soul, as it seemed, as easily as whistling a dog
to his side or buying the services of a political
agent.
At York and The Old Hall he had learnt that
Mr. Travers was on a coaching trip, and that
it was not unlikely he might be at Charlton-
Cleeve in the middle of July. The Princess's
envoy was here, therefore, to wait upon him.
On the next morning his opportunity came.
Early in the day, with crack of whip and sound
of-horn, the familiar coach appeared ; and an
hour afterwards, Monsieur Vitre was closeted
with Travers in the library at Charlton Manor.
" Yes, sir, from the Princess Mazaroff," said
Michel Vitre, after Travers had looked at his
card, and asked his business, which he had in-
formed the servant was of the greatest im-
portance, and had brought him all the way
from Paris.
"I will not detain you. Madame the Prin-
cess desires me to return you this packet, which
you sent to her by your servant ; she also
2 18 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
requests me to deliver to you her reply to your
letter: here it is."
Travers took from the stranger's hand the
packet and the letter, and waited for his further
observations.
"Perhaps you will first read the letter?"
suggested the stranger.
Travers opened the envelope, which was
daintily sealed with wax, and roughly translating
from the elegant French of his correspondent,
read as follows—" It is the pity of noble souls
to be generous ; but love is all things and
generous ever; not with gifts alone, but with
thoughts. And is it thus you reply to my
long, long vigil—to my undying love ? Do you
come to me ? Or I to you ? Say. If your
love is dead, the night is come ; but if you give
it to another it is only a woman that knows
how she shall be revenged. Dearest, I love
you still, with all my heart. I wait you still—
wait month after month, the winter, the spring,
the summer. Do not break all my heart.
Come, and save me from despair! Come not,
and, in the mind distraught, it is hate that
takes the place of love. I give you back your
gift, but it may be returned with love ; or bring
it with your own hand. I lay my head at your
feet, dear, good, loving friend.—From your
patient Anissia."
Travers read the letter with varying emotions,
and did not disguise from the messenger the
pain it gave him.
A MYSTERIOUSt STRANGER. 2IQ
"Sir," he said, as he thrust it into his breast-
pocket, " I am an infernal scoundrel, and chat
is the long and the short of it."
Monsieur Vitre bowed.
" I suppose I may speak to you in con-
fidence ? "
"If I may repeat what you say to the
Princess."
" I leave that to your discretion. Do you
know the relationship that existed between us
for a short time ? ''
" I only guess."
"You are a man of the world? "
"Yes."
"Very well; you will perhaps advise me?
What shall I do to satisfy the Princess ? She
came to me of her own free will. Nay, I will
not excuse myself—I encouraged her to do so.
But, you see, the affair is over. It pains me
deeply to find that she does not think so ; that
her love was a real thing, and that mine was
—well, I don't know what. I believe there are
circumstances which might have kept me faith-
ful to her love, and grateful for it. The truth
is, I hardly know what to say. I cannot return
to the Princess, nor can I invite her to come
to England."
" You are to be married? " said the Princess's
messenger.
" I am," said Travers.
" I learnt the fact in the village here."
" Are you the man who followed my servant
2 20 THE PRINCES MAZAROFF.
from Paris?" Travers asked suddenly, the
remembrance of Mellish's report occurring to
him for the first time during the interview.
"I did follow your servant—yes," said the
stranger, calmly.
" By order of the Princess ? "
"Yes. She wrote to you without receiving
any reply, and she desired to know where she
might find you—at what address. She charged
me to explain my mission so."
"Anything else? Look here, my friend, as
I said just now, you are a man of the world.
Well, cannot you see that I am in a difficulty
of the kind that any man may get into ; that I
am sorry to have disturbed the mind of the
Princess; that I would willingly make any
reparation. Will you do me a favour ? "
" If I Can."
"You can, and it 'shall be acknowledged
how you please. I will pay you."
" Yes; what is the favour ? "
"Do not tell the Princess that I am to be
married. Let her simply understand that
business of the gravest importance has kept me
at home. Now, what is it worth to be my
friend to that extent ? "
"I am not a rich man," said Vitre, mentally
hugging himself on the quick directness of
his lie.
" I am," said Travers. " Give me your word
to do what I wish—and it will be really in the
Princess's interest ; " and (taking out a thick
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 221
pocketbook-purse) he counted into Vitrd's hand
ten ten-pound notes.
" It will do no harm to the Princess ? "
asked the messenger.
"None. Moreover, you shall take back to
her the very message she will welcome. I
will go to her at the end of the week."
"Will you write to her? "
"No; say that I will, with my own hand,
bring her this rejected token of my friendship,"
and he thrust the packet of jewels into his
pocket.
"Yourfriendship?" the messenger repeated.
"Yes, my friendship. Have I your word
that you will do what I wish ? "
" Yes, sir; you have."
"Your hand on it, as we say down in York-
shire," said Travers, taking within his brawny
grip the hard bony hand of the man whom he
thought he had bought. '
Michel Vitre returned to the " Green Man "
the richer by a hundred pounds, but with some-
thing he valued at a hundred times the sum.
In his tortuous way he saw in this bribe from
Travers an influence which might promote his
fortunes with Anissia. He saw in Dick's
secret a step on the road he wished to travel;
a secret to be exploded at the right time in his
own interest; a link in the chain which he
thought he could forge for the captive his soul
desired. Yes, his soul; he had one—all men
have; and Monsieur Vitre often swore by his,
2 22 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
and on his honour, too, when he desired to
strengthen a more than ordinarily audacious
lie. Lying was an important matter with him.
It belonged to his profession. It was he who
had invented some of the most powerful of the
lying explanations which Russian officials had
given to Europe in connection with the perse-
cutions of the Jews in the provinces of Cherson,
Ekaterinoslav, Poltawa, Taurida, Kiew, Czer-
ingow, and Podolia, some eight or ten years
prior to his appearance at Charlton-Cleeve.
A master of his craft, characteristic of the
mercenary spy all over the world (not, by the
way to be confounded with the patriotic spy
of history, who risks his life for his country),
he was true to nobody, not even to his em-
ployers, not even to his hatreds, for he had
accepted service both for and against the Jews,
both for and against his country. He was
true to his love of gain, however, and he was
true to his low instinct that coveted his neigh-
bour's wife. After all, you may say, he was
no worse in this respect than Richard Travers.
Well, no defence is specially offered up in
these pages for Richard Travers, though it may
not be out of place to suggest extenuating
circumstances.
In Dick's default there was no deliberate
design of cruelty. He had been carried away
by his passion, it is true. He had done a
great wrong, but he had not done it in what
might be called a mean fashion. He had a
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 2 23
generous heart and a liberal hand; and, what
is more, he had the soul of repentance. He
would have given half his life to have wiped
out that month in Paris, and have felt worthy
of the pure, noble girl who had accepted- the
homage of his love. But we reap the seed
we sow, whether we sow it deliberately or in
passion, whether we sow it carelessly among
the good seed, or whether we scatter it broad-
cast, without thought or care or sense of
responsibility. The worst of this reaping is that
we gather in the good with the bad; we influence
the lives and hopes and happiness of others.
Our harvest of wild oats and thistles, of nettles
and brambles and tares, is not for ourselves
alone. We force it upon others ; but so it is
ordained by the fiat of Providence, which even
goes further than the present, and visits the
sins of the fathers upon the children unto the
third and fourth generation.
When the stranger had gone Dick heaved a
great sigh, flung himself into Tremont's easiest
chair and groaned, the perspiration trickling
down his face.
''This will end badly," he said. "What
shall I do ? Go and see her, explain to her,
make a friend of her instead of an enemy ?
Let her understand that family considerations
do not enable me to do what she wishes ? Tell
her I do not love her? No; she threatened me
on that point. But she may have changed,
and Estelle is my friend. At all hazards I
224 the princess mazaroff.
will go and see her. I am a poor weak crea
ture. Why don't I tell Tremont all about it ?
Or, what would be more honourable, and wiser
too, perhaps—Evelyn ? Would it be wise ?
She -is unlike other women. Is she, though, I
wonder ? My God, if I told her and she threw
me off, it would kill me ! I knew I was hard hit
when I turned my back upon her and her father
in Paris ; but I feared Anissia, feared they might
find us at home. But now I would die for her;
and I could not live without her. What a
coward I am !"
''Ah," said Tremont, entering the room,
"you are alone at last. Your foreign ambas-
sador has gone. An invitation to go and
govern the land out yonder by the Mountains
of the Moon ?"
" No, Jack," Travers replied ; " a little matter
connected with my expedition ; just a trifle sad,
so I will say nothing about it."
" That's like your good nature, Dick. You
always were considerate for the feelings of
others."
" I wish you would not say these kind of
things, Jack. I really don't deserve.them."
" Very well, then ; I will try and say some-
thing cruel."
" Ah, that you cannot do. But I really begin
to wish I was worthy of your great friendship
for me, Jack."
" Nonsense, old fellow," Tremont replied. " I
have all kinds of pleasant messages for you
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
225
from the committee of the Archery Society.
They are meeting now in the Rectory meadows.
Won't you come ? "
" Yes," said Dick. " I will change my jacket
and be with you in five minutes."
Dick laid his hand * affectionately upon
Tremont's arm and left the room.
" He is disturbed," said Tremont. " What is
the matter, I wonder ? "
Tremont sat by the open window. Down in
the meadows he could see the butts set for the
shooting. There were tents, too, and umbrella
chairs, flags, and marking streamers, and one or
two groups of early arrivals. Among the latter
he thought he could distinguish Miss Somers,
and her father and mother, and the gaunt form
of his curate, Jabez Ogden.
" I suppose it is Evelyn," he said, turning
away from the window. "How much more
beautiful she has become of late, being settled
in her mind, no doubt, as Sir Gordon says.
Settled—yes; it is a great thing to know that
your future is settled; to know whether you
have won or lost; to get an anxious business
over. A shrewd, observant fellow, Sir Gordon.
I begin at length to feel settled myself—con-
tent to know that I shall live and die a bache-
lor; and it is really almost pleasant to go to
Cleeve House in a frank, honest way, without
embarrassment, everybody knowing that one is
there out of pure friendship and neighbourly
feeling. I am more myself. I no longer angle
Q
2 26 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
for Evelyn's soft word, for her sympathetic
attention. I am no longer an intriguant, a spy,
a lover. Yes ; it is a good thing to be settled
in life, as Sir Gordon says, oneway or the other;
and, after all, there is freedom in bachelorhood,
and no wife in the world could be as constant
and as faithful as a good library. Thank God
for books! "
In the calm July evening the twilight fell
fondly about the figures of two lovers in the
rose-garden of Cleeve House. The roses were
shedding their leaves in splashes of pink and
yellow, and white and red, with here and there
streaks of a darker hue. The footpaths were
soft with the July leaves, and every footfall
released new perfumes from the lovely relics of
summer. One of the lovers was supremely
happy. Evelyn Somers walked in an earthly
paradise. Love had come to her strangely
and sudden, as we know. She had regarded
her heart as a dry ember, so far as love was
concerned. She had given up her thoughts to
learning, to books, to the studies of life that
were current among the great thinkers of the
time. Love had represented toher only a weak-
ness of her sex, an indication of non-intellec-
tuality. If her heart was that dry ember she
had imagined, a spark from Cupid's torch had
converted it into a burning coal, and she now
cherished and fanned the heat of it with a
willing mind. Leaning on the strong arm of
Travers, and threading the rosy paths of Cleeve
A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 227
in the soft summer twilight, she forgot every-
thing but the love she had affected to despise.
Travers himself was far less happy than Evelyn;
for now he could realise something of the suffer-
ings of the woman he hadleft in Paris. At last
a lover himself, he could realise what it might
mean to lose the object of his affections, not by
death, but to be deserted, to be no longer loved,
to be forgotten, as he had deserted and for-
gotten Anissia. Listening to the sweet, wise,
loving prattle of Evelyn, his heart ached to
think of the lonely Anissia waiting for his
return—waiting, as she said, week after week,
month after month; and while he pressed Eve-
lyn to his heart, he was revolving in his mind
all kinds of plans for consoling Anissia. Not
one of these various schemes quite assumed
practical shape; but the end of every one
involved the absolute necessity of his visit-
ing Paris and taking a last farewell of the
unhappy Princess Mazaroff.
CHAPTER XIV.
" from grave to gay.'*
" Truelove : A widow, saidst thou, marry a widow !
" Speedwell: Aye, truly, and 'fore Heaven, the merriest
companion. She hath seen the world, mark ye, and knows
where 'tis weak; the deftest hand at a pasty ; if thou'dst be
happy, yoke thee to a widow; and 'tis none the worse if her
first good man should ha' ended his days on the gallows.
" Trtielove : Was't so with thy good dame's first man ?
" Speedwell: Out upon thee, no. i had an eye to thine own
quick wooing, for i know the lay of it. As for Mistress Speed-
well, i'd have thee know, friend Truelove, she be a lady, to the
manner born, and sits i' the best pew o' Sundays."
Old Play.
" I shall never marry," says the young girl.
"I shall never marry again," says the widow.
They both marry all the same.
Mr. and Mrs. Edward Wykeham were on their
honeymoon tour, when Monsieur Michel Vitre,
diplomat, detective and thief, was conversing
with Mr. Richard Travers in the supposed in-
terests of the Princess Mazaroff.
Wykeham had proposed to the lively widow,
in a carriage which they occupied all alone,
after the Charlton Manor dinner, on their way
to Cleeve House, only about a mile distant, but
FROM GRAVE TO GAY." 2 2g
long enough for Ted to say all he had to say,
long enough for the widow to lay her head
upon his manly breast, and confess that really
and truly she had never met any man with
whom she felt she could be so happy.
The next day, in a sentimental ramble among-
the hay-makers of Charlton-Cleeve, and during
a rural rest upon the trunk of an old oak in
the wood by the foothills of the Breddons, they
came to the conclusion that there was nobody
to consult in regard to their marriage, and that
they would take no one into their confidence.
The widow said she should die of shame if he
mentioned the affair to her brother, who would
give her no peace ; and she would feel very
uncomfortable if Evelyn knew about it; so they
decided that their marriage should in every way
be private, and when and where it should take
place they would settle in London.
Moreover, Mrs. Burford Winnington said she
did not want to tax her friends for wedding pre-
sents—she did not say, for a second time. In-
deed, she entirely ignored her first experiences
as a married lady; and in this she was wise,
according to the proverbial philosophy of all
nations.
Wykeham's visit having come to an end, his
Monday having arrived—he was, as we know,
only a " Saturday-to-Mondayer," at Cleeve
House- — the commercial descendant of the
Wykehams left next day, with his customary
smile, and his customary brown morocco bag.
23O THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the happiest man in the world, as he confessed
to Mrs. Winnington, and one of the most sue-
cessful, as he confessed to himself, when he
arrived at his offices in Lombard Street, to find
that certain stocks in which he was interested
were still going up and going up, to his
great advantage.
Within four-and-twenty hours after Wyke-
ham's departure Mrs. Winnington had brought
her visit to an end. Her brother professed to
be greatly disappointed that she did not remain
at least until harvest; but the widow said she
felt she must have a little change from Eng-
land; she thought Switzerland was necessary,
indeed, to her health ; and, anyhow, she would
go home and think it over. Somers professed
to laugh at her idea of home—a suite of cham-
bers on the Thames Embankment; but Mrs.
Winnington was no bad judge of the way to
live. She had a very complete suite of rooms,
charmingly furnished, attended by excellent
servants, consisting of Warton, a butler-foot-
man-and-man-of-all-work, and his wife, a clever,
capable cook-and-housekeeper ; and an experi-
enced maid. Three more faithful creatures, she
said, did not exist, and she was, probably, not
far wrong. She was thus enabled to go away
from home at any moment, leaving Warton and
his wife in charge; and she had never felt such
perfect freedom as this.
And yet she was willing to accept once more
the direction of a superior authority, and even
"from grave to gay."
231
to consider tlie desirability of going once more
into housekeeping in a regular way ; but
Wykeham was both wise and amenable to con-
trol; and it was at last decided that chambers
ir. town and a cottage in the country was the
best arrangement they could make. Prior,
therefore, to the last plunge—and they came
to the conclusion that marriage being really
oily a civil contract, they would make it in a
registrar's office—they made several expedi-
tionary excursions into the country, and finally
Mr. Wykeham bought a house on the hillside
near Cookham, overlooking the Thames, with
gardens almost as extensive as those at Cleeve
House, together with a sufficient number of
acres of meadow to give them the freedom of
the Thames right down to the river, where
there was a picturesque boat-house, and a
decorative stretch of well-constructed walling
that kept the water deep and clear right along
the frontage of the entire estate. It was not
a large house; but it was pretty, picturesquely
shaded on its sunny side with trees, and pro-
tected on the north with well-banked shrubs and
out-buildings.
It took time to settle all this; but Wyke-
ham had a very business-like way of doing
things, and the question of furnishing was just
as easy to him as the question of the house and
its purchase. He sat for long happy hours
with his arm round the widow's waist, watching
the lights and the dim traffic on the river
232 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
beneath Adelphi Terrace, discussing the style
and method of furnishing Cookham House;
and the subject being well threshed out, he
accompanied his prospective wife to a certain
famous furnishers. A couple of visits settled
the business. By the time they were well into
the hay-harvest at Charlton-Cleeve, Mr£.
Edward Wykeham had sent off her wedding
cards, and bride and bridegroom were off to
France, Switzerland, and Italy on a summer
tour.
And it is thus we find them in Paris towards
the end of July, en route, at breakfast at the
Hotel Bristol, and discussing the forthcoming
marriage of Evelyn and Mr. Richard Travers.
"I always told Tremont he would lose her,"
said Mrs. Wykeham, pouring out a cup of coffee
for the happy bridegroom, and doing it with
charming deftness, the hot milk from one pot,
the coffee from another, and chatting all the
time as freely and as pleasantly as if she and
Ted had been married for at least a year.
Wykeham watched his cheerful partner in her
dainty morning wrapper, a spray of full-blown
roses fastened with a brooch among a little
world of frilling on the front of her dress, and
listened to all she said with the interest of a
lover. She certainly looked very attractive, the
clever, bright, gossiping little widow. There
was a halo of cheerfulness about her. She radi-
ated happiness; her laugh was infectious : and
they were all her own, those flashing teeth ;
"from grave to gay." 233
all her own, that brown hair, with just the faint-
est suggestion of grey here and there. If there
was on her cheek the slightest hint of a colour
that was not her own, it was so very trifling that
only a woman would have noticed it; and, as
we have said before, the one or two wrinkles at
the corners of her eyes only added to the
generous expression of the face, and seemed to
make the eyes more genial. They were really
laughing eyes, the widow's grey orbs—made
for mirth ; and Wykeham, as he contemplated
her and sipped his coffee, and helped her to
chicken, thought to himself he would not
change her for the most beautiful and the most
marriageable young girl the universe could
produce.
" Yes, I always told him he was going the
wrong way," continued the widow; "ever-
lastingly preaching to her about that great
hobbledehoy of a fellow, whose idea of happi-
ness is shooting and running his head into
jungles and bossing blacks, as our American
friends would say; and by her side, his heart
too full to speak of his love, that dear, kind,
clever Rector, handsome, well-built, and as
manageable as "
"Ted Wykeham, you were going to say,
were you not?" remarked the bridegroom,
leaning back, pushing his platp away and taking
out a cigarette-case.
"No, I don't think so; but I will if you
like," she said, laughing.
234
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Say whatever you please, Loo," replied
the bridegroom. " You don't mind a cigarette,
do you ? Would you like one? "
"No, Ted, no; that is one of the licences I
do not approve of. It is all very well in Spain
or in Russia, and I make no protest when I am
there, but I think the Englishwoman is right
in declining to make a habit of smoking."
Wykeham loved to call her Loo; it was such
a descriptive name, he said; it was like her;
it was a cooing kind of name; friendly, too;
not stuck up; no side with it; sweet, natural,
familiar; he was, he confessed, terribly gone
on the Christian name of Loo.
On the other hand, Mrs. Wykeham con-
fessed that she liked the name of Ted, and,
by-and-by, she sat near the window in an easy-
chair with the last new novel, and he composed
himself by her side with Figaro.
They both looked up now and then to talk.
Wykeham referred to the business of packing.
They were to start the next day for Switzerland,
and they had already been in Paris three days.
Ted said, Why trouble about packing ? Lizzie
(Mrs. Wykeham's maid) would see that that
was all right. As for his bags, his man was a
treasure in the way of leaving a brush here and
a boot there. He believed he had contributed
souvenirs of his travels to every hotel in
Europe ; but what was the good of bothering?
Simmons had so many good qualities that his
carelessness in the matter of packing was evi-
"from grave to gay." 235
dence that he was human ; otherwise he would
be too good a servant to live.
" I wonder how they are getting on at
Cookham House," said Wykeham, lighting a
fresh cigarette and stretching his legs as if for
a steady gossip. " I wrote to Digges, the
architect, and asked him to run down and have
a look—at the place. He's a clever chap,
Digges, and I thought you would like to have
his report."
Wykeham' seemed to encourage his little
stammer, and to make points with it, as Mrs.
Wykeham had suggested over that never-to-
be-forgotten dinner at Charlton Manor, and
he had a curious way of smiling as if he knew
he was doing it.
" I am very glad you decided in favour of
light furniture," said Mrs. Wykeham, now
putting on her customary business air, which
seemed to demand the full recognition of her
status as Mrs. Edward Wykeham, compelling
even the narrator of these particulars to drop
the familiar Loo. "It not only looks cleaner,
but it is cleaner than furnishing in dark woods
and draperies."
"Yes," said Wykeham. "A jolly little—
study that will be, overlooking the river be-
yond the—dining-room.—Hope to have a little
smoking-part)' there now and then in the boat-
ing—season. I know a lot of fellows who make
the river their home—as it were, for a few
weeks up to the regatta—not City fellows ex-
236 THE PRINCESS MAZAR0FF.
actly—oh no; I have some first-rate acquaint-
ances West."
" Of course you have," said Mrs. Wykeham ;
" and if you had not, you soon could have—
since the " (she was going to say the death of
Burford Winnington, but she stopped herself
just in time) " Somerses insisted upon my
going down there so frequently the last year or
two. I have not been much in London during
the season; but I flatter myself. there is no
woman more welcome in the very best society,
and when I say the very best, I mean the best
artistic society."
" Yes, I quite agree with you there—as,
indeed, I do in all things, eh ? "
" You are very good, my dear."
" No, I don't mean that. What I wanted to
say is, you have such good—taste, and such
great common — sense. My experience of
society is not so important as yours; but I
always feel happier when I dine where there
are one or two celebrities—writers, artists, or
actors."
And here Mr. Wykeham mentioned quite a
number of ladies and gentlemen who had been
illustrated in the pictorial papers, and inter-
viewed, and made much of, and whose names
are so well known that it is not necessary to
repeat them in these pages ; but the mention of
them and the houses where he had met them
showed Mr. Edward Wykeham to have mixed
in a good set, as, indeed, why should he not ?
"FROM grave to gay."
237
He .was, firstly, a man of means (very im-
portant, that) ; secondly, he was a man of
taste; and thirdly, he was a better listener than
he was a talker, though he could hold his own
in any ordinary discussion.
"We might have a launch during the
regatta," said Mrs. Wykeham.
"We will have a launch all the time," said
Wykeham. " I ordered one to be ready for us
when we return. September is a very good
month for the—river, though the swells dis-
card it then; but I am inclined to think that
both September and October are good months.
I remember taking some—American friends,
two years ago, from Oxford to Richmond,
and we had a very—jolly time—lovely weather,
harvesting going on ; and my guests said they
had seen — nothing as lovely in all — their
travels."
" Boston people? " asked Mrs. Wykeham.
" No, from Chicago."
"Really? Nice?"
" Oh, very."
" Ladies nice ? "
" There was only one lady—a widow."
"Oh!"
" Yes."
"Pretty?"
"No, very pleasant—most widows are."
Ted was quizzing his wife ; she knew it.
" Most widows," she repeated.
" Well, the only widows I have known."
238 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Known many ? "
" Two."
"Yes?"
" The other one was seventy."
"Ted!"
" Were you getting jealous ? "
" Trying to ! "
"No love without it, they say! "
" Very well, then; I will continue to be
jealous of that Chicago widow."
" I tell you, Loo, she was a lovely old—lady;
hair as white as snow. Her son was with her;
he was as attentive and kind to her as if she
had been his sweetheart—good sons, those
American fellows ! "
" Good husbands, too, the women say."
" Well, I shouldn't wonder. I like the people
—always very kind to me. Have you ever, in
your travels, been to America, my dear ? "
" Oh, yes, Ted."
" Long since ? "
" Five years ago."
" What part ? "
" Oh, all over! "
She was on the point of saving that, when
Burford Winnington elected to visit a country,
he did the whole business of it thoroughly, and
she had even formulated a witticism in reference
to Chicago—going the whole hog; but she
stopped in time and merely said, " Oh, all
over."
" San Francisco ? " asked Wykeham.
" FROM GRAVE TO GAY." 239
" Oh, yes, and from San Francisco to
Japan."
" What a trip ! "
" And from Japan to Australia; and thence
back to the East, whence we started."
She felt compelled to say we, but went on
rapidly afterwards, for while she did not desire
to remind Wykeham that he had a successful
rival even before he knew her, she, too, did
not want just then to think of Burford Win-
nington, who, could he have risen from his.
grave, would certainly have done her a mis-
chief, if he could, seeing her calmly sitting by
the side of a new husband; for he had been
one of the most jealous and exacting of men.
" You are, indeed, a travelled woman," said
Wykeham, " not to say a woman of the—
world."
"Yes," she replied; "but I don't think I
know any valley as lovely as our own little
valley of the Thames."
"And I hope you will have cause to add,
' and no home so happy as our own little house
on its—banks, near Cookham,' " said Ted,
taking her bright face between his two hands
and kissing it.
" I am sure of it, Ted," she replied, as Te<J
returned to his seat and his cigarette, beaming
with happiness ; while Loo reopened the novel
which she thought she was reading.
" Why, Ted," suddenly exclaimed Loo,
dropping her book into her lap and gazing out
24O THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
of the window, "is not that Mr. Travers?
Why, of course it is ! Who could mistake his
overgrown figure and his big hands and
feet?"
"Yes, sure enough," said Ted, following
with his eyes the direction of Loo's. " He is
going into the house near the corner of the
square."
"Yes; he rings the concierge's bell; a
woman opens ; he has gone in. How
strange ! "
"Oh, I don't know," Wykeham replied;
" he may have business in Paris."
" But surely his business is at Charlton-
Cleeve, if he is the passionate lover he must
have been to have captured so quickly our
rather cold, statuesque Evelyn," said Mrs.
Wykeham.
" Where did he appear to be coming from—
which side of the square, when you saw him ? "
"From the hotel, I believe," she said.
" Perhaps he is staying here. He spoke of
the Hotel Bristol, don't you remember, in con-
nection with that affair of the carriage, when he
saved Evelyn's life as she insists, though I
dare say his version is the correct one—that
he merely went out of his way a few yards to
stop a pair of runaway horses. I don't fancy
horses run very fast in Paris ; I've never seen
them."
"We will inquire," said Wykeham, " whe-
ther he is staying in the hotel."
" FROM GRAVE TO GAY." 241
He rung, and, in answer, a servant presently
brought an answer from the office that Monsieur
Richard Travers was a guest in the hotel, having
arrived by the morning mail.
" Dear me," said the bride. " You must see
him, Ted; he will tell us all about Cleeve
House, and when the wedding is to be, and
all the rest of the news. Poor Maria (Mrs.
Somers); she must have enough on her hands
—first the wedding and then the shrievalty.
We must go down to both functions, Ted.
The wedding will be a gorgeous business, of
course: my brother pretends to be a very
humble person, but he is as proud as Lucifer.
He ought to have been made Sheriff of the
county last year, but it went off somehow.
He used to speak of the office as a bore, yet,
whenever one would talk about it, he would
relate how many javelin men he would have,
what sort of a breakfast he would give to his
neighbours and friends before starting for the
Assizes, and how he would in a general way
represent her Majesty and feast her Majesty's
judges."
"It is a very honourable office," said
Wykeham; " but, for my part, the only ex-
perience I have had of judges does not make
me anxious to feast them, or indeed to have
anything—to do with them ; indeed, official
life in any shape has no attractions for me, the
greatest of all the Wykehams.—William of that
ilk was a big swell—in his way, but he had his
R
242 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
troubles officially, and I am inclined—to think
the private station, as the poet says—I think it
was a poet who said so—is the happiest—what
do you think ? ''
" I quite agree with you, dear."
" What position could be happier than—
ours ? Do we want to be the Lord and Lady
Mayoress, for example? "
" Oh, good gracious, no! " said Mrs.
Wykeham, promptly, and with quite a little
shudder.
"That's all right," said Wykeham. "Well,
what do you think?—shall I go down and
leave cards upon Travers—he can't know we
are here. Nobody who knows us — except
ourselves, can know that."
" I think I would, dear ; yes, by all means,"
said Loo, laying aside her book, arranging her
skirts and remarking that she would go and
dress, and that, however unfashionable it might
be, both as to the season and the hour, she
thought a drive in the Bois would be pleasant.
"Why, certainly," said Ted, giving her a
right hearty kiss. " I shall just put on my
coat, go down and leave — those cards, and
walk round to the bank, and I will be back
again by the time—you are ready."
CHAPTER XV.
"not wisely, but too well."
" Love without esteem cannot reach far, nor rise very high ;
it is an angel with but one wing."—Dumas.
"When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness
takes his leave."—Shakespeare.
While the Wykehams were chatting over
breakfast at the hotel, the Princess Mazaroff
was preparing to receive her love, as she called
Travers, her dear Deek, her English hero, her
kind, good friend. Estelle was no less enthusi-
astic than her mistress; and both had impressed
Vitre with a tremendous sense of his own im-
portance when he had brought them the good
news from England.
Michel Vitre, indeed, felt that he had risen so
much in the estimation of the Princess, that
he had ventured to kiss her hand with unusual
empressement; and when he left he had dared
most familiarly to chuck Estelle under the chin,
and call her his dear little Estelle, for which,
as she afterwards told her mistress, she had
been very much inclined to smack his face;
244 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
whereas, in the first great joy of his good news,
she could have kissed the waxed and foxy dandy
right upon his ugly mouth.
" Ah, my dear Estelle, I tell you he come
back to me," said the Princess, as if this had
not been Estelle's continual prophecy.
" Oui, madame," Estelle replied, brushing
the Princess's gold-red hair. " Milord Travers
is a gentleman; he is true. I tell you, madame,
the Englishman his word is his bond."
Estelle was overjoyed to see the eyes of the
Princess brighten, the colour come and go upon
her cheek, delighted to see her figure assume
once more its wonted dignity.
" Ah, sweet madame, you are happy again;
you stand erect, you do not stoop your head,
your eyes are soft and dreamy; you are beautiful
once more."
" Dear Estelle," the Princess replied, kissing
her devoted companion; "you are the best
little woman in all the wide, wide world."
Her toilette completed, the Princess stood
before a tall cheval-glass, and approved of
herself. If she had lost weight, if her cheeks
were just a trifle sunken, her figure was more
refined than heretofore, her beauty less aggres-
sive, her carriage, if possible, more queenly,
the expression of her eyes less self-conscious.
She had suffered, and there was a new expression
in her violet eyes that was softer, more sympa-
thetic, than formerly. To a cultivated fancy, to
an intelligent appreciation, she was more dan-
"not wisely, but too well." 245
gerous in her beauty after her long vigil than
when Travers had seen her first, stepping on
board the boat at Brindisi, with the air of a
conquering queen of^beauty, challenging rivalry
and conscious of all her powers. It is one of
the heroes of a short story by De Maupassant
who says: "You know how beautiful the
Russian women are, or how beautiful they seem
to us, with their fine nostrils, with their delicate
mouths, with their eyes of an indefinable colour
—a sort of blue-grey, set close together—and
with that grace of theirs, which is cold and a
little hard. They have about them something
naughty and seductive, and gentle, something
tender and severe, which is altogether charming
to a Frenchman." He need not be a French-
man to admire such a type of woman ; but the
Princess was even a rarer example of beauty
than that described by De Maupassant. The
hardness of the average Russian beauty was not
there, and the eyes were not unduly close, and
they were of a wonderful softness until they
blazed up, as they had done now and then
under the inspiration of her wrongs; and she
had a firmness and breadth of chin which gave
to her face a strength that was a little out of
harmony with the loving expression of her
eyes. There was, to use a vulgarism, just a bit
of the devil behind the mask of the angel in
Anissia's composition.
"You have heard from Kherasoff this morn-
ing, Estelle, is it not so? "
246 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Oui, madame; but I would not disarrange
your thoughts. I desired to make you ac-
quainted with the news of Kherasoff later."
" Nothing can now disarrange my thoughts,''
said the Princess, as she continued to survey
herself in the glass. " Is there news of the
tyrant—the Prince? "
"He is older, he grow weaker, but he find
amusement," said Estelle, glancing at a letter
which she drew from her pocket.
"Yes," said the Princess; "who are the
ladies?"
" That I know not; but the people say you
were much too good for him; they do not wonder
that at last you leave him, never to return."
" It is true," said the Princess, taking a seat
before the glass, and fanning herself with a
large crimson fan that reflected a blushing
hue upon her white dress and upon her happy,
smiling face.
" And the Jews have been driven out, and
their houses burnt," continued Estelle; "and
the Prince refused to protect them, and Ivan's
mother was stoned for harbouring a woman and
her two children."
"Yes," said the Princess, paying little or no
attention to this part of the letter; "and the
tyrant, what more of him ? ''
" Nothing, Princess," said Estelle.
"And your lover, the sturdy Meetr Mee-
trich ? " said the Princess.
" It is from Meetrich the letter comes, written
"not wisely, but too well." 247
by the good priest Nikita, who sends his greet-
ings to Madame the Princess. "
"So?" was the only acknowledgment she
made of the priestly greeting. " And now,
Estelle, we will go into the salon. Kiss my
hand, little woman, and accept my thanks for
your goodness to me. Without it I should have
gone mad; without it I should have killed
myself. Nay, do not frown ; it is true. Come."
The Princess had moved into the rooms
previously occupied by Travers, and here she
awaited his coming.
When the Wykehams saw Dick striding along
to the house in the Place Vendome, he had made
up his mind. Yes, he had made it up, irrevoc-
ably as he thought. He would reason with
Anissia, advise her to make it up with the Prince,
tell her of his family and their prejudices against
divorce; their dread of a mesalliance; his
father's devotion to him; how it would break
the old man's heart if his son should not fulfil
his wishes. If she hated the Prince so much
that a reconciliation was impossible he would
advise her to remain in Paris, and let him make
her an allowance out of pure friendship. He
would beg her to let him still be her friend—her
dear true friend. Should she encourage him, in
this strain, he would even go so far as to tell
her of his forthcoming marriage ; ask her for-
giveness, appeal to her as a woman of the
world, a woman of experience; offer her in
return, everything, anything.
248 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Yes, he had quite made up his mind. He had
not resolved how he would begin. He had not
framed the lines of his opening speech. What
he had to say was all in his mind. It would
depend on circumstances in what order it should
come. He thought of men he had known who
had had mistresses until they were married, and
how they had pensioned them ; indeed, he had
encouraged himself to think that this was quite
a common practice among the aristocracy.
At the same time, he flattered his own mo-
rality with the reflection that he had never
sinned before in this way; that what he had
done had been forced upon him, and that he
had repented of it after the first week. There
was a difference, he argued, between the vice
that was sought and encouraged, and the vice
that was the result of temptation, and such
temptation ! Was ever man assailed by so much
beauty ? Was ever man placed in a position
such as his on that night when the Princess
sought his protection ? Would to Heaven he
had never seen her! Or that he had never seen
Evelyn Somers!
It was not a case of how happy could I be
with either; for Travers was just as much
infatuated with Evelyn as the Princess was
infatuated with him. He loved Evelyn with
manly honour and devotion. The Princess loved
him with the passion of a strong, loving, jealous
temperament, had sacrificed everything for her
love, had literally flung herself at his feet, and
"not wisely, but too well." 249
could make any sacrifice for him but the one
he had resolved to ask of her. He was de-
termined to ask it all the same. Yes, he would
be frank and fearless. He pressed his lips
tightly together, and planted [his foot firmly as
he entered the house where Anissia was wait-
ing for him. Whatever happened it was neces-
sary that he should break with her, and he
would; yes, he would, indeed—generously, of
course, kindly, even lovingly, but firmly; yes,
firm as a rock.
He had hardly entered the familiar rooms
when the Princess flung herself into his arms
and sobbed with joy.
" Oh, my love," she said, between her sobs,
" I knew you would come. I knew you could
not desert your poor Anissia. Oh, my dearest,
I trusted you, and you are here."
Then she drew her head from his neck to
look at him, and he bent over her and kissed
her forehead.
" I do not dream? No, it is true! And I
have dreamt it so often. But it has come true,
just in this way ! You had not left me; busi-
ness had kept you; the expedition, the father,
the estate, the marriage of your sister. Ah,
my God! I know it all. Do not excuse yourself;
I am satisfied. I forget all my misery. I only
remember my happiness, our happiness, here,
where all is sanctified to our loves ! "
" Yes," he said, with a sigh, " you have been
very good''
25O THE PRIXCESS MAZAROFF.
" No, no, only patient, for that I knew you
would come the moment it was possible."
" Yes," he said, his arm round her waist, his
confessions trembling upon his lips, but remain-
ing there. How could he tell her what he meant
to tell her in response to such an outbreak of
welcome ?
They sat down together upon the couch,
above which still hung the trophies of Africa
which he had left there, if not in token of his
return, at least as a dumb guarantee that he
had no intention of breaking his word.
''You have been ill?" he said, taking her
hand in his.
"Oh, no, only a little sad. Do I look sick ? "
"No, dear, you look lovely," and he felt a
touch of the former seductiveness of her beauty.
She kissed his hand, she laid her head upon
his shoulder, she talked and laughed like a
child, and once or twice the tears came into her
eyes, and he was fain to kiss them away. He
could no more have begun to tell her of his
plans just at that time than he could have
struck her. He would await a better opportu-
nity. He would go and make some purchases
in the afternoon, and return in the evening. At
present he would hear all she had to say, gather
from her what she hoped to do in the future,
and at an opportune moment drop a hint that
he would have to be away from her a long,
long time,—say, on another expedition to
Africa.
"not wisely, but too well." 251
Presently the Princess, with a busy, house-
keeper-like air, said, "But where is your lug-
gage ? Have you sent it to your room ? And
Mellish, your excellent man, is he with you
still?".
"I did not bring Mellish," Dick answered,
" and the truth is I went to the hotel."
"To the hotel! " she said, with some sur-
prise.
" Yes ; the Bristol."
" Where your friend was that you visit
before?"
"Yes."
" Is he a guest there at this time ? "
"No."
" Any other friend of yours there ? "
" No."
" Then why ? " she exclaimed.
" Oh, I thought it might be that you would
prefer that—"
"You at the hotel—I here?" she exclaimed,
interrupting him; " oh, my love ! "
Then she sat at his feet, and kissed his
hands; and the next moment rose, with the
dignity of a queen who had been doing an
enforced homage to a conqueror.
She went to the bell, and rang it with some
vehemence.
" The concierge shall fetch your baggage,
and take it to your room."
Then the conqueror himself grovelled in his
imagination, and had not the heart to protest.
252 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
The concierge came, spectacles on nose, rub-
bing his hands, his face expectant. He looked
first at Travers and then at the Princess.
" Monsieur's baggage at the Hotel Bristol
—send for it. Monsieur is at home ; you will
place his baggage in his room."
" Oui, madame," replied the concierge,
bowing.
"Stay," said Travers, rising, taking out his
purse and giving the concierge some bank-
notes; "you will pay the bill; also say Mr.
Travers will call this afternoon or this evening."
The concierge bowed himself out, and the
Princess opened the door of the adjoining room.
" There ! It is as you leave it. You see—the
same pictures, the same cabinet, the same
everything. Ah, my love, and it is now as if
you had never gone away; but it is sweet that
you come with the sunshine, and the song of
the birds and the flowers, and all things that
are good."
It is again borne in upon him how beautiful
she is, how she loves him, what sacrifices she
has made for him, what a scoundrel he is; and
so on.
It was with difficulty that he induced her to
permit him to go out on some business which he
had with the bank; she proposed to order the
carriage and accompany him, but he persuaded
her that it would be best that he went alone,
and presently she complied. He promised he
would return in an hour at the furthest, and
"not wisely, but too well." 253
then they would drive out, and in the evening
dine tite-a-tUe at home.
Once more in the open airTravers breathed
freely, but his resolutions were all shaken to
pieces, his mind in a state of the most utter
confusion.
He thrust his hands into his pockets, and
walked—he knew not whither—walked and
walked, through dusty streets, through devious
ways, revolving all manner of plans that should
make a way out of his difficulties.
Strange that a man so clever in administrating
his ordinary worldly affairs, so clear in the con-
duct of his African expedition, so cool in face
of danger, so full of resource ; capable of com-
manding an army, his comrades said; always
thinking ahead of events, never at a loss, quick,
prompt, firm, a born leader, a scientist of no
mean capacity—strange that such a man should
be so helpless in the hands of a woman.
But Travers was between two fires—nay, a
prisoner to circumstances. Perhaps his inex-
perience of women stood in his way. He was
assuredly more a victim to his virtues than to
his vices. All his troubles were the result of
one false step, one excursion outside the bounds
of honour. Had he been a constant truant in
this direction he would, perchance, have easily
found a way out of his difficulties. Or, perhaps,
he would never have found himself in such a
dilemma ; he would have been incapable of the
pure love he felt for Evelyn Somers.
254 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Of course, the straight way is the best, and
the truth is the best also. Travers should
have run the risk of a confession to Evelyn.
He should have made a frank avowal of the
situation to the Princess. At least, this would
be the view of the man of affairs, the practical
philosopher, and Travers himself had thought
in this direction, we know, and had calculated
the results. He believed that Evelyn would
scorn him. Her lofty views of duty and honour,
her ideal of the sacred endowment of love would
never have allowed her to give her hand to him
in face of such a confession. And Anissia!
To what lengths of passion and vengeance
might not her passionate nature lead her ? She
was a fanatic in her ideas of love, and she
deemed the links that bound her and Travers
stronger and more sacred than the mere lip-
vows she had made to the Prince her hus-
band.
At last the victim of love's vagaries re-
turned to the Place Vendome, foot-sore, weary,
with all manner of curious apologies, and in his
mind new excuses for separating from the Prin-
cess ; the principal one now being, what was a
little while before only to be a hint, namely, a
forecast of a new expedition he would have
to make, a fresh march into Central Africa.
The truth seeming impossible, he had made
up his mind to lie. If his trouble could only
have been converted into some tangible thing, a
savage, an army that he could have tackled
"not wisely, but too well." 255
with his physical strength, he would have
grappled with it straightway and with courage.
But his difficulty was a woman who loved
him, not wisely, but too well; and so he had to
lie, and he lied right up to the situation. Fore-
most in his lies was the ambitious father, who
desired him to complete the work he had be-
gun, and to whom another expedition to Africa
was the hope of his life.
Travers fortified his lies and his courage with
champagne. Anissia dried her tears in his love,
and lived for the moment. She had waited so
long for him, she would not listen to words of
parting; no, not until the last moment. And
why could she not go with him ? She had
travelled through Russia. She had borne the
trials of an expedition into Asia. She was
strong, brave, and she did not mind if she died
so that he was by her side.
How was mortal man to get away from
such a love as this ?—not the love of a Delilah,
but the love of a true woman who had never
loved before. A wife ? Yes, but how a wife ?
Bought and sold, inhumanly treated, abused,
insulted; surely there was a great deal to be
said for this wayward, passionate woman ! But
who would say it for her ? Who would defend
her ? Her case fairly represented, would Evelyn
Somers forgive her? Travers had thought of
that, only to remember that women are rather
hard on women; and the hackneyed lines of
Byron had come into his mind—
256 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own ;
And every woe a tear may claim,
Except an erring sister's shame."
But he did not know Evelyn well enough. He
should have trusted her. Perhaps he mostly
feared to fall in her estimation. She had set
such store by all Tremont had said of him : hero
and saint, strong man, true friend, a respecter
of women, of a rare ambition. Tremont had
filled her soul with the praises of his friend.
How dared he show her the real man ? How
dare he stand before her and say, " Behold an
impostor" ? He had, however, gauged the
disposition of Anissia. She would brook no
rival ; she would forgive no woman who stepped
between her and the man she had selected for
her own ; she only remembered his words, " I
love you," uttered when it was dangerous to
utter them, repeated in the sweet privacy of
what to her was a honeymoon of love, the fore-
runner of a life of happiness.
It was nearly a week before Dick got away
from Paris. How he had succeeded in tearing
himself from the arms of the woman he had
deceived, he hardly knew; but, steaming out of
Paris and beating across the Channel, and
steaming into London, he had sat for hours
without moving ; he had not attempted to read ;
he had smoked many cigars; but he could do
nothing but sit still and wonder what the end
of it all would be. He was very sad and miser-
"not wisely, but too well." 257
able, but with it all, there was a great longing
in his heart for Cleeve and the rose garden,
for Evelyn and her sweet pure face, the thought
of which vulgarised and be-littled the beauty
of Anissia, and made his intercourse with the
Russian beauty a sin, not against her, but
against Evelyn Somers. So strange is the love
of man and woman 1
s
CHAPTER XVI.
A viper that bites.
" Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree,
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye,
To save her blossoms and defend her fruit
From the rash hand of bold incontinence.
You may as well spread out the unsunn'd heaps
Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den,
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope
Danger will wink on opportunity,
And let a single helpless maiden pass
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste."
Milton.
A beautiful woman is born to an inheritance
of many troubles. Envied by her own sex, she
is more frequently the cause of an unholy desire
in man than a sincere affection. Furthermore,
to add to her perplexities, Nature gives her
more sail than ballast. The beauty of a yacht
is noticeable in a sea of moderate power; but
in the tempest the glory of her white sweeping
wings is her destruction.
From her earliest girlhood the Princess Maza-
roff was the victim of her beauty. She was
bought in the matrimonial market by a profli-
A VIPER THAT BITES.
259
gate, whose title and money were regarded, by
the little world in which she was reared, as a
fine endowment for a young girl whose face was
her fortune.
There were those, however, in the scattered
and curious village of Kherasoff who said from
the first that she was " too good for the Prince,"
and who, when his death was announced, re-
marked, " Ah, now the lovely barina is free."
It was in this spirit that the Princess received
the news of her husband's death. It was brought
to her a month after the second visit of her
English lover. The messenger was Monsieur
Michel Vitre.
" I bring you good news and bad," he said, as
he was ushered into her presence, the Princess
by a sign requiring Estelle not to leave the
room.
" Yes, Monsieur Vitre; tell me the bad news
first, that I may lean for support on the good."
" I said good and bad ; perhaps I should have
said good news without the bad."
"You make me a riddle," answered the
Princess, seating herself and letting her eyes
rest inquiringly upon his face. They penetrated
to his inmost little soul, and thrilled it.
" It is a riddle I hope I may be permitted to
help you to solve," he said, with an attempt at
a sympathetic smile that was only a grimace in
the eyes of the Princess.
"Yes, you are mysterious. Estelle, offer
monsieur a chair."
260 the princess mazaroff.
Estelle motioned the messenger of ' i good
news and bad" to a seat.
He sat down a trifle uneasily. He rubbed
his well-shaven chin reflectively, as if he wore a
beard, instead of a moustache that was waxed
into a couple of defiant points.
"You need not hesitate, sir," said the Prin-
cess. " I can bear with your news, whatever it
may be. I have experience of both joy and
sorrow—of sorrow most. Is it not so, Estelle ? "
" Oui, madame; Monsieur Vitrd need not
delay."
" Your husband, the Prince Mazaroff, is
dead," said Vitre, with the air of one who
relates a piece of striking news indeed.
Estelle bent her head and crossed herself.
The Princess, having paused as if to realise
the full effect of Vitre's announcement, ex-
claimed, " May the good saints show him more
mercy than he showed to me ! "
Then she rose and paced the apartment.
"Free," she was saying to herself, "free to
marry the man I love ! "
Michel Vitre watched her with undisguised
admiration. She was dressed in an easy, flow-
ing gown, that gave to her superb figure. Her
hair was dressed high upon her head, and
fastened with a great jewelled pin. There was
in her eyes a flash of exultation, strangely out
of harmony with, at least, the customary as-
sumption of sorrow that accompanies such a
message as that which she had just received.
A VIPER THAT BITES.
261
But she was a child of Nature. She did not
disguise the satisfaction she felt in the know-
ledge that the man who had shadowed her
young life and blighted her hopes of womanly
happiness was dead. Once she had said to
Travers, " If I were a widow, then would you
not take me to your home to be your wife ? I
am of a good family. I am the barina, too—the
Princess in your language/' Dick, at the mo-
ment she asked him this, would have answered,
" Yes " to any question ; but as some thought-
ful sage hath said, " The comparison of love to
fire holds good in one respect, that the fiercer
it burns the sooner it is extinguished."
"You may command me," said Vitr6, when
the Princess paused to look at him.
" When I desire to see you I will send for
you," she answered. " At present I wish to be
private," and with a slight curtsey she left the
room.
" Estelle," said Monsieur Vitre, "you are my
friend."
" I am not your enemy, Monsieur Vitr6,
nor any man's," said the smart little woman,
looking at him inquiringly.
" Very well; it will pay you to be my friend,"
he said, in a very conciliatory tone of voice.
"How much?" she asked, smiling coquet-
tishly.
"Ten thousand francs," he replied, with a
business air.
"A nice little sum," said Estelle,
262 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Yes; and I can make it still larger—still
nicer."
" Indeed, Monsieur Vitre is rich ? "
" Monsieur Vitre has always been rich," he
answered.
" Is that so ? And yet Monsieur Vitrd is at
the beck and call of the police, and no one
has a very good word to say for him," Estelle
replied, resenting his boastful manner.
"No? Who has a bad one to say?" he
asked, with a frown.
"Oh, I do not think of any one in par-
ticular."
" Not the Princess ? "
" Oh, no; she is too good ; she thinks well of
everybody."
"Indeed! At all events she employs me
on her most secret mission: I fulfil it well,
eh?"
"Oh, yes," said Estelle,
" And to-day I bring her great news. Is it
not so ? "
" Oh, yes," said Estelle, with a little move-
ment of impatience.
" Do you not desire to hear what I pro
pose?"
" Certainly, Monsieur Vitre, but I must go
to the Princess."
"I wish to make the Princess my wife,"
said Vitre, planting his arms behind him, and
looking straight into the face of the astounded
Estelle with his ferret-like eyes.
A VIPER THAT BITES.
263
"You are mad, or you jest," said Estelle,
with a scornful laugh.
" I am not mad—I never jest. When I
marry the Princess I give you ten thousand
francs. I give you now a hundred as guarantee;
and you remain in the service of the Princess
so long as you wish, and when you do not wish
I still pay you the money and double that
which she pays you now. That is my proposal
to you. Do you understand it ? "
" Yes, since you make it explicit," said
Estelle.
" Very well," he said, still his hands behind
him, still his ferret-eyes upon the maid.
" I will think it over, sleep upon it, Mon-
sieur Vitre," said Estelle seriously, for some-
thing in Vitre's manner warned her that it
would be unwise to tell him exactly what it
was in her mind to say to his odious offer.
" It shall pay you well to think of it, and
to say, 'Yes,'" he answered, releasing his
clasped hands from the support of his wiry
little frame and offering one of them to Estelle,
as if to close the bargain. She gave him in
return two fingers, which he pressed to his
dry lips.
" Good morning," said Estelle.
"It is our secret, this, for the present?
Until you decide ? Is that so ?"
"Yes," she answered, and monsieur bowed
himself out.
"The mean, foxy, vile atom of audacity!"
264 the princess mazaroff.
Estelle exclaimed, as she closed the door.
" What is the meaning of it? Has he some
secret power over the Princess? Is he in league
with the police ? I ought to have encouraged
him to say more. Estelle, you must, be more
circumspect next time; you must draw from
him his plans; he thinks he is clever, very
wise; but we shall see. I will pretend to be
his dupe, his spy, his accomplice; it will give
me aches and pains, will set my teeth on edge,
as they say; but I will twist the viper's tail.
I will stamp on him. I will make a mock of
him."
But Estelle had no opportunity to carry out
her threat. The viper was too many for her.
He came and went at intervals—the slave of
the Princess. He rendered her many little ser-
vices. He made excuses to see her.
In one way and another he obtained influence
in connection with the affairs of the Mazaroffs
at Kherasoff. Having made no will, certain
property fell to the Princess; he constituted
himself her agent. He secured the interest of
Estelle by telling her that he had repented of
his sudden impulse; it was wrung out of him,
he said, his love for the Princess, by the ex-
hibition of her beauty, as she paced the room
on that eventful morning when she discovered
that she was a free woman.
Moreover, he told Estelle that if she did not
keep his secret he would separate her from the
Princess. He showed her a police-order of
A VIPER THAT BITES.
265
arrest, with a blank for the name; and, moved
by his threats and her love for the Princess,
she became the silent witness of Monsieur
Vitre's intrigues to obtain influence over her
mistress, and could only sigh when the Prin-
cess remarked that Vitre was very complaisant
and very useful.
Ah, that viper, whose tail was to be twisted,
it warmed itself in the glowing presence of the
beautiful Princess! Vitre never tired of doing
her good offices. His aid came at a needful
time. He brought her a large sum collected
.in her behalf from her husband's estate, This,
with letters from Dick, made her quite happy;
and her beauty was more radiant than ever.
She drove out every day, and talked of going
to Trouville. Several of the newspapers had
spoken of the beautiful Russian Princess, now
a widow, and Dick's were not the only letters
that paid homage to her. She was a little
disappointed that Dick had not at once proposed
to make her his wife; but Estelle smoothed
this disappointment out with the argument that,
even though she had not loved the Prince, and
regarded his death as the striking away of her
chains, a little time for reflection, if not for
sorrow, must elapse before Milord Travers could
approach her upon so delicate a subject. In
her own heart, however, the Princess did not
agree with Estelle in this. And she wrote, in
her terse, characteristic fashion, reminding Dick
what widowhood meant to her—freedom, liberty
266 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
to love and acknowledge it before all the world !
Freedom to give her hand to him who was the
master of her heart!
What a tangle Travers had got his affairs
into ! The one big lie he had considered it
necessary to tell the Princess was like a seed
which the devil might have sown to destroy a
lovely garden. Its fecundity was tremendous.
It choked all Dick's good intentions. It blighted
his most generous plans. It turned his sweetest
words to gall. It grew tendrils that imprisoned
his best efforts to be free. He had neither the
heart nor the strength to break his bonds.
Tremont noticed that his friend was much
absorbed, and that he did not seem as happy as
he (Tremont) thought he should be. Of course
Tremont put this down to Dick's secret fear
that he had robbed him of his love ; and he
had, in stray moments of their deepest confi-
dence, challenged Dick on the subject; but
only to confirm the strength of their friendship,
which had become firmer still with the sacrifice
that Dick seemed to feel Tremont had made
for him. Tremont, in these friendly conferences,
had said more than once that Evelyn never cared
for him except as a friend, had said so, had even
confessed that she would never have been in-
duced to marry him even if he had asked her.
And was he to quarrel with the dear girl if
Nature had made him undesirable to her as a
husband? No; what better fortune than to see
her the wife of the best fellow in the world, his
A VIPER THAT BITES.
267
own dear friend ? Dick's friend had taken up
this magnanimous and sensible position from
the first. He did not know, however, how near
he had been to the winning of the prize which
Dick had obtained without an effort. He never
knew that once Evelyn had expected his pro-
posal, and was almost prepared to accept it.
He did not know that if he had given his love
words as eloquent as the occasional language
of his eyes the banns of marriage might have
been put up for him instead of for Richard
Travers. And supposing they had been ?
And supposing Travers had come to visit
Charlton Manor afterwards ? Well, even then
the future might have had less gloomy shadows
in it than those which, unseen of mortal eye,
were rising up behind the present sunshine of
Evelyn's life and his.
One day in September, close upon the wed-
ding-day of Travers and Evelyn, Monsieur
Michel Vitre felt that his opportunity had come.
Estelle had gone to visit a poor friend, who was
very ill. The Princess was alone. She was in
a generous mood. She listened to Vitre without
impatience. He had placed her under many
little obligations. Hitherto he had treated her
throughout their intercourse with respect. He
had paid madame compliments, but that was
only natural. She knew that men admired her.
Beauty knows its power. She knew that when
she drove in the Champs-Elysees, or when she
left her carriage on the boulevards to make a
268
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
purchase, that men of all grades gazed upon
her; and often she heard their admiring com-
ments upon her figure, her eyes, her hair,
her complexion. An occasional word or two
of worship and flattery from Vitre had, there-
fore, no particular meaning for her until on this
memorable day in September, this dark day in
the autumn, when he developed a new interest
in her. They had talked of many things. He
had ventured to tell her of his success in life.
He had already shown her that his personal
influence had been of great use to her in the
representation of her financial rights at Khe-
rasoff. She complimented him upon his saga-
city. He spoke of his chateau overlooking the
Bois. She did not know he had a house. It
was a palace, he said. Then he told her of a
large sum of money he had made recently in
connection with a Russian railway concession
and a mining venture which he controlled in
Spain. The Princess listened with courtesy to
these things, and even expressed her agreeable
surprise at Monsieur Vitre's wealth, and when
he had spoken of his house, she asked, in a
light and airy way, after his wife and children.
This was his cue for attack.
"Ah, madame," he said, "it has not been
my good fortune to marry."
" No ? " said the Princess.
" I do not believe in marriage without love;
you yourself know what that is."
"Yes, truly," she replied.
A VIPER THAT BITES.
269
" But I have loved for years one woman ;
she is adorable, lovely."
"And will she not take you for her hus-
band?"
"I have not dared to ask such a blessing-."
" No ? " said the Princess.
" Nor could she have married me without a
divorce."
" In love with a married woman ? "
" In love, yes—madly! Oh, madame—
Anissia, cannot you guess ? "
He had flung himself at her feet. She rose
with an indignant start.
" Monsieur Vitre, what do you mean ? "
" Mean ?—that I love you; that I would die
for you ; that all the money I have, the chateau
—my God, everything—belongs to you ; and
I will be your servant, your dog!''
Vitrd fairly spluttered these tempting decla-
rations from his thin, bloodless lips, and looked
up at the Princess with an appealing expression
of face, such as some wretched mortal might put
on in hell, when the one particular fiend devoted
to his torture was preparing the furnace.
" Get up, Monsieur VitrA You have mistaken
your feelings for me. I am not angry. I for-
give you. But pray forget this scene and
never recur to it again. Leave me now, please.
You have made me feel very miserable."
" Leave you ! " he exclaimed, rising to his
feet. " Leave you, Princess ! Not recur to this
subject again I It is the only subject that fills
270 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
my life. What do you think has been at my
elbow pricking me on to help you all these
weeks ? What do you think ? Gratitude ?
Yes—the gratitude that is patience: it waits,
it is love. I love you, Anissia! "
"Do not call me by that name, Monsieur
Vitre. You know, miserable wretch, do you
not, that I am destined for another? Were
that not so, let me tell you now, and once for
ever and ever, that I could not marry you if
you had all the wealth of all the world. There!
Do not provoke me ! "
"Provoke you," said Vitre, with a great
effort to be calm, now that he realised he had
staked his all and lost. " Destined for another,
madame ! For whom ?"
The Princess did not reply, but proceeded to
leave the room.
"Another? The English traveller? That
may not be ! Listen—listen ! "
He hissed his words. They seemed to scorch
his lips. The viper was about to bite.
The Princess paused and confronted him.
" Listen ! Ah, you must! He can never be
yours. Nor does he wish. His letters are lies.
He cares no more for you than he does for a
discarded glove."
"Fiend!" exclaimed the woman, turning
upon the viper and seizing it by the throat;
" fiend, begone, ere I kill you ! "
Vitre shrank almost into his boots. And he
dared ask this woman to marry him !
A VIPER THAT BITES.
271
He re-arranged his necktie and buttoned his
coat, as he shrank away from the enraged virago,
who, having half choked him, flung him from
her, and then stood before him, trembling with
passion.
"Now, tell me what you mean? What do
you know ? " she commanded.
" Mr. Richard Travers, milord of the African
fame, is to be married."
" Yes, I know it," she answered.
" You know it! " exclaimed Vitre, still gasp-
ing for the breath that had been shaken out of
him.
" I know it," she repeated, "and you knew
it when you dared propose to usurp his place."
" I usurp his place ! "
"You!"
" But I do not desire it! I do not love the
woman he is going to marry."
" I am calm," said the Princess; "tell me
what is in your mind, lies or truth. What
have you to say of Mr. Travers ? "
" That he was engaged to be married to an
English lady when he visited you last; that
he is not going to Africa; that before this
month is out a certain Mademoiselle Somers
will be his wife," said Vitre, standing away from
the Princess and firing each sentence at her as
if they were bullets from a pistol.
A brave man, after all, this crumpled-up
little Frenchman, smarting under the humi-
liation of the Princess's assault.
272 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Is this true?" she asked, sinking* into a
chair, " or is it your revenge ? "
" It is true ! "
" How do you know it ? "
" He told me."
"When?"
"When he gave me the message I brought
you."
" And you did not tell me—why? "
" He made me promise I would not tell you."
" Made you promise ! "
" Yes, and paid me."
" Paid you ! "
" With a hundred pounds in the Bank of
England notes. See, I have kept them! "
He thrust his hands into his pockets and
drew out a bundle of notes.
"It is true—I swear it! Do you not see
that ever since that day I have tried to prepare
you for the disappointment? Ah, mon Dieu,
I would be true to you; no insipid English
miss for me!"
" Hush," she said, between her white teeth,
" s-sh : I would be calm. Do not raise the devil
that is in me. You are driving me mad. I am
resisting the poison of your words. S-sh!
Heaven help me to be calm."
Vitre watched her, with his lips apart. His
waxed moustaches were limp ; great beads of
perspiration stood upon his narrow forehead.
"This is true that you tell me?" said the
Princess, in an enquiring tone, but quickly
A VIPER THAT BITES.
273
adding, with flashing eyes, "If it is a lie,
beware ! If it is true, then—"
"I swear it!" he said, interrupting her.
" I call all the saints to witness ! "
" Then you will take me over there? "
" I! Where, madame? "
"To England!"
" I travel with you ? "
" Yes. Where is Estelle ? When can you
be ready ?''
" I said I was your slave. Give me your
orders."
" Where is this marriage to take place ? "
"At a village — they call it Charlton-
Cleeve; it is in the middle of England."
"Very well. We will go; you shall show
me the way."
"Yes. When, Princess ? "
" Now—at once."
" And if it is as I say it is—you will—pardon
me—you may, perhaps, be kind to a humbler
but a truer suitor, madame ? "
" Listen, Vitre, I do not love you. At this
moment I hate you ; but when the marriage is
solemnised that you tell of, then you may speak
to me again."
"Oh, mon Dieu! Thank you, Princess;
thank you, Anissia. I will go and prepare me
now. I will come back and give you the time
of the trains. I kiss your hand."
But he did not. The Princess withdrew it,
and by a motion of her head intimated that he
T
274 the princess mazaroff.
had better be gone. The next moment he was
gone; but as he picked his way downstairs
and out into the Place Vendome, he chuckled
and hugged himself as if he had won a victory.
"Yes, yes," he said to himself, " she will
relent. I have money. I will show her the
chateau in the Bois. Estelle shall help me.
Yes, and when it is all over—then, Monsieur
Vitre, you can have your revenge. Even the
woman you love does not try to strangle you
for nothing. No, Monsieur Vitre, you know
how to make affairs even. But, mon Dieu,
how lovely she is! What white teeth ! what
fair hands! what eyes ! what a mouth! what
a figure ! Ah, Michel Vitre, you have a prize
worth working for, worth lying for, worth paying
for!"
Estelle returned, to find her mistress sitting
by the window, pale as a ghost, and almost
speechless.
"I was looking for you," she said, slowly,
and the next moment she fell sobbing into her
arms.
CHAPTER XVII.
"the day before the wedding."
" There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip."
Old Proverb.
" They are a wonderful people, the rooks up aloft in their
oaks and elms; they know Sunday, and will almost trust a
gunner on that holy day; they have a large sense of wonder,
which comes from their unity of purpose—a sort of collective
or corporate intelligence ; they are sensitive to the coming of
strangers, very wise in protecting themselves from danger
when feeding in the open fields ; and sage old villagers credit
them with an occult knowledge of untoward events."
The Naturalist.
It was the day before the wedding—September
the twenty-fourth. Charlton-Cleeve was not
likely to forget the date. It became of more
serious import in their calendars than the
twenty-fifth that had been so long looked for.
The day before 1 Mrs. Somers was full of busi-
ness. But there was no hurry in her working.
She was calm and self-possessed. Nothing was
left undone to make the wedding-day all that
it should be. The dining-room had been
cleared for the breakfast. Every available
corner of it had been utilised. The wedding
276 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
presents were already arranged in the morning-
room, which looked like a grand bazaar.
Many visitors had already arrived. The
" Green Man," and the humbler hostelry on
the outskirts of Charlton-Cleeve, were full of
guests. Several residents of the village had
invited friends to stay with them. There was
not a family uninterested, or uninvited to join
in the festivities. After the wedding-breakfast
at Cleeve House, the school-children were to
be feasted under a great tent on the lawn ; and
at night there was to be a grand ball, to which
many guests were invited. At the same time
the old people of the village were to be fed in
their own homes. Plentful distribution of pro-
visions had been made among the poor.
On this day, prior to these arrangements,
Charlton-Cleeve was moved by a delightful
expectancy of junketing and merry-making.
The bride and bridegroom were to spend
the honeymoon at The Old Hall. Sir Gordon
Travers had insisted upon making the estate a
wedding present to his son Dick, and had be-
taken himself to a fine old house where he had
spent most of his life as a boy, near Middles-
borough. So he was now Sir Richard Gordon
Travers, of The Cedars, near Middlesborough,
and his son was Richard Travers, Esquire, of
The Old Hall, near York. Sir Gordon felt that
this arrangement would settle Dick so firmly
that there could be no more idea of travelling.
Moreover the management and maintenance
"the day before the wedding." 277
of the estate had become too much trouble for
the old man, who had increased his responsi-
bilities in Middlesborough, and in various other
directions, of which at present Dick knew no-
thing. Few people had any notion of the wealth
of Sir Gordon. Everything he had touched of
late years had turned to gold; and when Dick
was overcome at the noble gift of The Old
Hall, he said, " My lad, it's nothing—a mere
flea-bite! Wait a bit; I'll show you. I have
been keeping things back until you were ready
to settle down and take stock."
Dick and his father were staying at Charlton
Manor for the wedding. Gerty was at Cleeve
House, the home of the prospective bride. And
what a happy prospective bride she was! She
wept in Gerty's arms with joy, as they talked
of their lovers. Evelyn for the time had laid
aside all her scholarship ; she mentioned neither
Shelley, Keats, Ibsen, Schopenhauer, nor Spen-
ser, nor the question of woman's rights, nor
anything that even sounded learned. She dis-
cussed all manner of feminine things with Gerty,
who told her that she ought to have been mar-
ried to Selby Howarth that year; but it had
been postponed for six months. Her father was
not quite satisfied with Selby's position. He
was going to be a banker. It was, she be-
lieved, her father's bank. They did not call it
his, but he was the principal man in it, she
understood. It was called the County Bank,
at York, and Selby was something in the bank,
278 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF
but he was to be something better in six months.
Selby's parents were well off; they had a great
house and grounds, and hunted and had fine
shooting, and Mrs. Howarth always went to
London in the season. In return for this infor-
mation, Evelyn mentioned to Gerty various
little ambitions which she entertained in con-
nection with the schools, and confessed to a
certain nervousness at the idea of having to
take charge of such an establishment as The
Old Hall; but how, she said, love enabled a
woman to do anything, and be anything ! and
then she kissed Gerty, and wept tears of joy.
Mr. and Mrs. Wykeham were also guests at
Cleeve House. Mr. Somers was too much
occupied to make jokes at the expense of his
sister. Moreover, he thought Ted Wykeham
a good match, and he confessed that his sister
looked ten years younger since she had again
changed her name.
At the same time he could not refrain from
reminding her of her declaration of continued
widowed-blessedness. " No, I shall never marry
again," he said, laughing, but only to add,
" Ah, well! you are all alike, you women.
When you are girls, you are never going to
marry; when you are widows, you are never
going to marry again. Ah, well, it is all right;
what should we do without you? "
They had gone down to Worcestershire from
their house on the Thames, this happy couple,
Mr. and Mrs. Wykeham. On their way they
"the day before the wedding." 279
had spent a few days in the Adelphi Chambers,
and had been present at the early opening of
one or two theatres, the managers of which
hoped to catch the first returning vacationists,
and at the same time find audiences among
the autumn visitors to the metropolis. Mrs.
Wykeham declared it was quite interesting to
be in London out of the season. One saw the
town in such a different light; it was so much
quieter; there were such a different class of
people about, and so on. Ted gloried in
London at any time of the year. The only
place to live in, he said, whether it was wet or
dry, or hot or cold, or foggy or anything else.
But he confessed that, to make it perfect, a
fellow needed the companionship of a sym-
pathetic and clever wife, a woman who knew
the world, and could be a chum; and that was
his Loo, " to a moral." There was no end to
the masculine compliments Ted lavished upon
his wife, who was as lively and as merry as any
good-natured little woman could be. They
travelled down to Charlton - Cleeve by the
Great Western, and many of the officials went
out of their way to be especially attentive to
them. The country was in its most seductive
dress. The first tints of autumn were upon
the landscape. The harvesters were in the
yellow and golden fields. It had been a fine
season. The crops were heavy. Everybody
seemed happy. The gardens of the London
florists about Windsor were a blaze of colour.
280 the princess mazaroff.
Boating1 men and boating ladies, in their gay
costumes, were coming- and going at many of
the stations as far as Reading. Tourists,
with their baggage, were changing trains at
Oxford. Sportsmen, in shooting jackets and
leggings, with dogs and guns, were also pas-
sengers here and there. The twin stations of
Malvern and the Link were bright with flowers,
and their bookstalls showy with new books.
Worcester had a quiet holiday appearance.
The Malvern Hills seemed to move about in
the changing landscape, making backgrounds
for picturesque villages; and all the land was
sweet and soft and pastoral. Charlton-Cleeve
had never, in the eyes of Ted and his wife,
looked so pretty and so peaceful.
The Rector was in high spirits. He had
thoroughly worked himself up into the mag-
nanimous position of the bridegroom's best
man, and the friend of everybody concerned.
The wound in his heart where his love was
buried had healed, or he professed to think so.
He had given his feelings a new impulse. He
was Evelyn's friend, as well as Ted's, and of
late he had made quite a study among his
library companions of cases of self-sacrifice,
secret self-sacrifice, in which men and women
had given up their lives for others, and he
was, he thought, coming to the conclusion that
friendship was a- nobler thing than love. It had
been noticed in *he village of late that the
Rector had taken a more lively interest than
"the day before the wedding." 281
heretofore in what were called church affairs;
had interested himself anew in many village
matters that had only attracted him for a short
time when first he took over the living. It had,
at the same time, been observed by a few stick-
lers for orthodoxy and severe Protestantism,
that he had visited Father Dupont, at the mo-
nastery just outside the village, and that Father
Dupont had been seen at the Rectory. It was
known that Father Dupont was a Jesuit, be-
cause he had been in journalistic controversy
with the editor of the county paper; he was
famous for his learning and knowledge of books;
and the friends of the Rector at Charlton-
Cleeve offered this fact in defence of Tremont,
who, whatever he might do, would be always
beloved by many; and who, whatever he might
do, would never have the love or respect of
those who placed orthodoxy and the pure Pro-
testant faith above everything else—and there
were many such in Charlton-Cleeve and the
surrounding parishes.
The Somerses had not invited Tremont to
officiate at the ceremony; and, moreover, he
had allowed it to be understood that he should
prefer simply to be Dick's best man. The
bishop of the diocese was to assist the Rev.
Jabez Ogden to read the wedding service. Dick
was a trifle below the weather, Tremont thought;
but Sir Gordon said it was an anxious time, and
he remembered himself that he felt queer all
the week before he was married, and had to
282 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
fortify himself a little; he thought an extra glass
of champagne was what Dick required. " A
man feels such a fool, with everybody congratu-
lating him and so much fuss ; bridesmaids and
furbelows, and the girl he is going to marry
fluttered a good deal, and the mother with tears
in her eyes," said Sir Gordon. " I tell you, a
man feels as if he were committing a robbery,
or worse, taking a girl away from her home
and leaving her father and mother desolate.
Ah, well; it's the way of the world; it's got
to be done." Tremont said, Yes, he supposed
so; and they both did their best to arouse
Dick, who seemed sadder than he ought to
be.
The rooks up in the tall elms that shadowed
the entrance to the Rectory were unusually
talkative on this day before the wedding. They
seemed to know all about it. If they had, in-
deed, known exactly what was going to transpire
they could not have been more excited. They
had reared their young early in the season.
Their sons and daughters were now old enough
to be taken into parental confidence; such of the
young, let us say, as had been spared the neces-
sary slaughter of the innocents that went on
every year, with the aid of the gamekeeper's
gun—a thinning of the feathery population, re-
garded as a merry sport in the country. Tre-
mont, however, cared no more for this annual
feast of the gun than he did for the rook-pie, for
which his cook was celebrated right through the
"the day before the wedding." 283
half-dozen villages that surrounded Charlton-
Cleeve.
Sir Gordon, noticing the fuss that was going
on in the rookery, entertained Tremont, Dick,
and Wykeham at luncheon with many wonder-
ful stories of the sagacity of these knowing
birds. Wykeham had walked over from Cleeve
House to lunch ; and, as we have already stated,
Dick and his father were the guests of their
friend Tremont. Wykeham sustained the badi-
nage of Sir Gordon with a quiet feeling of
enjoyment. He rather liked to be told that he
was a sly dog. In return, he treated Sir Gor-
don to some examples of repartee, and Sir
Gordon declared that it was a pleasure to meet
a young fellow with such an old head upon his
shoulders as that with which Wykeham was
provided.
" Your father must be a man of rare capa-
city," said Sir Gordon.
" Judging from my own capacity—for various
occupations, not forgetting the lightest and
easiest," Wykeham replied, with his customary
little stammer.—" Well, my father knew a hawk
from a hernshaw, as Hamlet says in the play ;
but this is the age of the young men, Sir Gordon.
We inherit the wisdom of the centuries, and
know how to utilise it."
" That is a pretty piece of conceit, anyway,"
said Sir Gordon, smiling.
"I think so, too," Wykeham replied. "I
read it in a newspaper—coming down from
2 84 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Paddington, and thought it a good sentence to
get off on—somebody, as an American friend
of mine would say."
" Well, Mr. Wykeham, you might have
selected some young fellow to get it off on,"
Sir Gordon replied, " for, let me tell you that a
young man may be ever so clever, but without
experience he is a fool, sir—a fool! "
" I quite agree with you, Sir Gordon, but—
there are some young fellows who never get
experience, or who—never know what to do
with it when they have got it."
" Mr. Wykeham, you are what they call in my
part of the world a bit of a trimmer. I thought
you said this was the age of the young men."
"I meant the clever young men," said
Wykeham, smiling in his turn.
"Well, I don't know where they are. I know
we have Salisbury, and Gladstone, and Tenny-
son, and Bismarck, and half a dozen other
great men of our time, and I don't think they
are very young. On the other hand, there is
Churchill. If he is an example on your side—
well, sir, you are welcome to him."
"Ah, now you are becoming political," said
the Rector, who had been dividing his attention
between some whispered remarks of Dick, who
sat by him at the other end of the table, and
the efforts of Wykeham to amuse Sir Gordon.
" Well, my dear Tremont, what is there that
is not political ? I don't see how you are going
to get away from politics; they move the world.
"the day before the wedding." 285
I don't know any other subject that gives you
much material for a chat, unless it be the price
and working of iron, or the management of an
estate in which your expenses are bound to keep
ahead of your rents and the returns you get for
your crops and your stock in the market."
" My father has a very practical mind, Mr.
Wykeham," said Dick, " and he is right, I fear,
in his views of the young men. None of us
work as our fathers worked; and the worst of
it is, I suppose, we are inclined to think it is
not necessary."
" You mean," said Wykeham, " the old birds
have feathered the nest, and why should we
bother ? "
" Just so," said Dick.
And so the careless kill-time chat went on,
chiefly, however, confined to Sir Gordon and
Wykeham, the Rector and Dick withdrawing
into a conversation of their own, which was
mostly devoted to questions affecting the
arrangements of the morrow.
Meanwhile, the rooks up in the elms gossiped
and screamed, and flew about, making airy
circles, or swinging on tender branches, like
feathery athletes. They had given themselves
no rest from early morning. It was strange
that they should keep up their active councils
right into the afternoon. But they did. If they
had been holding a council of war, they could
not have appeared to be more controversial.
They sent scouts out into the country, in single
286 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
spies and in battalions, skirmishing parties and
solitary sentinels; and these came back with
strange noisy messages. Then they all ap-
peared to settle down again into solemn and
general confabulation.
Probably the rooks were simply concerned
about the unusual stir in the village. This
might have been all; or it might have been
that some strange occult knowledge had been
vouchsafed to them. Anyhow, they are a weird,
mysterious kind of bird. Of course, there was
a great deaj going on below them in Charlton-
Cleeve that was very unusual. Their curiosity
might well have been piqued on this account.
The village was full of people, or it seemed to
be. The villagers themselves were, more or
less, in the one long, picturesque street where
they had seen that coach of the Traverses come
swinging into the place for the first time in the
early summer, to at length become a familiar
vehicle both to villagers and rooks. But on this
twenty-fourth of September the entire aspect of
Charlton-Cleeve was changed. The villagers
were putting up flags; one or two gorgeous
banners were actually flying among the lower
trees near Cleeve House. There was a tent
on the lawn, and another in the Rectory mea-
dows; not the ordinary tents of the archery
meetings, but much larger, and with gayer
flags. While they were discussing what it all
might mean, or comparing notes about what
they knew it really did mean, a flagstaff was
"the day before the wedding." 287
thrust out from the "crow-hole" in the church
steeple; at the end of it was a great coloured
ball that presently unfurled itself and became a
bright, fluttering streamer. It was all very gay
and full of pleasant breeze, the entire village
and the surrounding country. A gentle, toying
wind was abroad. It swayed the branches of
the elms in a quiet, playful fashion, and was
just sufficient to flutter the bunting in the vil-
lage street, and temper the heat of the day,
drying the t:orn, and rustling the reeds by the
river.
While Wykeham was walking back to Cleeve
House, and Sir Gordon was lying down on a
couch in his bed-room, thinking of many things,
and very happy; while Tremont was pondering
over a book, in a favourite corner beneath the
yew-tree by the oriel window that lighted the
northern end of the library; while Dick was
sitting smoking in the great hall, each enjoying
the independence of the time between luncheon
and dinner that is so delightful in a country-
house—there was an unusual stir at the " Green
Man." Besides its wedding guests, three per-
sons had arrived by the morning train—that
same curious stranger whom they had seen
before, Monsieur Vitre, a very handsome, red-
haired lady, with a very foreign accent, and a
thin little woman, of the spinster sort, who was
also evidently a foreigner. They were simply
passing through Charlton-Cleeve, they said, and
would require rooms for that day only; which
288 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
was rather a fortunate circumstance, the land-
lady remarked, seeing that it was just then a
very busy time for the '4 Green Man." They
ordered a bottle of champagne and some dry
biscuits, the only refreshment they required
until later, though they had evidently travelled
a long way. The gentleman directed that a car-
riage should be ready in half an hour. He was
particular about its being a close carriage. The
two ladies went to their rooms ; and in half an
hour the handsome woman, with tlie red hair
and the wonderful eyes—the landlady had no
feeling for shades of colour, so she called the
red-gold hair red and the violet eyes dark blue
—came down, attended by the little old-maidish
one and the gentleman; and the two drove off,
saying they would not be long away, and telling
the coachman to drive towards the old church
and they would direct him later. The short
lady, whom she concluded to be the other's
maid,' eturned to her room. This was the land-
lady's record of the carriage and its two occu-
pants that began rolling along towards the
Rectory, while the Rector, Sir Gordon, and
Dick were engaged, as we have said, enjoying
the siesta that is so pleasant after luncheon in
a country-house.
The watchful rooks saw the carriage coming
towards the Rectory, and when it pulled up at
the entrance, in the shadow of their ancestral
home, in the ancient trees, they made a good
deal of extra fuss, fairly screaming when the
"the day before the wedding." 289
door opened, and the occupants of the carriage
alighted and entered the Rectory. Almost im-
mediately afterwards, the gentleman, Monsieur
Michel Vitre, came out of the house and re-
entered the carriage, without, however, the
coachman once touching up his horses to move
on. The driver simply continued to sit on his
box, and he sat as immovable and as steady as
a trooper in the stone sentry-box at the Horse
Guards. The rooks cawed and screeched, and
some of them flew down about his head. He
looked up at them, and then they seemed to be
making a series of angry remarks to him, but
he heeded them not. Perhaps rooks really have
some inexplicable foresight in regard to tragic
events; everybody to-day at Charlton-Cleeve
believes they have.
Tacitus was the favourite author that Tre-
mont was reading in his corner beneath the
whispering pines, while the shadow of Monsieur
Vitre was beginning to fall darkly upon the
Rectory, and the rooks were alive with their
great business, whatever it might be. It was a
curious coincidence that the Rector was turning
over the leaves devoted to the last hours of
Otho. On the day of the Battle of Bedriacum
a bird of unusual appearance was observed to
perch in a grove near Regium Lepidum, and,
notwithstanding the great concourse of people
and a numerous flight of other birds, never to
move from its place until after Otho had put
an end to his life.
u
2go THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Those were the classic days of superstition,
when Roman statesmen and warriors regulated
their affairs with the aid of oracles, and took
careful note of omens ; but modern history
supplies many singular examples of what are
regarded as the preternatural incidents of the
very earliest times. A year or two after the
great fire at Chicago there still stood a pretty
wooden villa, where the flames had parted like
a river that divides and goes round a hillock
and makes an island of it. The day before the
fire a strange red bird fluttered about the
grounds' of the villa and was the subject of
curious comment and inquiry. It was not seen
afterwards, but the parting of the flames at this
point, leaving the villa untouched, was a not-
able event, being coincident with the appear-
ance of the strange red bird. The Rector found
his thoughts drifting away from Tacitus into
speculations upon the many strange and curious
stories concerning birds, the superstitions about
"bad" birds that Dick had mentioned, the
recognition by all nations of the wisdom of the
owl, the pretty tradition of the redbreast; and
all the time the occupants of his own famous
rookery were making history for the naturalist.
CHAPTER XVIII.
TRAGEDY.
*' 'Twas hate inspired the subtle vengeance, the hate that's
born of love."—Baldwin.
" Despair grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner,
and revenges its misfortunes on its own head. It refuses to
live under disappointments and crosses, and chooses rather
not to be at all than to be without the thing which it hath
once imagined necessary to its happiness."—Charron.
Vitre had first entered the hall-room, properly
announced. John, the door-keeper, remem-
bered that he had, some weeks previously had
an interview with Mr. Travers, and that they
seemed to be on very good terms. The lady
remained in the outer hall. She said she would
prefer to wait until her friend had spoken with
Mr. Travers. She did not wish to be an-
nounced. The gentleman would come to her
when he had conferred with the Rector's guest.
The servant withdrew. Anissia sat down upon
an old oak seat, above which were sundry
decorations connected with the chase, and one
or two African spears which had been given
to the Rector by Travers. The room was
292 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
lighted by a triple lancet window, glazed with
a dull glass. One or two of the panes were
open, letting in the sun and air and the noisy
cawing of the rooks. The Princess, drawing
her soft silk cloak about her so as effectually
to hide the white dress beneath, looked round
at the unaccustomed scene and sighed. At
some tender thought or passing trouble, the
tears came into her eyes, and she wiped them
away in a sad, resigned manner, as one might
who had accepted disappointment and wrong,
and could only weep over it. Thrusting her
handkerchief back into her white bosom, how-
ever, a change came over her face, a sweep of
passion which tightened the lips, and for a
moment brought a red glow into the cheeks.
Travers was sitting in the bay window, look-
ing out over the meadows and away to the
Breddon Hills. But he saw neither hills nor
meadows. His thoughts were far away. They
were occupied in wondering what the Princess
would do when she learnt of his marriage, as
he feared she must. He was regretting, in a
vague kind of way, his want of courage in
omitting to confide the story of his stay in
Paris to some one, and over and over again it
was borne in upon him that he owed it to Eve-
lyn to have acquainted her father with his
trouble. From these unhappy reflections his
mind gradually drifted into a happier phase.
The image of Evelyn rose up before him. He
saw her on that first day of their meeting in
TRAGEDY.
293
Paris; he recalled their coming together in
that very room when least he expected to see
her again ; he heard her sweet, encouraging
words of love among the roses of Cleeve
House ; and then suddenly he came back to
the Princess Mazaroff, with a resolution of
what he thought was self-sacrifice, which meant
a resolve to do everything in his power, con-
sistent with love and duty towards his wife, to
make her life pleasant; but how he was going
to do this was a question that did not assume
any practical shape.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," said the
doorkeeper, ushering in Vitre, who had fol-
lowed John without his knowledge, and was by
his side in the room when John thought he was
on the other side of the door.
"Who is it, John?" Travers asked, not
seeing that the visitor had followed close upon
John's heels.
" Monsieur Vitre," said the visitor himself.
" Oh, yes; very well," said Travers, rising.
" Quite right to show the gentleman in, John."
" Thank you, sir," said the servant, with-
drawing.
"How do you do?" said Travers, putting
out his hand with anything but cordiality.
" What brings you here ? "
Dick felt a cold chill at his heart as he asked
the question.
" I come with Madame the Princess," said
Vitre, coldly.
294 the princess mazaroff.
44 With Madame the Princess!" exclaimed
Dick. 4 4 Good God, what for ? "
44 She had a desire to see you."
44 With what object ? "
44 She did not inform me."
44 But do you not know?"
441 ask no questions. 4 Take me to Mon-
sieur Travers,' she say. I bring her."
44 Then you did not respect my confidence ? "
44 Relating to what I learnt when I visit you
last ?—oh, yes."
44 But she has learnt why I am here ? "
441 do not know what she has learnt."
44 In heaven's name, where is she ? " asked
Dick, flinging his cigar into the fireplace, and
pulling nervously at his coat collar.
44 She is here," said Vitre, opening the door
to the Princess, and leaving the room as she
entered.
44 Mr. Travers does not wish to be disturbed
until he rings," said Vitre to the servant who
let him out at the front door.
He had arranged this with the Princess, who,
as she stood within the door of the great hall,
undid the fastening of a black silk cloak as she
had undone the fastenings of her sable wrap-
per in the winter at the Place Vendbme. And
somehow, as if falling into the trick of the
situation, Dick said, 44 Will you not sit down ? "
at the same time placing a chair for her, his
hands icy cold, his voice thick with anxiety,
as he seemed to see the scandal of his life
TRAGEDY.
295
begin to unroll under the eyes of his beloved
Evelyn.
The Princess seated herself, and the cloak
slipped down to her feet in a black cloud, from
which she seemed to rise white and angry.
She wore a gown of white soft silk and lace,
and there was at her white throat the same
great diamond which he remembered. Her
dress was cut low, as it might have been for
the ball, had she been invited to be present at
Cleeve House on the following night, one of
the wedding guests. She wore soft, gray suede
gloves, reaching above her elbow ; it was a
strange, if beautiful, dress to wear for a morn-
ing call.
"What is it you want, Princess ?" Dick
asked, after a pause, during which the steady
click of the clock high up above the mantel
could be heard; and for a moment it seemed as
if it was the beating of his own heart.
" My husband is no more! I am here that
you may fulfil your word," she said, in cold,
clear accents.
"What word?" said Dick, as gently as
possible; he feared lest he might be overheard.
"The word of an English gentleman," she
said; " the word of love and hope, the word
my lover spoke to me," she answered.
" I do not know what to say to you, Anissia,"
he replied, in a tone of regret and anguish
that went straight to her heart, cold as she
thought it was.
296 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Oh, mon Dieu! " she exclaimed. "Say
you love me, say you will come with me, say
this wedding there is to be on the morrow shall
be dedicate to me and to my love—say that,
and save me from madness, from death ! "
She put out her arms appealingly to him;
but there was no response. His did not open to
her as for a moment she thought they might;
for was she not beautiful ? and did she not
beg, and had he not folded her there so often,
oh, so often ?
"My dear Anissia, that is impossible," he
replied, and the tone of his voice changed; it
was only, as it seemed, for a moment that it
trembled with remorse.
"Impossible!" she repeated. " Yet you
regret, you are sorry; you were this moment;
your voice had the music of Paris in it; but
now you say it is impossible! "
"I say it is impossible," he said, planting
his feet firmly upon the polished floor, and call-
ing up his courage and his firmness to face the
scandal right there, and have the entire village
called in if necessary. He had done wrong.
The punishment had come. He would meet it.
"And I say, mon ami, that it is impossible
you shall marry that English lady to-morrow! "
said the Princess, with an equal firmness.
"Don't be unreasonable," Dick said. "I
know I have done wrong; you cannot paint
me in colours too black; but she is innocent
—she is not to blame."
TRAGEDY.
297
" She is not to blame ! Oh, indeed ! And
am I to blame? Who has the first claim to
your love ? "
" It is no use to argue about your wrongs,
Anissia. Whatever I can do by way of recom-
pense, even of humiliation, I am ready to do."
"There is only one recompense—it is that
you make me your wife."
" Be reasonable ! " said Dick.
" Reasonable ! Like you ? As reasonable as
the great English gentleman whose word is a
bond not to be broken ? And you think me
only what you call a light-of-love, that you may
lie to—a forlorn, that you send her message
back with a bribe to be secret of your infamy.
Ah, mon Dieu, and I thought you a hero, an
angel," said the Princess, with a tremor in her
voice she could not control.
"You should not have employed such a
messenger," said Dick, a little beside himself,
and not knowing how to answer the woman
who faced him with one of the meanest acts
of his life.
" Oh, yes, he was surely good enough to send
to you," the Princess replied; " base enough
to send to a liar ; cruel enough for a messenger
to one still more cruel than himself. Oh, my
God, that I should have lived to see this day!
Listen, I make you a last demand. There is a
carriage at the door; come with me ! "
She waited. He did not reply. She advanced
a step or two towards him.
2g8 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Or give me your word that to-morrow it
shall be I, the Princess Mazaroff, that stand by
your side at the altar."
" My dear Princess, you are mad to think I
can do either of these things."
" You cannot! I am to be thrown aside—a
worn glove, a thing that has been used, a
flower that has been worn for a night—without
a friend, a creature to be pointed at, discarded,
while to-morrow you give your love, your name,
your honour, to another! Ah, could you not
have killed me first! That would have been
loving, that would have been manful, kind—I
had blessed you as I died, for such a mercy.
Listen; do not interrupt me ! "
He had moved impatiently.
" I told you there was a passion stronger
than love—it is hate ! And I hate you with
all my broken heart and soul, with all my
woman's shame, with all my love and happiness,
with all my misery. Oh, my God ! Do not
come near me ! "
He had moved towards her. He feared her
voice would be heard. She had raised it.
The sound of it began to ring through the
place.
" Stand back ! And you despise the man
Vitre; he, who is a thief, a liar, a spy, a
pander, anything, everything that is bad and
wicked. You! you, who steal me from my
husband ! You, who say on the ship, 41 love
you, I envy him ; come to me when you need
TRAGEDY.
299
protection.' You, who say these things, who
take me to your arms, who swear by the gods,
by your honour, to be good to me ; you, whom
I loved with all my soul, for whom I would have
crawled in the gutter; you, to despise this
Vitre, the creature of any man who will pay him
to spy, and cringe, and lie, and cut a man's
throat—ah, you ! Yet he is a saint compared
with you. Do not touch me ! "
Suddenly she drew from her bosom the un-
sheathed hunter's knife he had given her in
Paris. She was very pale, her lips were parted,
her bosom was agitated.
" Stand back! " she exclaimed, as she held
the weapon aloft, " stand back! You have
done with me! Your seared and poisoned
word has gone to another! I despise myself
that I could have given heart and soul to one
so base, so mean, so hateful, so devilish wicked!
Well, then, we part—let it be so ! "
With her last word her uplifted arm fell with
a thud upon her bosom, as she drove the knife
into her white flesh that in a moment was red
with her blood.
44 Help ! help ! " cried Travers, flinging open
the door, and then rushing to support her ; but
with a supreme effort she turned from him, and
staggered to the wall.
The man who had let Vitre out, came running
into the room, as did one of the women ser-
vants, and the butler, who happened to be
passing by on his way to the cellar.
300 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
The servants, stunned with "surprise, paused,
dumbly asking for some explanation of the
terrible scene. The Princess raised her arm
feebly, turned her dying eyes towards Travers,
but fixed her last look upon the servants.
" He broke my heart," she said, in slow,
measured words. " I stood between him and
his new love" (here she seemed to gather
herself together for a last effort, as the blood
reddened her lips) 4'and he has killed me!"
"By God, it is true!" exclaimed Travers,
his heart wrung with anguish at the dying
woman's sufferings—so beautiful, so young, so
likely of life and love.
The next moment she had collapsed in a
heap upon the floor.
CHAPTER XIX.
a prisoner.
" Every He, great or small, is the brink of a precipice, the
depth of which nothing but Omniscience can fathom."
Charles Reade.
" For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because
our days upon earth are a shadow."—yob.
" The eternal surge
Of time and tide roll on, and bears afar
Our bubbles ; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lash'd from the foam of ages."
Byron.
The Rector, hearing strange cries, closed the
page at the death of Otho, as he rose to find
out what had happened. He hurried into the
hall-room. The suicide had fallen to the ground.
One of his servants was leaning over her. The
others were looking on aghast. Travers had
flung himself into a chair, his face in his hands.
" What is it ? " exclaimed the Rector, looking
from one to the other.
Nobody answered.
" Who is this poor soul ?" he asked,
starting back as the servant laised up the
head of the dead woman.
There was no reply.
302 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" Dick, what h^.s happened ?"
Travers groaned.
"Fetch a doctor," said the Rector to the
butler, who crept out of the room, glad to get
away.
As he went, Vitre came in.
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed as he glanced
at the Princess. " Great Heaven !—dead !
Who has done this ? Oh, my Princess, oh, my
love !—Heavens, dead ! "
He stooped as if he would raise the body;
then, suddenly turning towards Travers, he
exclaimed, " Ah ! you have killed her ! It is
murder! "
Let us explain at once that Vitre knew nothing
of the Princess's design, whatever might it
have been, when she entered the Rectory. He
had done her bidding. She had commanded
him as if he were her veriest mercenary slave,
and he had obeyed her. " When I enter the
room," she had said, "you leave it. Ask no
questions; only tell them Mr. Travers desire not
to be disturbed until he summon the servant."
It is also desirable to state that the Prin-
cess had encouraged herself to hope that Tra-
vers might make some compromise; if not so
direct and severe a one as that she had de-
manded, at least one that it might have been
possible for her to accept—what, she could not
think. At the same time she had fully resolved
what she would do in the event of his conduct
being such as Vitr6 had described it. The
A PRISONER.
303
memory of the vengeance of the woman of
Kherasoff, which she had quoted to Estelle,
had not been without its influence in regard to
the grim method of her own revenge, the force
of which Travers had accentuated by what
could not fail to be taken as a confession of his
guilt-
"Who is this man?" the Rector asked,
looking at the stranger within his gates.
Travers still did not speak.
" I am Michel Vitre, this lady's friend."
"And she, poor soul? " asked the Rector,
taking up one of her hands to find that she was
pulseless, "this poor dead creature?"
" The Princess Mazaroff," said Vitre. " Oh,
my God, can nothing be done ? "
At this moment Dr. Williams entered the
room with the butler, and went straightway to
the body.
"She is dead," he said, after little more
than a momentary examination.
The knife had fallen from the wound when the
body struck the floor. The doctor picked it up,
looked at it for a moment, and laid it upon a
pedestal close by the body. "How has this
happened ? " he asked, addressing the Rector.
" I do not know."
" That man has killed her," said Vitr6,
pointing to Travers.
"However that may be," said the doctor,
" the police had better be sent for, Mr.
Rector."
304 the princess mazaroff.
" Yes," said Tremont, and, addressing the
butler, he said, " Go and bring the inspector."
Charlton-Cleeve and one or two adjacent vil-
lages were under the police direction of a county
inspector and a few men, whose headquarters
were in that same long village street we have
already described, and not far from the " Green
Man." The butler said nothing more to the
inspector than the mere delivery of the message
that he was wanted immediately at the Rectory;
but you could do nothing in a place like
Charlton-Cleeve without attracting the atten-
tion of the whole village. The butler had been
seen going for the doctor; he was now observed
walking very quickly to the police-station.
Several persons at once followed the inspector,
who went out at a brisk walk, accompanied
by the Rector's butler, one of the best-known
servants in the parish. So that when the officer
entered the Vicarage quite a little crowd stood
about the gates.
Nobody noticed at the time how quiet the
rooks had suddenly become, but the point was
made a great deal of at a later day, both by
naturalists and by superstitious people.
"Dick, my dear fellow, speak!" said Tre-
mont, laying his hand affectionately upon his
friend.
Dick made no reply, but pressed Tremont's
hand, his eyes upon the dead body of the Prin-
cess.
" Have you nothing to say, my dear friend ? "
A PRISONER.
305
Dick withdrew his eyes from the body and
fixed them upon Tremont's face.
" The officer of police has been sent for,"
said the Rector.
"Yes," said Dick, rising up and shaking
himself as if awakening from an ugly dream.
" How did it happen ? Who is this woman ? "
" I hoped I had sat here and dreamed it,"
said Travers, passing his hand across his face,
the hand which bore the scar of his adventure
in the Place Vendome, " but it is all true."
Tremont turned away, for the inspector of the
police had entered the room.
" Don't go from me," said Dick. " I will tell
you all about it."
But the Rector was called upon to speak to
the officer.
"What is the trouble, Mr. Rector?" asked
the inspector, a wiry-looking and somewhat
severe official. He had served as a sergeant in
the Soudan, and his present office was one of
the rewards of good conduct and influence which
occasionally make places in the police for army
men. He wore a short military moustache, his
hair was black and closely cropped, his manner
official.
" Been dead long ? " he asked, looking down
upon the suicide.
"About half an hour, or less," said the
doctor.
" Who is she ? " asked the officer, notebook
in hand.
x
306 the princess mazaroff.
The doctor did not answer. The officer,
looked to the Rector for a reply.
" I do not know," said the Rector.
" The Princess Mazaroff—in Russia called
the barina," said Vitre.
"And who are you?" asked the officer,
writing in his book.
" Michel Vitre, of Paris."
" What occupation ? "
"I am Michel Vitre, in the service of the Com-
missary of Police in Paris," said Vitre, drawing
himself up and fixing the officer with his ferret
eyes.
The inspector saluted him.
" I came here with the Princess on a mission
to this gentleman, Monsieur Travers; I usher
her into his presence ; I come later—I find her
stabbed to death."
He went over to the pedestal and took up
the knife where the doctor had laid it.
"With this knife, no doubt; it lay by her
body."
The officer took the knife from Vitre, and
asked for a piece of paper in which to wrap it.
" Does any one own the knife? " he asked.
There was no reply.
"Who was present when the woman met
with her death ? "
" I was," said Travers.
" Yes ?" said the officer; " any one else ? "
" No," said Travers.
" Then I would caution you," said the officer,
A PRISONER.
3°7
"that your position may be a serious one.
Probably you can explain everything satisfac-
torily, but I warn you that it may be my duty
to arrest you, and in that case anything you say
may be given in evidence against you, should
you be brought to trial."
" Thank you," said Travers, glancing at Tre-
mont, who seemed to be on the point of re-
senting the inspector's remark. " Nay, the
officer is right; it is only a usual and proper
caution."
" Who was the first to see the woman after
her death ? or perhaps one of you may have
been present before she died ?"
He looked at the servants, and raised his
hand against Travers, intimating, in a respect-
ful way, that it might be well for some other
person to answer.
The servants looked at each other as if in-
quiring who should speak first. The butler
nodded at John, the door-keeper; John made
signs to Mary Wells, the parlourmaid.
" Please, sir, I see the poor lady before she
were dead; likewise Mr. Martin, the butler,
and John, see her also."
Mary Wells trembled a good deal as she
spoke, and bit the corner of her frilled apron.
" Don't be afraid," said the inspector; " tell
me what you saw."
" We heard a noise."
" You heard a noise—not we," said the in-
spector; "only speak of what you heard."
308 the princess mazaroff.
"Yes, sir, I heard a noise."
" What kind of a noise—some one calling, or
crying, or what ? "
" Some one crying, ' Help ! ' "
"Yes; was it a woman's voice ? "
"No, sir, it was a man's, I think. And I ran
in, sir, with John and the butler, about the same
minute, all of us."
" Very well," said the inspector, glancing
from his book to the girl, and from the girl to
the others.
" We see the poor lady leaning against the
wall. She was bleeding, sir, and we could see
that she had been stabbed with a knife."
"Yes; wait a moment," said the officer;
"you talk faster than I can write."
" Yes, sir," said the girl, continuing at a nod
from the officer; " and she looked at Mr.
Travers, sir, and then she looked at us, sir, and
then "
Here it occurred to the girl that she might be
doing her master's guest an injury, and she
simply added, "And then the poor lady fell,
slipped along the wall like, and gave a sigh, and
was dead. Leastwise she was the next minute,
and the knife fell out of her poor bosom, sir,
upon the floor."
"Yes," said the officer; "is that all? Did
she say nothing ? "
The parlour-maid looked at the butler.
" Don't look at Martin ; answer my question.
Did she say anything ? "
A PRISONER.
309
"Yes, sir," said the girl.
" What did she say ?"
4 4 She said "
The girl now looked at the Rector, smoothed
her apron, and again hesitated.
" Answer the officer's question," said the
Rector.
" She said he had done it."
" Done it," said the officer; "those were not
her words. Tell me exactly what she said."
" Shall I tell you?" said Travers, stepping
forward.
"No, I think not," said the officer ; " the girl
seems frightened. Were you present also ? "
he asked, turning to the door-keeper.
"Yes," said the man.
"Very well; now, tell me what the poor
woman said before she fell, as this young woman
has described."
"Why, sir, she said, a-looking at Mister
Travers, ' I were in his way, and he has killed
1 if
me.
"Yes," said the officer, writing—"'I was in
his way, and he killed me.' Well, and what
happened then ? "
"Why, Mr. Travers, he said, 'By God, it's
true.'"
" ' By God, it's true,'" said the officer, writing,
and Tremont, turning to Travers, asked him
with his eyes if the man had spoken the truth.
Travers nodded and compressed his lips, as if
to keep down something he was tempted to say.
3IO THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
The officer asked if he might send the butler
with a message to the village. The Rector
said, " Certainly." The officer told Martin to
go and fetch a couple of men from the station.
" But first let me ask you a question."
" Yes, sir," said the butler.
"Were you present when this affair hap
pened ? "
"I see what Mary Wells, the parlour-maid,
and John, the door-keeper, see," said Martin.
" And what they say is true ? "
" Yes, sir," said Martin.
" Very well; go to the station and bring me
two men."
"Yes, sir."
" May I ask you a question, Dr. Williams?
Have you examined the body of this poor
lady? "
" Only in a casual way; simply to see if life
was extinct."
" All I wish to know is, if she has died
from a wound given with this knife ? "
" I can only say there seems every probability
of it."
" She has been stabbed ? "
" No doubt."
" Thank you."
Then, turning to the Rector, the officer said,
" I fear I must ask you to allow the body to
remain where it is, so that the jury may view
it where death occurred. I will see that a
woman shall remain here until the jury can be
A PRISONER.
summoned, and I will have the room properly
guarded."
"Certainly, if that is necessary," said the
Rector; " though it seems inhuman not to
have the poor creature carried to a bedroom,
that she may receive all the decent offices for
the dead that one would desire, even for the
poorest stranger."
" I could forbid that; but I will only say that
it would be the proper thing for all concerned,
and in the interests of justice, that nothing in
this room should be disturbed, and that the
body should remain where it is."
"Then be it so," said the Rector.
"And I am sorry to say, sir," went on the
officer, now addressing Travers, " that I have
a painful duty to perform. I must ask you
to consider yourself in custody. I charge you
with having caused the death of this woman."
"But," said the Rector, addressing the
officer, " I will be answerable for this gentle-
man "
" I am sorry, Mr. Rector, but he must go to
the station. I hope he can explain to every-
body's satisfaction what has happened, but in
face of the statements of your servants, my
duty is very plain, as you must admit."
Two awkward county policemen made their
appearance. " See that no one enters or
leaves this room without permission," the in-
spector said to one of them. To the other he
said, "Go to the coroner and ask him to be
312 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
good enough to come to me at once, if it is
convenient. Also send your wife here, and let
her bring Mrs. Berry from the station."
"Yes, sir," said the policeman, saluting and
disappearing.
Vitre watched the proceedings with intense
interest.
" If you would liice to order a carriage to
convey this gentleman to the station, I have
no objection, of course," said the inspector,
addressing the Rector.
"Yes," said Tremont; " I will order it my-
self."
" Very well," said the inspector. " Perhaps
you will accompany us ? "
" I will," said the Rector.
"The gentleman may desire to make some
communication to you. I can only say we
will make him as comfortable as we can. He
may have pens and ink, or see any friend, of
course."
"Thank you," said the Rector, leaving the
room.
"And now you may go," said the inspector
to the door-keeper and the maid-servant; " but
bring a sheet and place it over the body."
"You came with this lady?" said the In-
spector to Vitre.
"Yes."
"Where from ?
" Paris."
" You will be wanted on this inquiry."
A PRISONER.
313
"Yes."
"You are going to remain in Charlton-
Cleeve some time ? "
" I will do so."
"Very well. I will speak with you later.
Where are you staying ? "
"At the ' Green Man.' "
The Rector ordered the carriage, and then
went to Sir Gordon's room. Dick's father was
fast asleep on the couch, where he had lain
down after luncheon, thinking of all kinds of
desirable schemes for the happiness of the bride
and bridegroom.
" Sir Gordon," he said, when he had
awakened his guest, " something very painful
has happened."
" What is it ? Something awful—your pale
face says so. What is the matter? "
"My dear friend, you must summon to your
aid all your courage and fortitude."
"I will. What is it?"
" I do not know the beginning of the affair;
but the end of it is this. While we were resting
after luncheon some lady—a Russian princess,
they say—obtained access to Dick ; and when
he cried for help "
" For help ! " exclaimed Sir Gordon, greatly
agitated.
" Calm yourself; Dick has not been hurt."
" Thank God! " said Sir Gordon.
" When he cried help, and the servants ran
into the room, the woman was dying. She
314
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
had been stabbed, and she charged Dick with
having killed her."
44 By God, that is painful news, indeed ! "
exclaimed Sir Gordon.
" And the police inspector has no alternative
but to make him a prisoner—at least, until the
coroner has held his court."
Sir Gordon buttoned his waistcoat, looked at
his watch, rubbed both his hands through his
grey hair, went to the window, then took up
his bowler hat, and said, "Where is he?"
" He is just going to the station-house with
the officer in my brougham."
" Take me to him."
44 Dick, why, my dear boy," said Sir Gordon,
laying his hand on the prisoner's shoulder,
" what's all this I hear?"
44 Don't ask me just yet, father."
44 Don't ask you, my boy !—but I must."
" I will tell you everything soon."
The officer respectfully stood aside at the
furthermost end of the room, so that he need
not hear anything that was said. The body of
the unhappy Princess was covered over, and
a barrier of chairs was placed before it.
"I am rather dazed, my lad ; hardly feel
that I have heard aright; but they charge you
with having killed some person. Is that charge
true ? "
44 No, father."
44Thank heaven for that; but, great God,
what is the meaning of it all ? "
A PRISONER.
" I will tell you, father, in a little while.
Won't you go and break the news to Mr. and
Mrs. Somers and to Gerty, and to "
Here Dick broke down for the first time.
He flung himself into a chair, his head upon
the table, and he was shaken with a violent fit
of sobbing.
The Rector sat by him.
" Don't give way, Dick. She is a brave girl.
I will see her mother. I will talk to Gerty.
They will know you are innocent. They both
love you. Trust them. Trust me, Dick."
Dick arose, shaking Tremont's hand, and
said, " Father, this is a terrible business. I
am to blame, but not for her death. Don't hate
me as I hate myself. Think for me—think for
all of us. I will go with this man now."
" The carriage is ready," said the officer.
"No, don't come with us," said Dick to his
father; " Tremont is coming. Go to Cleeve
House; prepare them. You are a strong,
courageous, loving man, father—go to them."
It was true that Sir Gordon was all Dick
had said; but his courage had never been so
grievously taxed as it was with this mission to
Cleeve House, no breath or whisper of the
trouble having as yet reached that happy
home.
CHAPTER XX.
STORM AND TEMPEST.
" Why let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play ?
For some must watch, while some must sleep;
So runs the world away."—Shakespeare.
By the time that Travers was seated in the
inspector's room at the local headquarters of
the county police all Charlton-Cleeve was in an
indescribable commotion. Under the elms by
the Rectory gates, opposite the police-station,
in front of Cleeve House, and on the steps of
the " Green Man," excited groups of people
were assembled to talk and wonder, and to en-
large upon such scraps of the tragic story as
they had picked up. At the village doorways
women and children were gathered together,
looking wistfully towards the tavern and the
station-house. The flags were still flying, and
the sun was shining, but it was noticeable that
the heavens were beginning to be overcast,
either with blight or the cloudy forerunner of
storm and tempest.
" Somers," said Sir Gordon, " come into
your room with me, and shut the door."
STORM AND TEMPEST.
317
"Yes, Sir Gordon, by all means; you are
excited."
" I am crazy, Somers ! By the Lord, now, if
the world were to come to an end I should not
be astonished."
"What is it? " asked Somers, following Sir
Gordon into the library, and closing the door
behind him.
" Have you any spirits in the place ? "
" Not here."
" Order some in."
Somers rang the bell.
" Bring the spirit case and some water," he
said to the servant.
Sir Gordon walked to and fro.
The servant brought the spirits.
Sir Gordon poured out a measure, and offered
it to Somers. He took a glass himself.
" Drink, my friend; you will need it. I have
awful news to tell you; and yet I hardly know
what has happened."
Somers laid aside his glass, and waited.
" They have taken my son to the lock-up."
"To the lock-up ! " repeated Somers.
" Some strange woman went to the Rectory,
a princess, they say—some connection, I sup-
pose, of this African expedition; I know not.
But she is dead—stabbed, and my son is under
arrest."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Somers.
" With what do they charge him ? "
" They say he killed her, but, of course,
318 the princess mazaroff.
that is not so. I generally keep my presence of
mind under circumstances that upset weaker
men, but, my dear Somers, I find it hard to
prevent myself from crying out and making a
fool of myself. I cannot realise what has hap-
pened; all I really know is that Dick is in your
local prison, that he is charged with killing
a woman, that the woman is lying dead at the
Rectory, and that to-morrow he was to marry
one of the sweetest and best girls in the
world."
Sir Gordon ^sat down and wiped his face,
which was deadly pale, though wet with per-
spiration.
" It is like some hideous fable. I will go and
see what it really means," said Mr. Somers.
" Meanwhile, I will send Mrs. Somers to
you."
Somers went to his stables, had his cob
saddled, and rode up to the police-station.
Half a dozen hands were stretched out to hold
his horse. When he entered the inspector's
office he was shown to an inner room, where
Dick and the Rector were sitting, in the pre-
sence of a policeman. The officer saluted the
Sheriff-elect with great deference.
" Why, Travers, my dear boy, what is the
matter? "
"I am unworthy of your daughter," said
Dick, his lips trembling; " not so bad as I
seem, perhaps, but too bad for a good, vir-
tuous woman."
STORM AND TEMPEST. 319
"Nay, nay; whatever it is, I am sure you
will be able to explain it. These expeditions
into savage countries have always some dis-
agreeable incidents, that's a fact; but what is
it, Rector ? "
" Have you seen Sir Gordon? " asked the
Rector.
"Yes; he is at the house now. I have just
sent Mrs. Somers to him."
" I don't think at present I can tell you any
more. It is a very strange affair, and we must
wait patiently for its development. I would
suggest that you wire to Worcester for your
lawyer, and that Sir Gordon also procures legal
aid and advice from his own solicitors."
"Yes; why, certainly," said Somers.
"Where is the inspector?"
The inspector entered at the moment. He
saluted the Sheriff-elect, saying, " A very
unfortunate business, Mr. Somers. What can I
do for you, sir ? "
" Give me a telegram-form, please."
"Yes, sir," said the inspector, stepping into
his office and producing form and pencil.
Mr. Somers wrote his message, the inspector
sent a policeman out with it, and then remarked
to the Rector : " Inquest at ten in the morning,
at the 4 Green Man'; the jury will view the
body at nine."
"Very well," said the Rector.
"After nine to-morrow the body can be
prepared for burial, in regard to which I will
320 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF
consult with you this evening. I will take your
advice and carry out your wishes."
"Yes," said the Rector; "and now, Mr.
Somers, if you will remain with Dick until I
return, I will go and see Mrs. Somers and your
daughter."
"By all means," said Somers.
" I don't wish Dick to be left alone."
" Quite right, poor fellow," said Somers. " I
will remain with him."
"You are very good," said Dick. "You
will not be long away, Tremont ? "
"Not an hour," said the Rector, taking
his hand; " be of good cheer."
The Rector made the best of his way through
the groups of enquiring villagers, to Cleeve
House. Here he saw Mrs. Somers, and told
her all he knew and could devise, making
suggestions to her as to how the dreadful
business should be broken to her daughter.
Mrs. Somers had almost fainted when Sir
Gordon had told his brief and terrible story,
but, by the time the Rector appeared, she was,
to all outward appearances, calm and self-
possessed.
" Of course," she said, "the wedding cannot
take place to-morrow."
" That is as may be thought best by yourself
and Somers," replied Sir Gordon, who had sat
through the Rector's interview with Mrs.
Somers.
"It is all so sudden and appalling," said
STORM AND TEMPEST.
321
the Rector, " that it would be well to try and
look at the situation with something like calm-
ness before arriving at any positive decision."
"Yes," said Mrs. Somers. "I must see
Evelyn at once, before any one else can speak
to her of the dreadful business; excuse me
now," and she left the room just as Wykeham
came in.
" Hello, you slyboots ! " he said, "taking a
nip in the afternoon. Well, it is very hot—I
don't mind a little soda—but no brandy, thank
you. There is going to be a storm, I think."
Wykeham helped himself to a bottle of soda-
water.
"Where have you been, Mr. Wykeham?"
the Rector asked.
" For a walk in the woods. Beautiful day,
but we are going to have a storm, I fancy."
"You have heard nothing," asked the Rector,
" about the storm we have had already ? "
" Heard nothing! How serious you look,
and—Sir Gordon, why, what is the matter ? "
"Where is your wife?" was Tremont's
answer.
" She is in the drawing-room with Gerty,
resting before they take off their things."
" Excuse me, I will go to them," said the
Rector. " Sir Gordon will tell you what has
happened."
The Rector went into the drawing-room,
where he found Mrs. Wykeham and Gerty re-
clining in the easiest chairs they could find.
Y
322 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Mrs. Wykeham, glad to see you," said the
Rector, taking her hand, " and you, Miss
Travers; but sorry to be the bearer of unplea-
sant news. May I have a word with you, Mrs.
Wykeham ? I had intended first to speak to
Miss Gerty, but, my dear, I would suggest
that you go to your room, and I will send your
father to you." ,
" Oh, Mr. Tremont, what is it? " said Gerty,
rising to her feet and making towards him, while
Mrs. Wykeham, impressed by his manner, also
rose up with more than her customary alacrity.
"It is something sad, but you must have
patience. I will tell you this much; some person
has suddenly appeared at the Rectory and a
charge has been made against your brother,
upon which he has gone to the police-station ;
but Mr. Somers is with him. On second
thoughts, perhaps, the best thing will be for
you to go to your father; you will find him in
the library with Mr. Wykeham."
"Oh, yes," said Gerty, running from the
room.
"I think that is best; she is young, and
her father will know how to soothe her."
" Well, my dear Rector, that is best for Gerty,
no doubt, but don't keep me in suspense."
" I want to tell you what has happened at
once, because I think you may [help to console
Mrs. Somers and—Evelyn. The affair is very
painful. Nay, sit down again, and be as calm
as you can "
STORM AND TEMPEST. 323
Mrs. Wykeham sat down ; the Rector sat
by her side.
" Briefly, this has happened : a strange
woman—they say, a princess—arrived at the
Rectory after luncheon ; had an interview with
Dick; by-and-by he called for help ; the woman
was found dying; she had been stabbed, and
with her last breath she accused Dick of killing
her."
Mrs. Wykeham clasped her hands and stared
at the Rector, speechless.
" I had Dr. Williams called in; he sent for
the police, and they have taken Dick to the
station-house."
" You take away my breath! " gasped Mrs.
Wykeham. " I can't believe my ears ; but my
eyes tell me that you are speaking the truth
—your face is so pale, and your lips tremble.
What is to be done ? "
She rose from her chair.
" What can I do ? "
u Mrs. Somers is now with her daughter,"
said the Rector. "You are a woman of ex-
perience and resource: I will leave it to you
to do what you think best."
"He is really charged with murder, then!"
she exclaimed; "that is the long and the
short of it! And on the day before his marri-
age. Gracious heavens ! It is not the time to
say so, but I never liked him; never thought
him the man for our Evelyn ; you know that.
Oh, Rector, Rector, if you had only been a
324 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
little selfish in your love, a little less Quixotic
in your friendship ! "
" My dear Mrs. Wykeham, pray no comment
at present. If I can be of any service, let me
know. I am going back to the station-house to
relieve Somers ; I will send him to you."
He took her hand as he left the room, re-
marking, *' Perhaps you had better find Gerty;
but you know best. For the present, good-
bye."
Meanwhile, all sorts of reports spread through-
out the village. The wedding guests were more
especially in a ferment of excitement. They,
none of them, however, had the bad taste to
send to Cleeve House for news. They waited
patiently for any communication that might be
made to them. From the police they could
learn but little, not so much, in fact, as they
could learn from the village gossips. At the
Rectory, however, they had strong confirmation
of the worst reports, finding there a policeman
in charge of the entrance to the house, and
at the door a crowd of people, in possession
of sufficient facts for the visitors to incline to
the belief that there would be no wedding on
the morrow.
A local newspaper correspondent had wired
all he could learn to the Birmingham daily
papers, sending at the same time duplicates
to the London press. The late special evening
editions of the Post and the Gazette of the
midland city contained some of the chief items
STORM AND TEMPEST. 325
of the startling story, the sensationalism of
which lay, not alone in the tragedy itself, and
in the occurrence taking place on the eve of a
wedding in which the entire county had taken
the greatest interest, but also on account of
the position of the families concerned, and the
fame of the African pioneer.
" I knew I was too happy," were the first
words that Evelyn uttered, as she lay in her
mother's arms. " I knew I was too happy."
" Be comforted," said the mother, pressing
the girl to her heart; " it may not be anything
like so bad as it appears to be."
Evelyn could not cry; she simply twined
her arms about her mother.
"You still have a loving father and mother,"
went on Mrs. Somers. " We shall love you all
the more for your sorrow."
"You are very dear to me," whispered
Evelyn.
" And this affair may blow over, after all—"
"They say he killed her?" said Evelyn,
looking up for a moment. " Some savage
from those wild places? "
" I daresay."
" In self-defence ? Why, such an act might
even be laudable ! "
"Yes," said Mrs. Somers, greatly relieved
that at last Evelyn could talk about what had
happened.
" She tried to kill him and—oh, but it is
terrible, and at such a time ! "
326 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Be comforted, dear," the mother repeated.
" Ask God to help you ; He will, dear, He
will!"
"God is merciful; but Dick is in prison ! I
will go to him."
She raised herself up, but her mother held
her.
"Yes, so you shall, by-and-by, dear, of
course, but not yet; he may come to you.
We must be calm, love."
"Yes," said the girl, "we must be calm,"
lying back again in her mother's arms.
"You will be advised, dear, will you not,
by your father and by your mother? Sir
Gordon is here, and Gerty."
" Poor Gerty, poor Sir Gordon," escaped the
girl's lips, with a great sigh.
"It is very sad, but we must bear it," said
the mother.
" Heaven does not like poor mortals to be
too happy!" said the girl, with the faintest
tone of bitterness.
" God knows what is best for us," said the
mother, stroking the girl's long brown hair.
" Yes," said the girl, " God knows best; but
Dick is in prison, and it will break my heart."
" No, dear, no ; you are brave, and you will
not wish to break my heart, dear ; you will if
you do not take comfort. Try to bear it all for
my sake; and for his, dear, for his; he will
want to know that you are brave."
" Yes, for your sake and his," said the girl;
STORM AND TEMPEST. 32 J
''and he will want to know that I am brave.
Well, he shall know that—I will tell him. He
will not ask if I am true; that I love him all
the same, and that the more sorrow he has
to endure, the more I will love him, the more
devoted I will be as his wife; he knows all
that! "
"Yes, dear," said the mother, not, however,
without a little flutter of regret at the last
words of Evelyn's loyal outbreak.
Mrs. Somers's first thought, after her daugh-
ter, was the question of postponing to-morrow's
proceedings. " Of course, the wedding must
be put off," she said to herself. Like the
clever diplomat she was, she said nothing of
this to her daughter at present; but later,
when Somers came home and said that the knife
which had caused the woman's death bore the
name of Richard Travers engraven on the
blade, and that the case looked very serious
against him, Mrs. Somers consulted with Sir
Gordon, and finally asked her daughter to leave
herself entirely in the hands of her own mother
and father, who would be guided by the advice
of Sir Gordon in regard to what had been
arranged for the morrow.
"You mean that we are not to be married
to-morrow ?" said Evelyn, looking her mother
steadily in the face with her dry eyes.
" That we do not decide until we havo
consulted Dick."
" I am to see him ? "
328 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
"Yes, certainly.''
" Then I will tell him, as I tell you, that it
is for him to speak. I am his, whatever hap-
pens. I will marry him in a prison or in a
dungeon, be he rich or poor, a beggar or a
prisoner—even a criminal."
Her eyes flashed wildly as she spoke, and her
voice became harsh and unlike the soft, sweet,
clear voice the mother had known and heard
for so many years.
" Nothing shall stand between us ! nothing!
nobody ! Not even God ! " exclaimed the girl.
"Oh, my love! Oh, my dear!" exclaimed
the mother, "don't say such dreadful things."
" You heard?"
" Yes."
" All I said?"
" Yes."
44 Then I will not repeat it—only that I am
his—his—his!" and with a slowly reiterated
repetition of this monosyllable, she gradually
slipped back into her mother's arms in a state
of insensibility, in which condition she re-
mained, in spite of salts and eau de cologne
and every remedy the loving mother could
think of.
Laying the girl upon the couch where they
had been sitting together, Mrs. Somers obtained
the assistance of Mrs. Wykeham and a servant
to carry her to bed, where, in due course, Dr.
Williams saw her, and agreed that, perhaps, it
was better her illness should come now than
STORM AND TEMPEST. 329
later ; she was suffering- from a mental shock;
he hoped they might save her from an attack
of brain fever.
And so the sad business moved along; the
sequel to that unfortunate meeting of the Prin-
cess and Travers on the Orient at Brindisi,
with its attendant sins of omission and com-
mission, and its want of that true moral courage
which, at first blush, you would have said
Dick Travers possessed in abundance. He
assuredly had a fair share of moral courage,
and, in a general way, of moral conduct; but
Love is a factor in the lives of men and women
with which you can never tell how you may
have to reckon, or when.
While the doctor was writing- out a prescrip-
tion for his patient, and Somers was giving
instructions to his bailiff to see that all the
flags about the place were taken down and
folded up by the morning, the storm which
had threatened all the afternoon broke over
Charlton-Cleeve and the surrounding country.
It was such a storm of thunder, lightning,
and rain as Charlton-Cleeve had never seen
the like.
First there drove up from the river great
black clouds, that rose one above the other as
if moved in anger by the divine hand.
On and on, and up and up they came, form-
ing above the valley and over church and
Manor-house in vast battalions, cumulative,
augmenting, mountains upon mountains.
330 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Presently there was a tinge of red on the
moving masses of cloud, as if the sun was
setting and a stray shaft or two had penetrated
the overhanging curtains of vapour. As yet
no rain fell. The country folk regarded that as
a bad sign ; for they say it is safer to have rain
with a thunderstorm.
The people stood at their doors looking out
into the sudden night. It was dark as midnight,
though it was not yet the time of evensong.
Then, as if the battalions had gathered and
the signal for the artillery to open fire had been
given, there was an angry flash of light, and
upon the sheet of flame itself there was a streak
of forked-lightning, that played in the heavens
for a second, and the next moment, with a peal
of thunder that shook the earth, the old church
steeple of Charlton-Cleeve tottered and fell with
a mighty crash.
The people thought the last day had come,
for, now that the storm had opened, it went on
like ten thousand cannons firing and thundering.
The sky was alight. The earth trembled. Then
the rain began to fall in torrents, and as it fell
the heavens grew lighter, but in a dull grey
fashion. The lightning became more intermit-
tent, and the thunder farther off. By-and-by
the storm abated greatly. The people breathed
afresh and feared no longer.
The last light of the setting sun fell softly
upon field and hedgerow; but it was unusually
red upon the windows of the Manor-house.
STORM AND TEMPEST.
331
This was noticed by many who did not know
what had happened there—that terrible event
which, to the country people, seemed to be part
of the storm ; as if the Russian woman had
raised it; as if she had brought the very devil
into the parish; a peaceful place, that not in
all its history had had to reckon with murder,
unless you put war into that category; for there
had been some fighting done in Charlton-Cleeve
in the old days, and the battle of Worcester was
a local memory, full of well-authenticated inci-
dents of brave, if useless, deeds that had been
done for the king by the gallant knights of
Cleeve.
CHAPTER XXI.
the coroner, the police, and the
coming assize.
" Where are the songs I used to know ?
Where are the notes I used to sing ?
I have forgotten everything
I used to know so long ago ;
Summer has followed after spring ;
Now autumn is so shrunk and sere,
I scarcely think a sadder thing
Can be the winter of my year."
Christina G. Rossetti.
The sun rose the next morning calm and soft.
It seemed to caress the landscape. It shone
soothingly upon cottage windows. It dwelt
lovingly upon the village street. It decorated
the rain-drops that still hung upon leaf and
flowers with diamond hues. The morning
broke, indeed, as morning often breaks after
storm and tempesr, with something like apology
in its windless skies looking down upon wreck
and sorrow.
Not a flag, however, was to be seen, even
with the first blush of daylight; and long before
twelve solemn men entered the Rectory to view
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 333
the body of the Princess Mazaroff, the servants
at Cleeve House and the men at Charlton
Manor were removing the tents and wiping
out every outward sign of festivity.
The rooks no longer paid any attention to
these things. Although, on the previous day,
they had noted the unfurling of the gay streamer
from the crow-hole of the church steeple, they
did not, on the morrow, even caw their surprise
or displeasure at the shattered tower or the
broken steeple. They went about their business
as if nothing unusual had occurred. Not so the
village of Charlton-Cleeve and the neighbour-
ing townships. The long street was full of
people. There was a crowd round the " Green
Man," another about the police-station, where,
by the way, Dick Travers sat, wide awake, star
ing into vacancy, while his friend and companion,
dead beat, physically and mentally, had fallen
fast asleep, and lay with his head upon his arms
half-way across the white deal table that occu-
pied the middle of the room, near which sat
the attendant policeman.
All the morning horses and carriages rattled
into the village, some on account of the wedding,
others attracted by what they called the Charl-
ton murder. The news had not yet spread
throughout the county. Several wedding guests
arrived, unconscious of the tragedy of the pre-
vious night, but full of gossip and inquiry about
the storm, which had done great damage for
twenty miles round, and had made a fata]
334 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
record on the other side of the hills, where
the lightning had killed an old man of seventy,
and played havoc with the sheep he was tending.
The inspector of police gave his guests break-
fast. The Rector, after an hour of troubled
sleep, had looked up bewildered for a moment,
but was speedily alert in his inquiries. Had
anything been heard of the Cleeve House
people ? Yes, Dr. Williams was there with
Evelyn. How was Dick ? The prisoner said
he felt as if he would awaken presently to find
that he had had a bad dream.
During the night, with the permission of the
inspector, the two friends had been left by them-
selves for a couple of hours, during which time
Dick had told the Rector the entire story of
the Princess, from the first moment of his meet-
ing with her until she denounced him as her
murderer. He kept nothing back, not a single
detail that he could remember. The Rector
listened with sympathy, and realised to the full
the impression Evelyn Somers could not fail to
make upon Dick in the midst of his unholy
entertainment of the Russian beauty. What
troubled the Rector was the fact that there was,
for a jury, only the unsupported word of the
prisoner for the tragic details of the interview
which concluded with the woman's death, ex-
cept in so far as the immediate close of it was
concerned, and to that there were several wit-
nesses, all reporting the damning charge of the
woman and the strange inculpatory words of
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 335
the prisoner. Dick explained that the excla-
mation, which was already spoken of as his
confession, was an expression of his remorse
for having given the Princess reason for her
passion of revenge; he felt that he had behaved
selfishly and cruelly, that his neglect and broken
promise had led to her death, and, although
he had not lifted his hand against her, he felt
morally guilty of her death. The Rector turned
the story over in his mind, thinking how it could
best be presented before the law, and found
himself seriously disturbed, on account of the
strong circumstantiality of the evidence that
would undoubtedly be offered against his friend.
John Tremont's anxiety was fully justified by
the inquest. The woman's dying charge and
the prisoner's admission were sufficient for any
coroner's quest to bring in a verdict of wilful
murder; but the coroner showed every desire
to give the prisoner ample opportunity to offer
rebutting evidence. His lawyer was permitted
an undue licence in asking the witnesses ques-
tions, and also in the way of cross-examination.
Michel Vitre, for example, was subjected to a
severe ordeal, and the lawyer did not stop at an
inference that Vitre ought to be detained, on
suspicion of being concerned in a conspiracy
against the prisoner. This was merely, however,
an attempt to prejudice the minds of the jury
against the witness, who swore he had never
seen the knife with which the Princess was
killed, and that if the Princess had brought it
336 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
with her from Paris he must have seen it. Oddly
enough, the lawyer, who had made such a point
of trying to show that the knife had been
brought by the Princess for the purpose of her
premeditated death, did not ask Estelle Dubois
a single question upon it, though she could have
told the court its history, and would have done
so, as she did later, when she gave evidence
before the magistrates, though with little or no
effect upon the other evidence condemnatory of
the prisoner.
The coroner's inquest was only a preliminary
inquiry, but it foreshadowed the nature of the
charge and the possibilities of the defence.
Every person who had seen the Princess on the
day of her arrival, and the servants who had
been present during her last moments, were
examined on oath before the jury, and their
depositions taken. The doctor was pressed by
the legal representative of the prisoner upon
one point, in regard to which the Rector deeply
regretted to see him waver. He was asked
whether the position of the wound was not such
as to bear out the construction of the defence—
that the woman had stabbed herself. He would
not venture to be at all positive on this point.
It might be so. He would not say it was not
so. He would not like to offer an opinion until
after the post-mortem. It would be better to
ask the question of an expert. The lawyer
reminded him that it was not a question for a
surgical expert, any more than it was for a man
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 337
of ordinary intelligence. The doctor replied
that he did not agree with the lawyer; he
thought it was a question for an expert, and a
question that could not be answered without
a careful examination of the direction of the
wound and the position of the woman when she
received it. Then the coroner reminded the
lawyer and doctor, both, that the inspector of
police was of opinion that the wound was quite
consistent with the hypothesis that the woman
had committed suicide, and the investigation
became somewhat informal. Nevertheless, Dr.
Williams, who was a very careful and conscien-
tious man, could not be induced to vary or
modify his opinion, though he would very much
have liked to do so, seeing that he was a friend
of the Rector, and the family medical attendant
of the Somerses.
On behalf of the prisoner, it was offered, by
way of explanation, that he gave the knife to
the Princess in Paris, and that, with the con-
nivance of Vitre, she had come to Charlton
Manor to exercise some undue influence upon
the prisoner, failing which, she had, in accor-
dance with her threats, taken her own life, and,
in a fit of vengeance, had charged Travers with
killing her. It was true that the prisoner had
used words that the witnesses seemed to regard
as an admission of his guilt; but these words
were simply the remorseful exclamation of a
man whose better nature was pathetically
moved by a sentiment of remorse at being the
z
338 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
unintentional cause of the woman's madness,
for such, the lawyer ventured to say, had been
the condition of mind of the deceased lady
when she came to the Rectory, and when she
took her own life and charged the crime on
the man who had been her friend. Moreover,
her maid, Estelle Dubois, whose deep grief was
a sufficient evidence of her sincerity, said she
believed her mistress had taken her own life,
and that she had often threatened to do so if
Monsieur Travers should ever desert her.
Nevertheless, after two days of careful inquiry
and summing up of the coroner that was very
favourable to the prisoner, the jury, to a man—
being honest men and true, and sworn to find
a verdict in accordance with the evidence—
returned a verdict of wilful murder against
Richard Travers; and the very next day there
appeared at Charlton-Cleeve one Allen Knott,
a traveller, who said he had been through the
Dark Continent with Dick Travers, but had
deserted on account of his chief's cruelties,
and that he always knew he would come to
grief one day, on account of his bloodguiltiness,
and he was there to acquaint the police with
what he knew of him. Eventually he left Charl-
ton-Cleeve with Monsieur Vitre. Estelle Dubois
elected to accept the invitation of Mrs. Somers
to make her home at Cleeve House.
As Evelyn Somers began to recover from a
severe illness, she found at her bedside one of
the most patient and sympathetic of assistant
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 339
nurses in the little Russo-French maid of the
dead Princess.
In due course the police took the case in
hand. The prisoner was now formally lodged
in the county gaol. He was brought before the
county magistrates sitting at the little town ol
Pershore, whence the active interest of the local
community was removed from Charlton-Cleeve.
The coroner's inquest had lasted three days.
The county magistrates dealt with the case at
two sittings. They had before them learned
counsel on both sides. Monsieur Vitre had
emptied his purse upon a lawyer's table in
Worcester for the best advice and assistance.
He convinced a shifty, but clever, legal man
of the faithful city of his power to pay any
amount of fees, and inoculated him with his
own antipathy against Travers. Vitre lied to
him, fawned on him, threatened, did everything
he could think of to impress the English lawyer,
who drew a tremendous brief, on Vitre's ac-
count, against Travers ; and Vitre claimed to
represent the interests of the Mazaroff family,
as against the murderer of the Princess.
Allen Knott, the enemy of Travers, who had
lain in wait for him to pay off his grudge, found
an enthusiastic ally in Vitre. Knott had already
written to the papers, recounting his alleged
experiences as a member of the staff of Travers
in Africa. It had been pointed out that such
disclosures or charges at the moment were in
cruel bad taste, to say the least; but Allen
340 THE PRINCESS MAZAROPF.
Knott, who had gone to Africa hoping to make
a name, as well as a fortune, to say nothing of
indulging his worst passions, had eventually
found himself penniless and a wanderer upon
the earth, glad to have escaped with his life,
for it had been a question in the Travers camp
whether he should not be shot. Travers had
discharged him and stripped him of every
mark of authority, leaving him at a convenient
place upon the journey where he could count
upon assistance from friendly natives, his crimes
having really deserved death, the favour that
had been shown to him being criminal rather
than merciful.
It is not necessary to relate what were
Knott's offences, but, whatever they were, he
charged them now upon his chief, and counsel
was advised of the record of Richard Travers
according to Allen Knott. He was ready to
go into the box whenever he was called upon,
to give evidence as to the passionate, cruel, and
bloodthirsty character of Richard Travers,
who, according to the woman he had pledged
himself to marry if she could obtain a divorce,
had deliberately stabbed her to death when he
found that she came between him and the
latest object of his desires.
This was the Vitre and Knott side of the
indictment, and whatever use was made of it at
the Assizes later on, the magistrates at Pershore
concluded that it was not necessary for them to
go into. They heard the whole of the evidence
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 34I
that had been taken before the coroner, in ad-
dition to some that was new. Among the fresh
witnesses an eminent surgeon was called, who
had, with Dr. Williams, performed the post-
mortem examination. He was of opinion that
the nature and position of the wound was not
inconsistent with its being self-inflicted. In
cross-examination, Estelle Dubois deposed that
the knife had been given to her mistress in Paris
by Mr. Travers, and that she had no doubt the
Princess had taken it to Charlton Manor ; and
that the Princess had threatened to take her
own life if Mr. Travers should ever desert
her. Re-examined, the witness stated that
since she had lost her mistress she had been
treated very kindly by Mrs. Somers, and that
she was now in that lady's service; deeply com-
passionated the unhappy state of Miss Somers,
and had always respected and admired the
prisoner.
The magistrates, after a long consultation in
their private room, committed the prisoner for
trial on the charge of wilful murder; and the
general opinion was that the evidence against
him was overwhelming. Great sympathy was
felt and expressed for Sir Gordon Travers and
the Somerses; and the county journals dwelt,
with all the pathos of which their pens were
capable, on the fact that Mr. Grafton Somers
was the Sheriff-elect and would have to attend
upon the Judges of the Assize, before whom
the prisoner, who was to have been his son-
342 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
in-law, would be arraigned. It was known that
Mr. Somers had intended to meet their lordships
with more than usual state ; and that his friends
and neighbours had counted upon showing their
respect for him by mustering at Cleeve House
to accompany him and his javelin men to the
County Hall at Worcester. What arrange-
ments would be made under the unhappily
changed circumstances would transpire, no
doubt, during the winter. In the meantime,
the two families of Somers and Travers might,
perhaps, feel that it was some little consolation
to know that they had the heartfelt sympathy of
the entire county.
The Assize was the regular gaol delivery
held in March. Long before the •winter was
over Evelyn Somers had sufficiently recovered
to see Travers in his narrow quarters at Wor-
cester, and she had behaved with a steady firm-
ness at each meeting with her lover. She had
assured him of her unalterable love. She neither
upbraided nor excused him for his relationship
with the Princess Mazaroffi She implicitly be-
lieved his story; she was convinced, beyond
all doubt, that the woman had killed herself,
being tired of her life, and viciously desiring
to be avenged upon the man she had professed
to love. Evelyn Somers, without bravado and
without undue emphasis, had informed both
her father and mother that nothing that might
happen to Dick Travers could alter her love
for him. All her learning, all her wisdom,
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 343
all her strongmindedness had availed her no-
thing in taking a careful view of her position
and that of her family. She had only one
thought, and that was her love for Travers.
She desired in every way to make this conform
as much as possible to the wishes of her parents;
but if she listened respectfully to what they said
in disparagement of her marriage with Travers,
even if he were acquitted, their arguments made
no impression upon her; she was resolved that
only death should separate her from Travers.
She likened him in her thoughts to Ulysses,
trapped into all kinds of snares and troubles,
but never losing thought of Penelope, nor she
of him. If Dick had known her before he had
met the Princess Mazaroff his love for her
would have saved him from the snares of Circe,
and his career would have been spotless. He
had paid dearly enough for his lapse from duty
and from honour, but it was not for her to
punish him, not for her to fall away from him;
nor would she.
Since the committal of Travers, Tremont
had been untiring in his services to the de-
fence. He had visited Paris for the purpose
of hunting up details as to the antecedents of
the Princess Mazaroff. He had got together
a little history of the life of Vitre, so far as it
was associated with the Princess. From various
sources he had discovered the utter worthless-
ness of Allen Knott's statements ; and in this
matter had been asked by his friend to take no
344 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
further trouble; Dick could give ample and
corroborative denial of Knott's arraignment,
it required to do so. Counsel had also advised
that the Knott phase of the case against him
was of no importance. Tremont had unearthed
the record of one of the cases of vengeance
to which the Princess had referred during what
might be called the beginning of her suicidal
mania in Paris; and on his return to London
was complimented by counsel. This was at a
consultation with two of the learned men who
were in constant communication with the family
solicitor of Sir Gordon Travers.
"If," said one of the distinguished advo-
cates, " some person could have overheard the
interview between Travers and the Princess,
what a blessing that would have been ! "
"In a play," said Mr. Emden, the other
barrister, who was known as well for his literary
labours as for his legal engagements, "of
course, we should have had him behind the
portiere that covered the door leading to the
dining-room."
"Emden knows all about plays," said his
professional brother, Mr. Alcott Hume, "but
truth is a hard master ; you can't hide him ; he
will out, like murder."
" Yes," said Emden, "truth is a troublesome
fellow. Hume knows that, because he is always
trying to put him down. But in my experience
I have found that a lie is sometimes more
potent than a truth."
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 345
" Mr. Emden feels," said the lawyer, turning-
to Tremont, " that while our supporting evi-
dence is strong in corroboration of the pri-
soner's defence, it is by no means conclusive;
or, rather, that it is just the kind of evidence
that a jury may reject. A jury has moods and
prejudices; and the charge of the woman, with
the immediate confession—as counsel against
us will insist upon calling the rejoinder of
Travers—will be the two leading points in
front of the prosecution."
"Yes," said Tremont thoughtfully. "Of
course, a direct corroboration of Dick's story
—the evidence of a person of credit who had
stood by and seen and heard what passed,
would have left no opening even for arrest,
would it ? "
" None," said Mr. Emden ; " or if the police,
in their anxiety to show that they were no
respecters of persons, had laid their hands upon
Travers the coroner would only have summoned
him as a witness ; and there could hardly have
been any police proceedings to follow. As for
the man Knott, he would probably never have
been heard of, and if he had he could have
been disposed of on a charge of criminal libel."
But, as Mr. Alcott Hume remarked, they
were not dealing with might-have-beens; and
he would not disguise from himself that they
had an uphill and difficult road to travel. The
story of the knife might be believed, or it
might not. The man Knott would identify it
346 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
as a weapon constantly in use by the prisoner
on his expedition, both as a hunter's knife, and,
if we are to believe him—which we shall not
—as an instrument he delighted to carry into
every scrimmage with the natives, and which
he used with deadly effect. The story of its gift
to the Princess, set forth in the evidence of
Estelle, had its value; but the unfortunate
kindness of the Somerses to this witness covered
her evidence with suspicion. Even the courage
of Travers, and his chivalry, would be turned
against him; his rescue of Miss Somers and
her father was only an instance of his reck-
lessness, acting without thought; that same
impulsiveness might be a factor in guilt as well
as virtue. The character of the man was of the
dare-devil, reckless type. He had dashed in,
for example, single-handed, to the attack of a
score of well-armed natives on one occasion,
when to do so seemed nothing short of his im-
mediate death
" Granted such a nature," said the lawyer,
"did not that point to manslaughter rather
than murder, even if Travers had killed this
Anissia Mazaroff — or the Princess so
called?"
" There is the motive against that, my dear
sir," counsel replied. 'I stood between him
and another woman, and he killed me.' Then
there is his bribe to Vitre; and his secret visit
to the woman shortly before his proposed wed-
ding; his league with this man Vitre to de-
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 347
ceive the woman; his mad passion for Miss
Somers. You know what a sentimental jury
is—if the prisoner was base enough to deceive
the woman and take her from her husband;
and, furthermore, was base enough to desert
her, and capture the affections of a pure-
minded and highly respectable girl, and,
almost on the eve of his marriage go to Paris
to see his mistress, to whom he had promised
marriage if she could get a divorce; and who
had bribed her friend to deceive and mislead
her—such a man would not hesitate, in his
despair at the exposure of his character, to
kill the woman and leave it to be inferred that
she had committed suicide! The same reck-
less passion that would lead to such a crime
would, on the spur of remorse, lead him to
confess what he had done. And a sentimental
and very respectable jury—a regular church-
going, virtuous jury, such as the county towns
often produced—would, in their debate on the
verdict, not fail to get it into their heads that,
supposing the prisoner did not actually kill the
woman, his conduct was just as bad as if he
had; he had killed her reputation, he had
ruined her, body and soul, and having done
this, had deserted her, and dared to form an
alliance with an honoured and honourable
family—and so on."
Tremont went away from this last consulta-
tion greatly disturbed in mind and spirit, with
a curious, if not a wild, scheme in his mind
348 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
for the salvation of his friend, whose position
was to him a continual nightmare, haunting
him with visions of the gallows, and made
very real to him in the pale cheeks and sunken
eyes of Evelyn Somers. He had continued to
visit Cleeve House since the catastrophe, and
had had many conversations with Evelyn alone
and in the presence of her father and mother.
They invariably talked of the one theme about
which everybody was talking, more especially
as the days of the Assize trial came nearer.
So anxious was Evelyn for Tremont's visits that
Mrs. Somers now and then felt the flickerings
of an almost dead hope that, after all, she
might call John Tremont son; but this was,
indeed, hoping against hope.
Only a few days prior to the beginning of
the Assize Evelyn had made a very strange
remark to Tremont, during the course of a
conversation upon the latest phases of the case
against Travers, and in the presence of her
father and mother.
''Oh," she exclaimed, "if there could have
been a witness of that last meeting, some eaves-
dropper; some creature whose curiosity had
led him, or her, to watch and overhear what
passed! Why did not that man, John, do it?
Or that girl who was so ready with her evi-
dence ? Or the butler ? They would, no
doubt, have been there readily enough if the
occasion had been a trivial one."
Mrs. Somers did not care to say how unjust
CORONER, POLICE, AND COMING ASSIZE. 349
she thought Evelyn's remarks; her one idea
had always been to soothe her and comfort
her ; but her father, the Sheriff, could not help
remarking that " Every one appears to be in
the wrong but the chief culprit. Though I
feel sure the story Travers tells is the true
one, it can hardly be regarded as a story to be
proud of."
Somers had once or twice lost his temper
just a little in this way, goaded by what he
regarded as his daughter's insane love for the
prisoner, but the Rector at once came to her
relief, and the interview ended with Evelyn
being lovingly embraced by her father.
The Wykehams were constant visitors at
Cleeve House, and no two people could have
been more sympathetic in word and deed.
MrS. Wykeham was the only one of the family
who could awaken anything like hope in the
despairing mind of Evelyn, and no one was so
patient with her when she had what her father
called her protesting fit on ; when she insisted
upon repeating her declaration of undying love
and devotion to the man who had brought
disgrace upon all of them. The Wykehams
were very popular in the village, and Ted had
proposed to rebuild the tower and steeple of
Charlton-Cleeve at his own expense—in token
of his grateful sentiments towards both the
Somerses and the Rector, and also in memory
of the founder of the house of Wykeham, one
William of that ilk. The Rector would not
350 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
listen to the proposal, though he remarked
that there were other objects sacred to Charl-
ton-Cleeve upon which he might expend his
money, whereupon Wykeham came to the con-
elusion that in honour of the Rector a village
library, to be called " The Tremont," was a
good idea, and so it was ; and it has been
admirably carried out. A few local fanatics
objected to the naming of the handsome little
house of learning. It was not, however, until
the conclusion of the trial of Richard Travers
for the wilful murder of Anissia Mazaroff that
they had ventured to express themselves with
anything like force or energy.
CHAPTER XXII.
A lie for a lie.
" Don Quixote is, after all, the defender of the oppressed,
the champion of lost causes, and the man of noble aberrations.
Woe to the centuries without Don Quixotes! Nothing re-
mains to them but Sancho Panzas."—Victor Hugo.
" Poor race of men ! said the pitying spirit,
Dearly ye pay for your primal fall—
Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,
But the trail of the Serpent is over them all."
Moore.
At last came the opening of the Assize, on
a day that might have been the first day of
summer. The sky was high and blue. A few
white clouds were sailing along, like ships that
were homeward bound. The rooks at Charlton
Manor were busy with their nests. On the
steeple of the old church men were at work
among intricate scaffolding.
In the Assize city there was a bustle of coming
and going from the County Hall to the Judges'
lodgings, from the police-station to the railway.
Everybody who had business connected with
the Assize thought it desirable to put on an
352
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
official air and make the most of it. The city
population, for the time being, was increased
by the presence of lawyers and their clerks,
witnesses, and members of the bar.
Cleeve House opened its doors to a number
of friends for early breakfast. Originally when
Mr. Somers forecast his intentions for this oc-
casion there was to have been a repast for as
many horsemen as chose to come to the board;
but considering the personally painful nature
of the High Sheriff's duties, only a few of his
most intimate friends sat down with the family.
At the same time, by way of showing, in an
even more marked manner than was customary,
the respect which the district entertained for
the Sheriff of the year, some three hundred
gentlemen assembled, splendidly mounted, to
accompany him to the ancient city.
The High Sheriff was a good deal overcome
at this neighbourly tribute. He had not abated
one jot of the pageantry of his attendance on
the judges. Duty was duty; and Mr. Sheriff
Somers meant to show the county that he knew
how to do his duty, both to the county and to
her Majesty.
It was a picturesque example of the honouring
of ancient custom, the High Sheriff's proces-
sion, with its plain, handsome carriages and its
strong bodyguard of javelin men, in the grey
and gold livery of the Somerses, and when it
drew up by the railway awaiting the arrival of
the morning express, it was joined by the two
A LIE FOR A LIE.
353
professional trumpeters who for many years
had officiated as heralds on like occasions.
In due course the citizens knew that the
judges had arrived, by token of the blaring
trumpets; and presently the official procession
wended its way through the streets, first to
the quaint old mansion where the judges were
lodged, and thence to the cathedral, where
divine service was performed, and the assize
sermon preached by the Dean. Among the
congregation were Evelyn, her mother, the
Wykehams, and the Rector. Evelyn felt it a
great mental relief to join in the prayers, adding
to the general supplications her own private
petitions.
The Rector's mind was in a tangle of hopes
and doubts, of overwhelming sympathy for Eve-
lyn, of sorrow for his friend ; torn, too, with a
scheme of rescue, the design of which, while it
promised a certainty of Dick's acquittal, involved
for himself an overwhelming disgrace, from
which he could never hope to free himself.
The idea had its motive in Evelyn's outburst,
" Oh, if there could have been a witness of that
last meeting, some eavesdropper, some creature
whose curiosity had led him or her to watch
and overhear what passed!" The seed thus
planted had germinated and grown in Tremont's
mind until it filled it, and the idea of it pervaded
all his thoughts. How could such a witness
be provided ? Would such a witness be effec-
tive ? Was this the only way of safety ? Could
354 the princess mazaroff.
he not be that witness ? He had slept but little
since the thought first entered his mind. He
tried to realise the effect of his evidence; and
saw himself under cross-examination. Why
at the last moment had he come forward with
such a statement ? Would not that question
make his voluntary lie an injury to Dick's
cause rather than a good ?
When the service was over, instead of ac-
companying his friends to the County Hall,
to hear the commission opened and the procla-
mation against vice and immorality read, the
Rector left the cathedral alone, and, taking a
near cut to the river, between the Deanery and
the church, wandered away into the open coun-
try, hoping to bring his thoughts into serious
shape, and to evolve some way of arriving at a
right conclusion. As to the lie, if he told it,
that, he thought, would not weigh heavily on
his soul. In his conversations with Father
Dupont, of whose friendship the orthodox
Charlton-Cleevers were very jealous, the ac-
complished and earnest Jesuit priest had dwelt
fearlessly on the doctrine of mental reserva-
tions, and where a great and undoubted good
was to be wrought, he agreed with Tremont,
that the end would justify the means. More-
over, such was Tremont's love for the two
persons who were more especially in distress
and tribulation that he would not have hesitated
to die for them could he thus have ensured
their happiness. There was the spirit of mar-
A LIE FOR A LIE.
355
tyrdom in the Rector's love and friendship,
and he had of late felt himself severely alone
in the world, despite the companionship of his
books. Something- had gone out of his life,
and something alien had come into it; he knew
not what. He was not himself. He was un-
happy without sufficient cause. Without reason
he had blamed himself for what had happened
at the Rectory. He felt that his unrequited,
presumptuous love had in some way made the
shadow that had fallen upon the lives of his
two dear friends. This want of mental balance
might have been the result of over-anxiety, of
a solicitude for his friends that had set up some-
thing like a morbid condition of mind.
He walked for miles and miles, and his latest
resolve was to have an interview with Dick's
lawyer, whose zeal for the prisoner was intense,
whose labour had been incessant. In all Tre-
mont's conversations with him the lawyer, while
expressing a hope that all would be well, did
not for a moment underestimate the great cause
they all had for anxiety and prayer. He was
a religious man and was known among his
friends as the honest lawyer.
It was sunset when Tremont crossed the
Severn bridge on his way to the local hostelry
where he had taken rooms. The March wind
had risen as the Sun was setting, red and
angry, and there were little shivering waves on
the river and the sedges were full of weird
whisperings. The lamps were being lighted in
356 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the streets, and a hawker was crying- " the
true and correct list of all the prisoners to be
tried before my lord judge, including the ro-
mantic and harrowing case of the Charlton
murder." Tremont, after a glass of sherry
and a biscuit—almost the only refreshment he
had taken during the day—put off the semi-
clerical garb he had worn at the cathedral, and,
assuming his usual dress, went out into the
streets and listened to the talk of the place and
occasionally took part in it.
On all hands it was agreed that if his friend
escaped it would be only by a miracle. Tre-
mont ventured into the smoking-room of the
best-known local inn, and here he heard the
same terrible forecast. The prisoner was evi-
dently, he learned, a hot-headed, passionate
fellow, and had seen so much bloodshed in
Africa, and had become so accustomed to
have his own way, and so regardless of human
life, that he, no doubt, forgot himself, and killed
the woman as she had said, and to the truth
of which he had confessed. Then it was argued
that if this were so, his crime would be man-
slaughter; but a lawyer's clerk explained that
the charge was murder, strengthened by motive,
and that he was either guilty of murder or he
was innocent; no other charge could be pre-
ferred against him ; the coroner's jury had
made it wilful murder, the magistrates had
committed him on that charge, and that was
the charge upon which he was about to stand
A LIE FOR A LIE.
357
his trial. Passion was one thing; motive was
another; " I stood in his way," or, "I stood
between him and another woman "—whichever
the words might be—"and he killed me" ; and
" By God, it is true," he said before witnesses ;
how was he going to get over that ? It was
true, he said, some explanation was offered
about the knife, to take the sting out of the
fact that it was his knife, and a knife which,
according to the witness Allen Knott, he had
used fatally on many a sanguinary occasion
during his African expedition; but his secret
relationship with the woman, his engagement
to Miss Somers, without having taken even his
friend the Rector into his confidence, his heart-
less treatment of the Princess; all this was
strong against him, tending to show the arro-
gance and recklessness of his character, and
the bad experience of his African travels.
"Why, they say he had one of the natives
hanged by inches, and if Knott had not escaped
he would have shot him, simply because Knott
had dared to remonstrate with him about his
unnecessarily harsh discipline and his cruelty
to the hapless natives."
One of the speakers did not see how this
evidence was going to be got in to prejudice
the case; and the lawyer's clerk admitted the
difficulty ; but he knew that the effect of it
would, anyhow, be got into counsel's opening
against him. Tremont found no gleam of hope
in the minds of these people, and he traced, in
358 THE PRINCESS MAZAROEF.
some of the malignant and untruthful state-
ments, the underhand work of Vitre and Knott.
Vitrehad retained a most powerful combination
of legal force against the prisoner, and his
chances of escape thinned out and became
almost infinitesimal in Tremont's troubled mind,
as he presently sought the house of the honest
lawyer and discussed with him the possibilities
of the effect of the new evidence, which he had
thought of almost every moment since Evelyn
had endorsed the very remark he had heard at
the legal conference touching the one weak
link in the chain of the defence.
The opening of the case against the prisoner
was a powerful indictment. Counsel professed
to be impartial in his narrative. He succeeded,
nevertheless, in presenting the prisoner to the
Court as wilful, passionate, sensual, and blood-
thirsty, inconstant both in friendship and love;
one who, having seduced a woman from husband
and home, was willing, not only to bribe her
messenger, but had even offered him a thousand
pounds to put her out of the way.
" Great God ! " exclaimed the prisoner, in a
suppressed voice, turning towards his lawyer,
" am I to— ? "
" Hush, hush," said the lawyer, leaning over
the bar of the dock to speak to his client, who
had grown suddenly agitated under the effect
of this new charge against him.
" I repeat," said counsel, " that the prisoner,
having already paid the Princess's courier a
A LIE FOR A LIE.
359
hundred pounds to be the mouthpiece of his
false message, had said in definite and unmis-
takable language that it would be worth a
thousand to have her put out of the way."
It is not necessary to follow counsel through-
out his address, which left a painful and sad-
dening impression upon the minds of the
prisoner and his friends. The point having
reference to Vitr6's evidence was the one upon
which he laid special stress; and we may as
well come at once to that feature in the evi-
dence offered in support of the learned counsel's
most convincing address. Vitr6's evidence
was among the surprises which his lawyer had
prepared for the Court, in a brief of singular
ingenuity and dramatic force. For a time
Vitre followed the course of his deposition
before the magistrates, and then departed from
his simple line of truth with damaging effect.
He told the story of Travers bribing him, told
it dramatically, illustrating in his manner and
method the alleged overbearing nature of the
prisoner.
"Yes," said the examining counsel, "you
have told us how the prisoner bribed you to
keep his proposed marriage a secret; now will
you tell us what else transpired on this occa-
sion ? What else did the prisoner say ? "
" 4 I wish,' he said, 4 you could put her out
of the way altogether—that would be worth a
thousand pounds,' " the witness replied, with
calm deliberation.
360 the princess mazaroff.
4' It is a lie! " said the prisoner, unable to
keep back his angry protest.
There was a great stir in Court, and some-
thing like an attempt at applause.
The judge interposed with the usual threat
to have the Court cleared if any manifestations
of any kind were again attempted, and the
honest lawyer spoke to the prisoner.
" I am sorry to have interfered, but the truth
is bad enough, without the lies that are being
invented to hang me," said Dick, once more
assuming his former attitude of quiet.
In cross-examination the chief point was
counsel's question—why Vitre had not made
this last statement when he was before the
magistrates, which Vitre simply met with the
reply, " I was not asked about my previous
visit to Charlton Manor." Vitre's evidence
was not shaken under cross-examination; and,
re-examined, his declaration that Travers had
said it would be worth a thousand pounds to
put the woman out of the way seemed to gain
weight and significance.
Tremont paid very little attention to the
evidence that followed this. The statement of
the French spy took hold of his imagination.
He fancied he saw it working with the jury. It
was far more damaging in its audacity than
was the evidence of Knott, who identified the
knife as one the prisoner had used in Africa,
and whose attempt to import into the case a
prejudice that involved other questions and
A LIE FOR A LIE.
361
other charges, was stopped by the judge.
Furthermore, under cross-examination his cha-
racter suffered considerably. Not so the re-
putation of Vitre, who came out with a new
item of credit and honour in his career with
every fresh interrogation.
As the day wore on the Rector looked up
with a sigh of sympathy to the seats by the
judges, where Evelyn was sitting near her
father. Mrs. Somers had been obliged to
leave the Court, and had gone home to the
house which the sheriff had taken for the week
of the Assize. Mrs. Wykeham was with her.
Wykeham was sitting near Tremont, with
whom he had many whispered conferences.
The Court was crowded. The fashion and
beauty of the county had secured places almost
on the bench as well as in the galleries. The
javelin men had found it difficult, even with
the aid of the county police, to keep the cor-
ridors free from the pressure of the crowd
without. The prisoner was dressed in a grey
shooting - suit, with a white silk neckerchief
drawn though a gold ring. He looked almost
noble in the estimation of many persons in
Court, his commanding figure, his steadfast
eyes, his frank, open face contrasting favour-
ably with nearly every witness brought against
him, though, in the opinion of others, his
manner was arrogant and overbearing. Now
and then he glanced towards Evelyn, whose
eyes were constantly fixed upon him, while the
362 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
eyes of the entire Court were upon both of
them, Evelyn being, indeed, as much an object
of remark as the prisoner himself. Sir Gordon
and Gerty sat together in the body of the hall,
the fine old Yorkshire baronet looking years
older than when the reader last saw him at
Charlton-Cleeve.
On the third day of the trial, when the de-
fence was drawing to a close, the prospects of
an acquittal not having greatly improved, even
with the most strenuous efforts of counsel and
witnesses, Tremont whispered to the honest
lawyer, "How does the case look now ?"
" Doubtful," was the reply. "It is a toss-up,"
remarked a junior counsel in the case, who
had noticed from the first with sympathy Tre-
mont's great anxiety. " I have drawn out a
fresh draft of my evidence," said Tremont,
handing to the honest lawyer a neatly-folded
packet. " Read it, and I am ready to be
sworn."
The honest lawyer was speedily absorbed in
Tremont's draft, and, having read it during a
tedious cross-examination of Dr. Williamson,
said to Tremont, "It is this that has been on
your mind, then?" "Yes," said Tremont.
" I offer no comment—the situation is too
grave." He handed the brief to counsel with
the remark. " Some extraordinary evidence,
supplementary to the deposition of John Tre-
mont. I would omit the latter part, which I
have marked, leaving the motive to come out
A LIE FOR A LIE.
363
in cross-examination, or to be dealt with in
re-examination. The witness has evidently
thought this out, too, by his notes ; it has been
lying heavily on his mind, that is plain, for
some time."
Counsel read, and as he read he looked up
every now and then at Tremont, curiously, in-
quiringly, and evidently in doubt.
" The next witness is mine," said the counsel
to whom the honest lawyer had spoken, "if
you approve ? " speaking to his leader; "and
he will astonish you! "
Dr. Williamson had done himself no good,
and had seriously hurt the prisoner's case in
a scientific wrangle with the Court; and when
John Tremont was called, his friend Richard
Travers was looked upon by the majority of
the people in Court as a doomed man.
John Tremont, being sworn, turned his face
to the examining counsel, and related, with
the closest circumstantiality of detail, how,
seeing Vitre and the foreign woman enter the
Rectory, his curiosity was greatly aroused, and
he had listened to the prisoner's interview with
Vitre and afterwards with the woman. The
dining-room door being slightly ajar, he had
taken his place between the door and the por-
tiere, where he could both see and hear. Taken
by counsel through the entire story, he remem-
bered every word that had passed, and, in
regard to the close of the tragedy, he was very
positive as to the words that were uttered and
364 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
the positions of the Princess and the prisoner
in the room. They were quite a distance apart
when the woman drew a knife from her bosom.
Travers advanced towards her, whereupon she
raised the knife against herself threateningly;
the prisoner then stepped back as if to summon
assistance, and the next moment she plunged
the knife into her bosom. Travers rushed to-
wards her, but with a great effort she turned
from him. He then cried out, "Help, help,"
the servants came in, and she spoke the words
they had given evidence of, and he replied,
" My God, it is true."
The Rector's evidence was listened to with
breathless attention. Once now and then there
was a murmur of surprise and a shudder of
doubt; but, on the whole, it made a profound
impression. The line of the cross-examination
was obvious, so much so that counsel for the
defence had not asked Tremont the whole of
the questions that arose out of his confessional
statement, namely, the motives for keeping back
his evidence. He had himself thought of all
this, and he knew that his motives must be so
powerful that they would give full and com-
plete strength to the one weak link in the chain
of the defence.
"Very well, Mr. Tremont," said the learned
cross-examining counsel. " You say you volun-
tarily played the eavesdropper, as you have
confessed?"
"Yes," said Tremont
A LIE FOR A LIE.
365
" In your own house, and upon your own
guest ?"
" Yes."
" Had you ever done such a thing be-
fore ? "
" Not to my recollection."
"Not to your recollection ? You would have
regarded it as a breach of good manners, and
in the worst possible taste ? "
"Yes."
"You are a very old friend of the prisoner? "
"Yes."
"And of the lady to whom he was engaged
to be married ? "
"Yes."
All eyes were once more turned towards
Evelyn Somers; all except the eyes of the
witness and the prisoner.
Travers, in his quiet patient way, watched
Tremont with the deepest interest, his heart
bleeding for him all the time, sensible of the
tremendous sacrifice that his friend was making.
Evelyn for a few minutes seemed to realise
this as well as Travers did; but in a little
while she began to fancy that Tremont was
telling the truth; she did not stop to argue
the point or to think it out; her ears simply
drank in what seemed to be the reprieve, the
release, the coming of Dick's regained liberty.
"You are very much concerned at the
prisoner's position here to-dav ? "
" Yes."
366
THE PRINCESS MAZAR0FF.
"Were you present at several of the con-
sultations with counsel prior to the trial? "
"Yes."
" Have you assisted in getting up the evi-
dence for the defence ? "
" Yes."
"Is it not notorious that you have laboured
night and day in the prisoner's interest? "
"Yes."
" And yet you ask us to believe that, having
in your own breast a full knowledge of what
had transpired at that fatal meeting between
your guest and the murdered woman, you have
kept it there all this time ? "
"Yes."
" Look at me, sir; keep your eyes from the
prisoner."
Counsel was getting angry at Tremont's
coolness.
"Now, sir, you—a clergyman of the Church
of England, knowing that you could have saved
these two families all the trouble and anguish
they have endured, knowing that, in all pro-
bability, you could have saved your friend from
having to defend himself against a charge of
murder, you kept your guilty secret, you allowed
him and them to suffer, you professed to be
getting up evidence for him, and all the time
you were playing the hypocrite. Is that what
you ask us to believe ? "
"Yes."
"Now, Mr. Tremont, Rector of Charlton-
A LIE FOR A LIE.
367
Cleeve, listen ! You are on your oath; no
man is more likely to understand the nature of
an oath ; not only as to how it may affect his
immortal soul, but touching- the responsibility
that attaches to it in this life, the duty it entails
to society. The word of an honourable man is
his bond; you have taken a solemn oath. Very
well. Now, is not the evidence you have just
given the outcome of your fears for your friend,
an after-thought, for example, an act of self-
sacrifice, in the hope that you may secure his
acquittal ? "
"Yes."
" Oh, it is; very well. You knew that if it
were possible to get corroboration of his ex-
planation of the death of his unfortunate mis-
tress, his case might be a very strong one before
the jury? "
"Yes."
" And that is the explanation of your conduct,
eh ? You come before this Court to commit
wilful perjury, in order that you may save the
life of your friend ? ''
This rough, daring, and cruel thrust created
a sensation in Court. The high character of
the Rector was well known throughout the
county. If he was making some mad sacrifice
for his friend he hardly deserved such a wither-
ing condemnation as was implied in counsel's
cross-examination ; and if he were telling the
truth, the learned counsel's question was all
the more unpardonable. It was noticed that
368 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
Tremont appeared to be somewhat weak in
counsel's hands; but counsel had yet to make
the blunder which is often made, both by wit-
nesses and counsel, of attempting to prove too
much.
" I do not come before this Court to commit
wilful perjury, but I do come to save my friend
from the possibility of an unjust condemna-
tion," said Tremont, very pale, but his voice
ringing out with all the tones of earnestness
and apparent truth.
"And that is the only explanation you have
to offer us for the silence you have maintained
until now, and for your sudden passion to
confess what, in itself, if true, is little short of
a crime."
" No, that is not my only reason," said
Tremont.
"Oh, indeed; you have some other reason ?"
"Yes."
" Will you be good enough to tell the Court
what your other reason is ? "
"I had ceased to care for Travers."
" You had ceased to care for him ? "
"Yes."
"You are a very strange person, Mr. Tre-
mont."
"Yes, I know it."
" And you said nothing about your eaves-
dropping to the coroner or the police, because
you had ceased to care for your friend ? "
Tremont felt that counsel had at last caught
A LIE FOR A LIE.
369
an inkling of how the strength of his evidence
was to develop, and that he must assist the
cross-examination.
"1 had ceased to care for my friend, because
I loved the woman to whom he was engaged."
A hush of surprise, not to say indignation,
went through the Court, and the counsel for
the prosecution, seeing too late the direction
into which his cross-examination had been
tending, sat down, remarking that he had no
more questions to ask, which, of course, brought
up the counsel for the defence, who proceeded
to re-examine the witness.
"You had ceased to care for your friend,
you*say, because you were in love with the
lady to whom he was engaged ?''
" Yes."
"Were you jealous of him ? "
"Yes; he was my rival."
"Your rival for the affections of Miss
Somers ?"
"Yes"
"And you hoped to have married Miss
Somers ? "
"At one time, yes."
"Before the prisoner came on a visit to
Charlton Manor ? "
"Yes."
" Did she know of your hopes ?"
" I think so."
" Did anyone else ? "
" Oh yes—her mother.''
B B
37°
THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
" And your friend, forgetting what is due to
friendship, superseded you at Cleeve House ?
Is that what you mean ? "
" Yes, and I hated him."
The Rector spoke with vigour, and glanced
at Travers, who gazed at him in amazement.
" And did you desire to win your way back
to Cleeve House ?"
"Not so much as to put him out of it."
"And you thought silence about what you
had seen was the best way ?''
"Yes."
"And why have you changed your mind
now ? "
"Fearing that I might be accessory to his
death," said Tremont.
" You feared that if you still withheld your
evidence he might be condemned ? "
"Yes, and of late I have pitied Miss Somers.
I have seen her frequently in the course of the
proceedings, and know that the death of Tra-
vers would kill her. Moreover, I do not wish
to have the guilt of murder on my soul."
"You understand that, in confessing to this
withholding of your evidence, and the reason
for so doing, you brand your name with dis-
honour; and that making amends at this last
moment will not lift from your reputation the
shadow of your crime—for, adopting my learned
friend's own stigma, I can call it by no other
name."
" I am quite aware of all you say."
A LIE FOR A LIE.
371
" And, thoroughly and entirely understanding
the responsibility of your position, you repeat
that you withheld your evidence maliciously,
permitting your friend to be branded as a mur-
derer through your own default, and fully
conscious of his innocence."
"Yes, it is quite true," said Tremont,
stepping back in the box, and covering his
face with his hands.
The prosecution could not stand against the
blow which it had received in this over-whelm-
ing evidence of John Tremont; nor did counsel
appear to make any very strenuous effort to
maintain its force. The judge summed up
favourably to the defence, instructing the jury
that if they had any doubt in their minds as to
the prisoner's guilt, before or after the remark-
able evidence of the Reverend John Tremont,
it was their duty to give him the full and
unqualified benefit of such doubt; which they
did, with unequivocal promptitude. They con-
suited together for only a few minutes, and
returned a verdict of "Not Guilty."
*######
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Travers are settled at
The Old Hall, Yorkshire. Dick is resolved to
lift the shadow that, for the time being, has
fallen upon the houses of Travers and Somers.
And he will do so, no doubt, with the aid of a
devoted and clever wife; but he can never
clear the name of his friend. Fortunately for
37 2 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
John Tremont, he has an ample fortune and is
without ambition. A poor man, or one who
had to make his way in life, a man of any am-
bition or hope of place in the world, would
have been handicapped beyond his powers to
make headway of any kind. Wherever he might
have sojourned, in whatever country, he would
have been met at every turn with his shameless
confession ; and his only answer, by way of
justification, if he dared make it, would show
him to be worse than they thought—a liar, a
coward and a perjurer. But Tremont was rich,
and a philosopher; he was content to have
served his friends, even at the expense of his
honour and his name ; and, having persuaded
his conscience that he had done the right thing,
he is not burdened with any distress of mind.
Under the circumstances his life is not without
a certain charm of peace and resignation. He
has given up the living of Charlton-Cleeve to
the Rev. Jabez Ogden, who is very proud and
happy in his exalted position ; but he has had
his library removed to his new abode; he has
not left England ; he has not started on some
outlandish pilgrimage ; he has not bowed his
head like a culprit; he has bought a freehold
house and grounds, near Hammersmith, where
he lives a retired and studious life, with the
privilege of discovering London for himself.
He makes frequent expeditions into its high-
ways and by-ways ; finds out its secrets and its
humours, studies its moods and its tempers,
A LIE FOR A LIE.
373
mixes with the multitude, attends its learned
lectures, makes adventurous trips about the
neighbourhood of Dock-Head, delves into the
narrow ways and passages of the New Cut;
visits some poor people in the Isle of Dogs;
and then, for a change, walks in the footsteps
of historic heroes at Westminster and Hamp-
ton; attends an occasional debate in the House
of Commons ; sits with the people now and then
in the pit of a theatre ; and once in a way writes
one of those remarkable letters to the Times—
on questions of ethical morality, the treatment
of the Jews by Continental nations, and Dis-
coveries among Books—that have given to the
nom de plume of Lepidus a large measure of
journalistic fame in America as well as Eng-
land; while several of his letters have been
translated for the journals of France and Italy.
Tremont has brought to London from Charl-
ton Manor his butler, his cook, and his dogs.
He may often be seen with a water-spaniel,fa
colley, and a Newfoundland along the riverside
between Hammersmith and Kew, watching
them take a noisy bath together or competing
for the honour of rescuing his stick from the
tide to lay it at his feet. He has two London
friends who invariably dine with him on Sun-
days, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Wykeham; and
during the London season, when he is more
than ever a recluse, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Tra-
vers pay him special visits. They know how
deeply they are indebted to him; they know
374 THE PRINCESS MAZAROFF.
that he has taken upon himself the punishment
of another's wrong-doing, but he will not per-
mit any reference to the past, except to such
of it as belongs to bright and happy memories.
Sir Gordon Travers is not often in London, but
the first house he visits is the quaint old place
near Hammersmith, where the happy martyr
lives. Sir Gordon has always spoken of him as
the martyr, and will to the end of his days;
but he allows that Tremont is a philosopher in
a million—an Epicure, by George, without any
of the Epicurean vices, who has annexed their
spirit of luxury, and tempered it with philan-
thropy, aye, and religion, for what is true
religion, Sir Gordon asks triumphantly, but to
visit the sick and cherish the fatherless and the
miserable ? Sir Gordon almost forgets the
name of Mazaroff and the year of Somers's
shrievalty, when once in a way, on his visits to
London, he dines with Tremont, to meet Mr.
and Mrs. Wykeham. By George, Tremont was
right, he would exclaim; a man might live in
a wilderness and be happy with such a cook,
such a wine-cellar, and such a library as Tre-
mont possessed. " And such a digestion as
yours, Sir Gordon," Wykeham would observe,
by way of repartee. Mr. and Mrs. Somers
found themselves rather lonely at times, but
they consoled themselves with the knowledge
that Evelyn was happy; and Grafton made
more and more a companion of his wife. They
had once or twice been up to town to see Tre-
A LIE FOR A LIE.
375
mont, thus completing his circle of visiting
friends. He had no other than those with
whom the reader is acquainted, and he has
made no new ones. Considering that he drew
the lightning of the storm upon himself to pro-
tect his friend, he is not much hurt. A weaker
man might have perished under the shock.
Whether or not an author starts his story
with the intention of pointing a moral as well
as adorning a tale, he usually, in the opinion
of his readers, commits himself to a moral. The
moral of this tragic story of the Princess and
the Pioneer is obvious, in the train of miseries
that followed the departure of Dick Travers
from the path of honour. Tremont only per-
mitted himself one remark to Dick, concerning
his perjury, and it was intended as much for
Evelyn and the Somerses as for Dick himself.
"If the blind woman with the scales," he said,
" had condemned you, my brother Ogden, or
some other equally good clergyman, however
much he might have believed in your guilt,
would have smoothed your way to Paradise.
How much easier should it be for me to make
my peace with Heaven ? Don't trouble about
me, Dick."
THE END.
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