The Vagrant Duke

by George Gibbs

  CHAPTER XXII

  RETRIBUTION

  When they lifted him into the automobile and Beth got in beside him, hisfingers moved in her own.

  "Beth," she heard him whisper.

  "Peter--I'm here."

  "Thank God. And--and Shad----? He--he was with me----"

  "He's asking for Shad," she repeated to Brierly, unaware that hercousin, like his Biblical namesake, had come scatheless through thefiery furnace. But some one heard the question and replied:

  "Shad's here, Miss. He's all right----"

  "Oh," gasped Peter. "And there's something else----"

  "No, no--we must go. Your wound----"

  But he insisted. "I--I'm all--right. Something else,--Beth--some onemust get--paper--blue envelope--Hawk Ken----"

  His words ended in a gasp and he sank back in her arms.

  Beth was frightened at the sudden collapse and the look in his face, butshe knew that his injunction was important. And keeping her courage shecalled Shad Wells to the side of the car and gave quick directions.There was a note of appeal in her voice and Shad listened, his gaze overhis shoulder in the direction she indicated.

  "If he ain't burned to a crisp by now----"

  "Go, Shad--please! And if you can get to him bring the papers in hispocket to me."

  He met her gaze and smiled.

  "I reckon I'll get to him if anybody can."

  "Oh, thanks, Shad--thanks----" she muttered, as the lumberman turned,followed by one of the others, and silently moved toward the flames.

  And in a moment the car was on its way to Black Rock, Brierly drivingcarefully over the rough road. That was a terrible ride for Beth. Shesupported the wounded man against her shoulder, her gaze on his pallidface. Her poor blistered arm was about his waist, but she had no thoughtfor her own suffering. Every ounce of strength that remained to her wasgiven to holding Peter close to her so that he would not slip down,every ounce of faith in her soul given to combat with the fears thatassailed her. It seemed to Beth that if the Faith that had brought herthrough this day and out of that furnace were still strong enough shecould combat even the Death that rode with them. And so she prayedagain, holding him closely. But he was so cold and inert. She put herhand over his heart and a tiny pulsation answered as though to reassureher. Her hand came away dry, for the wound was not near his heart. Shethanked God for that. She found it high up on the right side just belowthe collar bone and held her fingers there, pressing them tightly. Ifthis blood were life and she could keep it within him she would do it.But he was so pale....

  Brierly drove to Black Rock House instinctively. Here were beds,servants and the telephone. He sounded his horn as they came up thedriveway and an excited group came out upon the porch. But Beth saw onlyMcGuire.

  "Mr. Nichols has been shot, Mr. McGuire--he's dangerously hurt," sheappealed. "He's got to have a doctor--at once."

  "Who--who shot him?"

  "Hawk Kennedy."

  "And he--Hawk----?"

  "He's dead, I think."

  She heard McGuire's sudden gasp and saw Aunt Tillie come running.

  "He's got to be put to bed--Aunt Tillie," she pleaded.

  "Of course," said McGuire, finding his voice suddenly, "Of course--atonce. The blue room, Mrs. Bergen. We'll carry him up. Send Stryker."

  And Aunt Tillie ran indoors.

  Peter was still quite unconscious, but between them they managed to gethim upstairs.

  McGuire seemed now galvanized into activity and while the others cutPeter's coat away and found the wound he got Hammonton and a doctor onthe 'phone. It was twelve miles away but he promised to be at Black RockHouse inside half an hour.

  "Twenty minutes and you won't regret it. Drive like Hell. It's a matterof life or death."

  Meanwhile, Aunt Tillie, with anxious glances at Beth, had broughtabsorbent cotton, clean linen, a basin of water and a sponge, andStryker and Brierly washed the wound, while McGuire rushed for hisbottle and managed to force some whisky and water between Peter's teeth.The bullet they found had gone through the body and had come out at theback, shattering the shoulder-blade. But the hemorrhage had almostceased and the wounded man's heart was still beating faintly.

  "It's the blood he's lost," muttered Brierly sagely.

  "He'll come around all right. You can't kill a man as game as that."

  Beth clung to the arms of the chair in which they had placed her. "Youthink--he--he'll live?"

  "Sure he will. I've seen 'em worse'n that----"

  She sank back into her chair, exhausted. She had never fainted in herlife and she wasn't going to begin. But now that all that they could dohad been done for Peter, they turned their attention to Beth. She hadnot known how much she needed it. Her hair was singed, her wrists wereraw and bleeding, and her arms, half naked, were red and blistered. Herdress, soaked with mud and water, was partly torn or burned away.

  "She must be put to bed here, Mrs. Bergen," said McGuire. "She'll needthe doctor too."

  Beth protested and would not leave the room until the doctor came. ButMcGuire, who seemed--and somewhat justly--to have complete faith in theefficacy of his own remedy, gave her some of the whisky and water todrink, while Aunt Tillie washed her face and rubbed vaseline upon herarms, crooning over her all the while in the comforting way of women ofher kind, to the end that Beth felt the pain of her body lessen.

  It was not until the doctor arrived with a businesslike air and made hisexamination, pronouncing Peter's condition serious but not necessarilyfatal, that the tension at Beth's heart relaxed.

  "He--he'll get well, Doctor?" she asked timidly.

  "I think so," he said with a smile, "but we've got to have absolutequiet now. I'd like some one here to help me----"

  "If you'd only let me----"

  But she read refusal in his eyes as he looked at her critically, and sawhim choose Stryker.

  "You're to be put to bed at once," he said dryly. "You'll need attentiontoo, I'm thinking."

  And so Beth, with McGuire's arm supporting and Aunt Tillie's arm aroundher, was led to the room adjoining,--the pink room of Miss PeggyMcGuire. McGuire closed the door and questioned her eagerly.

  "You say Hawk Kennedy was killed----?"

  "I think so--or--or burned," said Beth, now quivering in the reactionof all that she had experienced. "I--I sent Shad Wells to see. We lefthim lying there. We just had time to get away. The fire was all around.We got to the swamp--into the water--but he----" She put her face intoher hands, trembling with the recollection. "It was horrible. I can'ttalk about it."

  Aunt Tillie glared at McGuire, but he still questioned uneasily.

  "You--you saw nothing of a blue envelope, a paper----"

  With an effort Beth lowered her hands and replied:

  "No--Peter--Mr. Nichols thought of it. Shad Wells will bring it--if itisn't burned."

  "Oh, I see----"

  "But what you can't see," broke in Aunt Tillie with spirit, "is that thepoor child ain't fit to answer any more questions to-night. And sheshan't."

  "Er--no--of course," said McGuire, and went out.

  If it had been an eventful day for Peter and Beth, the night was toprove eventful for McGuire, for not content to wait the arrival of ShadWells, he took his courage in his hands and with Brierly drove at onceto the scene of the disaster. The wind had died and a gentle rain beganto fall, but the fire was burning fiercely.

  The other matter in McGuire's thoughts was so much the more important tohim that he had given little thought to the damage to his property. Hisforests might all be burned down for all that he cared.

  At the spot to which Beth and Peter had been carried he met Shad and theparty of men that had been looking for Hawk Kennedy, but the place wherethe fight had taken place was still a mass of fallen trees and branchesall flaming hotly and it was impossible for any one to get withinseveral hundred yards of it.

  There seemed little doubt as to the fate of his enemy. Jonathan K.McGuire stood at the edge of the burned area, peering i
nto the glowingembers. His look was grim but there was no smile of triumph at his lips.In his moments of madness he had often wished Hawk Kennedy dead, butnever had he wished him such a death as this. He questioned Shad sharplyas to his share in the adventure, satisfying himself at last that theman had told a true story, and then, noting his wounded arm, sent himback with Brierly in the car to Black Rock House for medical treatmentwith orders to send the chauffeur with the limousine.

  The rain was now falling fast, but Jonathan K. McGuire did not seem tobe aware of it. His gaze was on the forest, on that of the burning areanearest him where the fire still flamed the hottest, beneath the embersof which lay the one dreadful secret of his life. Even where he stoodthe heat was intense, but he did not seem to be aware of it, nor did hefollow the others when they retreated to a more comfortable spot. No oneknew why he waited or of what he was thinking, unless of the damage tothe Reserve and what the loss in money meant to him. They could notguess that pity and fear waged their war in his heart--pity that any manshould die such a death--fear that the man he thought of should not dieit.

  But as the hours lengthened and there was no report brought to him ofany injured man, being found in the forest near by, he seemed to knowthat Peter Nichols had not struck for Beth in vain.

  When the limousine came, he sent the other watchers home, and got intoit, sitting in solitary grandeur in his wet clothing, peering out of thewindow. The glow of the flames grew dimmer and died at last with thefirst pale light to the eastward which announced the coming of the dawn.A light drizzle was still falling when it grew light enough to see.McGuire got down and without awakening the sleeping chauffeur wentforth into the spectral woods. He knew where the old tool cabin hadstood and, from the description Wells had given him, had gained ageneral idea of where the fight had taken place--two hundred yards fromthe edge of the swamp where Nichols and the Cameron girl had been found,and nearly in a line with the biggest of the swamp-maples, the trunk ofwhich still stood, a melancholy skeleton of its former grandeur.

  The ground was still hot under the mud and cinders, but not painfullyso, and he was not aware of any discomfort. Clouds of steam rose andamong them he moved like the ghost of a sin, bent, eager, searching withheavy eyes for what he hoped and what he feared to find. The old toolhouse had disappeared, but he saw a heap of ashes and among them theshapes of saws and iron picks and shovels. But he passed them by, makinga straight line to the eastward and keeping his gaze upon the charredand blackened earth, missing nothing to right and left, fallen branches,heaps of rubbish, mounds of earth.

  Suddenly startled, McGuire halted and stood for a long moment.... Then,his hand before his eyes he turned away and slowly made his way back tohis automobile. But there was no triumph in his eyes. A power greaterthan his own had avenged Ben Cameron.

  His vigil was over--his nightly vigil--the vigil of years. He made hisway to his car and, awakening his chauffeur, told him to drive to BlackRock House. But when he reached home, the set look that his face hadworn for so many weeks had disappeared. And in its place among therelaxed muscles which showed his years, sat the benignity of a newresolution.

  It was broad daylight when he quietly knocked at the door of the room inwhich the injured man lay. The doctor came to the door. It seemed thatall immediate danger of a further collapse had passed for the heart wasstronger and unless there was a setback Peter Nichols had an excellentchance of recovery. McGuire himself offered to watch beside the bed; butthe doctor explained that a trained nurse was already on the way fromPhiladelphia and would arrive at any moment. So McGuire went to his ownroom and, sinking into his armchair, slept for the first time in manyweeks at peace, smiling his benignant smile.

  * * * * *

  Beth awoke in the pink room of Miss Peggy McGuire in which she had beenput to bed. She lay for a moment still stupefied, her brain strugglingagainst the effects of the sleeping potion that the doctor had given herand then slowly straightened to a sitting posture, regarding inbewilderment the embroidered night-robe which she wore and the floweredpink hangings at the windows. She couldn't at first understand the painat her head and other aches and pains which seemed to come mysteriouslyinto being. But she heard a familiar voice at her ear and saw theanxious face of Aunt Tillie, who rose from the chair at her bedside.

  "Aunt Tillie!" she whispered.

  "It's all right, dearie," said the old woman. "You're to lie quite stilluntil the doctor sees you----"

  "The doctor----? Oh, I--I remember----" And then with a sudden awakeningto full consciousness--"Peter!" she gasped.

  "He's better, dearie."

  "But what does the doctor say?"

  "He's doin' as well as possible----"

  "Will he get well?"

  "Yes, yes. The doctor is very hopeful."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes. He's sleepin' now--quiet--ye'd better just lie back again."

  "But I want to go to him, Aunt Tillie. I want to."

  "No. Ye can't, dearie--not now."

  And so by dint of reassurance and persuasion, Aunt Tillie prevailed uponthe girl to lie back upon her pillows and after a while she slept again.

  But Beth was no weakling and when the doctor came into her room sometime later, the effects of her potion wearing away, she awoke to fullconsciousness. He saw the imploring question in her eyes, before he tookher pulse and answered it with a quick smile.

  "He's all right. Heart coming on nicely----"

  "Will h-he live?" she gasped.

  "He'll be a fool if he doesn't."

  "What----?"

  "I'd be, if I knew there was a girl like you in the next room with thatkind of look in her eyes asking for me."

  But his remark went over Beth's head.

  "He's better?"

  "Yes. Conscious too. But he'll have to be kept quiet."

  "D-did he speak of me?"

  The doctor was taking her pulse and put on a professional air which hidhis inward smiles and provoked a repetition of her question.

  "D-did he?" she repeated softly.

  "Oh, yes," he said with a laugh. "He won't talk of anything else. I hadto give him a hypodermic to make him stop."

  Beth was silent for a moment. And then timidly----

  "What did he say?"

  "Oh, just that you saved his life, that's all."

  "Nothing else?"

  "Oh, yes. Now that I come to think of it, he did."

  "What?"

  "That he wanted to see you."

  "Oh! And can I----?"

  The doctor snapped his watch and relinquished her wrist with a smile.

  "If everything goes well--to-morrow--for two minutes--just two minutes,you understand."

  "Not until to-morrow?" she asked ruefully.

  "You ought to be glad to see him alive at all. He had a narrow shave ofit. An inch or two lower----" And then with a smile, "But he's going toget well, I promise you that."

  "Oh, thanks," said Beth gratefully.

  "Don't worry. And if you behave yourself I'll let you get up afterlunch." He gave some directions to Mrs. Bergen as to the treatment ofBeth's blistered arms, and went out.

  So in spite of the pain that she still suffered, Beth was content. Atleast she was content until Aunt Tillie brought her Miss Peggy McGuire'ssilver hand-mirror and she saw the reflection of her once beautifulself.

  "Aunt Tillie!" she gasped. "I'm a sight."

  "Maybe--but that's a sight better than bein' burned to death," said theold lady, soberly.

  "My hair----!"

  "It's only frizzled. They say that's good for the hair," she saidcheerfully.

  "Oh, well," sighed Beth as she laid the mirror down beside her. "I guessI ought to be glad I'm alive after----"

  And then with an uncontrollable shudder, she asked, "And--and--_him_?"

  "Dead," said Aunt Tillie with unction. "Burned to a crisp."

  Beth gasped but said nothing more. She didn't want to think ofyesterday, but she couldn't help it--t
he horrors that she had passedthrough--the fate that might have been in store for her, if--Peterhadn't found her in time!

  Beth relaxed in comfort while Aunt Tillie bathed and anointed her,brushed out the hair that was "frizzled," refreshing and restoring herpatient, so that after lunch she got up and put on the clothing that hadbeen brought from her home. Her arms were swathed in bandages fromwrists to shoulders but the pain was much less, so, when McGuire knockedat the door and asked if he might see her, she was sitting in a chair bythe window and greeted him with a smile.

  He entered timidly and awkwardly, rubbing his fingers uncomfortablyagainst the palms of his hands.

  "They tell me you're feelin' better, Miss Cameron," he said soberly."I--I'd like to talk to you for a moment," and with a glance at AuntTillie, "alone if you don't mind."

  Aunt Tillie gathered up some bandages and grudgingly departed.

  McGuire came forward slowly and sank into a chair beside Beth's, layinghis hand timidly on hers.

  "I thank God nothing happened to you, child, and I hope you believe mewhen I say it," he began in an uncertain voice.

  "Oh, yes, sir, I do."

  "Because the only thing that matters to me now is setting myselfstraight with you and Mr. Nichols."

  He paused in a difficulty of speech and then went on.

  "He--Mr. Nichols has told you everything----?"

  Beth wagged her head like a solemn child and then laid her other hand onhis.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry for you," she said.

  "You mustn't say that," he muttered. "I--I've done you a greatwrong--not trying to find out about Ben Cameron--not trying to find_you_. But I've suffered for it, Miss----" And then eagerly----"Youdon't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"

  "No, Mr. McGuire."

  "I ought to have told what happened. I ought to have tried to find outif Ben Cameron had any kin. I did wrong. But I've paid for it. I'venever had a happy hour since I claimed that mine that didn't belong tome. I've made a lot of money but what I did has been hanging over me foryears making an old man of me before my time----"

  "Oh, please don't be unhappy any more----"

  "Let me talk Miss--Beth. I've got to tell you. It'll make me feel a loteasier." Beth smoothed his hand reassuringly and he clasped hers eagerlyas though in gratitude. "I never was much good when I was a lad, Beth,and I never could get along even after I got married. It wasn't in mesomehow. I was pretty straight as young fellows go but nothing wentright for me. I was a failure. And then----"

  He paused a moment with bent head but Beth didn't speak. It was all verypainful to her.

  "Hawk Kennedy killed your father. But I was a crook too. I left Hawkthere without water to die. It was a horrible thing to do--even afterwhat he'd done to me. My God! Maybe I didn't suffer for that! I was gladwhen I learned Hawk didn't die, even though I knew from that time thathe'd be hanging over me like a curse. He did for years and years. I knewhe'd turn up some day, I tried to forget, but I couldn't. The sight ofhim was always with me."

  "How terrible!" whispered Beth.

  "But from that moment everything I did went well. Money came fast. Iwasn't a bad business man, but even a bad business man could have put_that_ deal through. I sold out the mine. I've got the figures and I'mgoing to show them to you, because they're yours to see. With the moneyI made some good investments. That money made more money and morebesides. Making money got to be my passion. It was the only thing Icared for--except my girls--and it was the only thing that made meforget."

  "Please don't think you've got to tell me any more."

  "Yes, I want to. I don't know how much I'm worth to-day." And then in aconfidential whisper--"I couldn't tell within half a million or so, butI guess it ain't far short of ten millions, Beth. You're the only personin the world outside the Treasury Department that knows how much I'mworth. I'm telling you. I've never told anybody--not even Peggy. And thereason I'm telling you is because, you've got to know, because I can'tsleep sound yet, until I straighten this thing out with you. It didn'ttake much persuading for Mr. Nichols to show me what I had to do whenhe'd found out, because everything I've got comes from money I took fromyou. And I'm going to give you what belongs to you, the full amount Igot for that mine with interest to date. It's not mine. It's yours andyou're a rich girl, Beth----"

  "I won't know what to do with all that money, Mr. McGuire," said Beth inan awed voice.

  "Oh, yes, you will. I've been thinking it all out. It's a deed by gift.We'll have to have a consideration to make it binding. We may have toput in the facts that I've been--er--only a sort of trustee of theproceeds of the 'Tarantula' mine. I've got a good lawyer. He'll knowwhat to do--how to fix it."

  "I--I'm sure I'm very grateful."

  "You needn't be." He paused and laid his hand over hers again. "But ifit's all the same to you, I'd rather not have much talk about it--justwhat's said in the deed--to explain."

  "I'll say nothin' you don't want said."

  "I knew you wouldn't. Until the papers are drawn I'd rather you wouldn'tspeak of it."

  "I won't."

  "You're a good girl. I--I'd like to see you happy. If money will makeyou happy, I'm glad I can help."

  "You've been very kind, Mr. McGuire--and generous. I can't seem to thinkabout all that money. It's just like a fairy tale."

  "And you forgive me--for what I did----? You forgive me, Beth?"

  "Yes, I do, Mr. McGuire. Don't say anythin' more about it--please!"

  The old man bent his head and kissed her hand and then with a great sighof relief straightened and rose.

  "Thank God!" he said quietly. And bidding her good-by he walked from theroom.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A VISITOR

  The two minutes permitted by the doctor had come and gone. There hadbeen much to say with too little time to say it in. For Beth, admonishedthat the patient must be kept quiet, and torn between joy at Peter'spromised recovery and pity for his pale face, could only look at him andmurmur soothing phrases, while Peter merely smiled and held her hand.But that, it seemed, was enough, for Beth read in his eyes that what hadhappened had merely set an enduring seal upon the affection of both ofthem.

  With the promise that she could see him again on the morrow, Beth wentback to her room. She had wanted to return to the village, but McGuirehad insisted upon her staying where she was under the care of the doctoruntil what they were pleased to call the shock to her system had yieldedto medical treatment. Beth said nothing. She was already herself andquite able to take up her life just where she had left it, but sheagreed to stay in McGuire's house. It seemed to make him happier whenshe acquiesced in his wishes. Besides, it was nice to be waited on andto be next to the room where the convalescent was.

  But the revelation as to Peter's identity could not be long delayed.Brierly had brought the tale back from the lumber camp, and the villagewas all agog with excitement. But Beth had seen no one but Mr. McGuireand Aunt Tillie, and Peter had requested that no one should tell her buthimself. And so in a day or so when Beth went into Peter's room shefound him with a color in his cheeks, and wearing a quizzical smile.

  "I thought you were never coming, Beth," he said.

  "I came as soon as they'd let me, Peter. Do you feel stronger?"

  "Every hour. Better when you're here. And you?"

  "Oh, I'm all right."

  He looked at her with his head on one side.

  "Do you think you could stand hearing something very terrible about me,Beth?"

  She glanced at him anxiously and then a smile of perfect faith respondedto his. She knew that he was getting well now, because this was a touchof his old humor.

  "H-m. I guess so. I don't believe it can be so _very_ terrible, Peter."

  "It is--_very_ terrible, Beth."

  But the pressure of his fingers was reassuring.

  "I'm listenin'," she said.

  "Well, you know, you told me once that you'd marry me no matter what I'dbeen----"

  "Yes. I meant that, Peter.
I mean it now. It's what you are----"

  Peter Nichols chuckled. It was his last chuckle as Peter Nichols.

  "Well, I'm not what you thought I was. I've been acting under falsecolors--under false pretenses. My name isn't Peter Nichols. It's PeterNicholaevitch----"

  "Then you _are_ all Russian!" she said.

  Peter shook his head.

  "No. Only half of me. But I used to live in Russia--at a place calledZukovo. The thing I wanted to tell you was that they fired me outbecause they didn't want me there."

  "You! How dared they! I'd like to give them a piece of my mind," saidBeth indignantly.

  "It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that."

  "And wouldn't they listen?"

  "No. They burned my--my house and tried to shoot me."

  "Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You _have_ hadtroubles, haven't you?"

  "I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and Iwouldn't have found you."

  "So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out," she saidgently.

  "But aren't you curious to know _why_ they did?"

  "I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care_what_ you did, Peter."

  He took her fingers to his lips.

  "It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did aswhat my--er--my family had done that made them angry."

  "Well, _you_ weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did."

  Peter laughed softly.

  "_They_ seemed to think so. My--er--my kin-folks were mixed up inpolitics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job--too big ajob for _him_ and that's the truth." A cloud passed for a moment overPeter's face and he looked away.

  "But what did _his_ job have to do with _you_?" she asked.

  "Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related--atleast that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot ofthings the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of otherthings that they thought he _ought_ to have done, they believed that Iwas just the same sort of man that he was."

  "How unjust, Peter!"

  He smiled at the ceiling.

  "I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could tostraighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen.Instead they burned my--my house down and I had to run away."

  "How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house,Peter?"

  "Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house--in the midst ofa forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned thathouse, Beth, because I loved it."

  "Poor dear! I'm _so_ sorry."

  "I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures,books, music----"

  "All burned! Land's sakes alive!"

  "And a wonderful grand piano."

  "Oh, Peter!" And then with a flash of joy, "But you're goin' to haveanother grand piano just like it soon."

  "Am I? Who's going to give it to me?"

  "_I_ am," said Beth quietly. "And another house and pictures and booksand music."

  He read her expression eagerly.

  "Mr. McGuire has told you?" he asked.

  She nodded. "You knew?"

  "Yes," he replied. "He told me yesterday."

  "Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered. And then went on rapidly, "So yousee, Peter, maybe I can be some good to you after all."

  He pressed her fingers, enjoying her happiness.

  "I can hardly believe it's true," she gasped, "but it must be, becauseMr. McGuire had his lawyer here yesterday talkin' about it----"

  "Yes. It's true. I think he's pretty happy to get all that off hisconscience. You're a rich girl, Beth." And then, with a slow smile,"That was one of the reasons why I wanted to talk with you about who _I_was. You see, I thought that now that you're going to have all thismoney, you might want to change your mind about marrying a foresterchap who--who just wants to try to show the trees how to grow."

  "Peter! Don't make fun of me. _Please._ And you hurt me so!" shereproached him. "You know I'll never want to change my mind ever,_ever_--even if I had all the money in the world."

  He laughed, drew her face down to his and whispered, "Beth, dear. I knewyou wouldn't want to--but I just wanted to hear you say it."

  "Well, I _have_ said it. And I don't want you ever to say such a thingagain. As if I cared for anythin'--anythin' but _you_."

  He kissed her on the lips and she straightened.

  "I wanted to hear you say _that_ too," he said with a laugh.

  And then, after a silence which they both improved by gazing at eachother mutely, "But you don't seem very curious about who I am."

  Beth pressed his fingers confidently. What he was to _her_ mattered agreat deal--and she realized that nothing else did. But she knew thatsomething was required of her. And so, "Oh, yes. Indeed I am,Peter,--awfully curious," she said politely.

  "Well, you know, Beth, I'm not really so poor as I seem to be. I've gota lot of securities in a bank in Russia, because nobody knew where theywere and so they couldn't take them."

  "And they would have taken your money too?"

  "Yes. When this cousin of mine--his name was Nicholas--when Nicholas waskilled----"

  "They killed him! Who?"

  "The Bolsheviki--they killed Nicholas and his whole family--his wife,son and four daughters----"

  "Peter!" Beth started up and stared at him in startled bewilderment, asshe remembered the talks she had had with him about the RussianRevolution. "Nicholas----!" she gasped. "His wife--son--daughters. Hehad the same name as--as the Czar--!" And as her gaze met his again sheseemed to guess.... "Peter!" she gasped. "What--what do you mean?"

  "I mean that it was the Little Father--the Czar--who was my cousin,Beth."

  She stared at Peter in awe and a kind of fear of this new element intheir relations.

  "And--and you----? You're----?"

  "I'm just Peter Nichols----," he said with a laugh.

  "But over there----"

  "I'm nothing. They chucked us all out, the Bolsheviki--every last one ofus that had a handle to his name."

  "A handle----?"

  "Yes. I used to be Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch of Zukovo andGalitzin----"

  "G-Grand Duke Peter!" she whispered in a daze. And then, "Oh--how--how_could_ you?" she gasped.

  Peter laughed.

  "I couldn't help it, Beth. I was born that--way. But you _will_ forgiveme, won't you?"

  "Forgive----? Oh--it--it makes such a difference to find--you're not_you_--but somebody else----"

  "No. I _am_--_me_. I'm not anybody else. But I had to tellyou--sometime. You don't think any the less of me, do you, Beth?"

  "I--I don't know _what_ to think. I'm so--you're so----"

  "What?"

  "Grand--and I'm----"

  Peter caught her hands and made her look at him.

  "You're the only woman in the world I've ever wanted--the onlyone--and you've promised me you'd marry me--you've promised, Beth."

  Her fingers moved gently in his and her gaze, wide-eyed, sought his.

  "And it won't make any difference----?"

  "No, Beth. Why should you think that?"

  "I--I was afraid--it might," she gasped. And then for a while Peter heldher hands, whispering, while Beth, still abashed, answered inmonosyllables, nodding from time to time.

  Later the nurse entered, her glance on her wrist-watch.

  "Time's up," she said. And Beth rose as one in a dream and moved slowlyaround the foot of the bed to the door.

  * * * * *

  Jonathan K. McGuire had been as much astonished as Beth at therevelation of Peter's identity, and the service that Peter had renderedhim made him more than anxious to show his appreciation by doingeverything he could for the wounded man's comfort and happiness. Hevisited the bedside daily and told Peter of his conversation with Beth,and of the plans that he was making
for her future--which now, itseemed, was Peter's future also. Peter told him something of his ownhistory and how he had met Jim Coast on the _Bermudian_. Then McGuirerelated the story of the suppression of the outbreak at the lumber campby the Sheriff and men from May's Landing, and the arrest of Flynn andJacobi on charges of assault and incendiarism. Some of the men were tobe deported as dangerous "Reds." Brierly had been temporarily put incharge at the Mills and Jesse Brown, now much chastened, was helpingMcGuire to restore order. Shad Wells was technically under arrest, forthe coroner had "viewed" the body of the Russian Committeeman before ithad been removed by his friends and buried, and taken the testimony. ButMcGuire had given bail and arranged for a hearing both as to theshooting of and the death of Hawk Kennedy, when Peter was well enough togo to May's Landing.

  The death of Hawk had produced a remarkable change in the character andpersonality of the owner of the Black Rock Reserve. His back wasstraighter, his look more direct, and he entered with avidity into thebusiness of bringing order out of the chaos that had resulted from theriot. His word carried some weight, his money more, and with thecompletion of his arrangements with Beth Cameron, he drew again thebreath of a free man.

  But of all this he had said nothing to Peggy, his daughter. He hadneither written to her nor telephoned, for he had no desire that sheshould know more than the obvious facts as to the death of Hawk Kennedy,for conflicting reports would lead to questions. Since she had suspectednothing, it was needless to bring that horror to her notice, now thatthe threat had passed. McGuire was a little afraid of his colorfuldaughter. She talked too much and it had been decided that nobody,except the lawyer, Peter, Beth and Mrs. Bergen should know the source ofBeth's sudden and unexpected inheritance. The girl had merely fallenheir to the estate of her father, who had died many years before, notleaving any record of this daughter, who had at last been found. All ofwhich was the truth, so far as it went, and was enough of a story totell Peggy when he should see her.

  But Jonathan McGuire found himself somewhat disturbed when he learnedone morning over the telephone that Peggy McGuire and a guest were ontheir way to Black Rock House for the week-end. The message came fromthe clerk of the hotel, and since Peggy and her friend had alreadystarted from New York, he knew of no way to intercept them. There wasnothing to do but make the best of the situation. Peter had the bestguest room, but Beth had decided the day before to return to thecottage, which was greatly in need of her attention. And so McGuireinformed Mrs. Bergen of the impending visit and gave orders that MissPeggy's room and a room in the wing should be prepared for thenewcomers.

  Beth had no wish to meet Peggy McGuire in this house after the scenewith Peter in the Cabin, when the young lady had last visited BlackRock, for that encounter had given Beth glimpses of the kind of thoughtsbeneath the pretty toques and _cerise_ veils that had once been theapple of her admiring eyes. But as luck would have it, as Beth finishedher afternoon's visit to Peter's bedside and hurried down to get away tothe village before the visitors arrived, Miss Peggy's low runaboutroared up to the portico. Beth's first impulse was to draw back and goout through the kitchen, but the glances of the two girls met, Peggy'sin instant recognition. And so Beth tilted her chin and walked down thesteps just beside the machine, aware of an elegantly attired lady with adoll-like prettiness who sat beside Peggy, oblivious of the sharpinvisible daggers which shot from eye to eye.

  "_You_ here!" said Peggy, with an insulting shrug.

  Beth merely went her way. But no feminine adept of the art of give andtake could have showed a more perfect example of studied indifferencethan Beth did. It was quite true that her cheeks burned as she went downthe drive and that she wished that Peter were well out of the house solong as Peggy was in it.

  But Peggy McGuire could know nothing of Beth's feelings and cared not atall what she thought or felt. Peggy McGuire was too much concerned withthe importance of the visitor that she had brought with her, the firstlive princess that she had succeeded in bringing into captivity. ButAnastasie Galitzin had not missed the little by-play and inquired withsome amusement as to the very pretty girl who had come out of the house.

  "Oh--the housekeeper's niece," replied Peggy, in her boarding schoolFrench. "I don't like her. I thought she'd gone. She's been having a_petite affaire_ with our new forester and superintendent."

  Anastasie Galitzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine,remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at herhostess.

  "Ah!" she said. "_Vraiment!_"

  By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and thedownstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying theluggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy'snoisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and theintroduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire waspermitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, andof the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of theguest of honor.

  "H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him _here_!"

  "It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently.Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be takenanywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."

  "Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut inrather sharply.

  "_Pierre!_" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty brokenEnglish, "You say, Monsieur, it is he--Pe-ter Nichols--who 'as beenbadly 'urt?"

  "Yes, ma'am, pretty bad--shot through the breast----"

  "_Sainte Vierge!_"

  "But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so,the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"

  Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathingwith some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face,found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, thePrincess recovered herself with an effort.

  "No--yes, Monsieur. It--it is nothing. But if you please--I should liketo go at once to my room."

  And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way upthe stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of thehouse, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case.

  At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her,pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forcedto relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there tomeditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why wasAnastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of PeterNichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in thepast--in England--in Russia? What was he to her?

  But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her and revealed the identity ofhis mysterious forester and superintendent. At first Peggy wasincredulous, then listened while her father told a story, half true,half fictitious, which had been carefully planned to answer all therequirements of the situation. And unaware of the cyclonic disturbanceshe was causing in the breast of his only child, he told her of Beth andPeter, and of the evidences of their devotion each to the other in spiteof their difference in station. Peggy's small soul squirmed during therecital, but she only listened and said nothing. She realized that in asituation such as this mere words on her part would be superfluous. TheGrand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch! Here at Black Rock! Her pop'ssuperintendent! And she had not known. She had even insulted him. It washideous!

  And the Princess? The deep emotion that she had shown on hearing of thedangerous wound of the convalescent was now explained. But only partlyso. The look that Peggy had surprised in Anastasie Galitzin's face meantsomething more than mere solicitude for the safety of one of Russia'sbanished Grand Dukes. It was the Princess who had been shocked at theinformation, but it was the woman who had showed pain. Was there--hadthere ever been--anything between Anastasie Galitzin and this--thisPeter Nichols?

  Facts about the early stages of her acquaintanceship with AnastasieGalitzin now loomed up with an unpl
easant definiteness. She had beenmuch flattered that so important a personage had shown her suchdistinguished marks of favor and had rejoiced in the celerity with whichthe intimacy had been established. The thought that the PrincessGalitzin had known all the while that the Grand Duke was livingincognito at Black Rock and had merely used Peggy as a means to bringabout this visit was not a pleasant one to Peggy. But the fact was nowquite obvious. She had been making a convenience of her. And what wasnow to be the result of this visit? The Princess did not yet know of theengagement of His Highness to the scullery maid. Who was to tell her?

  The snobbish little heart of Peggy McGuire later gained someconsolation, for Anastasie Galitzin emerged from her room refreshed andinvigorated, and lent much grace to the dinner table, telling father anddaughter something of the early life of the convalescent, exhibiting awarm friendship which could be satisfied with nothing less than a visiton the morrow to the sick-room. And His Highness now very much on themend, sent word, with the doctor's permission, that he would be charmedto receive the Princess Galitzin at ten in the morning.

  What happened in the room of the convalescent was never related to PeggyMcGuire. But Anastasie emerged with her head erect, her pretty facewearing the fixed smile of the eternally bored. And then she told Peggythat she had decided to return to New York. So after packing herbelongings, she got into Peggy's car and was driven much against thewill of her hostess to the Bergen cottage. Peggy wouldn't get out of thecar but Anastasie went to the door and knocked. Beth came out with hersleeves rolled above her elbows, her fingers covered with flour. ThePrincess Galitzin vanished inside and the door was closed. Her calllasted ten minutes while Peggy cooled her heels. But whether the visithad been prompted by goodness of heart or whether by a curiosity tostudy the lady of Peter's choice at close range, no one will ever know.Beth was very polite to her and though she identified her withoutdifficulty as the heliotrope-envelope lady, she offered her some of the"cookies" that she had made for Peter, and expressed the warmest thanksfor her kind wishes. She saw Anastasie Galitzin to the door, marking herheightened color and wondering what her fur coat had cost. Beth couldn'thelp thinking, whatever her motive in coming, that the Princess Galitzinwas a very beautiful lady and that her manners had been lovely. But itwas with a sigh of relief that she saw the red car vanish down the roadin a cloud of dust.

  * * * * *

  His convalescence begun, Peter recovered rapidly and in three weeks morehe was himself again. In those three weeks many interesting things hadhappened.

  Jonathan K. McGuire had held a series of important conferences withPeter and Mrs. Bergen who seemed to have grown ten years younger. Andone fine day after a protracted visit to New York with Mrs. Bergen, hereturned laden with mysterious packages and boxes, and stopped at thedoor of the cottage, where Peter was taking a lunch of Beth's cooking.

  It was a beautiful surprise. Mrs. Bergen whispered in Beth's ear andBeth followed her into the kitchen, where the contents of one or two ofthe boxes were exposed to Beth's astonished gaze. Peter, of course,being in the secret, kept aloof, awaiting the result of Mrs. Bergen'sdisclosures. But when Beth came back into the plush-covered parlor, herevealed his share in the conspiracy by producing, with the skill of aconjurer taking a rabbit from a silk hat, a minister and a marriagelicense, the former having been hidden in the house of a neighbor. AndJonathan K. McGuire, with something of an air, fully justified by thedifficulties he had been at to secure it, produced a pasteboard box,which contained another box of beautiful white velvet, which he openedwith pride, exhibiting its contents. On the soft satin lining was abrooch, containing a ruby as large as Beth's thumbnail.

  With a gasp of joy, she gazed at it, for she knew just what it was, thefamily jewel that had been sold to the purser of the _Bermudian_. Andthen she threw her arms around McGuire's neck and kissed him.

  * * * * *

  Some weeks later Beth and Peter sat at dusk in the drawing-room of BlackRock House, for McGuire had turned the whole place over to them for thehoneymoon. The night was chilly, a few flakes of snow had fallen duringthe afternoon, so a log fire burned in the fireplace. Peter sat at thepiano playing the "Romance" of Sibelius, for which Beth had asked, butwhen it was finished, his fingers, impelled by a thought beyond his owncontrol, began the opening rumble of the "Revolutionary Etude." Themusic was familiar to Beth and it stirred her always because it wasthis gorgeous plaint of hope and despair that had at the very firstsounded depths in her own self the existence of which she had never evendreamed. But to-night Peter played it as she had never heard him play itbefore, with all his soul at his finger tips. And she watched hisdowncast profile as he stared at vacancy while he played. It was inmoments like these that Beth felt herself groping in the dark after him,he was so far away. And yet she was not afraid, for she knew that out ofthe dreams and mysticism of the half of him that was Russian he wouldcome back to her,--just Peter Nichols.

  He did presently, when his hands fell upon the last chords and he satwith head still bowed until the last tremor had died. Then he rose andturned to her. She smiled at him and he joined her on the divan. Theirfingers intertwined and they sat for a long moment looking into thefire. But Beth knew of what he was thinking and Peter knew that sheknew. Their honeymoon was over. There was work to do in the world.

  +-------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | Page 9 Nicolaevitch changed to Nicholaevitch | | Page 12 Vasil changed to Vasili | | Page 39 reassuring changed to reassuring | | Page 90 rigidily changaed to rigidly | | Page 94 seee changed to see | | Page 158 Andy should read Jesse | | Page 164 the changed to he | | Page 188 Well's changed to Wells's | | Page 353 musn't changed to mustn't | | Page 355 Its changed to It's | | Page 362 Lukovo changed to Zukovo | +-------------------------------------------------+