XXVI
THE VISTULA!
It was a weary journey. Confused, discouraged, losing their paths a score of times each hour, they lurched forward through the gloom of night and the unfeeling dawn of the next day. They prayed a ceaseless prayer for succor and – the Vistula. They were hungry, for the last crumb of food had been lost in fording a boisterous stream in their road, and in the darkness they had been unable to recover it. Rough stones cut Trusia's feet, but she uttered no complaint. The brambles tore her clothes, and scarred her hands, while more than one low-hanging limb clutched at her hair. Nor did Carter fare any better.
The second morning found them helplessly lost in the forest. By sheer strength he broke down saplings and built a wigwam in which Trusia could rest. He caught a rabbit, off which they fared for one meal and still frugally saved a portion for the necessities of mid-day. When that time came around, the girl generously insisted that he should take it all, there not being enough for both, and he having been unable to snare any other unwary woodland denizen. Of course he refused. She looked at him, grief-stricken and imploring. Still he would not yield. Then came their nearest approach to a quarrel. Fatigued, depressed, bewildered, it is no wonder that the strained nerves gave way.
"See, Calvert," she said at last, looking at him through tear-dimmed eyes, "I give in. I'll feel like a cannibal, though; I know I shall – eating your strength." Unable to refrain under the yielding influences, he bent toward her for a kiss of reconciliation, but she gently held him off.
"Not yet," she said gravely, "not yet."
With mid-afternoon they resumed their weary advance and maintained their plodding way through the night. Along toward dawn of this, the third, day of their flight, a suggestive, recurrent, monotonous sigh in the air told their hopeful ears that they were drawing near a large body of water.
"Do you hear it, Calvert?" she asked ecstatically, a convulsive hand upon his elbow.
"Yes," he answered in a voice husky with thanksgiving, "it is right over the breast of that bank of firs. Oh, little girl," he said bending the depths of his eyes into her soul, "I am glad for you. You are safe."
"I have been safe all along with you, Calvert," she smiled up into his face.
He half turned away his head, her smile was as intoxicating as strong wine. "Don't say that," he said guiltily. "I am but a man and more than once – in the solitude – I was tempted."
She smiled an Eve-taught reproof. "Yet you did not yield, my lover. Come, let us race the last few steps for the first view of the river."
Their clothes in flags, disheveled, bruised, unkempt, like wild things of the woods, they rushed from the forest to the edge of the river. The Vistula!
"There lies Austria," he cried exultantly, pointing to the other shore.
"And here – and here," she cried with a little sob halting her words, – "and here lies – here lies poor, poor Krovitch." Tears came and saved her reason, for under the heavy strain her senses reeled. Then both together they searched for the ferry; but doubtless miles away from the end of the tiny path, it was a hopeless task to search further. As despondently they gave up the quest, Carter turned a grove-covered bend in the river.
"Look, Trusia," he called back to her; "a yacht – an American yacht! See," he cried in a frenzy of delight, "there is the flag. The flag – the stars and stripes! Oh, fate is kind." He seized the girl and whirled her around in a dervish dance of joy, hallooing at the top of his voice.
There came an answer presently to his cheers. "They have heard us, doubtless," he said, peering shipward. Then his eyes lit with a new discovery. "That's the New York Yacht Club pennant. Owner's aboard and I'm darned – I beg pardon – if it isn't Billy Saunderson's signal at the peak. Funny that they answered our hail when no one seems on deck."
"Hark, Calvert, what is that?" asked Trusia apprehensively. He bent his head fearfully toward the forest. Shouts, the crackling of fallen twigs, cheers and commands in Russian, greeted their ears.
"And we thought it was some one on the boat," was his only comment. "You are too late, Mr. Tsar," he called back as he waved his hand as if in farewell. "My countryman is a friend of mine," he said in explanation to the trembling girl. "He will give us a berth, never fear. We will have to swim for it, though."
"But I can't swim a stroke, Calvert. I will only hamper you. You save yourself, sweetheart. They will never take me. I promise you. Do go, dear."
"Nonsense. Will you trust yourself with me? I can handle two like you."
She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in a woman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.
"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."
In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter was numbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their cruel journey had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from the very start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung to his shoulders.
About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream was accomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledged boundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused the swimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to see the first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Then with a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.
"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.
"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught yet. How close are they?"
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.
Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a companionway.
"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.
"They have gained only about ten yards."
Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. His arms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He made superhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.
"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice rasping out sharply under his strain.
"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she responded solacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.
His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His head throbbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solid thing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.
"I'll make it – I'll make it – I'll make it," he repeated in semi-conscious determination. "How near now?" he gasped back to her.
"They have gained in all about fifty yards." She began to weep softly. It acted like a spur to his flagging strength. It was helpless womankind calling upon man for succor. His eyes felt like overripe fruit, ready to burst, and blue flashes of pain danced before them. Then all things looked black – a veil had fallen in front of him.
"I'll make it – I'll make it – I'll make it," his iteration sounded like a mocking echo flung back into his ears. "I must not sink," he asserted to himself. "Not until I have saved Trusia," his thoughts were becoming incapable of coherence.
"Aboard the Bronx. Aboard the Bronx." His voice sounded a long way off. His movements were becoming feebly automatic. He was sure a maliciously grinning horseman was reaching out for Trusia, though it was impossible to see him.
"Now?" he gasped.
"Only five yards away," she answered calmly.
It is easy to die, easier to drown, when there is no escape.
XXVII
YOU ARE STILL MY KING
It seemed that the shadows were being withdrawn from his eyes, just as a curtain is pulled back from a window. As consciousness became a more certain quantity he wondered vaguely why he did not feel drenched and uncomfortable, instead of cozy and warm. He was aware of a pinkish-gray blur hanging above his head; this slowly resolved itself into a human face. While he could not distinguish the features in the darkened light of the room, he was certain that it was that of a woman.
"Trusia," he cried ecstatically.
"Please be quiet," responded an unfamiliar voice in a tone of undemurrable authority. He pondered. He puzzled. Finally he gathered courage to speak.
"Who are you?" he queried dubiously.
"I am the nurse," came back indulgently through the dim haze of semi-consciousness still enveloping him.
"Nurse," he exclaimed, throwing off the gray mist, to notice for the first time that he was in his own bed and room, in New York City. Accepting conditions as they were for the time being, he settled back and sighed the long, indolent sigh of convalescence. He glanced expectantly toward the door, Carrick should be coming soon with the much needed shaving things. Carrick? It all came back to him now. He no longer was satisfied to lie back comfortably on the pillow and dream the hazy dreams of the convalescent. Carrick was dead and he himself had been drowned – but Trusia? He groaned in great distress. The nurse hastened to his side.
"Are you in pain?" she asked, a trifle surprised that such a symptom should appear in this case.
"No," he said abstractedly, his mind revisiting the banks of the Vistula; "no, I am not in pain. I was thinking."
The nurse held a draught to his lips. Carter resolutely put it to one side. "Wait," he commanded, "I must know how I came here, or I will not rest with a thousand soporifics."
"Mr. Saunderson picked you up just as you were drowning in the Vistula. You have been ill ever since – delirious."
"Good old Billy," he said in gratitude, then turned a silent inquiry on the nurse. She saw the awful heart-hunger in his eyes and, had she followed her impulse, would have thrown a sisterly arm about him in solace, so compelling was the look, so hopeless its message. "Was any – was any one saved with me?" he ventured. "Did any one come with me here? On the boat? For God's sake, nurse, tell me." His quivering life seemed hanging in the balance. The magnitude of his gravity filled the woman with sudden apprehension. She feared equally to tell him or refuse him.
"I was not there, Mr. Carter. I cannot tell," she compromised. "Mr. Saunderson will make his usual call this afternoon. You can ask him; he will doubtless tell you." Partially reassured by this, Carter fell asleep.
When he awoke he felt much stronger. The nurse was standing at the bedside smiling down at him.
"Mr. Saunderson is waiting in the library. If I let him come in to see you, will you be good?"
Carter readily promised, as he would have anything just then, at the opportunity of resolving his doubts. Saunderson was ushered in quietly; when he bent over the patient, the latter wrenched the proffered hand with hysterical strength.
"See here, Carter, this won't do," said his caller, making a wry face; "I believe that you have been shamming these two months."
"Two months?" Carter sat upright. "Have I been laid up that long?"
"To the very day," said Saunderson, smiling.
"Tell me, Billy, how you came to be out there. I want to thank you for saving my life, though I don't know yet whether you have done a wise or a foolish thing."
"So? How soon can you let me know? Dorothy says it's the only sensible, useful thing I've ever done. You always were a favorite of Mrs. Saunderson, you know."
"It's a serious matter, Billy, so I want the truth for what I'm going to ask you. Give it to me straight from the shoulder and don't mince matters. Promise?"
"I must confess, Cal, I don't see what you're driving at, but I suppose it's all right. Yes, I promise. Now, fire away. Wait a minute. Perhaps I'd better lead off with how I got there. You've been pretty loose up here, you know," he touched his forehead by way of illustration. "Perhaps I may save you the worry of framing up questions – my account may cover everything."
"Did I talk much – rot?" asked Carter.
"Yes, rather. Calling all the time for Trusia – said Carrick was a King – and lots more of the same kind. Who was Trusia?"
"The Duchess of Schallberg." Carter's reply was unnaturally grave and his face solemn and tense. "Tell me, Billy," he requested quietly, "when I sank – was there any one with me?"
"It might have been a bundle of rags – it might have been a man or a woman, I rather thought it was a woman. What did you do, Cal, run off with some Cossack's wife?"
"It was Her Grace."
"The deuce it was!" exclaimed Saunderson.
Carter bent forward until their faces were close. "Oh, Billy," he begged piteously, "don't tell me you let her drown! Don't tell me she is dead! Don't – "
"I didn't. She isn't," said Saunderson with more care for denial than lucidity. He laid a restraining, friendly hand on Carter's shoulder.
"You saved her too, then?" The thin talon-like hand clutched Billy's like a vise.
"No," answered Saunderson reluctantly, beginning to see how matters stood.
"Where is she then?" was the eager question.
"See here, Cal, you haven't given me a chance to tell you how I came to be there. I'm just aching for the opportunity too. You don't know it, but I had a bet with Jackson that you'd go over there when the matter became known to you. Naturally I took more than a casual interest in Krovitch after that. Reports got disturbing, so I ran the Bronx over to sort of hang around until needed. To be perfectly frank, I was looking for you. When the skipper called me that morning and said some one was swimming for the boat I took a long guess that it was you. The first time you sank the launch was almost on top of you. We pulled you out of the very claws of a Cossack."
"But the girl? – But Her Grace of Schallberg?" It was pitiable how abject a strong man could become.
"If that was the Duchess of Schallberg, Cal, a second Russian picked her up, apparently unconscious, and made off with her – toward the Austrian shore. Just why he went that way no one seemed to know. His comrades fired after them. No, don't start; no one hit. Bum shots, those Asiatics."
Seeing the terrible pressure under which Carter was laboring, the nurse came forward at this juncture and sent Saunderson away. For some unaccountable reason Carter could not force the conviction on himself that serious evil had befallen Trusia. Hope departs only with life. Paradoxical as it may seem, he worried not about her safety, but about the dangers which, without his aid, she could overcome only with great difficulty. Such is the egotism of love. He reverted anxiously to the story of her questionable rescue. Who could the Cossack have been – why hadn't he returned to his comrades? Why, – why, – why? Question followed question, like the alarm bells at a fire. At last he wearily fell asleep.
He opened his eyes the second time to find the day was gathering darkness from the corners and niches of the room.
"Nurse," he called. In an instant, silent as the gloaming, she approached the bed. "Might I have my mail? It must have been accumulating for months."
"You must not read," she said firmly.
"Then read for me," he urged.
Wise as any daughter of Eve, she selected intuitively that one letter which she knew would satisfy him so that he would forget there were others. It bore the post-mark "Wien."
"Here is one from Vienna," she explained, "shall I read that?"
"Yes, yes," he acceded, tingling with anticipation. She tore off the edge with feminine precision. "Who wrote it?" he queried, unable to await its perusal. He was partly up now, leaning forward on his elbow, his white face gleaming through the dusk. The green shade of the lamp accentuated his pallor.
"It is signed 'Sobieska,'" she replied, after turning to the subscription.
"Oh," he said in evident disappointment, and sank back on the pillow.
"Here's what he says:
"When Her Grace, under your escort, left us on the road to the charcoal burner's we had a desperate fight. Muhlen-Sarkey, after giving a good account of himself, fell like the noble gentleman he was and jested with death. Zulka was killed in a three-to-one fight. Delmotte fell badly wounded but not seriously. Casimir and the rest were killed. A cut over the head rendered me unconscious and I fell across Delmotte. Supposing that we were dead, anxious for repairs themselves, the Russians did not disturb us. About dusk I came to and aided Delmotte across the frontier. I returned, determined to reinforce you and Her Grace if I could catch up with you, for I had found out how things were at your first stopping-place.
"Carefully following the path to the ferry, imagine my surprise at espying a man running rapidly along the same path but toward me. The mutual discovery was simultaneous. It was Josef. He, quicker than I could, drew his revolver. By dodging behind trees, however, I got past him. Had I not had a more sacred duty to Her Grace just then, I should have risked all for the pleasure of killing that snake. After this rencounter, I proceeded more carefully until I reached the cabin in the clearing. Here I found the bodies of two Russian Cossacks, dead apparently from the night before. Both had been killed by the sword. Your work, as I surmised. One was a lieutenant. I appropriated his uniform as a safeguard in case I met other interruptions. His horse was luckily tethered in the woods. Thanking my good fortune, I mounted and pushed on.
"I soon was to be enlightened as to the dangers of your flight; though in sympathy with the quarry I was running with the hunters.
"Stimulated by a large reward, offered by their commandant at Schallberg, the country was overrun by Russians searching for the Lady Trusia. I constantly met them. Being very ignorant fellows, they took me for what I seemed to be. By working on their credulity I got each party that I met to believe that I had private information as to the whereabouts of the fugitives whom I had been despatched to capture by the commanding officer himself. Of course forbidding them to follow me, they all trailed after me. Supposing that you had followed the bypath, I plunged right through the most trackless part of the wilderness, to keep the pursuit as far from you as possible. What my fate would be when they discovered I had cheated them, I didn't stop to weigh; if I knew Her Grace was safe, I could but die.
"Imagine my despair when, on reaching the Vistula, I found I had actually led the pursuit right upon you. At first I considered the advisability of selling my life then and there, carrying down as many as possible in death with me, but I saw that my sword could not account for enough to scare off the pursuit. When you took to the water, I apparently joined the chase. By your side, in the water, I would have a better chance. I helped Her Grace to escape. Was sorry to leave you, but my first duty was to save her. You were not wholly neglected either. I saw you pulled aboard a yacht, which, not seeing my desperate signals, took its course at once toward the mouth of the river.
"Her Grace is safe. I have offered her the poor protection of my impoverished name, only to learn that she loves you. I assure you that since I learned this, no sister could receive tenderer treatment. I congratulate you. Come at once. Frankly, my scanty funds will be exhausted in three weeks' time. It is impossible to get employment here."
There followed some friendly phrases, their address in Vienna, and the subscription.
"What is the date of the letter?" Carter asked apprehensively.
"June second," came the quiet reply.
"And to-day is – "
"July seventeenth."
"What has become of them?" he groaned. "What can they think of me? A messenger boy, nurse, at once. Are you paralyzed?"
XXVIII
A RE-UNION
Four short months before, Carter and Carrick had set out for Krovitch. It did not seem possible that so many conclusive, completed events could have transpired in that limited time. It seemed more like some whirlwind dream to the man who, pale and wan, sat in the reading-room of the Racquet Club gazing indolently at the passing throng outside the club windows. It was Calvert Carter, of course, who so reasoned.
Carrick was dead, he continued in his reflections. Of a certainty this had been a grievous blow, but even this was overshadowed by the doubt as to the whereabouts of his beloved Trusia.
"Four months ago," he said aloud in his surprise, "the same man sat in this same club, before this same window, and" – he paused, while his hand ran along the arm of the chair as he glanced down at it, – "in this very chair. He fretted because life could not give him enough of excitement and contest – could not give him love. Well, to show him that her resources were boundless, Life gave him all he wanted – then took back her gifts." Relapsing into silence again with a heavy sigh, he contemplated the strange warp of destiny.
Trusia, his beloved Trusia, – where was she? Wealth had not been spared, nor time, in a hitherto fruitless effort to locate her. On this, his first excursion from the sick-room, he was already planning to take up the search himself – to scour Europe until he found her. Yet some instinct, stronger than he dared admit, warned him that she was closer to him where he now sat.
Puzzled, he gazed out the window, hoping that the panorama of the moving crowds would ease his worried mind. A man's face detached itself from the encircling throng, catching and holding Carter's attention. He leaned eagerly forward, why, he could not have explained. At this, the man, also turned and looked. An impartial observer of both would have said that these two were in doubt as to whether they recognized each other. The man on the sidewalk, while clean, was rather seedy-looking and apparently a foreigner. His face was drawn and hollow as though privation had sculptured there. His beard was full and streaked with gray. His eyes alternately burned with the fires of inward visions and dulled with disappointment at hopes destroyed. Carter arose and went closer to the window, with steps still unsteady in his convalescence.
The stranger had passed, but, noting Carter's action, repassed, evidently as much at loss as the man inside. To him, too, there was something strangely familiar about the thin, pale face, the languid, hopeless air, of the man in the club window, – but they were not the attributes of the man he remembered. Nor was this shade the vigorous friend he had known so short a while before.
Carter walked deliberately out to the street and extended his hand to the passer-by who had so strangely moved him. Recognition was complete.
"It is you, at last, Sobieska," he said as the thin hand of the Krovitzer closed over his own. A smile lighted up the half-veiled eyes, he read in the American's soul that word of their distress had come too late.
"Come into the club," Carter urged him. Sobieska smiled grimly as he glanced down at his shabby garments. Carter understood.
"Let's walk out to the Park," suggested the Krovitzer. "I have something to tell you that I know you are anxious to hear. Wait, though, until we get out of the crowd. You don't want Fifth Avenue as an audience, do you?" he asked as he noted the quick joy which lit Carter's face.
"Just one question," Calvert begged. "Is she well?"
"Yes," replied the Krovitzer, confining himself to the naked assent. Then, pitying the man who had been so wofully shaken since their parting in Krovitch, he opened the gate of Pity a bit and added, "She is in New York."
Carter stopped short in the street and turned to read in the other's eyes whether this promised miracle was true or false. He reached out and caught Sobieska's hand and wrung it with the fervor he would fain have loosed in a cheer.
"Thank God," he said vehemently. "Are we going to her, now?"
Sobieska nodded an affirmative.
"Is it far?"
"Not over two miles."
"And you intend to walk? Great Scott, man, do you think I have lead in my veins instead of blood?"
"No, Carter, but remember that I have no longer money at my command. Poverty has taught me strange tricks of economy. Pride would not let me think of asking you if you preferred riding."
"You might have known," said Carter reproachfully, "that every cent I have would be at your disposal for such an errand."
His companion nodded his head wearily. Was the fellow not satisfied, he thought? It meant that he was being led to the woman that he, Sobieska, loved with fervor equal to Carter's. Why should he hasten the minute that would place her in the American's arms? Ah, well, Trusia loved him. That must suffice. They entered a cab which had drawn up in answer to Carter's hail.
"I will not apologize for our lodgings," said Sobieska, as he gave a cheap East Side locality to the driver as their destination. "Thousands of my countrymen have no better."
As the cab rattled along, he gave the details of their varied vicissitudes and the determined faith of Trusia in Carter, culminating in her insistence that they come to New York to find him. "Some woman instinct told her that you had not received my letter and she feared that some calamity had befallen you that nothing but her coming would dispel." By the work of his hands and the sweat of his brow he had finally been able to secure their passage on an ocean steamship.
"We arrived two weeks ago to-morrow," said the Krovitzer. "Twice I called at your house, three times at your club. They supposed I was some beggar, no doubt, and never gave you my messages. Having no money over actual necessities for either telephones or postage stamps, I took the poor man's way of communicating with you while I sought work – waited till I could see you. In fact, Carter, to be perfectly frank, I did not know but that our altered circumstances might influence you as it has some other acquaintances I have appealed to."
"That is unjust, Sobieska," said Carter.
"I should have known better," answered Sobieska apologetically, "but, Carter, we have had some pretty hard knocks. You were silent to my letter – how could I guess you were ill? I was rebuffed at both your house and club. A sensitive man might well read your acquiescence in such treatment. Will you accept my apology? Here we are," he added, as the cab drew up to the curb.
"Don't apologize," said Carter, shaking him by the hand, while his eyes hungrily devoured the front of the tenement with avidity that sought for some sign of Trusia. "Is this the place?" The grimy pile was sanctified in his eyes as it sheltered the woman to whom he had given his whole heart.
Trembling like an eager child, after dismissing the cabby, he scrambled breathlessly after his guide up steep and dirty stairs to the third floor, past passages and open doors, which showed more than one family huddled together in single apartments.
"She does not live as these?" he asked with repugnance.
"No," said his companion, regarding a group with unconcealed compassion, "I was fortunate enough to secure a separate room for her, poor as it is." But the man nobly concealed the price he had had to pay, to be content to sleep upon a straw mattress in a sub-cellar – nor did Trusia know what sacrifices her former minister was making for her meagre comforts.
The door of an apartment stood open at the end of the next turn in the entry. Both men, hushed by conflicting emotions, stood regarding the scene before them.
At a window, her face a trifle thinner, more spirituelle, because of her heartaches, sat Trusia. The light, touching the edges of her hair, glinted into an iridescent halo about her face. Across her knees lay a little child. Its mother, with anxious, peasant face, was bending over its ailing form, while the large, whole-souled regard which Trusia bent upon the tiny form made a picture of a modern Madonna.
Then, the air whispered its tidings to her soul. She glanced up and saw Carter standing in the passageway. Gently placing the infant in the maternal arms held out for it, she arose and without a spoken word came to him; came so close that there was nothing for him to do but to take her tenderly in his arms. Assured of their right, her hands lay on his shoulders, while her eyes sought out his soul.
Then, careless whether the whole world looked on or not, their lips met gently, lingeringly.
"Though all thrones have fallen," she sighed blissfully, "you are still my King."
"Trusia, my Trusia," he said, while Sobieska fled silently from their view.