By Wit of Woman

by Arthur W. Marchmont

  CHAPTER XVI

  A WISP OF RIBBON

  Karl was sitting in an attitude of moody dejection; his elbow on thearm of the chair, and face resting on his hand; and he turned slowly asI opened the door. The look of gloomy indifference vanished, and herose quickly with a glance of intense surprise.

  "Chris--Miss Gilmore!" he exclaimed.

  "You asked for Madame d'Artelle. I have come to say she has left thehouse," I said in a quite steady tone.

  "But you--how do you come to be here? I don't understand."

  "I thought you knew I was Madame d'Artelle's companion."

  "But they told me you had gone away--to Paris."

  "I did start, but I came back."

  "I have been twice to-day to her house to ask for you. I was verynearly rushing off to Paris after you. I'm glad I didn't." He saidthis quite simply, and then his face clouded. "But if I understand allthis, may I--may I take to opium again?" His eyes cleared, and hesmiled as he spoke the last words.

  "I hope you will never do that," I replied.

  "No, I shan't--now. Do you remember what I said to you in the gardensyesterday? Yesterday--why it seems twenty years ago."

  "You mean that you would hate me if I stopped you taking it?"

  "Yes, that's it. I _have_ hated you too, I can tell you. I couldn'thelp it--but I haven't taken any since. It's cost something to keepfrom it; but I've done it. And I shall be all right--now. I nearlygave in, though, when I heard you'd left the city."

  "I knew that you had the strength to resist when I spoke to youyesterday," and I looked at him steadily. He returned the look for amoment.

  "It's wonderful," he murmured. "Positively wonderful." Then in alouder tone: "I think you must have hypnotised me."

  "Oh, no. I only appealed to your stronger nature--your former self.You have the strength to resist, but you let it rust."

  "I wonder if you would like to know why?"

  "No, thank you," I cried rather hurriedly.

  My haste seemed to amuse him. "Well, I don't suppose it matters. Thenyou're not going to Paris?"

  "Not yet--at any rate."

  "Then I shall see you sometimes. I must if I'm to keep from it, youknow."

  "Yes, if possible and necessary."

  "It is necessary, and I'll make it possible. You don't know theresponsibility you've taken on yourself so lightly."

  "Perhaps I have not taken it lightly, but intentionally."

  "You can't be _here_ intentionally," he said, with a start. "Youcan't, because--do you mean that you know what I'm supposed to havecome here for?" Half incredulous, this.

  "Yes, quite well."

  "That they want to drive me to marry Hen--Madame d'Artelle? And thatmy brother will be here with a priest in half an hour or so?"

  "I did not know your brother was coming," and the news gave me a twingeof uneasiness. "But my object was to prevent the marriage takingplace."

  "Why?" he asked, somewhat eagerly.

  "Her husband is still living."

  "I mean, why did you wish to prevent it?"

  "I will tell you that presently."

  "Tell me now."

  "No."

  "Yes--I insist."

  "That is no use with me."

  "Isn't it? We'll see. You know what I carry here;" and he slid hisfingers into the pocket from which I had before seen him take the opiumpills. "I shall take it if you don't tell me."

  "You must do as you please. But you have none with you."

  "How do you know?"

  "You told Madame d'Artelle so, in the carriage."

  He laughed and took out a little phial half full of them, and held itup. "She is stupid. Do you think I should regard it as more than halfa victory if I didn't carry this with me? Will you drive me back to itnow?"

  He took out one of the pills, held it up, and gazed at it with eyesalmost haggard with greedy longing.

  "This is childish," I said.

  "No, it's a question of your will or mine. Will you tell me or shall Itake this? One or the other. You can undo your own work. I canscarcely bear the sight of it."

  "I accept the challenge," I answered after a second's pause. "It isyour will or mine. Rather than see you take that I will tell you----"

  "I knew you would," he broke in triumphantly.

  "But if I do, I declare to you on my honour that the instant I havetold you, I will leave the room and the house, and never see you again."

  The look of triumph melted away slowly. "I don't want victory on thoseterms. You've beaten me. Look here." He opened the long Frenchwindow, flung the pill out into the night, and then emptied the phial."Rather than--than what you said;" and he looked round and sighed.

  "Thank you," I said.

  In the pause the sound of horses' hoofs on the hard road, reached usthrough the open window.

  "Here come Gustav and the priest, I expect."

  I bit my lip. "I don't want him to see me," I said, hurriedly.

  "What does it matter?"

  "Everything."

  He closed the window. "What will you do?"

  "I will lock myself in one of the rooms upstairs and tell my servantsto say Madame d'Artelle is too ill to see him."

  "Your servant?"

  "Don't stop to ask questions. I can explain all presently. Do as Iwish--please. He thinks you are--are drugged----"

  "Not drugged--drunk; but how do you know that?"

  "Madame d'Artelle thought so at first." The horses were now so nearthat I could hear them through the closed window. "You can stillpretend. Lie on the sofa there. For Heaven's sake be quick. Thereare but two or three minutes at most now."

  "Oh, I'll get rid of them."

  I took this for assent, and hurried out of the room as the carriagestopped at the door. Calling James Perry I told him what do to and ranup again to the room where I had been before.

  I would not have a light but sat first on the edge of the bed,wondering what would happen, whether I should be discovered, how longCount Gustav would stay, and how Karl would do as he had said.

  The house was badly built, and I could hear the murmur of voices in theroom below. I slipped to the floor and lay with my ear to the groundin my anxiety to learn what went on. I could hear nothing distinctly,however. The murmurs were louder, but I could not make out the words.

  Then I remembered about Colonel Katona, and crossing to the windowpulled the blind aside and looked out wondering whether he was stillnear the house.

  The moonlight was brighter, but the shadows of the trees thicker anddarker; and for a long time I could distinguish nothing. The carriageremained at the door; the jingling of the harness, the occasionalpawing of the impatient horses, and the checking word of the coachmantold me this.

  If the Colonel was still there, the presence of the carriage no doubtmade him keep concealed.

  Presently other sounds reached me. Some one unfastened the windows ofthe room below and flung them wide open. A man went out and I heardhis feet grate on the gravel.

  "It's no use. He's dead drunk. We may as well----"

  It was Gustav's voice, and the rest of the words were lost to me, for Ishrank back nervously.

  Then an instinctive impulse caused me to lay my ear to the ground andlisten for the window to be shut. I heard it closed; but there was nosound of the bolt being shot.

  Dark as it was and alone though I was in the room, I know that I turneddeathly white at the possible reason for this which flashed upon me inthat moment; and when I passed my hand across my forehead the beads ofperspiration stood thick upon it. I felt sick and dazed with thehorror that was born of that thought; and my limbs were heavy as Idragged them back across the room to the bed and sat there, listeningintently for the sounds of Count Gustav's departure, and ready to rushdownstairs the instant he had gone.

  There was no longer any need for me to stare vaguely out into thegarden. I knew now that the watcher was there, and why he was there.I
had guessed the secret of that noisily opened window, of the loudlyspoken words, and the closed but unbolted casement.

  The carriage went at last, after I had heard Count Gustav's voice inthe hall below speaking to some one who answered in a lower andindistinct tone.

  While the two were still speaking, I unlocked my door softly and creptout to the head of the stairs; and even as the front door was shut byJames Perry and the carriage started, I ran down.

  "Go in there at once, James, fasten the bolt of the big window, and ifthe blind is up, draw it down. Quick, at once," I told him, andfollowed him into the room.

  Karl was still lying on the couch.

  "Leave the window open, you," he said. "I like the air."

  "I told him to shut it," I said, as I entered and James went out. "Ican't stand the draught and can't bear the look of the dark."

  He sat up when he heard my voice and stared at me.

  "You afraid of the dark? You?"

  "Have you been lying on the couch all the time?" I asked.

  "Yes, Gustav fooled me about and tried to make me get up, but Iwouldn't, but what has that to do with anything? You do nothing butbewilder me--and Gustav too, for that matter."

  "It's time that some things were made clear," I replied. "How did youprevent them coming in search of me?"

  "Very easily. I told him Madame had gone to bed, ill--ill with temper,because I was drunk, and swore I would do her some damage if she camenear me. By the way, what _are_ you going to do?"

  "I don't know. I've succeeded already in the chief part of my purpose,and am not ready yet for the next."

  "What is your purpose?"

  "I am going to tell you. One thing was to prevent your marrying Madamed'Artelle."

  "You said that before when you wouldn't tell me the reason. What isthe reason?"

  "Because I know why the marriage was being forced."

  "So do I--but it doesn't interest me. Although I meant to make Madametell me many things."

  "Probably I can tell you all you wish to know."

  "Why do _you_ think I was to marry Madame d'Artelle?"

  "To complete your ruin in the eyes of the country, to make youimpossible as your father's heir in the event of the plans of thePatriots succeeding. Such a _mesalliance_, added to the reputation fordissoluteness and incapacity which you have made for yourself recentlywould have completed your overthrow."

  "You don't spare me," he said, slowly.

  "There is no need. I am speaking of--the past."

  At the emphasis on the word his face brightened with almost eagerdelight. "What power you have to move me!" he exclaimed. "Yes, it isas you say--the past. And why are you doing all this?"

  "You remember what you said yesterday in the Stadtwalchen--thatprobably I had a motive? You were right. I have."

  "Tell me."

  "Yes. I came here to Pesth for a purpose which has become all in allto me. I looked round for the best means of accomplishing it. First Iwent to General von Erlanger--thinking to work through him. Then I sawand recognized the woman who was reputed to have so much influence overyou--Madame d'Artelle. I knew I could get her into my power, and saidto myself 'I can save Count Karl from her;' and I went to her. At herhouse I learnt the rest; that the plan was to force you to one side infavour of your brother. I said to myself again: 'If I save him fromthat scheme, he will have the power I need, and in common gratitudewill be impelled to help me.' I had not seen you then."

  He listened attentively, but his look grew gradually solemn and gloomy;and he shrugged his shoulders as he answered: "I see. You are like therest. Timber to hew and water to fetch--for yourself. Well? Whatdifference could it make whether you had seen me or not?"

  His manner nettled me. Why, I know not: but I replied sharply: "Didyou think I was a philanthropist--with no other thought but to helpyou? Or that you were so weak and helpless that out of sheer pity astranger would be drawn to help you?"

  He bent his head upon his hand and sighed dejectedly. "Go on," hemurmured. "If I'm disappointed, it hurts no one but myself."

  "If I had seen you, I should not have attempted it. Of that I am quitesure."

  "What a contemptible beast I must have seemed to you! I suppose youknow how you're hurting me? Perhaps you have another motive. If Ihad----" and he slid his fingers into his pockets as if in search ofhis little phial.

  "It's very brave, isn't it, to threaten me like that?" I said, curtly.

  He drew his fingers out as though they had touched fire, and glanced uphurriedly at me.

  "You don't know what a coward it makes of a man," he sighed. "You'remaking it harder for me. You're killing hope. A dangerous experimentwith a patient like me. There's only a very short bridge between meand the past."

  "A bridge you will never recross," I said, firmly.

  He looked up and met my eyes. "Not if you'll stand between it and me,and help me a bit now and then. I'm going to play my part--but youmustn't kill my hopes, you know!"

  "I shall help you all I can, because you cannot help me unless you doplay it."

  He frowned. "I'll play it, if it's only to help you. What is it youwant?"

  "A thing that may be very hard to do."

  "I'll do it. I swear that. It will be an incentive to feel I can helpyou. It gives me a glimmer of hope again and strength, the merethought of it. You don't know how I'd like to please you."

  For a moment I was silent; and in the pause, my ears, which are veryquick, caught a sound which made my heart beat rapidly. The faintcrunch of a footstep on the gravel outside the window.

  He heard nothing, but saw the start I gave. "Why did you start?"

  "Nothing," I said, with an effort to keep my voice steady. "I willtell you what I want. Years ago a great wrong was done to a very closeand dear relative of mine here in Pesth. I came here to seek justicefor his name--for he was left to die in shameful exile, with the wrongunrighted."

  "I looked for anything but that; but I'd do more than that for you,much more. Who and what was he?"

  He had no suspicion of the truth yet; and when I paused, hemisunderstood my hesitation.

  "You don't doubt me?"

  "No; but----" I hesitated; and then there came another sound fromwithout. A hand pushed the window frame; and this time Karl heard it.

  "What was that?" he asked, and rose from the couch.

  "The wind--nothing else."

  "There's no wind," he said. "I'll see."

  I put myself between him and the window. "No, don't open it. I'll"--Istarted and stopped abruptly. I saw something lying on the sofa.

  It was just a wisp of faded ribbon. But it was the favour which he hadbegged of me that night years ago in New York. So he carried it withhim always. The colour left my face and I caught my breath.

  "You are ill? What's the matter? You're not frightened?"

  I stretched out a hand and took it up quickly. I was trembling now.He tried to intercept me and to reach it first.

  "You must give that to me, please," he said shortly, almost sternly."It is mine. It must have fallen out when Gustav was trying to drag meup."

  "It is nothing but a wisp of ribbon," I replied, lightly.

  "I'll give you anything but that," he declared, again sternly.

  "No, I will have this. I have a right to it."

  He grew angry and his face took a look of such determination as I hadnot seen on it before. "No. Not that--at any cost." His voice washoarse, but his manner very firm.

  Our eyes met. His hard and stern; mine all but smiling.

  "I tell you I have a right to it," I said.

  "What do you mean?"

  I paused.

  "That it is mine."

  He knew then. His eyes opened wide and his hands clenched as hestepped back a pace, still gazing full at me; and his voice was deep ashe answered--

  "Then you--my God--you _are_ Christabel?"

  "Yes. I am Christabel von Dreschler-
-it is my father's name that hasto be cleared."

  He made a step toward me, stretching out his arms.

  "No, not while that stain remains--if ever."

  He stood, his arms still partly outstretched, and gazing at me insilence.

  At that moment the pressure of a hand on the window was repeated, andthe frame was shaken.

  He turned to it again. "I must see what that means," he exclaimed.

  "Not if you value your life, or believe that I do."

  For a moment he challenged my look, but then yielded.

  "As you will, of course--now; for all this is your doing;" and with asmile and a sigh he let me have my way.