TWO 
 SHALL BE BOKN
 
 "Yes, oh, yes, if you will. If you only will!" she breathed
 
 TWO 
 SHALL BE BORN 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIE CONWAY OEMLER 
 
 Author of "SLIPPY McGEi," "A WOMAN NAMED SMITH,' 
 
 "THE PURPLE HEIGHTS," "WHERE THE 
 
 YOUNG CHILD WAS," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1922
 
 Copyright, 1922, by 
 THE CENTUBY Co. 
 
 PRINTED IN U. S. A.
 
 To 
 ALAN NORTON OEMLER 
 
 There are all sorts of presents one gives to one's boys: 
 When they are little, then one gives them toys; 
 A little bit larger, and one gives them spanks; 
 What shall one give when they lengthen their shanks? 
 When sore toes and torn breeches no longer are seen, 
 And hands they are washen, and ears they are clean, 
 When college commences, and high school is past. 
 (Alas, that a growing boy grows up so fast!) 
 Well, some things I 've given you ; others you took ; 
 Beloved Mister Freckleface, take now a book! 
 
 2137495
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 FLORIAN SIGISMUND CASIMIR, COUNT ZULESKI: Sci- 
 entist, Scholar, Revolutionary. 
 
 MABYA JADWIGA ZULESKA, His DAUGHTER: The 
 Little Countess. 
 
 WENCESLAUS: Nobody but Himself. 
 
 KARL OTTO JOHANN, BARON VON RITTENHEIM: The 
 Overlord. 
 
 CZADOWSKA: Of the Secret Police. 
 
 "WlNCENTY THE GlPSY. 
 
 JOSIKA: Of the Tribe of Judas. 
 
 SERGEI : Wild Justice. 
 
 FRANCISZKA: A Trap. 
 
 JAN DZYLINSKI: Of the Brotherhood. 
 
 FRITZ: An Efficient Person. 
 
 THE MAN WHO PAID. 
 
 A JAPANESE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 DOMINICK KELLY : The Big Boss. 
 
 BRIAN KELLY: The Beautiful Cop. 
 
 JAMES DARLINGTON: An Ornamental Young Man. 
 
 Miss HONORA KELLY: A Sweet Old Maid. 
 
 COLETTE O 'SHANE: Maker of Costumes. 
 
 MRS. CALLAGHAN: A Widow. 
 
 JOHN CRYSOSTOM CALLAGHAN: A Student. 
 
 MARY HALLET : 1 . ... 
 
 4 Artists. 
 JACQUES : j 
 
 A NIGHTHAWK.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 3 
 
 II THE MOON'S GODCHILD 23 
 
 III THE EYES OF UNDINE 48 
 
 IV FLIGHT 80 
 
 V BLUE EAKRINGS 98 
 
 VI THE KITE 116 
 
 VII THE HOUSE OF KELLY 154 
 
 VIII THE BEAUTIFUL COP 177 
 
 IX THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 198 
 
 X A COURSE IN ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 215 
 
 XI THE TRAP 226 
 
 XII WENCESLAUS PASSES 239 
 
 XIII OUT OF DARKNESS THEY SHALL MEET . 258 
 
 XIV A MAN AND A MAID 275 
 
 XV How TO TIP A POLICEMAN . . . .297 
 
 XVI A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE . . . 316 
 
 XVII JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES . . . 335 
 
 XVIII THE COP AND THE COUNTESS . . . 351 
 
 XIX GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 374 
 
 XX "AND READ LIFE'S MEANING IN EACH 
 
 OTHER'S EYES" . 396
 
 TWO SHALL BE BORN
 
 Two shall be born the whole wide world apart, 
 
 And speak in different tongues, and have no thought 
 
 Each of the other's being, and no heed; 
 
 And these o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands, 
 
 Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; 
 
 And all unconsciously shape every act 
 
 And bend each wandering step to this one end, 
 
 That some day out of darkness they shall meet, 
 
 And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. 
 
 SUSAN MARE SPAULDWG
 
 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 
 
 WHAT on the outside was a castle, a tur- 
 reted, gray, picturesque pile bulking im- 
 mense and mysterious on low hilltops, with 
 a sweep of black forest behind and a thin, marshy 
 country before, on the inside was something like 
 last year's nut that the squirrels and the little 
 boring beetles have finished with. It had borne 
 the brunt of savage centuries, of Russian, German, 
 Polish, and Lithuanian aggressions and reprisals; it 
 had known the grim Brethren of the Sword, the ter- 
 rible Teutonic Knights, the avenging Livonian Order. 
 All had harrowed and winnowed it; there had been 
 much mauling and bloodletting. But by some jape 
 of fate it had nevertheless remained in the hands of 
 the original proprietors, or at least their descendants 
 the Zuleski, though, bit by bit, lands and privileges 
 had gone ; until now there was just barely enough left 
 to keep the last lord, the noble Count Florian Sigis- 
 mund Casimir, the little lady Marya Jadwiga his 
 daughter, and "Wenceslaus his servant from literally 
 sleeping under the sky and starving to death. 
 
 3
 
 4 TWO SHALL BE BOKN 
 
 Of interior decorations and furnishings nothing 
 remained save some very lovely old mantels and 
 carved door and window casings. The walls were 
 bare of hangings, the black oak floors of carpets, the 
 windows of curtains, the table of silver. In one or 
 two stripped rooms a few distressingly dingy and for- 
 bidding portraits still glowered forlornly, and among 
 these a lady's cheek had been laid open by a sword 
 slash, a cardinal's nose had been cut off at the tip, 
 as though to caution cardinals from meddling in 
 secular affairs, and a count's eyes had been as neatly 
 thrust out by a lance as though the original had fallen 
 alive into the hands of Cossacks. Those empty eye- 
 holes followed the visitor with a sort of persistent dis- 
 trust. In his time the poor gentleman had probably 
 seen so much rapine, murder, and betrayal, that one 
 could scarce blame him for glaring suspiciously upon 
 all comers. 
 
 In that country caught between the grinding 
 Teutonic thumb and the gripping Russian forefinger, 
 people were enabled to develop to a very rare per- 
 fection the fine art of unslaked hate hate without 
 ceasing, from cradle to grave, from generation to 
 generation, father to son, mother to daughter. Count 
 Florian Zuleski inherited this hate, by way of the 
 blood. His great-grandfather died of a sword-punc- 
 ture of the lungs in the year of grace 1831, in which 
 year Paskevitch retook Warsaw for Russia so roughly 
 that the gutters of Warsaw ran red. The count's 
 grandfather died with equal swiftness in 1863, another 
 year of the shedding of blood. His father, exiled
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 5 
 
 to Siberia in 1870, never returned. He had been, and 
 he was not. The Lord giveth, and the Tsar taketh 
 away, his lady widow said, with a thin smile. Nat- 
 urally, his small son learned to hate properly. 
 
 There was an end, then, of Zuleski fortunes. 
 Florian Zuleski grew up in a rarefied atmosphere of 
 extremely plain living and high thinking, in a flat 
 in Warsaw, under the shadow of the wing of a sad 
 and silent mother. That the last Zuleski had been 
 allowed to retain the last family possession, the shell 
 of an old house in Courland, was in the nature of 
 irony rather than generosity: the kernel filched, the 
 crumbling shell not worth taking over, he was per- 
 mitted to keep what nobody else wanted or could use. 
 
 The young man was graduated from the University 
 of Warsaw with the honors of his class. He had an 
 acute and brilliant intellect, the bright beginning of 
 a great reputation; and the faculty gladly retained 
 him as assistant professor of astronomy. Later he 
 was given the chair of philology, and helped awake 
 modern Europe to the enormous value of the science 
 of languages. When he married the orphan daugh- 
 ter of a house as old, poor, proud, and tragic as his 
 own, he removed at her instigation to the more thor- 
 oughly Polish Cracow; and here he resided, not 
 without high scholarly honor and some worldly profit, 
 until her death an event which plunged him into 
 despair, a blow from which he could not recover. 
 With the infant daughter she had left him, he fled to 
 the ruinous house in Courland, into the heart of a 
 seclusion from which he never afterward emerged.
 
 6 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 From this forlorn retreat in that part of the country 
 least fertile and most thinly settled, supplied with 
 the most meager means, the Count Professor never- 
 theless managed to send forth from time to time those 
 philological and astronomical treatises which are now 
 international textbooks. His brilliant and original 
 essays, which seemed as it were powerful searchlights 
 piercing and illuminating hitherto unknown and 
 unguessed pathways, brought him the hearty friend- 
 ship of scientists everywhere ; and he counted among 
 his correspondents the great intellectuals of his gener- 
 ation. This quiet gentleman living in strict seclusion 
 in a barren corner of a Baltic province was no mean 
 citizen of the world. 
 
 The world would never suspect the personable 
 scholar of being other than he seemed. Yet Count 
 Florian knew he would have been entitled to free 
 lodgings in the Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul, or 
 even been given the decoration of the Order of the 
 Hempen Collar, if an opportune bullet had not found 
 its way to a Russian heart before a Russian tongue 
 could tell a certain tale, in that grisly year of murder 
 1906. He smiled crookedly whan he thought of that 
 affair, which had upon it the flavor of fatality, a savor 
 familiar to Slavic palates. For Czadowska himself 
 had missed that information by a hairbreath. Cza- 
 dowska, however, by that hound's flair of his which 
 made him the most deadly and dreaded of all Russian 
 secret police agents, seemed thenceforward to divine 
 that something or somebody was not altogether sound 
 in that corner. He developed a habit of appearing
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 7 
 
 there when least expected, as though fallen from the 
 sky or popped up from underground. The Junker 
 proprietors of the great estates seldom made trouble 
 for the Little Father, and they always welcomed 
 Czadowska, giving such information as they had which 
 might be useful to him. He did not like Germans any 
 more than he liked Letts, Poles, Esthonians, or Jews, 
 but he respected their power. Not one of them ever 
 mentioned to him Count Florian Zuleski, whom they 
 despised because, for all his learning, he did not seem 
 to have wit enough to get on in the world. 
 
 Smiling, well bred, smoothshaven, with dark hair, 
 a Russian nose, and eyes the color of young grapes, 
 Czadowska was possessed, apparently, of good nature 
 that was disarming. -Count Florian paid him the 
 tribute of a grim admiration, which Czadowska 
 returned in full measure. When Czadowska, after 
 adroitly questioning him, gave him an opening, the 
 count liked to enter into a discussion of the Lithuanian 
 language, whose root words he thought akin to San- 
 skrit. Or he would mention something he had read 
 in one of the many magazines and books and letters 
 which kept him in touch with the front ranks. Or 
 in his turn he questioned Czadowska, who was a very 
 well-informed man, about the newer Russian intel- 
 lectuals. Czadowska sensed in this easy questioning, 
 so different from his own, the strength of his adver- 
 sary, and the count's sureness of himself. There 
 might even be a touch of contempt in it, he reflected. 
 
 Count Florian was an excellent and enthusiastic 
 naturalist, to whom the wandering gipsies at times
 
 8 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 brought such uncommon things as they came across. 
 Should Monsieur Czadowska in the course of his 
 peregrinations through the Russias stumble upon 
 anything interesting in that line, would he be so kind 
 as to bear an isolated student in mind? To save his 
 life, Czadowska, who had a Russian 's very real respect 
 for learning, could not help being flattered by such 
 a request from such a man. He would be delighted 
 to keep the count in mind! He almost liked Count 
 Florian. Yet, because his sixth sense bade him be 
 on guard, he meant to keep a very watchful eye upon 
 the noble gentleman, who always bade him a polite 
 farewell, urged him to come again, and rather hoped 
 that before this ornament of Russian bureaucracy 
 could find his way back to Courland a bullet would 
 find its way to what passed for Czadowska 's heart. 
 
 And while Count Florian wrote and studied and 
 plotted and sowed dragons' teeth, the baby he had 
 brought with him into his tumble-down keep had noth- 
 ing to do but grow. She accomplished this as 
 naturally as any other wild flower does. She was 
 not interested in anything but being alive; in the 
 long games she played all by herself ; in the lonesome 
 country around her; and in trotting beside big 
 Wenceslaus, holding fast to one of his large fingers 
 with five of her small ones. 
 
 Wenceslaus bounded the child's whole horizon. 
 Whatever was to be done in that household, Wences- 
 laus did, except for the help a lumpish woman gave 
 in the kitchen. He had chosen this particular woman 
 because she was deaf and dumb, and one conversed
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 9 
 
 with her by means of uncouth signs, or with nudges. 
 Peasants who hear and talk do both. By taking in 
 this being to whom nobody else would give work, 
 Wenceslaus killed two birds with one stone : he pleased 
 God with his charity, and had for his pains a surly 
 deaf-mute who could neither spy nor betray. 
 
 The count never bothered his head about little 
 Marya Jadwiga, one way or the other. If any child 
 could have partly consoled him, it would have been 
 a son who could carry on the name which would 
 become extinct with himself. If he thought of the 
 little girl at all, in those early years of hers, it must 
 have been with something like bitterness and resent- 
 ment. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga was thus left entirely in charge of 
 Wenceslaus. Wenceslaus was the count's brother, 
 by the left hand. The count's father, a good-natured 
 man enough, had acknowledged his responsibility by 
 having the boy taught to read and write. Wenceslaus 
 was grateful. He was delighted with his noble father 
 when he looked around him and saw other people's 
 fathers. His pleasure in his father was not lessened 
 when his mother presently married an ill-natured 
 Lett, many years younger than herself. Wen- 
 ceslaus 's stepfather had the nobility related to him 
 by yet another left-handed tie, in the person of his 
 sister's child, Franciszka. He had been irate at the 
 advent of Franciszka, and chose to consider his sister 
 wronged, ignoring the patent fact that nobody can 
 be wronged who refuses to be right. In a house where 
 she was more than unwelcome, Franciszka, too, fell
 
 10 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 heir to a heritage of hate a hate all the more bitter 
 for that she was never quite free from hunger, that 
 the summers burned and the winters froze her, and 
 her coarse and scanty clothes covered but did not 
 grace her handsome person. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga first saw Franciszka when Wen- 
 ceslaus had to take the little girl with him on a visit 
 to his stepfather's house, during his old mother's 
 last illness. Franciszka was then a magnificent 
 creature, warmly dark, richly colored, intimately 
 feminine. She looked at the child clinging to Wen- 
 ceslaus's hand, and her large black eyes smoldered. 
 Both of the girls were the daughters of noblemen. 
 But Marya Jadwiga bore her father's name and lived 
 with him in his house. Poorly dressed, raised as 
 hardily as any peasant of them all, she was never- 
 theless a noblewoman, the Countess Zuleska, to whom 
 must presently be said, Gracious Lady. So the girl 
 who was nameless looked at the child whose name 
 was Zuleska, and suddenly and ferociously, with a 
 frightful jealousy, she hated her, with a hate made up 
 of envy and rage. But, being a sensible girl, she 
 showed her teeth in a smile instead of a snarl, and 
 the child, -who adored beauty, was delighted with 
 the glowing face. 
 
 "I love to look at you, Franciszka," she said 
 naively. "It is beautiful to see you smile. I wish I 
 looked like you instead of like our cat ! ' ' 
 
 "Why, it is so: you do look like the cat!" said 
 Franciszka, pleasedly, after a long stare at the heart-
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 11 
 
 shaped face with its delicate and sharp profile, its 
 gray-green eyes. ''But you do not have to care. 
 You are the count's daughter." She forgot the 
 ruined house, the bare larder, the fact that the count 's 
 daughter was unloved and unwelcome, except of one 
 most loving manservant. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga went right on growing. The birds 
 taught her to sing and to whistle like one of them- 
 selves. She had the unstudied grace of a young 
 animal. She danced as the flowers dance in the 
 breeze, as the shadows of trees dance upon moving 
 water. She had, as she had told Franciszka, the cat- 
 face, that fine, feline face that perpetuates the magic 
 of Egypt, with long and very slightly oblique eyes 
 under penciled black brows, features of exquisite 
 purity of outline, and a mouth gay, grave, beneficent, 
 and mocking. Against her skin of healthy pallor her 
 gray-green eyes had the effect of moonlight shimmer- 
 ing on snow, and her thick, straight black hair, which 
 made a clear line upon her forehead, was fine and 
 cloudy. Not beautiful, strictly speaking. But about 
 the young face was already that indefinable and 
 indescribable something which ensnares and enchants. 
 
 On the morning of Marya Jadwiga 's tenth birthday, 
 Count Florian, with Wenceslaus just behind him, 
 happened to pause by a window which looked down 
 upon the stone-flagged courtyard. There a slim and 
 elfin thing danced like a leaf in the "wind. Invol- 
 untarily the two men paused to watch; and the 
 father's eyes were less tender than the other two.
 
 12 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "Look at her, panie!" Wenceslaus spoke with pas- 
 sion. "She begins to grow up. Think of what she 
 has and what she should have ! ' ' 
 
 Marya Jadwiga had dropped her skirts, to fling her 
 arms above her head. She was movement, and grace, 
 and art, gay and glad and innocent, her small face 
 alight, her eyes like beryls. As though he saw his 
 child for the first time, her father started, leaned for- 
 ward, and stared with narrowed eyes. 
 
 "There is something to her!" said he, presently, 
 pinching his thin lips with his long yellow fingers. 
 "Her mother's mother was a witch-like woman 
 something like this child. She had only to look at 
 men, with her green eyes, and they were hers, her 
 slaves, if she chose. It is a terrible power, that. 
 Perhaps " 
 
 Wenceslaus made the sign of the cross. 
 
 "I should say, decidedly, there is something to 
 the child," said the count, brooding down upon her. 
 "A woman a beautiful, trained, fascinating woman 
 the most deadly of all weapons. Perhaps " 
 
 Wenceslaus saw the light that leaped to the master 's 
 eyes, and his own filled with fear. He spread out 
 his arms with a protesting and protecting gesture. 
 
 "She is a child, a little, young girl-child, panie!" 
 he whispered. 
 
 The count said nothing for a few moments. He 
 watched the dancing fairy figure. Then, "See that 
 my daughter comes to my study every day after this," 
 he said. "I must take her education in hand." And, 
 seeing Wenceslaus turn pale, he added, not unkindly :
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 13 
 
 "As you say, she begins to grow up. I think she 
 may grow beautiful; more than beautiful, of the 
 charm that takes and keeps. Also, we are much 
 too poor to send her away to a proper school. 
 Decidedly, then, I must take my daughter 's education 
 in hand!" 
 
 Brother looked into the eyes of brother. 
 
 "It is highly ironical," said the count, "that the 
 daughter of a Polish astronomer should not know her 
 native skies, that the child of a grammarian should 
 be ignorant of the subtleties of her native tongue. ' ' 
 
 "Panic!" 
 
 "To-morrow. At about ten, I think." The tone 
 was final. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga went to the library unwillingly. 
 That she sang and danced and knew folklore, and was 
 good and glad and healthy, she owed to Nature and 
 to Wenceslaus. She rebelled at more formal instruc- 
 tion, quick as was her native intelligence. Her 
 father saw that he must win her interest and confi- 
 dence, if he wished to mold her, and his methods were 
 peculiar to himself. One clear and calm night he 
 took the child to a large window, pointing to the sky 
 thick with stars. Planet by planet he named them. 
 
 "That large, bright star, up there, is where my 
 mother lives," she was moved to tell him. "I al- 
 ways watch for it; it shines right down on my bed, 
 as if it knew me. I know it sees me." 
 
 The husband of the lost wife winced. But he said 
 calmly : 
 
 ' ' It sees more than you, who are only one little girl.
 
 14 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 It sees Poland your mother's Poland our Po- 
 land enslaved and in chains. Once it saw Poland 
 free and great." 
 
 A shadow fell upon the child's sensitive face; her 
 lips quivered. The count laid his hand upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "We will not despair, my child. That day is com- 
 ing which will see the devourers devouring not us 
 but each other." With somber eyes he stared out 
 at the night. "We needed subtler weapons: and we 
 thought our long lances enough!" He turned then, 
 and looked down at the child strangely. "I who 
 have given so much," he asked himself, "shall 1 
 scruple to give all ? ' ' And he fell into a reverie. 
 
 Once, coming out of just such a reverie, he bade 
 Marya Jadwiga bring him a certain book, and began 
 to read, with great feeling, the "Nieboska Komedja" 
 of Sigismund Krasinski, the "Undivine Comedy" of 
 Poland. Marya Jadwiga was delighted with the swing 
 and the sweep of the words, which had the sharp, 
 bright kiss of sword blades flashing in and out of their 
 bitter, mocking mysticism. She was too young to 
 understand them, but the great sound of them pleased 
 her, and her face glowed. With a smile of satisfac- 
 tion her father laid the book aside. 
 
 "We will study languages, you and I," he decided. 
 And he drew up a list which looked so formidable 
 that the child cried in dismay. Immediately, smiling 
 at her, he began to recite "The Erl-King," in mag- 
 nificent German. Her tears ceased, and when he had 
 finished she clasped her hands. The little she had
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 15 
 
 heard had opened, as it were, a door through which 
 light began to stream. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I will learn." 
 
 ' ' Good ! And now open that little desk, over there 
 in the corner, and bring me what you find in the in- 
 side drawer. ' ' He handed her a small key. 
 
 'She found nothing in the inside drawer but an old, 
 old crucifix of most beautiful workmanship, in a 
 worn velvet case. 
 
 "Your mother " the count spoke with an effort 
 "pressed this to her lips as she lay dying. It was 
 on her breast in her coffin. I took it from her hands. ' ' 
 And while the child, deeply moved, watched him with 
 serious eyes, he said imperiously : 
 
 "Hold it up, in both your hands." 
 
 And, holding it up in both her hands, Marya Jad- 
 wiga repeated in her childish voice the words he bade 
 her say. She would never repeat or reveal what she 
 might see, hear, or learn in that house; never name 
 by name or recognize by sight certain of those who 
 came there unless they first gave her a sign that she 
 might do so. She was to hold her life in her fingers 
 for Poland. What she must do she would do, with- 
 out noise, always obeying orders. Poland's foes her 
 foes, Poland's friends her friends; brain, heart, soul, 
 life to death all these for Poland. Amen! 
 
 She sighed with relief when it was over and she 
 had replaced the old crucifix. Then her father took 
 her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, not 
 fatherly, but as one consecrated to his cause. 
 
 "You are the last of my name, of my blood," he
 
 16 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 said, with pride and pain. "You are to be my son 
 as well as my daughter." 
 
 Then he began to teach her the signs. Over and 
 over and over, until she was letter-perfect, he made 
 her repeat the almost imperceptible motions: she 
 would not fail to recognize and to answer. Every 
 day she went to the dusty, huge room, bare except for 
 books and desk. The immense fireplace had been 
 boarded up, and in winter the great room was heated 
 by a large iron stove. Over in a corner a narrow 
 wooden stairway led to a corner tower which, as it 
 happened to be almost intact, the count used for an 
 observatory. Here, in small tower and large library, 
 the little girl who was the last Zuleski was grilled 
 and grueled and taught in a manner that would have 
 made any modern teacher of girls collapse. In this 
 schoolroom the single pupil learned and digested and 
 accepted without asking too many questions ! 
 
 New, strange bits of knowledge were always 
 seeping into that library, which was a sort of hidden 
 reservoir into which, from all sorts of sources, vital 
 information trickled and settled. It did not come 
 openly: it came by devious routes and by the most 
 unlikely couriers and carriers. 
 
 Did a certain great power unobtrusively extend a 
 railway, build a strategic bridge, secretly test a new 
 gun, explosive, aircraft, submarine? Was there se- 
 cret foregathering with emissaries of another great 
 power? Was there a treaty or an understanding? 
 Did an order go forth from a war department, and 
 were there shifting of heads of departments, and
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 17 
 
 movements of men in consequence? Zuleski knew! 
 Bit by bit, detail by detail, information was gathered 
 and sifted ; maps and charts and plans were of so ter- 
 rifying an accuracy that his life and the lives of 
 certain others would not have been worth the thou- 
 sandth part of a pfennig or a copeck, if in certain 
 exalted quarters there had been an inkling that they 
 existed. He had to guard against this, and he did it 
 with unparalleled skill and ingenuity. He played his 
 game with the passion of a patriot and the cunning of 
 a madman. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga began to notice curious happenings. 
 For instance, consider "Wincenty the gipsy. 
 
 The gipsies had always been allowed to encamp 
 near the ruins of a small church on the old estate 
 a pleasant, peaceful, secret place, between low hills. 
 It was Marya Jadwiga 's own favorite haunt, and she 
 always hated to see the gipsies occupy it; they were 
 not too cleanly. Wincenty was perhaps the dullest- 
 faced and least romantic of his tribe, until he tucked 
 his old violin under his chin. Then "Wincenty the 
 gipsy was a musician of genius, as gipsies very often 
 are. 
 
 Yet it was not music which brought him to the 
 castle, nor that won the ear of Count Florian Zuleski, 
 as Marya Judwiga knew. One afternoon she herself 
 had led Wincenty to her father, who seemed to have 
 been expecting him with a certain impatience. When 
 the young girl closed the door upon the pair, they were 
 standing close together, talking in low voices, very 
 earnestly.
 
 18 TWO SHALL BE BOKN 
 
 Half an hour later, as mysteriously as he always 
 appeared, Czadowska came. He had brought some 
 chrysalids of the steppes, for which the count had ex- 
 pressed a desire. Wenceslaus, at the visitor's request, 
 conducted him to the library, Marya Jadwiga at his 
 heels ; for she too, wished to see the chrysalids. When 
 her father bade them enter, Wincenty the gipsy was 
 not in the room. 
 
 She was puzzled. The man had not gone up on the 
 roofs : why should he have done so ? Most certainly, 
 he had not come downstairs, or she would have seen 
 him : she had been sitting in the big lower hall, facing 
 the stairs. Yet, even as she reflected, the strains of 
 Wincenty 's violin came from the courtyard. The 
 gipsy played his wild airs so exquisitely, with such 
 fire and feeling, that Czadowska who, like many 
 scoundrels, was morbidly susceptible to music ran 
 to the window, clapped his hands, and threw the 
 fellow a coin. 
 
 Wincenty continued to come and go, mysteriously. 
 On one occasion Marya Jadwiga, opening the library 
 door, found him with her father, and saw the count 
 draw from his pocket a gold coin and offer it to the 
 gipsy. Wincenty of a sudden seemed to be quite 
 somebody else. He lifted his head, and with a stately 
 and proud gesture of reproach refused the gold. For 
 a moment the two stood, eye to eye. Then the count, 
 with his rare and beautiful smile, held out his hand, 
 which the gipsy seized and held to breast and fore- 
 head. Then he made a profound obeisance, and, with
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 19 
 
 shining eyes and a proud smile, withdrew. Count 
 Florian Zuleski flung out his arms. 
 
 ''Poland is not dead!" said he, in a thrilling whis- 
 per. "Poland is not dead!" 
 
 Of course Poland was not dead: Marya Jadwiga 
 knew that quite well. But what had Wincenty the 
 gipsy to do with it ? 
 
 Other visitors than Wincenty came and went, un- 
 heralded and unannounced, out of the night and no- 
 where, and into it again. It might be a Jew, a Lett, a 
 Eussian, a Pole; anything, too, from a priest to a 
 tinker. Thrice, of late, a yellow man had come, a 
 peddler, a small man with slanting black eyes and 
 purple-black hair. He had better wares and better 
 manners than others, and the country women 
 welcomed him gladly. To him, as to all others, Wen- 
 ceslaus showed an unmoved face. To all he gave food 
 in the name of God, and a rough, clean bed if the 
 guest were staying overnight; but he never had any 
 private conversation with any of them. He seemed, 
 rather, to avoid them; and he sedulously kept small 
 Marya Jadwiga out of the way. 
 
 Like all solitary children, she kept her thoughts 
 very much to herself, and she had been trained to ask 
 few questions. Nevertheless she was beginning to 
 feel a vague unease. She began to connect together 
 events small enough in themselves, but the cumulative 
 evidence of which added to her puzzlement. 
 
 For instance, a common, ordinary, plodding ped- 
 dler, a Little Russian known to all the countryside,
 
 20 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 would stop in the courtyard. From him the count 
 would perhaps buy a pair of shoestrings. The next 
 morning Marya Jadwiga would learn that new data 
 must be added to a map; or there would be a new 
 name, or place, or fact for her to remember. And 
 once when the gipsies had long been gone from their 
 quarters in the glen, Wincenty appeared and was 
 closeted with her father for an hour. He was gone 
 before daybreak. 
 
 That morning the count was more thoughtful than 
 usual. It was a rainy day, and the huge old wreck 
 of a house was full of grim shadows, of ghostly half- 
 lights. The corners in the big library were in a dusk 
 as of twilight. Marya Jadwiga sat near a window 
 with her book, studying quietly. Of a sudden her 
 father called her by name. With her book in her 
 hand, the child rose obediently. 
 
 Count Florian went to the window that overlooked 
 the courtyard. It was empty, the rain making puddles 
 on the broken flagstones. Then he went to the door, 
 and looked outside to assure himself that the halls, 
 too, were empty. Satisfied, he locked the door, placed 
 his big desk chair in front of it, and mounted the 
 chair. Now, all the door and window casings in the 
 larger rooms of that house were remarkable for their 
 quaint and elaborate carving ; and though much of it 
 was mutilated and hacked, that in the library was 
 almost intact. Above the doors, cut in venerable 
 black oak, appeared the Zuleski arms, and the top 
 and side casings were fantastically adorned with in- 
 tricate designs of birds, beasts, and flowers.
 
 THE HOUSE OF ZULESKI 21 
 
 Standing on his chair, Count Florian reached up a 
 long, thin arm and laid his hand upon the third grif- 
 fin from the top, on the right-hand side. It was a 
 gay little griffin, with spreading wings, curled tail, 
 and a forked tongue thrust out impudently. The man 
 laid a finger-tip in its open mouth. The little beast 
 began to turn around, revealing an opening large 
 enough to slip a hand into sideways, and quite large 
 and deep enough to hold a goodly number of papers. 
 
 Count Florian glanced down at little Marya Jad- 
 wiga, who stood looking up, with round eyes, at him 
 and his performing griffin. He touched the right 
 wing where it joined the shoulder. As soundlessly as 
 it had opened, the crevice closed. 
 
 "The third from the top, on the right-hand side. 
 Press twice on the tongue. When you wish to close 
 it, press twice on the right wing, where it joins the 
 shoulder," said the count. He added, smiling: "It 
 is very clever. So far it has been very safe. No out- 
 sider has ever known. You will remember ? ' ' 
 
 Marya Jadwiga knew she could never forget. 
 
 "An old house like this," said the count, still smil- 
 ing, "like an old man who has lived long and seen 
 much, has many secrets. Here is one which has saved 
 lives in its time." 
 
 He strolled over to the boarded-up fireplace, before 
 which stood the large iron stove. Around the mantel 
 the same scrollwork of birds and beasts frisked. 
 
 "Fifth griffin on the right," said the count. 
 "Now let me see how you remember." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga put her small finger into the little
 
 22 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 griffin's wooden mouth and pressed his tongue. One 
 wide, thick panel next to the fireplace moved, and 
 slowly turned as upon pivots. There was, so to say, 
 an open door. Beyond this lay utter blackness, and 
 from it came a cold, damp wind. 
 
 "There are several such exits and entrances," said 
 the count, casually. She knew then how "Wincenty 
 the gipsy had made his exit on that afternoon when 
 Czadowska appeared so suddenly. And it seemed to 
 her now that the little birds and griffins, even the 
 carved flowers, which she had once liked to play with 
 and laugh at, wore a sly and secretive look. She 
 vaguely sensed the approach of tragedy. Ah! what 
 shadow, darker than decay and ruin, brooded as with 
 wings over this old, old house?
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING his iron frame and 
 his indomitable spirit, "Wenceslaus was but 
 human, and subject to those ills that flesh 
 is heir to. In the late winter, rheumatism seized 
 upon and racked him. To have to lie idle when there 
 was so much to be done, and none but him to do it, 
 added to his sufferings. 
 
 The old man hugged to his breast a terror which he 
 concealed from Marya Jadwiga. For some time he 
 had known that the Last Conqueror was drawing 
 nearer Count Florian. The count would be sitting at 
 his desk, absorbed in his endless calculations ; or, may- 
 be, walking up and down, his head bent, pondering; 
 and of a sudden his face would contract, and his eyes 
 express an intense agony. Icy sweat trickled down 
 his cheeks, and around his pinched lips appeared blue 
 marks. The first time Wenceslaus had seen this he 
 had been just in time to save the master from a heavy 
 fall. Yet Count Florian had savagely refused to con- 
 sult a physician. He knew his own symptoms, he said. 
 Also, he peremptorily forbade Wenceslaus to mention 
 the matter to Marya Jadwiga or to him. Lying 
 there, Wenceslaus remembered this, and it tormented 
 him like a hair shirt on a scourged back. 
 
 23
 
 24 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 To make things worse, the deaf-and-dumb woman in 
 the kitchen fell and broke her hip so badly that she 
 was about to die. Wenceslaus was sorry for her, but 
 sorrier for his own household. He gnawed his 
 knuckles and all but fretted himself into his grave 
 from irritation at the brute stupidity of circumstance. 
 After dubious reflection he said to Marya Jadwiga, 
 grumpily : 
 
 "I shall soon be better. But our dumb woman is 
 going to die. As we can 't have her with us any more, 
 we shall have to look elsewhere for help. ' ' 
 
 "Yes. To whom shall I send?" she wondered. 
 
 He fell again to biting his hands. 
 
 "If Franciszka hadn't been such a fool as to go 
 away to America, we could send for her. She is 
 almost in our family. But she thought she would do 
 better in America. So we can't have Franciszka, just 
 when we need her. I '11 have to think." 
 
 Franciszka had really attained her heart's desire. 
 She had gone to America, that new country where 
 men and money were more plentiful. The village 
 priest, a simple, pious soul, had been induced to write 
 to some relatives of his who had emigrated, several 
 years before, to Pennsylvania, and to them Franciszka 
 had gone. The priest commended her to God, and 
 gave her some good advice and a few rubles. She 
 listened with a demure and downcast face. But the 
 rubles were welcome, and she received them willingly, 
 shrewdly suspecting that the priest's thin, yellow wife 
 knew nothing of this donation. She kissed the good 
 man's not too cleanly paw, with an air that drew
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 25 
 
 from that innocent a smile, a sigh, and eighty copecks, 
 the last of his secret hoard. All was grist that came 
 to Franciszka's mill; but the priest did not see that. 
 
 Men are always charitable in their judgment of 
 handsome young women. Wenceslaus was charitable, 
 like unto the priest. Both saw in Franciszka's in- 
 satiate selfishness only the natural craving of the 
 young and beautiful, the weakness of the pretty she- 
 thing toward which one is tenderly tolerant. Wences- 
 laus mourned, now, that the girl was not at hand to 
 be taken into the house in his need. 
 
 Instead there was sent him by the priest, to whom 
 he had applied, a big, fair woman, half Lett, half Rus- 
 sian. "Wenceslaus received her in a manner which 
 made her secretly hate him. She saw in him the slav- 
 ish adherent of two impoverished aristocrats; this 
 made him an enemy to herself. Josika, who could 
 read and write, and had spent her life with a revo- 
 lutionary brother, considered herself of the intelli- 
 gentsia ! 
 
 This brother was, like all Russians who think, at 
 once idealist and realist : one must always reach the 
 ideal through the real, the beyond through the here. 
 He saw himself and everybody else entangled in the 
 web of circumstance, and knew that from the begin- 
 ning all have been thus entangled ; but he also saw that 
 men may change circumstances and thus break the 
 web. History showed him that small minority which 
 has always toiled for liberty, for enlightenment; also 
 it showed him that these have generally ended their 
 lives on scaffolds, on racks, in dungeons, in exile ; and
 
 26 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 that men are grateful to their saviors only after hav- 
 ing destroyed them. He knew, yet he hoped. He 
 did not like or trust individual men; he loathed 
 women, of whom he spoke coarsely and with hate; 
 yet he risked exile and the noose, and he burned 
 with a white-hot revolutionary flame. He prayed 
 that prayer Turgenieff had said to be the one true 
 prayer: "0 God, do not let two and two make four!" 
 
 . . . And God will not let it make four. Yes! 
 There is a light in the sky somewhere. After a 
 while when the system of rotten government has 
 been pulled up by the roots and burned in the undying 
 fires men will be happy, have enough to eat, own the 
 land, play, think. "Know ye not ye are godsf" 
 Toward this new heaven, this new earth, one must 
 strain, bend all one's energies. For this idea, then, 
 Sergei labored and plotted, going up and down the 
 Bussias, among factories and farms, on docks, wher- 
 ever men labored; talking, distributing literature, 
 spreading the fire. He, too, was one of Florian 
 Zuleski's night visitors. But Josika did not know 
 that. 
 
 For years he had believed he did not believe in God. 
 But God is necessary to Russians. Sergei went back 
 to God via Tolstoy, whom at first he had hated. 
 Then, devouring the Scriptures, he was taught by 
 Revelations that the Second Coming was about due. 
 Where should the Redeemer appear save in Holy 
 Russia, where he was most needed? Sergei had also 
 learned that of the earth's seething millions only one 
 hundred and forty-four thousand are to be saved. He
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 27 
 
 bought a small atlas of the world, studied the va- 
 rious countries, and used to sit up all night propor- 
 tioning among them the one hundred and forty-four 
 thousand saved. In figuring Russia 's share, he ended 
 by being uncertain of any of his countrymen except 
 Count Florian Zuleski, who was not a Russian but a 
 Pole, and himself, who was only half Russian. Filled 
 with a gloomy and ferocious satisfaction, he looked 
 down upon others with the traditional attitude of the 
 saved toward the damned. When he got drunk, which 
 happened at times, he beat his sister Josika, bawling 
 at her hoarsely : 
 
 "All aristocrats, all the nobility, the children of 
 this world, are utterly damned; do you hear? The 
 rich in this life burn in hell forever. In order to save 
 them at all, we must destroy them; we must root up 
 the system which produces unfortunates doomed to 
 hell fire! When there are no more aristocrats, no 
 more rich, when all are equal, Christ will reign, the 
 devil will be chained, God will shut up hell, all will 
 be angels! Do you understand that, animal?" And 
 he banged her with his fists. 
 
 The woman did not share his views ; she thought it 
 stupid to be interested in events scheduled to occur 
 long after she had ceased to be alive. But she shared 
 his hatred of people who possessed more than she had. 
 She did not care whether or not they were punished 
 in the next world. She was perfectly willing to take 
 away from them what they had in this. 
 
 She had but lately come to this part of the coun- 
 try, accompanying her brother on one of his mysteri-
 
 28 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ous excursions. Nobody knew much about her, but 
 the peasants were sorry for her because she was so 
 alone, and Sergei was a sullen man. She had small, 
 clear-blue eyes, high cheek bones like a Tartar's, and 
 a smooth, fresh-colored face. Her teeth were sharp 
 and white, and she showed them in a perpetual half- 
 smile. She was willing to appear somewhat stupid. 
 Wenceslaus, who did not like her at all, watched her 
 with the look of one who expects to have to find fault. 
 But she was willing to work, she was strong as an 
 ox, she was not talkative ; and he admitted to himself 
 that he could not have done better, so far as that went. 
 
 The bareness of that big ruined house made Josika 
 marvel. She was inured to hardships ; but these were 
 gentlefolk. The count and his daughter ate black 
 bread and pickled cucumbers and boiled eggs, and 
 drank kvass, like peasants. There were no luxuries, 
 except an occasional fowl when there were visitors to 
 be fed. She and her brother fared better than this! 
 
 She asked herself many questions, puzzling this 
 thing out. Surely that old man, who made books, 
 who knew all the stars by their name, made enough 
 money at least to save himself and his daughter from 
 such privation! Then she recalled the gossip that 
 had buzzed about among the peasants when it was 
 known she was to come here she had heard it at the 
 priest's house that this old gentleman was a ma- 
 gician, a Znachar, that he was, too, a miser, who made 
 and hoarded gold. Surely, money, maybe a great 
 deal of money, must come to that house. And the 
 count never spent any of it, except the most incon-
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 29 
 
 siderable sums for their poor needs. If he received 
 money and never spent it, it remained in the house. 
 The old magician hid it. 
 
 Thinking this out, Josika's cupidity leaped into 
 flame. Suppose that one watched closely, and could 
 come upon even so much as one bag of the secret 
 hoard! Without being in the least like Franciszka 
 Josika was virtuous, as virtue is accredited to 
 women she yet wished to follow Franeiszka to Amer- 
 ica, where one received immense wages, wore clothes 
 like a noblewoman's, also a hat, a real hat, and ate 
 meat and white bread every day. But to elude Sergei 
 and get to America required money. The woman was 
 no fool. She could not ask 'Sergei for so much as a 
 copeck; for, like the fanatic he was, he would have 
 turned her inside out for the Cause. Josika saw a 
 chance to get the needed money here, in the count's 
 old house ; she determined to keep both her eyes and 
 her ears open, and to seize her chance when it came. 
 
 She had her full share of peasant suspicion. Even 
 if she failed to come by some of the gold she believed 
 the count acquired and hid, she thought she might be 
 able to discover other things. She knew those who 
 were always willing to pay well for certain sorts of 
 information. She was not deaf and dumb like her 
 predecessor, and even in the first days of her serv- 
 ice here she had found out that this was a strange old 
 house, a house full of odd noises and shadows and 
 whispers and footsteps; a house in which unaccount- 
 able things happened. 
 
 For the count she felt awe as well as curiosity. For
 
 30 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 his daughter her feelings were a mixture of astonish- 
 ment, envy, and an irritated sense of inferiority. The 
 girl was nai've and joyous, but possessed an innate 
 dignity which repelled familiarity and compelled re- 
 spect. The mind so carefully and curiously culti- 
 vated, the daily contact with such a man as Florian 
 Zuleski, showed itself in the open brow, the speaking 
 eye, the exquisite sensibility, and in the gentle re- 
 serve which shaded a nature as free and tameless as 
 the sea's self. 
 
 This, Josika felt without understanding. Marya 
 Jadwiga's delicate appeal found no response in her, 
 who had the contempt of all base natures for poverty. 
 The young girl's serene and innocent joyousness an- 
 gered her. What right had she to be happy in that 
 horrible wreck of a house, which Josika found so 
 frightfully dull ? There was nobody to see, nobody to 
 gossip with. Well! It was pleasant to think that 
 the girl would wither and die here in poverty and 
 obscurity, pleasant and just, while she, Josika, 
 would escape to the larger life of the New World, and 
 live there in happiness and riches. 
 
 On a fine morning Josika being busy with the 
 making of black bread, Wenceslaus asleep after a bad 
 night, and the count, as usual, immured in his study 
 Marya Jadwiga was out of doors feeding her fowls, 
 tfhich squawked and cackled and clucked and screamed 
 about her feet, the gray geese stretching out their 
 long necks, the ducks shaking their heads and tails 
 and watching her with their intelligent little eyes.
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 31 
 
 Her cat Vasily sat on the stone wall, washing his 
 face. Whenever she spoke, he would pause, with an 
 uplifted red paw, and blink his topaz eyes. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga wore a threadbare blue dress, and 
 on her slim feet were shoes too large for them. The 
 thick braids of her black hair were hidden under the 
 white kerchief shielding her face, her sleeves were 
 rolled to her elbows, and she carried in her faded red 
 apron the grain she was flinging to her noisy, scram- 
 bling flock. Under the coarse kerchief sparkled the 
 April eyes of youth; the red lips curved in lovely 
 laughter, and the faded blue frock could not conceal 
 the virginal grace of her slim and shapely body. Be- 
 hind her the great old house stretched like a half- 
 embracing arm, steeped in sunlight. One saw blue 
 haze in the distance, and a black line of forest, and far 
 to the left was the outline of the village, beyond green 
 fields of rye. The good odor of baking bread came 
 from the kitchen. Overhead, the clouds were like 
 white curds piled in a deep blue bowl. Like an ex- 
 quisitely tuned instrument Marya Jadwiga responded 
 to the beauty of the day. Under her breath she 
 hummed an old, old air. There she stood in the full 
 bright sunlight, steeped in it, outlined by it, a part 
 of it. And the big blond baron who rode into the 
 courtyard on his big bay horse drew rein, and sat 
 there looking down at her. 
 
 She had seen Teuton overlords before ; most of the 
 larger proprietors were Germans hard, stout, pink 
 persons whose very efficiency and force made them un- 
 lovely and unlovable. Lett and Pole knew over well
 
 32 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the Kulturtrager, the Bearer of Civilization! But 
 Marya Jadwiga had never before seen one like this. 
 There was in his air, in his whole bearing, that calm, 
 unhurried ease and sureness which sits so superbly 
 upon those who for generations have had their wishes 
 deferred to and their commands obeyed. And he wore 
 as a garment a magnificent air of dazzling romance, 
 which belongs only to a really blond man in the flower 
 of his age, when the dew of his youth is upon him. 
 
 Little Marya Jadwiga looked up at this superman, 
 and he looked down at her, his large blue eyes spark- 
 ling in his ruddy face, the sun glittering upon his 
 gold hair and beard. The fairest and lordliest of all 
 the blond and pagan gods of the North was never a 
 whit fairer nor lordlier than Karl Otto Johann von 
 Rittenheim. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga bowed with a quaint and naive re- 
 spect, her green eyes widening with innocent admira- 
 tion. He was the first beautiful and young male 
 creature she had ever seen. He saw the impression 
 he had made, and the little thing's simplicity pleased 
 him. He leaned forward. 
 
 "King's daughter," said the blond baron, "has the 
 wicked stepmother set you to minding the geese, and 
 shall I cut off her head for you? You have only to 
 command! Or you are, perhaps, the Fairy of the 
 Hills, amusing your small ladyship playing at being 
 a mortal?" 
 
 "I have no stepmother. These are my own geese, 
 and I feed them because one must, and also because 
 I love them. And I am not the Fairy of the Hills."
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 33 
 
 She spoke regretfully, as he noted with amusement. 
 She had a sweet, sedate voice, with a deep-throated 
 and low note in it, and the purity of her accent 
 struck him. He had a fastidious ear. 
 
 "No? You are, then, a mortal? Consider me, an- 
 other mortal ! I have been riding across this accursed 
 country since daybreak: nothing to eat, nothing to 
 drink, nothing to see! Take pity upon me, Mistress 
 Mind-the-Geese ! I am dog-tired, the Baron von 
 Kosen 's house is ten terrible miles away ; my horse is 
 dog-tired, too. May one secure here a meal and a 
 halting-place in the wilderness?" 
 
 The young girl made another quaint courtesy, ex- 
 pressive of acquiescence. To find proper food for 
 such a guest was no easy matter, with Wenceslaus laid 
 up. But she knew she must rise to the occasion, bear 
 the full brunt of the hospitality fallen upon her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 Von Eittenheim, leading his horse, walked beside 
 her across the wide courtyard. He caught the straight 
 glance of shimmering gray-green eyes under the dis- 
 guising head-kerchief, noted the slim, straight body in 
 the country clothes, and wondered somewhat. Coun- 
 try girls have sturdier frames, broader shoulders and 
 hips, heavier and rosier faces and, most assuredly, 
 thicker ankles. This one's ankles were of superfine 
 slinmess. This one had the grace of a child, the eyes 
 of a witch. She was unusual, and the unusual al- 
 ways attracted him. He had the trained Teutonic 
 eyes, and he used them. 
 
 "I am not mistaken Count Florian Zuleski lives
 
 34 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 here, does he not? And alone? I have not been 
 misdirected?" 
 
 "Wenceslaus and I live here with him." 
 
 "Wenceslaus? That will be the overseer, nu?" 
 
 She bowed, but made no attempt to define Wences- 
 laus's status. 
 
 "You, with two old men! In this rat-hole ! Him- 
 mel! what a place for a girl like you!" 
 
 " It is a very good place. ' ' She looked at him with 
 a genuine surprise that he should question it. "It is 
 home," she added, with a hint of reproof. 
 
 This faint reproof, to him of all men, from such a 
 source for such a cause, touched a certain irony innate 
 in him. He showed his fine teeth in a smile. He said 
 meditatively : 
 
 "As you see, my horse shows symptoms of going 
 lame, and must rest. I shall probably have to ask 
 hospitality for a day or two. That would not in- 
 convenience you?" 
 
 "Our house is the gentleman's while he chooses to 
 remain with us, ' ' said Marya Jadwiga, with grave po- 
 liteness, and without surprise. But inwardly she 
 quaked. There must be slaughter among her fowls, a 
 thing she hated; thank Heaven, the larder contained 
 half a cheese, and some white bread! A frown of 
 housewifely care puckered her forehead, and she 
 caught her under lip in her teeth, pondering. Her 
 eyes seemed full of brooding mystery ; she was wonder- 
 ing how she should feed him. But she was quite ador- 
 able. And he felt tired. He had been so unutterably 
 bored.
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 35 
 
 "The count, one hears, is immersed in studying 
 stars, when he is not engaged in digging Lithuanian 
 roots. What, in Heaven 's name, does he find to amuse 
 him, how does he kill time here, when he is busy 
 with neither stars nor root words; may one ask?" 
 the baron wondered, almost too impersonally. 
 
 "He sleeps," said the young girl, succinctly. 
 
 "Star-gazing and root-digging must be tremen- 
 dously absorbing when such a man as Zuleski buries 
 himself alive in this hole, in order to pursue them 
 uninterruptedly," mused the baron to himself. But 
 aloud he said, with sudden punctiliousness : 
 
 "Explain to the count that Baron von Rittenheim 
 desires to express in person his consideration and 
 respect. ' ' 
 
 "I shall be pleased to announce to Count Zuleski 
 that he is so fortunate as to have for his guest the noble 
 Baron von Rittenheim." The noble baron stared. 
 A girl with a peasant 's kerchief on her head, a goose- 
 girl, speaking with such demure politeness! Ach! 
 
 'She ushered him into a huge central hall, bowed, 
 and left him. An enormous fireplace above which was 
 sculptured the Zuleski arms, a pair of heavy oak 
 settles, a rusty suit of medieval armor of fine lines, 
 a few old lances, a huge armoire, heavily carved, in- 
 describably battered and with some of the forged iron 
 clamps wrenched off, remained to show how noble 
 this stripped and desolate place must once have been. 
 
 The luxury-loving blond sybarite, used to palatial 
 rooms, flung himself upon a hard settle and stared 
 about him with wonder. He could, when he had to,
 
 36 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 fare like a Spartan; but he disliked it on principle. 
 And this was the abode of Florian Zuleski! 
 
 "Herr Gott!" he grumbled. "What a devil's hole 
 to send a man into, possibly to find nothing after all ! 
 But it is true they 're all ingrates and devils, these 
 Letts and Poles. Perhaps it really might be just as 
 well to have an eye on this stargazer! Unless he is 
 stark mad, why should Zuleski choose to remain in this 
 abomination of desolation?" 
 
 While he sat there twisting his mustache, a door 
 cautiously opened, and a fresh-colored face, with small 
 blue eyes and a fixed smile, showed itself. The woman 
 Josika laid a finger to her lips, and regarded him ques- 
 tioningly. He raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "So?" said he, softly. 
 
 She advanced noiselessly. 
 
 "Nothing much, Highborn," said she, in a whisper, 
 "except that there have been secret meetings at the 
 priest 's house. His wife watches for them. They are 
 haters of barons, in the priest's house. He is a Slavo- 
 phile. More I do not know yet. But I give you the 
 names of those that meet there. Also two mani- 
 festos." 
 
 "And here?" 
 
 She pondered a moment. 
 
 "That old man upstairs is a devil, Highborn. He 
 never sleeps. He is awake always. And I have 
 seen shadows come and go, in the night." 
 
 "Ah! You have seen shadows come and go, in the 
 night. Whose shadows? What shadows? Many 
 shadows come and go in the night."
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 37 
 
 "I could find out nothing. But I will watch." 
 
 " It may be worth while. In the meantime " In 
 return for what she had given him she received some 
 coins. Not too many. 
 
 "The people in this house?" 
 
 "There is Wenceslaus. He is good, but a fool." 
 Josika bit upon the word "fool." "And the count, 
 who is shut up all day in his own rooms. That library 
 of his is one pig 's litter of papers. He will not allow 
 that you should touch with the tip of your finger 
 so much as one paper ! All night he is in that little 
 tower. Why does he live like this, like a bad man, a 
 Znachar, if he is good?" 
 
 "Nitchevo!" said the baron, shortly. He would 
 find out what he could find out from whatsoever 
 source it might be, but it irked him to discuss a man 
 of his own class with a peasant. "The other serv- 
 ants?" 
 
 ' ' There are no other servants. ' ' 
 
 "That girl who feeds the poultry? What of 
 her?" 
 
 "I saw you ride up, and I saw you speaking with 
 her." Under her lowered lids her eyes sparkled, and 
 she smiled maliciously. "But that is not a servant 
 in this house, Highborn." For the life of her she 
 could not refrain from asking, "Is it possible you 
 thought her a servant ? ' ' 
 
 "No?" He looked blank. "Who is she, then? 
 She is such a child It is not possible that this old 
 man " Instinctively he recoiled. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" Josika appeared to be horrified.
 
 38 
 
 But she was secretly delighted. She had not dared 
 hope for anything so good as this! 
 
 ""Well, in the devil's name, who and what is she, 
 then ? ' ' asked he, angrily. 
 
 "She is the Countess Marya Jadwiga Zuleska, 
 Count Florian's daughter," said Josika, ever so 
 gently and respectfully. For one of these aristocrats 
 to make such a mistake about another ! She lowered 
 her eyes to hide the gleam in them. She would take 
 this German's money, just as she would take money 
 from a Russian, from anybody who would pay for such 
 information as she had to sell. But that did not 
 make her like him any better. She would have sold 
 the baron himself to the hangman for a handful of 
 silver. The breed of Judas has daughters as well as 
 sons. 
 
 The baron whistled to himself, softly. 
 
 "Ankles," said he, oracularly, after a pause, "are 
 really an almost infallible test." He added gravely, 
 ' ' It pleased her little ladyship to disguise herself this 
 morning. ' ' 
 
 "No, Baron. She has never worn any other 
 sort of clothes. She has none to wear, ' ' said Josika, 
 with deadly respect. 
 
 "His daughter!" muttered the baron. "I remem- 
 ber now there was mention of a daughter. But I took 
 it for granted she was away at school. Surely he can 
 afford that! He must make some money." 
 
 "There is never, never any money here," 
 Josika put in hastily. She felt he was poach-
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 39 
 
 ing on her particular preserves now, and she resented 
 it. 
 
 "Nitchevo!" said he, and motioned her to retire. 
 
 Wenceslaus received with groans bordering on 
 curses the news that they had the baron as a guest. 
 But the count took it so casually that one might have 
 supposed he expected this fine gentleman to put in an 
 appearance. For a moment his pinched face bright- 
 ened, his veiled eyes gleamed. 
 
 "Put him in the west chamber; give him the best 
 we can muster," said the count, hospitably. And he 
 added, rubbing his long yellow hands: "To-day we 
 bear with them, while they devour us. To-morrow 
 they devour each other." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga said nothing. She had heard that 
 cannibalistic prophecy before. He asked, looking at 
 her shrewdly : 
 
 "What is he like, this overlord?" 
 
 " He is beautiful. Very, very beautiful. But I am 
 afraid he will eat a great deal. However, I think 
 I can manage to feed him." 
 
 ' ' This baron is our guest, and you are my daughter. 
 You are a bit young to do the honors of our house " 
 the count smiled at that "but you will do your 
 best. As a mark of respect to the baron you will 
 speak German. Not too well, remember, not too well, 
 but well enough to enable him to help you to speak it 
 better later. You comprehend?" 
 
 She did not comprehend at all.
 
 40 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ''But you said I spoke German perfectly!" she pro- 
 tested. 
 
 "What is the first thing I taught you?" he asked 
 sternly. 
 
 "To obey, without questioning." 
 
 "For Poland," said the fanatic. "Very well. To- 
 day you will take your place as the mistress of this 
 house, as my daughter, the Countess Marya Jadwiga 
 Zuleska. Now you may go. ' ' 
 
 She left him, to attend to her household duties, 
 while the count, with his exquisite politeness, wel- 
 comed his guest and conducted him to that library 
 workroom of which Josika had complained that it 
 was all one pig's litter of paper. He had been very 
 busy with certain calculations, and his desk, and the 
 floor around it, overflowed. The guest wondered if 
 there were anything worth sifting in this vast mass, 
 and reflected that it would take a corps of trained 
 clerks to go through it. 
 
 Everything about this house astonished the baron. 
 Philologists, astronomers, writers of textbooks, even 
 those of international renown, are not necessarily 
 wealthy men. But neither are they poverty-stricken. 
 They do not live in obscure seclusion, nor are their 
 daughters dressed like hen-wives. Zuleski must re- 
 ceive fair royalties on his textbooks, and one might 
 suppose that his occasional essays and articles in lead- 
 ing scientific publications paid him very well. He re- 
 ceived money. What, then, did he do with it? He 
 did not apply it to his household ! Was there some- 
 thing going on under the surface? Something had
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 41 
 
 induced headquarters to send such a man as himself, 
 von Kittenheim, to this out-of-the-way hole to get in 
 touch with Zuleski and report the result. Yet what 
 if the whole thing should prove a will-o'-the-wisp? 
 
 At the midday meal, which was much better than he 
 had expected, he again met Marya Jadwiga, grave and 
 sweet, and very desirable, for all her coarse, plain 
 frock. The meal was made memorable to him by the 
 young girl's beauty and the old man's wisdom, a wis- 
 dom which made the clever German marvel again 
 that such a man should live in such a place and man- 
 ner. To add to his pleasure the girl presently spoke, 
 in timid German. The baron missed the count's 
 intense watchfulness ; but he was charmed to assist her 
 faltering speech, and his heart warmed to her. 
 
 She saw that her father was pleased with her be- 
 cause the baron was pleased with her. He wished, 
 then, that this passing stranger should approve of her ? 
 Why? That "Why?" was, of late, always looming 
 before her. Her natural and innate truthfulness re- 
 coiled at the bare shadow of deceit. She had not 
 been acting when she faltered in her German: she 
 had been, instead, troubled and confused. What part 
 did her father wish her to play? What plan was 
 mapped out in advance for her? Why, why, 
 why? 
 
 She wished with all her heart that this big, beauti- 
 ful young man who was looking at her pleasedly with 
 his large blue eyes, had not come. Why should he 
 come, and why should he wish to stay ? Why had he 
 said his horse was about to go lame ? There was noth-
 
 42 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ing at all the matter with his horse. He must know 
 she knew that. His horse was more than able to carry 
 him a hundred miles without going lame, to say noth- 
 ing of the ten that lay between her home and the von 
 Kosen estate, where he was, he said, expected. She 
 wished he were there now. That was where he be- 
 longed, not here in this bare old house, talking with 
 her father upstairs in the library, and bringing sad 
 perplexity to herself. 
 
 That night the outside world was like silver, under 
 the white, enchanted moon of spring. It was a night 
 of white magic, of glamourie, a night for fairies to 
 dance in. It called and called to Marya Jadwiga, 
 tired of the stealthy old house, tired of the mystery and 
 shadow of deceit, rebellious of an atmosphere in which 
 her youth stifled. Soundlessly she slipped outdoors 
 and away, running swift-footed for the gipsies' glen, 
 that green hollow between friendly dunes. The new 
 green grass had crept out and covered the scars of 
 camp fires. It made a soft carpet for small bare 
 feet to dance on. She knew to the core of her heart 
 just how that lovely, lonesome place looked, as 
 though it waited for her, and how through the sway- 
 ing trees the moon peeped in and out, a silver witch ; 
 and how the soft, insistent voice of running water 
 babbled endlessly to the listening night. The night 
 entered her blood as she ran, and the inherent tame- 
 lessness of her surged to meet it. The first white 
 flowers of the spring nodded to the moon; the first 
 white moths drifted by on soundless wings. She 
 paused a moment to shake her black hair free, and
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 43 
 
 was after them, silver-footed. She did not wish to 
 catch them, even to touch them; she wished to play 
 with them. They, too, were a part of the night, free 
 children of it, even as she was. 
 
 "Let us play together like little sisters, moths. 
 Don't fly from me: I 'm only Marya Jadwiga!" 
 she cried, bounding forward. Her eyes lit up ; they 
 were full of a bright and phosphorescent light, like the 
 eyes of things of the forest. She belonged to the 
 moonlight. Her slim body was argent. Up there 
 in the sky was the Witch Lady, the Moon Maid, big, 
 enigmatic, beautiful, like a lovely, lonely thought in a 
 vast brain. 
 
 "I love you, Moon, I love you!" cried the young 
 girl, flinging up her arms. "You are alive; I know 
 you are alive. I know you know me. I am Marya 
 Jadwiga, Moon." 
 
 When she reached her glen she sat down beside the 
 running water and made herself a garland of green 
 leaves, and twined it about her shoulders, and upon 
 her head. When she thrust her bare feet into the icy 
 current she shrieked with laughter at its touch. 
 
 ' ' What cold fingers you have, Brook ! ' ' she laughed. 
 "You are very sly, but I know more than you think I 
 do : I know you are only water in the daylight, when 
 the sun sees you; but at night you are a girl, and 
 alive. I like the way you sing, Water. I can sing, 
 too. I am going to sing with you. You will like 
 that. I am Marya Jadwiga, Water." She sent her 
 wild voice flying over the tree-tops, and kept it there, 
 and then let it flutter and sink and sink, down and
 
 44 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 down, until it rested upon the bosom of the water, 
 and flowed into its running music and died away upon 
 it. 
 
 It was not the first time Marya Jadwiga had run 
 away in the night, and had come alive with the soul 
 of things under the moon and felt herself one with 
 them. In her glen were two straight trees, growing 
 somewhat close together, with low, swaying branches 
 bending down. She knew how to run, leap swiftly, 
 catch a branch with both hands, hang swaying for 
 a turbulent, delicious moment, and then let go to 
 fly arrow-straight for the next tree's farthest limb. It 
 was like having wings and flying above the earth. 
 She swung, alighting with joyous laughter. 
 
 Back in the castle the night came in through the 
 baron's curtainless, shutterless windows and filled 
 his bare room with disturbing radiance. Unable to 
 sleep, he lay with his arms clasped under his golden 
 head and thought about this old, old tragic house 
 and its inmates. "Was the fact that Zuleski had said 
 he wished his daughter to speak German a finger 
 post, as it were, to show toward which side his secret 
 inclinations leaned? That side had very much to 
 offer him more than the other side had. But she 
 spoke Russian, too. One wondered! What a curi- 
 ously appealing little mortal it was, that girl! The 
 eyes of her, how alluring, how mysterious. But 
 dressed like a peasant feeding geese with a 
 handkerchief on her head. Good heavens ! Zuleski 's 
 daughter !
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 45 
 
 And then he thought he heard a sound, a bit far 
 off, faint, like a fairy echo, shrill and sweet. He 
 lay still, listening. And it was really a sound, a 
 voice, wild and haunting. Sitting up in his bed, op- 
 posite an open window, he could see green rye-fields, 
 and beyond them low dunes and the black sweep of 
 forest against the sky. He could see, nearer at hand, 
 the brown pathway that led from the old house, and 
 wound and wound until it lost itself in the distance. 
 Something was moving on that pathway. He slipped 
 out of bed and stole to the window, cautiously, keep- 
 ing himself hidden while he should see what he 
 should see. 
 
 The moving something upon the path came into 
 nearer and clearer view a girl, a very young girl, 
 in some sort of loose white garment. He could see, 
 too, that about her shoulders and waist was a garland 
 of twisted leaves, and how her little naked feet flut- 
 tered like doves on the brown earth as she danced. 
 She flung her slender arms above her head, and swayed 
 as a birch-tree on a hillside sways to a passing wind, 
 and her black hair was a living thing that danced 
 with her. She skimmed swallow-like, and swooped, 
 and floated free, her arms outspread like wings, as 
 though the Angel of the Birds had taught her. There 
 was something secret and unhuman and immortally 
 young and beautiful about her in that hour and place, 
 and in her wild and joyous freedom. So the chil- 
 dren of the gods danced when the world was young. 
 She snatched a great cluster of pale spring blossoms
 
 46 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 and new leaves from her breast, and flung them into 
 the air, caught them as they fell about her, and 
 tossed them into the air again. Primavera! 
 
 The young man flattened in the deep casement, still 
 as in a trance, hung, absorbed, upon her every move- 
 ment. Her low voice like the sigh of the night wind 
 stirred an intolerably sweet echo in him. It seemed to 
 him that he was looking at Spring herself, the shy 
 young secret Spring of the North, dancing down a 
 magic moon-path to the world. His soul of a German 
 and a pagan bowed itself before those flying feet. 
 
 She paused, and stood regarding the huge black 
 bulk of the house as though loath to enter prisoning 
 walls. He could see her red mouth, her ivory cheeks 
 framed in ebony hair, the still shining of her luminous 
 eyes. There crept into his dazzled mind the loveliest 
 of all Baudelaire's brainsick songs: 
 
 The Moon, who is caprice itself, looked upon you asleep in 
 your cradle, and said in her heart, This is a child after my 
 own soul. . . . 
 
 And gliding down the silver stairway of the clouds, she . . . 
 laid her colors upon your face. That is why your eyes are 
 green and your cheeks ivory pale. It was when you looked at 
 her that your pupils widened so mysteriously. . . . 
 
 The Moon said, My kiss shall be upon you forever. You 
 shall be beautiful as I am beautiful. You shall love that 
 which I love and that by which I am loved, water and clouds, 
 night and silence; . . . the place where you shall never be, 
 the lover you shall never know . . . 
 
 That is why ... I lie at your feet . . . seeking ... to 
 discover in you the image of the fateful goddess . . .
 
 THE MOON'S GODCHILD 47 
 
 The wild words went dancing, nimble-footed, 
 through his brain. He felt that he, too, was of the 
 moonstruck of the world, and the thought roused in 
 him a sweet madness. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga dropped the last of her blossoms, 
 and stretched out her arms in a vague and wistful ges- 
 ture of farewell to something out there in the night; 
 something immense, vital, fateful, known to her, and 
 of which she was beloved. Her young bosom, ten- 
 der as the breasts of the Spring, rose and fell to a 
 sighing breath. Then her arms fell, her head drooped. 
 For a moment she stood, the fallen white flowers no 
 whiter than her small feet upon them. Like a 
 breath, a dream, a vision, she was gone. 
 
 He, too, drew a long and sighing breath, partly of 
 rapture, partly of relief, as one stirred to the depths 
 by the wind of the passing of a thing perilous and 
 unearthly sweet. He had been snatched for a space 
 out of his ordinary life and emotions: he had heard 
 the pipe of Pan and seen a hamadryad dance to it: 
 and the wind that stirred his hair was the wind of a 
 world long vanished, of a time foregone. And he had 
 a prescience that not even so wise a child of the world 
 as Karl Otto Johann von Eittenheim might without 
 peril lean from a castle casement under the midnight 
 moon and look with mortal eyes upon the uncovered 
 beauty of immortal Spring.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 
 
 COUNT FLORIAN ZULESKI'S once san- 
 guine complexion was now of that wax-like 
 pallor which marks the man who spends his 
 days and nights in sedentary and intellectual labor. 
 Two vertical lines, so deep that they seemed cut into 
 the bones of his high forehead, appeared between 
 eyes which were long, set wide apart, and of a lu- 
 minous blue gray. His aquiline features were no- 
 ticeably aristocratic, the expression of his counte- 
 nance meditative and ironical, and the slightly mock- 
 ing smile which at times appeared upon his thin lips 
 was unexpectedly sweet. He wore his great attain- 
 ments modestly, his poverty nobly. He had mathe- 
 matical genius, a masterly sense of order, the power 
 of realism, and an uncanny foresight. With a sort 
 of inspired and cold precision he concentrated his 
 powers and applied mathematical formulas to revolu- 
 tionary activities, to ethics, to ideas, and to men. 
 An aristocrat, a democrat, a genius, and a fanatic, 
 impenetrable, of an exquisite politeness such was the 
 man Rittenheim had been sent to test and to fathom. 
 The German had been carefully trained by past 
 masters of statecraft and diplomacy. Capable, dis- 
 
 48
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 49 
 
 passionate, a keen and usually correct judge of men 
 and motives, he was not easily overreached. Not for 
 nothing did those higher up regard him with favoring 
 eyes! He had in a measure that sixth sense which 
 some super-trained men manage to acquire, and some 
 fewer and far more dangerous men men like, say, 
 Czadowska and Zuleski are born with. He felt that 
 there must be something more here than appeared on 
 the surface. Yes: but what? Could Zuleski, prop- 
 erly stimulated and manipulated, be turned into a 
 well-concealed and very deadly Bear-trap ? The mak- 
 ing of highly effective Bear-traps was the baron's 
 specialty. 
 
 He had an almost religious respect for the error- 
 less intelligence of those higher up, who by some mar- 
 vel seemed to know when and where to look for the 
 tempered weapons they needed; also, just when and 
 how to break or blunt such as might become dangerous 
 to themselves. That they regarded Plorian Zuleski 
 as some such possible weapon made it imperative that 
 he should discover just how pliant or unbendable he 
 might be, for or against. If not a friend to the Black 
 Eagle, then a foe to the Bear. It was not possible 
 that a Zuleski could find it in his heart to betray the 
 blood and befriend the Bear ! 
 
 How deep, though, might that lack of love be? 
 The passive absence of love does not necessarily imply 
 the active presence of hate. But it makes room for 
 it. A man must be for or against. Only God and 
 angels may be spectators of and not actors in the 
 drama of man. Whoever is truly human must play
 
 50 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 his part and pay or be paid for the playing. Zuleski 
 was not of the angels. 
 
 On the second morning the baron paid a visit to 
 "Wenceslaus out of sheer kindness of heart, of course. 
 He agreed with one part of Josika's appraisement: 
 the old man was irredeemably good. As to the stupid- 
 ity she ascribed to him, if simple faith and pure love 
 make for stupidity, Wenceslaus was hopeless. The 
 baron looked at the ikon of the Virgin, before which 
 a small red light burned, at the crucifix worn thin 
 from the pressure of praying lips, and dismissed 
 Wenceslaus from his calculations. 
 
 Toward noon appeared a swarthy gipsy, bringing 
 a bundle of roots and herbs tied with wisps of straw. 
 Zuleski laid them on his desk, and paid the fellow a 
 small coin, while from force of habit Rittenheim 
 looked the man over vilely clothed, dusty, dull- 
 faced. The gipsy fumbled in his clothes and pro- 
 duced from a knotted corner of a square of brownish 
 linen an old coin for which he had traded another 
 gipsy a knife. It had been found, he believed, in 
 Serbia. Would the Wellborn graciously advise him 
 if it was worth anything, and how much ? The Well- 
 born examined it, told its probable value, and dis- 
 missed him, with an order to stop in the kitchen for 
 a glass of beer and some bread and cheese. Then 
 he turned to his guest, who was not much interested, 
 and said, his face becoming animated: 
 
 "I have been indebted to these fellows for some 
 rather rare plants and insects. And I am tremen- 
 dously interested in their language." And he began
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 51 
 
 to speak of that singular race whose known history is 
 so tragic and so wild, and whose real origin and name 
 remain a matter of dispute among scholars. Zuleski 
 had his own opinion of both, and the German listened 
 with a cultivated man's attention, and lost interest in 
 a particular gipsy, in a larger concern with the Zig- 
 euner as a people. 
 
 After a while he strolled out into the courtyard 
 where Marya Jadwiga sat with her big yellow cat 
 Vasily across her knees. He looked into her gray- 
 green eyes, and, child's eyes though they were, they 
 had power to stir in him something no other eyes had 
 been able to awaken. This astonished him, but not 
 unpleasantly. 
 
 His imagination played with the thought of what 
 she would be a few years hence, and his pulse quick- 
 ened. She would be one in ten thousand, one of those 
 vital and glamorous women such as they who are en- 
 shrined and enskied in old songs and older stories, 
 women who still have power to stir the hearts of men 
 though their own hearts be long since gone to dust. 
 This little Marya Jadwiga in her peasant's dress was 
 of the seed of the children of fate. 
 
 He would never willingly lose track of her. He 
 must see her from time to time, watch the lovely mira- 
 cle of her unfolding. He did not as a rule like the 
 jejune, and the acridity of the unripe had no charm 
 for him. But this girl held a nameless fascination, 
 stirred his imagination dangerously. In a few years 
 Here the baron brought his fancy up with a jerk, 
 smiling at himself half scornfully. She was what
 
 52 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 she was, and what she would be. But always lie was 
 Karl Otto Johann, Baron von Rittenheim, squire of 
 noble dames, related by blood to the great houses of 
 two empires. 
 
 Nevertheless Marya Jadwiga stayed in his mind 
 with amazing tenacity, and her green eyes perturbed 
 him profoundly. Perhaps she appealed to him so 
 potently because of her isolation, he reflected. And 
 he thought of the three von Rosen girls, who chattered 
 French, wore Paris frocks, and played American rag- 
 time with great verve. He wondered what Margarete, 
 the prettiest and haughtiest, would think of Marya 
 Jadwiga. At that, ironical laughter seized him. He 
 said to himself perversely: 
 
 "I will bring them together. I will have the 
 demoiselles Rosen and the gracious lady their 
 mamma come and sit beside this Cinderella who has 
 no fairy godmother. Then I shall discover whether I 
 really prefer the eyes of Undine to prettier, rosier 
 faces, the moon's godchild to daylight's daughters. 
 Yes, I shall put you to the test, Marya Jadwiga ! ' ' 
 
 He had another long talk with Count Florian before 
 bidding him and his daughter a polite farewell. He 
 bestowed upon the woman Josika a coin, though she 
 had, of course, nothing to report. Then he rode 
 away, a gay and gallant figure, a beautiful and per- 
 fect type of the race that has produced such beautiful 
 and terrible men. 
 
 When horse and rider had vanished in a blue haze, 
 the count went back to his library. Josika watched 
 him furtively, with the fearful curiosity with which
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 53 
 
 he always inspired her. Half-way up the stairs he 
 turned and looked down at her ; a long, still, penetrat- 
 ing look. He was smiling. Of a sudden the crafty 
 woman was most horribly afraid. 
 
 Alone in his library, he broke into soundless laugh- 
 ter. There was something ferocious and dreadful in 
 this silent, mirthless mirth. He recalled his talk with 
 the baron ; and, skilled as the German was, powerful 
 as were those behind him, Zuleski knew himself more 
 than a match for them all. 
 
 This revolutionary who was working for the libera- 
 tion of men had no illusions about them. He knew 
 the temper of the Polish nobles, with their medieval 
 minds; the crass selfishness of the landed, the crass 
 stupidity of the landless, the intolerant bigotry of the 
 Church, the intolerable rapacity of the Jews; the 
 chauvinism of Poles as a people. He knew, too, the 
 Oriental passivity of Russians as a people, and their 
 barbarous illiteracy. Yet he was not in the least dis- 
 heartened. He had, rather, a sense of exaltation, for 
 under all superimposed disguises he had glimpsed the 
 souls of Poland and Russia souls in shadow but 
 groping toward the light. No, not vainly, not for- 
 tuitously had he starved and pinched and toiled, suf- 
 fered and planned and plotted in secrecy and obscur- 
 ity, that the holy flame might be kept alive! If he 
 fell, other hands there were to pick up the torch when 
 and where he dropped it. It was a torch never to be 
 extinguished. And at that thought his eyes flashed, 
 his nostrils quivered, his heart swelled with an emo- 
 tion that was agony. But even in that moment the
 
 54 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 agony became physical. He stopped short, clawing at 
 his breast; a frightful sense of suffocation overcame 
 him. His eyes sank into his head ; he shuddered, and 
 collapsed into his chair, his head fallen upon his desk. 
 
 "When he recovered, Marya Jadwiga was standing 
 beside him, regarding him with anxious eyes. 
 
 "I knocked and knocked, but you didn't answer. 
 Were you asleep ? ' ' she asked dubiously. 
 
 "I was dreaming," said Florian Zuleski, and looked 
 at her with an old eagle's eyes. "I do not feel quite 
 well enough to talk with you at length, but perhaps 
 I should tell you now that my plans for you may 
 have to be changed. You must hold yourself in read- 
 iness for whatever may happen. No, you can do noth- 
 ing for me. So go, my child." And when she had, 
 with visible reluctance, obeyed him, he sat for a time, 
 staring straight ahead. 
 
 "I have received the ukase," he said to himself, 
 without fear. "Now, God of justice! let me at least 
 make the most of my time ! ' ' 
 
 Presently, reaching for the bundle of roots and 
 herbs which Wincenty the gipsy had brought him, he 
 set to work to extract concealed virtues in the shape 
 of very thin spirals and pellets cunningly inserted in 
 the hearts of roots and the pith of stalks. He was 
 engaged thus when a timid knock sounded upon the 
 door. He swept the result of his research aside before 
 he called, sharply, "Enter!" 
 
 Josika came in, smiling apologetically, and stood 
 twisting her apron around her hands.
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 55 
 
 "The little lady was greatly troubled in her mind 
 about you, sir. She called you many times, and 
 you did not seem to hear. I am very strong; I have 
 nursed many sicknesses, and I have had to pick up 
 people and carry them in my arms. Yes, I am strong. 
 So I came to see if I could be of any use to you, if 
 anything might be wrong with you." 
 
 "I do not need help. Do not come again, unless I 
 summon you. I never permit myself to be inter- 
 rupted," said the count, looking at her attentively, 
 and not liking her. The lines in his forehead grew 
 deeper. 
 
 ' ' Yes, panic. But the young lady was afraid. And 
 I thought you might be ill and need me. ' ' She bowed 
 respectfully and withdrew. 
 
 The count locked the door after her, and went back 
 to studying his wondrous pellets and spirals. It was 
 a very clever idea, and Wincenty was invaluable ! 
 
 Downstairs in his kitchen, unknown to him, a red- 
 haired man talked to Josika, who was not glad to see 
 him ; she felt that she could have dispensed with her 
 brother's visits. 
 
 "And how do you like this Zuleski?" he was ask- 
 ing her. 
 
 "I see him so seldom," she parried. "And how 
 shall one like a Znach&rf" She shrugged. "But 
 what then? I don't think he will put spells on me. 
 As to my coming here, it was like this: They sent 
 word to the priest, 'We must have help here/ The 
 priest replied, 'Here is a woman named Josika. I
 
 56 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 send her to you with my blessing. ' Very well ; I am 
 here. As for you, what do you think of this Zu- 
 leski?" 
 
 "I think he has nothing, therefore he cannot op- 
 press people who also have nothing." 
 
 "Yes," she ruminated, "he has nothing. Saint 
 Nicolas ! how they live, here ! Like muzhiks ! As for 
 that girl peasants' food that is how she fares! 
 Peasants' clothes that is what she wears! She is no 
 better than anybody else!" 
 
 Sergei watched her narrowly. He did not trust his 
 half-sister. Also, he knew that a German nobleman 
 had seen Zuleski only that day. So far Josika had 
 not thought good to mention this. 
 
 "If you don't wish to stay here, you can come 
 along with me; back to Moscow, perhaps," he told 
 her, after a pause. 
 
 She changed countenance. She did not wish to go 
 with him to Moscow or anywhere else. And she was 
 not over-anxious to leave the Zuleski household until 
 she had made a vigorous search for such as she might 
 find. She said sweetly: 
 
 "No. These people, though they are nothing to me, 
 need me. I will not leave them until that old fool is 
 up and about again. Also, I 'm tired of moving 
 around with you so much. And if I make but little 
 here, I spend less." 
 
 "That is so," said he, calmly. "Stay, then. You 
 \vill have that much more to give to the Cause." 
 
 * ' I have my own cause, ' ' said she, sourly. ' ' I want 
 clothes. I want oh, there are so many things I want !
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 57 
 
 You never think of that. You and your Cause !'* 
 
 He half rose, with a threatening gesture. But she- 
 leaped nimbly aside, and as she did so she seized the 
 carving-knife, on the table near by. Her small blue 
 eyes flashed. 
 
 ''No!" she cried, breathing quickly. "No! I Ve 
 had enough of your fist. If you try to beat me, I 
 shall try to kill you. And I will not give you all my 
 money to do as you please with, ever any more. I 
 will give you only what I please to give you; no 
 more." 
 
 "No?" he stared at her with an almost ridiculous 
 astonishment. "No? But what, then, will you do 
 with what you earn, animal ? Pig of a woman, shall 
 one labor for oneself alone? Is that all you Ve been, 
 able to learn, beast ? ' ' Far back in his eyes appeared 
 a gleam, like a faint reflection of fire. 
 
 Josika saw that gleam, and did not like it. Angry 
 as she was, and rebellious, she feared to break with 
 him altogether. Better armed neutrality than open 
 war, with Sergei. She said, after a moment's rapid 
 reckoning : 
 
 "No, that 's not all I 've learned: I will share. 
 One tenth you shall have, as the orthodox are com- 
 manded. But no more. Never any more." 
 
 Sergei sat down. He was a bigger man, even, than 
 she was a woman, with the fair complexion, the clear, 
 small blue eyes, and the light hair and beard of the 
 North. He had the true Russian nose, and his face 
 was deceptive in that it had the ruminating expression 
 of a slow-thinking, good-natured peasant.
 
 58 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 His unexpected calmness in the face of her rebel- 
 lion did not give her any sense of triumph. She felt 
 distinctly uneasy, and she wished it were in her power 
 to remove him altogether from her life. She thought : 
 ''When I find the old wizard's gold, when I have 
 enough money to get away from this accursed place 
 where one works like a machine and has nothing for 
 one 's pains, I will pay you back for all those beatings 
 you have given me, all the money you have taken from 
 me for your Cause you prowling tomcat of the devil ! 
 That German baron shall know of your doings, and 
 I will also tell Czadowska many things that I know of 
 you, my fine brother ! ' ' And she looked at him out of 
 the corners of her eyes, spitefully. But he was say- 
 ing, with apparent unconcern: 
 
 "One tenth is the tithe, according to the Holy 
 Scriptures. I '11 not demand more from you than 
 that, but I '11 accept no less." 
 
 "That 's settled, then," said she, still more aston- 
 ished at the ease with which she had won a victory. 
 She set before him black bread and salted cucumbers 
 and hot tea, with a small saucer of cherry preserves. 
 While he ate they talked of the priest and his wife, 
 and of such others as were known to them. Sergei 
 asked no more questions about Zuleski, remarking 
 briefly that perhaps, as she suspected, the old gentle- 
 man was moonstruck from staring too long at the skies 
 at night. 
 
 Josika said presently: 
 
 "That German who stopped here didn't seem to
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 59 
 
 think him moonstruck. Or perhaps it was because he 
 wished to please the daughter that he was so pleasant 
 to the father. ' ' And she began to speak with a peas- 
 ant 's coarseness. 
 
 Sergei interrupted : 
 
 " There was a German here? But that 's nothing. 
 There are Germans everywhere." 
 
 "There are not many like this one, anywhere. He 
 is a great nobleman, handsome as the Tsarevitch Ivan 
 in our old stories. His name is von Rittenheim. I 
 don 't know why he came. He talked a long time with 
 the count. And I saw him looking at that cat-faced 
 girl." 
 
 "You seem to have looked at him. Probably the 
 sun was in your eyes?" Sergei said mockingly, and 
 with a hateful smile. 
 
 ' ' Me ? " snarled Josika. " Pig ! What is he what 
 are any of them to me ? " 
 
 "Yes: what are any of them to any of us?" Sergei 
 agreed. He stood up. "Now show me a place to 
 sleep for an hour or two. I must be on my way before 
 sunrise. ' ' 
 
 Josika threw some clean straw into a corner of one 
 of the many unused rooms, and spread over it a dingy 
 blanket. He was not squeamish, he who had in his 
 time slept in cellars, in jails, and in ditches. 
 
 "I will let myself out. Don't come sneaking in 
 here before I wake up, or I '11 let you have my stick 
 across your back. Give me some bread to put in my 
 knapsack, and be off with you," said the affectionate
 
 60 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 brother to the loving sister. He shut the door upon 
 her and stretched himself upon his straw, with his 
 knapsack for a pillow under his head. 
 
 "What is she up to?" he wondered, ndt in the least 
 deceived by her apparent naturalness in at last men- 
 tioning the German. ' ' All women bear watching and 
 need beating, but this one more than most. Spawn 
 of Sathanas, if I catch you up to any tricks ! ' ' He 
 turned on his side and closed his eyes. "But I am 
 able to deal with you ! ' ' said -Sergei, and went to sleep. 
 
 He was up and on his way before the sky turned 
 pink. Josika stole to a window and watched him dis- 
 appear. 
 
 ' ' I hope you break your neck' in a ditch ! ' ' was her 
 thought. 
 
 "I will keep my eye on you, hussy," was his. 
 
 When Rittenheim reached his obvious objective, 
 the estate of the Baron von Rosen, he was wel- 
 comed heartily by the owner, and with effusion by the 
 ladies of the household. For he was a very much 
 sought-after young man. 
 
 He did not mention Zuleski or Zuleski's daughter 
 until he had patiently answered all their eager ques- 
 tions about friends and happenings in Berlin, and 
 had listened to their complaints and laments about be- 
 ing out of it. The young ladies hated the country. 
 One could not imagine how frightfully dull it was 
 here ! Nowhere to go, nothing to see, nobody to amuse 
 oneself with ; Papa 's friends, like Papa himself, stodg- 
 ing about cattle and produce and farm machinery and
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 61 
 
 peasants ! They tossed their blond heads and pouted 7 
 their pretty mouths. 
 
 "You have at least two interesting neighbors 
 Count Florian Zuleski and his daughter," said the. 
 young man, casually. 
 
 Margarete looked bored, Lilli disdainful. What,, 
 that old owl who roosted in a corner of a ruin? 
 People said he was mad. And one didn't know the- 
 daughter. Bettine, the youngest fraulein, an out- 
 rageously spoiled child of twelve, giggled. 
 
 "One of our maids, who has seen her, says the 
 daughter wears a shawl over her head! Just imag- 
 ine!" She giggled again. 
 
 "The Zuleski family," said the baron, "are as well 
 born as any, and better born than many. The little 
 countess has never been away from home ; she has been 
 educated by her father. But he is a scientist, she is 
 a young maiden, so it may be that she wears a white 
 head-covering. I can also tell you that she wears a 
 white smock, over which is- a blue woolen dress, and a 
 red apron. She is so entirely charming in this cos- 
 tume that one suspects her of having stepped out of 
 the pages of Hans Andersen or the brothers Grimm. ' ' 
 
 "She is pretty?" Margarete herself was a beauty 
 and a toast, and could afford to be free from jealousy 
 of lesser lights, particularly when they wore head- 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 "She is unusual," he replied, cautiously. 
 
 The gracious lady their mamma looked up from 
 her sewing. 
 
 "Ach, the poor child! Raised by a hermit scien-
 
 2 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 tist! But those Zuleski are highborn, as you say, 
 Baron : one should respect their rank. If rank is not 
 respected, what is to become of us all? Margarete, 
 why not call on this so-poor and charming young 
 lady?" And she smiled her kind and placid smile 
 and nodded her blond head. 
 
 "Oh, dear Mamma, please! I wish to see her! 
 Tell us more about her, Herr Baron! Does the old 
 enchanter keep her locked up in his tower? I wish 
 to go and see these people ! Mamma, say yes ! I will 
 run off and go there some day by myself if you do not 
 at once say yes ! ' ' cried Bettine. 
 
 "After all, why not? It is so frightfully dull 
 here!" sighed Lilli. "We don't have to cultivate 
 them if we don't like them. Baron, does the old 
 gentleman wear a pointed cap and a dark robe painted 
 with stars and moons ? I think I shall ask him to tell 
 my fortune : ' Fraulein Lilli, you will be twice mar- 
 ried, each time to an e-nor-mous-ly wealthy nobleman 
 who will adore you and never, never, never permit 
 you to languish in the country ! ' And the daughter : 
 is she a witch, as her father is a wizard ? I shall have 
 her make spells for me!" 
 
 A lithe, blithe, lovely shape garlanded with spring 
 leaves, a vision of Youth dancing with naked feet in 
 the heart of the night, rose before the young man. 
 He said, smiling at rosy, pouting Lilli: 
 
 "All charming young girls are witches." 
 
 "I did not know they received," said Margarete, 
 indifferently. "But if it would amuse you, Lilli
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 63 
 
 and give Mamma a chance to play Samaritan and as 
 you say these people are unusual, Baron why, we 
 will call, if you like." 
 
 A servant was presently despatched with a note to 
 Count Florian Zuleski from the Baroness von Rosen, 
 stating that she and her daughters, accompanied by 
 the Baron von Rittenheim, would be pleased to call 
 upon him and his daughter, on an afternoon to be 
 named by him. The baroness was a kind woman, 
 and Rittenheim 's account of Marya Jadwiga had 
 touched and interested her. Count Florian Zuleski 
 replied that he and his daughter would be charmed 
 to receive these gracious visitors on the following 
 Wednesday afternoon. 
 
 "But why should they come? They do not know 
 us!" said Marya Jadwiga, when he told her. She 
 looked astonished. 
 
 "They wish to rectify that misfortune," said the 
 count, dryly. "You will receive them of course. 
 The young ladies are very fashionable what one 
 might call social favorites. ' ' It never for one moment 
 occurred to him that a woman of the Zuleski family 
 could or should find it embarrassing or humiliating to 
 meet anybody at any time in any circumstances. Had 
 the empress of all the earth, or the queen of heaven, 
 herself, called upon Zuleski, he would have received 
 her without the least trepidation. 
 
 "I should very much like to see them. I have 
 never seen a beautiful young lady except in my 
 books," said the girl. She raised her eyes, with a
 
 64 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 fleeting and shy smile. "I hope they will be pleased 
 with me," she added. "I have at times wondered in 
 my heart what it would be like to know girls." 
 
 Zuleski, who knew that Rittenheim was behind 
 this move, and guessed at least a part of his motives, 
 studied his daughter with the calmly appraising eye 
 of a stranger. He was sensible of her unusual appeal, 
 her beauty that had the touch of things that are wild. 
 He thought it a beauty that would appeal more po- 
 tently to discriminating men than to fashionable 
 women. How would these regard her? He noticed, 
 then, how threadbare her frock was, though worn with 
 the daintiness inseparable from Marya Jadwiga. 
 
 ' ' Have you no other dress ? ' ' 
 
 "No. And this one is about worn out. Wences- 
 laus was grumbling about it this morning. ' ' 
 
 He reflected. 
 
 ' ' There are some things of your grandmother 's and 
 your mother's locked up in the wardrobe in the room 
 next the library. You may look them over and se- 
 lect what you need. I should not like your mother's 
 daughter to make a poor appearance before these 
 proud Germans." And he took a key from his key 
 ring and gave it to her. 
 
 She received the key reverently. The thought of 
 handling things that had belonged to her mother 
 made her throat ache and her hands tremble. It did 
 not occur to her or to her father that these laid-by 
 garments might be unsuitable. 
 
 The man had been so long out of touch with the 
 moving outside world's changing decrees of fashion
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 65 
 
 that these had no meaning for him. "When the adored 
 figure of his wife appeared before his memory, she 
 seemed so lovely, so perfect, that what she had once 
 worn must always be lovely and perfect, and suit- 
 able for any lady at any time or place. He had kept 
 in touch with the advanced thought of the world, 
 abreast of its science, but not with the vagaries of 
 body coverings. The magazines and books which 
 came to him were scientific, technical, historical, or 
 literary. Such illustrations as they contained did 
 not bear upon the problem which now confronted 
 him: What shall a young girl wear? 
 
 Marya Jadwiga was even more ignorant than he 
 concerning the world outside her small domain, for 
 she had never seen it; she knew nothing of it except 
 from books. And many of these, bought secondhand, 
 contained illustrations of the vintage of the sixties, 
 seventies, and eighties. Here were Byronic males 
 fine fops, gentlemen in tight trousers, full-skirted 
 coats, frilled shirts, with high hats crowning their 
 bewhiskered countenances. Here were ladies hold- 
 ing posies, or maybe a letter, or a dead bird, in ex- 
 tremely taper fingers, and with only the slightest 
 impediment in the way of clothes between their chins 
 and their waists; here were bewilderingly dressed 
 creatures in crinoline and bonnets, their shoulders 
 draped with shawls ; ringleted children in low-necked 
 frocks, with long, scalloped pantalets ending just 
 above their strapped ankles. Not much here to guide 
 one along the modern clothes line! 
 
 The garments W 7 hich Zuleski had kept with such
 
 66 
 
 pious care were in fatally good condition. Neither 
 of the ladies to whom they had belonged had enjoyed 
 a large wardrobe, and Mary Jadwiga had only a few 
 things from which to select. Those that had belonged 
 to her grandmother were not without a certain ele- 
 gance, and of these the one that pleased her most 
 was a plaid silk. It had a round basque, the low neck 
 and elbow sleeves trimmed with yellowed lace. Down 
 the front ran a straight line of cherry-colored glass 
 buttons, and it was edged with pleated folds of silk 
 ending in a fantail in the back. The voluminous 
 skirt was looped up, sides and back, and its short 
 train was edged with a knife-pleated frill. 
 
 That frilly train slithered across the floor with a 
 swishy, crinkly, silky rustling that enraptured her 
 ear. The cherry-colored buttons flashed like rubies, 
 and the thick silk was delightful to unaccustomed 
 fingers. In some of her books ladies were pictured 
 wearing just such dresses as this. 
 
 Her grandmother had been tall and of a full figure. 
 One could not expect her clothes to fit a little, vir- 
 ginal, sixteen-year-old shape, with its flat hips and 
 angular arms and shoulders. The young girl's hips 
 were where her grandmother's waist had been in the 
 basque, and where the lady's fine bosom had fitted 
 snugly were sadly puckered pockets. The basque 
 could have buttoned once and a half around the girl, 
 and its neck was unfortunately low and wide on her 
 shoulders. But she found a wine-colored satin sash 
 with fringed ends, and this she tied around her 
 waist, making a flat bow just above the pleated fan-
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 67 
 
 tail. This helped hold the skirt to her uncorseted 
 hips. The skirt was very much too long, so long that 
 she tripped on it. But a few more loopings-up would 
 not hurt the style, she thought. 
 
 Packed away in a box were her mother's white- 
 satin wedding slippers and silk stockings. The slip- 
 pers were spotted and yellowed; they turned up at 
 the toes; they wabbled at the heels. But the heels 
 were heart-satisfyingly high. She hung around her 
 neck an old linked necklace whose large flat locket 
 contained a wisp of her grandfather 7 s hair, and pinned 
 the overlapped front of her basque with the brooch 
 that matched the locket. 'She hoped she was not 
 vain: but she could not help feeling excited and joy- 
 ous. Teetering in her high-heeled slippers, craning 
 her neck to catch the effect of her slithering train, 
 she did not know that she resembled a darling child 
 "dressing up" to amuse itself and its elders. 
 
 On the appointed Wednesday Zuleski received his 
 visitors in his big bare hall. At sight of his tall, 
 austere figure the young ladies suffered a distinct 
 shock of surprise. This stately personage was not 
 at all what they had fancied the old owl in the ruin 
 would be. This man commanded and received re- 
 spect. His open poverty backgrounded him with a 
 high pride to which they were strangers. He knew it 
 was their fault, not his! 
 
 Kittenheim mentally rubbed his hands. Ah, you 
 proud ladies! if the oM, shabby scholar so im- 
 presses you, wait until Marya Jadwiga appears! 
 Wait until you see her eyes of Undine, coolly sweet
 
 68 
 
 under her white head-kerchief ; her young throat ris- 
 ing pure and pearly from her dark frock; her 
 face like an ivory gem found in one of those old tombs 
 where Egyptain queens are buried! Yes, wait until 
 you see her, the king's daughter disguised as a peas- 
 ant maid. And looking at the three young ladies, 
 smartly attired, and their mamma, a model of ma- 
 tronly comeliness, the young man smiled proudly. 
 
 There was a click of heels upon the stairs. Every- 
 body looked up, with a sort of eager expectation. 
 And there appeared a figure as from some childish 
 frolic, in the most astounding plaid frock any of them 
 had ever seen. Above this travesty of a dress were 
 a young and innocent face, a little head upon which 
 the black hair had been piled high and held in place 
 with a huge tortoise-shell comb a coiffure evidently 
 copied from some old illustration. Holding her too- 
 long skirt with both hands to save herself from a 
 tumble, she reached the bottom step and stood still 
 for a moment before making her staring guests a 
 gravely polite courtesy. 
 
 The baroness put out a limp hand and said feebly: 
 "How do you do, my dear young lady? I am very 
 glad to make your acquaintance." Margarete, full 
 of cool amusement, felt almost a liking for the little 
 caricature, concerning whom the hypercritical 
 Rittenheim had whetted their curiosity. Unusual, 
 he said? Oh, very! About the most unusual thing 
 she had ever seen! She took the young girl's hand 
 and said truthfully, "I am delighted to see you!" 
 Lilli turned red. The youngest fraulein bit her lip.
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 69 
 
 Kittenheim could hardly believe his eyesight. 
 An angry color flamed into his face ; his eyes narrowed. 
 He could barely conceal his astonishment and chagrin. 
 This was profanation! 
 
 Marya Judwiga seated herself, her head held stiffly 
 lest a strand of her hair escape from its unaccustomed 
 coiffure, her hands folded in her plaid lap, her train 
 wrapped like a cat's tail about her feet. If she as- 
 tonished her guests, they astonished her even more. 
 For the first time in her life she saw pampered, 
 beloved young womanhood. Their clothes of delicate 
 colors and fine texture had been designed to enhance 
 their beauty; their hands were white and soft, their 
 hair a marvel of shining care, their feet covered with 
 the most entrancing of fine shoes. Between their 
 dainty modern frocks and the dress she herself was 
 wearing was so glaring a contrast that of a sudden 
 the wonderful plaid, with its frills and loops, appeared 
 in its true colors of an antiquated garment, in which 
 she was ridiculous and absurd. Ignorant as she was 
 of fashion, she was too quick-witted not to recognize 
 the truth, and a sick qualm assailed her. 
 
 The angry eyes of Rittenheim looked at her 
 with something of shame, as though she had betrayed 
 not only herself but him to ridicule. The amused 
 glance of Margarete had in it something she had not 
 heretofore encountered in the human eye ; and this 
 fortunate Margarete was so lovely, too ! Marya Jad- 
 wiga thought that were the case reversed, she had been 
 less unkindly amused. The fraulein Lilli was de- 
 mure: Marya Jadwiga had seen her cat Vasily look
 
 70 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 like that when he had caught and eaten one of the 
 newly hatched chickens. The youngest fraulein, her 
 handkerchief pressed to her lips, her eyes suffused, 
 her face red, shook with suppressed laughter. 
 
 A faint pink sprang into Marya Jadwiga's pale 
 cheeks, and into her eyes leaped a silvery sparkle. 
 Her lips came together, her head went up with young 
 hauteur. Shame, pain, rage, the feminine horror of 
 presenting a ridiculous appearance swept her like an 
 invisible flame. The Zuleski pride, a noble pride, 
 came to her rescue. When she met her father's eyes, 
 she saw this pride in them, too, like a flag waved to 
 her. 
 
 She had presently to offer her visitors tea. A 
 coarse white cloth was spread upon the table. The 
 spoons were pewter, the forks had iron prongs, the 
 knives were iron-hafted. At the head of the table 
 sat the incredible figure in its grandmother's frock. 
 Facing her was the threadbare old scholar who 
 was a nobleman with sixteen quarterings to his back 
 and a great reputation, affably discussing with the 
 baroness the merits of a new German novelist. 
 
 The guests drank scalding Russian tea out of glasses 
 like jam-pots for thickness, the while Count Florian 
 talked as great and witty gentlemen used to talk in 
 the salons of great ladies. Rittenheim listened in 
 silence. He would have liked to call Count Florian 
 out and blow his mad old head off, or with fierce 
 hands to seize his old yellow throat and strangle him. 
 Who, in the name of all the devils, had prompted, 
 aided, allowed that child so to disfigure herself, al-
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 71 
 
 most beyond recognition? Why had not the old lu- 
 natic insisted that she wear her everyday dress, in 
 which she shone like a rare jewel in a plain setting? 
 With black murder in his heart, the baron listened 
 to Zuleski's brilliant conversation. He avoided the 
 maliciously amused eyes of Margarete, the mischie- 
 vous smile of Lilli. He looked at Marya Jadwiga as 
 little as he could. Good God ! and he had been al- 
 most maudlin in his praise of the girl! 
 
 Of a sudden out spoke Bettine, who was eating 
 bread and jam with relish: 
 
 "The Herr Baron says you have a big yellow cat 
 named Vasily, that can talk. I've never known a cat 
 named Vasily, or one that could talk. I wish to 
 see yours. Will you show him to me, please ? ' ' The 
 youngest fraulein, tired of elders who talked over 
 her uncomprehending head, was mischievously de- 
 sirous of getting this laughingstock of a girl to her- 
 self for a while. 
 
 "My cat's name is Vasily, but he doesn't talk 
 not actually," said Marya Jadwiga. 
 
 "And the Herr Baron says you have geese and 
 ducks that talk, too, like the girls in fairy stories! 
 I wish to see your geese and your cat. Please show 
 me your geese and your cat," insisted the spoiled 
 Bettine. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga rose dutifully, holding up her skirts 
 as best she might, and in the high-heeled slippers 
 that were trying to fall off shuffled out into the court- 
 yard. Out there in the fresh air she drew a sigh of 
 relief and then caught sight of the grinning red
 
 72 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 faces of the Rosen grooms, whom only respect 
 for their places kept from guffawing aloud. They 
 stretched their eyes and their necks. Presently they 
 would stretch their tongues, so that at mere mention 
 of the Countess Marya Jadwiga Zuleska folk would 
 laugh. The youngest f raulein shot at them a haughty 
 and cold glance and made an imperious gesture which 
 reduced them to instant order. But Marya Jadwiga 
 had seen, and she knew. The faint pink again 
 mounted to her cheeks. Pitying Virgin! would this 
 afternoon of torture never end ? 
 
 She whistled, and big, red-golden Vasily came 
 bounding at the call. The huge and beautiful cat 
 arched his back and rubbed his sleek fur against her 
 shoulder as she leaned on the wall. When she whistled 
 softly Marya Jadwiga could whistle like any bird 
 he purred, and made plaintive, throaty noises in re- 
 sponse. Bettine laughed delightedly. She looked 
 at the girl critically and not unkindly. 
 
 ' ' I like you much better out here than I did in the 
 house," said she, with awful directness, "The Herr 
 Baron said you wore a kerchief on your head and 
 looked like the king's daughter in it. I wanted to 
 see a countess wearing a head-kerchief and a frock like 
 a peasant's like the girls that have wicked step- 
 mothers and live in houses in the wood, you know. I 
 think I should like you like that. I do not like you 
 at all in the dress you are wearing. Where in the 
 world did you get it?" 
 
 "It was my grandmother's," Marya Jadwiga ex- 
 plained.
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 73 
 
 "Good Heavens!" cried Bettine, with round eyes. 
 "Who ever heard of wearing one's grandmother's 
 dress! I wish you hadn't. Now Margarete will 
 laugh at the Herr Baron, and Lilli will tease him, and 
 Mamma will try to be charitable ! ' ' 
 
 "It is not a nice dress, then?" faltered Marya Jad- 
 wiga, her pride forsaking her for the moment. 
 
 Bettine burst out laughing. 
 
 "Heavens, no! It is frightful! You look like a 
 a masquerader in it when one dresses up to be 
 funny, you know. Now you will think," she added 
 hastily, "that I am rude. They always say one is 
 rude when one tells the truth. At home, when I say 
 Margarete is selfish and lazy and Lilli is sly, they 
 scold, and say I am rude. Well, I may be, but they 
 are exactly what I say they are ; so there ! And you 
 mustn't wear that dreadful dress any more. It 
 makes people laugh only to look at you. You should 
 have worn the dress you always wear. The Herr 
 Baron says you are charming in it. He is furious 
 because you didn't have it on this afternoon. He 
 was sure you would." 
 
 ' ' But what is that to him ? ' ' asked Marya Jadwiga, 
 trembling with wounded pride and sick shame. 
 
 Again the youngest fraulein laughed. Tossing 
 her fair braids, she pointed a derisive finger. 
 
 "Silly!" said she. "Silly! It is because he is 
 smitten with you. I know! Perhaps if you were 
 older and had better clothes, and money, you might 
 have him for a lover. Ho ! There will be a laugh 
 on the Herr Baron ! I shall laugh at Margarete, too.
 
 74 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 That will make her angry. She would like him to 
 be smitten with her. She was very glad you looked 
 such a fright this afternoon." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga turned very white. Wind roared 
 in her ears. 'She said in a choking voice : 
 
 "You are rude, unpardonably rude." 
 
 "That 's what I always get for telling people the 
 truth!" cried Bettine. "Why should people get 
 angry when one tells them the truth? You are as 
 bad as they are at home ! I shall not like you at all 
 if you say cross things to me ! " 
 
 Marya Jadwiga 's feathered flock had gathered 
 around her, as they always did when she came into 
 he courtyard, and, with neck-stretchings and flappings 
 of wings, and shrill cacklings and duckings, besought 
 her attention. They diverted Bettine 's thoughts. 
 She screamed with laughter, and clapped her hands. 
 Upon which the biggest of all the ganders, scenting 
 her for an outsider and an interloper, suddenly seized 
 a fold of her frock in his strong bill and tugged. 
 Another, swooping down upon her, swept a heavy 
 wing across her knees. The geese screamed and 
 hissed; their long, swaying necks, flat heads, and 
 beady eyes resembled snakes. A large drake came to 
 the aid of the attacking ganders, and catching the 
 hem of her frock hung on grimly, beating his wings 
 again her legs. 
 
 ' ' Run them away from me ! Make them go away ! 
 I am afraid of them!" screamed Bettine, above the 
 deafening clamor of the fowls. She tried to get be- 
 hind Marya Jadwiga for protection, and in doing so
 
 75 
 
 pushed Vasily, an interested spectator, from his place 
 on the wall. The cat was not used to strangers, 
 either. He opened his big mouth and spat, shot out 
 a long paw armed with scythe-like talons, and in 
 going over the wall raked the fraulein's shoulder. It 
 was a hearty rake, for Vasily was striving to maintain 
 his balance. The little fraulein shrieked with pain 
 and rage. Her screams brought out the baroness on 
 the run, with Margarete and Lilli and the two gentle- 
 men following. 
 
 "Oh, why ever did I come here?" cried Bettine, 
 piercingly. "Lilli is right: your father is an old 
 wizard who makes bad spells for people. And you are 
 a horrid thing ! I don 't like your nasty geese ; they 've 
 pulled my dress out of shape, and beaten me with their 
 wings ! And oh, oh, oh ! look what your beast of a cat 
 has done to my shoulder ! He has clawed me to 
 the bone ! Papa will make you sell your geese, and I 
 will have one of the grooms shoot your vile cat! 
 0-oh, oh, oh!" 
 
 "My darling child! my dearest little girl! what- 
 ever is the matter?" cried the baroness, running to 
 her, panting in her tight corset. "Bettine, what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 ' ' She is horrid, and her geese are horrider, and her 
 cat is horridest of all ! " Bettine shrieked. ' ' Oh, let 's 
 go home at once, Mamma! Look at my shoulder: 
 it 's clawed to the bone ! " A few drops of blood had 
 appeared on her white frock. 
 
 "She was frightened by the geese," Marya Jad- 
 wiga explained. "They hissed at her because they
 
 76 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 don't know her. Old Brown wing pulled at her frock, 
 and in her fright she pushed Vasily off the wall, and 
 he scratched her as he went over. I am very, very 
 sorry. ' ' 
 
 "Hush, Bettine! Stop that shrieking at once, for 
 mercy's sake!" said Margarete. "There is nothing 
 at all the matter with her, Mamma, except a slight 
 scratch; she often gets worse from the cats at home. 
 Why do you encourage such behavior? You should 
 leave her at home with a nurse!" 
 
 "She did it on purpose, Mamma! She made her 
 old cat scratch me because she was mad at me," 
 bawled Bettine. ' ' I only told her she looked a fright 
 in that frock it was her grandmother's dress, Mam. 
 ma ! and that the Herr Baron was furious about it, 
 because he is smitten with her, and wanted to show her 
 off to us and that Margarete would laugh at him 
 now and she made her nasty old geese scream and 
 pull at me, and her cat scratched my shoulder pur- 
 posely! to the bone!" 
 
 "He might have scratched your tongue to the 
 roots, for all of me!" said Lilli, angrily. "Mamma, 
 you have simply got to do something about Bettine. 
 She is unendurable. I shall have a talk with Papa 
 the minute we get home, I promise you!" 
 
 "I recommend boarding-school," said Margarete, 
 and she looked at Bettine with eyes that boded no 
 good to that young lady. 
 
 ' ' I am so sorry ! ' ' murmured the poor baroness, who 
 had turned scarlet. "She is very young. She is 
 my baby, and perhaps I am over-lenient. Indeed, I
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 77 
 
 am sorry she was so rude ! ' ' And she looked at Marya 
 Jadwiga beseechingly. 
 
 "She is more frightened than hurt," said Marya 
 Jadwiga, quietly. "I 'm sorry my geese and my cat 
 misbehaved." 
 
 "I 'm not," said Lilli, dryly. "I 'm sure she got 
 exactly what she deserved." 
 
 "And we have so enjoyed our visit. We hope you 
 will permit us to see more of you, to make your better 
 acquaintance. I have to implore the count to come out 
 of his seclusion and bring you to see us," said the 
 baroness, handsomely. She was a kind woman. 
 
 Zuleski bowed, and Marya Jadwiga made a grave 
 inclination of the head. Pale and proud and steady- 
 eyed, she gave no sign of the agony she was enduring. 
 Rittenheim, standing a little apart, watched her 
 keenly, and of a sudden his admiration was stronger, 
 even, than his chagrin. Unwittingly he had betrayed 
 her to the mocking smiles of these worldlier young 
 women ; but neither of them could have carried off this 
 impossible situation as she was carrying it off. The 
 falcon spirit of her won him. Under his veneer of a 
 fashionable young man and budding statesman he was 
 very truly a gentleman and he had something left of a 
 heart; he understood her humiliation and her pride. 
 The Zuleski breed was the finer of the two, he decided, 
 looking from her to cool, exquisitely gowned Mar- 
 garete. At parting he looked into her unwavering 
 eyes with something in his own which brought a faint 
 tinge to her cheek. 
 
 It was a subdued party which drove away, and
 
 78 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 a tragic Marya Jadwiga who watched them go. 
 She went upstairs and took off the plaid silk she 
 had been so proud to put on, folded it carefully, placed 
 the satin slippers and silk stockings in their box, 
 and locked the doors upon these things that had be- 
 trayed her. 
 
 Then, with the key in her hand, she sank upon the 
 floor, in her own old, worn dress, and outraged pride 
 and heartburning shame overcame her. Stormily, 
 with choking sobs and sick shudders, she wept. Re- 
 membrance of Bettine's words made her turn hot and 
 cold ; waves of fire and of ice alternately passed over 
 her. Every look of those wonderfully dressed girls, 
 the astonished eyes of the baron, the laughter of 
 Bettine, were etched upon her consciousness as with a 
 burning pencil. She was not angry with the baron, 
 who had brought them here : how could he have fore- 
 seen that her stupidity, her ignorance, would entrap 
 her thus horribly? She did not dream of blaming 
 her father: how could he know, either? But some- 
 thing was wrong with her world, when such a thing 
 as this could happen. 
 
 It grew dark in the room. And, as she crouched 
 there, a hand fell upon her shoulder. Her father 
 stood beside her, looking down at her. 
 
 "Now you have learned what they are," he said in 
 his low, quiet voice, which had the power to send little 
 prickly sensations over one, and to make one's heart 
 flutter. "These are of the breed which has helped 
 ruin us. They beggar us, and our poverty is their
 
 THE EYES OF UNDINE 79 
 
 power and their jest. As they have treated you, 
 they have treated Poland. Remember it!" 
 
 She made no articulate reply. She did not even 
 try to clasp his fingers for comfort. He said, after a 
 short pause : 
 
 "There is a thing left us to do: we must remove 
 them. Yes, we must remove them ! ' ' 
 
 She looked up with wet and reddened eyes, and 
 twisted her soaked handkerchief in her hands. 
 
 "There is one thing I should like to do before 
 before they go," said she, with quivering lips. 
 
 "And that is" He waited. 
 
 "I want to dress like them," said Marya Jadwiga, 
 and began to cry afresh. 
 
 Count Florian tiptoed out of the room and closed 
 the door ever so gently behind him.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 THERE was no moon, but the expanse of the 
 sky was so thick with stars that one might 
 have thought the night had powdered her 
 vast dark face with diamond dust. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga awoke with a start; she lay still 
 for a moment, confusedly wondering if she had 
 dreamed that some one had called her by name. Then 
 her father's voice sounded, close by her bedside: 
 
 " Dress quickly, put on your shawl, and come to 
 me in the library, without noise." She could hear 
 him closing her door behind him with inconceivable 
 gentleness. 
 
 Wondering greatly, still somewhat confused, she 
 dressed with quick, deft fingers. Outside her room 
 the silence and secrecy of the great ruined house 
 seemed to wait palpably, a live force crouching there 
 in the dark. Her heart was hammering when she 
 reached the library. 
 
 Her father sat in his usual place, facing his desk, 
 his skullcap on his head, his dressing-gown buttoned 
 to his throat, just as he had always sat since she could 
 remember anything in this world. He appeared paler 
 and thinner, perhaps, but his composure was unruf- 
 
 80
 
 FLIGHT 81 
 
 fled. Mary a Jadwiga paused just inside the door, 
 blinking at the light after the blackness of the pas- 
 sages; then her eyes widened. Seated near the fire- 
 place, a dark cloak about his shoulders, a dark hat on 
 his white head, his hands on the knobbed head of the 
 stick between his knees, was Wenceslaus. Beside 
 him dark, unlovely save for the eyes, which were 
 now brilliant and intelligent was "Wincenty the 
 gipsy. Both men seemed dressed and waiting as 
 though about to set out upon a journey. 
 
 Her glance went from them to her father, a ques- 
 tioning, innocent, appealing glance, childishly trust- 
 ful, and, as he met it, the old fanatic 's head drooped, 
 and his hands clasped themselves together with a 
 convulsive movement. In that big, still room, quiet 
 as only a room in a lonely country house can be in 
 the dead of night, the little clock on his desk ticked 
 with a loud and unconcerned busyness. Vaguely 
 alarmed, the young girl drew near and timidly placed 
 her hand on her father's shoulder. 
 
 "I do not understand," she faltered. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 "For you and me, parting final parting," said 
 the count. And his indomitable will reasserted itself. 
 His head went up, his crest rose, his eyes flashed like 
 an aroused old eagle's, as he looked at the last nest- 
 ling of his race. He drew the young girl to his 
 breast, looked into her eyes, and for the first and last 
 time kissed her fatherly. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga trembled, and clung to his arm, 
 sensing that she was losing her father in this moment
 
 82 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 of finding him ; and in that brief moment she felt for 
 him all the agony of tenderness dormant in her wild 
 little heart. Tears came to her eyes; she began to 
 stammer : 
 
 "Are you sending me away? Don't send me away 
 from you and home! Don't send me away!" 
 
 Wenceslaus turned his head aside, his brown cheeks 
 wet. "Wincenty the gipsy stood and looked on with 
 his brilliant and as it were uncovered eyes. 
 
 "You would not be safe here," said her father. 
 ' ' That is why I send you now. Wenceslaus goes with 
 you." 
 
 "But you," faltered the bewildered girl. "But 
 you Ah! Why should I go, and you remain?" 
 
 "I shall probably not remain here very long myself, 
 my dear," said Florian Zuleski, with his unexpected, 
 beautiful smile. "And you must not be here alone 
 when I go." He added, looking at her with melan- 
 choly intentness: "I thought to have played the 
 game differently, but I bow to the inevitable. And 
 so you must go. You will be a stranger in a strange 
 land, but there you will complete my task. ' ' 
 
 He put her aside, gently, inevitably, and held up a 
 long finger in the old imperative gesture that called 
 her to instant attention. Taking from his breast a 
 small, flat package, he placed it in her hands. There 
 was that in his manner, in his intense, almost fierce 
 regard, which made her apprehensive. The air of the 
 room seemed oppressive. 
 
 "There are inside this cover three separate sealed 
 packages," he told her. "Now, that which pertains
 
 FLIGHT 83 
 
 to the Bear you will deliver to the Eagle; and that 
 which pertains to the Eagle, you will give to the 
 Bear. The third package, which covers both and 
 more ! you will place in the hands of a yellow man. 
 The yellow man will give you, as a countersign, the 
 name of my father, Casimir Zuleski, who died in 
 Siberia under the knout. The white men will say to 
 you, as I now, 'Serajevo!' ' 
 
 "Serajevo." She repeated it without shuddering. 
 
 "You will receive in return a great deal of money, 
 which you will place in the bank until you receive 
 further instructions," he continued. "Your ar- 
 rival will be watched for. Until you hear from the 
 yellow man my father's name, and from the white 
 men that word 'Serajevo,' you will hold this package 
 dear as your life. Ah, if you hear, over there, 
 my father 's name, I shall not have lived and toiled in 
 vain ! ' ' 
 
 "But why not here?" she asked fearfully. 
 
 "Impossible! Czadowska has long suspected me. 
 I am too closely watched. Also, Rittenheim is no 
 fool! One slip, one false move, and the work of 
 years would be destroyed, the Brotherhood dismayed, 
 perhaps disrupted. No, the time has come for you 
 you whom I have trained to act for me. ' ' He added, 
 after a pause, "For Poland!" 
 
 By way of answer she slipped the package into her 
 young bosom. 
 
 '"Wericeslaus and Wincenty have instructions," 
 said the count. ' ' You will be provided for, en route. 
 Go, then, my child!"
 
 84 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 She was so small, so young, so childish, that his 
 heart of a fanatic was wrung with pure compunction. 
 He sought to imbue her with something of his own 
 quenchless ardor and passion, and the inward flame 
 that consumed him seemed for a moment to glow 
 visibly through his wasted flesh. The look of a 
 great hierophant before the holy of holies of his god 
 was upon the man. 
 
 " You carry in the stream of your blood, the fashion 
 of your spirit, all the men and women of our house 
 who have gone before you. They were men and 
 women who, when they were called upon to pay for 
 the faith that was in them, paid in full. They were 
 Zuleski! Remember us, Marya Jadwiga! And re- 
 member my father's name!" 
 
 "I will remember," said the young girl, simply. 
 
 They looked into each other's eyes. Then the 
 father smiled, the sweet and remote smile of one who 
 has paid, who has finished and done with all. He did 
 not kiss her again. Perhaps he dared not; perhaps 
 even his iron will might have crumpled, his high 
 heart broken, had he touched her; he might have re- 
 membered that he was a father before he was a pa- 
 triot. Instead, he walked over to the old mantel, and 
 touched the gay little griffin. The side panel swung 
 open. 
 
 "Wenceslaus " He stopped then, and looked the 
 old man in his honest and kind eyes. "Brother," 
 said the count, "you have in your charge the last child 
 of our house." 
 
 At that Wenceslaus caught the other's hand and
 
 FLIGHT 85 
 
 held it to his breast ; he gave back the piercing glance, 
 with a look of sweeter import. 
 
 "My life belongs to you and her," he said 
 simply. 
 
 "Wmcenty made a beckoning gesture, and stepped 
 through the opening. Wenceslaus, with a look of 
 despair, obeyed. At a nod from her father, Marya 
 Jadwiga followed. Turning her head for a last look, 
 she saw him standing, tall and pale, outlined by the 
 lamplight, his eyes full of agony and courage. 
 
 "Bywaj!" he whispered. "Bywaj!" and stretched 
 out his hand. The panel swung shut. 
 
 This was his one chance, and he had taken it. He 
 knew to-night that he had been betrayed, and was in 
 instant danger of arrest. There was but one thing to 
 do, and Zuleski did it : he moved the only pawn that 
 could possibly checkmate his enemies and save the 
 game. 
 
 "Sans 'bruit!" said the count to himself. "Sans 
 bruit!" At that, smiling grimly, he straightened his 
 shoulders, went back to his desk, and set himself reso- 
 lutely to work upon "The Gipsies in Europe." He 
 had the creative worker's terror that something might 
 happen before he finished the manuscript. He ran, 
 as it were, a handicap against Czadowska and Death. 
 Dawn caught him still at his labors. 
 
 Wenceslaus and latterly Marya Jadwiga had 
 brought his coffee; this morning he made it for him- 
 self, over a spirit lamp. Then he went over and sat 
 down near a window, and with tired eyes looked out 
 upon the morning. It seemed to him that the early
 
 86 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 sunlight shone coldly and stilly, that about him hung 
 that ominous silence which invests a place when death 
 has occurred, where something tragic has happened. 
 "But what can happen now to me, who am a blown 
 egg, an empty shell? They will never find her: 
 Wincenty will see to that. Let what will happen, 
 happen. ' ' And he stretched his long, thin body wea- 
 riedly. He felt immensely old, and alone, and sad. 
 The burden of being alive, "the weary weight of this 
 unintelligible world," oppressed him. Presently he 
 slept. 
 
 Outside, the bright and windy day grew apace. In 
 the courtyard her feathered flock vainly waited for 
 Marya Jadwiga to come and feed them. At about 
 nine o 'clock there came to the door the woman Josika, 
 a look of perplexity and uneasiness replacing her 
 usual smile. She stood for some time in the door- 
 way ; and presently went back to her kitchen, frowning. 
 
 "And I have n't seen that old fool, Wenceslaus, this 
 morning either. Now, what on earth Her un- 
 easiness deepened into alarm. Half an hour later 
 she stole upstairs and stood outside Marya Jadwiga 's 
 door, listening. Then she rapped, waited a minute, 
 and ventured to enter. There was the empty bed, the 
 coverings tossed aside. The windows were open. 
 Sunlight made patches on the bare floor. 
 
 Josika ran out of the room, and sped to that of 
 Wenceslaus. The lamp burned before the ikon of the 
 Virgin. The old man's gun stood in a corner; a bat- 
 tered cap and a pair of worn high boots were on the
 
 FLIGHT 87 
 
 floor near by. His bed had not been slept in at all. 
 
 Josika stood pinching her lip. After a moment she 
 turned toward the library. She was never able to 
 overcome a certain timidity in approaching Count 
 Florian. Whenever she met the straight glance of his 
 luminous and penetrating eyes, she experienced a dis- 
 agreeable sense not only of fear but of inferiority. 
 To destroy him and his daughter; to see them in the 
 dust, perhaps in prison ! what happiness ! 
 
 With a fluttering heart she stood outside the library 
 door. Suppose, suppose he should be gone, too. 
 Panic seized her, and she knocked. After a moment's 
 pause, the count's voice bade her enter. He was ly- 
 ing on a couch, a shawl thrown over his feet. 
 
 "Ah! it is you!" he said indifferently. Then, 
 turning his head upon the cushion, he regarded her 
 thoughtfully. "What do you want?" he asked. 
 
 "The young lady has not come to her breakfast. 
 I cannot find her anywhere. And Wenceslaus is not 
 here, either." 
 
 The count said equably : 
 
 "No? Well, get me some tea." 
 
 He knew, then. But where, when, with whom had 
 they gone ? She remembered, with anger, Czadowska 
 and von Kittenheim. How should she make them 
 understand that this could have happened and she 
 be unaware? She could fancy Czadowska 's eyes nar- 
 rowing and his smile widening. 
 
 "Will they be back to-day, panie? I there have 
 been no orders about what one must cook." With 
 shaking fingers she twisted her apron, trying to
 
 88 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 question this terrible old man, of whom she felt even 
 a greater fear than of Czadowska. One knew that the 
 Russian was one to be reckoned with ; but he was, at 
 least, human. 
 
 1 'Perhaps yes. Perhaps no," replied the count, 
 still watching her with those penetrating and ironical 
 eyes. "As to orders, cook what you usually cook. 
 And do not concern yourself with anything else." 
 
 "Tak, panie," said she, helplessly. 
 
 Outside, in the corridor, her fists clenched, her eyes 
 flashed. But when she presently brought him tea, she 
 waited upon him with respect. She asked no more 
 questions, and he volunteered no information. When 
 he returned to his couch she spread his shawl over 
 his feet, and he thanked her courteously, and with a 
 gesture bade her leave him. 
 
 Josika went back to the kitchen, and took her head 
 in her fists. Those two had gone while she slept. 
 The count had sent them away. Why? How? 
 Where ? Did he suspect that she that Czadowska 
 Well, but if he knew that, why remain here, himself ? 
 To whom had he entrusted the girl? Who had come 
 for old Wenceslaus ? 
 
 She recalled to mind every face she had seen in 
 that house. Who had been there of late? And she 
 remembered that she had seen Wincenty the gipsy. 
 It was a vague and uncertain guess, at best ; nothing 
 definite to base suspicion on. But at least this 
 guess would give her something to say to Czadowska 
 and the German. In the midst of her discomfiture a
 
 FLIGHT 89 
 
 malicious smile curved her lip when she reflected 
 upon the baron. Presently, after long deliberation, 
 she decided to notify them. She had to trust to luck 
 as to how the letters could be conveyed. 
 To Rittenheim she wrote: 
 
 HONORED FREIHERB: 
 
 When you were last here you said you might procure me 
 another situation, and I think I shall have to leave here, 
 as the young lady and the old man W'enceslaus have gone, 
 I do not know where, and I find this place very lonely, and 
 wish to change. There is no one in the house now but the 
 count, and he appears ill, and I am afraid. If you could se- 
 cure me a place with some good family, I should be very 
 grateful. 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 JOSIKA. 
 
 She reread this several times, smiling spitefully. 
 
 Her smile faded when she began upon the other 
 letter. She was far more afraid of Czadowska than 
 of Rittenheim. Czadowska 's smile was like a knife 
 at one's throat. Her hand shook as she wrote: 
 
 M. CZADOWSKA: 
 
 I am alone here with the count, who I am sure is ill, and 
 I am afraid. I think he will die some night. The young 
 lady and the old man Wenceslaus are away, and I would 
 esteem it a great favor and you would please your name 
 saint, if you would stop by and advise me what I could do 
 for the count in case of sudden illness. You are a learned 
 man, and you would know. 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 JOSIKA.
 
 90 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 She read this carefully, and added: 
 
 If you should see Sergei my brother, please tell him to 
 come to see me. He has not been to see me for a long time. 
 
 This was, she felt sure, a perfectly safe and even 
 kind letter, a letter that no one, not even Count Flo- 
 rian, could find fault with. While she was reflect- 
 ing upon this, a call came from the courtyard. 
 She put both letters on the kitchen table, placed the 
 ink bottle upon them as a paperweight, and went out 
 to answer the hail, glad to have an opportunity to 
 talk to somebody. 
 
 The caller was a peddler, a yellow man with blue- 
 black hair and slanting eyes. He greeted Josika with 
 gentle politeness, and was observant of her greedy 
 eyes upon his pack. Would the handsome lady like to 
 see his wares? The handsome lady asked for noth- 
 ing better, and bent upon obliging her the man 
 opened his pack. Josika fingered laces and ribbons, 
 hair combs and toilet articles, inexpensive but pretty 
 jewelry, and cloth of excellent weave and design. 
 A bright color flowed into her cheeks, and her eyes 
 sparkled. The peddler selected a pair of drop ear- 
 rings, greenish blue, imitating turquoise, and held 
 them up alluringly. 
 
 "These are what you should have," he told her. 
 "They match your eyes, and make your skin fairer." 
 He named a price much above their value. 
 
 A profound disappointment showed itself in her 
 countenance. That was more than she could pay. 
 She looked covetously at the earrings.
 
 FLIGHT 91 
 
 "Not so? That is a great pity. They will never 
 look so well on anybody else." The peddler seemed 
 to hesitate. 
 
 "If I could sell to the noble count a dress for the 
 young lady his daughter, such as he promised to buy 
 of me when I was here last, perhaps we could make up 
 the difference: I could then let you have the ear- 
 rings at a low price." He laid his finger to his 
 lips, and looked at her with a sly and knowing 
 smile. 
 
 Josika could have beaten Marya Jadwiga with rods. 
 She said angrily: 
 
 "But she is not here! She has gone away!" 
 
 "So? Then I shall have to wait for that promised 
 sale, until she returns. But the old man I forget 
 his name told me to bring him light-weight socks, 
 also a knitted vest, and some thread. "Will you call 
 him ? You may then still earn you earrings. ' ' 
 
 "He, too, has gone away," said Josika, almost in 
 despair. 
 
 "But he told me to bring the things, and I have 
 brought them. Now I shall have to carry them about 
 with me, and perhaps fail to sell them to anybody 
 else, ' ' protested the peddler. And he asked anxiously, 
 "When does he return?" 
 
 "I don't know," admitted Josika, sullenly. 
 
 "Perhaps if I could see the noble count, he would 
 take the goods and pay for them, for his servant," 
 said the peddler. "And I will also ask him about the 
 dress he was to buy for the young lady. Go and ask 
 the honorable master if he will graciously see me,"
 
 92 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 coaxed the peddler, "and you may get your earrings 
 cheaper yet." 
 
 Josika looked at the blue baubles again, before she 
 could make up her mind. She went upstairs unwill- 
 ingly. The count was still lying on the couch near 
 the window, but he was not sleeping. "When she had 
 stated her errand, he told her, briefly, to show the man 
 up. In her relief she almost danced down the stairs. 
 
 ' ' You are to go up, ' ' she cried. ' ' He will see you. ' ' 
 
 Deftly the peddler extracted certain parcels from 
 his pack. 
 
 "I can find my way upstairs," he said. "Maybe 
 you would like to look over my wares while I am with 
 the count ? Perhaps you will find something else you 
 want." And he left her happily fingering a fringed 
 blue silk scarf. 
 
 And while she sat out there in the sunlight, bliss- 
 fully oblivious of everything but the stuffs spread be- 
 fore her, a dusty, red-bearded man approached the 
 place from the rear, entered the kitchen noiselessly, 
 sat down by the table, removed his hat, and stretched 
 his legs. Then he spied the letters, and deliberately 
 read them; read them twice. His florid face paled. 
 He replaced his hat on his head, and, as noiselessly 
 as he had entered, he departed. When he reached the 
 gipsies' old camping-ground in the hollow, near the 
 ruined chapel, he flung himself on the good green 
 grass, and with his hands under his head gave him- 
 self up to thought. 
 
 When the peddler came downstairs, Josika got the
 
 FLIGHT 93 
 
 blue earrings for much less than she had expected to 
 pay for them. He might as well have given her them 
 outright, he said good-humoredly, shouldering his 
 pack. 
 
 ' ' He took the things you brought, then ? ' ' she asked 
 eagerly. In that case Marya Jadwiga and Wences- 
 laus would be returning soon. 
 
 ' ' The honorable gentleman always keeps his word, ' ' 
 said the peddler respectfully, and took himself off. 
 
 Happy in the possession of the blue earrings, Jo- 
 sika took a more cheerful view of the situation. She 
 supposed they were coming back presently. But one 
 could not be quite sure. She had better get those 
 letters off, anyhow. Rittenheim and Czadowska 
 would think none the worse of her for keeping them 
 posted. She addressed and sealed the letters. It 
 was to be observed that the one intended for Czadow- 
 ska was addressed to Madame Sophia Samorov. 
 
 Later in the day a groom of the Rosens' rode 
 by, and Josika hailed him. Would he she smiled at 
 him very sweetly would he be so kind as to get 
 a letter to the noble Baron von Rittenheim for 
 her, about a promised situation, and also one to her 
 dear friend Sophia Samorov? The blue earrings 
 really made Josika 's skin look whiter, her eyes more 
 blue. The groom grinned malefully, and carried off 
 the letters, in his pocket. Josika went about her 
 business, humming a little tune. Everything would 
 be all right. 
 
 The hours dragged. The usual light burned all 
 night in the library, where Florian Zuleski whipped
 
 94 TWO SHALL BE BOKN 
 
 his failing powers to perform the task of finishing the 
 history of the Gipsies in Europe. At times the hand 
 that held the pen failed him ; he forgot the gipsies as 
 his heart and his mind tried to follow one of them 
 with whom went little Marya Jadwiga and old 
 Wenceslaus. Where were they to-night? Once in 
 England, they would be comparatively safe. That 
 Josika was a spy in his house, that she had betrayed 
 him and would do so again, he knew. She would 
 manage to send Czadowska word of Marya Jadwiga's 
 departure, he did not doubt. But some days must 
 necessarily elapse before the Russian received her 
 message, and Zuleski counted upon that delay to give 
 the fugitives a good start. Yes, yes, he would hope 
 and work. 
 
 At times, too tired to think clearly, he fell into a 
 profound and deathlike slumber. He hardly touched 
 the food Josika brought him. She, in the meanwhile, 
 saw her golden opportunity, and searched frantically. 
 Nothing escaped her ruthless prying. Since Marya 
 Jadwiga's departure the count had not occupied his 
 own room, but had slept upon a couch in the library. 
 Josika searched his bedchamber, with the thoroughness 
 of a burglar and the cunning of a spy, but found noth- 
 ing in that hermit's cell. She was disgusted. "Old 
 fool!" she grumbled. Wenceslaus 's room was quite 
 as bare. So was Marya Jadwiga's. 
 
 The afternoon of the seventh day after the girl's 
 departure Czadowska appeared. The count was 
 asleep ; and so trancelike and profound was his repose 
 that he did not hear Josika 's discreet tap. After a
 
 FLIGHT 95 
 
 moment's pause, Czadowska entered and stood look- 
 ing down at the unconscious old man. There was 
 something majestic in Zuleski's aspect in the fine, 
 bold contour of the head, the high forehead, the strong 
 and delicate outline of the aquiline nose, sharp as the 
 curve of a sword. Czadowska saw, too, the old man's 
 infinite weariness. Silently the Russian withdrew, 
 taking the hovering Josika with him. 
 
 He questioned the woman as only Czadowska could 
 question. Upon receipt of her letter he had had a 
 search set upon foot, but the two he sought had van- 
 ished. Nobody seemed to have seen them. 
 
 Josika prepared a meal for him, for he had an- 
 nounced his intention of remaining overnight; there 
 was no occasion as yet, for acquainting Count Florian 
 with his presence in the house. While he ate, twi- 
 light melted into darkness. Stars came out. White 
 moths fluttered, and there arose from the earth the 
 odor of growing things with fresh dew upon them. 
 Across the fields little lights twinkled in village 
 houses; they were far away, and resembled fireflies. 
 The quiet of a solitary place brooded upon the ruined 
 house. 
 
 Czadowska felt and liked it; and he saw that Jo- 
 sika feared it. He watched her as she waited upon 
 him. There was unusual color in her cheeks, and he 
 noticed how fair her skin was, and what fine hair she 
 had. 
 
 "It occurs to me I rather like you, Josika," he 
 remarked, lightly. 
 
 Josika looked at him with virtuous displeasure.
 
 96 
 
 "But I do, you big, cold woman," said Czadowska, 
 laughing. And he added: "You should wear a blue 
 dress, my dear, to match those blue earrings. You 
 would look well in a blue dress, Josika ! ' ' 
 
 "Blue is my color," she said. "It is a good color. 
 The very holy Virgin Mother of God wears blue in 
 her picture, Semyon Semyon'itch," said Josika, seri- 
 ously. 
 
 "Yet I think you will earn a blue dress, Josika," 
 said he. 
 
 ' ' I should like to. But it must be honestly earned. ' ' 
 Josika spoke with dignity. 
 
 "Doubtless, my saint, you will earn it honestly!" he 
 agreed. "Therefore tell me honestly all you know 
 about that fine brother of youra. " 
 
 And while he drank glass after glass of boiling 
 tea, Josika told him honestly several things she knew 
 about her dear Sergei. When she had done, Czadow- 
 ska gave her ten rubles. 
 
 "In part payment on the blue dress," he told her, 
 with humor that went over her head. And dismiss- 
 ing Sergei's affairs he went back to the subject of 
 Zuleski and his daughter; not forgetting Wincenty 
 the gipsy. He praised her shrewdness in salvaging 
 and turning over to himself some of those dried roots 
 and stems which Wincenty brought the count. "That 
 was clever work, and started us on the right track; 
 gave us something to lay hold on. I was always sure 
 something was wrong with Count Florian," said 
 Czadowska. "And it is a good guess about Wincenty. 
 When I catch him and the girl, you shall have your
 
 FLIGHT 97 
 
 blue dress, Josika and maybe more." And he 
 laughed again. 
 
 "What will you do to her?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 "That depends, my saint," said Czadowska. He 
 added ambiguously: "She is a pretty little thing; 
 a very pretty little thing like a little soft wild ani- 
 mal one might catch. And you think the German 
 fancies her? Perhaps she has gone to him?" But 
 he knew better. Josika shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said. "Wenceslaus is with her. If 
 the German looked at her too hard, that old fool 
 would fly at his throat and try to strangle him with 
 his hands." 
 
 "Count Florian is a very clever man," mused 
 Czadowska. "And a woman is a baited trap. It is 
 quite possible " He stopped short, and said briskly : 
 "Now show me where I am to sleep. I must be off 
 before daylight. I '11 be hack within the week. 
 Report to me then anything that happens in my ab- 
 sence." The two left the kitchen. 
 
 The red-bearded man crouching among the goose- 
 berry bushes outside the kitchen window stole along 
 the shadow of the walls, reached the tree-shaded 
 footpath by the little creek, and vanished. Although 
 it was a cool night, perspiration stood upon his fore- 
 head, and he breathed as though he had been running. 
 He kept muttering as he fled : "0 very holy Virgin 
 Mother of God, she wishes to wear a blue dress like 
 unto thine ! very merciful Redeemer of the World, 
 my sister Josika wishes to wear a blue dress like 
 unto Thy very holy Mother 's ! "
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 
 
 JOSIKA had very little to do, these days, for 
 Zuleski required almost no attention. Daily his 
 wants seemed to shrink to an ever finer vanish- 
 ing point. The woman, devoid of sympathy and of 
 imagination, would have left him to his fate, except 
 that Czadowska had told her to remain ; and also be- 
 cause of her stubborn notion that by seizing this 
 opportunity to pursue her search unmolested she 
 would stumble upon some of that gold she was so sure 
 he had hidden away. 
 
 On a certain morning, being in one of the lower 
 rooms in the most ruinous part of the house, she 
 thought she saw the figure of a man flash by what 
 had once been a window. Not wishing to be discov- 
 ered, the woman crouched low, waiting; after a few 
 moments she stole cautiously to the opening and 
 peered out. The little brook made a pleasant noise; 
 the trees swayed in the wind. Nobody was in sight. 
 She had been mistaken, she thought, and turned 
 away. And at that moment it seemed to her that 
 she heard footfalls; faint, hollow, ghostly footfalls, 
 as though echoing from a burial vault. Something, 
 somebody walking, invisible, near by. 
 
 98
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 99 
 
 Of a sudden Fear invaded the place and it was as 
 though cyie heard it walking there. She went back 
 to her kitchen, and the everyday pots and pans had 
 a reassuring effect. She shrugged her shoulders at 
 herself. Ghosts? She would like to see the ghost 
 that could frighten her from her search ! But at the 
 same time she thought she would hunt in some of the 
 more habitable portions of the house; say the locked 
 room next the library the room from which Marya 
 Jadwiga had procured that plaid silk frock. Per- 
 haps in that room Zuleski kept more than his wife's 
 old dresses. She had fallen heir, in her days with 
 Sergei, to a bunch of curious keys. She had no fear of 
 being unable to open doors. 
 
 For so large a woman she was extraordinarily light- 
 footed. She stole upstairs noiselessly, and the old 
 lock yielded to one of her keys. The dusty room had a 
 stale and musty odor; dust scintillated in the beam 
 of light which fell across the bare floor. 
 
 Contemptuous of the things the old wardrobe con- 
 tained, she pushed most of them aside. The white 
 silk stockings might be useful, and she put those in 
 her pocket. And the heavy gold locket and chain and 
 brooch one might sell them, at a pinch. She liked, 
 too, a petticoat with a wonderful hand-embroidered 
 frill. She stood there fingering it. She had an odd, 
 real liking for such fine things as this. 
 
 While she stood thus, somebody walked across the 
 library floor, with a quick, resilient tread. Josika 
 had the hearing of a lynx. Like a big cat she flat- 
 tened herself against the wall and inch by inch moved
 
 100 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 to the locked door between the two rooms, a door sunk 
 deeply into the thick walls. Stooping, she applied 
 her eye to the keyhole. Part of the library came into 
 view an edge of window, a corner of the count 's desk, 
 the count himself, standing with his hand on the back 
 of his chair. Before him stood a shabby figure. 
 Josika sucked in her breath. Wincenty the gypsy 
 was facing Zuleski. She could not hear what they 
 were saying ; only the murmur of their voices reached 
 her. When the gipsy ceased speaking, the count held 
 out his hand, and Josika sneered to see the gipsy bend 
 and kiss it. Then both men seated themselves, and the 
 low-toned conversation was continued. 
 
 Josika thought it better to beat a retreat. Ten min- 
 utes later she was out in the courtyard, a pleasing 
 and innocent enough picture, with her fair head bent 
 over her knitting-needles. An hour passed. Win- 
 centy the gipsy failed to make his appearance. He 
 had not been sent down to the kitchen. 
 
 Far down the road a horseman appeared. Josika, 
 pausing in her knitting, watched him speculatively. 
 It might be one of the Rosen grooms perhaps 
 the one who had mailed her letters and who had, of 
 late, twice or thrice managed to ride by, broadly 
 ogling the good-looking woman. But as the rider 
 drew nearer she recognized the paladin-like Rit- 
 tenheim. Hatred and an unwilling admiration 
 stirred in her heart as she looked at him. 
 
 "Has she come back?" he demanded as he dis- 
 mounted. ' ' Where did she go f Have you discovered
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 101 
 
 when she is coming back ? ' ' And he asked : ' ' Where 
 is the count? Has he said anything?" 
 
 "The count sleeps almost all the time, since the 
 gracious young lady went away," said Josika, mod- 
 estly and respectfully. "It does not look like the 
 right sort of sleep. Monsieur Czadowska thinks the 
 count is in a bad way." 
 
 "Czadowska has been here, then?" The baron 
 spoke sharply. 
 
 "Semyon Semyonovitch comes and goes, Herr 
 Baron. And he is disturbed about the count's 
 health." 
 
 "So? Well I will see Count Florian, myself," 
 said Rittenheim, in a hard voice. 
 
 "If the Herr Baron will go upstairs with as little 
 noise as possible?" suggested Josika. "He is an old 
 man, and in such frail health. "I will show the 
 Herr Baron up, if he wishes." 
 
 ' ' Very well, ' ' and he followed her upstairs, walking 
 delicately. She tapped ever so gently, turning the 
 knob._ The door was locked, and she had to knock 
 louder. After a moment the count could be heard 
 getting up from his desk; his chair scraped impa- 
 tiently. The appearance of the German on his thresh- 
 old did not appear to surprise him. He greeted his 
 visitor with his usual stately urbanity. Josika looked 
 around eagerly. There was no sign of Wincenty. 
 
 Something of the Fear that she had heard walking 
 audibly in the ruined room that morning, touched her. 
 Where was the gipsy ? He had not came downstairs : 
 she would have seen him. He must be somewhere
 
 102 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 in the house now. But where? She knew that Cza- 
 dowska and his terrible secret police were hunting 
 him. How had the gipsy managed to get here undis- 
 covered ? 
 
 "What should she do now ? She did not understand 
 German, and the count, in honor of his visitor, always 
 spoke that visitor's language: it was useless for her 
 to listen at the keyhole. So, very tranquilly, she 
 returned to the courtyard and resumed her knitting. 
 And presently the needles stopped flashing in the 
 sun. Her mouth fell open. As though he had been 
 summoned by her thoughts, Czadowska suddenly 
 stood before her. 
 
 ' ' They have good vodka, back there, ' ' said he, nod- 
 ding toward the distant village. "And I have really 
 enjoyed my walk through the fields. A fine day! 
 Well and how far have you gotten with the blue 
 dress, Josika?" He was looking casually at the 
 baron's big horse, cropping the grass sprouting be- 
 tween the broken stones. 
 
 "The Baron von Rittenheim visits the master," 
 said she. "On his way to the von Rosen estate he 
 stops to pay his respects. He will be furious when 
 he finds that the gracious young lady has gone away 
 without bidding him good-by!" And as Czadowska 
 looked at her intently, she added naively : 
 
 "They always speak together in German, Semyon 
 Semyon'itch. I never could understand a word of 
 it." 
 
 At that Czadowska grinned. And she asked: 
 
 "Have you found the gipsy?"
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 103 
 
 "Not yet," said he, quietly. He was always hor- 
 ribly sure, was Czadowska. 
 
 ' ' She did not go with the gipsy, then ? You do not 
 want the gipsy ? ' ' 
 
 He pinched her cheek, smiling in his black beard. 
 She fingered her blue earrings. 
 
 "Semyon Semyon 'itch, what would you give me 
 if I told you something you might want to hear ? ' ' 
 
 "I think it would be better for you to tell me 
 anything you think I might wish to hear, without bar- 
 gaining over payments, my woman!" And of a 
 sudden he thrust his face, with its eyes slitted and its 
 mouth a straight line, closer to hers. "What is it you 
 have found out?" demanded Czadowska. 
 
 ' ' The gipsy is here. I saw him in the library, talk- 
 ing with the count, about an hour ago. I think he 
 must have brought some news." 
 
 "Quite so," said the Russian. And he wore his 
 usual smile. ' ' You get your blue dress, my dear little 
 dove. I think you will get trimmings with it, if you 
 can so manage it that I hear what Zuleski and Rit- 
 tenheim say to each other in German which of 
 course you don't understand." 
 
 ' ' I could let you into the room where the wardrobe 
 is," she reflected. "You can see thro,ugh the key- 
 hole, but I don't know whether you can hear through 
 it. Not unless the baron speaks louder than Win- 
 centy does." 
 
 "Tell me exactly where that room is, and how to 
 reach it." 
 
 Josika gave instructions, and resumed her knitting.
 
 104 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 The color did not change in her round cheeks, nor 
 did her heart skip a beat. She smiled, counting her 
 stitches. She was thinking how well she would look 
 in a blue dress, and whether she had not better keep 
 it to wear in that America to which she meant to go 
 very soon. 
 
 Czadowska had no difficulty in letting himself into 
 the room next the library. And Rittenheim's voice 
 was much louder than Wincenty's, for the blond 
 overlord was angry. Czadowska could see Zuleski 
 seated, his thin hands on his kriees. The baron 
 walked up and down impatiently. At times he 
 switched his riding-boots with his crop. 
 
 The baron raised his voice : 
 
 "I have already told you we will sign a blank 
 check!" 
 
 The count's low reply was unintelligible. But the 
 German caught him up: 
 
 "Deal with me here and now, Zuleski. Dangerous ? 
 Suspected ? But we are not without power, my dear 
 Count!" 
 
 Zuleski seemed to have laid down some proposition 
 and to be resisting and refusing any change in it. 
 But he spoke in so low a tone that Czadowska, curs- 
 ing the thickness of door and walls, caught only the 
 words, "... my daughter . . . better plan." 
 
 Rittenheim plainly disapproved. He argued. The 
 count remained immovable. 
 
 The German presently seated himself. He said 
 coldly :
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 105 
 
 "I still think she should have been spared. But 
 since you have taken this course, and insist upon it, 
 there is nothing to do but fall in with your proposals. 
 Perhaps your plan may not prove as unreasonable 
 as would appear. We desire to possess what you 
 agree to let us have. I do not deny that. So 
 we'll take the necessary steps." 
 
 Czadowska reflected that, whatever the count was to 
 have given Rittenheim, the latter had not as yet 
 received the goods. That it must be of tremendous 
 importance, of vital importance, he could not doubt ; 
 Zuleski had been offered his own price. The first 
 thing to do, therefore, was to lay hold upon Marya 
 Jadwiga, through the gipsy Wincenty, for Czadowska 
 had learned that Josika's shrewd guess was right. 
 The gipsy had really accompanied the girl and the 
 old man. A peasant, on his way to the fields in the 
 early morning, had seen a cart in which were two men 
 and a woman, and he had recognized one of the men 
 as Wincenty; that is, he thought he recognized the 
 gipsy. He would not swear to it, though. That 
 much Czadowska had learned. But here the clue, if 
 clue it was, ended. As though the earth had opened 
 and swallowed them, those three had disappeared. 
 Yet the stalker of men was not unduly troubled. 
 He had found many, many lost ones, in his time. 
 Yes, he must lay hands on the gipsy. 
 
 Chairs scraped in the library. Rittenheim had 
 risen. 
 
 ' ' There is nothing more to be said, then, ' ' the baron
 
 106 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 was repeating in a hard voice. "I accede. But I 
 wish I had known sooner. I confess I do not like 
 this at all." 
 
 The count spread out his hands by way of reply. 
 
 "I will ride over to-morrow," said the baron. And 
 he bowed formally, his heels clicking together. When 
 he had seen his guest depart, Zuleski shrugged, smiled 
 to himself, and, picking up his pen, calmly resumed 
 his labors. Czadowska watched him with a real ad- 
 miration. 
 
 ' ' These Poles ! " he thought. ' ' What a man, what a 
 man!" 
 
 When he greeted the count the next forenoon, 
 Rittenheim had had time to conquer any irritation he 
 may have felt. One humors a madman, you under- 
 stand! He had made but a flying visit to the 
 Rosens, he explained, and was on his way home. How 
 was the count this morning? Had he had a good 
 night? And was he feeling better? Hollow-eyed, 
 chalk-faced, the Pole assured his visitor that his health 
 was excellent, save for a slight fatigue incident to his 
 age and his sedentary labors. 
 
 Rittenheim made no further attempt to change 
 his host's plans, whatever they were. He placed upon 
 the desk a package, which Zuleski received casually 
 and without a trace of shame, paid a few polite compli- 
 ments, and took himself off. He knew that already the 
 wheels had begun to grind; that headquarters, on re- 
 ceipt of his coded message, had begun to act. 
 
 Rittenheim had been gone perhaps an hour when
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 107 
 
 Czadowska was admitted. The Russian's nostrils 
 were slightly dilated, as at the near scent of prey. 
 He took the chair offered him. Then abruptly : 
 
 "Where is Wincenty the gipsy, Count?" 
 
 ' ' Wincenty ? I don 't know. ' ' The count still held 
 his pen. 
 
 "But he was here yesterday." 
 
 " 'The wind bloweth where it listeth: and no 
 man knoweth the coming nor the going thereof,' ' 
 quoted the count, indifferently. "You must ask 
 the wind for the whereabouts of a gipsy." 
 
 "Must I ask the wind for the whereabouts of your 
 daughter? And your servant Wenceslaus?" He 
 leaned forward and asked imperiously, "Where is 
 your daughter?" 
 
 Zuleski's crest rose at the tone. With the pride of 
 a nobleman he looked at the police agent. 
 
 "The Countess Marya Jadwiga is with friends." 
 
 His calm and luminous glance mocked Czadowska, 
 and aroused the Russian's anger. 
 
 "Who are those friends?" 
 
 "You do not know them, Monsieur Czadowska." 
 
 Czadowska leaned forward. 
 
 "The game is up, Pan Florian. / know," said he, 
 sharply. "I know why you sent the girl away. I 
 know what she carried with her." 
 
 Zuleski threw back his head. 
 
 "Oh, no, you don't, Czadowska!" he cried, with 
 steely triumph. "Oh, no, Czadowska, you don't 
 know ! No,t yet not yet. ' ' Laughter seized upon 
 him like a sickness. It went over him in waves.
 
 108 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "I am afraid you are ill," said Czadowska, watch- 
 ing him with slitted eyes; "so ill that it is un- 
 safe for you to remain here unattended. You must 
 be looked after more carefully. I feel this so strongly 
 that I shall look after you myself. We will leave 
 here this afternoon. ' ' And he added, with a dreadful 
 smile, "Perhaps some of the money you received 
 from the noble Baron von Rittenheim, this morning, 
 might be used to defray your expenses." 
 
 "My expenses will be quite light, Czadowska. I 
 shall not trouble you very long." The count spoke 
 almost gaily. Perhaps it was a relief to him that 
 the game was played to a finish at last. 
 
 "I quite agree with you," said the Russian, with 
 grim ambiguity. "In the meantime I arrest you, 
 Florian Zuleski spy, traitor, anarchist ! in the name 
 of the Tsar!" 
 
 Florian Sigismund Casimir, Count Zuleski, rose to 
 his feet and drew himself to his full height of a very 
 tall man, his attenuation accentuating it. The veins 
 on his bony forehead stood out darkly; his beard, 
 grown quite white of late, bristled. As he flung out 
 his long, thin arm, like a scythe, with a sweeping and 
 menacing gesture, one saw those brown discolorations 
 on hands and wrist which Demonax on a time called 
 "the tooth-marks of the Ferryman." The scholar's 
 eyes were enlarged, and blazed with unnatural luster, 
 as though they saw something. For a moment he 
 stood thus, fronting it; horror, terror, amazement, 
 and, underlying all, a growing, almost unbelieving
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 109 
 
 exultation, informed his changed countenance. Foam 
 flecked his beard. 
 
 "The cup is full!" cried he, in a loud, high voice. 
 "I see One with a plow, plowing under the nations 
 the proud, sinful, godless nations! I see One with a 
 scythe that reaps them. Fire and blood and desola- 
 tion I see, I see! Ravage, and the sound of giants 
 overthrown! A red and blazing sky, a black wing 
 overshadowing it! Death reaps!" And then, with 
 a proud and agonized note : ' ' Poland ! Let the cup 
 pass from her, God of the just! Let the cup pass!" 
 
 Stretched as it were abnormally, he rose sword- 
 straight upon his tiptoes until his figure all but 
 cleared the floor. Then his voice rattled in his 
 throat ; he collapsed into his chair, slumping heavily, 
 and stared at the police agent with a ghastly intensity. 
 
 That terrible stare frightened even the iron-hearted 
 Czadowska. There was in it something he had never 
 before encountered in a mortal gaze something awful 
 and unearthly, that saw and gaged and judged by im- 
 mortal and absolute standards. Czadowska turned 
 pale. The count, without removing his eyes from 
 him, presently spoke, in a strange and altered voice, 
 low and deep, like a bell tolling in the dark: 
 
 "In the evening when the red flag flies in the 
 streets you will die, Czadowska, upon a housetop. 
 Your world is passing. You will pass with it. When 
 you are hunted like a wild beast, when the howls of 
 men in blouses are in your ears, when the bullets of 
 muzhiks pierce your lungs, and you topple and fall,
 
 110 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 clawing with cracking fingers at the edge of a roof 
 and you go down, down and down with blood in 
 your throat and the wet, slippery pavements rise to 
 meet you and the hunters yell joyously remember 
 me in that last moment, Czadowska ! I pray you, re- 
 member Florian Zuleski!'' 
 
 As he spoke in that unearthly voice, staring at the 
 Russian with his fixed eyes, the police agent felt 
 the full horror of the scene the old man was evoking. 
 He felt himself falling, felt the roof slipping from 
 his clawing, desperate fingers ; there was in his mouth 
 the brackish taste of blood. 
 
 But even as his stammering lips were vainly trying 
 to cry out a denial, Zuleski clutched at his breast as 
 though to ease his bursting heart. Over his counte- 
 nance passed an expression of mortal anguish. With 
 a terrific effort he managed to sit erect, and his dying 
 eyes shot one last, proud glance at his foe, as if 
 Poland herself indomitable, unconquerable Poland 
 informed his spirit. 
 
 "I die," he gasped, "but Poland lives !" The 
 light went out of his eyes, like a taper blown out in 
 a sudden gust. His head fell forward. A shiver 
 passed over him, as a wind over water. 
 
 Czadowska was inured to the spectacle of men leav- 
 ing the world abruptly and by various routes, some 
 praying, some with screams cut short, some smiling, 
 some cursing, some unafraid and defiant. But con- 
 sternation, a blank bewilderment seized upon him as 
 he saw this man depart, slipping out of his clutches as 
 though of his own will and choice. Secretive, elu-
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 111 
 
 sive, masterful to the last, Zuleski chose his own hour 
 for departure, and in his going balked and flouted the 
 authority he repudiated, and mocked the power he 
 loathed. 
 
 Czadowska shuddered, and wiped his forehead, 
 upon which beads of sweat appeared. 
 
 "What a man! What a devil of a man!" he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 Then, with a great effort, the hard-bitten agent of 
 secret police pulled himself together. He shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 ' ' We could n 't have gotten much, if anything, out 
 of you, anyhow," he ruminated, staring down at the 
 dead man. ' ' And it vould have been a waste of time 
 and hemp, to carry you off and hang you. ' ' 
 
 He wasted no time in a search of the library : what 
 evidence he needed was in possession of Marya Jad- 
 wiga. He thrust into his pocket the bank notes 
 Rittenheim had left ; it tickled his humor to take the 
 German's money from Zuleski, though the cream of 
 the jest was soured, in that Zuleski did not care now. 
 
 There was in Czadowska 's nature a saturnine twist, 
 in his humor the touch of ferocity. He did not tell his 
 good friend Josika, who was scouring a copper pan in 
 the kitchen, of the grim little tragedy enacted up- 
 stairs in the library. What he did tell her was that 
 she had admirable arms, and that those blue earrings 
 pleased him ; he tweaked her ear playfully as he spoke, 
 and she backed off, coyly but formidably. Josika 's 
 virtue made Czadowska lick his lips. He chucked
 
 112 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 her under the chin, and grinned to see her eyes grow 
 green. Then he gave her some bank notes to bring 
 her smiles back, told her she was a good girl and 
 should not lose by it, and parted from her pleasantly. 
 Half an hour later he was gone. He had to pick up 
 Marya Jadwiga's trail, and he did not mean to lose 
 any more time about it. 
 
 As the count would not need any attention until 
 later in the day, Josika picked Marya Jadwiga 's room 
 clean, and went through several other rooms. At the 
 regular hour she prepared for the count the glass 
 of milk he had been taking recently, and on tiptoe 
 entered the library. She wondered to see him asleep 
 in his chair. He must be worse than usual. Then 
 something in the helplessness of the head drooped 
 upon the breast, of the arms hanging so slack, ar* 
 rested her. She called to him, respectfully. 
 
 He did not move. Of a sudden Josika knew that 
 he would never move any more, and with a cry she 
 fled. She was not a timid woman, but she did not 
 relish the notion of spending the night in the house 
 with the corpse of Florian Zuleski. She would go to 
 the village, where she could notify the priest. 
 
 Methodically she gathered her possessions together, 
 tied them into bundles, and placed them on a kitchen 
 table. Such money as she had, and a certain neck- 
 lace and brooch, she hid in her bosom. She would 
 better have her supper here, she reflected: it was a 
 long walk to the village, which she would reach 
 shortly after dark. She made an excellent meal,
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 113 
 
 crunching the bones of a chicken she had killed and 
 cooked that morning, eating great hunks of black 
 bread, bolting salted cucumbers, and winding up with 
 tea and preserves. She had the appetite of a healthy 
 peasant, the greed of a rapacious woman who has 
 known what it means to be stinted. 
 
 Her hunger satisfied, she rose, stretched herself, and 
 reached for her bundles. She was ready to leave the 
 house. The large room was flooded with the red light 
 of sunset, in which the stone floor, the ordinary iron 
 and copper utensils, the few colored plates, borrowed a 
 brief decorativeness. Then she paused, struck into 
 pale rigidity. Racing footsteps sounded in the hall, 
 some one rushed through the door ; Josika found her- 
 self confronting the red-bearded face of Sergei, and 
 behind him appeared the swarthy countenance of 
 Wincenty the gipsy. 
 
 Wincenty's skin had upon it a sort of sick grayish- 
 ness. He leaned against the door-jamb for support, 
 and with staring eyes looked at tall, fair Josika. 
 
 "When did the master go?" he asked thickly. 
 
 "This afternoon," said she, curtly. The two had 
 startled her. She wished she had not waited for a 
 meal, but had gone to the village immediately. She 
 regarded Sergei spitefully. Oh, that Czadowska had 
 the pair of them! 
 
 "He has been dead two or three hours," said Ser- 
 gei, who had once spent several months in a hospital 
 as an orderly. 
 
 "He was dead when I went upstairs with his milk,"
 
 114 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 said Josika, stolidly. With a sort of stupefaction 
 both men regarded her ; they looked at the table, from 
 which the dishes had not been removed. 
 
 "How long after Czadowska left was it that you 
 went upstairs?" asked Sergei. 
 
 "I don't know. Maybe an hour. What 's that to 
 you?" she asked rudely. 
 
 "Have you earned enough to buy yourself a blue 
 dress, Sister Josika?" he returned. 
 
 "What 's that to you?'' she repeated furiously. 
 But she turned pale. 
 
 "I think a red dress would be better for you," 
 said 'Sergei. His nostrils were twitching, and his 
 lips writhed back from his teeth. In his eyes was a 
 redder gleam than could have been caught from the 
 red sunset. 
 
 Wincenty the gipsy advanced a step. His hands 
 were shaking, and sweat ran down his face. 
 
 ' ' Why did you betray him ? " he screamed. ' ' Devil, 
 why did you betray the master?" Of a sudden the 
 man began to wail aloud, painfully, making uncouth' 
 and groaning noises. 
 
 Josika turned from them both. A cold and clammy 
 dread fell upon her ; the fear of death was like dust in 
 her throat. On a shelf near the door was Wences- 
 laus's great cleaver, a large butcher-knife with a 
 heavy handle and a razor-edged, unusually broad 
 blade. With a furious, lightning-like movement Ser- 
 gei seized the knife, and like a tiger bounded upon the 
 woman. Twice she flew around the table, with the 
 man at her heels. She had almost reached the door,
 
 BLUE EARRINGS 115 
 
 when he lunged forward and made a wide, sweeping 
 stroke. The broad, sharp blade went through bone 
 and sinew. Josika's head seemed to fly from her 
 shoulders. From the severed neck a crimson jet 
 spurted upward like a fountain, throwing an awful 
 spray. The headless trunk took a step forward, the 
 hands opening and closing spasmodically. Then the 
 body fell heavily to the stone floor, in the little cracks 
 and hollows of which red pools gathered. The head, 
 bounding forward, fell almost at Wincenty's feet. 
 The mouth had opened as though upon a scream cut 
 off, and for a frightful second the starting eyes 
 stared at the faces bent down upon them, the eyelids 
 twitched, and one saw the tongue move in the open 
 mouth. Then the lips were drained of blood, swift 
 pallor fell upon the cheeks. A dead head, with fair 
 hair sprayed and stained, and blue earrings showing 
 against white cheeks, lay on the kitchen floor. 
 
 It had happened with such incredible swiftness that 
 the gipsy had had no time even to cry aloud. Gasp- 
 ing, he looked from the face on the floor to the red- 
 bearded face glaring down at it. He felt sick, and at 
 the same time his sense of wild justice was satisfied. 
 
 "So die all traitors!" said Sergei, and shook the 
 cleaver. He pushed the trunk with his foot. Dis- 
 lodged by the movement, out of the bosom fell a neck- 
 lace, and a handkerchief in which coins were tied. 
 They tinkled musically as they struck the floor.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE KITE 
 
 BTWAJ! and a closing door. A sense of un- 
 reality. Prescience of finality, of the inevi- 
 table, something crying out, "Now all that 
 you have known, all that you have loved is finished 
 and done away with!" 
 
 Ahead of Marya Jadwiga and Wenceslaus, Win- 
 centy showed a light, guiding them through the intri- 
 cate mazes meandering ominously through the old 
 house. After what seemed pulseless hours he led 
 them into the open, under the starlight, close by the 
 little brook busy and murmurous in the summer 
 night. The two men hurried down the path, and 
 Marya Jadwiga followed, bewildered, all but dazed, 
 but blindly obedient to the relentless will which had 
 sent her forth. In the gipsies' glen a cart was wait- 
 ing. Barely giving her and Wenceslaus time to be 
 seated, Wincenty caught up the reins and urged the 
 horse forward. 
 
 Then began a strange and wild life which she looked 
 back upon, afterward, as one remembers a vivid and 
 impossible dream. Wincenty turned his charges over 
 to other gipsies, and these in turn passed them on 
 to all sorts and conditions of people. Women as 
 
 116
 
 THE KITE 117 
 
 well as men had them in charge, some whose very 
 language was unknown to Marya Jadwiga. A gipsy 
 woman stained her milk-white skin until she was as 
 brown as any peasant maiden. Never was she al- 
 lowed to appear openly. Thrice she was smuggled 
 into Jewish households, and witnessed for the first 
 time the real tenderness of domestic life^ the love 
 of parents and children, the intimacies of home. 
 Always the Jewish brethren supplied her with money. 
 Old men like prophets talked with her, old women like 
 sybils waited upon her. All these Jews spoke of her 
 father with a passionate faith and affection, a loyalty 
 like adoration. Zuleski stood for that inmost heart of 
 hope and faith of all Jews, Freedom. The Jews 
 made her flight safe ; their cleverness guarded and hid 
 and at the same time forwarded her. 
 
 " After this," said' Wenceslaus, stoutly, "I am will- 
 ing to allow Jews to remain Jews. All I hope is that 
 Christians will some day become Christian." 
 
 Seeing how inexperienced she was, the women had 
 tried to warn her. Some of the things they said, she 
 understood; sometimes she tried to, and could not. 
 While she was with the gipsies, a chief's wife, dis- 
 covering that she was weaponless, gave her a thin, 
 wonderful old dagger, like a pretty, dangerous 
 toy. 
 
 "It has always belonged to chiefs and the women 
 of chiefs," she said. ''Keep it always with you. 
 Promise me you will keep it always with you. It has 
 helped others. When the hour strikes, it will help 
 you, too, chief's daughter.''
 
 118 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Marya Jadwiga gave the required promise more to 
 please the woman, who had been very kind to her, 
 than because she thought she might need the deadly 
 little gift. She hid it in her bosom, next to the flat 
 package. 
 
 One morning at dawn they came to a maritime city, 
 and here Marya Jadwiga first saw ships and the mov' 
 ing world of waters. They were hurried aboard a 
 lugger, which immediately sailed. They landed at a 
 Swedish port, and here the flight was resumed. Then 
 came more tossing on the waters, and they were in 
 England, where a blond gentleman who spoke their 
 own tongue took their affairs into very competent 
 hands. Marya Jadwiga 's deep and grave respect for 
 his name, one of the oldest and greatest in Polish his- 
 tory, touched him, coming from Florian Zuleski's 
 daughter. He treated her with formality and father- 
 liness. Her extreme youth had -been a shock to him. 
 
 On his. second visit to their modest lodgings he was 
 accompanied by" a Polish lady married to an extremely 
 reactionary Russian prince. -She wore her title and 
 her beauty with a certain careless grace. She stared 
 at the young girl, and said, catching her breath. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! He has sent his daughter; and she 
 nothing but a child ! ' ' 
 
 ''I could wish," the Polish princess said, presently 
 "that you were less lovely, my child. I could wish 
 for your safety's sake you were ordinary. But you 
 are what you are, his daughter, one of the children 
 of fate." She even wished Wenceslaus had been dif- 
 ferent, for the old man could not help towering above
 
 THE KITE 119 
 
 others. Plainly, the two could not appear less than 
 themselves. The thing to do was to try to make them 
 as inconspicuous as possible. 
 
 A red-faced cabby and a common-looking workman 
 took the two travelers to the ship that was to carry 
 them to America. As they went aboard, Marya Jad- 
 wiga saw the gentleman who spoke Polish, bidding gay 
 farewells to a party of handsome Americans on their 
 way home. His eyes went over the old man and the 
 young girl without a trace of recognition. But she 
 knew why he was there. 
 
 The young girl wished that this wild journey might 
 be ended, that she could be relieved of that thin 
 package which weighed upon her so heavily. She 
 began to fear it, to dread it, to be suspicious of its 
 terrible import and consequences. To allow Bear and 
 Eagle to come to grips in a final death-struggle she 
 could understand that. But what purpose was to be 
 served by calling in a man with a face like a golden 
 mask? She had heard one word breathed Siberia. 
 What should the golden men do in -Siberia, which 
 was, her father said, the key to the East, the key to a 
 great empire about to be born ? And, puzzling sadly 
 about this thing, she was afraid. 
 
 Once the ship had turned her nose seaward, Wen- 
 ceslaus fell ill; he was incurably a landsman. The 
 girl was left very much to herself. She was not used 
 to the consolation of tears, and she did not weep now. 
 But when she stood by the rail and saw occasional bits 
 of wreckage tossed about at the caprice of the sea, she 
 thought she herself was like that caught up, tossed
 
 120 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 forth, swept she knew not whither nor to what end. 
 She was tameless, high-hearted, free, but not ad- 
 venturous. She had inherited from a long line of 
 proud women a fine and delicate sense of propriety, 
 from proud men a sense of direct, open dealing, of 
 straight honor. The vagueness, the danger, the uncer- 
 tainty of her present state had no charm for her. 
 
 Her wistful face, her loneliness, caught a steward's 
 kindly attention. He brought her several books, and 
 got as his reward a smile that made his hard-bitten 
 heart skip a beat. In a quiet way this man looked 
 after her. Whereupon a brisk and well-groomed 
 young gentleman, who had noticed the girl with partic- 
 ular attention, seized upon that steward and asked 
 a few questions. Whom was that young lady with? 
 She traveled alone ? One always saw her alone. Oh, 
 there was an old gentleman with her, who was ill? 
 Too bad! The voyage had been just a little rough 
 in spots, but the young lady herself appeared to be 
 a good sailor. Her name? Miss Fabre? And the 
 old gentleman ? his name was Fabre, too ? Her grand- 
 father ? Thank you, steward ! And the young gen- 
 tleman bestowed a liberal tip, quite as though the 
 steward's brief replies had been the most interesting 
 conversation. 
 
 Without making it too obvious, the young man 
 managed to haunt that portion of the deck where 
 Marya Jadwiga happened to be sitting. On one oc- 
 casion he slipped, collided awkwardly with her chair, 
 and sent her book flying. He scrambled after and 
 returned the book, bowing and apologetic. In a stiff
 
 THE KITE 121 
 
 and precise sort of way he was good-looking, after the 
 correct manner of young men trained militarily. 
 
 When she looked up, startled, he noted the charm 
 of her small, heart-shaped face. She accepted his 
 apologies, but with a sedate politeness that offered no 
 opening for conversation. He thought wise to ig- 
 nore this. He asked respectfully: 
 
 ' ' Mademoiselle is of France ? ' ' This with a signifi- 
 cant glance at her book, which happened to be Emile 
 Souvestre's lovely "Un Philosophe sous les Toits." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah! a Russian, then?" 
 
 She made a vague gesture, which sought to convey 
 the truth that it should make no difference to a 
 stranger what her nationality might be; bowed with 
 finality ; and, opening her book, politely waited for him 
 to resume his interrupted walk and allow her to re- 
 sume her interrupted reading. There was nothing 
 for him to do but take himself off. 
 
 The incident, commonplace enough, stayed in her 
 mind ; for she remembered all those warnings against 
 strangers, that had been poured into her ears all along 
 her route. Pretending to read, she turned her head 
 slightly, following the young man's progress. Pres- 
 ently he paused to speak to a passenger huddled mo- 
 rosely in a deck chair, and in the most casual manner 
 took up a position near by, his back to the rail. With- 
 out appearing to do so, he could keep her under 
 observation. Her unease grew. Was she being 
 watched? suspected? And by this young man? 
 
 She would have been more uneasy could she have
 
 122 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 known that this same young man, himself en route to 
 America upon a delicate mission, had received a long 
 wireless message in cipher, in which she and Wences- 
 laus were described, and instructions regarding them 
 conveyed; and that the young man wirelessed back 
 that he had the two under observation, and would im- 
 plicitly obey orders. 
 
 When the astounding sky line of New York came 
 into view, Wenceslaus was able to cling to the rail 
 and stare at it wonderingly but without hope. His 
 whole being was bound up in an old ruined house, an 
 old ruined master; and away from them he felt an 
 exile's bitterness of spirit. But he made no com- 
 plaint ; his place now was with Marya Jadwiga ; and 
 was not she, too, an exile? 
 
 Franciszka met them. She had been cabled from 
 England, greatly to her astonishment, and she looked 
 at them as curiously as they looked at her. This 
 Americanized Franciszka amazed Marya Jadwiga, and 
 took Wenceslaus 's breath away. But, handsome as 
 the woman was, something in the young girl's pure 
 and transparent spirit drew away from her at sight. 
 
 The erstwhile peasant had bourgeoned into a sleek 
 and carefully clothed sophistication. Ruthless, clever, 
 greedy, she had prospered, New York offering a 
 fertile field for such talents as she possessed. She 
 was wearing a noticeably simple tailored suit and a 
 small, smart hat. Her well-cared-for skin fitted her 
 like the skin of a plump grape. Every detail of her 
 appearance was planned and calculated to produce the
 
 THE KITE 123 
 
 effect she desired to create. A very fastidious man, 
 noted for his exquisite taste, had once been caught 
 in Franciszka's net. He had presently left her in 
 disgust, but not before he had taught her the wisdom 
 of dressing in accord with her style at its best. 
 
 Franciszka looked with quick disdain at Wences- 
 laus. He had ceased to look like a servant, she re- 
 flected, but that was only in outward semblance. Old 
 fool! At heart he would always remain the Zuleski 
 serving-man. But at sight of Marya Jadwiga her 
 eyes narrowed. She was sure of herself and her own 
 beauty now; but she felt the menace to her kind in 
 the c.o,ntrast offered by this pale, unpainted face with 
 its veiled eyes and virginal mouth. The surge of 
 an old hate poured over her. 
 
 The two had not come as beggars, evidently. They 
 were better dressed than one had expected. Some 
 one had evidently been at pains with them. Why? 
 Why? Why, indeed, were they here? She must 
 shape her conduct cautiously, she decided, until she 
 had fathomed the pair, their friends, their intentions, 
 their resources. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga had glanced around to see if she 
 were unduly observed say by that brisk young man 
 she suspected. But she failed to discover him in the 
 crowd. He, however, was far from being unobser- 
 vant of her and her companion. He studied Francis- 
 zka closely, and with growing astonishment. He was 
 far too clever, he had seen too many Franciszkas in 
 his time not to recognize the type and know the kite 
 when he saw it. Now, what on earth was Zuleski 's
 
 124 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 daughter doing in such company? Had Zuleski 
 known ? Or had he been so hard pressed that he had 
 had to run such a risk as this? He must have been 
 playing for tremendous stakes, then, for bigger stakes 
 even than they suspected. From the fine car which 
 had been awaiting his arrival, he watched Marya 
 Jadwiga and Wenceslaus drive away with Franciska; 
 then his chauffeur quietly and at a safe distance 
 turned and followed. The young man was implicitly 
 obeying orders. He had a pleasant sense of excite- 
 ment and adventure. He knew something about 
 Florian Zuleski 's career, himself. He wondered if 
 the girl had heard the latest news. She had not yet. 
 
 Franciszka's house had been very carefully selected. 
 A fashionable and handsome beauty doctor, with a 
 fashionable and wealthy clientele, must select her 
 abode with the nicest care. It must have just the 
 right atmosphere, proclaiming that Anglo-Saxon god 
 Respectability : and at the same time it must suggest 
 the luxury which a wealthy and nervous patron, with a 
 debilitated body to be massaged, might expect and 
 demand. The house was one of a row just off the 
 lower end of the Avenue, with the usual impassive 
 and impressive front, the usual handsome, discreet 
 door, and windows with silk shades drawn. There 
 were blooming window-boxes, and the iron railings 
 protecting the steps were unusually good. 
 
 The front hall, in paneled woodwork, carried 
 out the impression of beauty and order. Franciszka, 
 with a lucrative reputation as a beauty doctor who 
 really beautified, and who was past mistress in other
 
 THE KITE 125 
 
 even more lucrative arts, was shrewd and sensible 
 where her own interests were concerned. 'She knew to 
 a nicety how to hold and use those who came to her 
 hands; their- passions and pocketbooks when they 
 happened to be. men, and even, whenever possible, 
 their taste, their intelligence, their culture. With 
 women, their vanity, always: very often their jeal- 
 ousy and their cleverness, their manners and taste in 
 dress. She had in her employ three or four young 
 women, each of whom was subtly suggestive of her 
 work, and graded in personal attractiveness until 
 she herself formed the apex. Each was comely ; each 
 fell short of Franciszka. The Man Who Paid 
 there is always a Man Who Pays for the Fran- 
 ciszkas laughed gratingly whenever he looked at 
 this ensemble. His respect for Franciszka 's acumen 
 grew. He had no illusions, even about himself, but he 
 could respect cleverness and efficiency. 
 
 He had not let Franciszka go, because her psychol- 
 ogy amused and intrigued him. She was even more 
 ruthless than he was, she was clever, she was at times 
 very useful to him, and she did not bore him too much. 
 Although he had no more love for her than she 
 had for him, they got along very amicably; and he 
 paid her bills without grumbling, and backed her busi- 
 ness ventures without loss to himself and with profit 
 to her. 
 
 He would have loathed her had she been afflicted 
 with a conscience, or if her complexes had been nai've. 
 Her robust, peasant's health, her almost menacing 
 vitality, warmed his chilled veins. It gave him a
 
 126 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 curious and perverse pleasure to reflect that he, who 
 was old, absorbed through her, who was young, all 
 the youth, the freshness, the vitality she looted from 
 others, who loved her. 
 
 He would regard her oxlike eyes, which had a very 
 unoxlike gleam in their dark depths, her moist, insa- 
 tiable, half-open mouth, her splendid hair, and smile 
 with a certain gratified selfishness. Oh, yes, she was 
 a fine creature ; something of a devil, but he had never 
 had any hankering after angels. So he chuckled over 
 the beauty business, which gave his dear, dark kite her 
 chance at respectability and at the same time her 
 opportunity to throw him certain choice titbits 
 when he expressed the desire to possess them. One 
 sees that this partnership was a highly satisfactory 
 arrangement all around. 
 
 Wenceslaus and Marya Jadwiga looked at the solid, 
 stolid, handsome respectability of Franciska's house, 
 and entered its handsome door, and stared at its sub- 
 dued, luxurious interior, wonderingly. A tall old 
 gentleman, dressed with quiet elegance, was lounging 
 on a settle in the hall, idly turning over the pages of 
 a brightly covered magazine, when they entered. He 
 nodded to Franciszka, but did not rise; a slightly 
 mocking gleam came into his eyes when he met old 
 Wenceslaus 's respectful glance. Then the mocking 
 light vanished ; Franciszka stepped aside, and he saw 
 Marya Jadwiga. 
 
 Franciszka had been informed that Count Florian's 
 daughter was henceforth to be known as Miss Fabre. 
 It was as Miss Fabre that she was introduced to the
 
 THE KITE 127 
 
 old gentleman, who rose with alacrity, and greeted her 
 with pleasant courtesy and friendliness. Over her 
 head he looked at Franciszka and slightly drooped his 
 lids. Franciszka 's own eyes narrowed. So? At 
 first sight? This was going to be interesting. Zu- 
 leski 's girl ! 
 
 Franciszka 's house had more magic details for com- 
 fort than they had known existed. Marya Jadwiga 
 could not help comparing the roiom assigned to her 
 which, though small, was extremely comfortable and 
 in good taste with that bare, bleak bedchamber at 
 home. A sigh rose from the bottom of her heart. 
 Oh, to be back there, with all its bareness, its poverty ! 
 Home! 
 
 This fine Franciszka puzzled her. She experienced 
 an inexplicable aversion for the woman. She could not 
 like Franciszka, and she hoped Wenceslaus would not 
 be beguiled into trusting her overmuch. Then she felt 
 ashamed of these feelings ; for what would they have 
 done save for this same woman? She had received 
 them into her house, comparative strangers that they 
 were. 
 
 It was natural that Franciszka should want to know 
 why they had so suddenly decided to come to New 
 York, and what they intended doing now they were 
 here. It was natural that she should wish to know 
 their resources, too. She herself, she told them, had 
 had a hard enough struggle at first; until she discov- 
 ered kind friends, and the way to make a good living 
 for herself. But now, although she still had to work 
 hard, as they saw, and was always busy, she was do-
 
 128 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ing very well. Oh, yes, very well indeed. Perhaps, 
 later on, if need arose, she could put Marya Jadwig'a 
 in the way of doing just as well for herself. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga felt that she really should be grate- 
 ful to Franciszka. 
 
 Within a week of their arrival a cablegram came 
 from England. It was unsigned, but Marya Jadwiga 
 knew that the Polish lady who was called "Princess" 
 had sent it. It read : 
 
 Even while we lament his loss your father's friends re- 
 joice that his passing was painless and peaceful. 
 
 Upon Franciska the news of Pan Florian's death 
 had a curious effect. There was something tigerish 
 in her eyes as she considered the little noblewoman 
 thrust thus strangely into her life. 
 
 "I certainly hope you 've got enough to tide you 
 over," she said bluntly. "Maybe you don't know it 
 yet, but it takes more to live a month in New York 
 than a year in the old country. I don't like to worry 
 you, when you 're so upset about the old gentleman 
 and all, but I thought for your own sake I 'd better 
 ask you what you mean to do." 
 
 "I 'm afraid I don't know yet just what we 're go- 
 ing to do, Franciszka. I was waiting that is, I 
 thought my father would have sent us word " She 
 stopped at that. "But of course we cannot stay on 
 indefinitely in your house without remunerating you, ' ' 
 she finished, bravely enough. ' ' If we are in your way, 
 Franciszka I 'm afraid we are why, you will tell us
 
 THE KITE 129 
 
 where we may find some inexpensive lodgings, and we 
 will go." 
 
 Franciszka, who had her own reasons for not wish- 
 ing the girl to leave her house, said, after a thought- 
 ful pause: 
 
 "You better try to save all you can. Now, one 
 of my girls is off sick, and I 'm real short-handed. 
 I 'm awful particular who I take on: I have to be, 
 with customers like mine. You 're a lady, and you 
 talk real good English. Say you take my girl's place 
 for a while, get things ready, hand out hot towels, 
 and hairpins and creams and things like that, 
 make yourself useful, and I '11 call your board and 
 the old man 's square. Later, if you like the work and 
 want to keep on, with what I 'd pay you and what 
 you 'd make on the side you 'd earn good money. And 
 you 've got to remember this : Wenceslaus was all right 
 in the old country, but he can't do anything for you 
 here. It 's you that 's got to make a living for both. ' ' 
 
 ' ' If you think I can do it, Franciszka, I will try, ' ' 
 said Marya Jadwiga, calmly. She thought that pres- 
 ently They would get word to her, relieving her of 
 that package. In the meantime it would strengthen 
 her courage to earn enough for herself and Wences- 
 laus during these trying days. 
 
 Franciszka never spared any of her workwomen. 
 She was a hard taskmistress, exacting every ounce of 
 labor for every penny of payment. It was not likely 
 that she would spare Marya Jadwiga. To have Flo- 
 rian Zuleski's daughter at her beck and call, to give 
 her orders, tickled Franciszka 's sense of humor.
 
 130 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Many things had come to her net; but never in her 
 wildest imaginings had she dreamed that a sportive 
 destiny would toss her a morsel like this ! 
 
 Wenceslaus protested violently. Surely the world 
 was turning upside down when such as Franciszka 
 could put menial work upon the Countess Marya Jad- 
 wiga Zuleska. When he said so to Franciszka, she 
 fluttered her eyelids insolently and smiled. 
 
 "It's a little way the world has," she retorted, en- 
 joying with malicious amusement his helpless anger. 
 He sensed this, and was suddenly afraid. He grew 
 ever more ill at ease in her house. Restless even 
 to nervousness, the old man desired to get out into 
 the streets and walk, walk, walk. He liked these 
 foreign streets, so full of life, glitter, movement. The 
 wizardries of scintillating and colorful electric signs 
 left him lost in wonder. He thought at first that 
 this beautiful magic which glowed in the sky every 
 night must serve some great moral end, must have 
 some vital bearing upon the lives of these people, 
 since they made it so much a part of their lives. 
 When he was told that it merely meant chewing 
 gum, or sewing-silk, or maybe automobile tires or a 
 substitute for coffee, he was curiously saddened and 
 disappointed, having somewhat the sensations one 
 might have who saw a great angel utilized as, say, a 
 sandwich man. 
 
 Beautiful spires and towers rising into pearly skies, 
 great buildings of unequal heights producing the 
 effect of crags and mountain pinnacles, the titanic so- 
 lidity and strength of a city of granite upon granite
 
 THE KITE 131 
 
 impressed him profoundly. He watched great police- 
 men performing miracles with obedient crowds, which 
 obeyed them as, he surmised, no people ever obeyed 
 God. He could not help being glad he had seen this 
 city of wonders ; none other was ever like unto it, ever 
 could be like it; for it had grown accidentally, as it 
 were; was more like some stupendous formation of 
 nature than the work of man ; there was nothing reg- 
 ular, nothing planned ; yet the whole, like a mountain 
 mass, satisfied one with a sense of fitness. An en- 
 chantment, a place of magic anything could happen 
 in these amazing streets! 
 
 One night a very pleasant thing happened. He and 
 Marya Jadwiga were standing before a lighted shop 
 window full of little statuettes. Some were of the 
 Blessed Mother, some of holy saints quite unknown to 
 him. They were commenting on these, when a tall, 
 thin, rather melancholy-faced man paused beside 
 them, lifted his hat, and spoke to them in good Polish ! 
 
 ' ' Pardon me for speaking to you, but I was born in 
 Warsaw, and when I heard you and your daughter 
 speak, I knew you for my own people. ' ' 
 
 "The young mistress was born in Cracow," Wen- 
 ceslaus said stiffly. Could the man not see that he, 
 Wenceslaus, was but her servant, that she was high- 
 born? 
 
 "My mother's father was a shoemaker in Cracow. 
 He was killed in sixty-three," the man said simply. 
 And as Wenceslaus turned again to the window, rec- 
 ognizing a little saint in the back row, the man 
 looked straight into Marya Jadwiga 's eyes and made
 
 132 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 a sign, so slight, so quick, so casual, that for the mo- 
 ment she doubted the evidence of her senses. 
 
 Wenceslaus turned again, his face lighted with a 
 smile. 
 
 "It is really our own little Saint Stanislaus! We 
 find our own good little saint here, and we so far away 
 from home ! ' ' He held his hat in his hand, bent his 
 head slightly, and put up a silent prayer. 
 
 "We are to be found everywhere, my friend," said 
 the stranger. Imperatively he repeated the almost 
 imperceptible sign. 
 
 Should she answer ? Should she recognize it ? Her 
 father had said only those to be trusted had it. She 
 hesitated a moment; then, with a beating heart, ac- 
 knowledged it. 
 
 "I am dark, I speak French, I am supposed to be 
 a Frenchman, ' ' the man explained good-humoredly to 
 Wenceslaus, who asked him a few questions. "But 
 my name is Jan Dzylinski. One understands nobody 
 could get along here with a name like that! So I 
 am called Jean Romain. It does very well." 
 
 "And we are called Fabre, as you are called Ro- 
 main," said Marya Jadwiga, gravely, "but my 
 father's name was Florian Zuleski." Had he not 
 given her the signal ? 
 
 " It is a great name Zuleski, ' ' said Jan Dzylinski. 
 
 He spoke hat in hand. "Pani, if I can ever be 
 of the slightest service to you, to anybody, in that 
 name " His respect for the young girl was deep 
 enough to satisfy even Wenceslaus. 
 
 There was some further pleasant talk between them,
 
 THE KITE 133 
 
 as between fellow countrymen met in a foreign land, 
 before the man went his way. 
 
 Life in Franciszka's house pressed ever more heav- 
 ily upon them. Ah! Why was there no sign, no 
 word, from those who, her father had said, were ex- 
 pecting her? Had there been some fatal hitch in 
 Zuleski's plans? Had all things ended with himself? 
 Why were they left so alone? Each hour seemed to 
 her a day. 
 
 She did not know that since he had overheard the 
 conversation between Zuleski and Rittenheim, Cza- 
 dowska scouted certain tentative promises or rather 
 hints of promises, made by her father; the Rus- 
 sian now disbelieved that Zuleski had ever meant 
 to carry his hints through to fruition ; Czadowska was 
 therefore working from another angle. Of all this 
 she was of course ignorant. Nor did she know that a 
 telephone inquiry for Miss Fabre had been answered 
 by Franciszka, who had said that Miss Fabre was 
 out, but that any message left for her would be 
 delivered on her return. Astute, suspicious, deter- 
 mined to know all she could about the two whose pres- 
 ence in her house was still a puzzle to her, Franciszka 
 meant to watch their every move. A man 's voice had 
 replied that he would telephone later. Thrice had 
 this happened, and Franciszka had said nothing to 
 the girl. Who wished to see Marya Jadwiga? Who 
 knew of her presence here ? And why was she called 
 Miss Fabre? Franciszka meant to know. She had 
 her own reasons.
 
 134 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 On an evening when the two were out, Franciszka 
 let herself into the basement room which Wenceslans 
 thought he had left securely locked. Cold-bloodedly 
 she examined his possessions. H 'm ! Not very much, 
 certainly, but of good quality. Then she discovered 
 his wallet, hidden at the bottom of his small trunk. 
 Marya Jadwiga had thought it prudent to divide their 
 store, and the old man had believed the money safe in 
 his trunk, here in Franciszka 's house. 
 
 The woman balanced the purse in her hand. The 
 sum was not very large; there might be more later; 
 or this might be all. In any case, let us remove this, 
 and see what happens! Through the foresight of 
 the Polish gentleman in London, the money was in 
 good American bank notes. She put the roll of bills 
 into her bosom, which tingled pleasantly at contact 
 with the one thing in the world which could possibly 
 warm it. Carefully replacing everything exactly as 
 she had found it, she locked his trunk, locked the door 
 after her, and went serenely about her business. This 
 would, she hoped, teach the old numskull a good les- 
 son. And, supposing this should be all they had or 
 could get, she rather liked the notion of Marya Jad- 
 wiga being left penniless. 
 
 Franciszka was far too shrewd to underestimate 
 Marya Jadwiga. There was a something about her 
 which made one look at her twice, and wish to see her 
 again. True, she was very small, almost diminutive, 
 but even in this she pleased, for the Man Who Paid 
 likened her to a Tanagra figurine. Franciszka did 
 not know what a Tanagra figurine might be, but she
 
 THE KITE 135 
 
 realized it would be something extremely expensive, 
 since he thought so highly of it. Franciszka had 
 instantly pricked up her ears. She saw how very 
 valuable the girl might be made. 
 
 For Marya Jadwiga, by no effort of her own, had 
 been able to rouse the man's dangerous interest. 
 Faultfinding, hypercritical, demanding perfection, 
 from the moment he first saw her he had been un- 
 able to forget her. She was constantly in his thought ; 
 for here was something new, something untouched, 
 unspoiled, fresh with pure dew, virginal and sweet. 
 Something finer, rarer, more delicate than anything he 
 had as yet possessed. Corrupt to the heart 's core, he 
 had a horrible but infallible appreciation of youth and 
 beauty, and he found both, flowering exquisitely, in 
 the little foreign girl in Franciszka 's house. 
 
 Franciszka was not in the least jealous. She 
 laughed, and there leapt into her eyes the something 
 tigerish he liked to watch for. Ohe, but here was a 
 joyous jest ! But she realized she must feel her way 
 with nicest discretion, for the girl would be difficult 
 to deal with. But the more obdurate she proved, the 
 more the man would move heaven and earth to have 
 his own way. So of course he would have to pay 
 pay largely. Franciszka felt that she might almost 
 name her own price for helping him, when such a one 
 as Zuleski's girl was at stake. 
 
 And Zuleski himself had sent her here! She did 
 not know why, but here the girl was; and Zuleski 
 himself was safely dead. There was but one very 
 slight circumstance which gave one any pause: who
 
 136 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 was trying to reach Marya Jadwiga over the tele- 
 phone? Somebody who had met her on shipboard? 
 Possibly. Whoever he might be, he had not given 
 name or address, nothing more than the curt "I will 
 ring again." One could not consider such an un- 
 known as a factor in the situation. On the whole, it 
 was just such a situation as Franciszka delighted to 
 handle. 
 
 She had handled others for the Man Who Paid, but 
 never one so piquant as this; never one which in- 
 volved such feeling of gratified hate. Wenceslaus 
 might try to make trouble. But beggars cannot be 
 choosers. Wenceslaus could be disposed of. It had 
 been good business to make him even more futile by 
 making him penniless. 
 
 When Wenceslaus discovered the loss of his pre- 
 cious wallet he tore his hair. Franciszka, deeply an- 
 noyed by his loud lamentings, coldly insisted that he 
 himself had lost his purse if, indeed, he ever had such 
 a thing. He had taken it out with him and some 
 slick-fingered pickpocket had relieved him of it if 
 there had been anything to steal. And she looked at 
 Wenceslaus with smoldering eyes and a frown of dis- 
 like. 
 
 This new calamity for he could regard the loss of 
 the money as nothing short of a calamity added to 
 his bewilderment, and increased Marya Jadwiga 's per- 
 plexities. There was as yet no word from those who 
 were to have come to her; and her work for Fran- 
 ciszka was daily growing heavier and more onerous. 
 
 With frightful suffering Wenceslaus saw this last.
 
 THE KITE 137 
 
 He was beginning to hate Franciszka's house, with its 
 pervasive faint smell of scents and lotions and creams 
 and soaps and powders, and women, women, women; 
 women whose massaged, expressionless faces, smoothed 
 and rubbed out of all womanliness and humanity, 
 made him think uneasily of heathen idols. Their 
 mouths were too red, as though they drank blood. 
 As though the lif eblood of other women poor women 
 and children, and many workingmen, squeezed out 
 of the wine presses of modern commercialism for the 
 benefit and well-being of these favored few, had red- 
 dened the satiated mouths that devoured them. When 
 he looked at these massaged and marcelled women, 
 he was afraid of them. He felt stifled in this atmos- 
 phere, he who was so used to the open air and to a 
 noble poverty. 
 
 He dared not talk with freedom to Marya Jadwiga 
 any more, for Franciszka, watching them hawklike, 
 always managed to appear, to interrupt. She did not 
 want them to be much together; she wished to keep 
 the little mistress to herself, to have her always under 
 her own eyes. Wenceslaus saw, but was unable to 
 cope with the clever woman. Also, she was trying to 
 prevent their walks in the open. "When Marya Jad- 
 wiga, somewhat resentful of this interference, had 
 lifted her head with a hint of haughtiness, Franciszka 
 had explained that the streets were not altogether 
 safe ; they did not understand the danger they ran by 
 wandering around alone. Wenceslaus scouted the 
 idea. Since the loss of his purse, which the stubborn 
 old man knew he had left in his trunk, he had been
 
 138 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 distrustful of Franciszka. He said, shortly, that he 
 and the little mistress had to have fresh air. The 
 streets were safe enough, and when they were out 
 of the house they could forget things for a while. 
 And he looked at the woman with his steady, stern 
 old eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I don't care! You can get yourself run over 
 some night, for all of me, ' ' said Franciszka, angrily. 
 ' ' I was n 't thinking of you ; I was thinking of her. ' ' 
 And this was true. The Man Who Paid had given 
 orders that the girl was to be kept as close as possible. 
 He did not want too many people to see her yet. It 
 might endanger his plans. 
 
 The young girl, to whom old age meant nothing but 
 goodness, reverence, protection, who had been in the 
 care of two noble old men all her life, looked with 
 grateful eyes at this one. He had very fine manners 
 when he wished, and he wished now to appear at his 
 best. When he assured her that he was her friend, 
 that he wished to be of service to her, she felt that 
 the Holy Mother had answered her prayers. See, 
 already Heaven was raising friends for her and Wen- 
 ceslaus ! They would not be left utterly alone in this 
 alien land. This good, this kind, this fatherly old 
 man would presently advise them, show them what 
 to do. 
 
 He seemed to divine her perplexities and to sym- 
 pathize with her in her predicament. He had been 
 able to be of considerable service to Franciszka, he 
 told her. On his advice she had bought this house. 
 A capable business woman, she would make the place
 
 THE KITE 139 
 
 pay for itself. But for herself Miss Fabre was 
 she perfectly satisfied here? Was it not somewhat 
 unsuited to her ? Ah, he had suspected that ! Fran- 
 ciszka was, as he had said, a very capable business 
 woman. But for a little girl, like herself Suppose, 
 now, he could secure her a better position, one more 
 suited to her? Say, secretary to some old professor, 
 who was writing a book ; or companion to some pleas- 
 ant and wealthy old lady: wouldn't that be better? 
 
 Marya Jadwiga said it would be much, much better. 
 She was afraid she hardly earned her keep as it was. 
 She was awkward at the work, and it seemed to grow 
 more and more irksome to her, instead of becoming 
 easier. She did not complain of Franciszka's ruth- 
 less demands upon her time and strength, nor of the 
 menial labor imposed upon her, nor of the treatment 
 accorded her by some of the women clients she had 
 not known women could be like that to other women. 
 But the kind old gentleman, as though he understood 
 without being told, narrowed his eyes, frowned, and 
 tugged at his mustache. He muttered: 
 
 "I '11 have to see about this ! This state of affairs 
 must be changed, immediately." 
 
 "I 'm glad you 've made such a good friend. 
 You 're lucky," said Franciszka. "Once he likes 
 you, he '11 stand by you. You keep on pleasing him ; 
 he '11 do a whole lot for you." 
 
 "I don't wish to appear ungrateful, Franciszka," 
 said Marya Jadwiga, delicately considerate of the 
 feelings she credited the woman with possessing, "but 
 you can see for yourself that it would be better for
 
 140 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 me to make a change. I 'm afraid I 'm not of much 
 value to you." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said the other, with a sudden 
 gleam of the eyes. "But whatever you do, you stick 
 to His Nibs. He 's got money to burn." 
 
 "He has a very kind heart," said the young girl, 
 with mild reproof. 
 
 "Old men pretty nearly always have kind hearts 
 for young women, ' ' said Franciszka. 
 
 That night, putting aside Franciszka 's objections, 
 Marya Jadwiga and Wenceslaus went for their usual 
 stroll, the old man being painfully restless. At 
 Twenty-third Street they crossed over into Madison 
 Square, and sat down for awhile. The noise, the 
 lights, the constant stream of buses, of fine cars, the 
 endless stream of people, the glitter of Twenty-third 
 Street, the airy grace of the Metropolitan tower, the 
 restrained and ordered beauty of Madison Square 
 Garden, the looming dark bulk of the Flatiron Build- 
 ing, like the prow of some unimaginable galley, held 
 them absorbed. Marya Jadwiga thought that one 
 perceived the beauty of New York as perhaps one 
 received an inspiration : it was not static, but ecstatic, 
 the revelation of a poignant moment, come suddenly, 
 like a flash of beauty into a plain face, and having the 
 unforgetable charm of the unexpected. She thought 
 one might love New York as a man might love a 
 homely woman into whose face at intervals flashed 
 this different and unexpected loveliness, for which one 
 watched always with an eagerness, a desire, a delight 
 that no other face could arouse or satisfy.
 
 THE KITE 141 
 
 Absorbed and musing, she paid but scant attention 
 to the people near her. A slovenly man sitting next 
 her got up and moved away. His place was almost 
 immediately taken by a rather meager Japanese, 
 dressed with the meticulous carefulness of his race. 
 He carried a roll of newspapers, and looked about 
 him with a sort of impassive interest. No one would 
 pay more than the merest passing interest to the un- 
 obtrusive little man. Marya Jadwiga was scarcely 
 conscious of his presence, until she felt something 
 thrust into her hand. At the same moment the 
 Japanese got up and walked away. 
 
 Her hand mechanically closed upon the tiny slip of 
 paper thrust into it. In the brightly lighted square 
 she could read the typewritten line : 
 
 It is desirable that you hear the name of one who died in 
 exile. 
 
 There was neither signature nor date, nor any 
 other message. But her heart gave a great upward 
 leap. They were not unaware of her presence, then. 
 They had let her hear from them at last. And the 
 yellow man had made the first move. Well, she 
 would do what she had been sent to do ; and this sus- 
 pense would be in part ended. And yet there was 
 no gladness in her. A leaden and dispirited sense of 
 unease oppressed her. She said to Wenceslaus pres- 
 ently, in a low voice : 
 
 "Do not start or look astonished. Just keep look- 
 ing around as if what I were telling you was but of
 
 142 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 passing interest. Look at those children in red 
 frocks, for instance. ' ' 
 
 Wenceslaus looked at the two children in red frocks. 
 They were noisy small children who should have been 
 in bed and asleep, he thought. 
 
 "I have received a message from one of Them," 
 said Marya Jadwiga. The old man's eyes left the 
 children, and sought hers, dumbly. 
 
 ' ' It may mean the end of our exile, dear, ' ' she whis- 
 pered hopefully. 
 
 ' ' Who ? Which of them ? " he whispered back. 
 
 "A yellow man. Sitting next to me. I didn't 
 really see him ; he gave me the message and immedi- 
 ately got up and walked off." 
 
 "What do we do next?" he asked, brightening 
 slightly. Please the good God, they might soon be 
 able to leave that hateful house, in which one's lungs 
 felt clogged and one's brains were always bewildered. 
 
 "I don't know. I shall wait. They will manage 
 it." 
 
 When they reached home, Franciszka said pleasantly 
 enough : 
 
 "You just missed our friend. He was sorry not to 
 see you. He 's real worried about you; says you 're 
 looking too pale; that this business don't agree with 
 you, and you ought to have a different kind of work. 
 He 's been looking around for something real nice for 
 you, and he thinks he 's found it an awfully easy 
 place with a rich old lady, a sort of cousin of his. 
 He says if she takes to you you '11 be in real luck, and 
 he 's sure she will, because he 's been talking to her
 
 THE KITE 143 
 
 about you, and she 's interested and wants to see you. 
 
 "You 'd be a sort of companion to her write her 
 letters, and read to her, and go out with her, and 
 amuse her, and that sort of thing. No real hard work, 
 a nice old lady, and a pleasant home." 'She watched 
 the girl shrewdly, and at sight of the brightening face 
 she smiled slightly. 
 
 ' ' If you like the idea, he '11 come for you some night 
 and take you to her house. And he says if you and 
 her don't hit it off, he '11 take you to see another friend 
 of his, a professor who 's writing some sort of book, 
 and needs somebody to keep his pages numbered and 
 look up things for him. What I think is, you 're in 
 line for a good, soft job one way or the other, and you 
 better think yourself mighty lucky to have such a 
 friend as him to look out for you." 
 
 "Ah, I do think so! and I am indeed grateful to 
 him and to you, too, Franciszka," said Marya Jad- 
 wiga, sweetly. "I only hope I shall please the old 
 lady. If I do not, then I shall hope to please the pro- 
 fessor. At times my father allowed me to help him 
 in his literary work." 
 
 "You 're the sort old people fall for," said Fran- 
 ciszka, ambiguously. "Now look here: everybody 's 
 got to look out for themselves, and this is your chance. 
 Once you 're settled and doing well, you can look out 
 for Wenceslaus, too. You got to think of that." 
 
 Wenceslaus was pleased at the idea of leaving Fran- 
 ciszka 's house. Yes, they would go away from here. 
 And after a while they would go home back to their 
 own place. Its bareness and poverty would have no
 
 144 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 terrors for them, for it would be blessed and hallowed 
 by Pan Florian's indwelling spirit. He spoke to 
 Marya Jadwiga thus, the next night, when they 
 walked out. And when they sat again in their favorite 
 haunt, Madison Square, it seemed to Wenceslaus that 
 the Metropolitan tower was like a lighthouse a 
 friendly light showing them, a shipwrecked old man 
 and young girl, a way to harbor and safety and, 
 presently, Home. Marya Jadwiga patted his hand 
 consolingly. But she did not formulate any plans 
 for the future. For she thought, "My business with 
 Them must be settled first. ' ' 
 
 A little thin Japanese with a roll of newspapers 
 in his hand walked quietly into view. He did 
 not attempt to sit next her this time, but contented 
 himself with a seat opposite. He was so incon- 
 spicuous that she could not be sure it was the same 
 man who had given her the message. She had not 
 really seen the man who had slipped that bit of paper 
 into her hand. This one apparently had no interest 
 in her, did not even seem to see her, but glanced 
 around him with blank, expressionless eyes. 
 
 "Let us walk on," she said to Wenceslaus. "We 
 will walk up one of these avenues, and look into the 
 shop windows. Then you can show me all the things 
 you want, and I '11 show you all the things I 'm not 
 going to buy." It was a little game they had, which 
 always amused him. 
 
 When they reached the avenue they stopped, as 
 usual, before the shop windows. It amused Marya 
 Jadwiga tenderly when she considered the glaring
 
 THE KITE 145 
 
 things Wenceslaus always selected for her, and which 
 he was going to give her, ''some of these days." At 
 one window, full of Oriental stuff, an inconspicuous 
 Japanese paused too, and drew near her. For the 
 moment they three were alone, and without turning 
 his head the man said in a low voice : 
 
 "It is desirable that you hear the name of one 
 who died in exile." 
 
 "It is desirable that I should hear that name. 
 Where, please?" 
 
 ' ' The honorable lady would hear it now ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Marya Jadwiga, without hesitation. 
 
 "Follow me, please. I will stop before a certain 
 restaurant. Sometimes Japanese students go there. 
 You will enter. Order something. A Japanese 
 gentleman will come in presently and sit at your 
 table. It is arranged." 
 
 He walked on, and Marya Jadwiga and Wences- 
 laus turned from the window and strolled after him. 
 It was all very casual. He turned down a side street 
 after a while and paused before a basement restau- 
 rant, modest enough, but with good air. A very slight 
 motion of the hand told them that this was the place. 
 
 A quiet waiter led them to a rear table, and they 
 gave their modest order. Wenceslaus, although he 
 was not faultfinding, disliked the meals at Fran- 
 ciszka's, who never gave anybody overmuch and then 
 not of the best. The old man ate slowly, but with a 
 relish that pleased Marya Jadwiga. He especially 
 enjoyed one American dish which one called "pie," 
 and Marya Jadwiga laughed over his boast that he
 
 146 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 knew so much English: why, he could go into any 
 eating-place and say to any waiter, ' ' Pie ' ' ! Also, he 
 could say, ' ' Coffee. ' ' But he would never, never say, 
 "Hash," he added, and made a wry face. One got 
 "hash" very often at Franciszka's. 
 
 They had been in the place perhaps half an hour 
 when the waiter led the Japanese gentleman to their 
 table. He, too, was of smallish stature, but, for all 
 his quietness, his gentle and unassuming manner, to 
 discerning eyes he had the air of a great gentleman. 
 Her heart pounded in her breast. This, then, would 
 be one of Them and one ranking with her father, 
 she decided, swiftly. He gave an order, and when 
 the waiter had gone to attend to it, he addressed her 
 in French, in an exquisitely modulated voice: 
 
 "It was not wise to appear openly at the stopping- 
 place of Miss Fabre. The honorable Countess 
 Zuleska will understand, and pardon the roundabout 
 method employed to approach her." And he pre- 
 sented his card. 
 
 Her old training did not fail. She said quietly: 
 
 "If the gentleman will explain? He speaks of a 
 Miss Fabre and of a Countess Zuleska." 
 
 "Naturally, since the two are one," said the 
 Japanese, pleasantly. "And he speaks to this one 
 in the name of that very noble gentleman the Count 
 Casimer Zuleski, who died in exile, in Siberia." 
 
 "But still one would like to know how you know 
 that Miss Fabre and Countess Zuleska are one and 
 the same," said Marya Jadwiga. 
 
 "Our men are very carefully selected and even
 
 THE KITE 147 
 
 more carefully trained, Countess," said he, equably. 
 ''The peddler who visited your father was somewhat 
 of an artist we think a very clever one. He left 
 nothing to chance, you see." He took from a bill- 
 fold several slips of paper; and when she examined 
 them, she, too, admitted the peddler's cleverness. 
 The small drawing of herself was very exact; the 
 sketch of Wenceslaus revealing ; and when she looked 
 at the third sketch she barely repressed a cry. Just 
 as she remembered him most clearly, in his old dress- 
 ing gown and skullcap, his brow puckered thought- 
 fully, his eyes penetrating and ironical, her father 
 looked at her. She gazed at the sketch hungrily, and 
 tried to keep from weeping. He was dead. She was 
 here, in exile, an unknown and doubtful future 
 facing her and old Wenceslaus. But as she gazed, 
 the pictured eyes seemed to give their old command. 
 Yes, she would obey. 
 
 "You are satisfied with my credentials, then, Count- 
 ess," said the Japanese. "And you have a mes- 
 sage for me, have you not ? From your father ? You 
 will tell me when and where you can deliver it?" 
 
 Marya Jadwiga turned pale. She wished, she 
 knew not why, that this thing had not been given her 
 to do, and that this exquisitely polite little nobleman 
 were ten thousand miles hence. She remembered 
 Zuleski's exultant "I am picking the lock of Siberia! 
 I have the key of Siberia!" and again, "If you 
 hear a yellow man name my father's name, over 
 there, I shall not have lived and worked in vain." 
 He was selling enemy to enemy. It seemed to her
 
 148 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 that the small packet of papers burned her breast 
 physically. A blackness came upon her spirit, and 
 she turned paler yet, and put up her hand to hide 
 her trembling lips. The Japanese looked distressed. 
 
 "You are ill?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "I feel a little faint," she admitted. 
 
 "There is a room here for ladies. If you will go in 
 and bathe your face with cold water, it will perhaps 
 revive you," he suggested. "We can then arrange 
 for a further meeting. ' ' 
 
 She rose, grateful for even that slight respite. 
 She had the retiring-room to herself, and she stared 
 somberly at her pale reflection in the mirror. Ah! 
 could this be that Marya Jadwiga who just a little 
 while since had danced with the breeze and played 
 with water and trees on summer nights? She felt 
 as though she were thrall to some unseen, overriding 
 force, a blind instrument in the hand of something that 
 bent her to its will something greater than her 
 father, even, or any human agency. 
 
 'She took from her breast the packet for the 
 Japanese, and stood looking at it. Such a little 
 package, to be so big with fate! When she went 
 back to Wenceslaus and the Japanese, the papers 
 were pressed flat against her handbag. She was pale 
 still, but the Japanese remarked that she was quite 
 composed. He said respectfully: 
 
 "I am, naturally, anxious to have this business set- 
 tled, Countess, and I feel sure that it will be a relief to 
 you, also. If you will tell me when and where " 
 
 "Here. Now," said the girl, in a spent, tired
 
 THE KITE 149 
 
 voice. With a gentle and reluctant movement she 
 pushed across the table to him a thin flat package. 
 He looked at her almost with stupor; he was more 
 astonished than he had ever been in his life. His 
 desire was to snatch that package and rush away 
 with it. Carry this on her person ! Expose this, 
 and herself, to a thousand dangers! Celestial 
 powers! All the time, walking on the streets, the 
 girl had had this in her possession a young girl, 
 hardly more than a child. 
 
 It seemed to him that for a moment an icy wind 
 touched the roots of his hair. He thought of 
 Florian Zuleski with something like terror. What a 
 stake the man had put up in his extremity! What 
 a man and what a girl! A girl of the old heroic 
 type, fit to mate with emperors and bear sons to rule 
 kingdoms ! Like all his race, he worshiped the heroic, 
 adored the high courage which dares all for a great 
 cause. 
 
 He put out a hand and took the package up almost 
 casually, and after a moment transferred it to his 
 breast pocket. He said, with quiet admiration and 
 respect : 
 
 "You will not find us ungrateful, Countess. You 
 have accomplished a great task, done us a great 
 service, and you will find us more than willing to 
 show our appreciation. May I say I consider you the 
 worthy daughter of your great father ? ' ' 
 
 But her heart was like lead, her spirit in eclipse. 
 It was in vain she said to herself, "It is for Poland." 
 
 "I have only done what I was sent to do, Baron.
 
 150 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 I have but obeyed orders," she said, with stiff lips. 
 "And now I will go, please." 
 
 "You are forgetting," he reminded her gently, 
 "that there was to be an exchange. "Will you please 
 tell me how you wish that arranged, and how I may 
 best serve your interests?" 
 
 AVenceslaus had not understood their conversation, 
 which had been in French, but he understood the 
 purport of that meeting, and he spoke for the first 
 time: 
 
 "If he has anything of value to give you in ex- 
 change for what you have given him, do not bring it 
 into Franciszka's house," he implored. "No, bring 
 nothing of value into that house. Do not let that 
 woman know anything; conceal everything from 
 her!" 
 
 Marya Jadwiga considered this. Wenceslaus was 
 right. She remembered the lost purse which he in- 
 sisted he had left in his trunk. In a case like that 
 one had to suspend judgment, but one dared run no 
 risks now. Better wait until she was more happily 
 situated say, as companion to a pleasant and 
 wealthy old lady. She turned to the Japanese and 
 explained, briefly. 
 
 "I am of course very anxious to settle this affair, 
 to keep our promise to your father as he kept his with 
 us," he said thoughtfully. "But I will wait, as you 
 think that best. In the meantime I must manage to 
 communicate with you. ' ' He wondered a little at the 
 simplicity which trusted him so fully, when, now that 
 she had placed the papers in his hands, it would have
 
 THE KITE 151 
 
 been easy enough to repudiate his obligations to a 
 dead man, and he liked her for it. He was a great 
 gentleman, the descendant of a long line of feudal 
 lords, and the young girl appealed to his pride, his 
 honor, his gratitude. He knew the tremendous value 
 of the package she had just placed in his hands, and 
 the value his government would place upon his ser- 
 vices to-night. He was too well trained, too polite, to 
 show his exultation; too proud to show pride. 
 They parted sedately, the Japanese driving off in his 
 car, Marya Jadwiga and Wenceslaus walking. 
 Neither of them had much to say, the girl because she 
 could not shake off her depression, Wenceslaus be- 
 cause, now that they had carried out a part of the 
 master's commands, it was as though the master him- 
 self walked beside them. 
 
 They sat down again when they reached Madison 
 Square. "Wenceslaus said these little patches of 
 greenery rested his eyes, weary of so much brick and 
 stone. Marya Jadwiga was glad enough just to sit 
 there idly, her hands in her lap. She felt as though 
 she had been running, and had paused to get breath to 
 go on again. 
 
 On a bench just across from her and Wenceslaus, 
 an unkempt, hairy man with a pair of fine brown 
 eyes was calling the attention of his companion a 
 big young man, black-haired, blue-eyed, clean- 
 featured to the old man and the young girl. 
 
 "That, my son," he was telling his young friend, 
 "is beauty. The little princesses who used to play 
 under the striped awnings in Shusan, the young
 
 152 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 daughters of Pharaoh walking in Egyptian gardens, 
 the Shulamite woman whom Solomon loved, had such 
 black hair, such cheeks of ivory, such lips of love. 
 Eh! I wish I had my pencils!" 
 
 Surrounded by many, those two had an air of being 
 alone, of being different. One surmised that no 
 matter how backgrounded they would always stand 
 out with this same clear and sharp distinctness. 
 The girl's head, turned so that the young man could 
 see her delicately aquiline profile, drooped slightly. 
 Her hair under her small hat swept her cheek's 
 smooth, pale contour like a blackbird's wing. 
 
 The young man looked at her with a sort of ec- 
 static astonishment. He was aware of an impatient 
 desire to see her eyes; and, as though his desire had 
 called to her audibly, she lifted her head and bent 
 upon him her luminous regard grave, sweet, steady. 
 Her face was as familiar to him as the unforgetable 
 face of a friend, returned after long absence. 
 She saw his quick intake of breath. He held her 
 gaze compellingly, his own eyes full of a beautiful 
 and ardent expectancy; and more than that, a recog- 
 nition, to which she subconsciously responded. A 
 faint color suffused her cheek. She thought, aston- 
 ished in her turn : ' ' I seem to know that young man. 
 Surely I have seen his eyes before." And her heart 
 fluttered its untried wings, as though it wished to fly 
 out of her breast and make its way to him. Madison 
 Square was of a sudden changed. The Metropolitan 
 tower, as Wenceslaus had said, was a lighthouse. 
 
 If any other had looked at her so intently, so
 
 THE KITE 153 
 
 searchingly, challengingly, she would have been 
 terrified, dreading that she was suspected, that her 
 mission was imperiled. No such fear crossed her 
 mind now. This young man was not recognizing 
 Zuleski's daughter. He was recognizing ah, in- 
 deed, what? A self she herself did not know as 
 yet? Her real self, with whom she must presently 
 reckon ? 
 
 "Let us go," she said to Wenceslaus, and rose 
 abruptly, the desire for flight upon her. And as 
 they walked away, she met the young man's eyes 
 again. His look said, "I let you go, but you will 
 come again." Upon them both had fallen the en- 
 chantment of the heart.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 
 
 MR. DOMINICK KELLY walked up and 
 down his library and felt happy. His 
 hands under his coat tails, he paused from 
 time to time to teeter gently on his broad toes, and to 
 whistle between his teeth the fighting tune of 
 ' ' Garryowen, " the only tune he had ever been able 
 to carry. 
 
 He really had good reason to be satisfied with 
 himself and the world. What he had accomplished 
 alone and unaided was visible in the fine room full 
 of fine books he never read, pictures which interested 
 him chiefly because of their cost, and rugs any one 
 of which would have doubled the entire income of his 
 first years of struggle. His success was visible in 
 his house ; his staff of haughty servants, all of whom 
 combined never worked so hard as did he; his sister 
 Honora; his own portly, handsome person; but 
 chiefly and most resplendently in Brian his son. It 
 was of Brian he was thinking now Brian's success 
 and welfare as measured by his own standards. 
 
 IThe god of things as they are is not to be 
 worshiped by the Irish without heterodoxy, heresy, 
 and black apostasy. The Irish divinity is the god of 
 "' 154"
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 155 
 
 things just beyond. He is a god who fills his 
 worshipers with an eternal dissatisfaction, but the 
 living spirit of them clings to his feet. When their 
 worship is pure, we get singers of perilous songs, \ 
 weavers of magic words that have upon them the 
 shine of the golden hair of Angus O'g and the glint 
 of the smile of Brigit the Bright. We get leaders 
 of lost causes sad and fatal figures, who are never- 
 theless a leaven that leavens the whole loaf of the 
 world. When the worship of the god of things just 
 beyond is more practical, it heckles the hodcarrier 
 into the contractor, the cop into the precinct captain, 
 the henchman into the alderman. It evolves the 
 Bunch that Bosses. And chief of the Bunch that 
 Bosses was Dominick Kelly, who crushed trouble- 
 some opponents by piling railroads on top of them, 
 or smashed them by pulling shares from under them. 
 
 He was a man of his hands, Dominick, with a fine 
 crop of thick white hair covering his big, round head 
 of a fighting-man, and under a white military mus- 
 tache a mouth that might have been cut with a can 
 opener. His short, straight nose was as belligerent 
 as a balled fist; and during business hours his deep 
 gray eyes had a glint something like that which shines 
 along a gun barrel. 
 
 A man to make his way in the world, in any circum- 
 stances. Yet what behooved it him to be a magnate 
 when he was not a magnet? His was the deep- 
 rooted dissatisfaction of a strong man who has not 
 gotten just what he wants. Provocative, glimmering 
 before his mind's eye, was the thing just beyond, the
 
 156 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 thing he did not have the golden, mystic seal of the 
 socially elect. Because it had eluded him, because 
 it did not come at a mere nod, he desired it, intensely. 
 
 Dominick might meet men face to face, their equal 
 and more often their superior; but when he con- 
 fronted the women of the world, the iron entered his 
 soul. His Celtic intuition being fool-and-vanity 
 proof, he knew that to the best, the most desirable, 
 those with whom he most wished to foregather, he 
 was merely a buccaneering old Irishman who had 
 jollyrogered the Golden Fleece on the high seas of 
 finance. He might wear it as shamelessly, splendidly, 
 arrogantly as ever a cannibal chief wore his neck- 
 lace of knuckle bones, but, nevertheless and notwith- 
 standing, he was a case-hardened old corsair named 
 Kelly. 
 
 This had not worried him while he was engaged 
 in the absorbing game of arriving in big business. 
 His one idea during that interesting process had been 
 to climb straight up, over, and beyond. He had done 
 it, and done it with the magnificent ruthlessness and 
 thoroughness of an Attila, a Tamerlane, a Jenghiz 
 Khan. Then he looked around for fresh worlds to 
 conquer. He said and he was quite honest in the 
 saying that he wanted position because of Brian. 
 It was not at all necessary for Dominick to be a hypo- 
 crite : it was too easy for him to deceive himself ; for, 
 primarily a predatory person, he was not analytical 
 enough to understand that what he really desired 
 was a final, convincing proof of his own power the 
 ultimate expression of his ability to take the heights
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 157 
 
 by storm. He would have raged like a lion had one 
 so much as suggested that Brian was a peg to hang 
 his ambition on. 
 
 His American ancestry began with him. He 
 had neither a ' ' van ' ' nor a ' ' de " before him, nor yet 
 a "dinck" behind him. Dominick, son of Jeremiah, 
 son of Malachy, had tackled life with but one asset, 
 one weapon himself. There were no helpful con- 
 nections. Molly his wife, dead in her youth, had 
 been an exquisitely pretty girl when he married 
 her, and in his heart of hearts he remained Molly's 
 lover and mourner. Never had he seen woman of 
 them all able to erase Molly's image from the living 
 tablet of his soul. But, for all that, she had been 
 nobody but herself. Not that her people were not 
 respectable. They were frightfully respectable. 
 Having said that much for them, one may dismiss 
 them finally, as Dominick did. He forgave them for 
 existing, seeing to it that they did not exist in his 
 sight nor in Brian's. Brian should start with a 
 brand-new slate. 
 
 Brian was one of those people whom other people 
 try to explain by saying they were born lucky. The 
 stars in their courses fought for him. He was 
 accorded place and privilege as by divine right. He 
 never had to struggle for anything: things came 
 to him as by the law of gravitation. He had been 
 sent to the right schools, and intuitively, subcon- 
 sciously, he made quite the right friends. Or, rather, 
 they foregathered with him at sight, loved him, 
 admired him, and never questioned his inborn fitness
 
 158 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 to occupy and ornament the bright center of events. 
 Why, he was Brian! That sufficed. 
 
 So far that had sufficed his father. But Domi- 
 nick's thoughts forged ahead. Understanding his 
 own lack, he meant his son to occupy an inpregnable 
 position. Why not? And to his mind the best and 
 surest way to bring this about was to marry the boy 
 to the daughter of a family which was of the very 
 core of the charmed circle. Let the boy marry well, 
 and his position and his children's position would 
 be beyond jeopardy. He would have his wife's 
 powerful family connections, buttressed by the Kelly 
 millions. 
 
 Dominick's ambition might be called a poor thing, 
 but it was his own; and he cherished it, clung to it, 
 and steadily, obstinately, moved toward it. He had 
 his own stubborn pride in these plans for Brian, and 
 to-night he was exultant because he and Philetus Van 
 Wyck had come to an understanding. 
 
 In his heart Dominick Kelly was more than a bit 
 contemptuous of Philetus Van Wyck as a man and a 
 manager, but as a name and an opportunity Philetus 
 seemed heaven-sent to Dominick's hand. The dry, 
 sandy-haired Van Wyck cousined, aunted, uncled, 
 sistered, brothered, the august. He belonged to 
 sacrosanct and all but inaccessible clubs, in any one 
 of which Mr. Kelly would have felt about as much 
 at home as in the city morgue. He owned a drafty, 
 insanitary manor house in which that inveterate 
 sleeper-out George Washington had once spent one of 
 his innumerable nights away from home. And the
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 159 
 
 Van Wyck family still resided in their red-brick 
 town house on Tenth Street. The one concession 
 they made to modernity was that they now had a 
 chauffeur instead of a coachman, their carriage horses 
 having died in the last stages of senile dementia. 
 
 Outside the magic circle of his blood-and-marriage 
 relations, Philetus was but a lean and skulking coyote 
 to that gray timber wolf, leader of the pack, Dominick 
 Kelly. Just as Mr. Kelly despised and respected Mr. 
 Van Wyck, so Mr. Van Wyck respected and despised 
 and feared with all his little soul Mr. Kelly. 
 They complemented each other a fact recognized by 
 both. Why not join forces, then? One had a name 
 and a daughter, 't other had millions and a son. 
 
 Their method was royal in its high-handedness. It 
 was an affair of state, so to speak. If one wished to 
 be captious, one admitted that Miss Janet Anneke 
 Van Wyck left something to be desired in the way of 
 personal attractiveness. But Dominick was not in- 
 clined to be captious; nor was it in his reckoning 
 that Brian should be. The boy had been allowed to 
 run with a loose rein, to do as he pleased, to have his 
 head. Dominick had been tolerantly, amusedly, 
 delightedly indulgent, since the lad's course had 
 never run counter to his own desires. But now he 
 proposed to have his reward, and the boy must obey 
 the word of command. 
 
 He had given orders that when Mr. Brian came 
 in he was to come to the library. And when the 
 young man presently appeared, his youthful radiance 
 bringing a wholesome freshness to the somewhat over-
 
 160 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 heavy room, Dominick's pride and delight in him 
 frothed up like champagne. His lad was a match 
 for the best ! He greeted his son almost uproar- 
 iously. 
 
 Dominick never beat about the bush. He came 
 to the point at once. 
 
 " 'T is a little surprise I have up my sleeve for 
 you," said he, gaily. 
 
 Brian waited. He was an imperturbable young 
 man. He merely made the slightest questioning 
 movement of the eyebrows. All his surprises, hither- 
 to, had been pleasant ones. The surprise would have 
 been that anything coming to him could by any pos- 
 sibility be anything but pleasant. And it came with 
 his father's next words. 
 
 "I have a wife for you," said Dominick, impe- 
 rially. 
 
 Brian's fine black eyebrows came down. A smile 
 touched the corners of his handsome mouth. 
 
 "And who," he asked equably, "may she be, this 
 not impossible she? Or am I to know, before the 
 happy day? I have a faint interest in the matter, 
 remember, Dad." 
 
 He smiled, and Dominick smiled back. A likely 
 lad, this. Molly's, with Molly's own darling, dark- 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "Who is she, d'ye ask? 'T is Janet Van Wyck, 
 no less!" Dominick announced it triumphantly. 
 "Little did I think, and I starting out in life with- 
 out a penny to my name, that the day would come 
 when the Philetus Van Wycks would be dam' glad
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 161 
 
 to have a girl of theirs wed a boy of mine ! ' ' And he 
 bristled his stiff white mustache. 
 
 Brian lighted a cigarette, and smoked with quiet 
 pleasure; but his eyes narrowed. 
 
 "Janet, eh? And yo>u picked her for me. You 
 surprise me, Dad. Disagreeably. You generally 
 manage to pick winners; but everybody has off 
 moments, even you." 
 
 "Have I, then?" In times of deep emotion Mr. 
 Kelly, senior, reverted to the idiomatic speech of his 
 youth. "Phwat ails the gurrul? Or" with im- 
 mense sarcasm "is the son of Dominick Kelly too 
 fine and grand entirely for the daughter of Philetus 
 Van Wyck?" 
 
 "That 's rather beside the question," said Brian, 
 calmly. "The point is that I can't be handed 
 over, given away outright, like a young lady's 
 poodle." And he shook his black head. "Guess 
 again, Dad." 
 
 His easy, unruffled manner, at once simple and 
 lordly, irked the elder man unaccountably. The 
 neck bristles of his wolf's temper began to rise. 
 
 "Your grandfather," said he, clipping his words, 
 "your old grandfather God rock his soul in glory! 
 carried his hod up a ladder." 
 
 "The old boy went high in the world." Brian be- 
 gan to look interested. "He never came down low 
 enough to allow another man to pick and choose his 
 woman for him, did he? Neither will his grandson. 
 I will pick and choose my own, when and where I 
 find her."
 
 162 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "A-ah! And will you, now? And phwat '11 you 
 live on when you 've done it ? Is it wind pudding and 
 beggar sauce for the likes of you that was fed his pap 
 out of a gold spoon? Let you listen to me, mo 
 bhuachailin than: 'T is I have the say-so what 
 you '11 do and what you '11 not do. I have picked 
 out Janet for you. You'll marry her: d 'ye mind 
 that? Will I let her likes go out of the family and 
 we needing it?" 
 
 "Why don't you marry her, yourself, if she 's so 
 much to your liking? You 're not an old man! 
 There 's many half your age might well envy you, 
 Dad. I think, myself, that you 're much too much too 
 good for Janet, but tastes differ." 
 
 Dominick choked a bit at that. He asked, with 
 violence : 
 
 "Phwat have you against the gurrul?" 
 
 "Nothing at all. I could wish nature had been 
 kinder to her, for her own sake, and that she had 
 been given a girl's heart instead of a cat's. Come, 
 come, Dad! Behave yourself!" He shook his finger 
 at his father as he spoke. "Is it selling me outright 
 you are? It 's no less than white-slaving! Take 
 shame to yourself!" 
 
 And he began to laugh. It never entered his 
 head that Dominick would prove obdurate. Brian 
 had always had his own way with his father, as with 
 everybody else. He accepted that as a matter of 
 course. Life had been a smooth, straight road for 
 Brian a path to be traveled with ease, serenity, and 
 a buoyant faith in the inherent pleasantness of things.
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 163 
 
 He was therefore unhurried, unflurried, and a bit 
 slow-thinking, never having been called upon to tap 
 his reserve forces. 
 
 "You '11 marry her." His father's chin stuck out. 
 Men who knew Dominick Kelly looked around for 
 cyclone cellars when his jaw hardened and his chin 
 stuck out. 
 
 "Pardon me for having to contradict you, Dad, 
 but I '11 do nothing of the sort." 
 
 "I '11 show you! You with your cars and your 
 cups and your pups, and your blue ribbons for this 
 and for that ! and me footing the bills, begod ! You 
 with your clubs and your prancing and dancing and 
 gallivantings with your idle vagabonds of friends! 
 D 'ye think I 'm your Aunt Hon, to be twisted around 
 your little finger ? I 'm not, then ! It 's me you *re 
 dealing with this night, me bold lad. You '11 marry 
 who I mean you to marry ; you '11 do every other dam ' 
 thing I tell you to do, or I '11 know why, by the 
 hokey!" 
 
 "You may know why right now, sir: I do not like 
 the lady. You exhibited very good taste in the selec- 
 tion of your own wife. Why should you try to foist 
 upon me a congenital old maid? If God meant her 
 for any one thing, I should think it might be the 
 head-governess of a home for delinquent cats. I 
 won't have her. Life is too short!" And when the 
 elder man, purple-faced and all but apoplectic, 
 started to speak, Brian held up a restraining hand. 
 
 "My dear Dad, listen: you know the building-and- 
 contracting game and the banking and railroad game
 
 164 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 from the roots up; else we shouldn't be living in 
 this house. You know politics; the biggest are your 
 pals. You can say to one, 'Go' and he beats it, and 
 to another, ' Come, ' and he falls over himself arriving. 
 It has been said that for a stranger to meet you per- 
 sonally calls for a letter of introduction from the 
 Pope, or at least the President. But there are some 
 things you do not seem to know much about, and that 
 you must learn to keep paws off little things like men 
 and women, and their affections for one another, dear 
 Dad. One man may lead another to the altar, but 
 all New York can 't make him marry Janet Van Wyck 
 against his will." 
 
 "One man can manage it fine and easy, me brave 
 Brian, if he happens to hold the nose bag meaning 
 the pocketbook. I have asked you will you marry 
 this gurrul. Now I 'm telling you fair you must. 
 'T is me will." 
 
 "You 're not telling me fair, and you 're not 
 playing fair. And your will is not mine." said 
 Brian, sturdily. "If it were, I 'd make it in your 
 favor, and then jump overboard with a bar of lead 
 for a life-preserver." 
 
 "You damned id jit!" roared Dominick. "Let me 
 catch you daring to drown, and I '11 disown you on 
 the spot ! Do it, and I '11 murder you ! ' ' 
 
 Brian laughed, and his father, controlling himself 
 by a violent effort, said more gently: 
 
 "Brian aroon, I mean you well, and that 's why 
 I 'm wedding you to Janet. Remember who she is 
 and who she 's kin to, and then tell me who are the
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 165 
 
 Kellys. Who 's kin to you? Me and Hon. That 's 
 all ! A fine, upstanding lad you are, and I 'm mean- 
 ing you to have the best. For why should I work 
 like a Turk unless it 's to get the best for my own? 
 This gurrul has the ancestors and the name and the 
 kith and kin. Marry her, and so will you have, and 
 your children after you. Philetus Van Wyck's 
 grandchildren with Dominick Kelly's money and 
 brains ! 'T is grand they '11 be entirely, and I 'd die 
 happy could I see them. 
 
 ''We'll have a grand wedding. 'Twill be like 
 royalty's, no less, with the newspapers full of it, 
 and all our pictures, and the bride's petticoats and 
 all, in the Sunday papers, and a list of guests and 
 presents the length of your arm. I '11 have a cardi- 
 nal say the words. Faith, I wish 't was in my power 
 to have the holy father himself brought over on a 
 special liner, for my son 's wedding ! He 'd do 
 it for me willing, was he let! You can have this 
 house as it stands. Furnish it all over as you please 
 damn the expense and you marrying to please your 
 old father! 'Among the presents was the million- 
 dollar Kelly residence and a check for a million 
 dollars from the bridegroom's father, Alderman 
 Kelly, the eminent contractor and builder, President 
 of the Three Railroads System, the Two-Star Copper 
 Trust, the Eightieth and Ninetieth Banks, and Vice- 
 president of the Silverline Smelting Company, Incor- 
 porated.' ' Dominick spoke dreamily, unctuously, as 
 one who glimpses a beatific vision. 
 
 Brian stood up a tall and most beautiful young
 
 166 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 man, clear red and white from a life spent health- 
 fully out of doors and lived cleanly and with joyous- 
 ness. When he moved, the muscles rippled like lights 
 on quiet water, and the Psalmist David would surely 
 have changed his mind and taken pleasure in the legs 
 of a man like this. He had the thin flanks, the slim 
 waist, the clear and sure eye and freshness of skin of 
 the conditioned youngster who has time to play, and 
 who plays for the love of the game. Never hav- 
 ing had to worry about anything, he was almost 
 criminally good-natured. But now he looked at 
 his father with a new something growing in 
 his fine eyes. The aspect of Dominick's character 
 so crudely made visible and articulate, in the 
 speech just uttered, jarred upon his son pain- 
 fully, and cheapened the old man. It was as though 
 he were bent upon proving his own assertion that the 
 Kellys were nobody. It smacked of, say, the steer- 
 age. 
 
 "Don't talk like that, Dad," he said, a bit roughly. 
 "It 's nonsense. You are worth all the Van Wycks 
 ever born. And I can't do what you want me to 
 do. Good Lord, Dad! I can't, you know!" 
 
 "Brian " Dominick Kelly turned pale and began 
 to tremble "Brian, have you the face to tell me to 
 my teeth that you won't do as you 're bid and you 
 meaning it?" 
 
 "I wish you wouldn 't put it like that, Dad. Look 
 here, I '11 begin to get angry if you keep on ! " 
 
 "You '11 not do as I bid you?" 
 
 "Not in this instance. Why, man, I can't! No-
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 167 
 
 body alive, not even you, shall pick out my girl for 
 me. I '11 do my own picking, if you please ! ' ' 
 
 His head went up. Dominick knew he meant what 
 he said, and that his cherished plans were being 
 brought to naught. 
 
 "Will you please to walk out of my house and do 
 it, then?" 
 
 Brian stared at him. For a moment he was silent 
 with astonishment. Then, quite suddenly, his jaw be- 
 gan to harden, his chin to look like Dominick 's own. 
 The bases of his character began to show as the 
 graces of his temperament were swept aside. 
 
 "I 'm frank to say I 'd rather not. I don't think 
 Janet is worth it. But I will not be bullied. And 
 you may as well understand this: if you make me 
 walk out, I won't walk in again. I '11 stay out, for 
 keeps." 
 
 "You will that! Devil a doubt but you '11 stay 
 out ! I '11 cut you off with a shilling. I '11 have the 
 servants set upon you if you dare show the dog 's face 
 of you inside my doors again! What I choose and 
 plan and work for isn't good enough for you: very 
 well, then, me fine laddybuck, let you bring me better 
 to please me, before I call you son of mine after this 
 night!" 
 
 "Better look before you leap, Dad. I 'm not an- 
 gry with you yet, remembering you 're the only 
 father I have, and I 'm your only son. But I might 
 take you at your word, you know. Look here, Dad: 
 let 's quit talking like this ! Sleep on it : you '11 be 
 all right in the morning."
 
 168 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "None of your minanderin'! Get out!" roared 
 Dominick, suddenly swept off his feet by the rage 
 that all but choked him. "Get out now! My son 
 does as I bid him, or he 's son of mine no more. Get 
 out ! Let 's see how you can shift for yourself, my 
 fine gentleman ! ' ' Purple-faced, with clenched fists, 
 he raged up and down. He had lost all control of 
 himself; and Dominick in a royal rage was an un- 
 loosed elemental force. 
 
 It seemed to young Brian Kelly that for the first 
 time he was seeing his father as he really was crude, 
 brutal, ruthless, bending all things, even his son's life, 
 to his own will and pleasure. It was a painfully un- 
 pleasant experience for the young man, but it roused 
 his easy-going temper and his heretofore half -slum- 
 brous will into activity and opposition. Under 
 this whip and spur he became of a sudden aware 
 that he was a man, with his own fate in his own 
 hands. 
 
 He said thoughtfully: 
 
 ' ' There 's something to that showing you, and me 
 too, that I could shift for myself if I had to. I won- 
 der if it 's decent for a man of my age to have to won- 
 der. I 've been so busy being your son that maybe 
 I 'm spoiled for being my own man. How do I know 
 until I Ve tried ? Sure I '11 get out ! And no hard 
 feelings, Dad. Outside of the Van Wyck notion, 
 you 're a trump." 
 
 "Oh, you can't softsawder me, you seditious whip- 
 persnapper! Out you go, and out you stay! I 've 
 finished and done with you. Me that 's spent his
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 169 
 
 thousands on you, and the first time I call for divi- 
 dends you don't even own stock! But mind you 
 this : I 'm not called on to support a big lummox of a 
 stranger, and that 's what you '11 be after this night 's 
 work. Marry who you will devil take the hussy ! 
 she '11 be naught to Dominick Kelly ; and see you tell 
 her so before she marries you. I wash my hands of 
 you. And you needn't wait till morning, thinking 
 I '11 dry them!" 
 
 ' ' Thank Heaven I missed your temper, Dad ! ' ' said 
 Brian, still studying his father disconcertingly, and 
 with an easy command of himself that maddened 
 Dominick. ' ' I must have come by mine from Mother 
 and Aunt Hon. I shall have to ask leave to go up- 
 stairs to my rooms for a few minutes," he added, 
 with pleasant politeness. "I '11 leave a note for 
 Aunt Hon. And so long, Dad. I 'm sorry you 
 didn't get your dividends, and that you have to be 
 disappointed in me. And, on second thoughts, I 
 advise you not to marry Janet. You 'd regret it for 
 the rest of your life." 
 
 He walked out of the room, meeting in the hall the 
 tall English butler, who for once in his life was 
 shaken out of his Buddha-like calm. He had heard 
 the bull bellowings of the master of the house, and 
 sensed that a cataclysm impended. If young Mr. 
 Brian left, the butler meant to give notice immedi- 
 ately. It was young Mr. Brian who lent an air, a 
 tone, to the establishment. 
 
 ''Pack my suitcases so that I may be neat but not
 
 170 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 decorative, Perkins. I 'm leaving home; going adven- 
 turing," Mr. Brian told his man, lightly. "That 
 new gray tweed you 've been saying is not becoming 
 to me, you may have. And while this is a bit sud- 
 den, and I am sorry to have to part with you, I 
 sha'n't need you after to-night." 
 
 Perkins seemed to emerge from a temperamental 
 reserve : 
 
 "Very well, sir. But Mr. Brian! You will never 
 find another who creases you as I do. I shall never 
 find another who may be trusted not to bag. What 
 shall you do without me, Mr. Brian?" 
 
 "Perkins," said Brian, seriously, "that is just the 
 point: what shall I do without you?" He sat on the 
 edge of his bed and hugged his knees. "You are 
 the iron collar, the auger-holed ear, the badge of my 
 servitude, Perkins. Now we have come to the part- 
 ing of the ways. I shall miss you like the very 
 deuce, but safety first!" 
 
 Perkins looked bewildered. He asked, with a gulp : 
 "May I ask, sir, where you think of going for 
 the time being? Because I could come at certain 
 hours and look your things over, sir. I ah 
 would n 't be any expense to you, Mr. Brian. ' ' A shoe 
 on each hand, he looked at his whilom master, blush- 
 ingly. "I am aware that gentlemen take it for 
 granted their servants have no human feelings, sir ; but 
 we have. You may be surprised, sir, but indeed we 
 have ! You ah arouse an amount of pardon the 
 liberty of my mentioning it, sir of human affection 
 in those who serve you, Mr. Brian. And so I I
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 171 
 
 must insist, sir, upon coming in at intervals and 
 looking after your things. It would make for my 
 peace of mind, sir." 
 
 Brian, still nursing his knee, smiled his wide, 
 friendly smile. His smile was one of the reasons why 
 he aroused a certain a very certain amount of 
 human affection in those who served him. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to be guilty of destroying your 
 peace of mind, Perkins," he said. "You are a good 
 fellow, and Heaven forbid that uncreased I should 
 meet you on the street ! " He added, after a moment 's 
 reflection: "I'm going to the club to-night. After 
 to-night, I dont know where I 'm going, or what I 'm 
 going to do after I get there." 
 
 Brian wrote a note to his Aunt Honora, which was 
 to be delivered presently, and when Perkins had 
 packed his bags was ready to "get out." From force 
 of habit Perkins ordered the car, and from force of 
 habit the disinherited one accepted it, without thought. 
 So departed young Brian from the House of Kelly, 
 leaving rage, speculation, consternation, regret, and 
 when Perkins had delivered his note to Miss 
 Honora anguish, behind him. 
 
 Miss Honora Kelly, fifty-nine years old, with an 
 autumnal rose in her cheeks and a late sunlight 
 lingering in her eyes and hair, was an old maid. She 
 gave the effect of early evening in the woods, with a 
 late bird singing, and an early star rising over the 
 trees from whose tops the sunset had not yet de- 
 parted, and a vesper bell ringing in the distance. 
 Her lips seemed to have just finished a Hailmary,
 
 172 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 and her smile was like a child's and an old woman's. 
 She wore browns and grays; and when she walked 
 her dress made a soft, silken rustling. She was of 
 the children of light, than whom the children of the 
 world are wiser in their generation, of course. She 
 had been lying down that afternoon, with a slight 
 headache. She was subject to slight headaches, and 
 in this alone indulged her flesh. She read Brian's 
 hasty note thrice before she asked Perkins : 
 
 "Where is my brother?" 
 
 Perkins thought Mr. Kelly was still in the library. 
 Miss Honora immediately went downstairs, opened 
 the library door without knocking, and stood like a 
 gray silk Accusation before the big figure slumped 
 into a chair. 
 
 He had not moved since Brian's departure not 
 even when he heard the front door close upon the boy. 
 A decanter and a box of cigars stood untouched at his 
 elbow. His face was like a thundercloud, across 
 which streaks of lightning flashed intermittently. 
 Lifting his haggard eyes to his sister's face, he 
 rumbled threateningly. 
 
 "Brother Dominick!" 
 
 Brother Dominick made another inarticulate noise 
 in his throat, and glared. 
 
 "What have you done to Brian, Brother Dominick? 
 He writes that he is leaving the house. Leaving the 
 house! Our Brian!" 
 
 "I have done nothing to him, Honora Kelly. But 
 I am done with him. For good and all I am done
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 173 
 
 with him." And he demanded truculently, "And 
 what have you to say about it ? " 
 
 "Done with Brian? our Brian? You might just 
 as well say you have done with, living ! ' ' said she, 
 aghast. "Gracious Heaven, Brother Dominick! have 
 you lost your senses? Why, Brian is all we have!" 
 And she looked at Dominick with as much horror as 
 if she had caught him trying to commit murder. 
 
 "Oh, and is he, now?" 
 
 "Isn't he? What else have we got brother? 
 Nothing ! nobody ! neither chick nor child, the pair of 
 us, but just Brian. What have we prayed and worked 
 and hoped for, Brother ? Brian. What do I live for ? 
 Brian! I held him a motherless baby in my arms, 
 Dominick Kelly! I have nursed and slapped and 
 loved him and been proud of him and grateful to 
 God for him all his life. Oh, Brother, what have 
 you done? I always dreaded you would bring black 
 sorrow to you and yours, with your frightful temper 
 and your arrogant and overbearing spirit, and now 
 you have done it!" 
 
 "Woman, will you hold the clattering tongue of 
 you, and not drive me wild entirely with your noise? 
 Is it standing up to my face you are, telling me I Ve 
 not done my duty by that undutiful rapscallion?" 
 demanded her brother, with somber violence. "And 
 me spending not hundreds but thousands, as well you 
 know, to make a gentleman of him ! ' ' 
 
 "God did that to begin with, Brother Dominick. 
 And who else would you spend your thousands on,
 
 174 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 if not your own flesh and blood? and he all you 
 have, and a credit to the name ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, ho! God did it all, did He? But it was me 
 worked like the devil's self to finish the job proper, 
 I 'm thinking ! ' ' snarled Dominick. 
 
 ''It was the most worth-while work you ever did, 
 then, Dominick. Take the truth, Brother, since you 
 force me to tell it ! Brian is a gentleman not because 
 of the money you have lavished on him but in spite 
 of it! It is because he is a gentleman that he has 
 the courage and the faith and the manhood to with- 
 stand you when you are in the wrong. For you are 
 in the wrong, Brother Dominick altogether in the 
 wrong ! ' ' The old dove faced the old eagle fearlessly. 
 
 "The boy 's a fool," said he, sourly. "Any one f s 
 a fool that won 't and can 't see which side his bread is 
 buttered on. That I should live to see the day I 'd 
 have to say I was father to a fool! It didn't come 
 hard to me that he took no prizes and won no honors. 
 He was that thick-skulled I had hopes he would be 
 the finest gentleman of them all. And he was, faith, 
 from the looks of him! He had so much looks and 
 so little sense you 'd never guess it was just a decent, 
 plain man 's son he was : you would misdoubt he had 
 been born in a red-brick rat-hole off Washington 
 Square, with a Dutch name, and a pedigree equal to a 
 Chow's the fine madams take prizes with. Who 
 would think by looking at him he was born in a flat in 
 Jersey City, with an honest, God-fearing man like 
 Jeremiah Kelly for his grandfather? Oh, 'tis a sad 
 thing to be a father! Thinks I, and coming on in
 
 THE HOUSE OF KELLY 175 
 
 the world, 'Here I am, with Molly's lad and mine, 
 God rest her soul! and a fine gentleman I '11 make 
 of him. He has the looks and I '11 have the money. 
 Faith, there 's nothing he sha'n't have!' Look at 
 me this night, woman, and say have I done it or have 
 I not?" 
 
 "You have made the money for him, Dominick. 
 Sometimes I wish you hadn't. Sometimes I think 
 you have made too much money, Brother, and that it 
 has changed and and hurt you. But it was not 
 you nor your money that made Brian what he is: it 
 was God that made him a gentleman." 
 
 "Leave God keep him one, then, without help of 
 mine; and in spite of me," said Mr. Kelly grimly, 
 and a brogue like cream rose upon his speech. 
 
 "He will!" said the sweet old maid, with quiet 
 passion. ' ' Now mark my words, Dominick ! You are 
 not punishing Brian : you are losing him. And he is 
 your one child. You are swindling yourself. For 
 what, Dominick?" She looked at him somewhat as 
 Brian had looked at him a- little while since. ' ' Oh, my 
 poor rich Dominick!" said Miss Honora, "I am sorry 
 for you from the bottom of my heart this night!" 
 Without another word, with her head held high, she 
 left him. 
 
 The contractor and builder who had made himself 
 a multimillionaire and a power in politics, swore 
 under his breath as the door closed upon his sister's 
 silk skirts. He felt outraged, injured, deserted. All 
 his life had he toiled, he reflected, for Brian's ulti- 
 mate glory and advancement; and now, in the twin-
 
 176 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 kling of an eye, all his fine plans had tumbled about 
 his ears. What to say to Philetus Van Wyck he did 
 not know. And Honora the meek, Honora the saint, 
 had turned upon him like a tiger, siding with the re- 
 calcitrant, and putting him, Dominick, in the wrong ! 
 Good God! the trouble a man has with his own 
 family !
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL. COP 
 
 1 TlMMY," said Brian Kelly to his bosom friend, 
 
 I James Darlington, "what would you say I 'm 
 
 ^w just a little more than particularly good at? 
 
 Consider this seriously, please. I have really got to 
 
 do something. What can I do best, Jimmy?" 
 
 They had been classmates, though Jimmy was 
 Brian's senior by three or maybe four years. If 
 Brian got through college on his own legs and the 
 willing shoulders of worshipers, it was the enraged 
 wonder of sorely tried professors why Jimmy was 
 there at all. Yet, when they were not trying to teach 
 him things he did not wish to learn, they liked him : 
 he had traits which endeared him to others. He was 
 generous and likable. He sang well enough, in a 
 reedy tenor. He had a futurist sense of the value of 
 colors. He could rub his thumb on a door with the 
 effect of a South Sea boa-boo, at the same time skil- 
 fully playing on a hair comb over which was stretched 
 a bit of tissue paper. He could make himself and 
 others comfortable with a minimum of thought and 
 effort. He knew no more Greek than the letters on 
 his frat pin but was not that enough? Along with 
 Kelly, B., he enjoyed an immense popularity; one 
 might call it a vogue. 
 
 177
 
 178 TWO SHALL BE BOKN 
 
 No two humans could have been more dissimilar; 
 therefore they were inseparable friends. In the 
 Kelly epic, Jimmy Darlington might be said to play 
 the not unimportant part of Chorus. In a play he 
 might have been written down, " James, his friend." 
 
 He had a large and powerful family connection 
 and a share in an estate so rigidly trusteed that he 
 knew neither poverty nor riches. He was not hand- 
 some enough to be dangerous, nor homely enough to 
 be unpleasant to the eye; not intelligent enough to 
 bore fashionable friends, nor stupid enough to tire in- 
 telligent ones; he was not rich enough to be stalked 
 for big game, nor poor enough to be shunted into the 
 background and kept there. He really occupied a 
 very enviable position, and was cheerfully allowed to 
 follow the lines of least resistance. If he had one 
 real, deep, red-blooded emotion, it centered around the 
 colorful, vibrant figure of Brian Kelly. 
 
 "What can you do?" Jimmy was genuinely 
 amazed. "What are you good at? You 're good at 
 jolly well everything a chap can be good at ! Why, 
 look at your record!" 
 
 "Yes, look at it," said Brian, without enthusiasm. 
 "I seem to be good at everything except something. 
 Now I Ve got to find out whether I 'm good at any- 
 thing in the pay-check line." 
 
 "Kell, you 're not being led astray by one of those 
 dames that turn down perfectly good chaps because 
 they have too much money and don 't do anything but 
 be decent with it, are you?" 
 
 When Brian Kelly laughed, his under lip curved and
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 179 
 
 his eyes crinkled and he proved that no dentist could 
 hope to grow affluent on his, account. He laughed 
 now. 
 
 "I 've never known a girl who hated me because 
 of my bank account," he confessed. 
 
 " Thank God to hear you say so!" said Jimmy. 
 "That at least proves you aren't afflicted with de- 
 lusions. ' ' 
 
 He knew there had been a split in the House of 
 Kelly, but whether it was a permanent rupture or a 
 temporary tiff, he was not sure. He was not un- 
 acquainted with Dominick, who inspired him with 
 real terror. 
 
 "Hanged if he doesn't look as if he 'd just finished 
 eating the baby for an appetizer ! ' ' complained Jimmy. 
 "Abysmal brute, cave man, Neanderthal-skull chap, 
 unretired pirate that 's Dominick K. for you. 
 Dashed unpleasant person to have for a parent. If 
 he did n't snatch his son out of somebody else's pram, 
 I can't for the life of me see how they 're kin." 
 
 Dominick Kelly's opinion of Mr. James Darlington 
 was expressed by a significant grunt. He had too 
 profound a respect for the young man's gilt-edged 
 connections to admit aloud that their youthful rela- 
 tive was an unmitigated ass, but Jimmy had the pleas- 
 ing conviction that he thought so. 
 
 "Let 's think this thing over carefully," said he, 
 looking profound. "What 's wrong with the movies, 
 for instance ? You 've a face and a shape that ought 
 to be worth real money. The movies pay. Why, 
 man, look at the headliners sending home the coin
 
 180 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 in a motor truck every Saturday night ! That 's the 
 stuff! Acting comes easy. Remember the time I 
 played the Idiot Son in our frat farce, and brought 
 down the house? It was no trouble at all! Why 
 not buck the movies, Kell?" 
 
 "Because the headliners have got more brains in 
 their feet than I have in my head," admitted Kell, 
 modestly. "Think of something else." 
 
 "M-m-m-m," mumbled Jimmy, seeking inspira- 
 tion. "Model! Artist's model!" 
 
 ' ' I am poor but virtuous, ' ' said Brian. ' ' Wake up : 
 you are dreaming Robert W. Chambers!" 
 
 "Well, but what do you want to do?" worried 
 Jimmy, wrinkling his slender brows. "Chaps that 
 have grit enough to get in Dutch with governors like 
 yours generally have grit enough to do other haz- 
 ardous stunts. When you were a kid wasn't there 
 something you especially hankered to be? some- 
 thing you liked better than anything else? Because 
 if there was," said Jimmy, impressively, "very 
 probably that is it. ' ' 
 
 Brian considered, hands in his pockets, legs 
 stretched out, brow puckered. 
 
 "I wanted to be a policeman," he reflected. 
 "When a cop spoke to me I was happy all day. I 
 knew it was a daring ambition; but I thought that 
 maybe if I kept the Ten Commandments and the 
 Eight Beatitudes, Heaven might reward me by allow- 
 ing me to grow up into a cop." 
 
 "Gad! the nerve of you! Wanting to be a cop!" 
 said Jimmy, admiringly. "Shows the innate great-
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL 'COP 181 
 
 ness of you, Kell, even in your infancy. If you 'd 
 wanted to be President, now but a cop! Well, 
 that 's your reward for getting yourself born Irish, 
 I dessay. Wanting to be a cop! My sainted 
 aunt!" 
 
 "Jimmy," said Brian Kelly, in a voice of convic- 
 tion, ' ' you may not know it, but you 're a wonder ! 
 You 've unsnarled my tangle. You 've hit the nail 
 squarely on the head. Here I am, four and twenty, 
 six feet barefooted, ironwood slats, the digestion of 
 an ostrich, no entangling alliances, and the chance to 
 be a cop! I am going to be a cop. How does one 
 set about becoming' a cop, Jimmy?" 
 
 Mr. Darlington didn't know. 
 
 "But," said he, "the commissioner dines with my 
 Aunt Martha every now and then. Sort of Day of 
 Atonement, I fancy. My Aunt Martha was his god- 
 mother, or cousin, or something. Or maybe he mur- 
 dered somebody, or embezzled some orphan-asylum 
 funds, and she found out about it and makes him 
 dine with her by way of penance. If not, why 
 should he go there? You can't imagine what a 
 bad dinner really is, Kell, until you 've dined at 
 my Aunt Martha 's. I say, suppose I accept her invi- 
 tation, eh? It happens that I 've just got one. 
 She 'd love me to bring you along. She hates young 
 men like the devil, and it 's her one chance to get a 
 whack at us; don't you see? Suppose we cheer up 
 the penitential spread for the commissioner? I 
 should think he 'd be willing to make you a precinct 
 captain to start with, if we could do that!"
 
 182 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "I 've never dined with your Aunt Martha, so I 
 can't say," said Brian, cautiously. 
 
 "Wait until you do! You '11 feel that all flesh is 
 grass and that you 're eating it, like Nebuchad- 
 nezzar," said Jimmy, darkly. 
 
 "Anyhow, I 'm going to be a cop," said Brian, 
 cheerfully. "It 's a great relief to have one's im- 
 mediate future settled. Now, what do I do next? 
 Better be off with the old love before I am on with 
 the new, I should think. I '11 send in my resigna- 
 tions. I 'm going to drop out, Jimmy." 
 
 "You 're burning your breeches behind you in 
 rather a hurry, aren't you?" remonstrated Jimmy. 
 ' ' See here, old man : anything I have, anything I can 
 do" 
 
 ' ' Thanks. But I have a bet with myself to see this 
 thing through alone." 
 
 "There 's not really something else on, Kell? 
 Yon 're not just spoofing? teaching D. K. his 
 proper place as a parent? This isn't a jolly old 
 lark?" His voice was pleading. He was not a 
 strong-minded person, and the thing contemplated by 
 his friend left him mentally staggering. "Maybe 
 there might be some basis for negotiations?" 
 
 Brian disliked to mention a lady's name. It made 
 him feel ridiculous to have Janet Van Wyck brought 
 forward as the cause of his uprooting. But Jimmy 
 might as well know the worst. 
 
 "Well, it was either Janet Van Wyck or get out," 
 he admitted unwillingly.
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 183 
 
 Jimmy did not laugh. 
 
 "Run and get yourself made a cop before he can 
 catch you!" he gasped. "My God! Janet Van 
 Wyck! For you? Hand you over, scalp and bones, 
 to Janet Van Wyck?" His breath failed. 
 
 "Exactly!" said Brian. And, with an unmoved 
 face, he proceeded to write his resignations. He 
 made a clean sweep while he was at it. 
 
 "The only club for a cop is the one in his fist," he 
 explained. 
 
 The admirable Perkins attended to the sale of his 
 master's personal effects, displaying commendable 
 zeal and driving a shrewd bargain. Thanks to him, 
 the sale paid off all outstanding debts. Brian was 
 left with exactly one hundred and sixteen dollars and 
 his clothes. 
 
 In the meantime, cautious inquiries enabled Jimmy 
 Darlington to ascertain that the commissioner was 
 really to be one of the guests at his Aunt Martha's 
 forthcoming dinner, and he had no difficulty in se- 
 curing an invitation for Brian, though his aunt looked 
 at him with instant suspicion. Why should James, 
 usually so fruitful of excuses, now eagerly seek her 
 house and wish to bring another young man? Some 
 woman guest? She would watch James! 
 
 That dinner was worse, even, than Brian had been 
 led to expect. The dining-room was hung with red, 
 like a medieval executioner. The enormous black- 
 walnut sideboard resembled a hearse ; the viands were
 
 184 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 funeral baked meats served to depressed mourners. 
 Jimmy involuntarily walked on his tiptoes, and looked 
 self-conscious, subdued, and out of place. 
 
 "Aunt Martha bears a strong family resemblance 
 to the sideboard, doesn't she?" murmured the duti- 
 ful nephew. ' ' Gad ! she 's even got on plumes, like 
 state obsequies ! Kell, that gloomy duffer over there, 
 waiting to be sentenced to be hanged by the neck until 
 dead, is your man.'' 
 
 The commissioner did not often meet graceless 
 youth in that abode of all the deadly virtues, and he 
 greeted it with a perceptible lightening of his gloom. 
 He observed the manner of his hostess to these two 
 guests, and it warmed his heart toward them. 
 
 Presently he turned to young Kelly: 
 
 "What brought you here?" 
 
 "You," said Brian, promptly, struggling manfully 
 with an unconquerable slab of roast. 
 
 "I?" The commissioner's eyebrows went up. 
 "Better give it up," he counseled, watching the young 
 man's vain efforts. "It took a long, long time to 
 find that aged cow and do her to death! I am con- 
 vinced they had to resort to a machine-gun." He 
 scowled at his plate, graced with just such another 
 slice of unconquerable cow. 
 
 "You lose," said Brian, firmly. "This roast was 
 indubitably hacked from the rump of one of the 
 pope 's bulls say, the one sent to Henry the Eighth. ' ' 
 
 The commissioner stroked his mustache, and 
 regarded young Kelly speculatively.
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 185 
 
 "What did you want to see me about?" he won- 
 dered. 
 
 ''I want to be a cop," said Brian, directly. "I 
 want you to put me on the force." 
 
 The commissioner, detecting no signs of levity, 
 looked puzzled. 
 
 "I received the impression that you were young 
 Kelly Dominick's son," he ventured. 
 
 "Right: I am Dominick's son. But," added 
 Brian, with a charming smile, "you mustn't hold me 
 against my father. It 's not his fault I 'm not well, 
 different." 
 
 The commissioner ceased to be a bored guest at a 
 frightfully dull and uneatable dinner, and became 
 the alert executive, the cool, discerning judge of men. 
 He felt himself drawn to this one. Decidedly, he 
 reflected, it was not Dominick's fault that this frank 
 and engaging youngster was not well, different. 
 He wondered who the mother had been. Must have 
 been good stuff there. But a cop? Dominick's 
 son? It sounded insane. 
 
 "What is this, anyhow? A joke? A bet? A 
 whim?" he asked good-humoredly. 
 
 "No, a job," said Brian, briefly. He added, deter- 
 minedly, "My job." 
 
 "You and your father er disagreed, didn't 
 you? There was a rumor " The commissioner 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Yes, we disagreed. If you know my father per- 
 sonally "
 
 186 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "I do, well. But why a cop? Young men of 
 your sort " 
 
 "Why not? I 'd be a good one. Better take me 
 on. What do I do first, please?" 
 
 "You come to my office to-morrow at eleven," said 
 the commissioner, after a long pause. And he be- 
 gan to laugh. "Young man," he added, "you have 
 amused and interested me. You are Dominick's son, 
 and I have known Dominick a good many years. 
 Great man, your father! I shall probably wake up 
 some morning to find myself kicked out of office over- 
 night, for having listened to your siren song this 
 evening. Or very likely you '11 take my job away 
 from me, yourself, if you want it. However that 
 may be, you come to my office to-morrow at eleven. 
 And that which is to happen will happen. ' ' 
 
 "Bismillah!" said Brian Kelly, joyously. 
 
 The commissioner put him on traffic duty, because 
 he was a very big, very personable and level-headed 
 young man; and such are needed for the traffic jobs. 
 Traffic men take orders from the City Hall; but al- 
 though the City Hall knew Dominick, it did not know 
 this young man for Dominick's son. It knew him 
 as a youngster of his hands. He may have been taken 
 on by favor of the commissioner, but his name was 
 Kelly, and he looked and lived up to it. 
 
 As it was not desirable to place the Big Un's boy 
 where he might be seen, recognized, and commented 
 upon by whilom friends, he was placed on duty at 
 Seventh Avenue and Bleecker Street. Had he been
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 187 
 
 plunged down in another world altogether, it would 
 not, it could not have been stranger to Brian Kelly. 
 Here was a New York he did not know. 
 
 Around one corner he could see and smell the highly 
 spiced tide of Italian life flowing by. Within a 
 stone's throw Bohemia, natural and unnatural, 
 played, painted, danced, wrote, and dined and 
 talked, talked, talked in stuffy little cafes with ab- 
 surd names, where most of the decorations seemed to 
 have been communicated on a ouija-board. 
 
 All sorts and conditions of men and women eddied 
 in this whirlpool in which Officer Kelly, at fixed 
 hours, formed a sort of center. He learned the awe- 
 some language of truck-drivers and taxi chauffers; 
 he heard the patter of poseurs, of pseudo-bohemians, 
 and raucous polyglot cries in divers tongues, like 
 echoes from Babel. 
 
 Vast-bosomed foreign women, bearers of many ba- 
 bies, laboring-people, hordes of children, girls fac- 
 ing life with gay courage, young men with hungry 
 mouths and dissatisfied eyes, appealed to him im- 
 mensely. He sensed their reality; he felt his own. 
 A vast change, working in silence, was taking place 
 in Brian Kelly. 
 
 "My whole duty," he told Jimmy Darlington, 
 several months later, "consists in preventing fools 
 from becoming unbecoming corpses, and in restrain- 
 ing drivers of vehicles from committing voluntary 
 and involuntary manslaughter. It 's a gay life ! ' ' 
 But he knew that his day meant more than that: he 
 knew he had bridged the gulf between make-believe,
 
 188 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 playing at something, and being and doing the thing 
 itself. 
 
 As strong as Samson and as beautiful as David, 
 with the conscience of a small boy and the complexion 
 of a belle, Policeman Kelly was not one to be passed 
 over lightly and casually by the discerning. The 
 poseurs the praters of art and form and expressing 
 one's soul overlooked him at first: their attention 
 had not yet been directed to him, and they never dis- 
 cover anything for themselves. Ladies who lived 
 in rooms with tomato-red floors, and dull-blue walls 
 decorated with paintings that looked like crewel- 
 work, passed him by unheeding: he looked too much 
 like three meals a day and a steady, unesthetic job! 
 He was obvious; and the obvious is not an expres- 
 sion of the soul. 
 
 But one noonday a man who had a studio on Mac- 
 Dougal Street caught a glimpse of Policeman Kelly's 
 profile, retraced his steps, stared, and whistled. And 
 presently there went forth among the few quiet 
 workers who sweat out their stuff, word that the 
 young Apollo had come to town and was masquer- 
 ading as an Irish cop at Seventh Avenue and 
 Bleecker Street, or maybe it was Hermes himself, 
 who had changed his caduceus for a night-stick. 
 Here was stuff of the gods! The man from Mac- 
 Dougal Street, who could sketch from memory, passed 
 and repassed, stared hungrily, and went back and 
 did swift impressions. He had found the face he 
 wanted for his posters the face of youth, serious and
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 189 
 
 gay, serene and beautiful. And lie had caught it 
 on a cop ! 
 
 * ' He looks like a young god with good morals. And 
 probably his ideal doesn't rise above taking the par- 
 lor maid to the movies on his night off," he thought, 
 at once envious and contemptuous. "My God! this 
 is a crazy world ! ' ' 
 
 Brian had stayed for a while in Jimmy Darling- 
 ton's rooms, at Jimmy's almost tearful request. But 
 the rooms of a fashionable clubman are not exactly 
 the proper background for a policeman, as the police- 
 man himself pointed out. A change of quarters was 
 imperative. A grizzled veteran of a desk sergeant 
 recommended the home of the Widow Callaghan, in 
 Charlton Street, just around the corner from the 
 new officer's station. 
 
 "Tell her Jawn Clancy sent ye, and wishes 't was 
 himself she 'd be takin' in," said the sergeant, and 
 rubbed a huge hand across his mouth. 
 
 The house in Charlton Street, one of a row, was of 
 red brick mellowed by time. Charlton Street is still 
 immensely prepossessing, and its old residences have 
 not yet lost their "air." The beautiful white door 
 with its fanlight, the steps with wrought-iron rail- 
 ings, the dignity and simplicity of an unpretentious 
 age were delightful. Window boxes and striped 
 awnings brightened the sober, pleasantly faded front. 
 There were attic rooms, large, airy, exquisitely clean. 
 
 The house still retained its best features paneled 
 white woodwork in the halls and in the big square
 
 190 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 rooms. There were fine mantels and folding doors. 
 The Widow Gallaghan clung to her walnut furniture 
 of early Victorian type, her flowered carpets, her 
 whatnots full of cottage Staffordshire, her patch- 
 work quilts, her old albums and holy pictures. They 
 fitted into the Charlton Street house admirably, and 
 were altogether satisfactory. 
 
 She gave Brian the back attic room, from whose 
 dormer window he could see a bit of Bleecker Street, 
 just around the corner. Over the bed hung a Good 
 Shepherd with a sentimental lamb in his arms; a 
 meek Madonna smiled from the mantel, and a small 
 colored statue of Saint Joseph holding a Baby in one 
 arm and a spray of lilies in the other hand, stood on 
 a table flanked by a big, shabby rocker. The speck- 
 less windows had white curtains, and on their ledges 
 were pots of white and red geraniums and of ivy. 
 Simple and old-fashioned as the room was, some magic 
 touch seemed to have been laid upon it which breathed 
 of peace and home. That magic touch was Colette 
 O 'Shane's. 
 
 The Widow Callaghan, an apple-cheeked, blue-eyed, 
 white-haired body in the cleanest of stiffly starched 
 house-dresses she called them "wrappers" had 
 an Irishwoman's appreciation of youth and a police- 
 man. She herself had three sons, her new lodger 
 learned Tom, the eldest, ''named for his father, God 
 rest his soul"; James, who was a printer; and the 
 youngest, John, who was a college student and would 
 some day be a priest. 
 
 Tom, a grave man of thirty-five, an engraver by
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 191 
 
 trade, came of a Sunday afternoon to visit his 
 mother, bringing with him five young devils rang- 
 ing in years from pink-and-white four to freckled 
 fourteen, and in mischief from Dan to the uttermost 
 borders of Beersheba. These last instantly bestowed 
 their affection, trust, and whole allegiance upon 
 Brian Kelly. They heeled him like five puppies. 
 He could not put his foot down without stepping on a 
 visiting young Callaghan. 
 
 What astonished him was his own immediate lik- 
 ing for them, the quite new feeling they aroused in 
 him. Their demoniac ingenuity in finding out things 
 which should not be done and instantly doing them, 
 the strategic quality of the defense they put up when 
 cornered red-handed, the plausibility of their alibi 
 when a loophole of escape offered itself to throw mis- 
 guided elders off the scent, won his appreciative 
 admiration. Small Robert Emmet's fat little fingers 
 clinging to his hand, the sturdy little legs trying to 
 keep pace with his long stride, gave him an odd, 
 pleasant sense of potential f atherliness. 
 
 The son who was a printer, a quiet, studious young 
 man, belonged to several clubs, outside his own union. 
 His friends came of nights to talk with him, and 
 these class-conscious, level-heaJed, thoughtful work- 
 ingmen gave the erstwhile fashionable clubman 
 cause for considerable thought. If the range of their 
 reading astonished him, their interpretation of what 
 they read astonished him even more; their opinion 
 of the class from which he had lately dropped set 
 him to wondering at the difference in points of view.
 
 192 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Brian was not of the stuff of which radicals are 
 made, and some of the things asserted by these prole- 
 tarians made him smile inwardly. But on the whole 
 they were almost abnormally sane and sure, and very 
 often they were unanswerable. 
 
 On the other hand, what of, say, Jimmy Darling- 
 ton as a type ? Jimmy toiled not, neither did he spin, 
 nor yet gather into barns. Apparently, Jimmy 
 frivoled. Yet for kindliness and sincerity, for 
 friendship, where was one to discover Jimmy's supe- 
 rior ? Slow-thinking Brian, learning to use all of his 
 brain, came to the conclusion that he was glad he 
 would be very, very dead before, in its march of prog- 
 ress and utilitarianism, the race would have elimi- 
 nated the Jimmy Darlingtons. A world full of 
 nothing but useful, working people was not, somehow, 
 alluring to the imagination. 
 
 Perhaps we should have to change our minds and 
 revise our estimates of usefulness. Decorative people 
 people who by the mere act of living and being 
 themselves grace the world, like the lilies of the 
 field may be quite as necessary to progress and social 
 well-being as, say, printers and policemen. Colette 
 O 'Shane explained that to Brian. Colette was both 
 useful and decorative. 
 
 She had come to the Callaghans on the death of 
 her mother, a French milliner. Her father, also 
 dead, had been in some inexplicable and roundabout 
 way kin to somebody who was kin to Mrs. Callaghan ; 
 the latter was not sure how. But they acknowledged 
 the claim, as the Irish will, and the child was wel-
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 193 
 
 corned. Tom, who was not married then, sent the 
 little girl to the Sisters' day-school, and saw to it 
 that she had the music lessons her heart craved. 
 
 The apple of the family eye, the child grew up as 
 vivid as a redbird. You would think a girl with 
 olive skin would have brown hair and eyes. Co- 
 lette's hair was pale gold, her eyes a gray that could 
 deepen to the black of the Cliffs of Moher on a dark 
 day. She had the look of a nun a nun who might 
 choose for a father confessor, say Anatole France. 
 She had her mother 's skill with the needle, and put it 
 to good use: she designed theatrical costumes for a 
 great firm. But she wanted more of life than could 
 be stitched down with a needle. She did not go 
 a-hunting for emotions, because she had sense enough 
 to know that they must come of their own accord, 
 pounce upon one unawares, if they are to be genuine. 
 She was level-headed and heart-whole. In the mean- 
 time she made the red-brick house on Charlton Street 
 a home which reflected her own individuality. 
 
 She accepted Brian as she accepted everybody, but 
 with a warmer appreciation. The Widow Callaghan 
 herself loved him at sight. 
 
 "And you have no mother, lad?" she had asked 
 him. Regret was in her voice. 
 
 "She died before I was a year old." 
 
 ' ' Eyah, what a pity ! Herself would be the proud 
 woman could she see you," said the mother of three 
 men. 
 
 ' ' I like to think she does, ' ' said the policeman unex- 
 pectedly.
 
 194 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "As the saints do," agreed the widow. "Glad we 
 are to have her son under our roof, and myself will 
 do the best I can do by you." Doing her best meant 
 mothering him as she mothered her own, with unob- 
 trusive, watchful affection. 
 
 If the kind soul could have liked any young man 
 better than Brian, it would have been Jimmy Dar- 
 lington. She had welcomed him at first as a young 
 man who did credit to the store from which he 
 bought his clothes. She judged he would be an office 
 man. 
 
 Later she welcomed him for his own sake. Life 
 without Brian being somewhat unthinkable for 
 Jimmy, he fell into the habit of haunting the Calla- 
 ghan house, waiting for Brian to come home. The 
 printer and his friends, discussing the wrongs of the 
 proletariat and the utter sinfulness of inherited per- 
 sonal property, did not know that the amiable young 
 man listening to them with puzzled attention was one 
 of the Idle Rich. He was as clean-living as they were : 
 manicured nails do not necessarily imply immoral- 
 ity. That he spoke French very well he had learned 
 it in his nursery by his mother's strict decree en- 
 abled him to translate a passage on sabotage, and 
 impressed them favorably. The page on sabotage im- 
 pressed him very unfavorably, and it relieved him to 
 hear the American workmen outspoken against it. 
 "A damned dirty way of doing business," they 
 called it. "I 'd love to catch any cur trying to 
 sabotage one of our big presses," said the printer, 
 grimly. "No, that 's not the way. It 's not right."
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 195 
 
 One of the men looked up at that Sprengel, a 
 linotype operator, a fair, quiet man with cold blue 
 eyes. 
 
 "For the Cause, every way that hurts the enemy 
 is the right way ; and orders are always to be obeyed, ' ' 
 he said. 
 
 Ensued an outbreak of excited talk. Jimmy 
 remembered it afterward the faces all turned to the 
 calm Sprengel, the gestures, the denying voices, and 
 Sprengel 's unmoved, rocklike reiteration and reasser- 
 tion: 
 
 "No: when you fight, you fight. Laws? When you 
 win your fight, you make laws to govern the next 
 fight. That is all. Until you have power to make 
 those laws your laws you must use what weapons 
 come to your hand. And obey orders." 
 
 There was something patient, immovable, logical 
 about the man as he went on elucidating the supe- 
 riority of concerted mass action over individual will, 
 choice, or even morals. He impressed his auditors. 
 One saw the stupendous thing he conjured up. They 
 grumbled that the idea was logical, but the thing 
 could not be done. 
 
 Sprengel smiled. 
 
 "You are too individual, you Americans. You 
 split in factions. You think in very small groups. 
 You think as Westerners, as Easterners, as South- 
 erners, as Northerners; you don't think collectively. 
 There is no such thing as American thought. It is 
 the same way with Labor: it thinks as ironworkers, 
 as shipbuilders, as printers, as bakers, as every trade
 
 196 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 by itself; it does not think as united Labor. But 
 Capital thinks always as Capital. It has one 
 thought, one aim. It is united. That is why it is 
 strong and you are weak. Now, suppose any move- 
 ment or any people should concentrate think as 
 one, act as one, move straight forward with all its 
 power, all its force. "Who or what is to stop it? 
 Suppose, let us say, that such a people should exist, 
 and you Americans, you scattered Americans, stood 
 in its way. What would stop it, do you think?" 
 
 For a moment uneasy silence fell upon the pleasant, 
 homely dining-room. The thing was not probable; 
 it was starkly ridiculous to suppose it, but 
 
 Then up rose young Jimmy Darlington and 
 clenched his nice white hands with their polished 
 nails. 
 
 "Why, confound you, I would!" 
 
 "How so?" asked Sprengel, politely. 
 
 But Jimmy did not answer, for somebody laughed 
 lightly, and he looked toward the doorway, where she 
 stood. 
 
 She had taken off her hat in the hall, and the lamp- 
 light glittered on her pale gold hair, and her gray eyes 
 were blacker than mountain pools at midnight, and 
 the dimple in the corner of her laughing mouth 
 danced impishly. Her glance of mockery played over 
 Sprengel understandingly, swept the others more 
 lightly, and dwelt upon Jimmy bafflingly. 
 
 He stared back at her, as helpless for the moment 
 as any hulking apprentice. The fashionable club- 
 man, the graceful idler, the tried and true stand-by
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL COP 197 
 
 of many a debutante, was merely a young man look- 
 ing at the one woman. Something of the quality of 
 that fixed regard must have reached her conscious- 
 ness, for she changed color and turned her head aside 
 quickly, so that the long jet earrings which she wore 
 as only a Latin woman may wear earrings, showed 
 black and lustrous against the creamy olive of her 
 cheek. She waved her hand lightly to the com- 
 pany, all of whom were watching her with the wistful 
 eyes of young men looking at a fair and love-com- 
 pelling woman. And seeing that the glamour of her 
 had fallen upon them, she laughed again, and went 
 away with her fawn-like motion. 
 
 Jimmy Darlington sat staring after Colette 
 'Shane. Without so much as a by-your-leave-sir 
 his heart took nimbly to its heels and ran after her, 
 never to leave her until it should have ceased to beat. 
 
 So was settled Jimmy's fate, all because Brian 
 Kelly refused to obey orders, and preferred to become 
 a beautiful cop!
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 
 
 POLICEMAN KELLY chewed the cud of re- 
 flection, the rind of the bittersweet fruit of 
 the knowledge of good and evil. He had just 
 given half a month 's salary to the widow of an officer 
 killed in the discharge of his duty. There were six 
 crying, frightened children; the woman was dumb 
 with despair. 
 
 Policeman Kelly's reflections were perturbed, as 
 befits a young man whose point of view is in process 
 of transformation, whose philosophy of life and ethics 
 is in process of becoming. Perhaps the dead, fresh 
 to the other side, experience the same bewildered 
 reaction and readjustment. 
 
 Yet all the time a slowly growing light was diffus- 
 ing itself in his mind and suffusing his heart, reveal- 
 ing the face of duty and pointing the way to service, 
 those two immortal lighthouses which save mankind 
 from shipwreck. The young man was becoming 
 acquainted with himself. And while he fished care- 
 less or timid or venturesome members of the populace 
 from under the wheels of raving chauffeurs, and was 
 a competent cog in that miracle of traffic regulation 
 which keeps New York from becoming a city of 
 slaughter, this new introspection went on. 
 
 198
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 199 
 
 He watched the charity of the poor to the poor ; he 
 watched society's efforts to dab salve on sore spots. 
 He remembered on what pleased terms he had been 
 with himself when he attended charity bazaars at 
 which he paid quadruple their value for useless 
 articles, because some laughing girl of his acquaint- 
 ance had bidden him buy it to help the poor; and 
 when he had tossed to an interesting or an importu- 
 nate beggar a coin. 
 
 He recalled that whenever his father had been 
 highly successful in a deal, he had given the church 
 some trifle, like an altar, or a stained-glass window, 
 or a carved reredos, or maybe a marble baptismal 
 font all neatly tagged "The gift of Do'minick 
 Kelly." Now, why should notable gifts bestowed 
 with great heartiness and without regard to cost, 
 by a wealthy churchgoer upon his favorite church, 
 put a sudden bitter taste in the mouth of a police- 
 man? 
 
 ''And yet he 's a great old boy, my father is," 
 Brian reflected. "Only he didn't make his money 
 with the best of himself; he piled up millions with 
 his worst traits on top. It doesn't take the best 
 sort of brains to make money as much money as my 
 father and the men like him accumulate. It takes 
 greed and graft and -cunning; you Ve got to make 
 hog-and-tiger instincts work overtime, and tuck con- 
 science and mercy instincts away, if you want to get 
 where my father and his friends are. And I used to 
 be satisfied ! Good God ! I used to be satisfied ! ' ' 
 
 He wondered what his father would say if he could
 
 200 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 see him now. That Dominick might meddle didn't 
 trouble him: he knew his father well enough to 
 realize that having washed his hands of him Dom- 
 iniek would let him savagely alone at least for the 
 present, and while his anger lasted. Dominick had 
 already had it announced that Brian had suddenly 
 gone to join a hunting-party which was exploring the 
 wilder portions of Canada. There was no date set 
 for his return. This story had been featured, and 
 Brian had smiled grimly at his own photographs and 
 fancy cuts of himself in togs which were a New 
 Yorker's notion of what a fashionable young man 
 would wear in the wilds. He was grateful to his 
 father, though, for that strategical move, as it cov- 
 ered his retreat. He felt pretty secure. The average 
 New Yorker never looks at a policeman's face, any- 
 how only at his eloquent paws. 
 
 He was growing accustomed to being a sort of 
 unofficial city directory, an active member of the 
 society for the prevention of youthful mortality, a 
 rescuer of old women, an answerer of idiotic and 
 otherwise questions, a lender of carfare to the car- 
 fareless. He learned to look Irishly, but not too 
 Irishly, into the admiring eyes of pretty workwomen, 
 and searchingly into the eyes of certain gentlemen of 
 jaunty attire and highly polished nails and address. 
 He could psychoanalyze the pifflers who play about in 
 their ain 't-it-natural Bohemia. They might just as 
 well behave like fools about art as about anything 
 else, he reflected. They had to be fools about some- 
 thing! They could not help not being real. People
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 201 
 
 cannot help being or not being what they are or are 
 not. 
 
 On a certain memorable afternoon a flat-heeled girl 
 in a flaming smock and a young man in a fawn- 
 colored hat had paused beside him on their way 
 across the street. "The soul is not a curve," the 
 young man in the fawn-colored hat was insisting 
 firmly. "It is a cube a primordial, prismatic cube!" 
 
 "Yes: we must find its cube root!" said the girl 
 in the flaming smock, reverently. "And thus we 
 have the soul! I will snatch the sunlight and paint 
 a cube ! ' ' 
 
 Policeman Kelly looked after the girl who was go- 
 ing to snatch the sunlight and paint a cube. He 
 thought she was more likely to snatch a dime and 
 buy a cone, and he grinned delightedly. And at that 
 moment a large, white, square-fingered hand was laid 
 on his blue-coated arm, and he turned to meet the 
 blue, bespectacled eyes of one of the few women sculp- 
 tors who are known to the world of true achievement. 
 She wore a ready-to-wear sack suit of a dark color, 
 which fitted her badly, and her hat looked as though 
 it had been rained on and sun-bleached. 
 
 She was amenable only to one law, her law, self- 
 made and rigidly kept, the law of truth in work. 
 She occupied one side of a big, old-fashioned house, 
 and her manners were gentlemanly in the extreme. 
 When she was working, and hunger made itself felt, 
 she drank milk and ate sliced raw onions pressed 
 between slices of brown bread, and topped her lunch 
 with the biggest apple she could come by. She was
 
 202 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 as sexless as an archangel. When she was not what 
 she called busy, she wrote bitingly trenchant com- 
 ments on art in America. Her flair for good work 
 and real workers was an intuition. When she dis- 
 covered a form or a face which satisfied her instinct 
 and her eyes, she followed it like an Apache, taking 
 her own whenever and wherever she found it. This 
 so impressed her victims that they became as wax and 
 putty in her hands. 
 
 She was in search of a certain male figure, and for 
 some time it had been eluding her. She was never 
 able to satisfy herself with almost-as-good ; the figure 
 she wished was fixed in her mind, and for weeks she 
 had been stalking it, raging with disappointment 
 over her failures. And now, within half a dozen 
 blocks of her own house, she came upon it in the uni- 
 form of Traffic Officer Kelly. He had turned his 
 head to look after a pair of types, and she caught, 
 with a flash of wonder and delight, the beautiful line 
 of his profile. The back of his head was wonderfully 
 fine; most men's are not. The set of his shoulders 
 was beyond praise, and she liked his ears, his flat 
 thighs and springy legs. She noticed that his hands 
 were excellent, and that his nails were manicured. 
 
 "My man! Praise God!" said she, and stepping 
 up to him briskly she laid her hand on his arm com- 
 pellingly. The tall young man looked down at her 
 without surprise. He waited for her to tell him what 
 she wanted him to do for her. 
 
 Said she, exultantly, and her brown face beamed :
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 203 
 
 ''Lord, what a hunt I 've had for you! You must 
 come to my studio. I 'm Mary Hallet." 
 
 He had heard of Mary Hallet, of course ; he remem- 
 bered houses in which some of her things were 
 cherished possessions. But he did not as yet know 
 her salient characteristics. He touched his cap 
 respectfully. 
 
 "Come to your studio, Miss Hallet? What for?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "To pose, of course. You 're the man I need. 
 When can you come?" 
 
 "Why, you see, my hours " 
 
 "I '11 telephone the commissioner. It can be 
 arranged, very easily." 
 
 "Why, but " stammered the policeman, "you see 
 that is my time, Miss Hallet " 
 
 "I will pay you half as much again as the usual 
 terms," said she, briskly. And she looked him over 
 with a critical, sexless stare. He felt sure she could 
 see his backbone through his blue coat, and that she 
 perceived that one button was off his undershirt. It 
 was such a look as an enthusiastic dissector might 
 fasten upon a fine cadaver, and it made Brian Kelly 
 cringe. 
 
 Unheeding his perturbation, Miss Hallet fished a 
 memorandum book from her pocket, licked the point 
 of her lead pencil, and asked crisply : 
 
 "Name, please?" 
 
 Like one hypnotized he gave it. 
 
 "Kelly, B. Home address, please? What, you
 
 204 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 are in Charlton Street with Mrs. Callaghan? You 
 are a lucky young man ! A very good friend of mine 
 is the widow. So 's the O 'Shane girl. I used her 
 for a fountain, once, and I hope to heaven your legs 
 are as good. Your back seems to be all a man 's back 
 should be." She reached up, caught hold of his 
 badge, and wrote the number in her book. 
 
 Trying to rally his scattered wits, Officer Kelly 
 began to protest: 
 
 "Look here, you know, you can't ! You just can't, 
 Miss Hallet! And I won't. I can't." 
 
 "Can't what?" 
 
 "Wear wings and a sash and hold a basin or an 
 umbrella over my head, and let you call me a foun- 
 tain. I won 't, Miss Hallet ! Not for you or anybody 
 or anything. Move on please, Miss Hallet; you're 
 blocking traffic." 
 
 "My good young man," said Mary Hallet, "didn't 
 you hear me tell you I 'd been looking for you for 
 some time ? Do you think a small thing like a police- 
 man 's notions can be allowed to interfere with my 
 work? What is your day off? Or have you got a 
 day off? I 've forgotten." 
 
 "All right, you keep right on forgetting. Move 
 on, please, Miss Hallet. You are obstructing traffic, ' ' 
 said Brian, patiently. 
 
 "Oh, behave yourself!" said Miss Hallet, impa- 
 tiently. "I sha'n't tell you again I Ve been looking 
 for you and must have you, but I '11 merely say I in- 
 tend to have you. H 'm ! This numskull must be 
 persuaded, I suppose, ' ' she repeated as though to her-
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 205 
 
 self. "I '11 see Mrs. Callaghan and Colette about 
 this, to-night." 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried the badgered Brian. "Oh, no, 
 Miss Hallet! you wouldn't do a thing like that!" 
 Appealing to the women in the house to persuade him 
 to pose for a lady sculptor ! Good Lord ! 
 
 ' ' Well, I '11 go after the commissioner, and the City 
 Hall people, then, or I '11 see Tammany. And I will 
 send forth the word of Mary Hallet even as a Mac- 
 Dougal Street man's word was passed on to me, if 
 only I 'd remembered it ! that you are the most per- 
 fect type in New York, and you '11 see what '11 hap- 
 pen to you! I saw you grinning at that little fool 
 in the red smock who was with the other fool in the 
 fawn-colored hat. You '11 grin on the wrong side of 
 your mouth when she and her sisters begin to gather 
 and sketch you. When they hear 7 want you 
 well, you will learn what a serious thing it is to 
 interfere with an artist in the discharge of her 
 duty!" 
 
 Brian looked at her with terror. The bare idea of 
 her going after the commissioner on such an errand ! 
 And for the men at headquarters to get wind of this 
 John Clancy laughing like a hyena ! And then, 
 of course, those damned reporters nosing him out 
 "Policeman Poses for Pretty Painters" "Officer 
 Aids Eminent Sculptress." His hair rose. 
 
 "Well?" said the inquisitress. 
 
 "What am I to be made into?" asked the victim, 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Teucer, for one thing," said she, and a gleam
 
 206 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 came into her eyes. "For five years, young man, 
 Teucer has been struggling in my brain, waiting for 
 just the right face and figure to deliver him." 
 
 "But I 'm not a marble-cutter, Miss Hallet! I 'm 
 a policeman!" said Brian Kelly, goaded. 
 
 "You 're Teucer, and a far better Teucer than 
 Thorny crof t 's, " said Miss Hallet, flicking aside the 
 remark. "More immediately, you 're to be the fore- 
 most figure in a group of Olympian prize-winners." 
 Again her impersonal, sexless, vivisectionist stare 
 brought gooseflesh on his spine. He was used to the 
 ordinary human eye lingering upon him without 
 aversion, and he was not unaware that the feminine 
 eye in particular found him pleasing. But never be- 
 fore had the unhumanly dispassionate eye of genius 
 coolly and critically appraised him. He felt as 
 though he had taken off his skin and was standing in 
 his bare bones, and the sensation was embarrassing. 
 It was like one of those dreams in which one appears 
 in some public place like the theater, or the Metro- 
 politan Museum, or Fifth Avenue at Forty-second 
 Street clad in one's pajamas or maybe a gauze 
 shirt. A gentle perspiration appeared upon the brow 
 of Officer Kelly. 
 
 He looked at Mary Hallet, now, disgustedly, and 
 said with infuriated resignation : 
 
 "I '11 compromise, Miss Hallet. You keep away 
 from the commissioner and the Callaghans, and I '11 
 be Teucer though I 'm not supposed to understand 
 who and what Teucer was, am I? And I '11 be your 
 Olympian. But there 's one thing : you 've got to
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 207 
 
 take me at my own hours, or I '11 chuck this job and 
 vanish. ' ' 
 
 "I am not altogether unreasonable. What are 
 your hours?" She smiled and Mary Hallet had a 
 very nice smile. 
 
 "Six o'clock in the morning," said the policeman, 
 grimly. 
 
 ' ' Make it half -past five, and you may breakfast with 
 me," she offered hospitably. 
 
 At that he wiped a damp forehead. 
 
 "I '11 let you know when I can come, ' ' he promised 
 vaguely. 
 
 "Suppose you make it day after to-morrow," said 
 she. 
 
 Policeman Kelly regarded her with mingled emo- 
 tions of rage, astonishment, admiration, and despair. 
 
 "Your methods are somewhat like Captain 
 Kidd's," he told her. 
 
 "You beautiful Olympian idiot!" She waved her 
 hand under his nose, and marched off like a doughboy 
 on a hike. 
 
 He had a day and a night in which to think this 
 thing over ; and he concluded it was not safe to have 
 a Mary Hallet on one's trail. 
 
 "This," he said to his reflection in his mirror, "is 
 what you get for looking like a 'beautiful Olympian 
 idiot,' and I hope you like what you 've let yourself 
 in for ! It would be fine if Jawn Clancy got wise to 
 this ; now, would n't it ? " And he went to Mary Hal- 
 let 's studio with a package of gym togs under his 
 arm. It was not quite six o'clock.
 
 208 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 She welcomed him pleasantly but without surprise. 
 She was evidently expecting him, for she was en- 
 veloped in an apron that did not add to her beauty. 
 She offered him excellent coffee, which he refused. 
 He was here by capture and compulsion; and he 
 would not eat with her as though she were a friend. 
 
 "Very well," said she, with horrid briskness. "We 
 can get to work at once, then!" She ushered him 
 into a small curtained recess: "Get ready, please." 
 
 Grimly he got into his gym togs, and stepped out 
 a figure that would have filled with pure joy any 
 trainer of athletes. She did instantaneous justice 
 and homage to his comeliness. He embodied, she 
 thought, the Greek ideal of a body in harmony with 
 the laws of its being. But what she said was : 
 
 "You look like a sulky runner who has come in a 
 poor third. This might do for Stockholm or Har- 
 vard, but it is not in keeping with an Olympian victor 
 of the third century B. c. " She walked to the door, 
 opened it, and shouted: 
 
 "Jacques! Hi there, Jacques!" 
 
 A door on the other side of the hall was jerked 
 open. 
 
 "Come over and help make a policeman see the 
 light of understanding. He thinks he 's New Eng- 
 land, and he 's got to be Greece ! Hurry, like a good 
 chap!" 
 
 Jacques hurried big, hairy, a pipe in his teeth, 
 shoddy slippers on huge feet, and a shabby coat hang- 
 ing upon his shoulders. Traces of not too fresh egg 
 were upon his not too clean shirt; and one surmised
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 209 
 
 that he combed his hair with his fingers, and brushed 
 it with the flat of his hand. Kind, whimsical, tem- 
 peramental, he did things in his own way, and did 
 them unusually well. He removed his pipe, and held 
 it in a large, workmanlike hand. At sight of the 
 scowling young man in the gym suit, a smile of droll 
 understanding twisted his hairy countenance. 
 
 "Friend policeman," said he, in an enticingly 
 pleasant voice, "in your peregrinations did your 
 steps never lead you to that massive mausoleum of 
 art the Metropolitan Museum?" 
 
 ' ' Great unwashed one, ' ' said the policeman politely, 
 "your appearance and conversation do not partic- 
 ularly appeal to me. Suppose you do what I'm going 
 to do in a few minutes get out of here on the run." 
 
 "But if I did that," returned the hairy gentleman, 
 equably, "I should not be able to lift you onto the 
 pedestal of classic art, which nature, aided by Miss 
 Hallet, plainly preordained for you. May I remind 
 you that Greeks of the B. c. period* did not belong to 
 the Y. M. C. A. nor wear B. V. D's and rubber-soled 
 canvas shoes? I think you 'd better shed." 
 
 Brian blushed a fine shrimp pink. He could feel 
 it to his toes. 
 
 At that the man Jacques laughed aloud. 
 
 "Superb imbecile!" he cried in fluent French. 
 "One admires you even in your absurd lingerie! 
 Little jewel of Marathon, you should discard the cot- 
 ton conventionalities which disguise your fine limbs. 
 You should wear nothing, nothing but the athlete's 
 fillet upon your brow, and let Mademoiselle immor-
 
 210 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 talize in marble your godlike youth ! Alas, you don't 
 understand me, you magnificent donkey of a police- 
 man, when I speak to you thus in the tongue of a 
 Frenchman and an artist! I must address you in 
 your own barbarous jargon of the New York streets, 
 fit for the ears and the intelligence of morons. It is 
 enough to make one weep!" 
 
 ' ' If you make yourself cry trying to descend to my 
 level, why give yourself so much trouble ? ' ' suggested 
 Brian, in less colloquial but more deadly French. ''I 
 think you 'd better be moving on. Miss Hallet, noth- 
 ing doing in the noble and nude and antique business 
 this morning. You don't need a victor. What 
 you 're trying to get is a victim, a sheep led to the 
 er block. Personally, I 'm a goat." He started 
 for his clothes. 
 
 A long arm reached out and clasped him. He was 
 in the pink of physical condition, a trained man in 
 the flush of his youth. But the big Frenchman held 
 him with the effortless ease of a mother bear holding 
 an unruly cub. 
 
 "You are of a stupidity to make one ashamed, 
 you," said the painter. "Look, donkey, into the 
 eyes of Mary Hallet; look also into the eyes of me, 
 Jacques the painter, and blush again for yourself!" 
 And he forced the angry young man to meet his deep, 
 clear glance. Something in that look made Brian 
 pause. 
 
 "I would have you know," said the painter, "that 
 there is but one thing which really excuses God for 
 making man, and excuses man for remaining in this
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 211 
 
 lunatic world creative art, the flowering of the 
 human spirit. My barbarian, you in your brief hour 
 possess that toward which all creative art struggles 
 beauty. Transient guest of life, nature fashioned 
 you from a perfect mold. Allow, then, creative art 
 to seize and hold this beauty, to take what is perish- 
 able and make it a symbol of the imperishable." He 
 added, with a piercing look: "You think you are 
 modest, heinf That modesty of yours is the fig leaf 
 of stupidity!" 
 
 Hitherto, when he had met artists in their studios, 
 it had been as a fashionable young man with a wealthy 
 father who occasionally bought pictures, and paid 
 a thumping sum for them, too. But those successful 
 artists had not been like this man and woman who 
 had him captive at six o'clock in the morning! He 
 looked at them a bit sullenly. Of a sudden Jacques 
 released him, pushed him aside, with something like 
 contempt. 
 
 "It is plain," said Jacques, "that this young man 
 has the bourgeois mind; he is a Philistine, without 
 vision, without judgment. Mary, let us bid him be- 
 gone. For observe : the children of one 's flesh vanish, 
 being mortal and of a day. But the children of one's 
 spirit, of one's wisdom of heart and skill of hand 
 they live; they are not subject to time; they are part 
 of the heritage of the race. Bid, then, this police- 
 man go about his business. I would not wish, me, to 
 perpetuate a fool in marble." 
 
 Brian Kelly looked again into the eyes of these two 
 lunatics, and suddenly he was ashamed, of his anger,
 
 212 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 of his whole attitude. Something of their sexless and 
 unstained point of view grew clear to him. Mary 
 Hallet was regarding him with a sort of high impa- 
 tience and at the same time a sad understanding. 
 He reddened, and his head went up. He drew a great 
 breath. 
 
 "All right!" said he, and vanished behind the 
 screen. And in another moment there stepped forth 
 such a creature as the Lord God must have met when 
 He walked in the first garden in the cool of the day. 
 The young man walked springily; and from the 
 crown of his black head to the soles of his white feet 
 there was no blemish in him. The two artists were 
 silent; they looked at him almost reverently. And 
 at that an irrepressible Irishness twisted his lip. 
 
 "Fetch on your garlands, Miss Hallet: here 's your 
 Olympian idiot!" said Brian Kelly. 
 
 This world of the studio, the absorbing and real 
 world of the creative worker, was as new to him as 
 though he had stepped into Mars or the moon. The 
 real children of this world were not the happy pifflers 
 Brian had been sniggering at. They worshiped a 
 sterner god he thought a more cruel god than the 
 lighter spirits mouthed their prayers to. For this 
 hard divinity they would toil incredibly, live hun- 
 grily, starve, freeze, be as homeless as outlaw cats on 
 the back fences of society to keep the faith. All 
 this despite the fact that their world, even as others, 
 raised altars in high places to those gods who bestow 
 upon their votaries more returns than the true god
 
 THE OLYMPIAN IDIOT 213 
 
 allows. Truth knows that the knowing of Truth is 
 enough in itself. 
 
 Jacques, though he would have laughed con- 
 sumedly at the notion, was to Brian Kelly as Paul 
 upon Mars Hill, interpreting for him the inscription 
 on the altar To the Unknown God. 
 
 Brian had always been joyously alive. Mary Hal- 
 let and Jacques added to that joy of life a pride in 
 the beauty and strength of the body, which is a 
 sturdy and manly joy, as clean and natural as sun- 
 light and sea water. It took him some time to realize 
 what they had done and were doing for him. But 
 he did know they enlarged and enriched his life in- 
 credibly; and he gave the flat-chested woman a love 
 that he never withdrew; and to Jacques the untidy, 
 the careless of speech, the jester, the affection that 
 passes the love of women. 
 
 The man was a painter's painter, with a very 
 slowly growing name. Wealthy sitters were shy of 
 his portraits, which smacked too much of psycho- 
 analysis. Jacques knew the curious value of these 
 amazing portraits; he appreciated his own work. 
 Some day collectors would fight over and museums 
 would be proud to own his pictures. In the mean- 
 time he made enough to satisfy all his wants; and 
 these being few and inexpensive, he gave away two- 
 handedly, for he had no sense of thrift and was con- 
 genitally generous. Had it not been for Mary 
 Hallet, who at times took his money away from him 
 and put it by, he would have been, usually, about 
 half an hour ahead of the pawnshop. His charity,
 
 214 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 like the rain, fell upon the just and the unjust; he 
 liked youth, beauty, bravery, and, along with these, 
 those whom he called "the devil's poor." Nothing 
 that wore the semblance of humanity shocked or 
 estranged him. 
 
 Such, then, was Jacques, who literally and figura- 
 tively took young Brian Kelly to his heart, and loved 
 him as his own father had not known how to love 
 him; taught him that virtue has its vices and vice 
 its virtues, that the devil needs no eyeglasses, but 
 that angels very often wear blinders; showed him 
 what goodness can be, and how simple kindness is the 
 most needed thing in the world; taught him the 
 difference between beauty and its imitations; and 
 tramping the New York streets with him night after 
 night, showing him the under side of that bright gar- 
 ment the city wears by day, gave him such a thorough 
 graduate course in the humanities as all Domini ck's 
 millions would not have been able to procure.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A COURSE IN ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 
 
 IT was the admirable Perkins who kept Miss 
 Honora Kelly in touch with her nephew's pres- 
 ent position, prospects, and surroundings, for 
 Perkins " looked in" upon Mr. Brian as he had 
 threatened. He had the perfect gentleman's nice 
 sense of propriety and fitness, and Mr. Brian as a 
 policeman outraged it in every fiber. He considered 
 that a momentary madness afflicted the Kelly family, 
 a madness which would presently be dispelled. Mr. 
 Dominick Kelly must soon see the error of his ways 
 and recall his son. Mr. Brian Kelly must shortly see 
 the error of his ways and return to his proper and 
 natural sphere. Perkins hoped Miss Honora would 
 be the instrument to bring about this desired result. 
 Saint though she was, Miss Honora had nevertheless 
 reached that stage of long-continued, uninterrupted 
 affluence in which one must lose, even if slightly, the 
 common touch. Her thoughts formulated a police- 
 man as a large, ham-fisted being bullying New York's 
 obedient millions, a signaling, symbolic Hand up- 
 raised at street crossings; publicly necessary, of 
 course, but personally well, say a bit impossible. 
 And Brian their Brian had become one of these! 
 
 215
 
 216 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 She pictured him standing at, say, the Avenue at 
 Forty-second Street, holding up the cars of his former 
 acquaintances, who stared horror-struck through 
 limousine windows. She saw him stationed before 
 one of the great hotels, or patrolling the precincts of 
 one of his former clubs, the members of which 
 beckoned one another and whispered together. Per- 
 spiration bedewed her forehead. Alas, how art thou 
 fallen, O Lucifer, son of the morning! 
 
 She prayed against entertaining feelings of sinful 
 pride; and to be delivered from malice and all un- 
 charitableness; but her feelings toward her brother 
 Dominick were noi the feelings of a meek Christian. 
 She felt deeply, tenderly grateful to Jimmy Darling- 
 ton, who, as Perkins said with emotion, was "sticking 
 to him something noble, Miss." She presently wrote 
 Jimmy a little note, thanking him for his loyalty ' ' to 
 my poor darling in his hour of trial and humiliation. ' ' 
 That note left Jimmy feeling distinctly foolish. 
 
 Perkins had informed Miss Honora, in answer to 
 searching questions, that the widow in Charlton 
 Street was a most respectable party, and pleasant 
 enough, Miss quite pleasant. Yes, Miss, Mr. Brian 's 
 room might be called an attic, but it was clean and 
 sunny. Well, Miss, people in that station don't keep 
 chefs, but the ah lady of the house helped with 
 the cooking, and the fare seemed very good, Miss: 
 Mr. Brian had remarked to Perkins that he was ac- 
 quiring the appetite of a drayman. 
 
 Miss Honora knew old Charlton Street hazily. It 
 abounded and abutted upon a hinterland whose civili-
 
 ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 217 
 
 zation, she fancied, centered around the settlement 
 house and the station house. Very foreign foreigners 
 swarmed in the side-street tenements, hairy anarchists 
 lurked therein, grimy swarms of children played in 
 the roaring streets, out-at-elbow near-genius dwelt 
 dirtily in its attics; and the voice of the hunter of 
 local color was heard in the land. At intervals say, 
 around the middle of December appeared there the 
 Charitable Lady, furred, beautiful, rosy, bearing upon 
 her arm a basket from which emerged one wrinkled 
 carrot, one apple, a bunch of celery, and the long, 
 grisly neck and blue head of a dead hen with 
 whiskers around the bill like a deacob's. One had 
 pictures, too, of clanging fire-engines, and ambulances. 
 
 And near by was Greenwich Village, in which few 
 washed, all smoked and drank and talked about Art, 
 and none believed in God or the holy sacrament of 
 matrimony. Confused and troubled visions arose in 
 the sweet old maid's mind, and caused her sleepless 
 nights and some very real headaches. She prayed 
 fervently, being afraid for Brian's soul; and at 
 first she thought she would leave Dominick's house 
 and stay with Brian. But she was sorry for Domi- 
 nick, although she blamed him. He loved her, in 
 his way, and she knew he wished to see her in his 
 house, that he needed her. And Brian must not be 
 burdened with an old aunt. Also, was it not better 
 for Brian's interest that she should stay here at her 
 post, a friend at court ? 
 
 The longing to see the boy grew upon her pain- 
 fully. She wrote him affectionate notes, mailing
 
 218 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 them herself on her way to mass in the morning, so 
 that the curiosity of the servants might not discover 
 his address and the depths of his fall be laid bare to 
 the gaping world. An occasional telephone message 
 received from the faithful Perkins assured her 
 that Mr. B. was well, and for the time being quite 
 satisfied. Miss Honora saw in these messages noble 
 but futile attempts to deceive her, to conceal from her 
 the darling boy's real suffering. She presently de- 
 termined to go and see things for herself ; no matter 
 what befell, she must see Brian. She would force 
 him to accept that part of her monthly allowance 
 heretofore devoted to more general charity. Thus 
 determined, she prepared to descend upon him when 
 she was not expected, to take him, as it were, suddenly 
 and off guard. 
 
 She chose a day when she had some shopping as an 
 excuse for absence from home. Having dutifully at- 
 tended to this, she dismissed her own chauffeur and 
 called a taxi, and had herself conveyed to Charlton 
 Street. Some of the streets through which she passed, 
 some of the faces glimpsed, the rows of rag wagons 
 piled high with insanitary contents, unclean litter, 
 unclean people, made her clasp her hands in her lap. 
 She was looking for just this sort of thing, and of 
 course she found it, as one always does; she was not 
 looking for the other side of the shield, and so of 
 course she missed it. And then the taxi turned a 
 corner and was in Charlton Street. 
 
 The red-brick house had the dignity of old age, 
 a dignity many more pretentious newer houses fail
 
 ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 219 
 
 to attain. The large, square windows were gay with 
 flower boxes; the steps were immaculate, the old door 
 all that one expects an old door to be. A large cat, 
 as dignified as the house itself and as sleek as a bishop, 
 sunned himself on the top step. Somewhere within, a 
 canary trilled. The whole street was quiet. The 
 roar of the city was a gentle murmur here. 
 
 Miss Honora's ring was answered by an apple-faced, 
 plump body who, hearing that she wished to see Mr. 
 Kelly, ushered her into a very lovely old parlor full 
 of early Victorian walnut furniture rubbed to satiny 
 perfection by a couple of generations of careful 
 women. Keassured by the plump person's smile and 
 the room's quality, Miss Honora sat down. On a 
 table near her was a vase of roses very expensive 
 roses. She looked around with quickening in- 
 terest. Her attention focused itself upon a clever 
 sketch upon the mantel, a sketch whimsically re- 
 vealing, original, and intimate. It was signed 
 "Jacques," which of course meant nothing to Miss 
 Honora; but in a girl's hand was written "J. D., 
 Our Only Ornamental Friend." 
 
 Miss Honora stared at that intimate sketch of Mr. 
 James Darlington. Her puzzlement grew. Was 
 this, too, a falling away ? It was a nice room. There 
 was something in it and about it that Dominick's 
 statelier rooms lacked. But Jimmy, too? Their 
 only ornamental friend? Brian, then, had ceased to 
 be ornamental : Brian was a policeman ! However, 
 she was not here to be tearful. She would be brave 
 for her dear boy's sake.
 
 220 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Presently came an opened front door, a quick, 
 resilient step, a gay whistle. A tall, clean-shaven, 
 intensely alive young man in a blue uniform, a 
 wheel embroidered on the sleeve, was standing in the 
 door, regarding her with delighted eyes. He held 
 his cap in his hand, and one saw the white line its re- 
 moval left upon his forehead. 
 
 He seemed to her beautiful, immensely dear, and 
 yet, somehow, quite new himself in a finer phase, 
 perhaps. His blue eyes had deepened; they looked 
 wiser, kinder, and at the same time more keen and 
 penetrating. The lips came together firmly, with a 
 hint of Dominick 's in them and in the set of the young 
 jaw. An air of responsibility, of being at attention, 
 replaced his old gay insouciance, his old carelessness; 
 and his graceful laziness was a thing of the past : this 
 new Brian was poised, self -controlled, extremely effec- 
 tive. And above all he was buoyantly, resplendently 
 healthy. 
 
 Miss Honora stared at this virile, handsome 
 creature, and felt a bit dazed, remembering that she 
 had been sorry for him. She had in her a sly humor, 
 partly submerged by religiosity. Of a sudden her 
 eyes lighted with demure laughter. 
 
 ' ' I 'm wondering what the new butler at home would 
 do if he should happen in upon me being kissed by 
 the policeman!" said she. 
 
 ''Probably buy a uniform," said Brian, and hugged 
 her. 
 
 He took her upstairs to see his quarters, the attic 
 room with the dormer windows gay with flowers.
 
 ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 221 
 
 His clothes were in perfect order. Plainly, the 
 person of the house was a commendable person! 
 Brian called her ''Mother Callaghan," in tones of 
 heartfelt affection. 
 
 His aunt watched him stealthily. She was sensing 
 the change in him and yes, and liking it! 
 
 Brian knew that he had found himself when he 
 found himself a policeman. What he had taken on 
 as something of a lark, a gay adventure, a plank to 
 carry him across an unexpected gap, had become an 
 absorbing work, seriously carried on and studied. 
 He liked his job, and so, of course, he made good. It 
 was as though the careless, good-humored young 
 fellow had become acquainted with another self, his 
 real self. He spoke of this to Jimmy Darlington, 
 hesitatingly, somewhat shamefacedly. 
 
 "I know," said Jimmy, and he did not laugh. 
 "You feel squiffy because you 're growing real brains 
 sort of two thoughts growing where no thought at 
 all grew before, you know. And Kell, you 're more 
 of a man, because you 're doing a real live man's 
 work. I 'm beginning to get tired of playing around, 
 myself." 
 
 Policeman Kelly laughed, but he realized the truth 
 of Jimmy's comment. He was thinking, and thinking 
 along lines that would have amazed him a year be- 
 fore. He was seeing common things with new eyes. 
 For, behind the obfuscating and obscuring lights and 
 tinsels, the red, raw faces of facts confronted him 
 daily. Poverty, for one of them. He began to under- 
 stand that the very virtues of the poor make for the
 
 222 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 vice of poverty; that it exists because the poor are 
 patient, and will remain incurable so long as they 
 are supinely patient. Crime, for another fact. 
 Crime, and too many criminals the victims of a civili- 
 zation which manufactures them and then sets up a 
 clumsy machinery to punish the result of its own 
 stupidities. 
 
 He watched the children bred in the slums, presently 
 to be called and regarded as black sheep ; when they 
 are not black only dirty gray with the street dust 
 and gutter mud, in which they have pastured. Sup- 
 pose these same sheep could walk in green pastures 
 and lie down beside still waters : would they not show 
 up as white as those of the guarded folds? And the 
 rare, real black sheep: perhaps, kept with the fold, 
 they might have become guarding wethers! Brian 
 Kelly, rubbing elbows with the dirty-gray almost- 
 blacks, coming in occasional contact with the real 
 black itself, came to the conclusion that all sheep are 
 mutton together ; and that one could not tell the color 
 of the wool by the taste of the flesh. 
 
 Accident, a quip of fate, had made him a watchdog 
 of the herd. Well, it was up to the watchdog to be a 
 faithful one! With Dominick's own indomitableness 
 he pitched himself into his work. The commissioner, 
 to whom the situation appealed, watched him 
 shrewdly; at times he sent for him, talked to him. 
 He put him on special duty here and there, partic- 
 ularly among foreigners. 
 
 For Policeman Kelly knew a goodish bit now about 
 New York's motley foreign-born population. He
 
 ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 223 
 
 made his knowledge of French rather an asset, and 
 he used to sit up nights increasing his knowledge of 
 Italian. He thought that maybe if he could speak 
 to these going-to-be citizens in their own tongue, 
 they might be more willing to learn his, and so 
 make for mutual understanding. The result of 
 this simple logic astonished him at times, for un- 
 intelligible foreigners became more and more in- 
 telligible humans. Assured that he tried to and 
 generally did understand what they were trying to 
 tell him, that this exponent of American law and order 
 viewed them and theirs with sympathy, their attitude 
 changed. They were not afraid or suspicious of him. 
 They adored him. Several times they gave him 
 timely information such information as made the 
 commissioner open his eyes. 
 
 "It 's Dominick's boy on the job," thought the 
 commissioner, and grinned to himself. "A great old 
 boy Dominick ! ' ' 
 
 The young man's friendship with Jacques bore 
 heavy fruit, too. The painter had an uncannily inti- 
 mate knowledge of the under dog's starved and booted 
 days, his mangy, fleabitten nights. He had a 
 surgeon's first-hand knowledge of the cankers that 
 eat into the vitals of New York, and it titillated his 
 Gallic irony to impart this first-hand knowledge, 
 with biting and pungent comments, to a New York 
 cop. Fancy talking sociology to a New York cop ! 
 It gave Jacques a delightful sense of flouting and 
 evading the law in thus forcing one of its exponents 
 to become conscious of the cause of things the results
 
 224 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 of which he was there to suppress and punish. But 
 his irony presently deepened into respect. The cop 
 imbibed his first-hand knowledge and tried it out, 
 rather effectively. 
 
 Jacques said presently to Mary Hallet: 
 
 "If I could catch enough college chaps, and put 
 them on the New York police force for a post-graduate 
 course in ethics and the humanities, I 'd have the 
 greatest little bunch of advanced sociologists in the 
 world." 
 
 Something of all this Miss Honora sensed. Some- 
 thing of it Brian, managed to tell her, sitting, holding 
 her hand, in the attic bedroom. She kept saying to 
 herself: "Why, thank God! Why, thank God!" 
 And it seemed to her she was nearer to him now than 
 she had ever been in the old days ; that her fears for 
 him had really done him an injustice. And she had 
 been sorry for Brian, thrust out of his kingdom as 
 though he could ever be less than himself! The tears 
 that came into her eyes were not unhappy ones. She 
 said, patting his hand: 
 
 ' ' Don 't leave us too far behind, dear ! ' ' 
 
 "Aunt Hon, it isn't you poking fun at a poor but 
 honest cop!" 
 
 "Poking fun!" cried Miss Honora. "I Ve never 
 known before what an impressive creature a cop 
 you wish me to call you a cop ? can be ! No wonder 
 the cops boss New York ! ' ' 
 
 They went downstairs, to find Mrs. Callaghan darn- 
 ing socks, Brian's among them. There she sat, in a 
 comfortable rocker clean, kind, rosy, her glasses
 
 ETHICS AND HUMANITIES 225 
 
 astride her nose beside the dining-room table, upon 
 Which the cat, with none to say him nay, reposed 
 sphinxlike and supercilious on the embroidered center- 
 piece. The widow looked up smilingly to welcome 
 Brian's aunt. 
 
 After a while she gave Dominick's sister tea out 
 of a Rebecca-at-the-well teapot, and took her over the 
 house, upon which one felt the lovely and indefinable 
 impression of Colette O 'Shane's personality. Colette 
 had placed her hand here and there, and one remem- 
 bered that old house with pleasure, and had the wish 
 to return to it. 
 
 After a while Miss Honora went back to Dominick's 
 big, handsome, empty house, and was ushered in by 
 Dominick's big, handsome, empty new butler. As 
 she went upstairs she kept contrasting the Widow 
 Callaghan's home and Dominick's. 
 
 "My poor rich Dominick!" sighed Miss Honora.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 FRANCISZKA had advised Marya Jadwiga to 
 do herself up in her best : ' ' Old people always 
 like to see young people looking bright and 
 smart." She had even offered to help the girl buy a 
 new dress for her forthcoming call upon that wealthy 
 old lady who might, if she liked her, engage her as a 
 companion. Marya Jadwiga 's gentle but firm re- 
 fusal, which seemed to Franciszka to have a touch of 
 haughtiness about it, nettled the woman. 
 
 "Oh, all right ! Do as you please. It 's up to you, 
 not me," she said sharply. 
 
 She need not have worried about Marya Jadwiga 's 
 appearance, even in the plain coat suit. Her hair was 
 like black satin; the stain with which the gipsy had 
 disguised her had long since gone, leaving her milk- 
 white. Her eagerness, her hopefulness put a touch 
 of unwonted color in her cheeks, and gave a new 
 sparkle to her eyes. The Man Who Paid always 
 caught his breath when he looked at her after an 
 absence: she came upon him with an ever-fresh sur- 
 prise. His eyes drooped; his throat tightened; his 
 pulses leaped as they had not leaped for years. 
 
 Cool, sweet, virginal, friendless, she was so wholly 
 
 226
 
 THE TRAP 227 
 
 dear and desirable that the ardent eagerness of his 
 passion for her made him feel young. She upset all 
 his conclusions and calculations about women. To- 
 night, sitting beside her in his car, he said to himself 
 fiercely : ' ' This one is worth all the rest put together. 
 I '11 keep this one. By God, she 's mine! I found 
 her. I 'd like to see anybody get her away from me ! " 
 
 Her nearness, the outline of her slim body, the 
 delicacy of her profile, filled him with the pleasure of 
 a collector who has to his hand a rare and perfect 
 object which by the exercise of skill and discretion he 
 may acquire. He struggled to retain his attitude of 
 composed, fatherly friendship. 
 
 The car presently stopped before a very handsome, 
 dignified house, in a very handsome, dignified street. 
 
 "Oh, I hope I shall please your cousin!" said the 
 young girl, nervously. 
 
 "You would please anybody," he told her warmly; 
 and taking her hand he led her up the steps, and 
 into a wide, softly lighted hall. There were Turner 
 color-prints on the paneled walls, a few wonderful 
 old chairs and tables, an exquisite mirror; and 
 farther off one saw a cabinet full of old Chelsea, 
 Crown Derby, and Dresden. The moment one entered 
 that house one was conscious of the presence of flowers, 
 in profusion but arranged with exquisite care. The 
 large square drawing-room, a miracle of skilfully 
 blended color, had this crowning note of flowers. 
 Marya Jadwiga at once liked the old lady who loved 
 blossoms so prodigally. 
 
 With a murmured apology the man left her, she sup-
 
 228 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 posed to consult his cousin, and during his short 
 absence she examined her surroundings, with an in- 
 creasing pleasure. Instinctively she reacted to the 
 ordered, beautiful room, which soothed and charmed 
 her. She hoped with all her heart that the old lady 
 would like her. Think of living in this enchanting 
 house, where books and flowers and paintings and 
 lovely old furniture surrounded one at every turn! 
 Here was nothing overcrowded, nothing overdone. 
 One saw a bit of cool jade, a piece of old china, the 
 gleam of old brass, a chair covered with gilded and 
 painted Spanish leather, a bowl of flowers reflected 
 in a Venetian mirror; each just where it should be, 
 each a perfect detail in the room's completed picture. 
 Her pleasure in these details, in the atmosphere of 
 this house, showed her with unpleasant clarity how 
 hateful was the atmosphere of Franciszka's house, 
 how hateful her work there. The woman grated on 
 her sensibilities, at times almost unbearably. There 
 was in Marya Jadwiga a fastidiousness, spiritual and 
 mental rather than physical, which Franciszka was 
 constantly offending. She was always telling herself 
 that the woman meant to be kind, was kind ; and yet 
 she could not make herself like Franciszka. Oh, if 
 she could but come here, and find some quiet, peace- 
 ful refuge near by for Wenceslaus! take the dear 
 old man away from those surroundings which tor- 
 mented and changed him ! Marya Jadwiga put up a 
 little prayer to the Virgin. 
 
 Her fatherly old friend returned, smiling, slightly 
 apologetic. His cousin, he explained, had had to go
 
 THE TRAP 229 
 
 out, and had been detained. She might not be able 
 to return for another hour. But, as she was really 
 anxious to meet Miss Fabre, she had left word that 
 they were to await her return. She hoped that, as a 
 special favor to herself, they would dine together 
 during her absence. 
 
 The young girl hesitated. 
 
 ' ' It will please me very much indeed if you will ac- 
 cept my cousin's somewhat informal invitation," he 
 told her. And he added, with a smile : ' ' Please say 
 yes, Miss Fabre. I 'm hungry!" 
 
 She said yes, wishing to please him. He disap- 
 peared again for a few minutes, to give some necessary 
 orders, and on his return sat down beside her and 
 tried to draw her into conversation about herself. 
 She wished that she could take him into her con- 
 fidence and ask his counsel, but beyond the simple 
 statement that her father had been a scholar, and that 
 their life had been a very secluded one, she might 
 tell him nothing not even her true name. But this 
 was quite enough to satisfy him. He saw in her a 
 little foreigner, the daughter of some old French pro- 
 fessor, beggarly poor, doubtless, as professors some- 
 times are. Had things been otherwise she would not, 
 she could not a girl like her have been here alone 
 with him to-night. Oh, yes, he was satisfied! 
 
 A voice from the doorway said: 
 
 "Dinner is served, sir." 
 
 He rose and offered her his arm, to lead her into 
 the dining-room. She, too, stood up, and found her- 
 self looking into the pale and melancholy face of the
 
 230 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 man Jan Dzylinski, called Jean Remain. There was 
 that in his swift, almost solemn look which disturbed 
 her for a moment. But she supposed her unexpected 
 presence here had startled him ; and he could not, of 
 course, recognize her, or give any sign that he had 
 ever seen her before. 'She wished she could tell him 
 that better things promised for her, now that she had 
 found so kind a friend; and that she might, since 
 God is good, come here to live. And she felt that 
 while that package of papers remained with her she 
 would know a greater security if she could be under 
 the same roof with a member of the Brotherhood. 
 
 On her host's arm she entered the dining-room, 
 and was seated opposite him at a table sparkling with 
 silver and crystal. Jan, a well-trained, silent autom- 
 aton, moved about his duties noiselessly. There 
 were choice viands; there was wine in Venetian 
 glasses as frailly beautiful as soap-bubbles. One wine 
 in particular her pleasant host urged upon her, 
 insisting that she must have at least one glass of it 
 to please him. But, raised on Spartan fare, of simple 
 tastes, used to plain living and high thinking, and 
 with the force of her father's great spirit a constant 
 example before her all her life, she was abstemious 
 as to food, and wines held no lure for her. Her un- 
 spoiled palate did not like the taste. When the silent 
 serving-man, at a repeated command, stood beside her 
 chair with the bottle in his hand, it seemed to her 
 that he bent upon her an imploring look, and that 
 when she smilingly repeated her refusal, relief 
 showed for a moment in his impassive countenance.
 
 THE TRAP 231 
 
 Before he moved away he bent to straighten a bit of 
 the table service, and made the slight sign that meant 
 "Danger. " 
 
 Her heart beat violently for the moment. Danger? 
 Where? What had he heard? Did he know any- 
 thing of Them? Had she been seen with the Japa- 
 nese? She wished to put her hand to her breast, 
 where the remaining papers lay. Well, but she had 
 found, in her hour of need, a friend, a kindly friend. 
 And her heart warmed to the old gentleman who was 
 smiling at her across the table. Here at least and 
 with him, she was safe. 
 
 When they returned to the drawing-room he sat 
 down beside her, on a sofa piled with the most com- 
 fortable cushions. It was very quiet in the softly 
 lighted house : the city 's noise was but faintly heard ; 
 one seemed shut away from all the ugly sounds and 
 sights of the world. She gave a sigh of pleasure. 
 The rolled collar of her simple blouse showed the 
 slope of her throat, a little tower of ivory. Her eyes 
 made him think of the Moonlight Sonata. She had 
 the lovely faculty of repose: she never fidgeted, 
 Zuleski had seen to that, and now her ringless hands 
 were loosely and restfully clasped in her lap, pink 
 palms uppermost. They were ensnaring hands. 
 The man's eyes rested upon them greedily, and of a 
 sudden he leaned forward and took them in his own, 
 gently enough. But she was startled. She had the 
 dislike of wild things to being handled; the same 
 swift, intuitive recoil against being touched. And, 
 somehow, the man's face had changed. She wished,
 
 232 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 with a beating heart, that that old lady would come, 
 come quickly. She asked anxiously: 
 
 "Do you think your cousin will come soon? Had 
 we better wait any longer? I might come again, 
 mightn't I?" 
 
 A curious look flashed across his face. He stared 
 at her avidly. The veins in his forehead grew darker. 
 After a moment he said in a thick voice : 
 
 "I 'm my cousin, my dear! You came here to- 
 night to see me." 
 
 For a moment she did not recognize the deadly 
 import of his words, nor realize her danger. But she 
 tried, ineffectually, to release herself from the grasp 
 of his hands. 
 
 "You came here," he repeated, breathing quickly, 
 "to see me." 
 
 "But your cousin the old lady " began the girl, 
 confusedly. 
 
 "There is no old lady. There is only I." 
 
 "But why, then, am I here? Why did you bring 
 me here?" she asked blankly. 
 
 "I 'm trying to tell you," said he, rather shortly. 
 "To see me. This house is mine. I brought you here 
 because I wish you to stay here, with me." 
 
 She still failed to grasp his full meaning. She had 
 trusted him so completely that she was not able, all 
 in a moment, to distrust him, although his altered 
 look and manner distressed and shocked her. And 
 then a thought came to her that brought the color to 
 her pale cheeks. Looking at him with her clear, 
 grave eyes, she said directly:
 
 THE TRAP 233 
 
 "I am strange to your country and its ways. But 
 is it that you wish to to make a marriage with me, 
 Monsieur? Because I you do not know " She 
 stopped then, not knowing how she could tell him 
 more. 
 
 He was a bit taken aback by her directness. He 
 had not expected this from her. Profoundly corrupt, 
 distrustful with the cold distrust of the withered in 
 heart, he failed to understand the clear transparency 
 of her honesty. He merely thought the little thing 
 was more cunning than he had expected her to be, and 
 cleverer. Make a marriage with her! He knew his 
 own reputation. Show her as his mistress, young 
 and beautiful, and envious eyes would follow him. 
 Show himself fallen into matrimony at his age, and 
 hers and malicious eyes would follow him at every 
 turn; he would be one of those husbands it is almost 
 a duty to deceive ! Of a sudden he laughed. 
 
 "You are a very clever little girl," said he, with 
 mocking admiration. "None of them ever had the 
 nerve to propose that to me before!" And he 
 laughed again. 
 
 His laughter displeased her, offended her. She 
 saw that he was misunderstanding her. Or perhaps 
 she had misunderstood him, all along ? With a sharp 
 jerk she freed her hands, and stood up, facing him. 
 
 "I have said I am strange to your country and its 
 ways," said the little countess, with dignity, "so you 
 will pardon me if I do not understand you to-night. 
 You brought me here, you told me, to meet your 
 cousin. Now you tell me there is no cousin, that you
 
 234 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 have brought me to your house to stay with you." 
 She looked at him steadily. "Monsieur, there could 
 be but one way for me to stay here with you, and that 
 would be if I should make marriage with you. And 
 that could not be. You will please understand? 
 That could never be!" 
 
 "You 're perfectly right, my dear. That couldn't 
 be," said he, equitably. "But you can stay, all the 
 same. And, see here: I pay for what I get. You 
 don 't lose anything. I like you better than I 've ever 
 liked anybody and I 'm willing to do more to please 
 you. You can just about name your own price. 
 Come! you are not a fool!" 
 
 For a dreadful moment, facing realization, Marya 
 Jadwiga felt that the world was trying to slip away 
 from her. This terrible old man looking at her 
 with unspeakable eyes this the fatherly friend she 
 had trusted! She heard herself laying in a level 
 voice : 
 
 "No, I am not a fool. I understand you now. 
 And I will go." 
 
 1 ' Go where ? " he asked. ' ' To Franciszka 's house ? ' ' 
 His smile was mockery's self. 
 
 No. She could not go back to Franciska's house. 
 Franciszka had known. And Franciszka had sent her 
 here. At that, horror laid hold on her. 
 
 "No, no, my dear! You can't go back to Fran- 
 ciszka 's. She wouldn't be at all glad to see you," 
 said he, significantly. "You can't go to anybody 
 else, either, can you? Because there isn't any-
 
 THE TRAP 235 
 
 body willing to do anything for you, except me. 
 
 "Come, my girl, think a bit. Be reasonable. 
 You '11 never regret it. You like this house, don't 
 you ? It 's yours for the taking. There 's nothing I 
 won't give you, nothing I won't do for you, if you '11 
 be reasonable. I tell you, I care more for you, than 
 I 've ever cared for anything or anybody before. 
 You Ve got me. And that, ' ' he added with deadly in- 
 tensity, "is why I brought you here to-night." 
 
 Something like a still, white-hot flame was rising 
 in Marya Jadwiga. This frightful old man, who had 
 brought her here by fraud and trickery and lies, 
 was offering her her dishonor. . . . "All the men 
 and women of our house . . . Remember us, Marya 
 Jadwiga! . . . You are my son, as well as my daugh- 
 ter the last Zuleski. . . ." She could hear her 
 father's voice in her ears. And to-night one was of- 
 fering her and him, and all the dead shame. The 
 flame of proud and righteous anger mounted against 
 the outrage. Her head went up ; her young eyes were 
 icy. 
 
 "Cowardly, base old man! I, belong to you? I? 
 Move aside, please ! I am going ! ' ' 
 
 She turned to go, but he lurched forward and 
 caught her by the arm. 
 
 "No," he panted. "Never! Say what you will, 
 think what you will, but here you stay. You little 
 fool ! do you think I 've brought you here to let you 
 walk out for the wishing? No, by God!" And he 
 sought violently to seize and hold her, to pinion her
 
 236 TWO SHALL BE BOEN 
 
 in a ferocious embrace. The strong, wild creature, 
 roused and at bay, resisted furiously. They swayed 
 in a silent, horrible struggle. 
 
 As she turned and twisted in his grasp, she re- 
 membered. She remembered, and managed to slip 
 one free hand into her breast, her groping, desperate 
 fingers seeking the gipsy woman's gift. Her fingers 
 felt the slender hilt, plucked at it, drew the little 
 knife forth. The man did not see that swift move- 
 ment. But she saw his eyes, like a wolf's eyes, and 
 felt on her shrinking flesh a horrible kiss. The toy- 
 like knife that had belonged to chiefs and the women 
 of chiefs, and must be used when the hour struck, 
 flashed up and caught him in the left breast. 
 
 Almost instantly he released her. His face ex- 
 pressed an absurd surprise, a sort of ghastly astonish- 
 ment. His eyes stretched as though they would start 
 from his head; his mouth went slack and sagging; 
 his cheeks bagged. With a fumbling and uncertain 
 movement he put his hand to his breast, where the 
 viperish little knife had bitten him. 
 
 ' ' Ton f Why why TOM f " he gabbled, and stood 
 swaying as though shaken by a strong wind. His 
 straining eyes stared owlishly at the panting, di- 
 sheveled girl who stared back at him, the deadly toy 
 in her hand. He gulped, as though trying to swallow. 
 Still his look was one of astonishment. Then, as 
 though drunkenness were stealing his senses and his 
 powers away from him, he began to crumple. Ever 
 so gently he began to slide downward, his back against 
 the back of the sofa. His mouth opened and closed,
 
 THE TRAP 237 
 
 and fell open again. His eyes shut as though sleep 
 had suddenly seized upon them. 
 
 ' l Oh, my God ! what shall I do ? What shall I do ? " 
 whispered Marya Jadwiga, staring down at him. 
 
 "You must go away from here at once," said a 
 voice close beside her. Jan Dzylinski stood star- 
 ing palely from her to the old man sprawled help- 
 lessly on the floor. "And first put away that." 
 He took from her the small knife which she me- 
 chanically clutched, bent, and wiped it on its 
 victim's coat, and handed it back to her. There are 
 certain pictures which remain forever imprinted upon 
 one's brain. This picture of Jan Dzylinski wiping 
 a little knife and, with an impassive face, handing it 
 back to her, stamped itself indelibly upon the girl's 
 consciousness. The man began to gather up her be- 
 longings, helping her into her coat, handing her her 
 hat, thrusting handbag and gloves upon her. 
 
 "I couldn't warn you openly, but that wine was 
 fixed. I kept as close as I dared. I would have inter- 
 fered in another minute," he told her, hurriedly. 
 "Pani, I am new to this place. I took it because of 
 you. 
 
 "I am one of the Brotherhood, pani. A spy, yes. 
 I gave you the sign that night because I 'd been told 
 off to look after you. We learned about Franciszka 
 and him." He nodded toward the prone figure. 
 "They work together. That 's why I came here to 
 keep in touch. He was glad enough to get a 
 French servant. I did n't know I did n't think that 
 he was bringing you here to-night." He paused.
 
 238 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "He sent all the other servants off. I was to go 
 too, after I 'd cleared the table. But when I saw 
 that the lady he had expected was you that Fran- 
 ciszka had let him bring you here ! Pani, I saw 
 him fix that wine. So I stayed. I I hid, even. 
 And now you must go. I '11 let you out." 
 
 ' ' Is he dead ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 "I don't know. I shall have to send for doctors, 
 and maybe the police, after you go," said Jan, 
 hurriedly. "Oh, you must go! you must go!" 
 
 He led her into the hall, sweet with the scent of 
 flowers. In a whisper he was trying to tell her that 
 she must go to a house on Christopher Street, where 
 a friend of his would shelter her for the time being. 
 He himself would stay here to summon help, and to 
 cover her escape. 
 
 He opened the door, and in another moment she 
 was in the street.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 
 
 WENCESLAUS judged that Marya Jadwiga 
 would not return for several hours, and 
 he was restless in her absence. He said 
 to Franciszka, who met him in the hall, " I am going 
 out." 
 
 "You might just as well be out as in, for all the 
 good you do," said she, unpleasantly. 
 
 ' ' When the little mistress finds another place, I, too, 
 will leave your house, Franciszka." He was begin- 
 ning to understand her. 
 
 "I 'm afraid my poor house isn't good enough for 
 you two, considering where you came from and what 
 you left behind," she jibed. "Well, when 'the little 
 mistress' gets another place to live, and I 'm pretty 
 sure she 's going to find it to-night, I wish you both 
 joy of her new job!" 
 
 Wenceslaus looked at her with an intensity that 
 made her temper flare. 
 
 "I didn't ask either of you to come here, did I? 
 You came, I took you in, and I don't see any thanks 
 coming my way for doing it." 
 
 "Should you be thanked for putting on Pan 
 Florian's daughter the work of servants, woman?" 
 he asked sternly and bitterly. 
 
 239
 
 240 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "Oh, that 's where the shoe pinches, is it? "Well, 
 is she any better than anybody else? I 've done that 
 sort of work myself, have n't I ? Why should n't she, 
 then?" she snarled. 
 
 "She is Pan Florian's daughter. You were born 
 a servant," he told her succinctly. 
 
 "Was I? I haven't lived one, though, and I won't 
 die one, either," she retorted, her face flaming, her 
 eyes flashing dangerously. "Old fool! your fine lady 
 may do worse than servant's work before she 
 finishes!" He could feel the hatred, the menace in 
 her tone. His head went up. 
 
 "She could never be less than herself," he said 
 quietly. "And you could never be more than your- 
 self, woman." He put on his hat and moved toward 
 the door. 
 
 Anger took her by the throat. She wished to jeer 
 at him, to mock him with the disaster hanging over 
 him through Marya Jadwiga, even then. But pru- 
 dence restrained her. All she dared do was to bawl 
 at him, clenching her fists: 
 
 "Don't you come back here! I won't be insulted 
 by you any longer! Don't you come back here!" 
 
 Wenceslaus turned and gave her a long look, so 
 that she fell silent. Then he walked out, a sad and 
 solitary figure in the alien streets. People passed and 
 repassed him, and some turned to look at the tall, 
 foreign old man. He did not see them. He was back 
 in the old home, the only home he could ever know, 
 serving Pan Florian, listening for his voice, wistful 
 for his rare smile. A choking lump rose in his
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 241 
 
 throat; tears blinded him. . . . Oh, Pan Florian! 
 Brother! You are gone, and I, your lost dog, am 
 here with all a lost dog's despair and terror. 
 
 He hoped for Marya Jadwiga, who was young. For 
 himself Wenceslaus knew that all things were finished, 
 
 He had no idea whither he walked. He went on 
 aimlessly. For once the shop windows spread with 
 marvels failed to entice him, the gigantic electric signs 
 went unnoticed; nor had the faces flowing by 
 him any interest for him. They went by like things 
 in a mist, figures in a dream. He hesitated at cross- 
 ings, was swept onward with impatient crowds, and 
 moved forward again, unheeding, unseeing. It was 
 the first time he had been out alone. Marya Jadwiga 
 not being with him, he was free to indulge the grief 
 that, since the news of the master's death came, 
 had been eating into his consciousness like a cancer. 
 
 Back there at home the moon would be looking into 
 the uncurtained windows of the rooms that had known 
 Pan Florian but would know him no more. The 
 library would be lightless and empty ; no glorious old 
 scholar would be working there, ever again. How had 
 the end come to him? Had Wincenty the gipsy, 
 who adored him as a superior being, been there to hear 
 his last sigh and close his eyes ? Or had he been quite 
 alone? Ah! no matter how it had been, Wences- 
 laus had not been there to raise the beloved gray head ! 
 Wenceslaus and Marya Jadwiga did not even know 
 where, nor how, nor by whom he had been buried. 
 Had it been in Marya Jadwiga 's favorite haunt, by 
 the ruined chapel in the gipsies' glen? He hoped so:
 
 242 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 there would be green grass there, and trees, and run- 
 ning water. One might sleep there peacefully. 
 
 He had walked much farther than usual. Coming 
 to himself, with a start, he saw that he had lost his 
 way. -His head ached, his eyes burned with tears, and 
 his throat felt tight. He did not know which way to 
 turn, nor whom to ask ; he did not even know how to 
 ask, for such English as he had scraped together 
 deserted him now, went quite out of his head. Be- 
 wildered by the swiftly rushing stream of traffic, the 
 lights, the noise, the crowd, the old man turned his 
 head with the true lost-dog look of distress and fear. 
 He grew more and more frightened. Something was 
 happening to his head: he could not think. He was 
 conscious, in his dumb misery, of one great longing: 
 he wished to lie down beside a grave half the world 
 and all the sea away, to spread his arms above it, and 
 rest. And he wished to explain this to Marya Jad- 
 wiga, who would understand. He must find Marya 
 Jadwiga, and tell her that he had to go home. 
 
 He turned quickly, stepped off the curb, and started 
 across the street. People shouted, and that increased 
 his confusion. He did not know what they were say- 
 ing. Then something, coming swiftly, resistlessly, 
 struck him. He felt himself going down, had a con- 
 fused consciousness of lights, shouts, and a stab of 
 pain. Blessed oblivion closed in upon him. 
 
 The driver of the car which had struck him, and 
 his companion, were insisting that the old man had 
 stepped in front of them. They asked the policeman 
 who had pushed his way through the quickly
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 243 
 
 gathered crowd if they might not rush him to the 
 hospital in their car. The officer, notebook in hand, 
 said that an ambulance had already been summoned, 
 and was on the way. 
 
 The two men expressed deep concern. They gave 
 their names willingly enough; they explained to the 
 policeman that although it was the old man's fault 
 and not theirs, they would defray all costs, and they 
 waited, decently, until the ambulance had clanged 
 up and carried the old man away. Then they too 
 drove off. It was on the face of it the usual un- 
 avoidable accident. The fellows seemed to be Kus- 
 sians, the policeman reflected, putting his notebook in 
 his pocket ; he had had to ask them twice over how to 
 spell their names. The old man would probably die. 
 The policeman resumed his stroll. It was all in the 
 day's work. 
 
 While an old man neared his journey's end and a 
 young girl faced Fate, the tall blond gentlemen who 
 had rung Franciszka's door bell was saying, impa- 
 tiently, that he wished to see the mistress of the house. 
 Franciszka, who opened the door, was instantly im- 
 pressed by his appearance, recognizing in him one 
 of the highborn. She had not been Americanized out 
 of her inherited respect for thejhighborn, and of all of 
 them she had ever seen, this one was by far the most 
 respect-inspiring. She said, bowing deeply: 
 "My name is Franciszka Lanska, sir." 
 "So. You have with you a young lady who calls 
 herself Miss Fabre, and an old man, "Wenceslaus, who
 
 244 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 passes for her grandfather." He did not ask a ques- 
 tion; he stated a fact. Ignoring the chair she prof- 
 fered, he remained standing, tall, erect, soldierly, 
 and looked at her in a manner which brought the 
 blood to her cheek ; a look which weighed her, coldly 
 maybe menacingly. 
 
 "Summon the young lady at once. I wish to see 
 her," he ordered. 
 
 Franciszka felt vexed. Perhaps it was not so well 
 that she had let Marya Jadwiga go, this evening of 
 all evenings. That could have been managed later. 
 She said unwillingly: 
 
 "I am sorry, sir, but she has gone out." 
 
 "Where? With whom? How long has she been 
 gone? When will she return?" he demanded. 
 There was that in his manner which cowed Franciszka, 
 bold as she was. Something of her delight in hav- 
 ing pushed the girl into the jaws of the trap, wilted. 
 Had she, perhaps, acted too precipitately, allowed 
 hate to blind her to caution? If the girl had friends 
 such as this man, for one there would be very 
 serious trouble for somebody. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded again, frowning. What did 
 the woman mean by keeping him waiting? To him, 
 consumed with eagerness to see Marya Jadwiga again, 
 this unexpected delay was like a dash of ice-water 
 in his face. 
 
 "She went out with an old gentleman. I don't 
 know how long she '11 stay. They didn't say." 
 
 "What old gentleman? Wenceslaus?" A covert
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 245 
 
 smile touched his lip. Wenceslaus an old gentleman ! 
 These Americans! 
 
 "No, not Wenceslaus. Another person." 
 
 "Who? What is his name? Where did they go? 
 I have said I must see Miss Fabre at once." 
 
 The woman did some rapid thinking. She wished 
 she dared lie, shrug her shoulders, say the girl had 
 gone out with Wenceslaus. But this was not a man to 
 whom one might lie with impunity. The first glance 
 at his face told her that. And she realized that she 
 had to save herself from any ill consequences. She 
 could not afford to have this troublesome Marya Jad- 
 wiga, whom she wished she had never seen, appear as 
 a victim. Far otherwise! 
 
 "I 'm afraid you '11 have to wait some time to see 
 her, ' ' she told him demurely, lowering her eyes. 
 
 The blond gentleman made an inarticulate sound. 
 There had been a miscalculation. The house had been 
 closely watched since Marya Jadwiga had become an 
 inmate of it, but to-night, because he himself in- 
 tended to see her, the watch had been removed. He 
 gnawed his lip and frowned. Franciszka shot a 
 shrewd glance at him, and cautiously tried to feel 
 her way. 
 
 "If you are interested in the young lady " 
 she began, slyly. But he held up a peremptory 
 hand, and his stern expression told her she had 
 erred. 
 
 "I am here to see Miss Fabre," said he, coldly. 
 "You say she has gone out with 'an old gentleman.' 
 Very well. I wish to know who this old gentleman
 
 246 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 is, and where they have gone. Let me repeat : I must 
 see Miss Fabre at once; my business cannot wait. 
 Tell me where I am likely to find her. She will 
 understand." 
 
 Franciszka was oddly angered. His manner of 
 looking at her, of speaking to her, affronted her. It 
 showed all too plainly just how he regarded her as 
 though this were not New York, but back in the old 
 country, where he was a lord and she a peasant girl 
 who curtesied to the ground when a noble deigned to 
 speak to her. The involuntary tone of respect, of 
 equality, in which he mentioned Marya Jadwiga was 
 not lost upon her, and added to her ill-will. She said 
 mincingly : 
 
 "Maybe she wouldn't understand, sir. And 
 maybe she and her gentleman friend wouldn't 
 thank you for interrupting nor me for letting you 
 do it." She showed her handsome white fangs, and 
 added, with subtle mockery, "I 'm sure you 'd better 
 wait until to-morrow." 
 
 The man's eyes narrowed. Sophisticated, perhaps 
 not too scrupulous at times, he knew the world's 
 Franciszkas over-well, and he could not possibly mis- 
 take this one. He experienced a feeling of panic that 
 Marya Jadwiga had been sent to this woman, and that 
 his own espionage had not been more rigid. Also, 
 Fritz had reported that the telephone messages, ask- 
 ing for Miss Fabre, had been held up. He said 
 shortly : 
 
 "I do not understand you." 
 
 And then Franciszka erred fatally. Clever as
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 247 
 
 she was, she made a false move; she laughed. 
 
 " Ach, mein Herr ! When an old gentleman is very 
 much interested in a pretty young girl, and wants to 
 take her out, and she 's willing to go with him, they 
 won't either of them want their dinner spoiled by 
 somebody else coming along and talking business, 
 maybe." Her words were innocent enough, but her 
 eyes were not. 
 
 Of a sudden he reached out an iron hand and 
 gripped her. She found herself looking into the 
 deadly blue eyes of Karl Otto Johann von Eitten- 
 heim. He gave her, hissed between his teeth, so evil 
 a name that even her ears burned with the sting of it. 
 
 "Where is she?" His low voice increased her 
 fear. ' ' If any harm comes to the Countess Zuleska, I 
 will have you making prison overalls for the rest of 
 your life, prostitute ! Who has paid you to betray 
 her? Tell me quickly, before I strangle you!" He 
 shook her savagely. ' ' Do you understand, beast, that 
 you have meddled in my affairs? Tell me where I 
 may find her ! ' ' 
 
 Rage choked him, and, mingled with rage, a fear, a 
 terror, a jealousy so horrible that it all but bereft him 
 of reason. He had to exert his will power to keep from 
 throttling the woman. His look was so murderous 
 that she turned cold. Oh ! that devil of a girl ! Why 
 had she come here, when everything was going so 
 smoothly and so well with Franciszka, and brought 
 trouble with her? Who was this demoniac demand- 
 ing her, when the Man Who Paid But then, what 
 was he, the Man Who Paid, to Franciszka when she
 
 248 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 was endangered? Let him look to himself: there 
 were other men who paid, but you had only one life, 
 and if you lost that 
 
 She tried to push the blond man away, but his 
 grip upon her tightened, viselike. 
 
 "Why did you send her out, woman? What did 
 she think she went for?" he grated. 
 
 "W-work," stammered Franciszka. "He prom- 
 ised to find her a place " 
 
 He saw it all, then. 
 
 "Where shall I find her?" he demanded furiously. 
 
 "How do I know where she is?" The woman 
 was shaking with rage and fear. "What have I got 
 to do with where she goes and who she goes with? 
 But if you will have it she 's gone with an old man 
 that 's crazy for her just crazy for her ; that 's what 
 he is." And then she knew she had him; she knew 
 she was torturing the man who listened to that, and, 
 frightened as she was, a glow of revengeful triumph 
 warmed her. This one, too, was mad for that little 
 cat-faced trouble-bringer ? Well, then, let him go 
 and find her with the other man. 
 
 "Where?" whispered Rittenheim. His face went 
 a sickish white as he gathered her meaning, but 
 there was that in his eyes that warned her to tell 
 the truth. For a moment they stood eye to eye. 
 Knowing it would be dangerous to evade or to trick 
 him, though sorely tempted to do so, she gave him the 
 address. He asked grimly : ' ' That is correct ? ' ' and 
 when she nodded a sullen yes, he thrust her roughly 
 aside, jerked the door open, and rushed down the
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 249 
 
 steps. She heard a car door slam, and the instant 
 rush of a powerful motor. 
 
 "Now," said she to herself, angrily, " there '11 be 
 the devil to pay, I suppose! Neither of them will 
 give in. Well! what have I got to do with it? Let 
 them fight it out, the pair of them ! But I hope, ' ' she 
 added, with a vicious glance at the door, "I hope you 
 get there too late!" 
 
 A warm bath made Franciszka feel much better. 
 She massaged her face into its usual lineless per- 
 fection, and brushed her long hair into its fine glossi- 
 ness. Her looks were her chief stock in trade, and 
 she could not afford to have her stock subjected to 
 any deteriorating processes, such as worry, or con- 
 science, or regret. While she rubbed and smoothed 
 and patted and groomed herself, she speculated upon 
 the probable fate of Mary a Jadwiga, with no com- 
 punction for her own share in it. Really, she was 
 putting the little fool in the way of doing very well 
 for herself! The Man Who Paid, she reflected, was 
 not one to let an opportunity slip nor let the grass 
 grow under his feet. Particularly when he had really 
 set his desire upon anything. He could not bear to 
 be thwarted. He saw to it that he never was thwarted. 
 
 The woman paused, and studied herself in her 
 mirror, which gave her back a darkly glowing, hand- 
 some image, clothed in a costly negligee of silk and 
 lace. That other Franciszka of long ago the girl 
 who wore a shawl on her head, and worked in the 
 fields, and cringed before a peasant's upraised fists
 
 250 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 was a far, far cry ! And she thought of the day she 
 had first seen little Marya Jadwiga, who was a count 's 
 daughter, and whom, despite her poverty, one had to 
 address respectfully. At that she threw back her 
 handsome, glossy head, and laughed. She thought 
 of old Wenceslaus and his ridiculous pride, and 
 laughed again. She had had just about enough of 
 Wenceslaus ! 
 
 The comfort of her room subdued her fears. After 
 all, she was in her own house, in safe, police-guarded 
 New York. What could a German, or any other 
 foreigner, do to her here ? The other man had power- 
 ful interests at his back, the tremendous influence of a 
 great fortune. He knew how to spend well and wisely 
 when he found it necessary to do so. He would stand 
 by Franciszka, not because she was dear to him, but 
 because she was useful to him, and might yet be 
 necessary. 
 
 People like that German, she reflected, seldom raised 
 an audible row. Aristocrats prefer to keep things 
 like this quiet, for their pride's sake. Franciszka 
 concluded she might safely dismiss any possible fear 
 of the German. He would simply have to face facts 
 and make the best of them, like everybody else; and 
 serve him right ! She lounged, smoked a cigarette or 
 two, glanced carefully over several smart magazines 
 which showed advanced fashions and tattled of 
 moneyed society, studied the photographs of the 
 ladies of this moneyed society, decided that they were 
 no better-looking than she; and, feeling healthily 
 tired, went to bed and to sleep.
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 251 
 
 She slept soundly, like the healthy animal she was, 
 until somebody shook her roughly by the shoulder. 
 She sat up in bed, surprisedly, and found herself 
 confronting her blond visitor of a few hours earlier 
 a pale, grim, quiet visitor, who instantly placed a 
 capable hand over her mouth to prevent a possible 
 outcry. 
 
 "You may help me now, Fritz," said he, coolly. 
 Franciszka's distending eyes perceived another man, 
 brisk, well groomed, immaculately clothed. She 
 tried to bite the hand over her mouth, and had her 
 jaw wrenched for her pains. In another second a 
 handkerchief gag was thrust into place and tied 
 securely. Then her hands were tied, despite her 
 furious struggles. After which her midnight visitors 
 seated themselves: the young gentleman called Fritz 
 lighted a cigarette and smoked; but the larger man 
 sat and looked at Franciszka thoughtfully. 
 
 "I went to the address you gave," said he, softly. 
 "The police were in charge. Your old friend had 
 brought a young girl home with him, earlier in the 
 evening. He had dismissed all the servants for the 
 night, except one man a valet of sorts, I believe. 
 This man says he heard the young lady ask repeat- 
 edly when the old lady would come home. Her host 
 replied that his cousin would return shortly. The 
 valet knew of no old lady, no cousin expected that 
 night, or any other night. But he had been told that 
 a young lady would dine there. 
 
 "After dinner the old gentleman and his young 
 friend went into the drawing-room. The manservant
 
 252 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 had leave to go out, after dinner; but it took longer 
 than he anticipated to clear up, so he remained in 
 the house. Presently he heard the front door open 
 and, stepping to the hall door, saw the young lady 
 leaving the house, alone. A few minutes later he 
 went into the drawing-room to ask for possible or- 
 ders, and discovered his employer lying on the floor, 
 stabbed in the breast. Of the young lady there was, 
 of course, no trace. She had let herself out and 
 escaped. She has not yet been apprehended. 
 
 "The servant summoned doctors and the police. 
 He could give no accurate description of the young 
 lady, except that she was fair, with dark hair. 
 Does n't know where she went after she left the house. 
 Does n 't know anything about her. Does n 't know 
 very much about his employer, for that matter, being 
 new to his service. But," he finished, in the same 
 low, quiet, careful voice, "we know a great deal. 
 You may tell her, Fritz." 
 
 Fritz told her. He knew very much about the 
 man, and very much about Franciszka herself, and 
 he spoke with an almost biblical bluntness. Bit by 
 bit they pieced the ugly, sordid story together ; it was 
 as though they had seen and heard her and that old 
 man bargaining for the girl both of them had be- 
 trayed and entrapped. Fritz added that he himself 
 had on three certain dates telephoned the house, ask- 
 ing for Miss Fabre, but always Franciszka Lanska 
 herself had answered; nor had Miss Fabre ever been 
 sent to the telephone to receive his message. He had 
 waited, knowing that one of the heads was being sent
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 253 
 
 to attend to the case. And Franciszka Lanska's con- 
 duct had been altogether criminal. 
 
 "I know, just as if I had been here, what you 
 have done and how you have betrayed her," 
 Rittenheim told her. "You would have been wiser 
 to befriend her. As it is, you have committed two 
 unpardonable crimes: you have interfered with busi- 
 ness of state, and you have crossed me." His eyes 
 were so implacable that she would have screamed had 
 she been able. 
 
 He sat still for a moment, looking at her. For her 
 own base reasons she had dared to meddle, and 
 through her invaluable secrets had been placed in 
 jeopardy. But there was more than that behind 
 Rittenheim 's anger. Marya Jadwiga's innocent 
 beauty, her veiled eyes, her virginal mouth rose be- 
 fore him. And this beast of a woman, in whose hands 
 fate had placed her, had helped an old roue of the 
 most abominable type, the most notorious reputation, 
 to trap her ! She had sold the girl who was Zuleski 's 
 daughter and Rittenheim 's love. That the little 
 countess had tried to kill the man was to have been 
 expected" and commended. But she had been put 
 into this strait through the Lanska woman's con- 
 niving. And because of it she had disappeared, been 
 swallowed up in the vast vortex of New York. Little 
 Marya Jadwiga alone, a stranger, lost, in the New 
 York streets, at night! God! That called for 
 vengeance ! 
 
 ' ' We do not have you sent to prison for your part 
 in this affair because we wish to protect the little
 
 254 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 countess, and we do not wish to raise an outcry. 
 You had counted on that yes ? Nobody would raise 
 an outcry, and you would be well paid, and escape ? ' ' 
 Rittenheim spoke slowly. "But there are other 
 methods of punishment, perhaps more salutary be- 
 cause more strictly individual. We have decided to 
 take the law into our own hands. You will hardly 
 care to appeal to the police afterward. Your record 
 will have been placed before them, and you would 
 not fare well at their hands." He turned to the 
 other man: "You may begin, Fritz." 
 
 Deftly, with one strong jerk, Fritz got Franciszka 
 out of bed and on her feet. Her bed was an ornate 
 brass affair, with heavy rods at head and foot. One 
 of her sheets, torn into sizable strips, served to tie 
 her securely to the bottom posts. Rittenheim looked 
 at his wrist-watch, while Fritz adjusted an electric 
 lamp so that the shaded light fell upon Franciszka, 
 leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Then Fritz 
 drew from his coat pocket a thin, strong lash, which 
 bit and stung like fire, and while the woman writhed 
 and struggled like a lioness caught in a trap, he 
 laid the snaky thong across her back and shoulders. 
 He had a strong, sure hand, and he used it with hearty 
 good-will, Rittenheim counting between the strokes. 
 Both men seemed impassive, automatic instruments 
 of justice, doing an inevitable work. 
 
 The woman jerked as though a galvanic battery 
 had been applied to her body. At times she all but 
 wrenched herself free, for she had a peasant 's strength, 
 and fear and pain and fury had roused her to frenzy.
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 255 
 
 The heavy brass bed shook and trembled, and was 
 pulled about by her struggles. Rittenheim had to 
 put out a foot to hold it steady. But he did not 
 pause in his slow counting, and the lashes fell 
 steadily, mercilessly, until he had counted fifty. 
 Then, "You may stop now, Fritz. I think she will 
 have learned her lesson," said he, coldly. 
 
 Franciszka had ceased to struggle. 'She hung for- 
 ward limply, her head sagging so that her braided 
 hair swept the floor. No political prisoner in the best 
 of the good old days, no recalcitrant negro on a chain- 
 gang in Georgia ever received a sounder whipping 
 than Franciszka Lanska received that night in her 
 comfortable home in a staid, respectable New York 
 street, with a policeman stationed half a block away. 
 Her fine, lace-trimmed nightdress was in ribbons, and 
 from neck to heels she was marked with livid welts 
 edged with red, already puffing and swelling. An 
 occasional shivering, quivering movement rippled 
 over her as an extra twitch of pain stung her. She 
 would carry the marks of this punishment to her 
 grave. Without a twinge of pity the two men re- 
 garded her limp and collapsed figure. She had 
 sinned against their interests, violated their code by 
 injuring one of their own class, betrayed decency 
 and humanity in the person of a young girl whom she 
 had tried to sell to stark outrage and shame. They 
 meted out to her swift and condign punishment, such 
 as the crimes called for. That was all. 
 
 The man called "Fritz" Marya Jadwiga would 
 have recognized in him that brisk young man who had
 
 256 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 tried to make her acquaintance on shipboard untied 
 Franciszka, and dumped her unceremoniously in her 
 bed. She opened her eyes and stared at him dully; 
 but, although the gag had been removed, she did not 
 scream, or try to call for help. She was beyond 
 screaming, beyond hoping for help. The punishment 
 she had received had pierced to the marrow of what 
 was Franciska's soul, the sort of soul that could re- 
 ceive its lessons only thus drastically. Her faculties 
 focused into one immense fear fear of the men who 
 had dared do this thing to her. They had dared be- 
 cause they had the power. If they wished, they might 
 have done worse, and gone unpunished. 
 
 Lulled by success and ease, she had felt safe to do 
 what she would; she had been careful, and who was 
 there to catch up with her, to prove it on her, to call 
 for reckoning ? But of a sudden, as lightning strikes, 
 this terrible thing had come upon her, in her own 
 house, and she had been powerless to save herself. 
 She could never again feel safe! An inarticulate 
 whimper broke from her ; she cowered, bit her already 
 bitten lips, and put up a shaking hand, to cover her 
 red and swollen eyes. She was afraid, as coarse 
 natures are afraid of, and respect, those stronger and 
 more ruthless than themselves. Eittenheim had 
 known exactly how to deal with Franciszka. There 
 is no criminal who does not fear the lash. 
 
 "You have been guilty of a thing that merits death, 
 rather than a few stripes," said the low voice of the 
 German. "You deserve no mercy. You will receive 
 none, if you lift so much as a finger against the
 
 WENCESLAUS PASSES 257 
 
 Countess Zuleski again, or so much as mention her 
 name! Look at me!" 
 
 She opened her stinging eyes, and his plunged into 
 them like blue steel tipped with cold, bright fire. 
 "Remember!" said he, and the two men walked out 
 of her bedroom, closing the door gently after them. 
 She heard their careful steps going down her stairs, 
 and her door open and close. They were gone. 
 
 Franciszka lay in her fine bed, one burning, fright- 
 ful ache. She wished to call for help, and dared not. 
 Nobody must see her like this, nobody must ever 
 know. The one thing more terrible than her punish- 
 ment would be to have it known. She was glad she 
 had told Wenceslaus to go, not to come back. She 
 could not bear the idea of having Wenceslaus 
 know. 
 
 Perhaps she could help herself. She tried, and fell 
 back. Eage, pain, terror overcame her, in paroxyms, 
 and her senses all but deserted her. Rittenheim's 
 beautiful, deadly face; the brisk movements and 
 merciless eyes of the man Fritz; Marya Jadwiga 
 driving away with the old man ; the old man himself, 
 stabbed in the breast; Marya Jadwiga wandering in 
 the streets; "Wenceslaus 's last look all these whirled 
 and turned around and around in a mad, feverish 
 nightmare from which she could not awake, until one 
 venomous thought crawled upon her and bit her like 
 a rattlesnake : Marya Jadwiga had escaped. Marya 
 Jadwiga had escaped. And she, Franciszka, had been 
 flogged like a felon.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 OUT OP DARKNESS THEY SHALL MEET 
 
 JAN DZYLINSKI had told her there was a sub- 
 way within walking distance, and that she was 
 to make for that. She was to turn to the right 
 at the second corner. He tried, hurriedly, to give her 
 careful directions as to which train she was to take 
 and he was careful as to the street address. She duti- 
 fully repeated his directions. She was to take a sub- 
 way train to her an utterly unknown experience. 
 
 Once in the street, she felt dreadfully tired. She 
 remembered, dully, what she was leaving behind her 
 an old man lying on the floor, near a sofa, a red 
 stain spreading on his white shirt-front. An old man 
 whom she did not know, a stranger who had horribly 
 usurped the place of a kind and fatherly friend. An 
 evil old man from whom only the gipsy woman's little 
 dagger had saved her. She wondered if the gipsy 
 woman had foreseen this. Was that old man back 
 there, in his proper person, all those strangers against 
 whom she had been warned? For, when one looked 
 back, that which had happened to-night had about it 
 the aspect of fatality; as though one had been all 
 along moving straight toward it. The man's gurgling 
 outcry, his face of horrid astonishment, seemed to 
 
 258
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 259 
 
 follow her, to come suddenly behind and peer over her 
 shoulder. She tried to hurry away from it, but her 
 feet were made of lead. She bore the weight of the 
 universe on her shoulders. 
 
 At the second corner, mechanically obeying instruc- 
 tions, she turned to the right. 
 
 ' ' If the subway scares you like it does most foreign- 
 ers at first, you look out for some man that looks like 
 a workingman. If you can find a Jew workingman, 
 ask him. Jew workingmen will almost always help, 
 and they 're pretty safe. Don't ask the dressed-up 
 Jews, or Christians, either," Jan warned her. 
 "They 're not always safe for girls." 
 
 She reached the subway station, and bought her 
 ticket. For a moment the place was empty of coming 
 or going trains, and there were not many people. A 
 newspaper had been left upon a bench, and as she 
 seated herself she glanced at it, casually. The word 
 "Serajevo" leaped at her from the front page. An 
 Austrian archduke and his wife had been murdered in 
 Serajevo. 
 
 A chill as of death shook her, and she trembled. 
 A crash as of thunder seemed to be roaring about her 
 ears, a roaring, bellowing shout of "Serajevo! Franz 
 Ferdinand and his wife are dead in Serajevo!" . . . 
 
 She caught her lip in her teeth and bit it, to save 
 herself from screaming. A train roared in and 
 roared out. Red and green lights winked like open- 
 ing and shutting eyes. People rushed off and on 
 trains, ran up and down steps, read newspapers, 
 chewed gum, waited with patience or impatience for
 
 260 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the arrival of their particular local or express. She 
 had forgotten which train she was to take; but she 
 remembered the street address Jan had given her. 
 A voice speaking in Yiddish fell on her ears, and turn- 
 ing her head she saw two Jewish workers, piece- 
 work men, probably, for they carried bundles of coats. 
 They had the intelligent, mild faces, the patient eyes 
 of 'Jewish toilers, and this enabled her to speak to 
 them, timidly. Both looked at her, and one asked, 
 kindly : 
 
 "Russ?" 
 
 "Pole." 
 
 "Where you say you should go?" 
 
 She named the street. 
 
 "All right, we go by that. You go along, and we 
 tell you where it is at. ' ' They told her, and paid no 
 further attention to her for the time being. But 
 when their train came in they beckoned to her, and 
 she hurried after them. She had never been in the 
 subway before, and the rush and roar of it deafened 
 her. The car was well filled. People rushed in and 
 out. The guards seemed to her as savage as red 
 Indians. The curious odor that pervades all sub- 
 ways clogged her nostrils. She fetched a great 
 sigh of relief when one of the Jewish men called to 
 her: 
 
 "You get off at the next station, Miss." 
 
 She got off at the next station, feeling that she was 
 parting from those who, although they paid scant at- 
 tention to her, yet were capable of kindly attentions. 
 The streets in which she found herself were utterly
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 261 
 
 strange, and she lost all sense of direction and loca- 
 tion. 
 
 Began a horrible, aimless, blind wandering. Her 
 faculty of orientation had gone by the board. At 
 moments it seemed to her that she was losing her own 
 identity. People looked at her curiously at times; 
 and sometimes a man spoke to her, but, without in 
 the least knowing what was said, she shook her 
 head and hurried on. Once or twice a woman, step- 
 ping stealthily to her side, plucked at her sleeve and 
 whispered to her. But a large, leisurely policeman 
 appearing, the stranger instantly dropped back, and 
 Marya Jadwiga went on her way unheeding. 
 
 If only Wenceslaus had been with her ! Oh, to find 
 Wenceslaus ! But Wenceslaus was waiting for her at 
 Franciszka's; and when she thought of Franciszka 
 she shuddered. She would presently have to devise 
 some way of communicating with the old man, of 
 getting him out of that house. But at present one 
 was not able to think, to plan. All one could do was 
 to walk, and walk, and walk. 
 
 She turned down a long, slovenly street. Faces of 
 Italians appeared here, black-haired children swarmed 
 like flies on the sidewalks, piping with shrill voices. 
 Women gossiped, their arms folded on their bosoms, 
 men in shirt sleeves leaned in doorways. In some 
 upper tenement room a mandolin swept by a bold 
 hand gave forth "La Paloma." Until she dies, 
 Marya Jadwiga will never forget ' ' La Paloma. ' ' On 
 a corner a dingy box did duty for a sidewalk news- 
 stand. The papers, in Italian, shouted "Serajevo."
 
 262 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 The girl saw the word leap at her as though from 
 ambush, and hurried on, whipping her dragging 
 energy into fresh effort. 
 
 She came into an avenue presently. There were 
 many lights, and shop windows an endless vista of 
 lights and shop windows. Again a man spoke to her, 
 and again, without really looking at him or seeing him, 
 she shook her head and walked on. But this time 
 the man, who glimpsed the pale face, and saw that 
 something was wrong here, from which he might later 
 reap harvest, turned and followed her. If she had 
 really seen him, she might have known him for what 
 he was a bird of prey, a terror of the night. But 
 she was unaware of him skulking in her wake. When 
 she came to side streets she looked about her un- 
 certainly. She tried, without avail, to recall the direc- 
 tions Jan had given her and could not. Her mind 
 seemed a blank. The avenue being better lighted, she 
 followed that intuitively. She thought, dazedly, that 
 she would walk, and walk, until daylight. Then she 
 would sit somewhere and rest. And then she would 
 be able to think what was to be done. But not 
 now. 
 
 The skulking shadow behind her presently drew 
 nearer, and put a stealthy, tentative hand on her arm. 
 She stopped for a moment, and turned to face him. 
 He saw her face in full, then, and sucked in his lips, 
 greedily. Gaw, what a peach ! Tired out, 'n all, but 
 what a peach! In trouble about somep'n, an' alone. 
 She stood looking at him gravely, waiting for him to
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 263 
 
 speak. He was fairly well dressed, and of a sharp- 
 faced, sinister sort of good looks. 
 
 "I seen you was alone, an' looked kinda troubled, 
 and you look somep'n like my own little sister, Miss, 
 BO I thought I 'd just step up an' ast you if I c'd do 
 annythin' for you." He spoke glibly. 
 
 "Thank you, but you can do nothing for me," she 
 told him in her throaty voice. Even he was 
 aware of the unusualness, the charm of that voice. 
 Say! gee! She was some little swell, maybe, in 
 trouble with her folks, like as not. He knew those 
 who would pay for a find like this. Nothin' but a 
 kid, but such a looker! He was standin' in with ol' 
 Lady Luck to-night ! 
 
 For a few minutes he made no further attempt to 
 speak to her, contenting himself with dogging her at 
 a respectful distance. He was an expert in his line. 
 Desperate girls, homeless girls, girls in trouble, were 
 all fish to his net. He usually knew how to land them. 
 He studied this one carefully. Tired, by the droop of 
 the shoulders. Probably new to New York. Stranger 
 to this part of town, anyhow. Didn't know where 
 she was going ; did n 't know what 'd happen when 
 she got there. Well, let 's have another try at 
 her! 
 
 "Say, Miss, you sure look wore out. Come on 
 inta some place an' have a cup coffee," he coaxed. 
 "You sure look like you need it." 
 
 She looked at him with surprised displeasure, and 
 said coldly. "No, I thank you." But he did not 
 give way. He kept step with her persistently.
 
 264 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "You 'd oughta let a gent 'man help you out when 
 you need it, lady, ' ' he reproached, with a show of in- 
 dignation. "I got a heart, I have. I seen you was 
 up against it, the minute I lamped you. I says, 'I 
 wonder where that kid thinks she 's goin.' I betcha 
 it ain't home, sweet home!' ' 
 
 Marya Jadwiga's displeasure grew. It occurred to 
 her that she did not approve of sharp-featured persons 
 with oily curls, and a manner at once fawning and 
 cringing and familiar. She turned from him 
 resolutely; tried to increase her gait, and could 
 not. Her self-invited escort hung to her side like a 
 burr. 
 
 "You won't lemme give you nothin'?" And as 
 she did not answer: "Think it over. If a bull was 
 to come along now, an' lamp you strollin' along with- 
 out nowheres to go an' nobody to go there with you, 
 an' I was to wink at him, he 'd pinch you. Sure he 
 would! You got no right to be out this hour by 
 yourself. Look here, you just lemme take you along 
 home to me mother." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga still refusing to reply, of a sudden 
 he changed his tactics. He came closer, laid his hand 
 upon her possessively, and said in a hard voice of 
 command : 
 
 "I got no more time to fool. I know all about 
 you, I do. Your ma 's walkin' the floor right now, 
 worryin' about you. You come along home to her. 
 She says to me, ' I know you got a big heart, Joe, ' she 
 says. 'I know you 're a gent 'man, which I kin al-
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 265 
 
 ways trust, ' she says. ' Joe, go find my chile ! ' Now, 
 you come on home to your ma, Sadie." 
 
 "My name is not Sadie. You are entirely mistaken. 
 I have no mother. And I have never seen you be- 
 fore." 
 
 "Aw, can it!" said he. "Sure you know me! 
 Don't gimme none o' that sort o' rough stuff, Sadie, 
 or I '11 hafta forget I 'm a gent 'man.' 
 
 "I think you had better go away," said Marya 
 Jadwiga, regarding him steadily. 
 
 "Not before I take yuh back to th' ol' lady, I 
 won't," said he, doggedly. "Will you come peace- 
 'ble, or do I hafta make you?" 
 
 "I have no idea of going with you. And I do 
 not think you would better try force." And she 
 wondered, "Is one compelled to commit murder in 
 this country?" 
 
 A taxi approaching, he shot a keen glance at the 
 driver, jerked the girl to the curb and, holding up a 
 finger, called shrilly, ' ' Taxi ! ' ' 
 
 "I got a little stepsister here, which our ma she 's 
 waitin' home for, and the jane says she won't go back. 
 Now, I can't leave her walk the streets this hour, can 
 I ? I gotta get her back to ma, ain 't I ? Two bucks 
 to git us home, bo." 
 
 The taxi driver opened the door of his cab. 
 
 "Git in, Sadie. An' don't raise no row about it, 
 neither. Ma ain't goin' to make trouble, and there '11 
 be no questions asked. All you gotta do is come on 
 home like a lady."
 
 266 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' said the girl. She looked at the stolid chauf- 
 feur. "I have never seen this person before. I am 
 not his sister. He lies," she said. 
 
 "Fight it out. I ain't no kin to neither of youse," 
 said the taxi man, and left the door of his car open. 
 
 Marya ffadwiga felt herself being dexterously 
 pushed toward the waiting car. She wrenched her- 
 self free from her companion, and backed off. 
 
 "Do not make me kill you, too!" said she, fiercely. 
 
 The two men stood still, regarding her with gaping 
 mouths and startled eyes. 
 
 "Go away!" she warned them. "Do not tempt 
 God! Because if you touch me, I shall have to kill 
 you." And not as though she feared them, but as 
 though she spared them, she hurried away. 
 
 The two looked at each other. 
 
 "Now, what th' hell!" spat the taxi man. 
 
 "She ain't goin' to gimme the slip that way!" 
 snarled the other, recovering his nerve. At the corner 
 he overtook her. 
 
 "Say now, Sadie, you come on quiet." 
 
 "You bring your death upon you!" Marya Jad- 
 wiga turned at bay. 
 
 But he did not see death. He saw youth, always 
 his prey. Still, he hesitated to close in upon her. 
 And she retreated as he advanced. The taxi driver, 
 who had been following slowly, yawned. 
 
 ' ' Say, you ! I can 't wait on you and the skirt all 
 night. Call another taxi in a coupla hours. ' ' Delib- 
 erately he climbed into his car and drove off. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga turned resolutely away. She be-
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 267 
 
 gan to pray, sending out a voiceless, imploring call. 
 Leaving the avenue, she turned down a side street. 
 
 "0 God, help! Tell me what to do!" she cried. 
 Quickening her steps, tired as she was, she turned 
 into another avenue presently, and this time went 
 south instead of north. The shade kept close at her 
 heels, threatening, coaxing, in a low voice. He did 
 not attempt again to clutch her. He seemed to know 
 that he must hound her, wear her out, run her down ; 
 that she had no place to go, no one to whom to turn, 
 was lost. She would come to the end of her string, 
 presently, and then 
 
 It has been said that prayer can find its way more 
 quickly than we can. Marya Jadwiga, foster child 
 of Wenceslaus, had not the sophisticated spirit. To 
 both these simple souls, to pray was as natural as to 
 breathe. When they needed help, consolation, 
 guidance, they asked for it, naively, as a child asks 
 its father. She called for that help now: "Show 
 me what to do, whom to turn to! Show me where 
 to go!" 
 
 Once again she turned, still going south. The 
 streets were more deserted, as the hour grew later. 
 The bird of prey felt more and more satisfied. He 
 could afford to wait just a little longer. 
 
 A tall young man in a blue uniform swung around 
 a corner. He had just been released from special 
 duty. Another tall young man, immaculately 
 dressed, accompanied him. The uniformed man's 
 quick, trained glance took in the young girl's tired, 
 hunted figure, and the hovering night-bird furtive in
 
 268 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 her wake. His shoulders straightened ; his head went 
 up. He hastened his stride. Under the electric 
 lights one saw his quiet, alert face. 
 
 She looked up, and her heart stood still for a second, 
 and then gave a great throb. He looked down, and 
 his heart gave an answering leap, as he recognized 
 her. Instinctively he put out a detaining hand. At 
 the same instant the night-bird turned and fled. A 
 moment and he had been there, hawklike, ready to 
 pounce. Then he was gone, vanishing into the night 
 whence he came. He cursed as he ran. 
 
 The two thus met face to face stood still, regarding 
 each other. They made no attempt to evade recogni- 
 tion. He said, as if to himself, breathlessly: 
 
 "You!" 
 
 But she had no word at all. She stood and looked 
 up at him, dumbly, and felt in her heart that that call 
 had been heard and answered. She was safe. At 
 sight of him her terror had fled, as the bird of prey 
 had fled. His face under his blue cap was as dearly 
 intimate as Wenceslaus 's, as her father's. It slipped 
 into her heart and fitted, as a picture fits a frame 
 made for it. Something divine, like nothing she had 
 ever known, as it were from the dayspring on high, 
 flowed into her consciousness, flooded her spirit, filled 
 her to the uttermost margins of being. As a flower 
 opens at touch of the sun, her life flowered into love 
 at sight. 
 
 He knew it too this enchantment of the heart. 
 He did not know so much as her name, who she was, 
 whither she had come. He saw her alone, haunted
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 269 
 
 by the bat's wing of evil, and by the look of her in 
 desperate straits. But she was his girl for all that 
 his girl, above all the world, more dear and desirable 
 than any other, and to be loved forever. He knew 
 with a certainty above all doubting that this was so, 
 that he loved her once and for all white cheek, 
 shadowed eyes, black hair. 
 
 He had, boyishly, liked this girl and that, flirted 
 with one woman, evaded another. Once or twice, by 
 the skin of his teeth, his inherited wit, and his innate 
 decency, he had saved himself from serious affairs that 
 might have meant disaster. He had had every op- 
 portunity to love and be loved. And love had ignored 
 him until he saw it in this little foreign girl's face. 
 Now, like an eagle, it swooped upon him. 
 
 And she needed his help. Life had sent her to 
 him in an hour of need. He asked gently, as to a 
 frightened child: 
 
 "Can I be of any service to you?" 
 
 The very sound of his quiet voice steadied her 
 nerves. As though an angel had spoken, she looked 
 up at him with a piercing relief and gratefulness. 
 
 ' ' Yes, oh, yes, if you will. If only you will ! ' ' she 
 breathed. "I I have no place to go. I am a 
 stranger in this country and I am in great trouble. 
 If you will only show me where I may find some safe 
 place to-night!" 
 
 The piteousness of her squeezed his heart that 
 loved her. 
 
 "If you will trust me, I can easily do what you 
 require: I can put you in safe and kind hands,"
 
 270 TWO SHALU BE BORN 
 
 he told her soothingly. He turned to Mr. James 
 Darlington, a silent spectator. 
 
 "I vote for Mother Callaghan, Kell," said Jimmy, 
 promptly, answering the unspoken question. ' ' Let 's 
 take her right on to Mother Callaghan." 
 
 All sorts of things had been happening to Mr. 
 James Darlington since Kell went on the force, 
 and took up his quarters at Mother Callaghan 's. 
 For one thing, he had fallen in love with Colette 
 O 'Shane, and the present aim and object of his life 
 was to persuade her to take him seriously enough 
 to marry him. His world had shifted its poles, and 
 he had shifted with it, being an adaptable young 
 man. Yet every now and then he found himself 
 standing amazed and all but speechless before some 
 astonishing angle of behavior, some new madness of 
 the people who inhabited this changed sphere. 
 Things, for instance, like walking up to a perfectly 
 strange girl on the street in the middle of the night, 
 and with a mixture of Don Quixote and Sir Gala- 
 had proposing to take her to Mother Callaghan 's 
 to be looked after. And he, he had been the proposer ! 
 
 Brian called a taxi, and in a few minutes they 
 were in Charlton Street, and he had ushered the girl 
 into the cool, dim hall. He placed a chair for her, 
 and she sank into it, her hands clasped in her lap. 
 She asked no questions; merely trusted herself to 
 him absolutely. 
 
 He felt this trust; he knew that her being here 
 was the most exquisite of miracles. He could have 
 knelt before her, bowed his black head, and said to
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 271 
 
 her: " Trust me! Always trust me. Do you not 
 know that all I am, all I ever can be, belongs to you ? 
 You are here because I am yours!" 
 
 "Is it Mr. Jimmy Darlington you 're bringing 
 home this hour of the night? Will he be staying?" 
 Mrs. Callaghan spoke from the head of the stairs. 
 "What is it you 11 be wanting now, the pair of 
 you?" 
 
 "We want you, Mother Callaghan," Jimmy told 
 her. "We 've brought a little friend of ours we 
 want you to take care of to-night. ' ' At that she saw 
 the little figure in the chair. 
 
 "Wait a bit, and I '11 be down." She came down 
 a few minutes later roly-poly, apple-faced, common- 
 place, kind. Colette was with her. Both of them 
 looked somewhat astonished. Marya Jadwiga got 
 to her feet, and bowed; and the unexpected grace 
 and dignity of her took them both unawares. The 
 eyes of the old mother swept over her searchingly, 
 and saw her for what she was, a homeless, weary, 
 spent little girl in a foreign land, and among 
 strangers. Colette saw it, too, and her heart melted 
 with pity. 
 
 "Why, you poor little thing!" she cried, and ran 
 to her. 
 
 "Perishin' with the mortal weariness, and two 
 great gommachin' men though you 're kind boys, 
 God bless you! not so much as gettin' the child a 
 glass of water!" said Mrs. Callaghan, full of concern. 
 "Come with me, child, and Colette and me 11 put 
 you to bed. You can tell what you have to tell in
 
 272 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the mornin'." And the motherly creature held out 
 her hands to her forlorn guest. Marya Jadwiga 
 looked at her so kind, so motherly, so safe and 
 gave a cry. 
 
 "I must tell you, I must!" cried the girl, her 
 voice shaking. ''You are so good, so kind, that you 
 must know all the truth about me, why I am here to- 
 night. Madame, I am new to this country, and I 
 did not understand many things. And when Fran- 
 ciszka let me go to-night with that old man, I was 
 glad; I thanked God; I went oh, so hopefully! He 
 would introduce me to his cousin, an old lady, who 
 might maybe employ me as her companion, he said. 
 And he and he " Over her pale face poured a 
 sudden flood of shamed red. With a pitifully child- 
 ish gesture she hid her face, and shook, and trem- 
 bled. 
 
 'The curse of God and the saints on him and the 
 likes of him!" cried the widow, understanding. 
 "And she a young little slip of a girl, and a stranger 
 at that! Mary, Mary Mother!" Her arms went 
 about the girl with a fierce protectiveness. But 
 Brian Kelly's strong hands clenched, and his face 
 went straight-lipped and steely-eyed. He felt mur- 
 derous, and at the same time sick. His girl! His 
 girl! 
 
 "How did you escape?" he asked harshly. Per- 
 spiration stood on his forehead. Since he became a 
 policeman he had met girls who had not escaped. 
 
 "When I was leaving my own country, a gipsy 
 woman gave me an old stiletto. She made me prom-
 
 THEY SHALL MEET 273 
 
 ise to keep it with me; and she said when the time 
 came I must use it. And I and I I tried to fight 
 him off and then I used it." Her voice broke. 
 
 A grim silence fell upon the fine old hall in Charl- 
 ton Street. This pretty, slender, childish creature! 
 It outraged one's conscience that so sordid an abomi- 
 nation should have come near her. Mrs. Callaghan's 
 arms drew her closer, as though to protect her from 
 the very thought of the horror that had threatened 
 her. 
 
 "The manservant told me it was a trap. He 
 opened the door, and told me to go away quickly, 
 before the doctors and police came. I went on the 
 subway, as he told me to. I was to go to some people 
 he knew, but when I got off the cars I could not re- 
 member anything. I did not know which way to 
 turn. And I could not go back to Franciszka's house, 
 because Franciszka had sent me out with him. She 
 she knew. And a strange man followed me, and 
 said I was his sister, and must come home to his 
 mother, and " 
 
 "And by the grace of God we happened along," 
 put in Brian Kelly, tersely. 
 
 "And saw a young lady in distress, and thought 
 we 'd better bring her right along to you, Mother. 
 We knew if anybody would help or could help, it 
 would be you," finished Jimmy. 
 
 "You did right. I 'd never forgive you else." 
 
 But Marya Jadwiga turned to Brian, her brow 
 puckering with fresh distress. 
 
 " I am forgetting Wenceslaus ! " she cried contritely.
 
 274 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ' ' God forgive me ! I am forgetting Wenceslaus ! 
 He is at Franciszka 's he is an old man and he will 
 be altogether terrified when I do not return to-night ! 
 Ah, Monsieur! help me to get word to Wesceslaus! 
 He must know I am safe." 
 
 "That is the old chap I saw with you that night 
 in Madison Square?" said Brian. "I will manage 
 to let him hear from you the first thing in the morn- 
 ing. That will be best." 
 
 "Now you two be off to your beds God bless you 
 for kind, understanding creatures!" ordered the 
 widow. "I '11 be getting this child to bed. You 
 can talk to her to-morrow." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga tried to thank them. But the 
 words died on her lips. The hall, the lights, the 
 faces, all bobbed up and down, absurdly. Voices 
 were a thin, buzzing sound in her ears, a long way off, 
 receding into vast distances. Everything wavered 
 and went out. The gallant little soul made a last 
 effort to stand erect, but her knees buckled under 
 her, and Brian Kelly caught her in his arms as she 
 fell.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 
 
 KARL Otto Johann von Rittenheim, in 
 America at a critical and trying moment 
 on a critical and trying mission, frowned 
 over the report just handed him. Wenceslaus had 
 left Franciszka's house, and it had taken a corps of 
 trained workers several hours to pick up his trail 
 and identify the fatally injured old man in the hos- 
 pital an unconscious old man from whom nothing 
 could be gleaned with the Wenceslaus so anxiously 
 sought. The names of the two men in the car which 
 had run him down, secured from the police blotter, 
 gave the baron further cause for concern. Fate 
 would not play so opportunely into the hands of 
 Czadowska's agents he had at once identified these 
 two with Czadowzka's activities unless the beldame's 
 elbow had been sharply jogged. 
 
 There was as yet no trace of Marya Jadwiga. For 
 the time being she had vanished, and Rittenheim 
 was consumed with an anxiety not altogether polit- 
 ical. He wanted the papers she carried, plans which 
 Zuleski had insisted must be sent out of the country 
 in order that the person carrying them might be 
 reasonably safe from seizure and imprisonment. The 
 
 275
 
 276 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 count's sudden death on the eve of his arrest by 
 Czadowska, proved that he had been in a measure 
 correct. Rittenheim had heard, too, faint whis- 
 pers of the loss of certain other plans, a colossal 
 theft, which the Russian Secret Service was madly 
 trying; to recover. There had been something in 
 Zuleski 's icy smile, something in the haste and risk of 
 the whole affair which made the German wonder if 
 those lost Russian plans had had anything to do with 
 the fh'ght of Zuleski 's daughter and his servant. And 
 now, in the twinkling of an eye, Wenceslaus had been 
 fatally injured; and Marya Jadwiga had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 The baron had but one grain of satisfaction, and 
 that was when he reflected upon Franciszka's flogged 
 back. He had not been able to hang the woman out 
 of hand, but considering handicaps he had done rather 
 well. 
 
 In the meantime, where was the little countess? 
 So far as he could ascertain, she had neither friends 
 nor acquaintances in New York. Into whose hands, 
 then, had she fallen ? Whither had she fled ? There 
 was but one course open to him to set a close watch 
 upon the hospital, and subject every inquirer after 
 Wenceslaus, any one who showed an undue interest 
 in him, to a very close and careful scrutiny. He 
 understood Marya Jadwiga 's affection for her foster 
 father. If she learned what had befallen him, she 
 would make every effort to reach him. 
 
 It did not escape his attention that no hue and cry 
 had been raised for her apprehension. The news-
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 277 
 
 papers carried no account of what had happened 
 in that house. It had been miraculously hushed up. 
 The injured man, recovering consciousness an hour 
 or two later, insisted that the affair had been wholly 
 accidental. The young lady? What young lady? 
 Why, there had been a young lady there, for a short 
 while, but she had left the house before this accident 
 occurred. Damn them all! couldn't they under- 
 stand ? She 'd had no hand in it at all ! No, he 'd 
 see them all in blue blazes before he gave any name 
 or address ! It was none of their business ; nobody 's 
 business but his! Get out! 
 
 The man had not been injured so dangerously as 
 had been thought at first. He would recover. But 
 he knew he had staked and lost. He was be- 
 wildered, as well as humiliated. His first conscious 
 act had been to exert all the power and influence his 
 wealth and connections gave him, to hush the matter ; 
 there would be no scandal. If he set noted detec- 
 tives in search of her, it was not to drag her to jus- 
 tice. That was what bewildered him: why was he 
 acting thus? Why? He had come near losing his 
 life at her hands; and, lying here, he was discovering 
 that that life was all but valueless without her; she 
 was dearer to him, more desirable now, than she had 
 ever been. It was not in his power to hate her. 
 More than he had ever dreamed he could care for 
 anybody, he cared for her. He loved her. He loved 
 her who had tried to kill him. This was the ironical 
 punishment life was dealing out to him. 
 
 He had always been a light lover, a man who cared
 
 278 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 for many women, as a spoiled and selfish child cares 
 for playthings while their new prettiness lasts, and 
 while they do not bore him. But always he had 
 been able to get rid of them, to toss them aside with- 
 out regret, certainly without compunction. He had 
 desired many, but none had really mattered deeply. 
 There is such an inexhaustible supply of girls, always 
 young, always fresh, always lovely, to amuse oneself 
 with. He had acted upon the comfortable assump- 
 tion that each had her price. He always paid it, 
 and that made them quits. He had thought thus 
 about this girl, too; had fancied she would make 
 a difficulty, of course, at first. But she was not a 
 fool, and she would come to terms. They always 
 came to terms. And, to his consternation, she was 
 not buyable at all. His philosophy of life, of money, 
 of women had tricked him, in the end. She was not 
 buyable at all ; and he loved her. 
 
 He wished, desperately, that he could force her to 
 come to him. He wanted her to look at him, to speak 
 to him; he had never seen any other eyes, heard an- 
 other voice, like hers. He ached to tell her he would 
 not have her punished. Nothing was farther from 
 his thoughts! He would marry her if she wished. 
 He would atone; he would not leave a wish of hers 
 ungratified. 
 
 Why had he not understood? Why had he not 
 made her marry him? He had been clever in other 
 matters. He could have managed this. When she 
 came back, when he got her back, he would not re- 
 proach her. She would forgive then. And, having
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 279 
 
 made sure of her, he would make her life a fairy story, 
 himself the chief magician in it. 
 
 When he could speak without danger, he called for 
 Jean Remain, and whispered that he might name 
 his own price if he could find the girl's whereabouts. 
 But the manservant shook his head: how could he, 
 who had remained with Monsieur^ know anything 
 about the young lady? He had seen her leave the 
 house. She had gone. So far as he, Jean, was con- 
 cerned, that was the end of her ! Pouf ! Like that I 
 
 Jean Remain had to conceal his own pressing- 
 anxiety. She had never reached the house to which 
 he had directed her ; nor had any word come from her 
 as yet. He dared not betray any knowledge of her, 
 dared not make too many inquiries, lest he betray 
 himself and her. He was afraid to leave his present 
 position, too, greatly as he loathed his employer and 
 wished to leave his service. Those days were highly 
 unpleasant for Jean Romain, though they were in- 
 teresting for the light they shed on his employer's 
 character. Jean was far too shrewd not to under- 
 stand the nature and extent of the old man's punish- 
 ment. It was as though he saw one devouring his 
 own heart. 
 
 While Wenceslaus lay in the hospital, his strong 
 peasant body fighting death with incredible obsti- 
 nacy, and the Baron von Rittenheim fretted himself 
 almost into a fever, and a sullen, tormented old man 
 nursed a knife wound which had it been a fraction 
 of an inch lower would have pierced a lung, Marya
 
 280 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Jadwiga was being soothed and coaxed by Colette 
 O 'Shane, fed and mothered and petted by Mrs. 
 Callaghan, and watched over by Brian Kelly, in the 
 red-brick house in Charlton Street, until she looked 
 less like a ghost and more like a girl. 
 
 Brian was experiencing some strenuous days, him- 
 self, just then. He sensed the presence of that 
 undercurrent which was presently to become the del- 
 uge. One evening he had sat and listened while 
 Sprengel talked. Sprengel had an uncanny knowl- 
 edge of European conditions, and his predictions of 
 what was going to happen over there had not been re- 
 assuring. He seemed so calm, so cold, so sure, that 
 perspiration came on Policeman Kelly's forehead as 
 he listened. He was conscious, too, of a curious 
 anger. There was something horrible in Sprengel 's 
 sureness. 
 
 A normal and intelligent young man who is deeply 
 in love, even for the first time, is generally able to 
 dissociate love from work, to keep the two separate. 
 He knows his work must go on, if he himself is to 
 go on : work is as important to a normal man as love 
 is ; as much a part of himself and his life. If it were 
 not for this saving faculty in men, the world would 
 go to smash in a week. So, although Brian Kelly 
 found himself irrevocably in love, and was as pro- 
 foundly moved as a normal and cleanly young man 
 can be, he knew that he had his work to do ; that he 
 had to keep level-headed and clear-thinking and keen- 
 eyed ; he was needed. And he had to think and plan 
 for Marya Jadwiga too.
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 281 
 
 She had said to Mrs. Callaghan: 
 
 "I would not like you to call me 'Miss Fabre.' 
 Please call me 'Marya Jadwiga.' ' 
 
 " 'T is a strange name, that. But I like the sound 
 of it. Sure, it suits you," said the widow. 
 
 "It was a queen's name, once a queen of Poland, 
 long ago." 
 
 "I had rather thought you a Russian," and Co- 
 lette, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Legally I am Russian. But I am a Pole." 
 
 She sat, a slight, small figure, in one of the old- 
 fashioned chairs in the pleasant parlor. Colette, her 
 lap full of gauzy work, sat near her, for they made 
 a practice of staying with her, of trying to amuse 
 and interest her. After some quiet investigation 
 Brian had discovered Wenceslaus, and had had to tell 
 the girl the truth. Her blanched face, her terror, 
 wrung his heart. It had seemed inhuman to tell 
 her this, on the heels of what she had just been 
 through, but what could one do? She had to 
 know. He had been glad to tell her that the man she 
 had wounded would recover, although the wound was 
 dangerous and he would be laid up for some time 
 to come. Private detectives were working on the 
 case for him, and he had offered a substantial re- 
 ward for her. There was a very good description of 
 her, too. 
 
 She had wished to go immediately to the hospital, 
 to be with Wenceslaus. Brian had to argue with her, 
 to make her see how dangerous that would be. The 
 old man was unconscious, he reminded her ; her pres-
 
 282 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ence could do him no good, and might work mischief 
 to herself, since it might entail discovery. Better let 
 Brian himself keep in touch with the hospital au- 
 thorities. Reluctantly, in tears, she assented. 
 
 The interne had told him that the old man was 
 just about the same. AVonderful that he held out 
 so long ! Everything that could possibly be done for 
 him was being done. The men who had caused the 
 accident had given orders that no expense should be 
 spared. They had had him put in a private room, 
 with a special nurse in charge. They had even sent 
 a specialist to examine him. They had come to see 
 him themselves. 
 
 "They certainly seem to feel pretty bad about 
 it," Brian told Marya Jadwiga. "And, by the way, 
 I believe they 're fellow countrymen of yours Rus- 
 sians, or Poles." 
 
 "Russians? They were Russians who ran down 
 Wenceslaus?" Her face grew chalky, her eyes were 
 pools of fear. But there was no surprise in her voice. 
 Now, why should it terrify and yet not surprise her 
 that the men had been Russians ? The slight circum- 
 stance did not escape his quick-witted attention. One 
 other circumstance stayed in his mind. When she 
 fainted, that night he had brought her here, and Mrs. 
 Callaghan and Colette were endeavoring to restore 
 her to consciousness, they had taken from her blouse 
 a thin, flat package papers, Mrs. Callaghan thought, 
 by the feel of it. On recovering her senses she had 
 immediately missed it, and her distress was so acute 
 that the two women were hard put to it to reassure
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 283 
 
 her. She cried aloud in her own tongue, and of course 
 they did not understand her. Then Colette remem- 
 bered the package, and taking it from the bureau 
 drawer in which she had placed it, returned it to the 
 girl's hands. Marya Judwiga clutched it, and looked 
 at it, as one respited from death. 
 
 "Something very important to you, dear? "Well, 
 then, there it is for you. It 's been safe in the bureau 
 drawer, and no harm done." 
 
 The young girl gave them the strangest look. 
 
 "My father. ... I must keep it with me, always. 
 . . . And he has died since I came to this country," 
 she stammered. 
 
 Brian Kelly thought her father must indeed have 
 entrusted her with something of unusual importance, 
 to call forth such distress. Because of his training, 
 then, and because his powers of deduction were devel- 
 oping, he wondered about it. There was something 
 wrong here. Never with the girl; but with her cir- 
 cumstances. This was no ordinary little foreigner. 
 His finding her appeared to the young man more and 
 more of a beautiful miracle. Well, if she should 
 need him, here he was; heart and soul, here he was. 
 He would not force her confidence. He could afford 
 to wait until she was ready to tell him whatever she 
 might have to tell. 
 
 She had been in the Charlton Street house perhaps 
 a week when there arrived one morning a huge box 
 of exquisitely selected flowers for Miss Fabre. 
 
 "For me?" she asked blankly. Again that look of 
 fear, that shrinking back ! But when she opened the
 
 284 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 box and looked at the card accompanying it, her 
 color returned. She penciled a few lines and gave 
 them to the messenger stolidly waiting. The next 
 morning the same messenger a thin, expressionless 
 Japanese returned, this time with a carefully 
 wrapped package. He asked for Miss Fabre, and, 
 when she appeared, placed the package in her hands, 
 bowed profoundly, as to royalty, and slipped away. 
 
 The girl, with the package in her arms, went slowly 
 upstairs to the small room which had been given her, 
 and locked herself in. Afterward, she did not allude 
 to the incident ; she made no attempt at explanation ; 
 how could she? The package opened, before her lay 
 an old inlaid box, containing some ancient Japanese 
 jewelry, of such perfection of workmanship, such 
 delicacy and beauty that she sat spellbound. It 
 would have belonged to an emperor's favorite, in the 
 old days, she thought. This, then, was the Japanese 
 nobleman's way of showing his appreciation to her 
 personally. He had sent her a gift worthy of an em- 
 press. Realizing this, she was depressed. Besides 
 the jewels, the package contained money money in 
 new, crisp bank notes, of such large denominations 
 that the total amounted to a very great sum. The 
 diplomat had not sent a check : he was much too care- 
 ful. His part, his government's part in this affair 
 was not easily to be traced. But he had kept his 
 bargain. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga sat with a fortune in money, and 
 another fortune in jewels, in her lap; and
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 285 
 
 looked at that fortune with growing despair. Zu- 
 leski had meant to use this money to further his 
 work in Poland and in Russia; in the meantime his 
 death had disrupted things. What was she to do 
 with this, situated as she was ? How could she get in 
 touch with Jan without betraying them both? And 
 here she was, fresh burdened ! She covered her face 
 with her hands, and tears trickled through her fingers. 
 
 She could not think without horror of what had 
 happened in Serajevo. Zuleski had been in close 
 touch with revolutionary groups all over the conti- 
 nent, and he had therefore been in touch with the Ser- 
 bians. Why had he chosen that name, so little known 
 then, growing so terribly familiar to the world now, 
 as a password to those whom he meant to betray 
 to each other ? Had he known, and his grim and sar- 
 donic humor seized upon it? She was under no illu- 
 sions now as to what his work had been, and what the 
 result of her own work would be. Part of her 
 mission, the most important part, had already been, 
 fulfilled. 
 
 She could visualize the Japanese statesman and his 
 confreres studying those slips of thin paper, maps and 
 plans so minute, so perfect, so wonderfully done that 
 they must be studied under lenses. She had often 
 watched her father at this see-ret work, in which he 
 excelled, and she had never outgrown a childish won- 
 der at his patience and at his skill. She did not 
 know that she was to live to see, as a part of the re- 
 sult of his plans, an invaded Siberia. But she could
 
 "286 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 not rid her mind of the gloomy fear that what she 
 had done was a dreadful thing; that what she was 
 yet to do bordered on the monstrous. 
 
 Eevolution, a great fight in the open, a titanic 
 struggle, exile, death she could understand that ; she 
 could face it without flinching. But all these Poland 
 had tried, and these had failed. Florian Zu- 
 leski, knowing this, wished to make use of deadlier, 
 subtler weapons. He would not pit Poland against 
 her oppressors; he would set them at each other's 
 throats; betray them to each other to their undoing. 
 To him the end justified the means. But Marya Jad- 
 wiga, although she could not have analyzed it, pos- 
 sessed, not this old nationalistic conscience, but the 
 newer, coming conscience, the slowly growing inter- 
 national conscience. She perceived the great truth 
 that the injured is, in the last analysis, stronger than 
 the injurer, the oppressed less to be pitied than the 
 oppressor ; that to injure is to become futile. In the 
 lexicon of nations the most ironic word is "Victory." 
 
 She wondered how these Americans, into whose 
 hands she had so wonderfully come, would regard 
 her and her mission, if they knew. That beautiful 
 young man whose presence filled her with an emotion 
 so great that it bordered on pain how would she 
 appear in his eyes? Not to appear right in Brian 
 Kelly's eyes would sound the depths of woe and 
 sorrow. She felt that he understood her at her best, 
 the real Marya Jadwiga; she felt that she knew him 
 even as she was known. She could not bear that any 
 doubt should darken this exquisite sympathy. She
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 287 
 
 had not known that life could hold such an expe- 
 rience as this she whose life had known nothing but 
 poverty and loneliness. Zuleski's stern face of a 
 fanatic rose before her, with eyes that seemed to 
 search her soul accusingly. Was he demanding this, 
 too? She could not help feeling rebellious. 
 
 It was bitterly hard for her not to be able to go to 
 Wenceslaus. She was tormented. During these days 
 she could not rest, she could not eat, she could not 
 sleep. The tense small figure, the white, strained 
 face made Mrs. Callaghan cry, and all but broke 
 Brian Kelly's heart. The hospital reported that the 
 old man was going: the strong body was yielding to 
 the last foe, giving up the hopeless fight. It was but 
 a question of an hour or two at the utmost. 
 
 Although it was a warm day, Marya Jadwiga sat 
 shivering. Wenceslaus was going out of the world 
 Wenceslaus, who had bounded her childish hori- 
 zon, who had been nurse, friend, playmate to the un- 
 loved, lonely child that had been by herself. He had 
 taught her to walk, to talk, to pray. And now he 
 was passing, and among strangers. She could not be 
 with him. No thought of personal danger could have 
 deterred her, though there were those who would be 
 hunting her. Not Franciszka, or that terrible old 
 man she felt that they were definitely out of her life 
 now, that she was finished and done with them but 
 the agents of Czadowska. That Czadowska's agents 
 had been, somehow, at the bottom of Wenceslaus 's 
 tragedy, haunted her thoughts. There was some- 
 thing sinister in their interest in their victim. So
 
 288 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Marya Jadwiga, unable to go to Wenceslaus, sat with 
 Colette O 'Shane's rosary in her fingers and prayed 
 for him. 
 
 Over in the hospital the strong old figure lay rigid, 
 with heartbeats growing fainter and fainter. An im- 
 personal young woman in a nurse's uniform, which 
 was very becoming to her, stood at the head of the 
 bed and watched the pulse beat itself out. An in- 
 terne, also professionally impersonal, glanced at his 
 wrist-watch. An electric fan drove a current of 
 languid air through the warm room, which was per- 
 vaded by the hospital odor. The nurse had slipped 
 the pillow from under the old man's head, and his 
 upturned face was as sharp and clear as though it 
 had been cut out with some superfine instrument. 
 It showed his blood-relationship to Pan Florian. 
 
 They had said he might go without speaking, with- 
 out knowing, but of a sudden he opened his eyes and 
 stared upward, and a slow smile touched his lips. He 
 made a groping movement of the hands, as though 
 reaching for other hands held out to him. 
 
 "Pan Florian!" It was the thinnest whisper. 
 "Pan Florian!" The hands went slack. The eyes 
 closed. One likes to think that the lost dog had found 
 his master. 
 
 The nurse pulled a sheet over the face, and two 
 orderlies came into the room. The interne went out 
 into the hall, and stood talking for a few minutes 
 with a tall young policeman who had come to make in- 
 quiries about the old man. 
 
 "If you know anything about his friends, I wish
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 289 
 
 you 'd communicate with the two chaps that ran over 
 him," the interne said. "They 're anxious to get in 
 touch with his friends because they wish to pay all 
 the funeral expenses. They Ve been pretty decent, I 
 must say." 
 
 Brian Kelly told Marya Jadwiga that all was well 
 with her old friend. He really had not suffered at all. 
 
 "He looked up as though he saw somebody he loved, 
 called a name, and died smiling," he finished. 
 
 "The name would be 'Florian,' " she said, in a 
 whisper. "That was my father. I am glad he has 
 gone to my father so soon. I don't think Wences- 
 laus could bear to live in a world that my father had 
 left. But " she lifted tragic eyes "that leaves 
 me utterly alone; without anybody on earth." 
 
 They were in the pleasant old parlor, sweet with the 
 roses Jimmy Darlington always sent to Colette. 
 Mrs. Callaghan had withdrawn, leaving the girl alone 
 with Brian, to hear and bear his tidings. The widow 
 trusted youth to console youth. 
 
 He looked down at her as she sat in a big arm- 
 chair, and thought he had never seen any creature so 
 dear and so desolate. She was very plainly dressed, 
 she was in deep grief, and of her -history he knew 
 only so much as she chose to tell him. But the young 
 man felt the power of beauty, as of something im- 
 mortal, laid upon her; divined the exquisite spirit, 
 the truth, the purity, the courage of which her beauty 
 was but the outward sign. His love for her was 
 reverent. 
 
 He looked at the bowed, beloved head, his heart in
 
 290 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 his eyes. If she had been less desolate, less grief- 
 stricken, less in need of him, he would not have dared 
 do what he did do drop on his knees beside her, take 
 her hands in both his, and force her to meet his eyes, 
 full of love and understanding. 
 
 "Will you consider me as somebody belonging to 
 you?" he asked. "Because I do belong to you." 
 Nothing could have been simpler, more straightfor- 
 ward and full of manly tenderness. 
 
 Her lips trembled. It seemed to her that he held 
 not her hands only but her heart; that it was there, 
 quivering under his fingers. 
 
 ' ' If things were different with you, I 'd wait, ' ' said 
 the young man. "But you 've got to have somebody 
 belonging, and I 'm that somebody. I belonged to 
 you from the first minute I saw you. You remember, 
 don't you ? You were sitting in Madison Square, with 
 the poor old chap that 's just gone. Jacques and I 
 happened to be sitting opposite. He called my atten- 
 tion to you; and you looked up and I saw your 
 eyes. I knew, then. Did you know, too, that you 
 and I belonged?" 
 
 "I think I must have known," she said truthfully. 
 It was not in her to coquet, to play with or evade a 
 heavenly emotion. She felt awed but unafraid. 
 In her hour of desolation this exquisite thing 
 had come to comfort her, to claim her, when she 
 needed it most. A gratitude, an adoration, a faith 
 never to fade crowned her girlish love for him. The 
 young fellow in his policeman's uniform became of
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 291 
 
 a sudden kingly: measured up to the stature of Flo- 
 rian Zuleski. 
 
 "You do?" said the young man, breathlessly. "I 
 hoped so; but I had to hear you say it. Because if 
 you know that, you know I love you, and how I love 
 you. It 's inevitable, fate, God. call it what you will. 
 You and I had to meet." 
 
 She said, thoughtfully: 
 
 "I do know that. I think that is why I came 
 here." 
 
 ' ' I won 't intrude upon your sorrow now, with prot- 
 estations." He flushed. "But I have to tell you I 
 belong to you; I have to make you understand you 
 are n 't alone. You belong to me. Now. Forever 
 and forever." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she said simply. They looked at each other, 
 gravely. Florian Zuleski 's daughter, last of a 
 beggared line, a fugitive, a stranger; Dominick 
 Kelly's son, blithe tosser-aside of money and social 
 standing, a policeman in New York. He held her 
 hands against his lips and kissed them. 
 
 "I would not have you forget," she reminded him 
 honestly, ' ' that you know very little about me. You 
 take me on trust. ' ' 
 
 "I know you. I know you are mine. That 's 
 enough for me," said the policeman. At that she 
 took his dark head in her hands, delicately, and 
 raising it slightly looked him in his eyes; a long 
 steady, beautiful, and proud look. With a little sigh 
 she released him.
 
 292 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "My father and Wenceslaus would be glad," she 
 told him. He felt as though he had been accorded the 
 accolade. 
 
 "And I would not have you forget, dearest of 
 small ladies," he reminded her, speaking lightly to 
 hide the real depths of his feeling, "that I 'm noth- 
 ing but a policeman." 
 
 "But," she wondered, admiring him with all her 
 heart, ' ' are not policeman great lords in this country ? 
 They seem so to me." 
 
 He admitted cautiously: 
 
 ' ' Well, some of us may be called great autocrats. ' ' 
 He had his own opinion of the force some of them 
 worse than the criminals they persecute ; some of them 
 grafters ; many of them stupid as oxen ; but the general 
 run of them decent and kindly men, civic soldiers, 
 many of whom die in the discharge of their duty. He 
 wondered, sometimes, why the public which accepts 
 them so casually, hates them so instinctively, and obeys 
 them so blindly does not on occasion consider some of 
 the good the police do daily and as a matter of course. 
 They were not plaster saints, of course; but, take 
 them by and large, weigh all their mistakes and sins 
 in the balance, and he thought they totted up an 
 average that would make men of the professions 
 say, doctors, lawyers, and clergymen go down in the 
 scale. He was not at all ashamed of being in their 
 ranks; and yet, considering the girl whose life was 
 henceforth to be entwined with his own, he wished 
 policemen got bigger salaries. 
 
 "I think I like autocrats," said Marya Jadwiga.
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 293 
 
 Timidly she held out her hand, and he took it 
 comfortingly. "I think I am glad you are an auto- 
 crat, Mr. Kelly." 
 
 "You must learn to say 'Brian.' ' 
 
 "I shall like to say 'Brian.' " 
 
 ' ' You 've got all the rest of your life to like saying 
 it, thank God," said he. He wished he could stay 
 with her, but he was not an idle young man any more, 
 and his time was not his own. He had to report. 
 She, too, rose, and stood looking up at him. Despite 
 her grief, her loss, her fear, her little heart-shaped 
 face glowed like a pearl, her sea-maiden's eyes were 
 full of silver light. He said, stammering, breathless : 
 
 "M-Marya Jadwiga!" 
 
 "Brian!" 
 
 And at that he took her in his arms ; he could not 
 help it. She clung to him; she could not help it. 
 She had left her place and her home, her life had been 
 disrupted, she had escaped wreck and death, to come 
 to this, moving inevitably toward this man's arms. 
 And his life had shaped itself to meet her, to be ready 
 for her when she came. He bent his tall head and 
 kissed her, and at the touch of his lips Marya Jad- 
 wiga awoke. 
 
 When she wept now her tears were no longer bitter, 
 Borrow was gentle ; she was not alone. The motherli- 
 ness of the widow Callaghan enfolded her com- 
 fortingly. Colette gay, brave, and at the same time 
 intensely practical had immediately set herself to 
 help the girl irrupted thus suddenly into the family,
 
 294 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 and was already teaching her her own clever art. 
 Monsieur Jacques used to come and sketch her. He 
 liked to talk to her, but he never asked her unneces- 
 sary questions. Mr. Darlington, too, seemed to be 
 satisfied to accept her just as she was. That was the 
 wonderful part of it to her, the part that healed 
 and restored her: they took her for granted! 
 
 Dressed in the simple black clothes which Colette 
 fashioned for her with such consummate skill, she was 
 beginning really to fit into this new, sane, happier life, 
 as though she belonged to it. Her laughter was all 
 too infrequent, she smiled too rarely, but a shy happi- 
 ness showed itself in her. For although no more than 
 that one avowal had passed between her and Brian, 
 she saw him daily, and she knew herself beloved by 
 the beloved. She had not been accustomed to demand 
 much for herself, and she did not demand much now. 
 
 As for Brian Kelly, he walked in that world none 
 but lovers know, and at the same time he was able to 
 walk sure-footedly in his everyday world. He had 
 the knowledge of grim things happening all around 
 him, and a prescience of cataclysmic things about to 
 happen elsewhere. His future was extremely uncer- 
 tain, and from a worldly point of view he was any- 
 thing but a shining success. The step he proposed 
 to take, marrying an unknown and penniless girl, 
 would cut him off once and forever from any hope 
 of regaining his father 's good will. Yet all these un- 
 toward circumstances failed to dim his young delight. 
 It seemed to him that he could cope with anything, 
 everything, that might come. He was lost in wonder
 
 A MAN AND A MAID 295 
 
 at the miracle which had happened to him. He 
 walked with his head up, his eyes shining, his heart 
 singing. 
 
 "It 's a great thing to be a cop ! ' ' Jimmy Darling- 
 ton said enviously. "Gad, Kell! you almost make 
 me wish I was a nurse girl ! ' ' 
 
 Brian laughed. He tasted his happiness with quiet 
 relish. And then he came home one noon and found 
 in the old-fashioned parlor the handsomest, haughtiest 
 mortal he had ever seen. This paladin fixed him 
 with large blue eyes as clear and cold as a January 
 night. It was an impersonal look ; but had Brian been 
 less than Brian, it would have made him uncom- 
 fortable. For it weighed, measured, and placed him 
 in the exact social niche which a policeman 's uniform 
 warrants, and then dismissed him as inevitably as a 
 brigadier-general might dismiss a first-class private. 
 Brian could gage the man's just estimate of his 
 quality as a policeman that they picked their men 
 very shrewdly over here, did their policemen very 
 well indeed. 
 
 He had seen this superb type on its native Euro- 
 pean heath ; had even come in contact with it in his 
 trips abroad. He had always paid it a certain re- 
 spectful homage, for within its limits it had been 
 made and trained into as near mental and physical 
 perfection and efficiency as could be achieved by 
 mere mortals. He admired it, but he did not like it. 
 He thought, oddly enough, that this higher type was 
 the continuation and completion of the Sprengel 
 type; and that he did not like either in Charlton
 
 296 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Street. Quite unconsciously he gave the other man as 
 quick, clear, and coldly appraising a glance as had 
 been bestowed upon himself. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga introduced Officer Kelly to Baron 
 von Rittenheim, who bent his baronial back, clicked 
 his heels together, and said politely that he was 
 pleased to make Mr. Kelly's acquaintance ; that he was 
 genuinely interested in the personnel and morale of 
 the New York Police Department. And plainly 
 waited for this particular member of it to take him- 
 self off. There being nothing else to do, Brian did 
 take himself off. 
 
 Who the deuce was this Junker, how had he found 
 his way here, and what was he here for? Policeman 
 Kelly was lost in wonder.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 
 
 IT is permitted that one smoke?" Rittenheim 
 wished to put the girl at her ease; he under- 
 stood that a man smoking always appears less 
 formidable to women. He could sense her tense 
 attitude relax, though she was still painfully shaken 
 by his unexpected appearance. She was asking her- 
 self how They had trailed her to this quiet house, this 
 refuge which had seemed so secure, so safe. As 
 though he divined her thoughts, he said, after a few 
 preliminary puffs: 
 
 ' ' The Lanska woman told me you had gone out with 
 an old gentleman. I forced her to tell me where 
 you 'd gone, and with whom ; I was suspicious. 
 When I reached the address she had given, I found 
 that an unmannerly old person had come to well- 
 deserved grief, and doctors were trying to patch up 
 the damage, policemen were blundering about, as 
 usual, and the lady in the case had disap- 
 peared. That necessitated a second call upon Madame 
 Franciszka Lanska." He looked meditatively at the 
 cigarette in his fingers. Marya Jadwiga surmised 
 that that second interview had been unpleasant for 
 Franciszka. 
 
 297
 
 298 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "Her meddling displeased us. It upset or rather, 
 delayed certain plans," said the baron. "We had 
 to make her understand that such conduct was not con- 
 ducive to her comfort. I think we made her under- 
 stand," he finished, mildly. 
 
 ' ' Several hours later we traced Wenceslaus. As he 
 was unconscious, we couldn't hope to get any in- 
 formation from him. But we kept a very careful 
 watch upon all visitors. We also traced the men who 
 ran him down I should say Czadowska's men, on a 
 first guess. Also, we traced your friend the police- 
 man. It is not usual for a policeman to take such 
 keen interest in a casual killing, we thought, and we 
 wondered why this particular officer should come in 
 person. It was a slight clue, but we followed it up, 
 had this house watched, and you were seen at the 
 window. Very simple, after all; yes?" He blew 
 some beautiful smoke rings, and watched them through 
 half -closed eyes. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga said, yes, indeed ; it was very simple, 
 after all. And she tried, not too successfully, to pre- 
 vent him from discovering how afraid she was. As 
 she watched him it seemed to her that she saw him 
 with clearer eyes. It was not that he was less 
 beautiful, less perfect. She admitted his perfection. 
 But she saw, now, the underlying hard arrogance of 
 his type, its absolute conviction of its own immeas- 
 urable superiority, its belief that nature made it of 
 finer, rarer clay than other men. His rank and birth, 
 his name, his privileges, his place in the world were 
 God-given, and not to be questioned or disputed by
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 299 
 
 lesser beings. He wore life sultan-like, and pride was 
 as natural as breathing. 
 
 Her father had been proud. But that had been 
 the nobler, larger pride of an indomitable soul who 
 serves freedom. A great aristocrat, Zuleski had been 
 a great democrat, a man too proud to placate or bend 
 to the half-gods Caste and Creed. 
 
 And then, with a warm glow at the heart, she 
 thought of Brian Kelly indeed, he was never absent, 
 for any length of time, from her thoughts Police- 
 man Kelly, big and beautiful, who had told her, 
 homeless, penniless, fugitive as she was, that he be- 
 longed to her ; who, forlorn as. she was, had kissed her 
 hand as one of her knights might have kissed the'hand 
 of Queen Marya Jadwiga in the old days of Poland's 
 glory. And it seemed to* her that this American 
 overtopped the blond overlord by the head and 
 shoulders; was the nobler and truer gentleman. So 
 trusting him, and loving him, her terror of other men 
 lessened. 
 
 "You haven't told me how you happened to meet 
 these people; how it is that I find you here." 
 Rittenheim looked around the pleasant room critically, 
 and was faintly amused to find himself distinctly ap- 
 proving of its details. 
 
 ' ' These are evidently very worthy people, ' ' he con- 
 ceded. His tone was gracious enough, but some un- 
 conscious undercurrent of condescension in it struck 
 her ear unpleasantly. She said stiffly: 
 
 "I have never before met people like them for 
 goodness and generosity. I adore them! Their
 
 300 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 adopted daughter, Colette 'Shane, designs clothes 
 for theatrical people, and she is teaching me to sew. 
 She thinks I am clever at it, and may make a good 
 living presently. I find it very fascinating work." 
 
 Bittenheim smiled good humoredly, as at a 
 child. He liked her simplicity and candor excellent 
 traits in a woman, particularly when one's feeling 
 for that woman is dangerousely disturbing to one's 
 peace of mind. For he, who might choose among 
 the fairest and proudest and noblest of his world, 
 knew that this hunted, fugitive girl was the heart's 
 desire. He might not allow her to sway his actions 
 or play too great a part in his destiny ; he might not 
 be willing to sacrifice his ambition for her sake: he 
 had not yet reached that stage, and his will still held 
 his heart in check. But he most decidedly dicf not 
 intend to allow these Americans to obtain too great 
 a control over her, as there seemed danger of their 
 doing. He wished to counteract any influence that 
 might in the future threaten his own. He said, with 
 just the right edge : 
 
 "Sewing for theatrical persons? That may be 
 quite all right for Miss 'Shane, but it wouldn't 
 do for the Countess Zuleska. ' ' 
 
 ' ' The Countess Zuleska must learn how to earn her 
 own living," said Marya Jadwiga, smiling faintly. 
 "I could, perhaps, become a teacher of languages, but 
 Colette says designing theatrical costumes pays much 
 better. I should like to make costumes, but I 'm 
 afraid I should abhor teaching languages." 
 
 ''But there is really no necessity for your doing
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 301 
 
 either," the baron reminded her. "Your father ex- 
 plained to you that there would be a fair exchange; 
 did he not? Let me confirm that statement. That 
 is why I am here." 
 
 She evaded a reply, but asked instead, apprehen- 
 sively : 
 
 "There will really be war?" 
 
 The baron got up, and walked twice up and down 
 the room before he replied. Then he said, unwill- 
 ingly : 
 
 "There will be war." 
 
 "But you " she began, and then: "Herr Baron, 
 do you want war?" 
 
 ' ' I ? No ! But I, and others like me, will be swept 
 off our feet. We sha'n't be able to help it. And 
 when we 're in for it, I shall of course do my duty." 
 He spoke with a sort of despairing impatience. 
 
 "You are going back soon?" 
 
 "One obeys," said the baron, briefly. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga clasped and unclasped her hands. 
 
 "I was sent because your affair was important. As 
 soon as that is arranged, I go. I shall be needed. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am sorry, ' ' said she, in a very low voice. 
 
 "Sorry that I came here? Or that I go back?" 
 
 "Both." 
 
 He had paused to face her as he spoke. Now he 
 took a step nearer, and stood looking down at her, 
 strangely moved. 
 
 "Countess, if things were different, I should ask 
 you to return with me," said he. "As things are, 
 that would not be fair to you."
 
 302 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "You are very kind, Herr Baron," said the young 
 girl, gratefully enough. "But I find I must stay .here 
 in America. I should probably be a trouble to you, 
 over there. Here I can make a living for myself." 
 
 He saw that she had misunderstood him, and he 
 bit his lip ; but he did not attempt to enlighten her. 
 He was of the more liberal group, not of the milita- 
 ristic party, but he knew he must expect to be drawn 
 into the whirlpool; and he dared not risk this with 
 Florian Zuleski's daughter tied to him. That would 
 make his position well-nigh intolerable. When things 
 righted themselves 
 
 ' ' I am so sure you could never be a trouble to any- 
 body, in any circumstances, that we will waive all 
 talk of it," said he, pleasantly. "We will talk, in- 
 stead, of my reason for being here." And, after a 
 moment's pause, he continued, in a lower tone: "I 
 am sure you understand. Your father made certain 
 promises, and received in return certain proofs of the 
 estimation in which we held those promises. I am 
 here to carry out our part of the agreement." 
 
 She could vision the gaunt old scholar dealing with 
 this emissary of a power he hated using him and all 
 of them to some cataclysmic end of his own. And 
 now there was going to be war ; and this man was 
 demanding that she should keep her father's promises. 
 She remembered that day, long before, when her 
 father had shown her the secret which the little carved 
 griffins kept so effectively. And that other day when 
 he had made her swear that she would hold her life 
 in her fingers for Poland. She was more than
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 303 
 
 willing to do that. But to be true to one, must one 
 be false to all others ? Her heart rebelled against the 
 idea. No, she could not betray. Indeed, had there 
 been any possible way for her to get back that which 
 she had given the Japanese, she thought she could have 
 gone on her knees around the world to have it again 
 in her keeping. And this despite the fact that her 
 father, whom she adored as one adores a superior 
 spirit, had bidden her to do what she had done ; had 
 shaped his life and hers that it might come to pass. 
 
 Give this man that which betrayed Russia into his 
 hands? Give the spies of Czadowska that which be- 
 trayed this man 's people ? The horror that had been 
 growing in her since the day that the word "Sera- 
 jevo" had leaped at her from the pages of a news- 
 paper, came to a head as she reached her decision. 
 
 "I said, a moment ago that I was sorry you had 
 come," she said in a whisper. "Because, Herr Baron 
 you came for nothing." 
 
 She had said it! She was disobeying orders; she 
 was defying commands. But her courage rose. Per- 
 haps, outside, the stern ghost of Florian Zuleski 
 understood that she was as true a daughter of Poland 
 as he had been a son. 
 
 But the German nobleman stood very still, and 
 stared down at her, his arms folded on his chest. 
 His immobility, his quietness, were more formidable 
 than another's rage. His eyes narrowed ever so 
 slightly, the bright red mouth in the golden beard 
 lost its smile, and the lips closed without softness. 
 
 "I do not understand," said the baron. "If the
 
 304 TWO SHALL BE BOEN 
 
 gracious countess will explain? Count Florian Zu- 
 leski made certain promises. There was a pre- 
 liminary payment. I had his word, the word of a 
 nobleman. Am I to understand that Count Florian 
 was insane, not to be held to a promise, or that he 
 deliberately obtained goods under false pretenses?" 
 
 She blenched. Impugn Zuleski's honor? Her face 
 expressed agonized pride. 
 
 "He accepted money from you? I will pay it 
 back, Herr Baron ; I will pay it back, all of it, every 
 penny! I will sew, I will work all my life, but I 
 will pay it back ! " she cried. "You knew my father : 
 you dare not think such evil of him!" 
 
 "If the gracious lady will explain?" he repeated. 
 "I know he sent you out of the country because he 
 was on the brink of arrest by Czadowska, who had 
 finally secured evidence of his activities. To save 
 you, to save his plans, he told me, he sent you away. 
 We were to follow you here, secretly, and when we 
 repeated to you the word I have given you, you would 
 hand over a certain small package, and receive a 
 stipulated exchange." 
 
 She had no denial. 
 
 "This being so, what am I to think of your state- 
 ment that I have come here for nothing?" he 
 demanded, his haughty spirit up in arms. What! 
 Send him, Kittenheim, upon a wild-goose chase, 
 a fool's errand, and at so critical a period? "You 
 speak of repayment? There is but one repayment: 
 make Zuleski's promise good."
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 
 
 "I am sorry," she said. "Herr Baron, I am sorry. 
 But I have nothing to give you; nothing to receive 
 from you." She forced herself to meet his searching 
 scrutiny. 
 
 "Will the gracious countess please explain?" he 
 asked again, politely. But what had she to explain? 
 She could not, dared not give him those plans. To 
 do this would have been to betray not Russia only 
 but Mankind. And since she had learned to love, 
 Marya Jadwiga had discovered that she had never 
 known how to hate. It was not through hate, not 
 through betrayal that Poland must rise, must win 
 true freedom. Freedom does not live in the hatred 
 and the wrongs of the dead, but in the love and the 
 justice of the living. 
 
 "I have nothing to explain, Herr Baron, except 
 to say I will pay back the sum my father received, if 
 it is possible for me to do so. That is all I can give 
 you." 
 
 "Your father " he began, trying to keep himself 
 in hand. 
 
 "My father," she reminded him, "is dead." 
 
 "Do you mean me to understand that your father 
 did not send you here to deliver what he had prom- 
 ised us?" 
 
 "I mean, Herr Baron, that I have nothing to give 
 you." 
 
 "That you will not? That you cannot?" 
 
 "I cannot." 
 
 "Have you anything for the other side?" he
 
 306 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 asked and something of menace crept into his voice. 
 
 ' ' I have no more for any other than for you. And 
 that means nothing," said she. 
 
 His eyes bored into hers. He knew what he 
 knew. Florian Zuleski had not been one to play with 
 fire for a jest's sake, and he had played not only with 
 fire but with death. Rittenheim was not satis- 
 fied now to accept lightly the girl's "I have nothing 
 for you." 
 
 ' ' But you did have a package, did you not ? Your 
 father did give you certain papers? And you did 
 receive certain definite instructions what to do with 
 them? I know this is true because you knew the 
 password. You knew it." 
 
 "It is a word the whole world knows now, Herr 
 Baron." 
 
 "That is not answering my questions. I must 
 insist that you answer my questions." 
 
 ' ' But suppose I do not recognize your right to ques- 
 tion me?" 
 
 "Do you recognize my right to question your de- 
 liberately disobeying your father's commands? Or 
 did the old man lie, gracious lady?" 
 
 She blenched again. 
 
 "You must judge him. You must judge me," 
 she said in a low voice. 
 
 He had, for the moment, a sick revulsion. His dis- 
 like for Poles in general, his smarting consciousness 
 of having been tricked and duped, reacted upon his 
 troublesome liking for the girl. Must he distrust
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 307 
 
 her, too? Open brow, clear eyes, child's mouth if 
 these spelt falseness, whom was a man to trust ? 
 
 "Have you considered how I must judge you, if 
 I judge by appearances?" he demanded. ''Is there 
 no truth, no faith in you Poles ? No honesty of pur- 
 pose? Are you all tricksters?" 
 
 "Honesty of purpose? Faith? Truth? This, to 
 a Pole, from a German?" said she, with flashing 
 eyes. "Have you shown us these things, that you 
 demand them of us ? You had better ask yourself ! ' ' 
 
 "I crave pardon. We depart from the main issue, 
 and recriminations get us nowhere. Your father 
 must have given you the plans. And we know that 
 Czadowska suspected him of having them, or at least 
 of knowing very much more than he should have 
 known about them. There was evidence to that 
 effect. What have you done with themf Lost them? 
 Sold them ? Exchanged them ? ' ' 
 
 "I have told you," said she, "that I have nothing 
 for you, and I have told you the truth. I shall add 
 nothing to that statement." 
 
 "One does not play fast and loose with affairs of 
 great powers and go scot-free," he warned her. "If 
 I liked you less, if I did not have your welfare at 
 heart, if I did not wish to shield you, I should feel 
 myself free to take drastic action. As it is, I do not 
 wish to threaten. But I do warn you. Countess, 
 I do not think you realize the tremendous gravity of 
 the situation which confronts you, or the importance 
 of the issues at stake. I beg you, then, to tell me
 
 308 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the truth : what have you done with the papers your 
 father entrusted to you?" 
 
 "I have nothing to say." 
 
 "Shall you have nothing to eay to Czadowska's 
 agents, Countess?" 
 
 "What should I have to say to them that I may 
 not say to you?" she asked. 
 
 "Ah, what, indeed?" mused the baron. "Have 
 you, had he, a secret understanding with Czadowska ? 
 Does Czadowska think you a German spy? Or am 
 I to consider you a Russian agent?" 
 
 He had seated himself, facing her. He was finger- 
 ing his cigarette delicately, and his voice was exceed- 
 ingly pleasant. But she saw that the blue eyes had a 
 glacial glint. 
 
 "A spy," resumed the baron, meditatively, "gets 
 short shift, when he or she is caught. And once 
 suspected, spies are generally caught. For instance, 
 Czadowska might have you deported. You are a 
 Russian subject, you know. And, by the way, do 
 these people you are with know your true name and 
 business? Or are you still 'Miss Fabre' to them?" 
 
 "They call me Marya Jadwiga," said she, almost 
 inaudibly. 
 
 "Oh, they do? Played good Samaritan, and love 
 you all the better for it? You 're merely a little 
 middle-class immigrant, and your sole relative has 
 just been killed? I see! H'm! You 're clever, 
 Countess ! So clever I 'm afraid I sha 'n 't be able to 
 accept your word and my conge." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga, confronted by the menace which
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 309 
 
 was to overwhelm the entire world, was acting upon 
 her own initiative for the first time; and she intui- 
 tively acted in terms of conscience and not of ex- 
 pediency or revenge. No ! It is not by revenge, not 
 in betrayal, that right triumphs. 
 
 "It may be a matter of life and death, Countess," 
 the quiet voice was saying. "Try to understand: 
 I wish to save you. It was for your sake I gained 
 permission to come on this mission. I wished to deal 
 with you, myself." Keal feeling crept into his tone. 
 "I can't find it in my heart to believe that you you 
 could be a cat's-paw for Czadowska particularly, 
 when one remembers that your family has never been 
 on good turns with the Romanoffs. For instance, 
 your grandfather, Casimir Zuleski, was exiled to 
 Siberia. The story goes that he was knouted to death 
 there." 
 
 Casimir Zuleski! It was as though a thin and icy 
 wind touched her. 'She shuddered as from the chill 
 of it. Ah, why had he mentioned that name? 
 Knouted to death? She had heard that before; and 
 she could believe it true. And she began to see the 
 terrible vengeance Casimir 's son had exacted. For 
 that blood spilled long ago, he was opening the flood- 
 gates; he was calling in a new and sinister force, 
 more ruthless because more intelligent than the 
 Romanoffs. And he had used her, Marya Jadwiga, 
 the last of his line, to deliver what he had terribly 
 and ironically called the Key of Siberia, to open Holy 
 Russia to her worst enemies. 
 
 Rittenheim saw her recoil, searched the wincing
 
 310 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 face, and smiled to himself. No, he reflected, 
 she was not in league with the Russians. But what 
 was he to think ? What game had Zuleski been play- 
 ing? How much did this girl really know? What 
 had been her instructions? Or had Wenceslaus 
 known ? If only they could have gotten hold of Wen- 
 ceslaus first! He wondered if, perhaps, that was 
 why Wenceslaus had met with a fatal accident so 
 opportunely because Czadowska's agents knew? 
 
 "And to come down to later times: Wenceslaus 
 did not find the streets of New York any safer than 
 he would have found the streets of Warsaw," he re- 
 minded her, significantly. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga's hands went to her heart. But 
 she said steadily: 
 
 "He was not afraid of that, Herr Baron; nor am 
 I." 
 
 "No? But I am, for you," said he. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! ' ' said she, with a touch of bitter impatience, 
 "to bring these old hates, these old terrors, these old 
 revenges here, in this free air! It is monstrous! 
 No ! I have nothing for you ; I have nothing for any 
 of you! I will live, I will work, in the open, I will 
 not be enmeshed in intrigues ! I will not betray any- 
 thing or anybody ! ' ' 
 
 "You are Florian Zuleski 's daughter," he reminded 
 her, grimly enough. 
 
 "I am myself! Since I came here I have begun 
 to believe I am a free agent," she replied. "That 
 is what this America does to one: one breathes it 
 with the air."
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 311 
 
 ' ' You were free to stab your venerable wooer when 
 he considered himself free to annoy you with prot- 
 estations of affections and to escape the conse- 
 quences. You were lucky ; but I should n 't put too 
 much faith in luck, if I were you; no, nor too much 
 faith in American freedom. You might ask your 
 friend the policeman Kelly, the name is, no? The 
 Irish are born rebels in their own country and police- 
 men in this, it appears! you might ask your friend 
 the policeman to explain to you how free he allows his 
 fellow citizens to be!" 
 
 "If we Poles were allowed to be as free " said 
 she. 
 
 "You would probably be playing the role you con- 
 demn in us," he responded. "The under dog is not 
 necessarily any more virtuous than the upper dog, 
 Countess. More often than not he brought his fate 
 upon himself, and deserves what he gets." 
 
 "If you happened to be the under dog, would you 
 still say that?" 
 
 "If we lose, we deserve to lose," said he, shortly. 
 "But we digress. This is unprofitable discussion, 
 which brings us nowhere." 
 
 "I have been trying to make you understand that, 
 all along," said she, wearily. 
 
 "Touched!" cried the gold-haired baron, smiling. 
 "You can claim first blood. But I shall come back. 
 What are you going to do next?" 
 
 "Nothing," briefly. 
 
 "Will you promise me to do nothing until I see you 
 again?" he asked earnestly. "And will you reflect
 
 312 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 how vitally important this thing is?" He stood up, 
 and took her hand. "I wish to be your friend; will 
 you believe that?" 
 
 "I will believe that, Herr Baron; because you have 
 no reason to be my enemy." 
 
 "I could never be your enemy. Not even if you 
 were mine," said the man, half impatient with him- 
 self for his weakness where this girl was concerned. 
 "But you must understand that even you cannot be 
 allowed to play fast and loose with us. That is for- 
 bidden." 
 
 ' ' But I am not playing fast and loose with you ; or 
 with anybody." 
 
 "That," said the baron, patiently, "is what must 
 be investigated. In the meantime if you see things in 
 a better light, you may communicate with me at this 
 address." He gave her a card, with a telephone 
 number and a street address scribbled on it. "I am 
 your very humble and obedient servant, Countess." 
 Then in his courtly fashion he bowed himself out 
 of the room, just as Policeman Kelly was leaving the 
 house. Marya Jadwiga had not chosen to speak 
 German; the baron had not chosen to speak Polish. 
 They had compromised on French; and Policeman 
 Kelly could not help hearing "telephone or write 
 me at this address," nor that "your very humble 
 and obedient servant, Countess." 
 
 Countess! That little girl! And this fellow was 
 a German baron. Titles were flying thickly around 
 Charlton Street, and Policeman Kelly did not half 
 like them.
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 313 
 
 Brian walked down the street in a doubtful frame 
 of mind. He had not reached the corner when the 
 baron, with long strides, overtook him. He knew ex- 
 actly what degree of friendliness to bestow upon the 
 policeman, did the baron. The policeman preferred 
 to look wooden, and to be noncommittal. 
 
 They turned the corner; the quietness of Charl- 
 ton Street vanished as though it were not. They 
 seemed to emerge into another city, so great was 
 the difference a block and around a corner made. 
 The policeman's demeanor insensibly changed, be- 
 came informed with alertness and calm authority. 
 The baron admired him almost too openly. 
 
 "They make you fellows pretty big, over here," 
 he approved. ' ' You 're more nervous than our chaps, 
 though, I 've observed." 
 
 "We think more for ourselves, I imagine. Less 
 discipline, but more initiative, perhaps." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the other, tolerantly. "And 
 you 're certainly more quixotic ! Oh, decidedly ! For 
 instance, consider the American attitude toward 
 charming young ladies. One sees nothing like it 
 abroad. I gather that in your democratic and gal- 
 lant country pretty young ladies are allowed to suffer 
 only the slightest inconvenience when they summarily 
 dispose of gentlemen who annoy them. I am told 
 that the public approves them, the jury acquits them, 
 the Church receives them, and the moving pictures 
 exploit them. Wonderful!" 
 
 "Astonishing indeed!" said Brian, dryly. And 
 on behalf of himself and his quixotic countrymen
 
 314 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Officer Kelly bowed. That easy bow rather aston- 
 ished the German. In his country a policeman would 
 not have dreamed of bowing as to an equal! The 
 baron was amused, it was so American! He said 
 pleasantly : 
 
 "I wish I had you in charge of one of my estates, 
 Mr. Kelly. I 've a sullen and lawless mob of 
 peasants who give me no end of trouble. It would 
 be quite delightful to see them handled by a New 
 York policeman. You seem to have the knack of 
 handling people, here. And now would you be so 
 kind as to summon a taxi? I have an appoint- 
 ment, and must hurry." 
 
 Brian looked into the maelstrom of traffic plung- 
 ing up and down Seventh Avenue, made a sign, and 
 a car stopped at the curb. A respectful driver 
 held the door open, and as the baron stepped in he 
 lifted his hat with a courteous ' ' Thank you, Officer ! ' ' 
 and Brian felt something thrust into his hand. It 
 was a five-dollar bill. 
 
 His first impulse was to run after the departing 
 taxi, jump in, and punch the noble baron's nose. 
 His next was to swear; and this desire he indulged. 
 And then he laughed, which was the most sensible 
 thing he could have done in the circumstances. 
 
 "Now is this the reward of virtue or the incentive 
 to vice?" he wondered. "Am I tipped or bribed? 
 And is it not written that it is lawful to despoil the 
 Philistines? And how may I best use this largesse 
 to get even with that son of Belial?" 
 
 He pocketed his tip if not with gratitude, at least
 
 HOW TO TIP A POLICEMAN 315 
 
 with a serene conscience. That night he went home 
 to Charlton Street with a bundle carefully wrapped 
 in tissue paper, which he presented to Marya Jad- 
 wiga ; who opened it and hugged to her heart a bunch 
 of exquisite little whitey-pink sweetheart roses. He 
 had surmised that she had not enjoyed the visit of the 
 Junker ; and he applied the balm of flowers. When he 
 saw her rapturous eyes, the quick glow that leaped to 
 her face, the expression of gratitude and relief, he 
 felt that he was really more than even with the Baron 
 von Eittenheim.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 
 
 MLSS HONORA KELLY was not so frequent 
 a visitor at the house in Charlton Street as 
 she would have liked to be. She went 
 there as often as her conscience allowed her; for 
 though she adored Brian, she was loyal to Dominick. 
 
 To-day she had appeared, been welcomed by Mary 
 Callaghan, and told that Brian was upstairs "chang- 
 ing his collar against he goes out again." Then 
 Brian came running downstairs and caught her and 
 kissed her, mussing her joyously. 
 
 "I was hoping and praying you 'd come, Aunt 
 Hon," he told her, kissing her again. And he whis- 
 pered in her ear: "If you hadn't shown up, I was 
 going to write you to-night. I 'm going to need you 
 pretty soon, Aunt Hon." 
 
 Before he could explain himself further, a very 
 little, slim girl came down the stairs, a bunch of airy 
 sewing over her arm. At sound of that light footfall 
 Brian looked up ; and the girl paused, looking down 
 at him and Miss Honora. 
 
 "How foreign the little thing is and oh, how 
 lovely!" thought Miss Honora, swiftly. And then 
 she glanced at Brian, and saw his eyes upon the girl 
 
 316
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 317 
 
 as she, who had loved Brian's eyes since they opened 
 on the world, had never seen them look at any one. 
 His youth, his manhood, his heart, his hope, were in 
 that shining glance. 
 
 He had been her man child, the darling of her life. 
 She had taken his mother 's place ; for years she had 
 been all to him, adoring, admiring, as the big, beauti- 
 ful, spoiled boy grew into the big, beautiful, spoiled 
 young man. She had been the fierce champion of his 
 cause when the split came with Dominick. And now 
 Brian was in love with a strange girl ! Miss Honors 
 felt a pang not easy to be borne, the pang that even 
 the most unselfish and loving mother must en- 
 dure when the woman appears who takes her son. 
 
 "A man," say the Irish, "loves his sweetheart the 
 most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest." 
 But the mothers pay ! 
 
 Miss Honora narrowed her old dove's eyes, and 
 tried to look at Brian's sweetheart critically. But 
 the sea-green eyes looked back at her so appealingly 
 that she could not be critical. The sweet old maid, 
 who was Motherhood itself, found herself drawn to 
 the girl; the pang of jealousy left her as suddenly 
 as it had come: she was too unselfish to encourage 
 it to stay, and she was not exacting in her affections. 
 Miss Honora could keep love because she was willing 
 to allow it to go from her. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga had seen that momentary narrow- 
 ing of the eyes, and she approached Brian's aunt 
 timidly. It was the first time Miss Honora had 
 ever alarmed anybody, and it did not last long. She
 
 318 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 held out her hand with her own cordial, friendly 
 smile, and won the girl to her instantly. 
 
 She had a deep sense of gratitude that Marya Jad- 
 vviga was so lovely, possessed a charm that grew upon 
 one. But, then, Brian had always been fastidious 
 about women, she reflected. And this girl was exqui- 
 site. Miss Honora did not know that it had taken 
 the Zuleski family several centuries to produce this 
 last flower of the race; but within an hour she did 
 know that Brian's sweetheart was a miracle. Miss 
 Honora capitulated, went over horse and foot, bag, 
 and baggage. 
 
 "And Dominick would have forced our Brian to 
 take poor Janet Van Wyck," she thought commis- 
 eratingly, "when a girl like this was growing up for 
 him!" 
 
 She had heard the story of the finding of Marya 
 Jadwiga, and such other scraps of information as 
 Mary Callaghan had. Also, what a darling the child 
 was, and how they all adored her, and how Colette 
 was teaching her her own art of designing, at which 
 she was proving herself astonishingly clever ; so clever 
 that she would soon be making a fine living for her- 
 self if somebody did not marry her out of hand! 
 And how she insisted on paying her bit for board, 
 being that proud and independent, though she ate no 
 more than a bird, and took up no more room than a 
 oaby and the house the better and happier from the 
 day of her coming into it. Mary Callaghan was a 
 partizan person altogether. 
 
 Miss Honora felt that Divine Providence had taken
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 319 
 
 a hand in the case, and brought Marya Jadwiga to 
 Charlton Street and Brian. That Brian loved her, 
 that she loved Brian, that these two, born the whole 
 wide world apart, were made for each other and had 
 found each other, was very plain to Miss Honora. 
 She was a gently romantic soul, and to find herself 
 in the presence of young love thrilled her. These 
 two should have each other ! She made up her mind 
 to that. Having reached that conclusion, she also 
 made up her mind that Dominick must be made to 
 see things in the right light. Dominick quarreling 
 with Brian and letting him go his own way was bad 
 enough but not incurable; but Dominick ignoring 
 Brian married, and married to this girl, who, of all 
 the girls she had ever seen seemed to her the one 
 only girl for him, was not to be thought of. It was 
 past all bearing: it outdominicked Dominick. That 
 a single young man should be allowed to earn his liv- 
 ing and discover himself, is good and right and just. 
 But Brian Kelly, son of Dominick, married to a 
 charming wife, and compelled to struggle for exist- 
 ence on a meager salary, while his father piled up 
 millions for God knows whom or what, was enough to 
 rouse the wrath of Heaven, to say nothing of the 
 anger of a poor sinner like herself. 
 
 Brian had said to her, sitting with his arm around 
 her shoulder : 
 
 "Aunt Hon, I want you to know. This girl 's my 
 girl. There '11 never be anybody else. She 's mine, 
 just as I 'm hers. She knows. She feels the same 
 way. But she says she can't marry me or anybody
 
 320 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 else, now, because her father's death has tangled all 
 her affairs. That 's all I can get out of her yet. She 
 can't marry me, but she '11 never marry anybody 
 else. And I can't marry her now, either, situated 
 as I am. It wouldn't be fair, would it? So there 
 we are ! ' ' 
 
 "No," admitted his aunt; "I suppose you can't. 
 What are you going to do about it?" 
 
 "I don't know. I 'm trying to think it out. You 
 see, Aunt Hon, I like my job. Of course many of 
 the complaints brought against the police are just, 
 but, take them by and large, the boys are pretty 
 decent. I 've really developed brains since I 've had 
 this job." He paused, patted her hand, and said 
 modestly: "I 'm acquiring a sixth sense, a sort of 
 instinct which lets me know when a man isn't 
 straight, and when he is. I 've been doing a little 
 work on my own, lately, following along lines I 'd 
 thought out for myself. Well, the work 's panned out 
 very fair. Anyhow, I Ve promised the commissioner 
 I '11 stick for a while. He thinks I should go into 
 the Secret Service, later on. However, that 's up in 
 the air as yet. Whatever I can or can't do later 
 the present fact is that I can't marry on the salary 
 I 'm getting, and with things as they are. ' ' 
 
 "No," she said soberly; "I suppose you can't; 
 though your father married your mother when he 
 hadn't as much as you have now." 
 
 "He had assets I don't possess," said Brian, smil- 
 ing. ' ' Genius. A different line of business. And a
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 321 
 
 world that wasn't doing its damnedest to blow itself 
 up." 
 
 "I don't see that he 's gotten much happiness out 
 of his genius, and he 's allowed his business to hag- 
 ride him," said his sister, tartly. ''And God never 
 allows the world to blow itself up ! " 
 
 She had never been afraid of her redoubtable 
 brother. In the first place, she loved him; and as 
 much as a woman of her type can ever understand a 
 man of his she understood him; at least she under- 
 stood his moods and what they portended. She had 
 the fearsome courage of the meek, and could face the 
 old buccaneer without flinching. For one thing, she 
 never lost her temper; for another, whenever she 
 had to take issue with Dominick, she spoke in the 
 voice of his conscience, and he knew it, and she knew 
 he knew it. In his heart he was always a litttle afraid 
 of her : she was, as he complained bitterly, ' ' always so 
 dam 'right!" 
 
 She had not quarreled with him when Brian left 
 the house, although she had told him to his teeth he 
 was acting unwisely. For, as she had warned him, 
 Brian had not come back. And the bitter conviction 
 was growing upon the hard-headed, high-hearted, 
 passionate old man that the boy was not coming 
 back. Well, then, let him stay where he 'd put him- 
 self and bedamned to him ! Dominick 'd die before 
 he 'd stretch a finger to recall the ungrateful pup ! 
 He 'd show him ! 
 
 But his sonless days were sunless days. He was
 
 322 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 more silent, more immersed in business than ever ; and 
 more powerful. Doors long closed to him, or opened 
 only half-way and grudgingly at that were now 
 being flung wide open, if he cared to enter. Curi- 
 ously, he no longer cared! The game did not seem 
 worth the candle. And he had developed a singular 
 aversion to Miss 'Janet Van Wyck. It was inex- 
 plicable that he should entertain such animosity 
 toward that excellent and much grandfathered, cou- 
 sined, and familied woman, whom he had on a time 
 been so anxious to gather into the Kelly fold. But 
 man is a perverse animal. And though the lady 
 smiled upon Dominick as she had never smiled upon 
 Brian, whenever she got the opportunity, these 
 smiles aroused no pleasurable emotion in his breast. 
 They caused, instead, a sinking feeling in the pit of 
 his stomach. This was unfair. It was not Miss Van 
 "Wyck's fault that he had wished Brian to marry her. 
 Yet he discovered in himself a harsh repulsion for 
 this innocent lady, as though the blame for his 
 quarrel with his son rested altogether with her, and 
 not with himself. 
 
 Dominick came home one evening to find his sister 
 waiting for him in the library, a room she seldom 
 entered, and then only for diplomatic conferences. 
 He looked at her with some impatience. Dominick 
 was up to the ears just then; he was one of those 
 who knew what was coming, and what must be done, 
 and he had started in to do it. This called for vast or- 
 ganization, and he was in his element, moving like a 
 natural law. But he worked grimly and without
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 323 
 
 joy, a colossus out of which, the heart had been 
 wrenched. 
 
 "Anything special?" he flung at his sister. "Be- 
 cause I 'm extremely busy just now, Honora. 
 Business " 
 
 She held up a dissenting hand. 
 
 "Business is not the be-all and end-all of life, 
 Dominick, although you are trying to make yourself 
 believe it is. There are other things very much more 
 important. ' ' 
 
 "Are there, now? What 's one of them?" impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Brian," said she, looking him steadily in his 
 smoldering eyes. 
 
 She had attacked him so unexpectedly that he 
 could not save himself from betraying the agony 
 that was gnawing him ceaselessly. A spasm quivered 
 across his face. It hurt his sister to see him thus 
 hurt, but she held firm. He needed the lesson of be- 
 ing hurt. He caught his breath with something be- 
 tween a groan and a snarl. 
 
 "If 'twas anybody but you, Honora Kelly, that 
 had the impudence to name that thankless whelp, the 
 ungrateful puppy that ran against the will of his 
 own father that 'd slaved and planned for him, that 'd 
 done what I 'd done for him " 
 
 "Well, as nobody but me is interested enough in 
 either of you to mention him to you, Dominick, 
 and I understand the whole situation, we won't go 
 into that," Miss Honora cut in crisply, sweeping the 
 ground from under his feet. "What I want to talk
 
 324 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 about is n 't what you 've done for him in the past 
 but what you aren't doing for him now and you 
 his own father! I wonder his mother doesn't turn 
 in her grave, poor thing!" 
 
 "It 's not his fault I 'm not turning in me own!" 
 he shouted. 
 
 ''Or yours that he isn't lying in his, what with 
 the dangers he 's exposed to every day and night of 
 his life ! ' ' she came back, severely. 
 
 "They 're as safe as any of us, the police," he 
 growled. "They take dam' good care of their 
 own red hides, Miss Kelly, ma'am!" And slitting 
 his eyes and doubling his fists, he burst out: 
 
 "A policeman! my son! Faith, 't was kind of 
 him not to be a bus conductor on th' Avenue, or a 
 white wings ; now, was n't it ? A policeman ! A dam', 
 flat-footed, peanut-eatin ', bull-necked, lazy scutt of a 
 graftin' cop! My son! Dominick Kelly's son, be- 
 god ! Pickin' an apple maybe, or a fistful of peanuts 
 from the Eyetalian fruit stand, an' grinnin' at every 
 little hussy that '11 take the trouble to flirt with him. 
 Sure, I 'm thinking if his mother hasn't turned in 
 her grave, as you Ve given her kindly leave to, 
 Ma'am, it 's time for her to do it, God rest her 
 soul ! She has cause to ! D ' ye think I 've not known 
 all along what he 's been doing, woman ? ' * 
 
 "I am quite sure you don't in the least know or 
 understand what he 's been doing, Brother. Making 
 a man of himself a better and nobler man than you 
 ever could have made of him, Dominick, if he hadn't 
 freed himself of your tyranny for you are a ty-
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 325 
 
 rant, my poor dear! That 's what he r s been doing. 
 As for you, you are talking silly nonsense, and you 
 ought to be heartily ashamed of yourself." 
 
 "Honora!" he roared, purple-faced. "Honora 
 Kelly!" 
 
 "Oh, behave yourself!" flashed Miss Honora, dis- 
 gustedly. ''You make it well-nigh impossible for a 
 self-respecting person to have any intelligent human 
 intercourse with you, Dominick." 
 
 ' ' Do I, ma 'am ? " he looked at her ominously. ' ' Was 
 I askin' or expectin' intelligent human intercourse 
 with you this night, or did I find you in my own 
 library waiting to waylay me? But I '11 not stand 
 it! If I can't come home to me own -house in peace 
 and quietness, I '11 go outside!" He started for the 
 door, waving his arms. 
 
 "Domiwick!" 
 
 Something in his sister's voice gave him pause. He 
 turned, and faced a Miss Honora quite new to him. 
 For once in her life Miss Honora was roused to right- 
 eous anger, the slow, white-hot anger of the just. She 
 had turned pale, except for two red spots in her 
 cheeks, and her eyes were diamond-bright. 
 
 ''Dominick! If you dare to leave this room re- 
 fusing to hear what I have to say, you will not find 
 me in your house when you return." 
 
 She never threatened. She meant what she said, 
 and he knew it. He stared at her, aghast, his eyes 
 stretching. Honora leave 'him? Honora? 
 
 "Are you trying to drive me wild entirely?" he 
 demanded.
 
 326 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ' ' I am trying to prevent you from doing it to your- 
 self, Brother. That is why you have simply got to 
 listen to me." 
 
 "Well, am I not listening, for God's sake?" he 
 roared. 
 
 "I will leave your house," pursued the dove, peck- 
 ing him to the marrow, "and I won't return, unless 
 you do listen. I have been very patient with your 
 bullying ways, Dominick. But I can't retain my 
 self-respect if I 'm not allowed to speak when my 
 reason and my heart bid me do so. You think so 
 much of your money, your power, your self-will, that 
 you have forced almost everybody who comes into 
 contact with you to bend to you or you break them. 
 I am not young any more, Dominick; you are my 
 only brother, and I love you. But I want my remain- 
 ing years to be peaceful years : I must live in peace 
 with myself, as well as with you. And I tell you 
 frankly I would rather spend those last years in a 
 Home with the Little Sisters of the Poor, for choice 
 than spend them in your house, under the condi- 
 tions you wish to impose on me." 
 
 It was the longest and the severest speech she had 
 ever addressed to him. He took it like a blow in the 
 solar plexus. 
 
 "Honora Kelly! . . . Always . . . good brother. 
 . , . Always wanted to share . . . everything I 
 had. . . . Never denied any of them anything. . . . 
 Never counted the money . . . Ingratitude. . . ." 
 He strangled, almost inarticulate. 
 
 "You were good to us so long as we never crossed
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 327 
 
 you," she told him. "Just so long as we did exactly 
 what you wanted us to do, you were good to us. But 
 you have loved your own way better than us. The 
 minute your own child, your only son, showed a 
 spark of independence, dared to choose his own way 
 in life, what happened? You drove him out like a 
 dog! You did! You did! Do you call that being 
 a good brother, a kind father, Dominick?" 
 
 "What is it you want, in God's name?" he asked, 
 wiping his forehead. 
 
 "I want you to sit down in that chair and listen 
 to me like a Christian while I tell you about Brian 
 Kelly my Brian, your Brian. And don't pretend, 
 Dominick, that you hate the boy. Don't you dare 
 sit there and pretend to my face that you no longer 
 love my nephew. Because if you do," said Miss 
 Honora, contemptuously, "I shall regard you as a 
 miserable liar!" 
 
 She pointed to a chair. After glaring at her, 
 bristling at her, all but gnashing his teeth at her, he 
 jerked the chair forward, plumped himself into it, 
 and faced her, hands on knees, chin at a truculent 
 angle. 
 
 ' ' Have your say out ! " he said furiously. 
 
 * ' Oh, Dominick ! ' ' exclaimed Miss Honora, pleasedly r 
 ' ' why are n 't you always so reasonable ? ' ' 
 
 Dominick seemed to be trying to swallow something 
 that would not go down. Unable for the moment to 
 speak, he made a helpless gesture of the hands. His 
 sister, seating herself near him, looked at him mildly 
 enough ; but the red spots stayed in her cheeks.
 
 328 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ' ' I wish to say first, that your opinion as to the sort 
 of police officer Brian is, is altogether erroneous," 
 she informed him. "He is a very capable officer. 
 Quite as efficient an officer as you would have been 
 yourself, had you become a policeman instead of a 
 contractor and builder and banker." She ignored 
 the horrible face he made at that auspicious preamble. 
 
 He lifted a shaggy eyebrow and glowered. He 
 lifted his lip and sneered. 
 
 ' ' Faith, he 's looking up in the world, my son is ! " 
 he put in. 
 
 "He is being useful and independent and good in 
 the world, and I pray on my knees as much can be 
 said for you, in the end, Dominick, ' ' said she, sternly. 
 
 "We '11 admit his honesty and all that, Honora. 
 Good ? Of course he 's good ! He 's got to be good ! 
 He hasn't sense enough to be anything else! So far 
 as that goes, I 'm not afraid he '11 shame us. But 
 'tis hard for a man to know he 's fathered a dam' 
 fool ! 'T is that I 'm ashamed of ! " 
 
 The red spots deepened in her cheeks. 
 
 "Brian is too just and too generous even to think 
 that the shoe might be on the other foot," she said; 
 "~but 1 'm not, Dormnick. I 'm ashamed of you! I 
 feel like apologizing for you! And and I used to 
 be proud of you!" 
 
 Miss Honora almost never cried. But tears of pain 
 and anger began to run down her cheeks now. Dom- 
 inick regarded them with a sort of stupefied interest, 
 as if he were witnessing something out of the ordinary 
 course of nature.
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 329 
 
 "Stop it! Stop it at once!" he shouted, exasper- 
 ated, feeling that she was taking an unfair advantage, 
 and yet that he was guilty. "You said you wanted 
 me to listen like a Christian. Will you stop crying, 
 and see if you can talk like tme ? ' ' 
 
 * ' Oh, Brother, you make me so wretched ! You 're 
 unjust to your son, you 're unhappy, and you 
 won't give yourself the chance of happiness by doing 
 the one right thing ! ' ' 
 
 "Will I go on my bended knees to him, Honora? 
 Will I ask him will he please come home when 
 he 's ready to notice me ? " he demanded. ' ' Me that 's 
 slaved for him since he was born, givin' him a 
 prince's raisin', and him turnin' up his nose when I 
 no more than asked him would he do me the favor of 
 doin' what was meant for his own good ! An' walkin' 
 out of my house without so much as a bedamned to 
 me?" 
 
 "All this," said she, gently, "is the brooding of a 
 bitter and a wounded heart, Brother. And it does n't 
 get you anywhere, does it ? It does n't bring you and 
 your one son together. For what, for whom are you 
 working yourself to death, Dominickf" 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 "Oh, Brother, don't be so blind!" cried Miss Ho- 
 nora. ' ' Heaven gave you but one love in all your life 
 Molly, poor little Molly, dead in her youth. God 
 gave you one son Molly's son, Dominick. And 
 you 've driven your child away from you ! How are 
 you going to explain to his mother?" 
 
 He was silent.
 
 330 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "While you 're forcing yourself to do without him, 
 you 're forcing him to learn to do without you, "'she 
 continued. "Dominick, can't you see the folly of it? 
 If you could just see him as he is now, so fine, so 
 thoughtful, so capable, so independent! A man's 
 man! He's learned to do without your money; 
 he '11 never depend on that again, thank God ! But 
 don't let him learn to do without you, Dominick. 
 It isn't right that you should learn to do without 
 each other. And it 's all your fault, my poor dear ! 
 it 's all your fault!" 
 
 "It didn't take him long to learn to do without 
 me, ' ' said he, with the rancorous jealousy of wounded 
 affection. 
 
 ' ' I 'm afraid it does n 't take anybody long to learn 
 to do without what they have to do without," she 
 reminded him. "That 's one of the wise laws of 
 nature, I suppose. We 're always punished when we 
 break a natural law, remember. But one need n't 
 go on breaking the law," she added, with meaning. 
 
 "Was he whinin' to you when you saw him at the' 
 Callaghans'?" he asked, contemptuously. "Oh, yes, 
 I know all about it, Honora! Did you think I 
 didn't?" 
 
 "No, he didn't whine to me. He isn't that sort. 
 Besides, there 's no occasion for him to whine. He 's 
 too busy and too happy. He is an unusually 
 handsome young man, Brian is," she went on, 
 musingly, "and so of course it is but natural that 
 he should fall in love and that he should be loved in 
 return. ' '
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 331 
 
 He started, and then sat rigid in his chair. 
 
 ''I have spoken to you quite of my own accord," 
 Miss Honora continued. "After all, you 're his 
 father; and it 's only right that you should know 
 that the girl Brian loves is in every way worthy of 
 him. A sweeter little creature I 've never seen. 
 Why, you 'd fall in love with her yourself, Dominick, 
 if you could see her!" 
 
 "Me? me fall in love with a girl that 'd fall in love 
 with a policeman?" he barked. "I hope you '11 make 
 it plain to her she needn't expect anything from 
 me. I '11 have nothing to do with her. Nothing." 
 
 "Expect anything from you? She doesn't even 
 know you exist, my dear!" his sister stung him. 
 "I'm telling you all this because I 'm trying to give 
 you a chance to come to your senses before it 's too 
 late. And if it is any satisfaction to you to know that 
 Brian can't marry now, because he has only a modest 
 salary to offer his sweetheart, why, you can have it, 
 Dominick, if you 're contemptible enough to be glad. ' ' 
 
 "When does he think of marryin' this girl he 's 
 picked up?" 
 
 "He 's making no plans for himself as yet. But 
 he knows he '11 marry this girl and no other. He 
 says it 's inevitable." 
 
 His father grunted. 
 
 "I always told you he was a dam' fool." And 
 then: "And she 's another, you say?" 
 
 "Well, if one 's a fool to love, she 's a fool too, 
 Dominick. A heavenly fool! But her father's re- 
 cent death he died since she came to this country
 
 332 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 naturally unsettles her affairs. And her grand- 
 father, who came over with her, was killed by an 
 automobile. The poor child " 
 
 He interrupted her rudely: 
 
 "What d'ye mean, since she cflme to this country? 
 What is she? A wop, maybe? Or a Russian Jew, 
 forbye?" 
 
 "Marya Jadwiga is a Pole." 
 
 Dominick gave a hoarse cackle. 
 
 "He wouldn't look at Janet Van Wyck. But he 
 finds him a hussy of a Pole! Say no more to me, 
 Honora! Let him hang himself on his Pole!" 
 
 "It occurs to me, Dominick, that you are losing 
 the opportunity of acquiring Miss Van Wyck for our 
 family through your own carelessness," pecked the 
 dove, with malice prepense. "Indeed I'm sure 
 she 'd far rather marry you than Brian. Why don't 
 you marry her yourself?" 
 
 "At my age?" he bawled. 
 
 "Certainly at your age. It should be easier for 
 a man of your age to love Miss Van Wyck than for 
 one of Brian's age even to like her." The women 
 saints and holy virgins retain a savitng amount of 
 felinity. Dominick had a sense that his nose was be- 
 ing scratched. He gulped out a ' ' Thank you kindly, 
 ma 'am ! ' ' 
 
 "As if any young man in his sane senses would 
 look at poor Janet, once he 'd seen little Marya 
 Jadwiga!" pursued Miss Honora. 
 
 "They 'd be lookin' at the girl for wonder in' at
 
 A DOVE HENPECKS AN EAGLE 333 
 
 the heathen name of her," surmised Dominick, pleas- 
 antly. "Mary a Jadwiga!" He pronounced it bar- 
 barously, and writhed his lips, as though it had a 
 bad taste. 
 
 "It was a queen's name," Miss Honora remem- 
 bered. "Our dear mother's was Brigit. That was 
 a great saint's name. But I think I like the queen's 
 name quite as well." 
 
 "You can have this much along with your 
 likin's: I'll not meddle for nor against. He can 
 marry who he pleases a fine, independent lad like 
 him, with a grand job on the force." He got up, 
 heavily. "Afcid now, if you '11 excuse me, Honora f 
 I 'm expecting some men here to-night; and I 
 have n 't had anything to eat since noon. Have some- 
 thing sent in here for me, will you ? And you 've 
 said all you want to say?" 
 
 "I '11 have something to eat sent in here for you. 
 And I have said my say. I 've but one thing to 
 add that I pray God to take away a heart of stone, 
 poor Dominick, and give you a heart of flesh." And, 
 casting upon him a compassionate and sorrowful 
 glance, she left him. 
 
 He slumped in his chair, his head sunk upon his 
 breast. 
 
 "Never gives me a thought. Glad to get away 
 from me," he muttered. "Me breakin' my id jit of 
 a heart over him devil take him! and him galli- 
 vantin' around with a little ninny I 've never so 
 much as set eyes on." He got up, ajnd began to walk
 
 334 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 restlessly up and down, his hands behind his back. 
 "Now I ask you," he addressed space, ''if there 's 
 anything can plague a man equal to his own family? 
 Eyah ! Them that 's nearest you can torment you 
 worse nor hell!"
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 
 
 THE Callaghan boy who was going to be a 
 priest by and by, liked the little Polish girl 
 with all his kindly heart; and she, in turn, 
 felt for him something of his mother's tender rever- 
 ence. Heaven and earth had balanced themselves 
 with nicest delicacy in John Callaghan ; for his soul of 
 a saint was incarnate in the body of an athlete. As 
 often happens with the Irish, his gay common sense 
 went side by side with a shy mysticism. He had a 
 sense of fun, an unappeasable hunger and thirst 
 after knowledge, a controlled temper, real charity, and 
 an intuition so sure that he knew things without 
 having to be told. John Chrysostom Callaghan: he 
 had been wisely named ! 
 
 As clearly as though he heard her soul crying 
 out, "All thy waves and thy billows are gone over 
 me," he knew that Marya Jadwiga was in deep wa- 
 ters. No light trouble brought that look of terror to 
 her eyes, |no ordinary grief haunted her. He knew 
 she had had a cruel experience, and that death had 
 robbed her of the only creature near to her ; but those 
 troubles, cruel as they were, were past; and this, 
 John sensed was present and now. He watched 
 
 335
 
 336 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 her keenly; saw her struggle to wear a brave and 
 serene face, and her effort to show her gratitude to 
 his mother and Colette; saw, too, that when she 
 thought herself unwatched, the hunted look came 
 back to her eyes, her small hands clenched together. 
 In his quiet way he tried to help her; he liked to 
 talk to her ; for he, more than any of the Callaghans, 
 appreciated the rarely trained mind, the wide culture. 
 Somebody, gome superb teacher, had been at pains 
 here. A scholar himself, John recognized the handi- 
 work of a great scholar. Her unconsciousness of her 
 own charm, of her own superiority, heightened his 
 liking for her. He felt when he talked with her, 
 when he looked at her, as though he were looking 
 through crystal. She was so transparently truthful, 
 simple, sincere. And yet there was something 
 wrong. He knew it as surely as- though she had ad- 
 mitted it, and his heart ached for her. 
 
 He had learned from his mother of the Baron von 
 Eittenheim's visit. Marya Jadwiga had not at- 
 tempted to conceal the baron 's name or title ; she was 
 sick of concealment, as it was; the very shadow of 
 deceit chafed her unbearably. John pondered the 
 baron's visit, even as Brian Kelly pondered it. Was 
 this German one of the causes of her fear? If so, 
 why? And what was he, John Callaghan, going to 
 do about it? 
 
 This afternoon as he came down from his room 
 next to Brian's, Marya Jadwiga happened to be 
 coming upstairs to hers, on the floor beneath. The 
 turn of the attic stair hid him from her. She had
 
 paused, her hands at her breast, her face contracted. 
 
 "0 my God!" she whispered, "what shall I do? 
 what shall I do? I I can't bear this much longer! 
 O God, help me! help me! help me!" There was 
 such an intensity of suffering, such dread in her 
 voice, in her looks, that John was horrified, as though 
 he witnessed some one being secretly tortured. 
 
 When she went into her room he stood for some 
 moments pondering. Colette had not yet come home ; 
 his mother was busy in the kitchen. After a further 
 pause of hesitation, Uohn tapped at her door. 
 
 "May I speak with you, please?" he asked, in his 
 gentle voice. "Don't say no! You can send me 
 away in short order, I promise, if you find me in- 
 trusive." 
 
 She tried to smile a welcome, and stepped aside; 
 and he entered the room and seated himself. The 
 awnings were down, and through the sheer white 
 curtains one caught sight of the gay flowers in the 
 window boxes. Colette made room for flowers every- 
 where, and they gave the modest place a charming 
 touch. 
 
 "Miss Fabre," said John, directly, "I am sure 
 you are in some trouble, that something frightens 
 you. I know you have passed through a very pain- 
 ful, even a terrible experience, but that is past, you 
 are safe here and still you seem to be troubled. 
 Deeply troubled. Am I right?" 
 
 She looked at the calm, quiet young man dazedly 
 a tall boy with a sensitive, strong face, dark gray 
 eyes beautifully clear, and brown hair swept back
 
 338 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 from a candid forehead. Although he was athletic 
 and manly, he had an indefinable air of priestli- 
 ness, of purity. It was very easy to trust John 
 Callaghan. 
 
 "Yes," she admitted, "you are right. I am in 
 trouble; in very terrible trouble." 
 
 "Suppose you tell me about it," he suggested. 
 
 "Like like confession?" she faltered. "Wences- 
 laus always said we were Catholics, but I have never 
 been to confession." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "But I am not yet ordained, dear Miss Fabre. I 
 could n 't hear your confession. "What I can do, what 
 I want to do is to let you talk to me as a friend. 
 It would be quite as inviolate as if I heard it in the 
 confessional. ' ' 
 
 "I am sure of that," said she. "Oh, if I dared! 
 If only I could tell you! But I am afraid. It 
 is a very grave matter. Mr. Callaghan, I am under 
 oath. If if what an oath tries to force you to do 
 is against your conscience, must you fulfil it? Must 
 you?" 
 
 "You don't wish to cany out the terms of this 
 oath?" 
 
 "I would rather die a thousand deaths!" 
 
 "Because it is against your conscience?" 
 
 "Yes, oh yes! I I carried out a part. And I 
 I wake up in the night terrified at what may 
 result. I I had to obey; obey without thought of 
 myself. I don't think of myself. But when I took 
 that oath, when I made the promise, I didn't know,
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 339 
 
 I didn't feel as I know and feel now. The whole 
 world wasn't as it is now." 
 
 "Are you, were you, merely an agent? You are so 
 young I can hardly think of you as anything but a 
 mere agent!" he probed skilfully. 
 
 "No, no; I had (nothing to do with the making of 
 plans, nothing to do with that part of it at all. I 
 I am only a messenger." 
 
 "You were sent here for that purpose?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 "My father," said she, in a whisper. "I may tell 
 that much." 
 
 "I see. And that old man who was killed who 
 was he? Your grandfather? Another agent?" 
 
 "Wenceslaus? No, he was not my grandfather. 
 He was " she paused, puzzled to make him under- 
 stand just what "Wenceslaus had been to her and 
 hers. "He was all my father and I had, all we 
 knew of love and service. He cared for me from 
 my babyhood. "We why, we couldn't have lived 
 without Wenceslaus!" 
 
 "Ah! And he, too, was a messenger?" 
 
 "My father told him to come with me, and of 
 course he came. One always did as my father said." 
 
 "So your father told you to come to this country, 
 as his messenger, and told "Wenceslaus to come with 
 you. And you both obeyed, of course. In the mean- 
 time your father suddenly died. Miss Fabre, has 
 the Baron von Rittenheim anything to do with the 
 business on which your father sent you?"
 
 340 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 She did not answer. She had not expected his 
 questions to lead up to this. But he saw that he had 
 touched the truth: her startled face, the swift fright 
 of it, confirmed his suspicions. 
 
 "I will assume that he has. Now let 's see if I 
 can assume somewhat more. You are a Pole, and 
 the Poles, like the Irish, are a stubborn and stiff- 
 necked people, always troublesome to foreign masters, 
 always plotting and rebelling. So I assume that 
 your message has political significance; and that this 
 distresses and frightens you, in view of what Europe 
 is facing just now war, and a very frightful war." 
 
 She twisted her fingers together. Her forehead 
 showed beads of moisture. She said in trembling 
 tones : 
 
 "My father seemed to forsee it. He knew." 
 
 "Your father seems to have been a very unusual 
 man," he mused. 
 
 "He was a very great scholar a very great man, 
 my father." 
 
 "Fabre? Fabre? I can't recall any scholar of 
 that name, for the minute," said he, looking at her 
 searchingly. 
 
 "Fabre was not my father's name," said Marya 
 Jadwiga, wearily. She was sick of deceit, sick of 
 subterfuge. "You will please continue to call me 
 Fabre. But my father was Florian Zuleski." 
 
 "Zuleski?" He pricked up his ears. "There's 
 Zuleski the astronomer and philologist, text- 
 book man, standard authority: I know of that 
 Zuleski."
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 341 
 
 ' ' Then you know of my father, ' ' said she. 
 
 The student sat back in his chair, stupefied. 
 
 "But why did lie send his daughter, at such a time, 
 on such a mission?" he wondered. " Count Florian 
 Zuleski " 
 
 ' ' He knew he was about to die, knew his plans were 
 in danger of miscarriage. There was no one but me 
 whom he could send. And now " she buried her 
 face in her hands, and her shoulders shook "now 
 I 'm turning traitor to him ! I 'm disobeying him ! 
 I 'm I 'm " 
 
 The young man reached over, and laid a kind hand 
 upon her shoulder. 
 
 "You 're trying to obey the instincts of your con- 
 science, Miss Zu Fabre," he soothed. "After the 
 earthquake and the fire, the still, small voice God's 
 voice. ' ' 
 
 "What am I to do? What am I to do?" she 
 quavered. "He the baron is coming back. And 
 and the others " 
 
 "The baron is not the only one interested or in- 
 volved in your message, then?" 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 John felt himself becoming alarmed, as though 
 something of her dread communicated itself to him. 
 
 "And the thing 's pretty big?" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, yes!" 
 
 "Look here," said the young man, suddenly, 
 "you 've got to make a break and tell me the truth. I 
 can't help you unless I know. You 'd have talked to 
 that old chap Wenceslaus, wouldn't you?"
 
 342 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "Yes. But Wenceslaus knew. And Wenceslaus 
 died because he had come with me. The Herr Baron 
 thinks his death may not have been altogether ac- 
 cidental." 
 
 " So ? All the more reason why you Ve got to 
 tell me. And then, maybe, I '11 see a way out. ' ' 
 
 She considered this. Alone, beset, confronted by 
 alternatives both of which were horrible to her 
 betraying her father's trust, or betraying nation to 
 nation she felt herself growing more and more dis- 
 tracted and confused. She had prayed wildly to be 
 shown some way out. Perhaps this was how help was 
 to come to her! 
 
 "I will tell you as much as I can," she said, after 
 a pause. And as she went on, John saw the gaunt 
 old house, the lonely years of poverty, the fanatic 
 scientist-revolutionary working and plotting in his 
 huge, bare library. The details were meager enough, 
 as regarded herself; but he coifld see that the grim 
 old visionary had seized upon even his one child as a 
 means to his ends. She did not mention any of the 
 secret things, nor tell of her curious studies ; but the 
 effect of a mind exquisitely trained had all along 
 been apparent to him, and her unconsciousness of the 
 miracle of herself heightened the fascination. He 
 kept saying to himself, ' ' Great Heavens ! ' ' and won- 
 dering if he weren't having a wild dream that the 
 daughter of Florian Zuleski was sitting in his 
 mother's house telling him these astounding things; 
 and that she was the same little fugitive whom Brian 
 and Jimmy had brought to them in the night. John 's
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 343 
 
 admiration for Zuleski was tinged with horror. What 
 a man ! Like one of the giants of old, Jepthah, who 
 could sacrifice his girl for a vow 's sake. Agamemnon, 
 who could turn his head aside and let Iphigeneia die ! 
 
 And the dark shadow of Czadowska, the wild figure 
 of Wincenty the gipsy, the bright figure of the baron 
 beside it, and the noble shadow of Wenceslaus passed 
 in review before him. She touched but lightly on 
 Franciszka, shrinking with loathing from the thought 
 of her; and of the Man Who Paid she said nothing 
 at all. Of the Japanese she merely said that a part 
 of her mission had been carried out. She paused 
 then, and looked at John Callaghan pleadingly. 
 
 "And I dreamed one night since that I saw a 
 monstrous creature that looked like a human being, 
 but was so big and so swollen that one hardly knew 
 and it staggered and fell and things came and 
 scurried around it it was rotting alive as it lay 
 there writhing and I came, and and I helped dis- 
 embowel it and then something said, ( It is written!' 
 and I was so terrified that I seemed to swoon, even 
 in my sleep," she gasped. 
 
 "You poor child!" cried he, and again put a kind 
 and steadying hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "And since then I have had no peace of mind. I 
 know I must do one thing or the other; and both are 
 horrible to me, horrible ! ' ' 
 
 He nodded understandingly, and sat thinking 
 deeply. It was not an easy task, hers! Her dis- 
 tress distressed him; her terror made him uneasy. 
 He must help her find some right way out.
 
 344 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "Miss Fabre," he began presently. But she said 
 pathetically : 
 
 "I think if you. will call me 'Marya Jadwiga,' Mr. 
 Callaghan, it might help me to hold on to reality. 
 I can't help feeling that 'Miss Fabre' isn't real 
 and" 
 
 "All right, Marya Jadwiga," said he, cheerfully 
 enough. "Now, what I want to know is this: If 
 you carry out instructions and obey commands, will 
 those instructions injure others? really injure 
 them? work harm?" 
 
 "It is that which haunts me!" she cried. "That 
 is my terror!" 
 
 "Then," said the young man stoutly, "you 
 must n 't carry out those instructions. You must n 't 
 make bad worse. A bad oath, an oath which makes 
 one do evil, must be broken. There are times " he 
 lifted his head "when disobedience is righteousness, 
 Marya Jadwiga. If your conscience insists that this 
 is one of those times, you must obey your conscience. ' ' 
 
 "You are sure of that? I do right when I 
 refuse to deliver my message?" 
 
 "I am sure you do right when you refuse to do 
 what seems to you wrong." 
 
 "If you were in my place, Mr. Callaghan, you 
 would do " 
 
 "I should do what I thought right, and risk what- 
 ever consequences there might be," said he, firmly. 
 
 "Thank you," said she. "Would you think it 
 right to to help me, Mr. Callaghan?"
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 345 
 
 "That is why I have intruded myself into your 
 affairs," said he. "I am here to help you, if I can." 
 
 "If you had not guessed so much if you had not 
 come when you did, at just this moment I shouldn't 
 have dared admit what I have admitted," she 
 told him, thoughtfully. ' ' I should n 't, perhaps, have 
 told you so much. Because it is n 't safe for for 
 anybody to know things like this, is it? But, oh, I 
 can't help feeling glad and grateful that you came!" 
 
 "I am glad and grateful, too. You see, I don't 
 think things happen by chance : I think God intends 
 us to help or be helped by those with whom we come 
 in contact. Keeping in touch with our fellow beings 
 helpfully is our best way of keeping in touch with 
 Jesus Christ, I think." His smile was so beautiful, 
 his look so mild that it was as though a healing hand 
 had been laid upon her perturbed spirit. She 
 grew calmer, and something of her old courage, 
 shaken by Wenceslaus's tragic death and the hideous 
 difficulties into which she had been plunged, was re- 
 stored to her. 
 
 "I will believe you didn't happen by chance, Mr. 
 Callaghan," she told him. "And, believing this, I 
 beg you to tell me what I must do with what I am 
 going to show you." 
 
 ' ' I will do the best I can, Marya Jadwiga. ' ' 
 
 But he started and half arose, when, taking from a 
 bureau drawer a flat box, she opened it, and he saw 
 its contents. 
 
 "Great Heavens, child!" he cried. "You have
 
 346 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 kept that in an unlocked bureau drawer? And this, 
 too?" For she had unwrapped from, its tissue-paper 
 swathings the exquisite jewelry which the Japanese 
 had sent her. He had never seen anything to equal 
 it for delicacy and beauty and sheer perfection, and 
 he could not restrain his admiration. But Marya 
 Jadwiga looked at it with aversion, and shuddered 
 away from it. 
 
 "The money," she told him, "my father meant 
 for Poland for for what he used money, all the 
 money he could get. And he is dead, and 
 Wenceslaus is dead, and I don't know what to do 
 with it, and I am afraid of it. The jewels are for 
 me, but I can't bear to look at them, to touch them. 
 I don't want ever to see them again! Mr. Callaghan, 
 what am I to do with these things ? ' ' 
 
 He was still startled, and his head whirled. Such 
 a sum, things of such enormous value, must not be left 
 here in his mother's house. He felt panicky at the 
 thought. 
 
 "I don't know what you should eventually do 
 with the money or the jewelry, but I do know that 
 you Ve got to put them where they '11 be secure, and 
 do it at once. If even a hint got out that we had 
 this, nothing would save us from being robbed and 
 perhaps having all our heads cracked in the 
 bargain. ' ' 
 
 "But if I put such a large amount of money in a 
 bank, wouldn't there be some question? How could 
 I manage it? I I don't want anybody to know it 
 is in my possession ! ' '
 
 JOHN CHRYSOSTOM INTERVENES 347 
 
 "You could put the box in a safety-deposit vault. 
 It would be secure. Yes, you could do that." 
 
 She considered this suggestion, and found it good. 
 Yes, she would do that. And why not the papers, 
 too? Would not this solve the problem of their im- 
 mediate disposal? She had been sorely tempted to 
 burn them, but recoiled from the actual deed of 
 destruction, troubled and confused between conscience 
 and the feeling that she would be, as it were, making 
 a bonfire of her father's lifework. But if they could 
 be hidden so securely, so secretly, that they would 
 no longer be a menace and she could be free? She 
 asked entreatingly : 
 
 "Would you do that for me, Mr. Callaghan? 
 Would you take this money and put it away for me? 
 And the jewelry? And and another package with 
 them?" 
 
 He shrank from the responsibility. 
 
 "What is the other package?" 
 
 "Papers," in a whisper. 
 
 He felt more panicky yet. As in a glass darkly, he 
 began to see something of what was happening. It 
 seemed wildly improbable that he matter-of-fact 
 everyday student should be caught in the net of 
 Plorian Zuleski's affairs, or be playing knight errant 
 to Mary a Jadwiga, Zuleski 's daughter. He wanted to 
 rub his eyes and wake up. And instead he found 
 himself telling her earnestly: 
 
 "I sha'n't ask you to tell me any more. And I '11 
 try to manage the affair for you. We 've got to get 
 this stuff out of the house and into safety as quickly
 
 348 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 as we can do so. Get the things in shape, and I '11 
 take the box to the bank. God send the house isn't 
 watched and I 'm followed!" 
 
 "The house is watched," she informed him, to his 
 horror. "The baron gave me to understand that 
 to make me know I couldn't leave here without 
 his knowledge. But you won't be followed. They 
 won't suspect you. They won't think I 'd dare 
 let you know the truth about myself, or even tell my 
 real name. He intimated to-day that I might be 
 considered a spy, and subject to deportation." She 
 raised her eyes to his. "But it isn't that which 
 frightens me," she finished. "If I could be 
 assured that the papers are safe, I could afford to 
 smile at threats. My only grief then would be that 
 I might have brought trouble upon you, my friends, 
 by drawing you into my affairs." 
 
 "I '11 risk what trouble there might be." But the 
 thought of taking that amount of money out of a 
 house watched by possibly dangerous men, and 
 of carrying Florian Zuleski's secret papers upon his 
 person, brought the perspiration to his forehead. It 
 was just as safe as to carry a couple of bombs in his 
 pockets. 
 
 "You are troubled by my miseries and perplex- 
 ities!" cried the girl, watching him. "You are 
 entangled in my wretched affairs ! Ah, forgive me ! 
 forgive me!" 
 
 "You got caught, yourself. And you 're nothing 
 but a little bit of a girl, and I 'm a husky brute of a
 
 man," he told her, forcing himself to speak cheer- 
 fully. " Don't you worry, Marya Jadwiga. And 
 now let 's get this er damaging evidence* out of the 
 way." 
 
 Together they wrapped up the box, which made 
 an inconspicuous package enough. The thin, flat 
 packet which Marya Jadwiga took from her bosom 
 he transferred to his own inside pocket. Oddly 
 enough, he felt somewhat as she did about those 
 papers: as though they had transferred to him her 
 burden, they weighed upon him almost physically, 
 and made him feel hunted. 
 
 Ten minutes later Mrs. Callaghan was standing in 
 the doorway, as she always stood to watch him go 
 swinging down the street with his long stride of an 
 athlete. He carried one or two textbooks, and an 
 inconspicuous, smallish box wrapped in brown paper 
 and tied with common twine. His mother's smile 
 followed him like a blessing, for she was tremendously 
 proud of this fine lad of hers. 
 
 ' ' However the likes of me deserved the likes of him 
 for a son!" she thought humbly and proudly. 
 Then she went back into the house and closed the 
 door, and called upstairs to Marya Jadwiga to lay 
 her sewin' aside, darlin', and come down and have 
 a cruller and a cup of tea. 
 
 John Callaghan turned on his trail, and sought out 
 Brian Kelly. John did most of the talking. He 
 began by asking a blunt question, to which he 
 received an equally blunt answer. Then, shortly,
 
 350 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 forcefully, he drove home what he had to say, and 
 Officer Kelly listened with a set face and wildly beat- 
 ing heart. 
 
 "Now, if you are quite sure, Brian " 
 
 ' ' I am quite sure. I have been sure from the first, 
 John. I might have suspected something like this. I 
 agree with you that what you suggest is the only safe 
 plan, ' ' Brian told him. 
 
 ' ' I think you can manage it, ' ' said John. 
 
 ' ' I am sure I can. You '11 stand by ? " 
 
 "We'll all stand by." 
 
 They shook hands. Then John walked away, with 
 his nice, clean textbooks and his little paper-covered 
 package. And Officer Kelly sought the nearest 
 telephone.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 
 
 JOHN CALLAGHAN, letting himself into the 
 house, upon an August evening, a few days after 
 his private interview with Brian Kelly, was sur- 
 prised to hear no sound of his mother at work. When 
 he called out cheerily, "Mother! I say, Mother!" 
 there was no answer. This surprised him even more, 
 for his mother, when she did go out of an afternoon, 
 timed her return so that the evening meal should be 
 well under way at this hour. John turned on the 
 hall lights. Then he called, ' ' Marya Jadwiga ! ' ' But 
 plainly there was nobody in the house. 
 
 A curious sound attracted his attention an odd, 
 dull bumping, or knocking. Had the house been less 
 silent, one would have missed it altogether. It 
 seemed to come from the parlor, and John listened 
 for a moment, with head bent; as it continued, he 
 jerked open the parlor door, switched on the lights, 
 but for the moment saw nothing more unusual than 
 an overturned vase of flowers, and chairs pushed 
 awry. Then he made out that the sounds came from 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of the old square 
 Knabe piano that Colette would not discard for a 
 modern upright. The next moment he was dragging 
 
 351
 
 352 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the roly-poly form of his mother from under the 
 piano. 
 
 An embroidered centerpiece was stuffed into her 
 mouth, and her hands and feet had been tied with 
 strips of her own housewifely apron. The noise 
 John heard had been his mother's foot tapping, with 
 as much force as she was able to bring to bear, on 
 the baseboard of the wall against which she had been 
 rolled. It was only by the most prodigious efforts 
 that the fat little woman had thus been able to 
 attract his attention. 
 
 She was in a sad state, her eyes swollen, her hair 
 sticking to her face wet with tears and perspiration. 
 John ran into the dining-room, returned with a 
 pitcher of ice-water, and bathed her face and wrists. 
 He shot one question at her : 
 
 "Marya Jadwiga ?" 
 
 His mother began to cry hysterically, and for some 
 time John had his hands full. When she could con- 
 trol herself she gasped out that two men had come 
 and taken Mary Jadwiga away. She had wished to 
 interfere, and had been gagged before she knew 
 where she was, tied and rolled under the piano like 
 an old rug. She had been there above an hour be- 
 fore he came and released her. Vowed though he 
 was to Christian charity, to forgiveness of enemies, 
 and to brotherly love, it would have gone very hard 
 with those who had thus treated his mother if John 
 Callaghan could have gotten his hands on them just 
 then! 
 
 When he had soothed her into coherence, she tried
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 353 
 
 to tell him how it had happened. The two men who 
 had rung the door bell were civil-spoken, gentlemanly 
 looking fellows. They asked, very politely, to see 
 Miss Fabre. Their business was important. The 
 widow hesitating, the two stepped into the hall, the 
 second man pushing the door shut after him. 
 
 The widow's first thought was that they were 
 detectives in the service of the old man Marya Jad- 
 wiga had wounded. Mrs. Callaghan was angry, but 
 not unduly alarmed. She had a native shrewdness, 
 and with a show of indignation she demanded to see 
 the warrants authorizing them to enter a private 
 house. The men shrugged indifferent shoulders. 
 
 ''We have come to see Miss Fabre. She is here. 
 We intend to see her." 
 
 "You will not!" shouted the widow, lifting her 
 voice. "You will see no Miss Fabre, or anybody else 
 in this house, this afternoon!" She wished with all 
 her heart that she and the girl had not been alone; 
 that at least one of the men had been there! Oh, 
 for John, or Brian Kelly! Brian would be wild 
 entirely when he heard this! 
 
 "You make much trouble for yourself, madame," 
 said one of the intruders, coldly. Before the widow 
 could reply, Marya Jadwiga appeared at the head of 
 the stairs. She had been sewing, and she still held 
 a lacy bit of work in her hand, the needle poised. 
 When she saw the strangers, she put the needle into 
 the lace, and laid the work carefully on the banis- 
 ter. Then she came downstairs. She did not seem 
 surprised. One might think she had expected them.
 
 354 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Both, of them bowed to her politely enough. One, 
 pushing aside Mrs. Callaghan, went up to her, said 
 something in a low voice, and laid his hand on her 
 arm. She looked at him with cold rebuke ; he removed 
 his hand, but still kept close to her. He spoke 
 rapidly, in a tongue Mrs. Callaghan could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga listened without interruption. 
 When he paused, she said quietly, in English: 
 
 "I am sorry, but you are entirely mistaken." 
 
 Both of the men began to speak to her then, though 
 of course Mrs. Callaghan could not tell what they 
 said. More excited than ever, they seemed to coax, to 
 argue, to command, maybe to threaten. Marya Jad- 
 wiga merely shook her head. And she said, still in 
 English : 
 
 "My father is dead. And since I came here, 
 Wenceslaus also has died. He was killed." 
 
 They must have requested then that she should 
 reply in their own speech, for she said with spirit: 
 
 "You understand English. I myself shall here- 
 after always speak English." 
 
 They grumbled, shrugged shoulders, made dis- 
 pleased gestures. They asked her questions. Mrs. 
 Callaghan could only surmise, from the girl's replies, 
 what those questions might be. She was saying now, 
 composedly : 
 
 "Yes; my father sent us. His end was near; 
 there was nothing for us over there when he had 
 gone. He told us to come here and we came." 
 
 More vehement talk ensued. Then the girl :
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 355 
 
 "But I have told you already I have nothing, I 
 know nothing, I can reveal nothing. I cannot help 
 what the chief may think, and to say I am a spy is 
 ridiculous. Let me repeat: I have nothing for you." 
 
 They must have begun to threaten her, then, for 
 they spoke angrily; they looked at Mrs. Callaghan 
 significantly, and one waved his hand at her as he 
 went on talking. And presently Marya Jadwiga 
 cried out: 
 
 "No, no, no! I refuse! This is an outrage! I 
 will not go ! " 
 
 Mrs. Callaghan had begun to get frightened. She 
 cried out, in her alarm: 
 
 "Indeed you sha'n't go, then! I 'm here to see 
 that you don't go!" and took a step as though to go 
 to the girl's aid. The next moment she was looking 
 into the blue steel mouth of an automatic and, behind 
 it, a pair of menacing eyes. 
 
 "Don't move, madame," warned the gentleman 
 behind the automatic. Without turning his head he 
 spoke to Marya Jadwiga sharply, and the girl, as 
 though under compulsion, came and stood beside 
 Mrs. Callaghan. She said in a low tone, brokenly: 
 
 ' ' They threaten you. Forgive me ! forgive me ! I 
 would die rather than bring trouble upon you, upon 
 this house " 
 
 The pistol-holder gave another sharp command, 
 and the girl was silent, even while she watched one 
 of the visitors thrust the hall-table centerpiece into 
 Mrs. Callaghan 's outraged mouth, and tie her hands 
 securely with her own apron, torn into strips. Then
 
 356 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 the widow was marched into her own parlor, where, 
 after a struggle in which a vase of flowers was upset 
 and the chairs pushed all awry, he got her to the floor, 
 and tied her feet, despite her kicks. When she was 
 trussed to his liking, he very coolly rolled her under 
 the piano, so that, should any one enter the house 
 unexpectedly, she would not be too conspicuous! 
 
 Lying there, she heard one of them run lightly up- 
 stairs. When he came down, there was further talk 
 in the hall angry talk for a minute or so more. 
 And then Marya Jadwiga called out, in a shaking 
 voice: "Mother Callaghan! good-by! I must go!" 
 The widow, struggling desperately and ineffectually 
 with her bonds, knew that they were taking the girl 
 away. She heard the front door open and close. 
 They were gone she did not know where. 
 
 John considered. And the more he considered, 
 the more alarmed he became. Upstairs the bedrooms 
 looked as though a cyclone had struck them, what 
 with bureau drawers emptied and the contents of 
 trunks thrown pellmell on the floor. The search had 
 been hasty but drastic. Mrs Callaghan, divided be- 
 tween rage and terror, bewailed the state of her house. 
 What could the murdering vagabonds, the thieving 
 scoundrels have been after, she wondered? John, 
 who knew, felt his scalp prickle when he thought 
 of what they would have discovered if he had 
 not taken a hand in the game just when he did. 
 They had not gotten what they sought, thanks to him. 
 And he thought that so long as they had not, Marya 
 Jadwiga might in a measure be protected against
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 357 
 
 them. He did not want to think that they might try 
 to persuade her by their own methods to betray 
 herself. Of these fears, as of other things he knew, 
 he gave no hint to his mother. 
 
 He did not know exactly what to do. He did not 
 wish to telephone headquarters without first notify- 
 ing Brian Kelly. He dared not leave his mother 
 alone in the house, and Colette had not as yet come 
 in. While he pondered the door bell rang violently. 
 A moment later the Baron von Rittenheim was de- 
 manding to be told just what had happened. He 
 had been out, he said; and his men had had some 
 difficulty in locating him. But when they did get 
 him on the wire, they told him that the girl had 
 left the Charlton Street house with two strange men, 
 had gotten into a car, and had been driven away. 
 They picked up the trail as best they might ; but they 
 had lost it, due to a halt in the traffic. One of the 
 men thought he had picked it up again; they were 
 working on the case now. Had John heard any- 
 thing ? 
 
 John had not. He asked, fearfully: 
 
 "She is in danger?" 
 
 ' ' She is in danger, ' ' said the baron, shortly. l ' She 
 is in the hands of agents of the Russian Secret Serv- 
 ice. They are not over-scrupulous. I will do the 
 best I can. But I am at a great disadvantage, as 
 you can imagine. I shall have to call for your help, 
 all the help you can muster. I cannot act as a Ger- 
 man. You must act, as Americans. It might be 
 effective. I am not sure."
 
 358 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "But why," probed John, "should the Russian 
 Secret Service be so keen to kidnap a young girl like 
 her?" 
 
 "A young girl like her may be a dangerous spy," 
 said the baron, shortly. "They will hold her as a 
 spy, a German spy." 
 
 "But that is ridiculous." 
 
 "It is not ridiculous. But it happens not to be 
 true," said the baron. And he wiped his forehead. 
 "They had evidently timed you. They caught her 
 when they knew she and Mrs. Callaghan would be 
 alone for several hours. They are very clever. 
 They knew of my visit, of course. But do they know 
 we also have set a watch? That is to be con- 
 sidered ! ' ' 
 
 Rittenheim had listened to Mrs. Callaghan 's 
 tearful account. He had made her describe her vis- 
 itors as minutely as she could, and go over the con- 
 versation as she remembered it. He nodded his head 
 when she came to the girl's indignant repudiation of 
 the term "spy." 
 
 He was extremely thoughtful as to her refusal to 
 grant some request, give some information. They 
 had wanted her to tell them something, Mrs. 
 Callaghan insisted. And she had refused. She had 
 said over and over she had nothing for them. 
 
 The baron was deeply puzzled. Was he mistaken? 
 Had she really nothing? Had Zuleski mocked and 
 tricked them all, with a madman's grisly humor, sure 
 that death would save him from their vengeance? 
 Had he sent the girl away with empty hands? Pon-
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 359 
 
 dering Zuleski, the baron could not feel sure. There 
 was something wrong, somewhere. 
 
 The German knew of the frantic search for certain 
 missing Kussian papers. Just what those papers cov- 
 ered, he did not know. But he was sure Zuleski had 
 known. How? From whom and whence had he re- 
 ceived information, known secrets breathed only to a 
 few of the highest ? But how had Zuleski discovered 
 the many things he did know ? The baron wished he 
 could say with certainty! Had he risked his 
 daughter idly? N-no; one thought not, all things 
 considered. There was something behind all this. 
 But in the meantime he must consider the girl's 
 present fate. Marya Jadwiga in the hands of 
 Czadowska's agents made his soul sick. 
 
 They had evidently tracked her through Wences- 
 laus, as he himself had done. It was through some 
 of their men that "Wenceslaus had met his death. 
 From the hospital, then, they had tracked Policemen 
 Kelly to this house. They had even seen Ritten- 
 heim here ; that was why they had decided upon such 
 action as had been taken this afternoon. The baron 
 bit his lip angrily. He might have remembered that 
 Czadowska's agents would be quite as clever as his 
 own! 
 
 The baron had lost his ruddy color. For the first 
 time in his life he experienced fear for somebody 
 dear to him, and saw himself at a loss; he could not 
 give orders and expect to have those orders instantly 
 obeyed. And he reproached himself as his fears 
 gained on him. Why had he been over-cautious?
 
 360 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Why had he not known his own heart ? Why had he 
 not snatched her, willy-nilly, out of the nightmarish 
 turmoil into which that old madman had cast 
 her, and, no matter what happened, placed her in the 
 safety that his name would have assured her? He 
 should have married her out of hand ! It could have 
 been arranged. Well he had not. And now 
 Czadowska's men had outwitted him. He wiped his 
 forehead, and his hand shook. He wished to roar, 
 lionlike. It was as though a barb had pierced his 
 breast. Not only his love but his pride suffered 
 acutely. 
 
 Brian Kelly and Colette came in together. The 
 young man was smiling, eager, handsome, and radi- 
 antly young. He carried a box of candy, and a small 
 cluster of flowers wrapped in waxed paper. He 
 stopped short at sight of the distraught faces turned 
 to him, and his eyes sought John's, mutely. John 
 told him, briefly. 
 
 Colette ran to the weeping Mrs. Callaghan, and the 
 two women clung together. The policeman laid aside 
 the candy and flowers, and stood looking at them for 
 a moment, fixedly. Then he went into the hall, 
 reached for the telephone, and called the commis- 
 sioner, whom he caught at his club. He was promised 
 the immediate help of the best brains of the Depart- 
 ment, and whatever personal help the commissioner 
 himself could give. Their best detectives would be 
 put to work at once. 
 
 Brian turned to John, who had followed him. 
 
 "Shall I tell the German the truth now?" he
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 361 
 
 asked, in a low voice. "Should he know? Can we 
 trust him that much?" 
 
 But John hesitated. "It might anger him into 
 washing his hands of the affair, and we can't afford 
 that. We need his help, for her. When we discover 
 her whereabouts, and with whom she is, then you can 
 tell, and act." 
 
 "Well if you think that 's best. But I don't like 
 it," said Brian, agreeing unwillingly. 
 
 "I do think it 's best," said John firmly. 
 
 The two returned to the parlor, where the baron sat 
 tapping his foot. 
 
 "The men from headquarters should be here in a 
 few minutes," John explained, and the German 
 nodded. 
 
 Into this dismal group Miss Honora Kelly irrupted 
 herself. It was the first time she had put in an even- 
 ing appearance, and they looked at her in dull sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Brother said I might come whenever I pleased; 
 and I pleased to take him at his word and come to- 
 night. Where 's Marya Jadwiga?" 
 
 But Marya Jadwiga 's throaty voice did not reply. 
 Miss Honora looked around the dejected group, and 
 asked nervously: 
 
 "What 's the matter? Is there anything the 
 matter? Brian! is anything wrong with her?" 
 
 "Tell her," said Brian to John. 
 
 She couldn't understand, at first. Marya Jad- 
 wiga taken away, out of Mary's house, by foreigners?
 
 362 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "But what are we going to do about it?" she cried. 
 " Have n't we a police department? This outrages 
 heaven ! ' ' 
 
 The baron studied her keenly. Evidently a person 
 of some standing. These others were not. A police- 
 man, a student, designer of costumes, were negli- 
 gible factors. He addressed himself to Miss Honora : 
 
 "Miss Kelly, if these good people have any in- 
 fluential friends upon whom they may depend " he 
 began. Miss Honora looked up alertly. 
 
 "You mean, do we know somebody who has in- 
 fluence? Somebody powerful enough to make things 
 move quickly?" 
 
 "Exactly. If you could induce such a person to 
 use his influence You will understand, I, myself, 
 am a foreigner. That always militates against one, 
 particularly at such a time as the present." 
 
 Miss Honora 's soft old lips set into obstinate 
 Kelly lines. 
 
 "Mary, I '11 use your phone," said she. And as 
 she passed Brian she took his black head in her hands 
 and kissed him. 
 
 "Don't be too fearful: we '11 have your girl back, 
 if we have to shake this town upside down to find 
 her!" said she, valiantly. Then she went into the 
 hall and called up Dominick Kelly : 
 
 "This is Honora. I 'm at Mary Callaghan's house, 
 in Charlton Street. I want you to come here. . . . 
 No, I said come here. And come at once. . . . Yes, 
 it is about Brian. And that girl. She 's been kid- 
 napped. You 've got to help us. We need you."
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 363 
 
 Came a slight pause. Then: "I '11 give you 
 thirty-five minutes in which to get here," said Miss 
 Honora, in a cool, quiet voice. "If you fail me, 
 Dominick Kelly, you shall never see my face again in 
 this world. . . . Very well, Brother Dominick." 
 Another pause. "I said we needed you didn't 
 I ? . . . Yes, I supposed you would. ' ' 
 
 She came back and laid her hand lightly, lovingly 
 on Brian's shoulder. 
 
 "The baron thinks we should call upon whatever 
 influential friends we may happen to possess," said 
 she, quietly. "The only influential friend I possess 
 is Dominick. I should say he will be here in half 
 an hour." 
 
 They spoke together in low voices. The men as- 
 signed by headquarters came, and talked with John 
 Callaghan, and went away. They looked at Brian 
 Kelly sympathetically somehow they knew he was 
 vitally interested and promised to do their best. 
 Miss Honora kept glancing at her wrist-watch. In 
 exactly thirty minutes Mr. Dominick Kelly walked 
 into the Charlton Street house. He bowed to the 
 women, and flashed his keen eyes over young John, and 
 upon the baron, whom he could not place, but whose 
 title made him stare. Then he turned to his son. 
 
 The young man had risen as his father entered the 
 room. They regarded each other steadily, measur- 
 ingly ; and their Kelly jaws stuck out. The older man 
 had grown thinner, grimmer, more belligerent. The 
 younger man had grown. Regard, please, Mary Hal- 
 let's famous "Teucer" in a policeman's uniform!
 
 364 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 Domini ck's eyes, under their shaggy eyebrows, went 
 over him coolly enough. Whatever emotion the hard- 
 boiled old mogul might have experienced he man- 
 aged to conceal. 
 
 ' ' Good-evening, Officer Kelly. I ' m advised you 've 
 lost a girl; and my sister Honora tells me she won't 
 live under the same roof with me unless I quit my 
 work and help you find her, ' ' said Dominick. 
 
 "I hear you 've lost a girl." That, referring to the 
 Countess Zuleska! And spoken in the coolest pos- 
 sible way! The noble Baron Karl Otto Johann von 
 Eittenheim looked at all these people with an 
 irritation which, despite his efforts, was growing 
 upon him by leaps and bounds. They were stepping 
 out of their sphere, even for Americans. Did they 
 not understand the immeasurable difference between 
 them and the Countess Zuleska ? It would seem not ! 
 Why, in Heaven's name, should they lavish 
 sympathy upon that young policeman? What 
 possible connection should there be, could there be, 
 between a New York policeman and Florian Zuleski's 
 daughter? Yet Miss Honora Kelly used the term 
 "your girl." Colette 'Shane sat near him, 
 and from time to time whispered to him consolingly. 
 Rittenheim liked Miss 'Shane's appearance and 
 manner; if the big young officer had singled 
 her out, the baron would have approved. They 
 were both Americans, presumably of the same class. 
 But that a policeman should lift his eyes to Marya 
 Jadwiga! The young Callaghan man, too, seemed 
 to share this amazing delusion; for in his quiet way
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 365 
 
 he sought to encourage the policeman to take heart 
 of hope. His mother's sympathy was more open and 
 tearful ; she spoke of the policeman as "my dear boy," 
 and assured him, "The darlin' will come back to you 
 safe an' sound; never you fear!" 
 
 And now came the elderly personage who, it ap- 
 peared, was the policeman's father. That such a one 
 should be a policeman's father puzzled the baron 
 sadly; for even a noble baron could feel a quite hu- 
 man respect for a man so big, so forceful, so assured 
 as Dominick. But he, too, addressed the young man 
 directly: "I hear you 've lost a girl." It was plain 
 to be seen that he was here, not for the girl's sake 
 but for the man's. As though, forsooth, the fellow 
 had some claim upon her upon the little noblewoman 
 whom the baron, himself, of her own class, desired to 
 make his own. 
 
 He was naturally a polite man, the baron. He had 
 no wish to offend, particularly as he needed them to 
 help him. But he felt that he must make them un- 
 derstand politely, of course how wide of the mark 
 they were in their assumption, A cat may look at a 
 king, or a queen. A policeman may look at a coun- 
 tess. But to refer to her as "your girl"? A noble 
 baron cannot, could not, would not, should not, be 
 jealous of a policeman; but he may be excessively 
 annoyed. The baron was excessively annoyed. 
 These worthy folk were misinterpreting the simplic- 
 ity, the naivete of the countess's character. Her 
 natural condescension would inevitably lead to mis- 
 interpretation. Or stay: did she really mean to
 
 366 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 condescend? or had that ineffable old lunatic Zu- 
 leski carried his radical theories and his fanaticism 
 so far as to make her forgetful of her rank? How- 
 ever that might be, the delicate and difficult task 
 was before the baron of making these persons remem- 
 ber it. Without wounding their sensibilities he must 
 yet put them in their proper places by showing them 
 Florian Zuleski's daughter in hers. He said, after 
 a pause, choosing his words very carefully: 
 
 "It is time to clear up certain things which, for 
 reasons of her own, Miss Fabre thought best to leave 
 in shall we say a nebulous state? I think it is due 
 you, who have been so extremely kind to her, to know 
 that you have been sheltering the Countess Marya 
 Jadwiga Zuleska, Count Florian Zuleski's daughter 
 his only child, in fact, and the last of an illustrious 
 family. Not only through her father, but through 
 her mother, she is related to the noblest houses of Po- 
 land. There is no older or more aristocratic family 
 in Europe than the Zuleski." 
 
 He watched the policeman while he spoke. The 
 policeman did not seem unduly impressed ; nor did the 
 Callaghan boy, John. Miss Honora said, reflectively, 
 "She is a sweet child, title or no title." Upon the 
 others the announcement had varying effects. 
 Colette 'Shane said softly: "We are glad to have 
 you tell us, Baron. But we couldn't care for her 
 more than we do already. She is herself, to us." 
 She turned to Brian Kelly, and patted his hand. 
 "What difference could it make to us whether her 
 name is Fabre or Zuleska or or something else?"
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 367 
 
 "It must make a great deal of difference, Miss 
 O 'Shane," said the baron, gently. "Because she 
 must go back, live among her own people, take her 
 proper place in her own sphere. There are no titles 
 in your happy, republican America. So you could 
 hardly realize what it really means let us say, in 
 my less democratic fatherland to be, not Miss Fabre, 
 but the Countess Zuleska. Her father was a fanatic, 
 a dangerous revolutionary, a visionary; but, for all 
 that, he was a nobleman, and of a very proud and 
 ancient house." 
 
 "Perhaps I shouldn't understand, if she had been 
 'somebody else, somebody different from Marya 
 Jadwiga," said Colette. "But you see, I know 
 Marya Jadwiga. We didn't love and trust her for 
 a title's sake, Baron: we loved and trusted her for 
 herself. She understood. So do we. Why, then, 
 should anything make a difference in our regard for 
 her, or in hers for us ? " 
 
 ' ' She is very na'ive, very unworldly, the little coun- 
 tess," said the baron, indulgently. "That is one 
 reason I have thought best to tell you the truth about 
 her so that you may bring your fine American com- 
 mon sense to bear, and make her see that the right 
 thing for her to do is to leave this country in which 
 she really has no place, and return to her own sphere. 
 She owes that much to her name. ' ' 
 
 "Her name wouldn't have saved her from 
 from " said Miss Honora, trembling. "That 
 horrible woman knew what and who she was, and yet 
 she"
 
 368 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 ' ' But that is exactly the point I wish to bring out ! 
 Her name could n 't and would n 't save her that, here. 
 But over there, it simply could not have happened! 
 The woman wouldn't have dreamed of committing 
 such a crime against the Countess Zuleska! As for 
 the elderly person, she would never have come in 
 contact with him. Even if she had, he would never 
 have dared consider the Countess Zuleska in the light 
 of a possible victim. You will perceive why I say she 
 must go back to her own place. ' ' 
 
 "You mean we have n't been able to protect her?" 
 asked Miss Honora. "But you are her friend, too. 
 You haven't been able to protect her, either; have 
 you?'' 
 
 "Here? No, dear lady. Over there, yes. Very 
 emphatically, yes." 
 
 Dominick, sitting with his hands in his pockets, 
 looked at his son thoughtfully. 
 
 He might have remembered the boy 's taste ! 
 Nothing but the best for the Kellys! Dominick 
 considered the baron, too, listening very attentively 
 while that aristocratic person put them all in their 
 proper places. 
 
 "But," said Miss Honora, "suppose the dear 
 girl prefers to stay here, Baron? Suppose she 
 doesn't want to go back over there? I have 
 good reasons for thinking she prefers to stay." 
 
 The baron tried not to look as annoyed as he felt. 
 It irritated him, as might a splinter in the finger, to 
 have these people assume such a thing. 
 
 "I trust, dear Miss Kelly, that you will consider
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 369 
 
 the case from the point of view of the countess's best 
 interests," said he, gravely. He looked at Miss 
 Honora with unsmiling blue eyes; and suddenly she 
 saw herself and hers from the baron's point of view! 
 Worried as she was, a faint smile touched her lips. 
 
 "I should always try to do that, of course," said 
 she, gently. "But we might have different ideas as 
 to what her best interests are; mightn't we? And 
 so might she," she added, her eyes on Brian Kelly. 
 
 "I am sure she has," said Colette O 'Shane. 
 
 "We will waive that," said the baron, stiffly. 
 
 "But I 'm afraid you won't be able to," said 
 Colette. 
 
 "That remains to be seen. In the meantime " 
 the baron turned to the silent Dominick " if you 
 are sure you understand the situation, and you have 
 any influence, I beg you to use it immediately. 
 The case is serious. The countess is a Russian sub- 
 ject; she is liable to arrest and deportation as a spy. 
 My men may not have too great difficulty in locating 
 her. The thing is, to get her when we find her." 
 
 Dominick stood up. He looked at his son. 
 
 "D 5 ye want my help, Officer Kelly?" 
 
 Brian looked at his father. 
 
 "Yes, Dad. I 'd have gone to you and asked for 
 it, if Aunt Hon hadn't." 
 
 ' ' Oh, would you ! Now tell me this : are you serious 
 about this girl? Is your mind altogether made up? 
 And are you sure of her ? She '11 be feeling the same 
 way about you?" 
 
 "Yes," said the young man, and his head went
 
 370 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 up. He seemed about to say more, but checked him- 
 self abruptly. 
 
 "You 've heard what the German gentleman says? 
 That herself 's above you, you being a a cop, and 
 herself a countess? And still you 're sure?" 
 
 "I Ve heard what he says, ' ' said Policeman Kelly. 
 "What difference could it make to me what anybody 
 says? She is herself; I am myself; that 's all that 
 counts with her and me ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ach, no, my romantic young friend ! ' ' put in the 
 baron, softly and wished he might run this imper- 
 tinent person through, and have done with fool- 
 ish talk. "She is, as you say, herself; and you 
 are yourself; and therein lies all the difference in 
 the world!" 
 
 Dominick regarded the baron speculatively. 
 
 "But why, now?" he asked, so quietly that Miss 
 Honora pricked up her ears. When Dominick talked 
 like that, something was always bound to happen ! 
 " Is it that he being what he is a cop and she being 
 what she is a countess he can't have her, nor she 
 him, even if they want each other ? ' ' 
 
 "It is exactly that, sir," said the baron, politely. 
 ' ' Thank you for putting it into plain words : I found 
 it somewhat difficult. But now that you have said 
 it for me, let me emphasize the truth: the Countess 
 Marya Jadwiga Zuleska must marry in her own 
 class." And he added, with a bow which included 
 them all: "Nothing is further from my thoughts 
 than giving offense. But you will see the truth." 
 
 "And now I hope you see it for yourself, my fine
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 371 
 
 fella!" said Dominick to his son. "You will be a 
 cop, and you will have nothing short of a countess, 
 glory he to God! Though I 'm told," he conceded, 
 "by the commissioner, that he 's seen worse than 
 you. And that being that," he mused, "I don't see 
 why you should n 't have the girl, if she wants you. ' ' 
 
 The baron made a gesture of despair. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It is not to be thought of ! " he protested. 
 
 "I'm thinking of it," said Dominick. "Has the 
 girl near relations, please? And are you one, or 
 only a friend?" 
 
 "She has no immediate family. Her father was 
 an only son ; she is an only daughter. I ? I had the 
 honor of the noble Count Florian's acquaintance. I 
 may say I knew him somewhat intimately. I have 
 known his daughter for several years." 
 
 "No immediate relatives. Any fortune?" 
 
 ' ' Her father was a scientist of renown, a writer, an 
 authority. I could not say, however, what the count- 
 ess's fortune might or might not be." 
 
 "We '11 say, then, no fortune. But a title? A 
 genuine title?" 
 
 The baron prayed inwardly for patience. 
 
 "The Zuleski titles have been considered genuine 
 for several centuries, ' ' said he, frigidly. ' ' They have 
 always made alliances with other very noble houses. 
 They have never encouraged mesalliances. There 
 was once a question of a morganatic marriage with 
 a reigning house. The Zuleski refused to sanction it, 
 and put the young lady in a convent." Would
 
 372 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 nothing make these people understand? They were 
 impossible ! 
 
 "Well, times have changed, praise be to God!" said 
 Dominick. He looked at Policeman Kelly, critically. 
 "Faith, she might go further and fare worse!" said 
 he, "unless " here his shrewd glance studied the 
 baron "unless you 're thinkin' of her for your- 
 self?" 
 
 Rittenheim stiffened. His lack of humor, his 
 ever-present sense of his own social and cultural 
 superiority, limited him. He looked at Dominick 
 with an air of hauteur: 
 
 "Pardon me: but that is not to be discussed for 
 a moment!" 
 
 As Miss Honora had seen herself as the baron saw 
 her, so Dominick saw himself from the same point 
 of view. His first sensation was one of astonishment : 
 this fellow was looking down on him, Dominick 
 Kelly! Nobody had ever looked at him like that 
 before. He was used to power, to respect, even to 
 fear. He was not used to being spoken to as this 
 blond aristocrat had just spoken to him. Faith, 
 you 'd think he 'd broken one of the greater laws of 
 God by merely mentioning the man as if he were 
 human, like the rest of us! Dominick 's brows drew 
 together. He was mortally offended. After a mo- 
 ment he said, swallowing his wrath : 
 
 ' ' That leaves you out, then. So, as there 's nobody 
 else, if the policeman wants her, and she wants the 
 policeman, there 's no reason, barrin' a bit of
 
 THE COP AND THE COUNTESS 373 
 
 a beggarly title, why he shouldn't have her. And 
 that 's that!" 
 
 For, after all, the policeman was Dominick Kelly's 
 son. He 'd like to see any baron or countess of them 
 all too good for the Kellys ! Looked at him as though 
 he were the dirt beneath his feet, did he? "Not 
 to be thought of." Oh, then, wasn't it? He'd 
 show this fine popinjay of a German whether he 
 could behave like that to Dominick Kelly and get 
 away with it ! Brian wanted his countess ? Well, be- 
 god, he should have her! 
 
 Dominick went out into the hall, and grabbed the 
 telephone. 
 
 "This is Mr. Dominick Kelly." He called several 
 numbers, and spoke briefly, and with authority. 
 Within ten minutes the wheels of the law began to 
 move with rapidity; the Borough of Manhattan be- 
 came a dragnet.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 
 
 '\"1T THY did you come to this country, 'Miss' 
 \/\/ Fabre?" The large man sitting behind 
 '- the mahogany desk slurred the name 
 '"Fabre" significantly. He wore a green shade, and 
 under it his eyes lurked like wary animals. His 
 large, sound teeth looked whiter because of a dense 
 blue-black beard, which he liked to stroke with a 
 fat hand. He leaned back in his chair negligently 
 while he addressed Marya Jadwiga, standing before 
 him. The two had the room to themselves. He 
 spoke in French, liking to display his knowledge of 
 the language. 
 
 "My father said, 'go,' and we went. He was 
 about to die. He did not wish us to remain in that 
 old house afterward," she repeated. 
 
 "Excellent idea sending you away at the psy- 
 chological moment. Very thoughtful man, Zuleski. 
 But why give your departure the appearance of 
 flight?" 
 
 "If my father were living, Monsieur, he might 
 answer that question. But he is dead." 
 
 "If your father were living, Mademoiselle, he 
 would be called upon to answer that question, as 
 
 374
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 375 
 
 well as several other questions." said the man. 
 "However, you are living; and there are several ques- 
 tions we should like you to answer. For instance: 
 What did you give Rittenheim?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 ' ' What did you give some one of his agents, then ? ' ' 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "You expect us to believe you?" 
 
 "I do not see why you should not, since it is the 
 truth." 
 
 " ' What is the truth f " quoted the man, cynically. 
 
 "The Man to whom that question was put was 
 Truth, Monsieur," she reminded him. 
 
 He stroked his beard. After a pause he asked, 
 pleasantly enough: 
 
 "Your father had several conferences with Rit- 
 tenheim, didn't he?" 
 
 "The Herr Baron stopped at our house on his 
 way to the Rosen estate. I did hear conversations 
 between him and my father, once or twice." 
 
 "Ah, you did? And the subject of those conversa- 
 tions?" 
 
 ' ' They spoke of modern novelists, dramatists, poets, 
 Monsieur," said she, seriously. "I think the Herr 
 Baron was not pleased that my father should prefer 
 the Russian writers." 
 
 ' ' Ach ! I begin to think you are clever ! ' ' admitted 
 the Russian, ironically. "And were there no other 
 conversations, Mademoiselle ? ' ' 
 
 "I was not present at any others," she told him. 
 
 "You say your father sent you away because he
 
 376 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 knew he was about to die. Didn't he really 
 send you because he knew he was about to be 
 arrested ? because he knew there would be war, and 
 he had certain information, certain documents, he 
 wished to pass on to his good friends the Germans ? ' ' 
 
 "But my father had long been expecting war. 
 Ever since I was a small child, I have heard him 
 prophesying war. Every year he was more certain 
 of it. He did not think it required much foresight 
 to foretell war in Europe. He said it was inevitable 
 because in all Europe there was not one real states- 
 man; not even one politician of more than third-rate 
 ability." 
 
 The Russian grimaced. 
 
 "I see. Leaving that aside, with whom were his 
 sympathies? Whose side did he expect to take?" 
 
 ' ' I did not know that he expected to take sides. He 
 wished to see our country free. He said that when a 
 people possesses the will-to-freedom, one might cal- 
 culate the result mathematically; though it be de- 
 layed, it is none the less inevitable." 
 
 "And he regarded himself as an agent to arouse 
 this will-to-freedom or, rather, will-to-revolution? 
 That is what we have learned," said the Russian, 
 still ironical. 
 
 "You yourself would do the same for your country, 
 Monsieur; would you not?" 
 
 "I, Mademoiselle? I am out of the reckoning. It 
 is of your father we speak. But I don't mind telling 
 you, in passing, that I would not help my country
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 377 
 
 toward destruction. And that is what your father 
 was doing for Poland ; trying to persuade her to de- 
 stroy herself irremediably." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga made no reply. He asked, then, 
 abruptly : 
 
 "You understand, of course, why we have brought 
 you here?" 
 
 "It would seem to be to ask me irrelevant ques- 
 tions," she replied. 
 
 "We must try, then, to make ourselves more direct. 
 So ! You were sent here as Zuleski's agent, were you 
 not?" 
 
 "I am here as his daughter, Monsieur," said she, 
 with dignity. His tone had been overbearing. 
 
 "And he gave you certain papers, for certain 
 German agents. Eittenheim was to manage the 
 affair; and Rittenheim is in this country now, and 
 has seen you. (Czadowska overheard the conver- 
 sation let 's call it the trade in the room next to 
 your father's library. The serving-woman Josika 
 placed him there.) You left home with Wences- 
 laus, since deceased; the gipsy Wincenty guided you 
 for a certain distance. Now, what have you done 
 with those papers, Mademoiselle? When did you 
 deliver them to the German?" 
 
 "I have never delivered any papers +o any German, 
 Monsieur. I have no papers to deliver to Germans 
 or anybody else." 
 
 "You know what 's going on over yonder," said 
 the man at the desk, and his dark face grew darker.
 
 378 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 "It is wasted breath to shriek right and wrong : it 's 
 here. We have to face it." He looked at her 
 steadily. "My country has its enemies, Mademoi- 
 selle. It is quite useless to say, 'We have made 
 them; they are right, we are wrong.' There is but 
 one thing for us to do to protect ourselves from 
 them. We are considering one of the worst of these 
 enemies, your father. For years he eluded us, or, 
 rather (except for Czadowska; don't forget Czadow- 
 ska) he hoodwinked us. There sat the professor of 
 astronomy and philology, in his old tower, and, right 
 under our noses, spun his webs. Only Czadowska 
 was not satisfied. Well! Czadowska finally got at 
 him through the woman Josika, and we learned then 
 that he planned to betray us to the Germans. He 
 promised clever old spider that he was to give us 
 certain threads he had spun, certain flies he had 
 caught. We believed him. Until Czadowska caught 
 him, we believed him ! Now we know that he was in 
 the pay of Germany. No," as she made a quick 
 motion as though to speak, "we are not mistaken: 
 Monsieur Czadowska got the evidence. Couldn't be 
 mistaken. Never is mistaken." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga knew that Czadowska had not been 
 mistaken. She made no further attempt to explain. 
 What was there to explain? She reflected that she 
 knew almost nothing of the extent of her father's 
 plans or affiliations. She was only beginning 
 to understand what part he had intended her to play ; 
 she was to have been another weapon in his hands,
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 379 
 
 one that he had forged and sharpened against this 
 hour of need. 
 
 If he had lived, she thought, perhaps he would 
 have altered those plans, or used other agents, know- 
 ing that her heart was not in this work, that her soul 
 revolted. She would not aid his enemies, but she 
 would not injure. She thought, sorrowfully, that 
 her father had overestimated her: she was not 
 clever, as his daughter should have been. One might 
 think she had been Wenceslaus's daughter, not Flo- 
 rian Zuleski 's. Perhaps, Out There, God would make 
 her father understand this. And forgive it. 
 
 Calmly, unafraid, serene, she waited for the Rus- 
 sian to have his say. In his turn, he studied her. 
 Difficult people to deal with, these Poles. Couldn't 
 bend or break them. He wondered how much this 
 girl knew. "Well, it was worth finding out ! Now 
 that Zuleski was dead, there was but one way to get 
 at what they wished to learn, and that was through 
 his daughter. She would have to talk. 
 
 ''Let us return to those documents your father 
 intrusted to you: "When did you give them to the 
 German?" 
 
 "I have told you that I did not give anything to 
 any German. I have nothing for any German." 
 
 "No? Rittenheim called on you in Charlton 
 Street!" 
 
 "Yes, the Herr Baron came to see me." 
 
 "And you didn't give him the papers?" incred- 
 ulously.
 
 380 
 
 "No, Monsieur, I have nothing for him." 
 
 ' ' You have not ? For whom, then ? ' ' 
 
 "For nobody." 
 
 "Not even for us?" said he, smiling evilly. 
 His voice held a purring mockery. "Come! Re- 
 flect. You were to deliver to us a certain little 
 packet when we gave you the password, 'Serajevo,' 
 were you not? And you will not carry out that 
 pretty little plan, and take our excellent and very 
 substantial bank notes in exchange to be used 
 against us a little later? Oh, Mademoiselle, surely 
 you won 't spoil the play ! ' ' 
 
 Marya Jadwiga was weary, and he had allowed 
 her to stand while he questioned her. She had been 
 forced here against her will, and now he was mock- 
 ing her. Her lips came together firmly, and some- 
 thing of Florian Zuleski himself looked out of her 
 eyes. The man recognized the signs, and his smile 
 deepened. She intrigued him. Her fineness, her look 
 of high breeding, her dauntlessness, gave him the curi- 
 ous inverted pleasure of the cruel. Breaking such 
 a one as this would be a very interesting experience ! 
 
 "We know why you left Lanska's house; and what 
 happened in that very fine house to which your 
 friend conducted you," said the man at the desk, 
 musingly. "That is one reason why," he smiled 
 openly, "you were searched before you were allowed 
 to see me. A simple matter of precaution." 
 
 She flushed. She had indeed been subjected to a 
 humiliatingly thorough search. Her heart grew hot 
 at the thought of that search. She had been turned
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 381 
 
 over to two women, and the men had stood just out- 
 side the door. And the women had subjected her to 
 indignities that time could never efface from her 
 memory. It seemed to her that her soul itself had 
 been stripped and outraged by those hands upon her. 
 
 "Monsieur, if I were of an evil and cruel heart, 
 of a wicked soul, I should say I hoped your wife, 
 your mother, your sister, your young daughter, any 
 woman dear and sacred to you I suppose that there 
 may be some woman sacred even to you, Monsieur ? 
 might be subjected to such indignity as I was called 
 upon to suffer." She spoke too directly, too sternly 
 for him to continue to smile. He said doggedly : 
 
 "But, Mademoiselle! the exigencies of the case, 
 you understand ! Suppose, now, we had allowed you 
 to retain that very effective knife of yours? You 
 had used it already to quite good purpose : how should 
 one know that you wouldn't do so again? No, 
 no, you mustn't blame us. Place the blame where it 
 lies with Florian Zuleski, who sent you hither." 
 
 She knew she had been searched for more than that 
 knife. But, thank God, they had found nothing but 
 that. 
 
 "And now to get back to business: What have 
 you done with the package for the German?" he 
 reiterated. 
 
 "I have no package for any German," wearily. 
 
 "You have already given it to him?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You intend to deliver it, then?" 
 
 "No."
 
 382 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 He consulted some papers on his desk. 
 
 "Czadowska's report is very explicit. He over- 
 heard the agreement : the papers were to be delivered 
 to Rittenheim 's agents here in New York, by you. 
 There was a payment of money to your father. 
 Czadowska secured that. Now, Countess, I trust you 
 will not force me to adopt other methods. What 
 did you do with the papers ? Where are the papers ? ' ' 
 
 "I have no papers none for anybody," she 
 repeated stubbornly. 
 
 "When did you deliver them?" 
 
 "I have not delivered them." 
 
 He regarded her for several moments, as though 
 considering. He asked politely: 
 
 "You refuse to explain, then, Countess?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "Do you know the fate of a spy?" he asked. 
 
 "Death," said she composedly. "Are you trying 
 to make me out a spy, Monsieur? Do you need an 
 excuse to murder another of the ZulesM?" This 
 scornfully. 
 
 "No. I am trying to give you an opportunity to 
 prove that you aren't," he returned evenly. "You 
 must admit appearances are against you. All the evi- 
 dence is against you. Come now, confess. You may 
 as well. The game 's up, Countess." 
 
 She shook her head, smiling faintly. She said 
 gently : 
 
 "But I have told you, Monsieur, that I gave noth- 
 ing, I have nothing. Not for the Germans. Not 
 for you. Not for anybody. It is useless for you to
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 383 
 
 question me further. I have said all I have to say." 
 
 "You are a Russian subject, a German spy, sent 
 here by an arch traitor to sell us to our enemies." 
 His lip tightened, his voice took a hard edge. "And 
 in a time like this a spy gets short sympathy and 
 shorter shift. We shall deport you, of course." 
 
 "You are mistaken," said she, composedly. "I 
 am not a Russian subject. ' ' 
 
 He laughed. But she repeated stubbornly: 
 
 "I have told you. Now I warn you: I am not 
 Russian ; I was never Russian, I who was born a Pole ! 
 But now I am American." 
 
 "I 'm afraid you couldn't prove that to the satis- 
 faction of those who will pass upon your case," said 
 he. "So, we '11 take it for granted you are legally 
 a Russian subject, amenable to the laws of the em- 
 pire. You will be deported. Very quietly. There 
 will be no disagreeable publicity; we will see to that. 
 And presently you will be tried and judged accord- 
 ing to the evidence Monsieur Czadowska obtained. 
 In the meantime, Countess, I offer you a last op- 
 portunity to explain yourself. There may be clem- 
 ency if you confess. ' ' 
 
 "I have nothing to confess." 
 
 "I 'm afraid we shall have to persuade you some- 
 what," said he. "Come, Countess! Don't make it 
 too unpleasant for us both ! ' ' 
 
 "I have said what I have to say," said she, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 "As you will!" said he, and touched a button on 
 his desk. A soft-footed man, dressed in a blouse,
 
 384 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 entered the room, and stood at attention. The man 
 at the desk had picked up some papers, and was en- 
 gaged in giving them a careful reading, as though he 
 wished to be quite sure. 
 
 He looked up, presently, and nodded once in Marya 
 Jadwiga's direction, and with a stealthy, tiger-like 
 pounce the soft-footed man was behind her and 
 had grasped her by both elbows. She made no out- 
 cry, no protest, no complaint ; she merely braced her 
 small body. The man at the desk watched her 
 thoughtfully. This time a critical appraisal of her 
 personal appearance was in his look. 
 
 ' ' I am almost sorry you are so pretty, and so young. 
 It may make things a little difficult for you, later. A 
 pretty girl who is at the same time a spy, in time of 
 war it is possible you may be kept some time in 
 prison quite possible. And, as I observe, you are 
 unfortunately pretty." 
 
 He spoke slowly, with long pauses between his sen- 
 tences, as though his mind were conjuring up just 
 what things might happen to a girl who was a spy, 
 and unfortunately pretty. She could not fail to 
 understand his meaning. A threat as well as a warn- 
 ing. And he added, with a fleeting smile : 
 
 "And you will not have that handy little knife of 
 yours. You will be quite defenseless." 
 
 "God remains, Monsieur," said Marya Jadwiga, 
 simply. 
 
 "God remains indifferent," said the bureaucrat, 
 and he quoted: " 'God is high above and the Tsar 
 is far away.' "
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 385 
 
 " Tsars come and go, Monsieur. God remains," 
 said Marya Jadwiga, steadily. 
 
 The man at the desk made a slight gesture. Marya 
 Jadwiga felt her arms twisted, it was as though they 
 were being wrenched out of their sockets. A cry of 
 pain escaped her. The man mishandling her began 
 to speak in a growling voice. He was more used to 
 handling men than women. He did not like to handle 
 women particularly women no larger than children. 
 His grasp upon her loosened, but did not release her. 
 He looked over her head, scowlingly. He had heard 
 her whisper a prayer. In his time and work he had 
 heard many crying out; but somehow this one, so 
 very little, so soft, so like a child 
 
 The man at the desk frowned. He disliked any 
 signs of weakening, in his subordinates. They were 
 losing their usefulness when they exhibited feeling. 
 He had not expected feeling here. 
 
 "You may have to suffer for this, yourself," he 
 warned. "You know your duty!" 
 
 "I live," said the other. "Whoever lives suffers. 
 Why not?" And at another nod he twisted Marya 
 Jadwiga 's arms again, but half-heartedly. Had he 
 exerted his strength he could have dismembered her. 
 Her breath came in panting gasps, and sweat ran 
 down her white cheeks. In all her healthy life she 
 had never before known pain. What was happening 
 to her was all new to her. To be stripped and 
 searched and then this! When they brought her 
 here, she had expected to be questioned, perhaps even 
 to be sent out of America, if they could manage it
 
 386 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 without publicity ; but she had not expected this not 
 in America. 
 
 "Now," said the man at the desk, "are you ready 
 to talk, Countess? 'Who can sing and won't sing 
 must be made to sing, ' remember. What have you to 
 say?" 
 
 "Nothing." In a firmer voice: "Nothing! noth- 
 ing!" Did they think to break her thus? No! 
 They could do what they chose to her. But they 
 could not make her yield. Her healthy body winced 
 at the pain inflicted upon it; her spirit lifted its 
 head unafraid. The very soul of Poland looked at 
 her tormentor out of Marya Jadwiga's eyes. 
 
 He paid her the tribute of admiration. He had 
 not the faintest twinge of compunction. He meant 
 to make her tell him what he wished to know, or to 
 break her in the attempt. That is what he had been 
 sent to America for. But her courage pleased him; 
 it made the case more interesting, lent it a fillip of 
 excitement. To deal with cringing, frightened 
 wretches who shrieked and betrayed there was no 
 intellectual interest there! But to meet one of the 
 eagle breed, and break its skyey pinions that pleased 
 him! And he hated Poles rebellious, treacherous, 
 unstable. All one could do was to kill them. The 
 ironical French proverb "What a wicked animal! 
 It fights when it is attacked ! ' ' must have been coined 
 for Poles in particular. But the way they would 
 fight back, with the odds against them, their backs 
 to the wall, their faces to the scaffold that 
 was amusing! It was almost as fine as tiger-hunting
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 387 
 
 when it came to one like Zuleski; and tremendously 
 interesting, when one considered the little count- 
 ess. 
 
 He watched her carefully. He did not intend that 
 she should really be injured. The man who attended 
 to this sort of thing for them was really very clever : 
 he almost never broke bones, but whoever passed 
 through his hands always held him in vivid remem- 
 brance. He had heard men scream aloud at the 
 bare sight of him. 
 
 This girl had been subjected, deliberately, to a long 
 strain, before resort was had to persuasion. She had 
 been taken to one house, thence to another, and lastly 
 fetched to this quiet old house whose back windows 
 gave upon the blank brick walls of a large warehouse. 
 She had been allowed to sleep but little last night. 
 Then she had been wakened and brought here at 
 dawn. 
 
 For all its dingy exterior, the house was well cared 
 for inside, and had the air of being inhabited by 
 men mindful of their comfort. The women Marya 
 Jadwiga had met there were of a lower order than 
 the men women of the prison-matron type, cold, 
 methodical, without compassion, almost without sex, 
 as befits the female of the species who is trained to 
 play the role of handmaid to the hangman. They 
 had dealt with Marya Jadwiga with drastic thor- 
 oughness. Until she died she would remember those 
 remorseless women. She was infinitely less afraid 
 of the man who twisted her arms, than of those 
 women who she thought twisted one's soul and
 
 388 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 trampled with brutal feet upon sanctities which 
 should be inviolate. 
 
 When they finished with her she had been left quite 
 alone for hours. The long, long day wore away. 
 In the room where she was locked there were no pic- 
 tures on the walls, no papers, nothing. She sat on 
 an uncomfortable chair, and waited for what should 
 come next. Being a simple soul, and in many ways 
 highly unmodern, she prayed for courage, and to 
 be guided aright. Keeping pace with her prayers 
 went the consoling thought of Brian Kelly. She had 
 deliberately remained silent concerning Brian, be- 
 cause she feared for him. She knew the temper of 
 the men into whose hands she had fallen, and what 
 stakes they played for. If they thought Brian had 
 power to interfere with their plans, they would not 
 scruple to remove him as Wenceslaus had been re- 
 moved. No: they must know nothing of Brian, he 
 must remain free to find her. And he would find 
 her. They two were not parted finally. He would 
 not let them take her away: his country was her 
 country, his people her people, his God her God. 
 With God and Brian Kelly on her side, how should 
 she be hopeless or too much afraid? 
 
 The door was unlocked, and Marya Jadwiga was 
 taken upstairs, to this room on the third floor back. 
 Heavy curtains at the windows, although the August 
 night was warm. An iron safe in one corner. A 
 leather-covered lounge near by. A great desk in the 
 middle of the room, under the chandelier. Two 
 green desk lamps, the wires for which - were fitted
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 389 
 
 into the chandelier, lighted the desk. As Marya Jad- 
 wiga entered, a man looked up from a revolving-chair. 
 He had evidently just come in, and she gathered 
 that it was for him they had waited. He was an 
 entire stranger to her, but he evidently was satisfied 
 as to her identity, for, after a sharp glance, he ad- 
 dressed her by name. He allowed her to stand; ito- 
 deed, there was no chair on which she might sit. 
 And, while she stood before him, he picked up some 
 papers from the desk, and, glancing at them from 
 time to time, gave her a very neat little resume of 
 what had happened to her since the night of her flight 
 from home. He even knew the amount of the reward 
 offered by the old gentleman. He knew Fran- 
 ciszka Lanska's part in the affair. Marya Jadwiga 
 gathered that Franciszka had been interviewed by 
 this man's agents; she suspected that Franciszka 
 was not allowed to be happy! When he had con- 
 cluded his summary, he said sharply: 
 
 "As you can perceive, the next step was to bring 
 you where we could interview you privately. ' ' 
 
 "You are rather high-handed, considering that this 
 is America," she began. 
 
 "In America, as elsewhere, possession is nine 
 points of the law. The great thing is that we have 
 you." 
 
 And then had begun the grueling. Over and over 
 and over and over, like water falling on one certain 
 spot, he repeated, reiterated maddeningly until 
 one's brain turned his insistent questioning. At 
 regular intervals, like the inevitably falling drop of
 
 390 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 water, he shot the same question at her. Marya 
 Jadwiga was put through the degree. 
 
 He coaxed, questioned, argued, made flat state- 
 ments, threatened. He had told her he must 
 presently "persuade her to speak out, to tell the 
 truth"! She had eaten a light lunch. She had 
 had no dinner, and it was now past nine o'clock. 
 She was not allowed to sit down. Her nerves were 
 still raw from her recent experiences. She was dis- 
 tracted with anxiety about Mother Callaghan, bound 
 and gagged before her eyes. She had pictured 
 Brian ? s anger and fear, and the consternation her de- 
 parture must have caused. With this weight upon 
 her heart, it was all she could do to keep her courage 
 at the sticking-point, to face her questioner. And 
 now he had made good his threat. He was trying to 
 "persuade her" to "tell the truth." 
 
 Her small body was taut as a strung bow. She 
 could not help a whimper of pain at times. But 
 her green eyes were unconquered. Her mouth did 
 not sag. It was a fight to the death between her 
 and this sinister power which had caught her. 
 Against this terrible power she had but two assets 
 God and Brian Kelly. And she had been told that 
 "God was far above and the Tsar was far away" 
 that grim Russian proverb which applies to the 
 unavenged wrongs of the innocent, the helpless. 
 She had been told that any of her friends who med- 
 dled in this affair would be dealt with summarily, 
 "put out of business."
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 391 
 
 One thing stuck in her mind, and stayed there 
 puzzlingly. They had never mentioned the Japa- 
 nese. Evidently then they knew nothing of the Jap- 
 anese. The Baron von Rittenheim had not known of 
 the Japanese, either. Her father had kept that se- 
 cret. And suddenly, as in a flash, the girl began to 
 see the truth. The Japanese had been the crux of 
 Zuleski's plan. It came to her that it did not matter 
 so much, after all, about German, or Russian. It had 
 been the golden man who really counted. That had 
 been what Florian Zuleski really staked and played 
 for; and why, at the last, he had risked even her. 
 That had been his terrible and ironic repayment to 
 those who had knouted his father, put his grandfather 
 to the sword, widowed his mother, beggared his coun- 
 try. Thus did he repay them. And she herself, 
 Marya Jadwiga, had been but a blind instrument in 
 the hand of Fate maybe of God. Who knows? 
 
 She wondered what the Russian and the German 
 would say or do if they should discover that truth. 
 Conflicting emotions, pain, weariness bewildered her. 
 Sweat ran down her face blindingly, and she could 
 not put up a hand to wipe it out of her eyes, before 
 which danced red flashes. She was so slight that 
 one might fancy her weak, but she was really aston- 
 ishingly strong, as most beautifully made things are. 
 But bodily strength has its limits, and hers was failing 
 her. The insistent voice came at regular intervals: 
 
 ' ' What did you do with the papers ? You had the 
 papers. Have you given them to the German?
 
 392 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 What did you do with the papers ? What did you do 
 with the papers? What did you do " And the 
 hands upon her twisted her. 
 
 She locked her lips to keep from crying aloud, 
 and fixed her brave young eyes on her questioner. 
 There were contempt and disdain and pride in that 
 glance, but no fear ; no yielding. 
 
 She was more recalcitrant, less amenable to " per- 
 suasion" than most, her inquisitor reflected but all 
 the more psychologically interesting. He would have 
 been rather disappointed if she had yielded quickly. 
 It was going to take fine handling to break this one ! 
 He meant to break her, of course; get her out of 
 America, turn her over to Czadowska. But he 
 would experiment on her before Czadowska got 
 her. Perhaps he 'd better try somewhat different tac- 
 tics? He didn't want really to injure her. That 
 would n 't get them anywhere. He made a slight sign, 
 and the man who held her took his hands off her at 
 last. She stood staggering. 
 
 "I have had enough, me," growled he who had 
 been manhandling her. And, without waiting for 
 orders, he went out of the room and closed the door. 
 The master of ceremonies looked after him thought- 
 fully. Then he looked at Marya Jadwiga. She had 
 a bad effect on subordinates. He had never known 
 Anton to behave like this before. 
 
 Marya Jadwiga tried to control her trembling 
 body, to summon all her powers, but only partly 
 succeeded. That she remained standing, that she
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 393 
 
 did not collapse in a crying heap astonished him. 
 
 "You are a very obstinate little lady. I 'm afraid 
 a mere man doesn't know how to deal with you, 
 Countess. Perhaps you might be more willing to 
 talk to the women ? " he purred. 
 
 He observed that she moistened her lips, and that 
 a slow red crept for a moment into her white face. 
 
 "Yes," he went on, "I confess I find this scene 
 unpleasant. I shall go home and get some sleep. 
 You can stay here with the women. They '11 keep 
 you entertained. ' ' He turned, and touched a bell on 
 his desk. 
 
 She stood rigid. The door opened, and the two 
 women who had searched her entered the room. 
 They were large women. One had gray hair and 
 gray eyes and a gray face. The other was younger, 
 but no softer. They were as gentle as a headsman's 
 ax, the pair of them. Both glanced at her, as prison 
 matrons may look at a woman convict they mean to 
 discipline. 
 
 The man stretched himself. 
 
 "Take her in charge. I wish to know what she 
 has done with certain papers. She refuses to tell. 
 See what you can do to make her change her mind." 
 
 Their hands were on her again, a big woman on 
 each side of her and she was .so small, so helpless! 
 For the first time her spirit failed her. She was 
 afraid of these terrible, sexless, merciless women. 
 They led her to the door ; they were taking her down- 
 stairs. At that moment the door bell rang. The two
 
 394 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 women and the man looked around at one another. 
 
 ""Would that be G rigor?" muttered the man aloud. 
 "We didn't expect him" 
 
 The bell rang again. And then came a splintering 
 crash, and a cry from downstairs. A great shout 
 rang above it : 
 
 "Mary a Jadwiga! Mary a Jadwiga!" 
 
 "Into the attic!" hissed the man, and the women 
 turned to seize her. But before they could restrain 
 her her scream echoed through the house. 
 
 They had her then, throttling her. 
 
 "By the roof!" she heard, and she was dragged 
 forward. Her struggles impeded their progress. 
 If she had been less spent, they would have found it 
 harder to hold her. 
 
 They had gotten her into the attic, and had 
 slammed shut the door. She could see the man ahead 
 of them push aside a skylight. 
 
 "If you don't keep quiet, you '11 go over the side 
 wall, by God!" he told her savagely. And dragged 
 by him and pushed by the women, she felt herself be- 
 ing carried up rickety, narrow steps. Her senses 
 reeled. There was a gust of fresh night air, a fleet- 
 ing glimpse of sky and stars. Then another shout, 
 the sound of men's feet running, a heavy crash. She 
 was being dragged backward. The trapdoor opening 
 upon the roof fell to with a banging crash. There 
 was a shot. A lantern flashed. In another moment 
 an electric bulb was turned on. 
 
 They were in a dusty, musty attic. Men were
 
 GOD AND BRIAN KELLY 395 
 
 swaying back and forth. Somebody the man with 
 the black beard was lying at the foot of the narrow 
 ladder-stairs. The man in the blouse, with a police- 
 man gripping his arm, stood blinking down at him, 
 stupidly. Other men in uniform held two sullen 
 women. She herself was caught up by a blue-sleeved 
 arm, and brass buttons were pressing into her cheek. 
 God and Brian Kelly had not failed her.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 "AND READ LIFE'S MEANING IN EACH OTHER'S EYES" 
 
 BRIAN held her close, all the way home. It was 
 heavenly to lean against him, to let her tired 
 body relax in the curve of his arm, to feel his 
 firm clasp. She had known he would come, that he 
 Would find her: it had been that which upheld her 
 courage, gave her strength to hold out. How could 
 she have been doubtful? She had God and Brian 
 Kelly! 
 
 The huge policemen who seemed to overflow the 
 car with their great bulk, were silently considerate. 
 They looked straight ahead of them. Nobody was 
 talking much. Marya Jadwiga did not have to talk; 
 she was content to lean against her big young lover, 
 and feel safe, and cared for, and sure. Once or twice 
 she put up her fingers and touched his cheek. And 
 once she lifted his hand and held it for a long time 
 against her cheek. 
 
 Then they were at home again. Mother Callaghan 
 cried out at sight of the girl clinging to Brian Kelly 's 
 hand. She was a sorry sight, her hair disheveled, 
 her thin blouse in ribbons, the marks of cruel fingers 
 on her arms and shoulders. She looked so like a 
 beaten child that Miss Honora held her close, and 
 wept. 
 
 396
 
 READ LIFE'S MEANING 397 
 
 Somewhat to her surprise, the Baron von 
 Eittenheim was there, too. She had never seen him 
 look so human, so concerned, so angry. There was 
 another man present, big, white-haired, with gray 
 eyes under bushy brows, and a fighting face. And 
 Jimmy Darlington and Monsieur Jacques. Mr. 
 Darlington stayed close beside Colette 'Shane. One 
 knew to whom Jimmy belonged ! 
 
 The baron took -her hand, and led her to a chair. 
 He said, breathing quickly, as though he had been 
 running : 
 
 "We have been deeply concerned about you. It 
 was a bold move, that, and they very nearly suc- 
 ceeded." He looked at her torn blouse, at her 
 wrenched arms, and his face grew dark. "They 
 handled you?" he asked thickly. "They handled 
 you! You.!" He put his hands to his face. 
 
 "I knew it would be all right," she said quietly. 
 "Somehow I felt quite sure it would be all right 
 after a while. I I told him that God remains. I 
 was sure I should be found. I was sure help would 
 come." She paused, and said significantly, "I told 
 him I was American, but he laughed." 
 
 "Ach, Countess, he could afford to laugh! You 
 are a Russian subject, ' ' said the baron, gently. ' ' For 
 which reason we aren't out of the woods yet. "We 
 must depend upon your good friend, Mr. Kelly's 
 father, here, to exert his influence in your behalf." 
 The baron bowed to Dominick with respect. He had 
 seen how Mr. Kelly he knew what Kelly it was now, 
 and what that name represented could, as he said
 
 398 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 himself, "make things move in a hurry." The great 
 giantess of a city had stirred herself, stretched out 
 her enormous hand, been pleased to exert her tre- 
 mendous powers at a word from this man Kelly. 
 And he was the policeman's father! He had the 
 power almost of an emperor, a tsar. And he was 
 the policeman's father! That all but stupefied the 
 baron. It could not happen anywhere but in this 
 mad America, he reflected. But, for all Mr. Kelly's 
 power, the girl remained a Russian subject. The 
 Russians could take steps against her. They could 
 have her deported, perhaps. There would be trouble. 
 
 And then Brian Kelly spoke, feeling himself at last 
 free to do so : 
 
 "Marya Jadwiga is quite right. She is no longer 
 a Russian subject. They really can't touch her: 
 she 's an American citizen. ' ' He hesitated, and then 
 went on: " There was but one course open, under 
 the circumstances. I well, I persuaded her to take 
 that." 
 
 The baron stood still in his tracks. He said tersely: 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 "The wife of an American citizen is also an 
 American citizen, to be protected by the power of 
 American law." 
 
 "You married her? She married you?" cried the 
 baron. 
 
 "Yes, he married me five days ago," said Marya 
 Jadwiga, softly. "That is why I am not Russian 
 any more; I am American. I have an American 
 husband. You see?"
 
 BEAD LIFE'S MEANING 399 
 
 "I see," said the baron. Astonishment and jeal- 
 ousy almost choked him. "It is what might be called 
 a strategical move. But Mr. Kelly doubtless under- 
 stands that such an arrangement could not be perma- 
 nent. Such a marriage must be annulled." 
 
 "Why?" This from Dominick, slumped in his 
 chair. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Kelly " the baron spread his 
 hands in a deprecating motion "the Countess 
 Zuleska Policeman Kelly ' ' 
 
 Dominick stood up abruptly. 
 
 "My girl," said he, crisply, "you've been and 
 gone and married my son secretly. ' ' 
 
 "No," interrupted John Callaghan, coolly. "She 
 didn't do it secretly. I knew. I helped arrange it. 
 Mother knew. Colette knew. You 'd hardly call 
 that secret. "We didn't announce it because we 
 did n 't think it safe to do so. ' ' 
 
 Dominick tossed his head. 
 
 ' ' 'T was secret so far as I 'm concerned, ' ' said he. 
 "You married my son secretly." He addressed Marya 
 Jadwiga. "I 'm told you 're a countess. My son 's 
 a a cop. You 've heard what your friend the 
 baron has to say. I 'd like to hear what you have 
 to say for yourself." 
 
 "You are Brian's father?" was what she had to say 
 for herself. ' ' That makes you my father too, does it 
 not?" And she smiled in his grim face. 
 
 "Does it, then? My son and I disowned each 
 other, ' ' said he. "I went my way. He went his way. 
 He 'd be a cop, without a by-your-leave. And now
 
 400 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 he 's got himself a wife, without a by-your-leave, 
 either!" 
 
 "You disowned Brian? Ah, I am sad! I am 
 sorry ! I should like to love you. But if you do not 
 love Brian, that is impossible!" She turned from 
 him. 
 
 "Countess," urged the baron, "I beg you to pause, 
 to reflect. I can understand why you felt compelled 
 to take this unfortunate step. It was expedient. 
 Indeed, in the circumstances, it was the one thing 
 to be done to insure your safety. It remains the 
 one thing that must be undone. You must avail 
 yourself of that useful American institution, divorce, 
 as soon as it is possible to do so. Mr. Kelly must 
 understand " 
 
 Florian Zuleski's daughter looked at Dominick 
 Kelly's son, and smiled: 
 
 * ' He understands, ' ' said she. 
 
 Dominick jerked at his mustache. 
 
 "If she divorces the policeman, what comes next? 
 Who '11 take care of her? You?" he asked bluntly. 
 
 ' ' I, most certainly, if the gracious countess will con- 
 sider me," said the baron, shortly. It irked him 
 savagely to be thus questioned, and to submit the 
 little countess to such brutal questioning, too ! 
 
 He had to admit that the policeman had behaved 
 very well. He had spiked Czadowska's guns and 
 made it impossible for the Russian Secret Service to 
 proceed against the girl with impunity. Dominick 
 Kelly was too powerful to be antagonized, even by 
 them. He could be trusted to set the wheels of
 
 READ LIFE'S MEANING 401 
 
 American government in motion against them, and 
 American opinion was too valuable, too vital, to be 
 offended. One understood that. But to consider 
 these Kellys in the light of father-in-law and hus- 
 band to the Countess Zuleska was impossible. That 
 he should admit her equality with himself, her fit- 
 ness to mate with a Rittenheim, was itself enough 
 to put these Kellys outside the pale. They must 
 be made to see the situation in its proper light. 
 
 "You '11 marry her yourself?" Thus Dominick, 
 brutally. 
 
 "I mean exactly that," said the goaded baron. 
 His glance at Dominick was as icy as his voice, and 
 Dominick 's wolf temper reared. 
 
 "You hear, young lady?" he addressed Marya Jad- 
 wiga, shortly. "Let me tell you this: you owe a 
 great deal to the baron: 'twas he put us on your 
 track; 'twas he had those fellows spotted from the 
 beginning. 'T was his men led ours from house to 
 house. Thank them that we found you. They 're 
 clever, his men. You 're owing your rescue to him 
 more than to Policeman Kelly." 
 
 Marya Jadwiga said gravely: 
 
 "My grateful thanks are due him. I shall never 
 forget." 
 
 ' ' The man wants you. He says so. He 's a baron. 
 You 're a countess. You 're equals. What have the 
 likes of you to do with a a cop, like him?" He 
 tossed his head, bull-like, at Brian. "Listen to 
 the baron you'll be the baroness. Stick to the 
 policeman you '11 be Mrs. Kelly!"
 
 402 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 The little countess looked at the big policeman. 
 He remained silent; but his heart was in his eyes. 
 He would not press his claim upon her, sacred as it 
 was to him. He loved her so greatly that he knew 
 he could even give her up, stand aside and let her 
 go free of him if that made for her happiness or her 
 well-being. He stood at attention and waited; and 
 in that showed her his trust, his faith. Her eyes went 
 from him and met the baron's. They seemed to 
 Rittenheim kinder, sweeter than he had ever known 
 them. His face softened. He said in his beautiful 
 German : 
 
 ''Do you remember a night, a spring night, when 
 you danced under the white moon ? Your black hair 
 was loose, your little feet were naked. You sang 
 as you danced. I stood beside a window in the old 
 house and watched you. You were like Spring com- 
 ing to the North, my little moonmaid. And when 
 I looked at you I loved you. 
 
 "Do you remember a day when you wore an ab- 
 surd dress, and the Rosen girls looked at you with 
 amused eyes? You held your little head high, 
 your eyes were a falcon's eyes, your spirit like a 
 sword. You were the nobler, prouder lady. I saw 
 your spirit that day, and I loved it for its pride. 
 You were so young then, it seemed absurd that I 
 should love you as a man loves a woman. But I see 
 now I did. Countess, will you put aside this unfor- 
 tunate American marriage, and enter our house as 
 my wife?"
 
 READ LIFE'S MEANING 403 
 
 It was magnificently said. 
 
 "Herr Baron, I am grateful, I am honored. I al- 
 most wish I could say yes. If if I could I should 
 be proud to be your wife. But I cannot." 
 
 "You feel bound by gratitude to this man?" he 
 asked. "He has really behaved beautifully, and one 
 respects him. But he is honored by being of use to 
 you, Countess! That is reward enough! Surely 
 you will not feel yourself bound by absurd scruples. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You do not understand. With me it is not grati- 
 tude, it is not a scruple" She colored to her eyes. 
 Lovely confusion covered her, but she held herself 
 to the truth. "It is love." 
 
 "You love this man? A policeman?" cried the 
 baron, and he looked at her with blank consternation. 
 "Your name your pride " 
 
 "My name is his, and I have no pride. I have 
 love," said she, simply. And while the baron stared 
 at her strangely, she turned to the other man. 
 
 "You married me out of pity, and because you 
 wished to save me?" she asked him directly. 
 
 "I wished to protect you. But I didn't marry 
 you out of pity," said he, and added, slowly: "You 
 remember the night I first saw you? You were 
 sitting in Madison Square, with Wenceslaus poor old 
 chap ! And you turned your head, because you must 
 have felt me praying you 'd look at me. I wanted 
 to pick you up and marry you then." 
 
 "Yes, I knew," said she. "And you still wish to 
 be married to me? You do not wish to go free of
 
 404 TWO SHALL BE BOKN 
 
 the troublesome girl you brought to this house in 
 the night, in danger, without friends, without a 
 home? You wish to keep that girl?" 
 
 "That girl/' said the policeman, "is my girl. 
 She was my girl from the hour of her birth. She 
 was born to be my girl, and nobody else's. I knew 
 it when I first saw her. I know it now. Don't 
 you?" 
 
 She was so beautiful when she turned to him that 
 he caught his. breath. His heart swelled in his 
 breast. To save his life he could not refrain from 
 holding out his hands to her. 
 
 "Oh, but yes! I know that, with all of me!" 
 cried the little countess, and walked straight into 
 the big policeman's arms. 
 
 Brian Kelly said gently, ' ' My wife ! ' ' and held his 
 wife close. Over her head he met his father's eyes. 
 
 "The luck of the Irish!" said Dominick Kelly. 
 "But I 've this to tell you, young man: I 'd a talk 
 with the commissioner. A very understanding man 
 is the commissioner, and knows my mind when I tell 
 it to him. And we think you '11 lose your job." 
 
 "Shall I?" said Brian, unconcernedly. "Well, 
 there '11 be others. I can always get a job, Dad. 
 And," he added, proudly, "I can hold it down, too." 
 
 "He says that you 're a dam' good cop, and he 
 hates to turn you off," said Dominick. "He 's only 
 doing it to please me." 
 
 "Is he?" said Brian, and pressed the dear dark 
 head against him. Brian knew he had gotten more 
 than Dominick could give or take! He was not
 
 KEAD LIFE'S MEANING 405 
 
 angry, or even uneasy. But Miss Honora stopped say- 
 ing her rosary, sat up in her chair, and looked search- 
 ingly at her brother. 
 
 "You can get you a wife, but I can lose you a job. 
 And I Ve done it," said Dominick, arrogantly. 
 
 ''Did you lose me my job for a wedding present?" 
 asked Brian. 
 
 ' ' I did, ' ' said Dominick. ' ' Just that ! ' ' 
 
 "Ah! Because of me, Brian's father?" Marya 
 Jadwiga asked. 
 
 "Because of you, Mrs. Kelly," said Dominick. 
 "You 're sure you still want the good-for-nothing 
 scamp that flouts his father, and marries a wife on 
 wind?" 
 
 "No one," said the little countess, "can have more 
 than all she wants on earth, Brian's father. And I 
 have that." 
 
 Eittenheim was staggered. His own pride was so 
 much of the stuff of his soul, that he could not un- 
 derstand or pardon the lack of what was to him 
 the breath of life. Forget her rank, descend to the 
 level of a common young man? But good God! 
 that outraged the fitness of things! Not such as 
 this could be a Baroness von Bittenheim; could take 
 his mother 's place at the head of their house ! And 
 yet she was Florian Zuleski's daughter! 
 
 Another fact had been borne in upon Ritten- 
 heim. If the Russians had seized and mistreated 
 and threatened the girl, it was because she had had 
 nothing for them; and they, like himself, had been 
 tricked by Zuleski's promises. This added to his
 
 406 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 bewilderment. Injured pride, jealousy, rage, as- 
 tonishment almost stunned him. She preferred a 
 policeman to Karl Otto Johann von Rittenheim! 
 He wished to God he had never laid eyes on any Zu- 
 leski! He would have to go back home, admitting 
 that his mission had failed. He could only save his 
 face by stating that the old revolutionary had gotten 
 the better of them all had played some grim trick 
 upon them, and the Russians as well: Czadowska 
 was not faring any better than Rittenheim. 
 
 "Well, Baron," spoke up Kelly pere, briskly, 
 "the girl 's made her choice. She '11 keep her police- 
 man." 
 
 The baron bowed from the waist. His heels 
 clicked. 
 
 "The choice remains with the gracious countess," 
 said he, with stately politeness. Even Dominick 
 admired the man then. "It is for us to bow to her 
 decision. May I offer her husband my congratula- 
 tions, and wish for the countess herself all happi- 
 ness?" 
 
 "Don't go away with the notion that she 's done 
 so dam' bad for herself, though," said Dominick, 
 slowly. "It 's one thing for a countess to marry 
 a cop. It 's another thing when the cop happens to 
 be Dominick Kelly's son." 
 
 Miss Honora leaned back and began to say her 
 rosary again. 
 
 "I told you you 'd lost your job." Dominick 
 addressed his son. ' ' The commissioner thinks you '11 
 do something better. So do I. But first you shall
 
 READ LIFE'S MEANING 407 
 
 come home to your own house, you hard-headed vag- 
 abond, and let your wife get acquainted with your 
 Aunt Hon and me." 
 
 "Well, you see, Dad " began Brian. 
 
 "I see farther than you, me bold Brian, for all 
 iny eyes are older than yours," said Dominick, 
 shortly. "There 's big things coming, and I '11 
 need you. After all, as Hon says, you 're my son, 
 confound you!" 
 
 Brian's hold tightened upon Marya Jadwiga. 
 
 "Wherever I go, I go on my own terms, Dad. 
 That 's final," said he. 
 
 But Marya Jadwiga looked at Dominick. She 
 wanted to love the old man who was Brian 's father ! 
 And the old magnate looked back at her thoughtfully. 
 An almost unwilling smile struggled to his lips. He 
 had not smiled for so long that the effort was pain- 
 ful, but he managed it. Something about this girl's 
 black hair, now Molly's hair had been black, too. 
 And her youth and sweetness, and her loyalty to the 
 boy turning down a noble he-god like the German, 
 and she a titled lady herself and sticking to his 
 own lad! The more he considered Marya Jadwiga, 
 the more she pleased him. And he had to pay back 
 that big Junker, who looked down upon them all. 
 Thought the girl had thrown herself away by pre- 
 ferring Brian Kelly, did he? Hah! But Brian 
 was son to Dominick! He 'd show the biggest lord- 
 ling of them all what it meant to stand by the Kellys ! 
 
 The girl said to him gently: 
 
 "You wish us to come to your house, Brian's
 
 408 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 father? You will be my father, too? You will let 
 us love you?" 
 
 "You don't know what sort of a house I may have 
 to bid you to, child; do you?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "If you will love us in it," said she, "we will 
 come." 
 
 Dominick was sudden and quick in quarrel, chol- 
 eric, abrupt. But his loves lay very deep, and his 
 heart hungered over his son, and his son's young 
 wife. He could not help loving the girl who had 
 let the baron down, and stuck to him and his with- 
 out knowing or caring what the boy had or had not. 
 She had saved his pride, the little countess! Did 
 the baron think Dominick would not repay her in 
 kind for thatf 
 
 He walked up, pushed Brian aside, took the girl 
 in his big hands, fatherly, bent and kissed her. 
 
 Said he, in a curious voice: 
 
 "I '11 love you in any house, asthore. God knows 
 you 're welcome to mine ; and if you want a different 
 one, speak the word, and you can have it! You 
 choose my son: all right, Mrs. Kelly, you won't be 
 sorry for your choice. He 's like me in this : he 's 
 a one-woman man, my son is. You '11 be his as his 
 mother was mine. I 'm not saying anything against 
 the baron he 's a fine, upstanding man but take 
 the word of Dominick Kelly that you haven't made a 
 bad bargain!" He kissed her again. 
 
 "But I 'm to do my own work in my own way,
 
 EEAD LIFE'S MEANING 409 
 
 Dad, all the same. You mustn't lose sight of that!" 
 insisted Brian. 
 
 "The commissioner and I," said Mr. Kelly, 
 grandly, "have a job in pickle for you. It 's with 
 your Uncle Sam, you omadhaun and let you say 
 your prayers you '11 be able to do what 's wanted of 
 you! Anyhow, we '11 see you have the chance. Are 
 you too proud entirely to shake hands, Policeman 
 Kelly?" 
 
 Policeman Kelly was not. He wrung Dominick's 
 hand with a grip that made the older man grunt. 
 And then he kissed his father, boyishly. 
 
 "It gives me pleasure," said the baron, smoothly, 
 "to know that the gracious countess will be cared for 
 as befits her rank. I shall have that much comfort 
 to take away with me. I kiss your hand, Countess. 
 And so farewell!" 
 
 "I am sorry to say it," said Mary a Jadwiga. 
 "And I hope you will come through whatever hap- 
 pens safe. God be with you." She held out her 
 hand, and the great gentleman bent and kissed it. If 
 he felt a pang, he concealed it. His pride had come 
 to his aid. Perhaps, after all, things were better 
 like this. 
 
 "And and I am grateful oh, grateful from my 
 .heart for your goodness to me to-night!" 'said 
 Marya Jadwiga. ' ' I shall always be your friend. ' ' 
 
 "And I, also," said Brian, "am grateful." 
 
 At that Karl Otto tFohann von Kittenheim showed 
 the real stuff of which he was made. He put aside,
 
 410 TWO SHALL BE BORN 
 
 smilingly, wounded love, outraged pride, natural 
 jealousy, and with a noble and manly straightfor- 
 wardness held out his hand to his successful rival. 
 The two men looked into each other's eyes. 
 
 ' ' You will be worthy of her : and you have won the 
 loveliest lady in the world," said the baron, splen- 
 didly. Then he turned to her, gently : ' ' Mrs. Kelly, 
 again let me wish you all happiness. You are quite 
 right. To-night has proved to me that you have noth- 
 ing for us or for Czadowska or, perhaps, even for 
 Poland. You are an American." With an enig- 
 matical smile, he bowed himself out of the room. 
 
 Mary a Jadwiga knew that Brian Kelly was life's 
 fullest meaning. But with the baron went all that 
 remained of her old life. He had known the old, 
 old house ; her father ; Wenceslaus ; herself as a heart- 
 free child. All that was gone, and now he too went. 
 At the snapping of this last link, her heart whim- 
 pered a bit. She suddenly felt how tired she was, 
 how spent and weary. 
 
 "God forgive us all for forgetting how perished 
 the child is, after all she's been through!" cried 
 Mrs. Callaghan, rising hastily. "Colette, dear, do 
 you get her into bed. I '11 run and get a glass of 
 milk for her: she 's needing it." And Mrs. Calla- 
 ghan vanished kitchenward. 
 
 "You have all the rest of your life to be my 
 daughter in," said Dominick, very gently for him. 
 "And I 've the rest of mine learning to be your 
 father. We '11 start in learning in the morning. I 
 wonder what '11 I tell those dam' reporters, and they
 
 BEAD LIFE'S MEANING 411 
 
 plaguing me about Brian marrying a countess ! And 
 he playing cop for the fun of it! Sure, the news- 
 papers '11 be wild entirely ! Well, I '11 do my best ! 
 Mary Callaghan, I '11 make your better acquaintance 
 when we have time for a talk. Honora Kelly, will 
 you do me the honor of coming home?" 
 
 Brian picked Mary a Jadwiga up bodily, and car- 
 ried her upstairs, holding her very close. She 
 slipped her arm about his neck, and pressed her 
 cheek against his, bent over her. When Colette 
 took her away from him, he sat outside in the 
 hall, his hands clasped between his knees. Dominick 
 had said that he had the rest of his life to be her 
 father in. Brian knew he had the rest of his life 
 to love her in. 
 
 Colette came to the door presently, and said in a 
 whisper : 
 
 "She 's frightfully exhausted, Brian. She 's been 
 through a great deal, poor little soul, and she 's nerv- 
 ous. But she says if she can just feel you sitting 
 by her, she knows she can go to sleep." 
 
 Brian went in, sat beside her, and held her small 
 fingers in his large, firm clasp. She looked up at 
 him a lovely look. 
 
 "God and you " murmured Marya Jadwiga.
 
 278