XXIX. DOROTHY'S SOLUTION
Quentin carried her forth into the night. When Turk came upon him inthe darkness a few minutes later, he was wandering about thehilltop, the limp figure of the woman he loved in his arms, callingupon her to speak to him, to forgive him. The little man checked himjust in time to prevent an ugly fall over a steep embankment.
"My God, she's dead, Turk!" he groaned, placing her tenderly on thegrassy sward and supporting her head with his arm. "The wretch haskilled her."
"He's paid for it, if he did. I guess it's nothin' but a faint er afit. Does she have fits?" demanded Turk, earnestly. Quentin paid noheed to him, but feverishly began working with her, hope springingfrom Turk's surmise.
"Turk, if she dies, I swear to God I'll kill myself this night!"cried he.
"You're talkin' crazy, sir. She's comin' around all right, allright. Hear that? Her eyes'll be busy in a minute, and she'll beaskin' where she's at. Just keeled over, that's all. All women doesthat w'en they git's as glad as she wuz. They faint 'cause it'seasier'n it is to tell how much obliged they are. I know 'em. Theypass up hard jobs like that ontil they gits time t' look all palean' interestin' an' tuckered-out, an' then they ain't no use sayin'much obliged, 'cause th' man won't stand fer it a minute."
Turk was kneeling opposite Quentin and was scratching match aftermatch, holding them above the pale face until they burnt his fingertips. When Dorothy at last opened her eyes she looked into the mostterrifying face she had ever seen, and, as the lids closed againspasmodically, a moan came from her lips. Turk's bristled face wascovered with blood that had dried hours ago, and he was a mostuncanny object to look upon. "Darn me, she's askeert of my mug! I'llduck ontil you puts her nex'."
"Look up Dorothy! It is Phil! Don't be afraid, dearest; you aresafe!" He knew that her eyes were open again, although it was toodark to see them.
"Is it you, Phil?" she whispered.
"Yes, yes!"
"Where is--where is he?" in terror.
"He cannot harm you now. He is gone."
"But I saw his face just now. Oh, you are not telling me the truth!"
"You saw Turk's face, dearest. What a time we had in finding you!But you are safe now, thank God!"
She lay very still, striving to convince herself that she was awakeand that she was really listening to Philip Quentin's voice, hoarseand eager. Her hand went to his face, impulsively searching for thefeatures her eyes could not see. Strong ringers seized it, and dry,burning lips kissed it again and again--lips parched with fever. Theheart of the woman asserted itself at once, and concern succeededperplexity.
"Oh, Phil, you are ill--you should not be here!" she cried, indistress, and, before he could prevent she was on her feet, swayingdizzily.
"Then you are not hurt!" he cried. "Thank God for that!" His arm wasabout her waist, and a wave of security and contentment rolledthrough her being.
"Take me back to the castle, Phil," she said, simply. "You willnever know how unhappy I have been, how I have blamed myself forrunning away as I did. But, oh, I thought he was a priest, and Iwanted to prove that you could not keep me there."
"You do not have to stay there, Dorothy," he said, slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"I have been a fool, an ingrate, a brute, but I will atone if it ispossible. In your note you said you would forgive the others. Idon't ask pardon for myself, but I implore you to shield them.Perhaps it is too late; this detective has exposed us--"
"He swore to me that he had not, but he knows everything, and maycarry the word to the authorities," she interrupted, in distress.
"The secret is safe if he worked alone, for he is dead. Don't befrightened; he fell over a cliff in the darkness. Turk!"
"Here, sir."
"We must get back to the castle as soon as possible. It is fivemiles, at least. Try to find a trap of some sort at once. MissGarrison cannot walk that distance."
"But I can and will," she objected. "I am not hurt and I am strongerthan you."
"Nonsense! I'm all right. I will return with you to Brusselsto-morrow. Your imprisonment is at an end. There is no need for youto think again of escape, for you are free to go at this moment.Come back to Lady Saxondale for a while, though, and when you areable to go with me we will take the train for Brussels. Believe me,I am sorry, but I am not fool enough to ask you to forgive. I don'tdeserve pardon, perhaps, but I know that my heart was in the rightand that I saved you from a much worse bondage than that which youhave spent in Castle Craneycrow."
As if in a dream, she walked with him through the first faint lightof the dawning day, stunned by the unexpected words he had uttered.In her mind there began to grow, rebelliously, the fear that hewould do as he said! Turk, following close behind, suddenly gave aloud shout and sped away like a flash in front of them.
"It's Mr. Savage," he yelled back to the startled couple, "an' he'son horseback! Hi, there!"
As Dickey Savage came plunging up the slope, roaring with excitedjoy, she said to Ouentin, her voice low and intense:
"I know now that you saved me from a worse fate than death, Phil,and, if you ask, I will forgive as I hope you will forgive me.Courant was Ugo's tool, and I had the truth from him. You are thetruest, the best of friends, and I should--"
"Stop, Dorothy! Not now, some day, when you are home, after you havehad time to think over all that I have done, right and wrong, I maycome to you with the question I will not ask now. What I have sinnedfor, if you want to call it that, I will sue for some other day whenthe world is looking on. I will not make my prisoner pay penaltywithout a trial."
"I want you to know that I do not hate you," she argued,persistently.
"But you hated me yesterday."
"I did not."
Just then Dickey pounced upon them, and, as they hurried to the spotwhere Turk was holding the newcomer's horse, Phil briefly told howhe and the little ex-burglar had accidentally stumbled upon thehiding-place of the pseudo priest after hours of hopeless search.The two pursuers, tired and despairing, were lying on the ground infront of the church ruins, taking a few moments of rest beforeclimbing to the summit of the hill, when the luckless Courantventured forth. With quick intuition, Turk called out thedetective's name, and the ruse worked. The man they could not seegave a snort of dismay and turned to reenter the door. And then camehis undoing.
Turk was the general who planned the return to the castle. Heinsisted that Quentin, who was very weak, take Miss Garrison uponthe horse's back and ride, while he and Savage walked. In this waythey reached the gates of Craneycrow. It was like the home-coming ofloved ones who had been absent for years. Three women were in tears,and all of the men were in smiles. Quentin's was the smile of onebordering on delirium, however. A chill broke over him, and thefever in his body renewed its disputed sway. An hour later he was inbed, and Turk, dispatched by Dorothy Garrison, was riding to thenearest town for a physician, much against the wishes of the sickman. He stubbornly insisted that he would start with her forBrussels within twenty-four hours, and it was not until the doctortold him that he was in extreme danger of pneumonia that heconsented to keep to his bed.
Resolutely he checked all desire to cry his love into the ear of thegentle nurse who sat with him for hours. He would not grant himselfthe slightest deviation from the course he had sworn to follow, andhe suffered more from restraint than from fever. She found herselflonging for the moment when he would call her to him and pour outthe love that would not be denied. He never spoke but she hoped forsigns of surrender; he never looked at her that she did not expecthis lips to utter the story his eyes were telling, What he enduredin that week of fever, under the strain of love's nursing, only hecould have told--and he told nothing. How she hungered for theluxury of one word, only she knew--and confessed unconsciously.
Had the doctor told her that he was critically ill, she would havecast all restraint aside and wrung from him the words he was holdingback. But the unromantic little doctor calmly broke the fever,subdued the congestion
, relieved the cough and told them that the"young man would be quite well in a few days if he took good care ofhimself."
The days of convalescence were few, for the vigorous strength of thepatient had not been sapped to any great extent. They were days ofhappiness, however, for all who lived in Castle Craneycrow. Dickeyand Lady Jane solemnly and somewhat defiantly approached Lord Bob ona very important matter. He solemnly and discreetly gave hisconsent, and Dickey promised to be very, very good to her so long ashe lived. One day a real priest, Father Bivot, came to the castlegates to solicit alms for the poor of the neighborhood. He wasadmitted, refreshed and made glad by a single donation thatsurpassed in size the combined contributions of a whole valley. Itwas from him that they learned, with no little uneasiness of mind,that the body of Courant had been found, and that it had beenidentified by the Luxemburg authorities. The cause of his death wasa mystery that defied solution, however.
The news that Courant had been found and identified made Quentin allthe more eager to carry out his design to restore Dorothy to hermother. He knew, and all knew, that it was but a question of a fewdays until Ugo and the police would put two and two together andcome racing into the valley, certain that Courant had been killed bythe abductors of Dorothy Garrison.
One morning, therefore, shortly after the visit of Father Bivot, heasked Lord Saxondale for the use of a conveyance, announcing hisintention to drive with Dorothy to the nearest railway station.There was dismay in the heart of everyone who sat at what had been acheerful breakfast table. Quentin deliberately went on to say thathe would take no lackey, preferring to expose none but himself inthe undertaking.
"Can you be ready in an hour, Dorothy?" he asked, after Saxondalehad reluctantly consented.
"Do you insist on carrying out this Quixotic plan, Phil?" she asked,after a long pause.
"Positively."
"Then, I can be ready in half an hour," she said, leaving the tableabruptly.
"Confound it, Phil; she'd rather stay here," said Dickey, miserably.
"I intend to restore her to her mother, just the same. There's nouse discussing it, Dickey. If they don't throw me into jail atBrussels, I may return in a day or two."
There was a faint flush in Dorothy's cheeks as she bade good-bye tothe party. Lady Saxondale sagely remarked, as the trap rolled out ofsight among the trees below the castle, that the flush was productof resentment, and Dickey offered to wager L20 that she would be anengaged girl before she reached Brussels.
"Do you know the road, Phil?" asked Dorothy, after they had gonequite a distance in silence. She looked back as she spoke, and hereyes uttered a mute farewell to the grim old pile of stone on thecrest of the hill.
"Father Bivot gave me minute directions yesterday, and I can't missthe way. It's rather a long drive, Dorothy, and a tiresome one foryou, perhaps. But the scenery is pretty and the shade of the forestwill make us think we are again in the Bois de la Cambre.
"If I were you, I would not go to Brussels," she said, after anotherlong period of silence, in which she painfully sought for means todissuade him from entering the city. She was thinking of the bigreward for his capture and of the greedy officials who could not bedenied.
"Do you think I am afraid of the consequences?" he asked, bitterly.She looked at the white face and the set jaws and despaired.
"You are not afraid, of course, but why should you be foolhardy? Whynot put me in the coach for Brussels and avoid the risk of beingseized by the police? I can travel alone. If you are taken, how canyou or I explain?" she went on, eagerly.
"You have promised to shield the rest," he said, briefly.
"I know, but I want to shield you. Haven't I told you that I forgiveeverything? Don't make me unhappy, Phil. It would kill me now if youwere to fall into the hands of the police. They are crazy to catchmy abductors, and don't you remember what the paper said? It saidthe people would kill without mercy. Please, Phil, for my sake,don't go to Brussels. It is so unnecessary and so hazardous."
"Pray, tell me what explanation you could give to your mother, tothe police, to the newspapers, if you suddenly appeared in Brussels,safe and sound, and yet unable to tell who had been your captors orwhere you have been held?" he grimly said.
"I would not offer an explanation," she said, decisively, as if thatsettled everything.
"But you would be compelled to make some statement, my dear girl.You couldn't drop in there as if from the sky and not tell where youhave been and with whom. The truth would be demanded, and you couldnot refuse. What would the world, your mother, the prince, think--"
"Don't mention that man's name to me," she cried.
"Well, what would be the natural conclusion if you refused to givean explanation? Don't you see that the papers would make a sensationof the matter? There is no telling what they would say about you.The world would jump at the scandal bait, and you would be the mostnotorious of women, to be perfectly plain with you. If you refuse toexpose the people who abducted you, there could be but oneinference. It would simply mean that you were a party to the plotand fled to evade the wedding at St. Gudule's. Upon whom wouldsuspicion fall? Upon the man who was supposed to have sailed for NewYork, and upon his friends. Where have you been during the last fewweeks? If you did not answer, the world would grin and say, 'In NewYork, and of her own volition!' Don't you see, Dorothy, there is butone way to end this horrible mistake of mine? Only one way toprotect you from humiliation, even degradation?"
"You mean by--" she began, faintly, afraid to complete the dreadedsurmise.
"By the surrender of the real criminal," he said, calmly.
"I will not agree to that!" she cried, imperatively. "If you giveyourself up to them, Philip Quentin, I will deny every word of yourconfession," she went on, triumphantly.
"I'm afraid they would doubt you," he responded, but his heartleaped gladly.
"And do you know what else I shall do if you persist? I'll tell theworld that you were not alone in this affair, and I'll send theofficers to Castle Craneycrow to arrest every--" she was cryinghysterically, when he interrupted.
"But you have promised to shield them!"
"Promised! I will forget that I ever made a promise. Philip Quentin,either I go to Brussels alone or every person in Craneycrow goes toprison with you. I'll not spare one of them. Promise? What do I carefor that promise? Do as you like, Phil, but I mean every word ofit!"
"You wouldn't dare, Dorothy, you wouldn't dare!" he cried,imploringly. "They are not to blame. I am the guilty one. They arenot--"
"One way or the other, Phil!" she cried, firmly. "It is safety forall or disgrace for all. Now, will you go to Brussels?"
"But, my heavens, how can you explain to the world?" he cried, indeepest distress.
"I have thought of all that. Providence gave me the solution," shesaid, her face beaming with the joy of victory.
"Not even Providence can supply an explanation," he groaned.
"You forget Courant, the dead man. He cannot deny the charge if Iconclude to accuse him of the crime. He is the solution!"
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