E-text prepared by Al Haines

ARMS AND THE WOMAN

A Romance

by

HAROLD MacGRATH

New York
Doubleday Page & Company
1905
Copyright, 1899, by
S. S. Mcclure Co.
Copyright, 1899, by
Doubleday and Mcclure Co.

To her, that is to say, to the hand that rocked the cradle.

ARMS AND THE WOMAN

CHAPTER I

The first time I met her I was a reporter in the embryonic state and
she was a girl in short dresses.  It was in a garden, surrounded by
high red brick walls which were half hidden by clusters of green vines,
and at the base of which nestled earth-beds, radiant with roses and
poppies and peonies and bushes of lavender lilacs, all spilling their
delicate ambrosia on the mild air of passing May.  I stood, straw hat
in hand, wondering if I had not stumbled into some sweet prison of
flowers which, having run disobedient ways in the past, had been placed
here by Flora, and forever denied their native meadows and
wildernesses.  And this vision of fresh youth in my path, perhaps she
was some guardian nymph.  I was only twenty-two--a most impressionable
age.  Her hair was like that rare October brown, half dun, half gold;
her eyes were cool and restful, like the brown pools one sees in the
heart of the forests, and her lips and cheeks cozened the warm
vermilion of the rose which lay ever so lightly on the bosom of her
white dress.  Close at hand was a table upon which stood a pitcher of
lemonade.  She was holding in her hand an empty glass.  As my eyes
encountered her calm, inquiring gaze, my courage fled precipitately,
likewise the object of my errand.  There was a pause; diffidence and
embarrassment on my side, placidity on hers.

"Well, sir?" said she, in a voice the tone of which implied that she
could readily understand her presence in the garden, but not mine.

As I remember it, I was suddenly seized with a great thirst.

"I should like a glass of your lemonade," I answered, bravely laying
down the only piece of money I possessed.

Her stern lips parted in a smile, and my courage came back cautiously,
that is to say, by degrees.  She filled a glass for me, and as I gulped
it down I could almost detect the flavor of lemon and sugar.

"It is very good," I volunteered, passing back the glass.  I held out
my hand, smiling.

"There isn't any change," coolly.

I flushed painfully.  It was fully four miles to Newspaper Row.  I was
conscious of a sullen pride.  Presently the object of my errand
returned.  Somewhat down the path I saw a gentleman reclining in a
canvas swing.

"Is that Mr. Wentworth?" I asked.

"Yes.  Do you wish to speak to him?  Uncle Bob, here is a gentleman who
desires to speak to you."

I approached.  "Mr. Wentworth," I began, cracking the straw in my hat,
"my name is John Winthrop.  I am a reporter.  I have called to see if
it is true that you have declined the Italian portfolio."

"It is true," he replied kindly.  "There are any number of reasons for
my declining it, but I cannot make them public.  Is that all?"

"Yes, sir; thank you;" and I backed away.

"Are you a reporter?" asked the girl, as I was about to pass by her.

"Yes, I am."

"Do you draw pictures?"

"No, I do not."

"Do you write novels?"

"No," with a nervous laugh.

There is nothing like the process of interrogation to make one person
lose interest in another.

"Oh; I thought perhaps you did," she said, and turned her back to me.

I passed through the darkened halls of the house and into the street.

I never expected to see her again, but it was otherwise ordained.   We
came together three years later at Block Island.  She was eighteen now,
gathering the rosy flowers of her first season.  She remembered the
incident in the garden, and we laughed over it.  A few dances, two or
three evenings on the verandas, watching the sea, moon-lit, as it
sprawled among the rocks below us, and the even tenor of my way ceased
to be.  I appreciated how far she was above me; so I worshipped her
silently and from afar.  I told her my ambitions, confidences so
welcome to feminine ears, and she rewarded me with a small exchange.
She, too, was an orphan, and lived with her uncle, a rich banker, who,
as a diversion, consented to represent his country at foreign courts.
Her given name was Phyllis.  I had seen the name a thousand times in
print; the poets had idealised it, and the novelists had embalmed it in
tender phrases.  It was the first time I had ever met a woman by the
name of Phyllis.  It appealed to my poetic instinct.  Perhaps that was
the cause of it all.  And then, she was very beautiful.  In the autumn
of that year we became great friends; and through her influence I began
to see beyond the portals of the mansions of the rich.  Matthew Prior's
Chloes and Sir John Suckling's Euphelias lost their charms.  Henceforth
my muse's name became Phyllis.  I took her to the opera when I didn't
know where I was going to breakfast on the morrow.  I sent her roses
and went without tobacco, a privation of which woman knows nothing.

Often I was plunged into despair at my distressed circumstances.  Money
to her meant something to spend; to me it meant something to get.  Her
income bothered her because she could not spend it; my income was
mortgaged a week in advance, and did not bother me at all.  This was
the barrier at my lips.  But her woman's intuition must have told her
that she was a part and parcel of my existence.

I had what is called a forlorn hope: a rich uncle who was a planter in
Louisiana.  His son and I were his only heirs.  But this old planter
had a mortal antipathy to my side of the family.  When my mother, his
sister, married Alfred Winthrop in 1859, at the time when the North and
South were approaching the precipice of a civil war, he considered all
family ties obliterated.  We never worried much about it.  When mother
died he softened to the extent of being present at the funeral.  He
took small notice of my father, but offered to adopt me if I would
assume his name.  I clasped my father's hand in mine and said nothing.
The old man stared at me for a moment, then left the house.  That was
the first and last time I ever saw him.  Sometimes I wondered if he
would remember me in his will.  This, of course, was only when I had
taken Phyllis somewhere, or when some creditor had lost patience.  One
morning in January, five years after my second meeting with Phyllis, I
sat at my desk in the office.  It was raining; a cold thin rain.  The
window was blurred.  The water in the steam-pipes went banging away.  I
was composing an editorial which treated the diplomatic relations
between this country and England.  The roar of Park Row distracted me.
Now and then I would go to the window and peer down on the living
stream below.  A dense cloud of steam hung over all the city.  I swore
some when the copy boy came in and said that there was yet a column and
a half to fill, and that the foreman wanted to "close up the page
early."  The true cause of my indisposition was due to the rumors rife
in the office that morning.  Rumors which emanate from the managing
editor's room are usually of the sort which burden the subordinate ones
with anxiety.  The London correspondent was "going to pieces."  He had
cabled that he was suffering from nervous prostration, supplementing a
request for a two months' leave of absence.  For "nervous prostration"
we read "drink."  Our London correspondent was a brilliant journalist;
he had written one or two clever books; he had a broad knowledge of men
and affairs; and his pen was one of those which flashed and burned at
frequent intervals; but he drank.  Dan's father had been a victim of
the habit.  I remember meeting the elder Hillars.  He was a picturesque
individual, an accomplished scholar, a wide traveller, a diplomatist,
and a noted war correspondent.  His work during the Franco-Prussian war
had placed him in the front rank.  After sending his son Dan to college
he took no further notice of him.  He was killed while serving his
paper at the siege of Alexandria, Egypt.  Dan naturally followed his
father's footsteps both in profession and in habits.  He had been my
classmate at college, and no one knew him better than I, except it was
himself.  The love of adventure and drink had ended the life of the
one; it might end the life of the other.

The foreman in the composing room waited some time for that required
column and a half of editorial copy.  I lit my pipe; and my thoughts
ran back to the old days, to the many times Dan had paid my debts and
to the many times I had paid his.  Ah, me! those were days when love
and fame and riches were elusive and we went in quest of them.  The
crust is hyssop when the heart is young.  The garret is a palace when
hope flies unfettered.  The most wonderful dreams imaginable are dreamt
close to the eaves.  And when a man leaves behind him the garret, he
also leaves behind the fondest illusions.  But who--who would stay in
the garret!

And as my thoughts ran on, the question rose, Whom would they send in
his place--Dan's?  I knew London.  It was familiar ground.  Perhaps
they might send me.  It was this thought which unsettled me.  I was
perfectly satisfied with New York.  Phyllis lived in New York.  There
would be time enough for London when we were married.  Then I began to
build air castles.  A newspaper man is the architect of some splendid
structures, but he thoughtlessly builds on the sand when the tide is
out.  Yes, foreign corresponding would be all well enough, I mused,
with Phyllis at my side.  With her as my wife I should have the envy of
all my fellow craftsmen.  We should dine at the embassies and the
attachés would flutter about us, and all London would talk of the
beautiful "Mrs. Winthrop."  Then the fire in my pipe-bowl went out.
The copy boy was at my elbow again.

"Hang you!" said I.

"The foreman says he's coming down with an axe," replied the boy.

It was like churning, but I did manage to grind the copy.  I was
satisfied that the United States and Great Britain would not go to war
over it.

The late afternoon mail brought two letters.  I opened the one from
Phyllis first.  It said:

"DEAR JACK--Uncle Bob has a box for the opera to-night, but he has been
suddenly called to Washington; politics, possibly, but he would not
say.  Aunty and I want you to go with us in his stead.  Ethel and her
fiancé, Mr. Holland, will be together, which means that Aunty and I
will have no one to talk to unless you come.  Carmen is to be sung.
Please do not fail me.

"PHYLLIS."

Fail her!  I thought not.

Then I read the second letter.  I read it three or four times, and even
then I was not sure that I was not dreaming.  I caught up my pipe
again, filled it and lit it.  I read the letter once more.  I was
solemnly informed that my uncle was dead and that I was mentioned in
the will, and that if I would kindly call at the Hoffman House the
following morning a certain sum of money would be given to me.  I
regretted that I had reached that age when a man's actions must be
dignified, although alone; otherwise I dare say I should have danced
the pas seul.  Whatever my uncle's bequest might be, I believed that it
would make me independently rich.  I am ashamed to admit that I did not
feel sorry at the news of his sudden departure from this life.  It is
better to be rich than to be ambitious.  It is better to have at hand
what you want than to work for it, and then not get it.  Phyllis was
scarcely an arm's length away now.  I whistled as I locked up my desk,
and proceeded down stairs and sang a siren song into the waxen ears of
the cashier.

"You have only twenty coming this week, Mr. Winthrop," said he.

"Never mind," I replied; "I'll manage to get along next week."  It was
only on very rare occasions that I drew my full pay at the end of the
week.

I dined at a fashionable restaurant.  As I sipped my wine I built one
of my castles, and Phyllis reigned therein.  There would be a trip to
Europe every summer, and I should devote my time to writing novels.  My
picture would be the frontispiece in the book reviews, and wayside
paragraphs would tell of the enormous royalties my publishers were
paying me.  I took some old envelopes from my pocket and began figuring
on the backs of them as to what purposes the money should be put.  It
could not be less than $50,000, perhaps more.  Of course my uncle had
given a harbor to a grudge against me and mine, but such things are
always forgotten on the death bed.  It occurred to me that I never had
known before what a fine world it was, and I regretted having spoken
ill of it.  I glanced across the way.  The sky had cleared, and the
last beams of the sun flamed in the windows of the tall buildings.
Fortune, having buffeted me, was now going to make me one of her
favorite children.  I had reached the end of the long lane.

As I left the restaurant I decided to acquaint Phyllis with my good
luck and also my desire that she should share of it.  I turned into a
florist's and had a dozen roses sent up to her.  They were American
Beauties.  I could afford it now.

I found Phyllis thrumming on the piano.  She was singing in a low voice
the aria from "Lucia."  I stood on the threshold of the drawing-room
and waited till she had done.  I believed her to be unaware of my
presence.  She was what we poets call a "dream of loveliness," a
tangible dream.  Her neck and shoulders were like satin, and the head
above them reminded me of Sappho's which we see in marble.  From where
I stood I could catch a glimpse of the profile, the nose and firm chin,
the exquisite mouth, to kiss which I would gladly have given up any
number of fortunes.  The cheek had that delicate curve of a rose leaf,
and when the warm blood surged into it there was a color as matchless
as that of a jack-rose.  Ah, but I loved her.  Suddenly the music
ceased.

"There is a mirror over the piano, Jack," she said, without turning her
head.

So I crossed the room and sat down in the chair nearest her.  I vaguely
wondered if, at the distance, she had seen the love in my eyes when I
thought myself unobserved.

"I thank you for those lovely roses," she said, smiling and permitting
me to press her hand.

"Don't mention it," I replied.  It is so difficult for a man to say
original things in the presence of the woman he loves!  "I have great
news for you.  It reads like a fairy tale, you know; happy ever
afterward, and all that."

"Ah!"

"Yes.  Do you remember my telling you of a rich uncle who lived in the
South?"

"Is it possible that he has left you a fortune?" she cried, her eyes
shining.

"You have guessed it."

"I am very glad for your sake, Jack.  I was beginning to worry about
you."

"Worry about me?"

"Yes.  I do not understand how a newspaper man can afford to buy roses
four or five times a week--and exist."  She had the habit of being
blunt and frank to her intimate friends.  I secretly considered it an
honor when she talked to me like this.  "I have told you repeatedly to
send me flowers only once a week.  I'd rather not have them at all.
Last week you spent as much as $30 on roses alone.  Mr. Holland does
not do that for Ethel, and he has a million."

"I'm not Holland," I said.  "He doesn't--that is--I do not think he--."
Then I foundered.  I had almost said: "He doesn't care as much for
Ethel as I do for you."

Phyllis pretended not to note my embarrassment.  The others came in
then, and conversation streamed into safer channels.

When we entered the box at the opera the curtain had risen.  Phyllis
and I took the rear chairs.  They were just out of the glare of the
lights.

"You are looking very beautiful to-night," I whispered lowly.  I was
beginning business early.  There was no barrier at my lips.

"Thank you," she replied.  Then with a smile: "Supposing I were to say
that you are looking very handsome?"

"Oh," said I, somewhat disconcerted, "that would be rather
embarrassing."

"I do not doubt it."

"And then it would not be true.  The duty we men owe to a beautiful
woman is constantly to keep telling her of it."

"And the duty we women owe to a fine-looking man?" a rogue of a dimple
in her cheeks.

"Is to explicitly believe all he says regarding your beauty," I
answered, evading the question.  "A man may tell a woman that she is
beautiful, but a woman may not tell a man that he is fine-looking, that
is, in public."

"The terms are not fair."

"That may be true, but they make the wheels of the social organization
run smoother.  For instance, if I met a strange woman and she told me
that I was handsome, I shouldn't be able to speak again the whole
evening.  On the other hand, a beautiful woman, after you say that you
are delighted to meet her, expects the very next remark to concern her
good looks."

"Your insight is truly remarkable," she said, the dimple continuing its
elusive manoeuvres.  "Hush; here comes Carmen."

And our voices grew faint in the swell of melody.  Mrs. Wentworth was
entranced; her daughter was fondly gazing at the back of her fiancé's
head; Phyllis had turned her face from me to the stage.  As for myself,
I was not particularly interested in the cigarette girl.  It was
running through my head that the hour had arrived.  I patted my gloves
for a moment, then I drew a long breath.

"Phyllis!" said I.  There was a quaver in my voice.  Perhaps I had not
spoken loud enough.  "Phyllis!" said I again.

She turned quickly and gave me an inquiring and at the same time
nervous glance.

"What is it?"

"I want to tell you something I have never dared to tell you till now,"
I said earnestly.  The voice on the stage soared heavenward.  "I love
you.  Will you be my wife?"

Ah, me! where were those drooping eyelids, that flush, that shy, sweet
glance of which I had so often dreamt?  Phyllis was frowning.

"Jack, I have been afraid of this," she said.  "I am so sorry, but it
cannot be."

"Oh, do not say that now," I cried, crushing my gloves.  "Wait awhile;
perhaps you may learn to love me."

"Jack, I have always been frank to you because I like you.  Do you
suppose it will take me five years to find out what my heart says to
any man?  No.  Had I loved you I should not have asked you to wait; I
should have said yes.  I do not love you in the way you wish.  Indeed,
I like you better than any man I know, but that is all I can offer you.
I should be unkind if I held out any false hopes.  I have often asked
myself why I do not love you, but there is something lacking in you,
something I cannot define.  Some other woman will find what I have
failed to find in you to love."

I was twisting my gloves out of all recognition.  There was a singing
in my ears which did not come from the stage.

"Look at it as I do, Jack.  There is a man in this world whom I shall
love, and who will love me.  We may never meet.  Then he shall be an
ideal to me, and I to him.  You believe you love me, but the love you
offer is not complete."

"Not complete?" I echoed.

"No.  It would be if I returned it.  Do you understand?  There is in
this world a woman you will truly love and who will return your love in
its fulness.  Will you meet?  That is in the hands of your destinies.
Shall I meet my ideal?  Who knows?  But till I do, I shall remain an
old maid."

I nodded wearily.  A dissertation on affinities seemed ill-timed.

"And now," she said, "this beautiful friendship of ours must come to an
end."  And there were tears in her eyes.

"Yes," said I, twisting and untwisting the shreds of my gloves.  It
seemed as though the world had slipped from under my feet and I was
whirling into nothingness.  "My heart is very heavy."

"Jack, if you talk like that," hastily, "you will have me crying before
all these people."

Unfortunately Ethel turned and saw the tears in her cousin's eyes.

"Mercy! what is the matter?" she asked.

"Jack has been telling me a very pathetic story," said Phyllis, with a
pity in her eyes.

"Yes; something that happened to-night," said I, staring at the
programme, but seeing nothing, nothing.

"Well," said Ethel, "this is not the place for them," turning her eyes
to the stage again.

The concluding acts of the opera were a jangle of chords and discords,
and the hum of voices was like the murmur of a far-off sea.  My eyes
remained fixed upon the stage.  It was like looking through a broken
kaleidoscope.  I wanted to be alone, alone with my pipe.  I was glad
when we at last entered the carriage.  Mrs. Wentworth immediately began
to extol the singers, and Phyllis, with that tact which is given only
to kind-hearted women, answered most of the indirect questions put to
me.  She was giving me time to recover.  The direct questions I could
not avoid.  Occasionally I looked out of the window.  It had begun to
rain again.  It was very dreary.

"And what a finale, Mr. Winthrop!" cried Mrs. Wentworth,

"Yes, indeed," I replied.  To have loved and lost, and such a woman,
was my thought.

"The new tenor is an improvement.  Do you not think so?"

"Yes, indeed."  No more to touch her hand, to hear her voice, to wait
upon her wishes.

"It was the most brilliant audience of the season."

"Yes, indeed," I murmured.  Those were the only words I could
articulate.

The carriage rumbled on.

"Does Patti return in the fall?"

"Yes."  Five years of dreaming, and then to awake!

And then the carriage mercifully stopped.

Mrs. Wentworth insisted that I should enter and have some coffee.  I
had so few words at my command that I could not invent even a flimsy
excuse.  So I went in.  The coffee was tasteless.  I put in four lumps
of sugar.  I stirred and stirred and stirred.  Finally, I swallowed the
contents of the cup.  It was very hot.  When the agony was past I rose
and made my adieu.

Phyllis came to the door with me.

"Forget what I have said," I began, fumbling the door-knob.  "I suppose
I was an ass to think that you might love me.  They say that it is a
malady.  Very well.  With a few prescribed remedies I shall recover."

"You are very bitter."

"Can you blame me," clicking the latch back and forth, "when all the
world has suddenly grown dark?"

"There are other eyes than mine," gently.

"Yes; but they will light other paths than those I shall follow."

"Jack, you are too manly to make threats."

"That was not a threat," said I.  "Well, I shall go and laugh at myself
for my presumption.  To laugh at yourself is to cure.  There is no more
wine in the cup, nothing but the lees.  I'll have to drink them.  A wry
face, and then it will all be over.  Yes, I am bitter.  To have dreamed
as I have dreamed, and to awake as I have!  Ah, well; I must go on
loving you till--"

"Till she comes," supplemented Phyllis.

"You wrong me.  It is only in letters that I am versatile.  Forgive my
bitterness and forget my folly."

"Oh, Jack, if you knew how sorry I am!  I shall forgive the bitterness,
but I will not forget what you term folly.  It's something any woman
might be proud of, the love of an honest, dear, good fellow.  Good
night."  She held her hand toward me.

"Good night," I said, "and God bless you!"  I kissed the palm of her
hand, opened the door, and then stumbled down the steps.

I do not remember how I reached home.

It was all over.

My beautiful castle had fallen in ruins about my ears.

CHAPTER II

In my bedroom the next morning there was a sad and heavy heart.  The
owner woke up, stared at the ceiling, then at the sun-baked bricks
beyond his window.  He saw not the glory of the sun and the heavens.
To his eyes there was nothing poetic in the flash of the distant
church-spires against the billowy cloudbanks.  The gray doves, circling
about the chimneys, did not inspire him, nor the twittering of the
sparrows on the window ledge.  There was nothing at all in the world
but a long stretch of barren, lonely years.  And he wondered how,
without her at his side, he ever could traverse them.  He was driftwood
again.  He had built upon sands as usual, and the tide had come in; his
castle was flotsam and jetsam.  He was drifting, and he didn't care
where.  He was very sorry for himself, and he had the blue devils the
worst kind of way.  Finally he crawled out of bed and dressed because
it had to be done.  He was not particularly painstaking with the
procedure.  It mattered not what collar became him best, and he picked
up a tie at random.  A man generally dresses for a certain woman's
approval, and when that is no longer to be gained he grows indifferent.
The other women do not count.

My breakfast consisted of a cup of coffee; and as the generous nectar
warmed my veins my thoughts took a philosophical turn.  It is fate who
writes the was, the is, and the shall be.  We have a proverb for every
joy and misfortune.  It is the only consolation fate gives us.  It is
like a conqueror asking the vanquished to witness the looting.  All
roads lead to Rome, and all proverbs are merely sign posts by which we
pursue our destinies.  And how was I to get to Rome?  I knew not.  Hope
is better than clairvoyance.

Was Phyllis right when she said that I did not truly love her?  I
believed not.  Should I go on loving her all my life?  Undoubtedly I
should.  As to affinities, I had met mine, but it had proved a
one-sided affair.

It was after ten by the clock when I remembered that I was to meet the
lawyer, the arbiter of my new fortunes.  Money is a balm for most
things, and coupled with travel it might lead me to forget.

He was the family lawyer, and he had come all the way North to see that
I received my uncle's bequest.  He was bent, gray and partially bald.
He must have been close to seventy, but for all that there was a
youthful twinkle in his eyes as he took my card and looked up into my
face.

"So you are John Winthrop?" he said in way of preliminary.  You may
hand a card case full of your name to a lawyer, and still he will
insist upon a verbal admission.

"I have always been led to believe so," I answered smartly, placing my
hat beside the chair in which I sat down.  "How did you manage to
locate me in this big city?"

"Your uncle had seen some of your signed articles in New York papers,
and said that in all probability I should find you here.  A few
inquiries set me on your track."  Here he pulled out a lengthy document
from his handbag.  "I confess, however," he added, "that I am somewhat
disappointed in your looks."

"Disappointed in my looks!" was my cry.  "What sort of a duffer were
you expecting to see?"

He laughed.  "Well, your uncle gave me the idea that I should find a
good-for-nothing hack-writer, a dweller in some obscure garret."

"If that is the case, what under the sun did he send you up here for?"

The merriment went out of the old man's face and his eyes became grave.
"Of that anon.  Let me proceed with my business and read the will to
you.  You will find it rather a remarkable document."

I settled back in my chair in a waiting attitude.  To tell the truth, I
was somewhat confused by all this preamble.  To his son my uncle left
the bulk of his property, which amounted to more than a million.  I was
listless.  The head overseer received the munificent sum of $50,000; to
the butler, the housekeeper and the cook he gave $10,000 each.  I began
to grow interested.  He was very liberal to his servants.  Several
other names were read, and my interest assumed the color of anxiety.
When the lawyer stopped to unfold the last flap, I spoke.

"And where in the world do I come in?"

"In the sense you understand, you do not come in."

I stared at him in amazement.  "I don't come in?" I repeated vaguely.
"Ah," reaching down for my hat, "then I go out, as it were;" as
brilliant as a London yellow fog.  "What the devil does all this mean?"
I started to rise.

"Wait!" he commanded.  "'To my nephew, John Winthrop, I bequeath the
sum of $1,000 to be presented to him in person immediately after this
will is probated, and with the understanding that he shall make no
further demand upon my son and heir in the future.'  That is all,"
concluded the lawyer, folding the document.  "I have the check in my
pocket."

"Keep it," said I, rising.  A hot flush of indignation swept over me.
I understood.  It was his revenge.  To have a man make sport of you
after he is dead and gone, leaving you impotent and with never a chance
to retaliate!  "Keep it," I said again; "throw it away, or burn it.  I
understand.  He has satisfied a petty revenge.  It is an insult not
only to me, but to my dead parents.  You are, of course, acquainted
with the circumstances of my mother's marriage.  She married the man
she loved, disregarding her brother's wishes."

"I knew your mother," said the lawyer, going to the window and looking
out and beyond all that met his gaze.

"To think," I went on, cooling none, "that my mother's brother should
die in this manner, nourishing so small and petty a spite!  When he did
this he knew that I should understand his motive.  In the first place,
I never dreamed that he would remember me in his will; never
entertained the least idea of it.  I am independent; I am earning a
livelihood, small, but enough and to spare.  I'll bid you good
morning."  I took a step toward the door.

"Young man, sit down," said the old man, coming back to his chair.  "I
want to talk to you for a few minutes.  Your uncle was a peculiarly
vindictive man.  What he considered a wrong he neither forgot nor
forgave.  His son pleaded with him not to put in that final clause.  He
offered even to share with you.  Your uncle swore he would leave it all
to the stablemen first.  This journey was forced upon me, or I should
not have taken it.  This is my advice to you: Accept the check, in the
privacy of your room tear it up, or light a cigar with it; that's about
all it's worth.  You will feel no little satisfaction in lighting a
cigar with it, that is, if you are anything like me.  Think of it! a
thousand dollars to light your cigar.  It is an opportunity not to be
missed.  When you grow old you will say to your grandchildren: 'Once I
lit a cigar with a thousand-dollar check.'  The oldest inhabitant will
be silenced forever; it may become history.  And then, too, if there
are spirits, as Scripture says there are, your uncle's will writhe at
the performance.  I trust that you will forgive me my part in the
matter.  I have taken a fancy to you, and if you will accept my
friendship I shall be happy to accept yours.  Your uncle's revenge will
not be a marker to the restitution his son will make."

"Restitution?--his son?"

"Yes.  To my sincere regret he is an invalid who may or may not live
the year out.  He has already made a will, in which he leaves all to
you.  The will is in my safe at home.  I return to-night, so I may not
see you again in this world of sin and tribulation."  The merry twinkle
had returned to his eyes.  "I am very old."

"It is worth all the trouble to have met you," said I.  "You should
have made the jolt very easy."

So we shook hands, and he gave me a cigar, around which was wrapped the
check.  He winked.  Then he laughed, and I joined him, though my
laughter resembled mirth less than it did the cackle of a hen which was
disturbed over the future of her brood.

I left him and went down into the wine room and ordered a stiff brandy
and soda.  When that disappeared I ordered another.  I rattled the ice
in the glass.  "Ha, ha, ha!" I roared, as the events of the past
twenty-four hours recurred to me.  There must have been a suicidal
accent to my laughter, for the bartender looked at me with some
concern.  I called for another brandy and shot the soda into it myself.
I watched the foam evaporate, "Ha, ha, ha!"

"Hard luck?" the bartender asked sympathetically.

"Yes," said I.  I seemed to be speaking to several bartenders who
looked at me with several varieties of compassion.

"Have another on me," said the bartender.

I had another, and went out into the street.  I walked down Broadway,
chuckling to myself.  What a glorious farce it all was!  My fortune!
Phyllis my wife!  What if she had accepted me?  I laughed aloud, and
people turned and stared at me.  Oh, yes!  I was to travel and write
novels and have my pictures in book reviews, and all that!  When I
arrived at the office I was on the verge of total insanity.  I was
obliged to ask the paragrapher to write my next day's leader.  It was
night before I became rational, and once that, the whole world donned
cap and bells and began capering for my express benefit.  The more I
thought of it, the more I laughed.  What a whimsical world it was!  And
was there anything in it so grotesque as my part?  I took the check
from my pocket and cracked it between my fingers.  A cigar was in my
mouth.  Should I light it with the check?  It was for $1,000.  After
all, it was more than I had ever before held in my hand at once.  But
what was a paltry thousand, aye a paltry ten thousand, to a man's
pride?  I bit off the end of my cigar, creased the check into a taper,
and struck a match.  I watched it burn and burn.  I struck another.  I
held it within an inch of the check, but for the life of me I could not
light it.

"The devil take it!" I cried.  I flung the cigar out of the window and
laid the check on my desk.  Courage?  Why, it needed the courage of a
millionaire to light a cigar with a $1,000 check!

The office boy, who came in then, was salvation.  The managing editor
wanted to see me.  I sprang up with alacrity; anything but the sight of
that figure 1 and the three demon eyes of that $1,000 check!

"Winthrop," said the managing editor to me as I entered his office,
"you've got to go to London.  Hillars has gone under----"

"Not dead!" I cried.

"No, no!  He has had to give up work temporarily on account of drink.
If it was any other man I'd throw him over in short order.  But I feel
sorry for Hillars, and I am going to give him another chance.  I want
you to go over and take care of him if possible.  The London work is
not new to you.  You can handle that and Hillars too.  If you can keep
him in check----"

I shuddered.  The word "check" jarred on my nerves.

"What's the matter?" asked the editor.

"A temporary chill," I said.  "Go on."

"Well, if you can manage to keep him in check for a month or so he'll
be able to get on his feet again.  And it will be like a vacation to
you.  If anything happens to Hillars you will be expected to remain
permanently abroad.  Hillars suggested you in his letter.  Will you be
ready to go next Monday?"

"To-morrow if you like," I answered readily enough.  Here was an
opportunity not to be missed.  To see new scenes and faces is partially
to forget old ones.

"Very well.  I'll give you some letters which will help you.  Our
office is in the Strand.  Hillars will find you lodgings.  He has
bachelor quarters in the west end of the town, where congenial spirits
congregate.  Come in to-morrow and we'll talk it over."

I was much pleased with the turn of events.  If I could get away from
New York I might forget Phyllis--no, not forget her; I loved her too
well ever to forget her; but the prolonged absence would cure me of my
malady.

Before going to bed that night I lit a cigar, but not with the check.
On sober second thought I calculated that the sum would pay up all my
debts and leave me a comfortable margin.  A man can well pocket his
pride when he pockets a thousand dollars with it.  And why not?  I was
about to start life anew and might as well begin on a philosophical
basis.  Who knew but my uncle had foreseen the result of his bequest;
my rage, my pride, and finally lighting a cigar with his check?  It
really might make his spirit writhe to better effect if I became
benefited.  Sober second thought is more or less a profitable
investment.

On the morrow everything was arranged for my departure.  I was to leave
Saturday morning.

It was a beautiful day, crisp and clear, with a bare ground which rang
to the heel.  In the afternoon I wandered over to the Park and sat down
on a bench, and watched the skaters as they glided to and fro.  I
caught myself wishing that I was a boy again, with an hour's romp on
the sheeny crust in view.  Gradually the mantle of peace fell upon me,
and there was a sense of rest.  I was going to forgive the world the
wrong it had done me; perhaps it would feel ashamed of itself and
reward me for my patience.  So Hillars was "going to pieces."  It is
strange how we men love another who has shared and spent with us our
late patrimonies.  Hillars and I had been friends since our youth, and
we had lived together till a few years back.  Then he went to
Washington, from there to Paris, thence to London.  He was a better
newspaper man than I.  I liked to dream too well, while he was always
for a little action.  Liquor was getting the best of him.  I wondered
why.  It might be a woman.  There is always one around somewhere when a
man's breath smells of whisky.  A good deal of this woman's temperance
business is caused by remorse.  I was drawing aimless pictures in the
frozen gravel, when I became aware that two skaters had stopped in
front of me.  I glanced up and saw Phyllis and Ethel, their eyes like
stars and their cheeks like roses.

"I was wondering if it was you," said Ethel.  "Phyllis, where is my
cavalier?"

"I believe he has forsaken us," said the voice of the woman I loved.

"Will you not accept part of the bench?" I asked, moving along.

The girls dropped easily beside me.

"I was just wishing I was a boy again and was in for a game of hockey,"
said I.  "I am going to London on Saturday.  Our foreign correspondent
has had to give up work on account of ill health."

"You haven't----" Phyllis stopped suddenly.

"Oh, no," said I intuitively.  "I am growing rusty, and they think I
need a vacation."  I was glad Ethel was there with her voluble chatter.

"Oh, a foreign correspondent!"' she cried.

"Yes."

"You will have a glorious time.  Papa will probably return to B----
when the next administration comes in.  It is sure to be Republican."
There are a few women who pose as Democrats; I never met one of them.
"You know papa was there twenty years ago.  I suppose you will be
hob-nobbing with dukes and princes."

"It cannot be avoided," I said gravely.  "I do not expect to remain
long in London.  When my work is done perhaps I shall travel and
complete my foreign polish."

"Oh, yes!" said Phyllis.  "I forgot to tell you, Ethel, that a fortune
has been left to Jack, and he need not work but for the love of it."

I laughed, but they thought it a self-conscious laugh.  Somehow I was
not equal to the task of enlightening them.

"It is jolly to be rich," said Ethel, clicking her skates together.
"It's a bother at times, however, to know what to do with the money.  I
buy so many things I do not need just because I feel compelled to spend
my allowance."

"It must be very inconvenient," I observed.

"And now that you are a man of leisure," said Phyllis, "you will write
that book you have always been telling me about?"

"Do you wish it?" I asked.

"I do.  What I have always found lacking in you is application.  You
start out to accomplish something, you find an obstacle in your path
and you do not surmount it; you do not persevere."

My pulse beat quickly.  Was there a double meaning to what she said?  I
could not tell, for her eyes remained averted.

I sighed.  "It would be nice to become a successful author, but when a
man is as rich as I am fame tarnishes."  I took out an envelope from my
pocket.

"What is that?" asked Phyllis.

I turned over the back and showed it to her.

"Figures!" she laughed.  "What do they mean?"

"It is what I am going to do with my fortune," said I.  I was holding
out my vanity at arm's length and laughing at it silently.

"Your air castles will be realized now," said Phyllis.

"I shall build no more," said I.  "The last one gave me a very bad
fall."

Phyllis looked away again.  A vague perfume from her hair wafted past
my nostrils, and for a space I was overwhelmed with sadness.  Soon I
discerned Mr. Holland speeding toward us.

"I shall not see you again," I said, "so I'll bid you good-bye now.  If
you should chance to come abroad this summer, do not fail to look me
up."

"Good luck to you," said Ethel, shaking my hand.  "You must bring home
a Princess or a Duchess."  Then she moved off a way, thoughtfully.

"You must write to me occasionally, Jack," said Phyllis, "if only once
a month.  I shall always be interested in your career."

The smile faltered as she put out her gloved hand.

"You will make some man happy, Phyllis," I said.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

And then--and then they sped away, and I followed them with dimming
gaze till I could see them no more.  I trudged home. . . .

I stood on the upper deck.  The spires and domes of the city faded on
my sight till all merged into a gray smoky patch on the horizon.  With
a dead cigar clenched between my teeth I watched and watched with a
callous air, as though there had been no wrench, as though I had not
left behind all I loved in the world.  And yet I gazed, the keen salt
air singing past my ears, till there was nothing but the sea as far as
the eye could scan.

Thus I began the quest of the elusive, which is a little of love, a
little of adventure, and a little of all things.

Hillars hadn't been down to the office in two days, so the assistant
said.

"Is he ill?" I asked, as I carried a chair to the window.

"Ill?"  The young man coughed affectedly.

"Do you believe it possible for him to come in this afternoon?"

"It is quite possible.  One does not use the word impossible in regard
to Hillars.  It is possible that he may be in St. Petersburg by this
time, for all I know.  You see," with an explanatory wave of the hand,
"he's very uncertain in his movements.  For the last six months he has
been playing all over the table, to use the parlance of the roulette
player.  I have had to do most of the work, and take care of him into
the bargain.  If I may take you into my confidence----," with some
hesitancy.

"Certainly," said I.  "I want you to tell me all about him.  He was my
roommate at college.  Perhaps I can straighten him up."

"The truth is, the trouble began last September.  He came back from the
Continent, where he had been on an errand, a changed man.  Hillars
always drank, but never to an alarming extent.  On his return, however,
he was in a bad shape.  It was nearly November before I got him sobered
up; and then he went under on an average of three times a week.  I
asked him bluntly what he meant by it, and he frankly replied that if
he wanted to drink himself to death, that was his business.  When he
isn't half-seas over he is gloomy and morose.  From the first I knew
that something had gone wrong on the mainland; but I couldn't trap him
for a farthing.  No man at his age drinks himself to death without
cause; I told him so, but he only laughed at me.  I'd give a good deal
to know what the truth is; not from curiosity, mind you, but to find
the disease in order to apply a remedy.  Dan's father died of drink."

"No," said I coldly; "he was shot."

"Oh, I know that," was the reply; "but give a conditioned man the same
wound and he will recover, nine times out of ten.  The elder Hillars
was so enervated by drink that he had no strength to fight the fever
which came on top of the bullet-hole.  Something happened over there;
and it's pounds to pence there's a woman back of the curtain.  It is
some one worth while.  Hillars is not a man to fall in love with a
barmaid."

I began to respect the young man's wisdom.

"So you believe it to be a woman?"

"Yes.  The wind blows from one point at a time.  There are four points
to the vane of destiny; there is ambition for glory, ambition for
power, ambition for wealth, and ambition for love.  In Hillars's case,
since the wind does not blow from the first three, it must necessarily
blow from the fourth.  You know him better than I do; so you must
certainly know that Hillars is not a man to drink because glory or
power or wealth refused to visit him."

"You are a very discerning young man," said I, whereat he laughed.
"Did he get my cable?"

"No.  I thought that it was some order from headquarters and opened it
myself.  I put it in his desk.  I spoke to him, but he was too drunk to
pay any heed to what I said.  Well, I must be going.  I am getting out
a symposium of editorials from the morning papers on the possibility of
a Franco-Russian alliance.  It must be at the cable office in half an
hour.  If you are going to wait, you'll find the Berlin and Paris files
in the next room.  I'll see you later," and he departed.

It was five of the clock.  The Strand was choked.  Here and there I saw
the color of martial attire.  Save for this, and that the buildings
were low and solid, and that most of the people walked slower, I might
have been looking down upon Broadway for all the change of place I saw.
There is not much difference between New York and London, except in the
matter of locomotion.  The American gets around with more rapidity than
does his English cousin, but in the long run he accomplishes no more.
It is only when one steps onto the Continent that the real difference
in the human races is discerned.  Strange as this may seem, it is not
distinguishable in a cosmopolitan city.  My eyes were greeted with the
same huge wearisome signs of the merchants; the same sad-eyed "sandwich
men;" the same newsboys yelling and scampering back and forth; the same
rumble of the omnibuses, the roar of the drays, and the rattle of the
cabs.  I was not much interested in all I saw.  Suddenly my roving eyes
rested upon a familiar face.  It was Hillars, and he was pushing
rapidly across the street.  Any one would have instantly marked him for
an American by the nervous stride, the impatience at being obstructed.
I went into the fire-room, intending to give him a little surprise.  I
did not have long to wait.  The door to the main office opened and he
came in, singing a snatch from a drinking song we used to sing at
college.  The rich baritone that had once made the old glee club famous
was a bit husky and throaty.  I heard him unlock his desk and roll back
the lid.  There was a quiet for a moment.

"Dick!" he called.  "Hi, Dick!  Well, I'm hanged!"

Evidently he had discovered my cable.

"Dick isn't in," said I, crossing the threshold.

In a moment our hands were welded together, and we were gazing into
each other's eyes.

"You old reprobate!" I cried; "not to have met me at the station, even."

"Bless my soul, Jack, this cable was the first intimation that you were
within 3,000 miles of London.  But it does my heart good to see you!"
pumping my hand again.  "Come out to dinner with me.  Now don't begin
to talk till we've had something to eat; I'm almost famished.  I know
all the questions you want to ask, but not now.  There's a Bohemian
joint a block above that'll do your heart good to see.  We'll have
chops and ale, just like we did in the old days, the green and salad
days, I would they were back again"--soberly.  "Oh, I've a long story
to tell you, my son; time enough when we get to my rooms; but not a
word of it now--not a word.  It will all be forgotten in ten minutes
with you.  We'll rake up the old days and live 'em over for an hour or
so.  I'm glad that I suggested you in my letter.  What did the old man
say about my nervous prostration?"--with half a laugh.

"He put quotation marks around it," I answered.  "I wanted to see you
particularly.  They told me that you were rolling downhill so fast that
if some one did not put a fulcrum under you, you'd be at the bottom in
no time at all.  I'm going to be the lever by which you are to be
rolled uphill again."

He smiled grimly.  "If any one could do that--well, here we are;" and
we entered the chop house and took a table in one of the side rooms.
"Woods," he said to the waiter, "chops for two, chipped potatoes, and
fill up those steins of mine with ale.  That will be all.  I brought
those steins from across, Jack; you'll go crazy over them, for they are
beauties."

A college-bred bachelor, nine times out of ten, has a mania for
collecting pipes or steins, or both.  Dan and I had been affected this
way.  During the year I had studied at Heidelberg I had gathered
together some fifty odd pipes and steins.  I have them yet, and many a
pleasant memory they beget me.  As for the steins of Dan, they were
beyond compare.

"I'll tell you a story about them," said Dan, after he had taken a deep
swallow of the amber ale.  "Few men can boast of steins like these.
Not many months ago there was a party of men and women, belonging to
the capital of a certain kingdom, who attended a dinner.  It was one of
those times when exalted personages divest themselves of the dignity
and pomp of court and become free and informal.  There were twenty of
these steins made especially for the occasion.  By a circumstance, over
which I had no control, I was the only alien at this dinner.  The
steins were souvenirs.  How I came by two was due to the lady whom I
took down to dinner, and who presented hers to me after having--after
having--well, kissed the rim.  Do you see the crest?" pointing to the
exquisite inlaid work.

"Why," I said eagerly, "it is the crest of----"

"Yes, a noted King," Dan completed.  "And these were made by his
express command.  But never mind," he broke off.  "It's merely a part
of the story I am going to tell you when we get to my rooms.  I am
always thinking of it, night and day, day and night.  Talk to me, or
I'll be drinking again.  This is the first time I've been sober in a
month.  It's drink or morphine or something like.  Do you ever see
anything of the old glee boys?"

"Once in a while.  You know," said I, lighting a cigarette, "all the
fellows but you and I had money.  Most of them are carrying on the
business of their paters and ornamenting dinner parties and cotillions."

"I thought that you had a rich uncle," said Dan.

"I did have, but he is no more," and I told him all about the bequest.

He laughed so long and heartily over it that I was glad for his sake
that it had happened.  Already I was beginning to look wholly upon the
humorous side of the affair.

"It is almost too good not to be printed," he said.  "But his son may
square matters when he dies."

"I do not want matters squared," I growled.  "I can earn a living for a
few years to come.  I shan't worry."

"By the way, is that Miss Landors whom you used to rave about in your
letters married yet?"

"No."  Miss Landors was Phyllis only to her intimate friends.  I called
the waiter and ordered him to replenish my stein, Dan watching me
curiously the while.  "No, Miss Landors is not married yet."

"I have often wondered what she looked like," he mused.

"When do you go on your vacation?" I asked irrelevantly.

"In a week or ten days; may be to-morrow.  It's according to how long I
stay sober."

I was sorry that he had recalled to me the name of Phyllis.  It
dampened my sociability.  I was not yet prepared to take him into my
confidence.  The ale, however, loosened our tongues, and though we did
not talk about our present affairs we had a pleasant time recounting
the days when we were young in the sense that we had no real trouble.
Those were the times when we were earning fifteen and twenty the week;
when our watches were always in durance vile; when we lied to the poor
washerwoman and to the landlady; when we would always be "around
to-morrow" and "settle up" with our creditors.

"There was no ennui those days," laughed Hillars.

"True.  Do you remember the day you stayed in bed because it was
cheaper to sleep than work on an empty stomach?"

"And do you remember the time I saved you from jail by giving the
Sheriff my new spring overcoat to pay a washerwoman's bill of six
months' standing?"

"I hung around Jersey City that day," said I.  And then there was more
ale; and so on.  It was nine when at last we rose.

"Well, we'll go back to the office and get your case," said Dan.
"Where's your trunk?"

"At the Victoria."

"All your luggage must be sent to my rooms.  I will not hear of your
going elsewhere for lodging while in town.  I have a floor, and you
shall share it.  It's a bachelor's ranch from basement to garret,
inhabited by artists, journalists, one or two magazine men, a clever
novelist, and three of our New York men.  There is no small fry save
myself.  We have little banquets every Friday night, and they sometimes
last till Saturday noon.  I've taught the Frenchman who represents the
Paris _Temps_ how to play poker, and he threatens to become my
Frankenstein, who will eventually devour me."  Hillars laughed, and it
sounded like the laughter of other days.  "Jack, I think you will do me
good.  Stay with me and keep me away from the bottle if you can.  No
man drinks for pure love of liquor.  My father never loved it, and God
knows what he was trying to forget.  For that's the substance of it
all, to forget.  When you start out to the point of forgetfulness, you
must keep it up; regret comes back threefold with soberness.  It seems
silly and weak for a man who has been buffeted as I have, who is
supposed to gather wisdom and philosophy as a snowball gathers snow as
it rolls down hill, to try to drown regret and disappointment in
liquor.  A man never knows how weak he is till he meets the one woman
and she will have none of him."

And somehow I got closer to Hillars, spiritually.  There were two of
us, so it seemed, only I was stronger, or else my passion did not burn
so furiously as his.

The apartments occupied by Dan were all a bachelor could wish for.  The
walls were covered with photographs, original drawings, beer steins,
pipes, a slipper here, a fan there, and books and books and books.  I
felt at home at once.

I watched Hillars as he moved about the room, tidying up things a bit,
and I noticed now more than ever how changed he was.  His face had
grown thin, his hair was slightly worn at the crown and temples, and
there were dark circles under his eyes.  Yet, for all these signs of
dissipation, he was still a remarkably handsome man.  Though not so
robust as when I last saw him, his form was yet elegant.  In the old
days we had called him Adonis, and Donie had clung to him long after
the Cambridge time.

"Now," said he, when we had lighted our pipes, "I'll tell you why I'm
going to the dogs.  I've got to tell it to some one or go daft; and I
can't say that I'm not daft as it is."

"It is a woman," said I, after reflection, "who causes a man to drink,
to lose all ambition."

"It is."

"It is a woman," I went on, holding the amber stem of my pipe before
the light which gleamed golden through the transparent gum, "who causes
a man to pull up stakes and prospect for new claims, to leave the new
country for the old."

"It is a woman indeed," he replied.  He was gazing at me with a new
interest.  "If the woman had accepted him, he would not have been here."

"No, he would not," said I.

"In either case, yours or mine."

"In either case.  Go on with your story; there's nothing more to add to
mine."

Some time passed, and nothing but the breathing of the pipes was heard.
Now and then I would poke away at the ashes in my pipe bowl, and Dan
would do the same.

"Have you a picture of her?" I asked, reaching for some fresh tobacco.

"No; I am afraid to keep one."

To me this was a new phase in the matter of grand passions.

"A likeness which never changes its expression means nothing to me," he
explained.  "Her face in all its moods is graven in my mind; I have but
to shut my eyes, and she stands before me in all her loveliness.  Do
you know why I wanted this vacation?  Rest?"  His shoulders went up and
his lips closed tighter.  "My son, I want no rest.  It is rest which is
killing me.  I am going across.  I am going to see her again, if only
from the curb as she rolls past in her carriage, looking at me but not
recognizing me, telling her footman to brush me aside should I attempt
to speak to her.  Yet I would suffer this humiliation to see that
glorious face once more, to hear again that voice, though it were keyed
to scorn.  I am a fool, Jack.  What! have I gone all these years
free-heart to love a chimera in the end?  Verily I am an ass.  She is a
Princess; she has riches; she has a principality; she is the ward of a
King.  What has she to do with such as I?  Three months in the year she
dwells in her petty palace; the other months find her here and there;
Paris, St. Petersburg, or Rome, as fancy wills.  And I, I love her!  Is
it not rich?  What am I?  A grub burrowing at the root of the tree in
which she, like a bird of paradise, displays her royal plumage.
'Masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet
forget not that I am an ass.'  The father of this Princess once
rendered the present King's father a great service, and in return the
King turned over to his care a principality whose lineal descendants
had died out.  It was with the understanding that so long as he
retained the King's goodwill, just so long he might possess the
principality, and that when he died the sovereignty would pass to his
children.  The old King died, and his son sat upon his father's throne.
The father of the Princess also died.  The King of to-day made the same
terms as his father before him.  The Princess Hildegarde accepted them,
not counting the cost.  Last spring she was coronated.  Shortly before
the coronation, Prince Ernst of Wortumborg became a suitor for her
hand.  The King was very much pleased.  Prince Ernst was a cousin of
the Princess Hildegarde's father, and had striven for the principality
in the days gone by.  The King, thinking to repair the imaginary wrongs
of the Prince, forced the suit.  He impressed upon the Princess that it
was marry the Prince or give up her principality.  She gave her
consent, not knowing what to do under the circumstances.  Prince Ernst
is a Prince without principality or revenues.  In marrying the Princess
he acquires both.  I shall tell you how I became concerned."

Hillars laid his smoking pipe in the ash pan.  He got up and roamed
about the room, stopped at the window and stared at the inken sky, then
returned to his chair.

CHAPTER IV

I shall tell Hillars's story as he told it.  He said:

Last August I went to B----.  My mission was important and took me to
the British Legation, where I am well known.  I was most cordially
invited to attend a ball to be given the next evening.  The notables of
the court were there.  For a few moments the King let his sun shine on
the assemblage.  It was a brilliant spectacle.  At midnight I saw for
the first time a remarkably beautiful woman.  I was looking well myself
that night.  All women like to see broad shoulders in a man.  It
suggests strength--something they have not.  Several times this young
woman's eyes met mine.  Somehow, mine were always first to fall.  There
was a magnetism in hers mine could not withstand.  Later, an attaché
came to me and said that he wished to present me to her Serene Highness
the Princess Hildegarde of--let us call it Hohenphalia.  He whispered
that she had commanded the introduction.  I expected to see some
red-faced dowager who wanted to ask me about my country and bore me
with her guttural accents.  To my intense pleasure, I found myself at
the side of the beauty whom I had been admiring.  There was a humorous
light in her eyes as she put some questions to me.

"Do you speak German?" she asked in that language.

"Poorly, your Highness," I answered.

"Perhaps, then, you speak French?"

"As I do my mother tongue," said I.

"I am interested in Americans," she said.

"Collectively or individually?"  I tried to say this with perfect
innocence, but the smile on her lips told me that I had failed.

"Yes, I was sure that you would interest me."

She tapped the palm of her hand with the fan she held.  "Shall I tell
you why I desired to meet you?"

I nodded.

"I have heard it said that the American bows down before a title; and I
am a woman, and curious."

Said I, laughing: "Your Highness has been misinformed.  We never bow
down to a title; it is to the wearers that we bow."

This time her eyes fell.

"This sort of conversation is altogether new to me," she said, opening
the fan.

"I hope that I have not offended your Highness," I said.

"Indeed, no.  But it seems so strange to have any one talk to me with
such frankness and deliberation.  Have you no fear?"

"There is seldom fear where there is admiration.  If you had used the
word awe, now----"

Soft laughter rippled over the fan.  She had the most wonderful eyes.

"Are all Americans brave like yourself?" she next asked.

"Brave?  What do you call brave?"

"Your utter lack of fear in my presence, in the first place: I am
called dangerous.  And then, your exploits in the Balkistan, in the
second place.  Are you not the M. Hillars whose bravery not so long ago
was an interesting topic in the newspapers?  I know you."

"This is truly remarkable," said I.  "The only thing I did was to lead
a regiment out of danger."

"The danger was annihilation.  If a Captain or a Colonel had done it,
we should have thought nothing of it; but an utter stranger, who had
nothing in common with either cause--ah, believe me, it was a very
gallant thing to do."

"This is positively the first time I was ever glad that I did the
thing."  I placed my hand over my heart.  "But, after all, that is not
half so brave as what I am doing now."

"I do not understand," said she puzzled.

"Why, it is simple.  Here I am talking to you, occupying your time and
keeping those fierce Generals at bay.  See how they are gnawing their
mustaches and biting their lips and asking one another who I am.  There
are as many as five challenges waiting for me the moment I depart from
your side."

There was mischief in her eye.

"Then you shall stay with me, find me an ice and waltz once with me,
for if anything happened to you I should always have myself to blame."

I waltzed with her, and the perfume of her hair got into my head, and I
grew dizzy.  When the dance came to an end, I went into the smoking
room.  Suddenly it went through my brain that the world had changed in
an incredibly short time.  I tried to smoke, and for the first time in
my life, tobacco was tasteless, I was falling in love with a Princess.
I confess that it did not horrify me; on the contrary, I grew thrilled
and excited.  There was a spice here which hitherto had been denied me.
The cost was unspelled.  I fell as far as I could fall.  The
uncertainty of the affair was in itself an enchantment.

Well, the next day I strolled up the Avenue of Legations and saw her on
horseback.  She was accompanied by an elderly man with a face like an
eagle's.  There were various decorations on his breast.  As the
Princess saw me, she bent her head.  She remembered me.  That was all
that was necessary for my transportation.  Later, I was informed that
her escort was Prince Ernst of Wortumborg, who was destined to become
her lord and master.  I did not care who he was; I knew that I hated
him.

For a week I lingered on.  I met her time and again; alone on
horseback, at the various embassies and at the opera.  At these
meetings I learned a great deal about her.  She was known to be the
most capricious woman at court, and that she was as courageous as she
was daring; and that the Prince might consider himself lucky if he got
her, King's will or no King's will.  She had little liking for her
intended.  She treated him contemptuously and held his desires in utter
disregard.  One fine morning I was told that the Prince was beginning
to notice my attentions, that he was one of the most noted pistol shots
and swordsmen on the Continent, and that if I had any particular regard
for my epidermis I would cease my attendance on the Princess at once.
This, of course, made me more attentive than ever; for I can hold my
own with any man when it comes to pistols, and I can handle the rapier
with some success.

It was one night at the opera that the climax was brought about.  I sat
in one of the stalls diagonally across from the royal box, where she
sat.  She saw me and gave me the barest nod of recognition.  Perhaps
she did not wish to attract the attention of the royal personages who
sat with her; for the nod struck me as clandestine.  Between the first
and second acts a note was handed to me.  It was not addressed, neither
was it signed.  But it was for me; the bearer spoke my name.  As near
as I can remember, the note contained these words:

"A carriage will await you two blocks south; it will be without lights.
You will enter it exactly ten minutes after the opera is ended."

That was all, but it was enough.  When I returned to my seat I found
the Princess gazing intently at me.  I made an affirmative gesture and
was rewarded with a smile which set my blood to rushing.  I made little
out of the last act.  I could not dream what the anonymous note had
behind it.  I suspicioned an intrigue, but what use had she for me, an
American, a very nobody?  Something unusual was about to take place and
I was to be a witness or a participant of it.  That was as far as my
talent for logical deduction went.  Promptly at the stated time I stood
at the side of the carriage.  It was the plainest sort of an affair.
Evidently it had been hired for the occasion.  The door opened.

"Step in, monsieur," said a low voice in French.  I obeyed.  The horse
started.  As we spun along the pavement a light flashed into the
window.  The Princess sat before me.  There was a ringing in my ears,
and I breathed quickly.  But I said no word; it was for her to speak
first.

"Monsieur is an American," she began.  "The American is of a chivalric
race."

"That should be the aim of all men," I replied.

"But it is not so.  Monsieur, I have been studying you for the past
week.  To-night I place my honor and my fame in your hands; it is for
you to prove that you are a knight.  I trust you.  When I have said
what I shall say to you, you may withdraw or give me your aid, as you
please."

"I am grateful for your confidence, your Highness," said I.  "What is
it that you wish me to do?"

"Have patience, monsieur, till the ride is done," she said.  "Do not
speak again till I permit you.  I must think."

The journey was accomplished in half an hour.

"It is here, monsieur, that we alight," she said as the carriage
stopped.

I was glad that her opera cloak was of dark material and that she wore
a veil.

The building before which we stood was on the outskirts of the city.
Far away to my left I could see the flickering lights of the palaces; a
yellowish haze hung over all.  Once within the building I noted with
surprise the luxurious appointments.  Plainly it was no common inn, a
resort for the middle and traveling classes; whether it was patronized
by the nobility I could only surmise.

"We shall continue to speak in French," she said, as she threw back her
cloak and lifted her veil.  "Monsieur has probably heard that the
Princess Hildegarde is a creature of extravagant caprices; and he
expects an escapade."

"Your Highness wrongs me," I protested.  "I am an obscure American;
your Highness does not share your--that is----"

I stopped, not wishing to give the term escapade to anything she might
do.  As a matter of fact she has caused her royal guardian, the King,
no end of trouble.  She went to Paris once unattended; at another time
she roamed around Heidelberg and slashed a fencing master; she had
donned a student's garb.  She is said to be the finest swordswoman on
the Continent.  Yet, notwithstanding her caprices, she is a
noble-minded woman.  She does all these things called social vagaries
because she has a fine scorn for the innate hypocrisy of the social
organization of this country.  She loves freedom not wisely but too
well.  To go on:

"Monsieur wrongs me also," she said.  "In what are termed my escapades
I am alone.  You appealed to me," with a directness which amazed me,
"because of your handsome face, your elegant form, your bright eyes.
You are a man who loves adventure which has the spice of danger in it.
My countrymen----."  She crooked one of her bare shoulders, which shone
like yellow ivory in the subdued light.  This rank flattery cooled me.
A woman who has any regard for a man is not likely to flatter him in
respect to his looks on so short and slight an acquaintance.
"Monsieur," she proceeded, "this is to be no escapade, no caprice.  I
ask your aid as a desperate woman.  At court I can find no one to
succor me, save at the peril of that which is dearer to me than my
life.  Among the commoners, who would dare?  An Englishman?  It is too
much trouble.  A Frenchman?  I would trust him not quite so far as the
door.  You are the first American, not connected with the legation, I
have ever met.  Will you help me?"

"If what you ask me to do is within my capabilities, I am yours to
command."

"The reward will be small," as if to try me.  I laughed.  I was so
insanely happy, I suppose.  "There will be danger," she persisted;
"secret danger: there will be scandal."

"The more danger, the merrier," I cried.

"Ah, yes," smiling; "it is the man of Balkistan."

I leaned over the table and inhaled the ineffable perfumes which
emanated from her person.  "Tell me, from what must I succor the
Princess?  Is she a prisoner in a castle over which some ogre rules?
Well, then, I'll be Sir Galahad."

My jesting tone jarred on her nerves.  She straightened in her chair.

"Monsieur is amused," she said coldly.

"And he asks a thousand pardons!" I cried contritely.  "Command me,"
and I grew chilled and serious.

"You have heard that I am to wed Prince Ernst of Wortumborg?"

"Yes."  I gnawed the ends of my mustache.

"Monsieur, it is against my will, my whole being.  I have no desire to
contribute a principality and a wife to a man who is not worthy of one
or the other.  I refuse to become the King's puppet, notwithstanding
his power to take away my principality and leave me comparatively
without resources.  I detest this man so thoroughly that I cannot hate
him.  I abhor him.  It is you who must save me from him; it is you who
must also save me my principality.  Oh, they envy me, these poor
people, because I am a Princess, because I dwell in the tinsel glitter
of the court.  Could they but know how I envy their lives, their homes,
their humble ambitions!  Believe me, monsieur, as yet I love no man;
but that is no reason why I should link my life to that of a man to
whom virtue in a woman means nothing.  He caused my mother great
sorrow.  He came between her and my father.  He spoiled her life, now
he wishes to spoil mine.  But I will not have it so.  I will give up my
principality rather.  But first let me try to see if I cannot retain
the one and rid myself of the other.  Listen.  To-morrow night there
will be a dinner here.  The King and the inner court will hold forth.
But they will cast aside their pomp and become, for the time being,
ordinary people.  The Prince will be in Brussels, and therefore unable
to attend.  You are to come in his stead."

"I?" in astonishment.

"Even so," she smiled.  "While the festivities are at their height you
and I will secretly leave and return to the city.  We shall go
immediately to the station, thence to France."

I looked at her as one in a dream.  "I!--You!--thence to France?"

CHAPTER V

Hillars went to the sideboard and emptied half a glass of brandy.
Coming back to his chair he remained in a reverie for a short time.
Then he resumed his narrative.

The Princess looked up into my face and smiled.

"Yes; thence to France.  Ah, I could go alone.  But listen, monsieur.
Above all things there must be a scandal.  A Princess elopes with an
American adventurer.  The Prince will withdraw his suit.  The King may
or may not forgive me; but I will risk it.  He is still somewhat fond
of me, notwithstanding the worry I have caused him.  This way is the
only method by which I may convince him how detestable this engagement
is to me.  Yet, my freedom is more to me than my principality.  Let the
King bestow it upon whom he will.  I shall become a teacher of
languages, or something of that sort.  I shall be free and happy.  Oh,
you will have a merry tale to tell, a merry adventure.  You will return
to your country.  You will be the envy of your compatriots.  You will
recount at your clubs a story such as men read, but never hear told!"
She was growing a bit hysterical.  As she looked at me she saw that my
face was grave.

"Is there no other way?" I asked.  "Can it not be accomplished without
scandal?"

"No.  There must be scandal.  Otherwise I should be brought back and
forgiven, and no one would know.  In a certain sense, I am valuable.
The Hohenphalians love me; I am something of an idol to them.  The King
appreciates my rule.  It gives him a knowledge that there will be no
internal troubles in Hohenphalia so long as matters stand as they now
do.  Still, there are limits to the King's patience; and I am about to
try them severely.  But monsieur hesitates; he will withdraw his
promise."

"No, your Highness," said I, "I have given my word.  As for the
scandal, it is not for myself that I care.  It will be a jolly
adventure for me; and then, I shall have such a clever story to tell my
friends at the clubs."

She saw that I was offended.  "Forgive me, monsieur; I know that you
would do no such thing.  But let me explain to you.  At the station we
will be intercepted by two trusted and high officials at court."

"What!" I exclaimed; "do they know?"

"No; but I shall write to them anonymously, the note to be placed in
their hands immediately we leave the premises."

I looked at the woman in wonder.

"But this is madness!" I cried.

"Directly you will see the method in the madness.  Without their
knowing there could be no scandal.  They will try to stop us.  You will
over-power and bind them.  There will also be several other witnesses
who will not be participants.  Through them it will become known that I
have eloped with an American.  Oh, it is a well-laid plan."

"But, supposing I am overpowered myself, thrown into jail and I know
not what?"  All this was more than I had bargained for.

"Nothing of the kind will happen.  Monsieur will hold a pistol in each
hand when the carriage door is opened.  You will say: 'I am a desperate
man; one of you bind the other, or I fire!'  It will be done.  You will
spring upon the remaining one and I will help you to bind him likewise.
Oh, you will accomplish it well; you are a strong man; moreover, you
are rapid."

I sat in my chair, speechless.  Here was a woman of details.  I had
never met one before.

"Well, does monsieur accept the adventure or does he politely decline?"
There was a subtle taunt in her tones.  That decided me.

"Your Highness, I should be happy to meet a thousand Uhlans to do you
service.  What you ask me to do is quite simple."  I knew that I should
lose my head in case of failure.  I rose and bowed as unconcernedly as
though she had but asked me to join her with a cup of tea.

"Ah, monsieur, you are a man!"  And she laughed softly as she saw me
throw back my shoulders.  There was unmistakable admiration in her
eyes.  "And yet," with a sudden frown, "there will be danger.  You may
slip; you may become injured.  Yes, there is danger."

"Your Highness," said I lowly, compelling her eyes to meet mine, "it is
not the danger of the adventure or its results that I most fear."  I
was honest enough to make my meaning clear.

She blushed.  "I said that I trusted monsieur's honor," was her
rejoinder.  "Come," with a return of her imperiousness; "it is time
that we were gone!"  She drew on her cloak and dropped the veil.  "I
might add," she said, "that we will remain in France one hour.  From
there you may go your way, and I shall go secretly to my palace."

And the glamour fell away like the last leaves of the year.

I had to wake up the driver, who had fallen asleep.

"Where shall I say?" I asked.

"To your hotel.  I shall give the driver the remaining instructions."

"But you haven't told me," said I, as I took my place in the carriage,
"how I am to become a guest at the dinner to-morrow evening."

"I spoke to the King this morning.  I said that I had a caprice.  He
replied that if I would promise it to be my last he would grant it.  I
promised.  I said that it was my desire to bring to the dinner a person
who, though without rank, was a gentleman--one who would grace any
gathering, kingly or otherwise.  My word was sufficient.  I knew before
I asked you that you would come.  Twenty-four hours from now we, that
is, you and I, will be on the way to the French frontier.  I shall be
ever in your debt."

Silence fell upon us.  I knew that I loved her with a love that was
burning me up, consuming me.  And the adventure was all so unheard of
for these prosaic times!  And so full of the charm of mystery was she
that I had not been a man not to have fallen a victim.  What
possibilities suggested themselves to me as on we rode!  Once across
the frontier I should be free to confess my love for her.  A Princess?
What of that?  She would be only a woman--the woman I loved.  I
trembled.  Something might happen so that she would have to turn to me.
If the King refused to forgive her, she was mine!  Ah, that plain
carriage held a wonderful dream that night.  At length--too shortly for
me--the vehicle drew up in front of my hotel.  As I was about to alight
her hand stretched toward me.  But instead of kissing it, I pressed my
lips on her round white arm.  As though my lips burned, she drew back.

"Have a care, monsieur; have a care," she said, icily.  "Such a kiss
has to be won."

I stammered an apology and stepped out.  Then I heard a low laugh.

"Good night, Mr. Hillars; you are a brave gentleman!"

The door closed and the vehicle sped away into the darkness.

I stood looking after it, bewildered.  Her last words were spoken in
pure English.

With the following evening came the dinner; and I as a guest, a
nervous, self-conscious guest, who started at every footstep.  I was
presented to the King, who eyed me curiously.  Seeing that I wore a
medal such as his Chancellor gives to men who sometimes do his country
service, he spoke to me and inquired how I had obtained it.  It was an
affair similar to the Balkistan; only there was not an army, but a mob.
The Princess was enchanting.  I grew reckless, and let her read my eyes
more than once; but she pretended not to see what was in them.  At
dinner a toast was given to his Majesty.  It was made with those steins
I showed you, Jack.

The Princess said softly to me, kissing the rim of the stein she held:
"My toast is not to the King, but to the gentleman!"  I had both steins
bundled up and left with the host, together with my address.

It was not long after that the eventful moment for our flight arrived.
I knew that I was basely to abuse the hospitality of the King.  But
what is a King to a man in love?  Presently we two were alone in the
garden, the Princess and myself.  She was whispering instructions,
telling me that I was a man of courage.

"It is not too late to back out," she said.

"I would face a thousand kings rather," I replied.

We could see at the gate the carriage which was to take us to the
station.  Now came the moment when I was tried by the crucible and
found to be dross.  I committed the most foolish blunder of my life.
My love suddenly overleapt its bounds.  In a moment my arms were around
her lithe body; my lips met hers squarely.  After it was done she stood
very still, as if incapable of understanding my offence.  But I
understood.  I was overwhelmed with remorse, love, and regret.  I had
made impossible what might have been.

"Your Highness," I cried, "I could not help it!  Before God I could
not!  It is because I love you better than anything in the world--you
cannot be of it!--and all this is impossible, this going away together."

Her bosom heaved, and her eyes flashed like a heated summer sky.

"I will give you one minute to leave this place," she said, her tones
as even and as cold as sudden repression of wrath could make them.  "I
trusted you, and you have dared to take advantage of what seemed my
helplessness.  It is well indeed for you that you committed this
outrage before it is too late.  I should have killed you then.  I might
have known.  Could ever a woman trust a man?"  She laughed
contemptuously.  "You would have made me a thing of scorn; and I
trusted you!"

"As God is my judge," I cried, "my respect for you is as high as heaven
itself.  I love you; is there nothing in that?  I am but human.  I am
not a stone image.  And you have tempted me beyond all control.  Pardon
what I have done; it was not the want of respect--."

"Spare me your protestations.  I believe your minute is nearly gone,"
she interrupted.

And then--there was a crunch on the gravel behind us.  The Princess and
I turned in dismay.  We had forgotten all about the anonymous note.
Two officers were approaching us, and rapidly.  The elder of the two
came straight to me.  I knew him to be as inexorable as his former
master, the victor of Sedan.  The Princess looked on mechanically.

"Come," said the Count, in broken English; "I believe your carriage is
at the gate."

I glanced at the Princess.  She might have been of stone, for all the
life she exhibited.

"Come; the comedy is a poor one," said the Count.

I followed him out of the garden.  My indifference to personal safety
was due to a numbness which had taken hold of me.

"Get in," he said, when we reached the carriage.  I did so, and he got
in after me.  The driver appeared confused.  It was not his fare,
according to the agreement.  "To the city," he was briefly told.  "Your
hotel?" turning to me.  I named it.  "Do you understand German?"

"But indifferently," I answered listlessly.

"It appears that you understand neither the language nor the people.
Who are you?"

"That is my concern," I retorted.  I was coming about, and not
unnaturally became vicious.

"It concerns me also," was the gruff reply.

"Have your own way about it."

"How came you by that medal?" pointing to my breast.

"Honestly," said I.

"Honestly or dishonestly, it is all the same." He made a move to detach
it, and I caught his hand.

"Please don't do that.  I am extremely irritable; and I might throw you
out of the window.  I can get back to my hotel without guidance."

"I am going to see you to your lodgings," asserted the Count, rubbing
his wrist, for I had put some power into my grasp.

"Still, I might take it into my head to throw you out."

"You'd better not try."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes.  There would be a scandal.  Not that I would care about the death
of a miserable adventurer, but it might possibly reflect upon the
virtue of her Highness the Princess Hildegarde."

"What do you want?" I growled.

"I want to see if your passports are proper so that you will have no
difficulty in passing over the frontier."

"Perhaps it would be just as well to wake the American Minister?" I
suggested.

"Not at all.  If you were found dead there might be a possibility of
that.  But I should explain to him, and he would understand that it was
a case without diplomatic precedent."

"Well?"

"You are to leave this country at once, sir; that is, if you place any
value upon your life."

"Oh; then it is really serious?"

"Very.  It is a matter of life and death--to you.  Moreover, you must
never enter this country again.  If you do, I will not give a pfennig
for your life."

He found my passports in good order.  I permitted him to rummage
through some of my papers.

"Ach! a damned scribbler, too!" coming across some of my notes.

"Quite right, Herr General," said I.  I submitted because I didn't care.

My luggage was packed off to the station, where he saw that my ticket
was for Paris.

"Good morning," he said, as I entered the carriage compartment.  "The
devil will soon come to his own; ach!"

"My compliments to him when you see him!" I called back, not to be
outdone in the matter of courtesy.

"And that is all, Jack," concluded Hillars.  "For all these months not
an hour has passed in which I have not cursed the folly of that moment.
Instead of healing under the balm of philosophy, the wound grows more
painful every day.  She did not love me, I know, but she would have
been near me.  And if the King had taken away her principality, she
would have needed me in a thousand ways.  And it is not less than
possible that in time she might have learned the lesson of love.  But
now--if she is the woman I believe her to be, she never could love me
after what has happened.  And knowing this, I can't leave liquor alone,
and don't want to.  In my cups I do not care."

"I feel sorry for you both," said I.  "Has the Prince married her yet?"

"No.  It has been postponed.  Next Monday I am going back.  I am going
in hopes of getting into trouble.  I may never see her again, perhaps.
To-morrow, to-morrow!  Who knows?  Well, I'm off to bed.  Good night."

And I was left alone with my thoughts.  They weren't very good company.
To-morrow indeed, I thought.  I sat and smoked till my tongue smarted.
I had troubles of my own, and wondered how they would end.  Poor
Hillars!  As I look back to-day, I marvel that we could not see the
end.  The mystery of life seems simple to us who have lived most of it,
and can look down through the long years.

CHAPTER VI

During the first year of my residence in London there happened few
events worth chronicling.  Shortly after my arrival Hillars
disappeared.  His two months' vacation stretched into twelve, and I was
directed to remain in London.  As I knew that Hillars did not wish to
be found I made no inquiries.  He was somewhere on the Continent, but
where no one knew.  At one time a letter dated at St. Petersburg
reached me, and at another time I was informed of his presence at Monte
Carlo.  In neither letter was there any mention of her Serene Highness,
the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia.  Since the night he recounted
the adventure the wayward Princess had never become the topic of
conversation.  I grew hopeful enough to believe that he had forgotten
her.  Occasionally I received a long letter from Phyllis.  I always
promptly answered it.  To any one but me her letters would have proved
interesting reading.  It was not for what she wrote that I cared, it
was the mere fact that she wrote.  A man cannot find much pleasure in
letters which begin with "Dear friend," and end with "Yours sincerely,"
when they come from the woman he loves.

In the preceding autumn I completed my first novel.  I carried it
around to publishers till I grew to hate it as one hates a Nemesis, and
when finally I did place it, it was with a publisher who had just
started in business and was necessarily obscure.  I bowed politely to
my dreams of literary fame and became wholly absorbed in my
journalistic work.  When the book came out I could not but admire the
excellence of the bookmaking, but as I looked through the reviews and
found no mention save in "books received," I threw the book aside and
vowed that it should be my last.  The publisher wrote me that he was
surprised that the book had not caught on, as he considered the story
unusually clever.  "Merit is one thing," he said, "but luck is
another."  I have found this to be true, not only in literature, but in
all walks of life where fame and money are the goals.  Phyllis wrote me
that she thought the book "just splendid"; but I took her praise with a
grain of salt, it being likely that she was partial to the author, and
that the real worth of the book was little in comparison with the fact
that it was I who wrote it.

One morning in early June I found three letters on my desk.  The first
was from Hillars.  He was in Vienna.

"MY DEAR SON," it ran, "there is another rumpus.  The Princess
disappeared on the 20th of last month.  They are hunting high and low
for her, and incidentally for me.  Why me, is more than I can
understand.  But I received a letter from Rockwell of the American
Legation warning me that if I remained in Austria I should be
apprehended, put in jail, hanged and quartered for no other reason on
earth than that they suspect me having something to do with her
disappearance.  Due, I suppose, to that other miserable affair.  Though
I have hunted all over the Continent, I have never seen the Princess
Hildegarde since that night at B----.  Where shall I find her?   I
haven't the least idea.   But as a last throw, I am going to the
principality of Hohenphalia, where she was born and over which she
rules with infinite wisdom.  The King is determined that she shall wed
Prince Ernst.  He would take away her principality but for the fact
that there would be a wholesale disturbance to follow any such act.  If
I ever meet that watch dog of hers, the Count von Walden, the duffer
who gave me my congé, there will be trouble.  The world isn't large
enough for two such men as we are.  By the way, I played roulette at
the Casino last night and won 3,000 francs.  Well, au revoir or adieu
as the case may be.  They sell the worst whiskey here you ever heard
of.  It's terrible to have an educated palate.

"HILLARS."

So he was still desiring for something he could never have!  I got out
of patience with the fellow.  Even if she loved him, what chance had he
against the legions of the King?  Hillars was a wild-headed fellow,
and, if at liberty, was not incapable of creating a disturbance.  It
might land him in jail, or on the gallows.  The phlegmatic German is
not particular whom he hangs.  In that wide domain there is always some
petty revolution going on.  In each of those petty kingdoms, or
principalities, or duchies, there are miniature Rousseaus and Voltaires
who shout liberty and equality in beer halls and rouse the otherwise
peaceful citizens to warfare; short, it is true, but none the less
warfare.  Military despotism is the tocsin.  When the King presses an
unwilling subject into the army, upon his discharge the unwilling
subject, usually a peasant, becomes a socialist.  These Rousseaus and
Voltaires have a certain amount of education, but they lack daring.  If
a man like Hillars, who had not only brains but daring, should get
mixed up in one of these embroglios, some blood would be spilled before
the trouble became adjusted.  Still, Hillars, with all his love of
adventure, was not ordinarily reckless.  Yet, if he met the Princess,
she would find a willing tool in him for her slightest caprice.
Whatever happened the brunt would fall upon him.  My opinion, formed
from various stories I had heard of the Princess, was not very
flattering to her.  The letter and its possibilities disturbed me.

The second letter was from headquarters in New York.

"DEAR WINTHROP--We want a good Sunday special.  Her Serene Highness the
Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia has taken it into her head to
disappear again.  Go over and see Rockwell in B----; he will give you a
good yarn.  It has never been in type yet, and I daresay that it will
make good reading.  London seems particularly dull just now, and you
can easily turn over your affairs to the assistant.  This woman's life
is more full of romance than that of any other woman of the courts of
Europe.  The most interesting part of it is her reputation is said to
be like that of Caesar's wife--above reproach.  Get a full history of
her life and of the Prince whom she is to marry.  If you can get any
photographs do so.  I know how you dislike this sort of work, prying
into private affairs, as you call it, but with all these sensational
sheets springing up around us, we must keep in line now and then.  Do
you know anything about Hillars; is he dead or alive?  Take all the
time you want for the story and send it by mail."

"The Princess Hildegarde!" I cried aloud.  "The deuce take the woman!"

"What's that?" asked my assistant, who had overheard my outburst.

"Oh, I am to go across on a special story," I said with a snarl, "just
as I was fixing for a week's fishing.  I've got to concern myself with
the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia."

"Ah, the Princess Hildegarde?" said the young fellow, pushing back his
hat and elevating his feet, a trick he had acquired while being reared
in his native land, which was the State of Illinois, in America.  "You
want to be careful.  Every one burns his fingers or singes his wings
around that candle."

"What do you know about her?" I asked.

"A little.  You see, about six months ago I discovered all regarding
Hillars and his fall from grace.  It was through the Reuter agency.
Hillars got badly singed.  An elopement of some sort between him and
the Princess was nipped in the bud.  He was ordered to leave the
country and warned never to return, at the peril of his liberty.  A
description of him is with every post on the frontier.  As for the
Princess she is an interesting character.  She was educated in this
country and France.  She speaks several languages.  She is headstrong
and wilful, and her royal guardian is only too anxious to see her
married and settled down.  She masquerades in men's clothes when it
pleases her, she can ride a horse like a trooper, she fences and
shoots, she has fought two duels, and heaven alone knows what she has
not done to disturb the tranquility of the Court.  For a man she loved
she would be a merry comrade.  I saw her once in Paris.  She is an
extraordinarily beautiful woman.  A man takes no end of risk when he
concerns himself with her affairs, I can tell you.  Hillars--Well, I
suppose it's none of my business.  He must have had an exciting time of
it," concluded the young man.

"I'll leave you in charge for a week or so," said I.  "What little news
there is at the Houses you can cover.  I'll take care of anything of
importance that occurs abroad.  I might as well pack up and get out
to-night.  A boat leaves Dover early in the morning."

Then I picked up the third and last letter.  It was from Phyllis.  It
contained the enjoyable news that the Wentworths were coming abroad,
and that they would remain indefinitely at B----, where Mr. Wentworth
had been appointed chargé d'affaires under the American Minister.  They
were to visit the Mediterranean before coming to London.  They would be
in town in October.  The mere thought of seeing Phyllis made my heart
throb.

The next morning I put out from Dover.  It was a rough passage for that
time of the year, and I came near being sea-sick.  A day or so in Paris
brought me around, and I proceeded.  As I passed the frontier I noticed
that my passports were eagerly scanned, and that I was closely
scrutinized for some reason or other.

A smartly dressed officer occupied half of the carriage compartment
with me.  I tried to draw him into conversation, but he proved to be
untalkative; so I busied myself with the latest issue of the Paris
_L'Illustration_.  I never glanced in the direction of the officer but
what I found him staring intently at me.  This irritated me.  The
incident was repeated so many times that I said:

"I trust Herr will remember me in the days to come."

"Eh?" somewhat startled, I thought.

"I observed that you will possibly remember me in the days to come.
Or, perhaps I resemble some one you know."

"Not in the least," was the haughty retort.

I shrugged and relit my pipe.  The tobacco I had purchased in Paris,
and it was of the customary vileness.  Perhaps I could smoke out Mein
Herr.  But the task resulted in a boomerang.  He drew out a huge china
pipe and began smoking tobacco which was even viler than mine, if that
could be possible.  Soon I let down the window.

"Does the smoke disturb Herr?" he asked, puffing forth great clouds of
smoke.  There was a shade of raillery in his tones.

"It would not," I answered, "if it came from tobacco."

He subsided.

Whenever there was a stop of any length I stepped out and walked the
platform.  The officer invariably followed my example.  I pondered over
this each time I re-entered the carriage.  At last my irritation turned
into wrath.

"Are you aware that your actions are very annoying?"

"How, sir?" proudly.

"You stare me out of countenance, you refrain from entering into
conversation, and by the way you follow me in and out of the carriage,
one would say that you were watching me.  All this is not common
politeness."

"Herr jests," he replied with a forced smile.  "If I desire not to
converse, that is my business.  As for getting in and out of the
carriage, have I no rights as a passenger?"

It was I who subsided.  A minute passed.

"But why do you stare at me?" I asked.

"I do not stare at you, I have no paper and tried to read yours at a
distance.  I am willing to apologize for that."

"Oh, that is different," I said.  I tossed the paper to him.  "You are
welcome to the paper."

I covertly watched him as he tried to read the French.  By and by he
passed the paper back.

"I am not a very good French scholar, and the French are tiresome."

"They would not have been if they had had a General who thought more of
fighting than of wearing pretty clothes."

"Oh, it would not have mattered," confidently.

"Prussia was once humbled by a Frenchman."  I was irritating him with a
purpose in view.

"Bah!"

"The only reason the French were beaten was because they did not think
the German race worth troubling about."

He laughed pleasantly.  "You Americans have a strange idea of the
difference between the German and the Frenchman."

This was just what I wanted.

"And who informed you that I was an American?"

He was disconcerted.

"Why," he said, lamely, "it is easily apparent, the difference between
the American and the Englishman."  Then, as though a bright idea had
come to him, "The English never engage in conversation with strangers
while traveling.  Americans are more sociable."

"They are?  Then I advise them to follow the example set by the
Englishman: Never try to get up a conversation while traveling with a
German.  It is a disagreeable task;" and I settled back behind my paper.

How had he found out that I was an American?  Was I known?  And for
what reason was I known?  To my knowledge I had never committed any
offence to the extent that I must be watched like a suspect.  What his
object was and how he came to know that I was an American was a mystery
to me.  I was glad that the journey would last but an hour or so
longer.  The train arrived at the capital late at night.  As I went to
inquire about my luggage I saw my late fellow passenger joined by
another officer.  The two began talking earnestly, giving me occasional
side-long glances.  The mystery was deepening.  In passing them I
caught words which sounded like "under another name" and "positive it
is he."  This was anything but reassuring to me.  At length they
disappeared, only to meet me outside the station.  It got into my head
that I was a marked man.  A feeling of discomfort took possession of
me.  Germans are troublesome when they get an idea.  I was glad to get
into the carriage which was to take me to my hotel.  The driver seemed
to have some difficulty in starting the horse, but I gave this no
attention.  When the vehicle did start it was with a rapidity which
alarmed me.  Corner after corner was turned, and the lights went by in
flashes.  It was taking a long time to reach my hotel, I thought.
Suddenly it dawned upon me that the direction we were going was
contrary to my instructions.  I tried to open the window, but it
refused to move.  Then I hammered on the pane, but the driver was deaf,
or purposely so.

"Hi there!" I thoughtlessly yelled in English, "where the devil are you
going?"

No one paid any attention to my cries.  It was becoming a serious
matter.  The lights grew fewer and fewer, and presently there were no
lights at all.  We were, I judged, somewhere in the suburbs.  I became
desperate and smashed a window.  The carriage stopped so abruptly that
I went sprawling to the bottom.  I was in anything but a peaceful frame
of mind, as they say, when the door swung open and I beheld, standing
at the side of it, the officer who had accompanied me from the frontier.

"What tomfoolery is this?" I demanded.  I was thoroughly incensed.

"It means that Herr will act peacefully or be in danger of a broken
head," was the mind-easing reply of my quondam fellow passenger.  The
driver then came down from the box, and I saw that he was the officer
who had joined us at the station.

"If it is a frolic," I said, "one of your beer hall frolics, the sooner
it is ended the better for you."

The two laughed as if what I had said was one of the funniest things
imaginable.

"Get out!"

"With pleasure!" said I.

Directly one of them lay with his back to the ground and the other was
locked in my embrace.  I had not spent four years on the college campus
for intellectual benefits only.  And indignation lent me additional
strength.  My opponent was a powerful man, but I held him in a grip of
rage.  Truthfully, I began to enjoy the situation.  There is something
exhilarating in the fighting blood which rises in us now and then.
This exhilaration, however, brought about my fall.  In the struggle I
forgot the other, who meantime had recovered his star-gemmed senses.  A
crack from the butt of his pistol rendered me remarkably quiet and
docile.  In fact, all became a vacancy till the next morning, and then
I was conscious of a terrible headache, and of a room with a window
through which a cat might have climbed without endangering its spine--a
very dexterous cat.

"Well," I mused, softly nursing the lump on my head, "here's the devil
to pay, and not a cent to pay him with."

It was evident that, without knowing it, I had become a very important
personage.

CHAPTER VII

I saw some rye bread, cold meat and a pitcher of water on the table,
and I made a sandwich and washed it down with a few swallows of the
cool liquid.  I had a fever and the water chilled it.  There was a lump
on the back of my head as large as an egg.  With what water remained I
dampened my handkerchief and wound it around the injury.  Then I made a
systematic search through my clothes.  Not a single article of my
belongings was missing.  I was rather sorry, for it lent a deeper
significance to my incarceration.  After this, I proceeded to take an
inventory of my surroundings.  Below and beyond the little window I saw
a wide expanse of beautiful gardens, fine oaks and firs, velvet lawns
and white pebbled roads.  Marble fountains made them merry in the
roseate hue of early morning.  A gardener was busy among some hedges,
but beyond the sound of my voice.  I was a prisoner in no common jail,
then, but in the garret of a private residence.  Having satisfied
myself that there was no possible escape, I returned to my pallet and
lay down.  Why I was here a prisoner I knew not.  I thought over all I
had written the past twelvemonth, but nothing recurred to me which
would make me liable to arrest.  But, then, I had not been arrested.  I
had been kidnapped, nothing less.  Nothing had been asked of me; I had
made no statement.  It had been all too sudden.  Presently I heard
footsteps in the corridor, and the door opened.  It was mine enemy.  He
locked the door and thrust the key into his pocket.  One of his eyes
was decidedly mouse-colored.  The knuckles of my hand were yet sore.  I
smiled; he saw the smile, his jaws hardening and his eyes threatening.

"I am sorry," I said.  "I should have hit you on the point of your
chin; but I was in a great hurry.  Did you ever try raw meat as a
poultice?"

"Enough of this," he snapped, laying a pistol on the table.  I was
considered dangerous; it was something to know that.  "You must answer
my questions."

"Must?"

"Must."

"Young man you have no tact.  You are not an accomplished villain,"
said I, pleasantly.  "You should begin by asking me how I spent the
night, and if there was not something you could do for my material
comfort.  Perhaps, however, you will first answer a few questions of
mine?"

"There are only two men whose questions I answer," he said.

"And who might they be?"

"My commander and the King.  I will answer one question--the reason you
are here.  You are a menace to the tranquility of the State."

"Oh; then I have the honor of being what is called a prisoner of State?
Be careful," I cried, suddenly; "that pistol might go off, and then the
American Minister might ask you in turn some questions, disagreeable
ones, too."

"The American Minister would never know anything about it," said he,
gruffly.  "But have no fear; I should hesitate to soil an innocent
leaden bullet in your carcass."

"Be gentle," I advised, "or when we meet again I shall feel it my duty
to dull the lustre of your other eye."

"Pah!" he ejaculated.  "We are indebted to the French for the word
canaille, which applies to all Americans and Englishmen."

"Now," said I, climbing off the pallet, "I shall certainly do it."

"I warn you not to approach me," he cried, his fingers closing over the
pistol.

"Well, I promise not to do it now," I declared, going over to the
window.  I found some satisfaction in his nervousness; it told me that
he feared me.  "What place is this; a palace?"

"Answer this question, sir: Why did you cross the frontier when you
were expressly forbidden to do so?"

"I forbidden to cross the frontier?"  My astonishment was
indescribable.  "Young man, you have made a blunder of some sort.  I am
not a Socialist or an Anarchist.  I have never been forbidden to cross
the frontier of any country.  Your Chancellor is one of the best
friends I have in the world.  I went to school with his son."

He rocked to and fro on the table, laughing honestly and heartily.
"You do not lack impudence.  Are you, or are you not, the London
correspondent of the New York ------?"

"I certainly am."

"You admit it?" eagerly.

"I see no earthly reason why I should not."

"When did you last visit this city?"

"Several years ago."

"Several years ago?" incredulously.

"Exactly.  Have you ever seen me before?"

"No.  But it was a little less than two years ago when you were here."

"It is scarcely polite," said I, "to question the veracity of a man you
never saw before and of whom you know positively nothing."  Suddenly my
head began to throb again and I grew dizzy.  "You hit me rather soundly
with that pistol.  Still, your eye ought to be a recompense."

He replied with a scowl.

"Perhaps your name is ------"

"Winthrop, John Winthrop, if that will throw any light on the subject."'

"One name is as good as another," with a smile of unbelief.

"That is true.  What's in a name?  There is little difference, after
all, between the names of the nobility and the rabble."

"You are determined to irritate me beyond measure," said he.  A German
is the most sensitive man in the world as regards his title.

"Grant that I have some cause.  And perhaps," observing him from the
corner of my eye, "it is because you smoke such vile tobacco."

Remembering the incident in the railway carriage, he smiled in spite of
the gravity of the situation.

"It was the best I had," he said; "and then, it was done in
self-defence.  I'll give you credit for being a fearless individual.
But you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you returned to this country when you were expressly forbidden to
do so."

"I answered that," said I.  "And now let me tell you that you may go on
asking questions till the crack of doom, but no answer will I give you
till you have told me why I am here, I, who do not know you or what
your business is, or what I am supposed to have done."

He began to look doubtful.  He thumped the table with the butt of the
pistol.

"Do you persist in affirming that your name is Winthrop?"

"These gardens are very fine.  I could see them better," said I, "if
the window was larger."

"Perhaps," he cried impatiently, "you do not know where she is?"

"She?"  I looked him over carefully.  There was a perfectly sane light
in his eyes.  "Am I crazy, or is it you?  She?  I know nothing about
any she!"

"Do you dare deny that you know of the whereabouts of her Serene
Highness the Princess Hildegarde, and that you did not come here with
the purpose to aid her to escape the will of his Majesty?  And do you
mean--Oh, here, read this!" flinging me a cablegram.

The veil of mystery fell away from my eyes.  I had been mistaken for
Hillars.  Truly, things were growing interesting.  I bent and picked up
the cablegram and read:

"COUNT VON WALDEN: He has left London and is on his way to the capital.
Your idea to allow him to cross the frontier is a good one.
Undoubtedly he knows where the Princess is in hiding.  In trapping him
you will ultimately trap her.  Keep me informed."

The name signed was that of a well-known military attaché at the
Embassy in London.  I tossed back the cablegram.

"Well?" triumphantly.

"No, it is not well; it is all very bad, and particularly for you.
Your London informant is decidedly off the track.  The man you are
looking for is in Vienna."

"I do not believe you!  It is a trick."

"Yes, it is a trick, and I am taking it, and you have lost a point, to
say nothing of the time and labor and a black eye.  If you had asked
all these questions yesterday I should have told you that Mr.
Hillars----"

"Yes, that's the name!" he interrupted.

"I should have told you that he is no longer the London representative
of my paper.  It is true that the description of Hillars and myself
tallies somewhat, only my hair is dark, while his is light, what there
is left of it, and he is a handsomer man than I.  All this I should
have told you with pleasure, and you would have been saved no end of
trouble.  I presume that there is nothing left for you to do but to
carry me back to the city.  To quell any further doubt, here are my
passports, and if these are not satisfactory, why take me before Prince
O----, your Chancellor."

He was irresolute, and half inclined to believe me.

"I do not know what to do.  You know, then, the gentleman I am seeking?"

"Yes."

"Would he enter this country under an assumed name?"

"No.  He is a man who loves excitement.  Whatever he does is done
openly.  Had it been he instead of me, he would have thrown you out of
the carriage at the first sign on your part that you were watching him.
He is a very strong man."

"If he is stronger than you, I am half glad that I got the wrong man.
You strike a pretty hard blow.  But, whether you are the man I want, or
not, you will have to remain till this afternoon, when the Count will
put in appearance.  I daresay it is possible that I have made a
mistake.  But I could not do otherwise in face of my instructions."

"The Princess seems to me more trouble than she is worth."

"It is possible that you have never seen her Highness," he said,
hinting a smile.  "She is worth all the trouble in the world."

"If a man loved her," I suggested.

"And what man does not who has seen her and talked to her?" he replied,
pacing.

"The interest, then, you take in her discovery is not all due to that
imposed upon you by Count von Walden?"  I could not resist this thrust.

"The subject is one that does not admit discussion," squaring his
shoulders.

"Suppose we talk of something that does not concern her?  All this is a
blunder for which you are partly to blame.  I have a bad lump on my
head and you have a black eye.  But as you did what you believed to be
your duty, and as I did what every man does when self-preservation
becomes his first thought, let us cry quits.  Come, what do you say to
a game of cards?  Let us play ecarte, or I will teach you the noble
game of poker.  To tell you the truth, I am becoming dreadfully bored."

"Believe me, I bear you no ill will," he said, "and I am inclined to
your side of the story.  Whoever you are, you have the bearing of a
gentleman; and, now that we have come to an understanding, I shall
treat you as such.  I have a pack of cards downstairs.  I'll go and get
them.  This is not my house, or I should have placed you in better
quarters.  I shall leave the door unlocked," a question in his eyes.

"Rest assured that I shall return to the city as I came--in a carriage.
And to be honest, I am anxious to see the Count von Walden, who poses
as the Princess's watchdog."

And when he came back and found me still sitting on the pallet, his
face cleared.

We played for small sums, and the morning passed away rather pleasantly
than otherwise.  The young officer explained to me that he held an
important position at court, and that he was entitled to prefix Baron
to his name.

"The King is getting out of all patience with her Highness," he said.
"This makes the second time the marriage has been postponed.  Such
occurrences are extremely annoying to his Majesty, who does not relish
having his commands so flagrantly disregarded.  I shouldn't be
surprised if he forced her into the marriage."

"When he knows how distasteful this marriage is to her, why does he not
let the matter go?"

"It is too late now.  Royalty, having given its word, never retracts
it.  Events which the King wills must come to pass, or he loses a part
of his royal dignity.  And then, a King cannot very well be subservient
to the will of a subject."

"But has she no rights as a petty sovereign?" I asked.

"Only those which the King is kind enough to give her.  She is but a
tenant: the rulers of Hohenphalia are but guests of his Majesty.  It is
to be regretted, but it cannot be helped."

That afternoon, as I lay on my pallet, it seemed to me that in some
unaccountable way I was destined to become concerned in the affairs of
her Serene Highness.  I had never seen the woman, not even a picture of
her.  Certainly, she must be worth loving, inasmuch as she was worth
trouble.  I have always found it to be the troublesome woman who has
the largest train of lovers.  Troublesome, they are interesting;
interesting, they are lovable.

It was more than a year since last I saw Phyllis; yet my love for her
knew no diminution.  I began to understand why Hillars traveled all
over the Continent to get a glimpse of the woman he loved.  With the
pleasant thought that I should see Phyllis again, I dozed.  I was half
asleep when I was aroused by loud voices in the corridor.

"But I do not believe him to be the man," I heard my jailer declare.

"Bah!  I know there is no mistake," roared a voice which was accustomed
to command.  "He's been trying to hoodwink you.  Watch the surprise in
his face when he sees me, the cursed meddler and scribbler.  It would
be a pleasure to witness his hanging.  Come, show him to me."

"Yes; come along, my dear old warhorse," I murmured, turning my face
toward the wall.  "There is a nice little surprise party in here
waiting for you."

The door opened.

"Unlocked!" bawled the Count.  "What does this mean, Baron?"

"He gave his word as a gentleman," was the quiet reply.

"Gentleman?  Ach!  I'll take a look at the gentleman," said the Count,
stepping up to the pallet and shaking me roughly by the shoulder.
"Wake up!"

I sat up so as not to miss the comedy which was about to set its scenes
upon the grim visage of the Count.  As his eyes met mine his jaw fell.

"A thousand devils!  Who are you?"

"I couldn't swear," said I, meekly.  "Everybody hereabouts insists that
I am some one else.  The situation warrants a complete explanation.
Perhaps you can give it?"  I should have laughed but for those flashing
eyes.

"You are a blockhead," he said to his subaltern.

"He is the man, according to your London correspondent," responded the
other with some show of temper.  "I cannot see that the fault lies at
my door.  You told me that he would enter the country under an assumed
name."

"I presume the affair is ended so far as I am concerned," I said,
shaking the lameness from my legs.

"Of course, of course!" replied the Count, pulling at his gray
mustaches, which flared out on either side like the whiskers of a cat.

"I should like to return to the city at once," I added.

"Certainly.  I regret that you have been the victim of a blunder for
which some one shall suffer.  Your compatriot has caused me a deal of
trouble."

"I assure you that he is in no wise connected with the present matter.
According to his latest advices he is at Vienna."

"I should be most happy to believe that," was the Count's rejoinder,
which inferred that he didn't believe it.

"My friend seems to be a dangerous person?"

"All men of brains, coupled with impudence, are dangerous; and I give
your friend credit for being as brave as he is impudent.  But come, my
carriage is at your service.  You are a journalist, but you will
promise not to make public this unfortunate mistake."

I acquiesced.

When the Count and I parted company I had not the vaguest idea that we
should ever hold conversation again.

The result of the adventure was, I sent a very interesting story to New
York, omitting my part in it.  This done, I wired my assistant in
London not to expect me for some time yet.

The truth was, I determined to hunt for Hillars, and incidentally for
her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia.

CHAPTER VIII

As I came along the road, the dust of which had been laid that
afternoon by an odorous summer rain, the principal thing which struck
my eyes was the quaintness and unquestioned age of the old inn.  It was
a relic of the days when feudal lords still warred with one another,
and the united kingdom was undreamt of.  It looked to be 300 years old,
and might have been more.  From time to time it had undergone various
repairs, as shown by the new stone and signs of modern masonry, the
slate peeping out among the moss-covered tiles.  It sat back from the
highway, and was surrounded by thick rows of untrimmed hedges, and was
partly concealed from view by oaks and chestnuts.  The gardens were
full of roses all in bloom, and their perfumes hung heavy on the moist
air.  And within a stone's throw of the rear the Danube noiselessly
slid along its green banks.  All I knew about the inn was that it had
been by a whim of nature the birthplace of that beautiful, erratic and
irresponsible young person, her Serene Highness the Princess
Hildegarde.  It was here I thought to find Hillars; though it was idle
curiosity as much as anything which led me to the place.

The village was five miles below.  I could see the turrets of the
castle which belonged to the Princess.  She was very wealthy, and owned
as many as three strongholds in the petty principality of Hohenphalia.
Capricious indeed must have been the woman who was ready to relinquish
them for freedom.

The innkeeper was a pleasant, ruddy-cheeked old man, who had seen
service.  He greeted me with some surprise; tourists, he said, seldom
made this forgotten, out-of-the-way village an objective point.  I
received a room which commanded a fine view of the river and a stretch
of the broad highway.  I was the only guest.  This very loneliness
pleased me.  My travel-stained suit I exchanged for knickerbockers and
a belted jacket.  I went down to supper; it was a simple affair, and I
was made to feel at home.  From the dining-room I caught a momentary
flash of white skirts in the barroom.

"Ah," I thought; "a barmaid.  If she is pretty it will be a diversion."

In the course of my wanderings I had seen few barmaids worth looking at
twice.

When the table was cleared I lit a cigar and strolled into the gardens.
The evening air was delicious with the smell of flowers, still wet with
rain.  The spirit of the breeze softly whispered among the branches
above me.  Far up in the darkening blues a hawk circled.  The west was
a thread of yellow flame; the moon rose over the hills in the east;
Diana on the heels of Apollo!  And the river!  It was as though Nature
had suddenly become lavish in her bounty and had sent a stream of
melting silver trailing over all the land.  There is nothing more
beautiful to see than placid water as it reflects a summer's twilight.
The blue Danube!  Who has heard that magic name without the remembrance
of a face close to your own, an arm, bare, white, dazzling, resting and
gleaming like marble on your broadcloth sleeve, and above all, the
dreamy, swinging strains of Strauss?  There was a face once which had
rested near mine.  Heigho!  I lingered with my cigar and watched the
night reveal itself.  I lay at the foot of a tree, close to the water's
edge, and surrendered to the dream-god.  Some of my dreams knew the
bitterness of regret.  "Men have died and worms have eaten them, but
not for love."  Yet, no man who has loved and lost can go through his
allotted time without the consciousness that he has missed something,
something which leaves each triumph empty and incomplete.

And then, right in the midst of my dreams, a small foot planted itself.
I turned my head and saw a woman.  On seeing the bright end of my
cigar, she stopped.  She stood so that the light of the moon fell full
upon her face.

My cigar trembled and fell.

"Phyllis!" I cried, springing to my feet, almost dumbfounded, my heart
nigh suffocating me in its desire to leap forth.  "Phyllis!--and here?
What does this mean?"

The woman looked at me with a puzzled frown, but did not answer.  Then,
as I started toward her with outstretched arms, she turned and fled
into the shadows, leaving with me nothing but the echo of her laughter,
the softest, sweetest laughter!  I made no effort to follow her,
because I was not quite sure that I had seen anything.

"Moonlight!"  I laughed discordantly.

Phyllis in this deserted place?  I saw how impossible that was.  I had
been dreaming.  The spirit of some wood-nymph had visited me, and for a
brief space had borrowed the features of the woman I loved.  In vain I
searched the grove.  The vision was nowhere to be found.  I went back
to the inn somewhat shaken up.

Several old veterans were seated in the barroom, smoking bad tobacco
and drinking a final bout.  Their jargon was unintelligible to me.

"Where's your barmaid?" I asked of the inn-keeper.

His faded blue eyes scanned me sharply.  I read a question in them and
wondered.

"She went into the garden to get a breath of fresh air," he said.  "She
does not like the smoke."

It annoyed me.  I had seen some one, then.  What would Phyllis, proud
Phyllis, say, I mused, when she heard that a barmaid was her prototype?
This thought had scarcely left me when the door in the rear of the bar
opened and in came the barmaid herself.  No, it was not Phyllis, but
the resemblance was so startling that I caught my breath and stared at
her with a persistency which bordered on rudeness.  The barmaid was
blonde, whereas Phyllis was neither blonde nor brunette, but stood
between the extremes, and there was a difference in the eyes: I could
see that even in the insufficient light.

"Good evening, fraulein," said I, with apparent composure.  "And what
might your name be?"

"It is Gretchen, if it please you," with a courtesy.  I had a vague
idea that this courtesy was made mockingly.

"Gretchen?  I have heard the name before," said I, "and you remind me
of some one I have seen."

"Herr has been to the great city?"

B---- is the greatest city in the world to the provincial.

"Yes," said I; "but you remind me of no one I ever saw there."

She plucked a leaf from the rose she wore and began nibbling at it.
Her mouth was smaller than the one belonging to Phyllis.

"The person to whom I refer," I went on, "lives in America, where your
compatriots brew fine beer and wax rich."

"Ah, Herr is an American?  I like Americans," archly.  "They are so
liberal."

I laughed, but I did not tell her why.  All foreigners have a great
love of Americans--"They are so liberal."

"So you find Americans liberal?  Is it with money or with compliments?"

Said Gretchen: "The one when they haven't the other."

A very bright barmaid, thought I.

Then I said: "Is this your home?"

"Yes," said Gretchen.  "I was born here and I have tended the roses for
ever so long."

"I have heard of Gretchen of the steins, but I never before heard of a
Gretchen of the roses."

"Herr must have a large store of compliments on hand to begin this
early."

"It is a part of my capital," said I.  "Once in Switzerland I
complimented an innkeeper, and when my bill was presented I found that
all extras had been crossed off."

Gretchen laughed.  It was a low laugh, a laugh which appeared to me as
having been aroused not at what I had said, but at something which had
recurred to her.  I wanted to hear it again.

So I said: "I suppose you have a stein here from which the King has
drunk; all taverns and inns have them."

Gretchen only smiled, but the smile was worth something.

"No; the King has never been within five miles of this inn."

"So much the worse for the King."

"And why that?"

"The King has missed seeing Gretchen."

It was then Gretchen laughed.

"I have never heard compliments like Herr's before."

"Why, I have any amount of them.  I'll drink half a litre to your
health."

She filled one of the old blue earthen steins.

"I haven't seen your roses in the gardens, but I'll drink to those in
your cheeks," said I, and I drew back the pewter lid.

"How long does Herr intend to stay?" asked Gretchen.

"To the day is the evil thereof."

"Ah, one must be happy with nothing to do."

"Then you have the ambition common to all; to sit around and let others
wait upon you?"

"No, that is not my ambition.  I wish only to wait upon my own desires
and not those of the--the others."

"It is all the same," said I.  "Some must serve, others must be served."

When I went upstairs to my room it was my belief that a week or so at
the inn would not hang heavy on my hands.  I had forgotten for the
moment the Princess, or that I was hunting for Hillars.  It is strange
how a face may upset one's plans.  Gretchen's likeness to Phyllis, whom
I loved, upset mine for many days to come.

As I gazed from my window the next morning I beheld the old innkeeper
and Gretchen engaged in earnest conversation.  He appeared to be
pleading, nay, entreating, while she merely shook her head and laughed.
Finally the old man lifted his hands to heaven and disappeared around
the wing.  When I came down Gretchen was in the gardens culling roses.
She said they were for the table.

"Very well," said I; "give me one now."

"You may have them all at the table."

"But I shall not want them then."

She gave me an enigmatical glance, then cut a rose for me which was
withered and worm-eaten.

"Gretchen is unkind," I observed.

"What matters it whether the rose be fresh or withered?  It dies sooner
or later.  Nothing lasts, not even the world itself.  You wish a rose,
not because it is a rose, fresh and fragrant, but because I give it to
you."

"You wrong me, Gretchen; I love a rose better than I love a woman.  It
never smiles falsely, the rose, nor plays with the hearts of men.  I
love a rose because it is sweet, and because it was made for man's
pleasure and not for his pain."

"That sounds like a copy-book," laughed Gretchen.  "The withered rose
should teach you a lesson."

"What lesson?"

"That whatever a woman gives to man withers in the exchange; a rose, a
woman's love."

Said I reproachfully: "You are spoiling a very pretty picture.  What do
you know about philosophy?"

"What does Herr know about roses?" defiantly.

"Much; one cannot pick too many fresh ones.  And let me tell you a
lesson which you should have learned among these roses.  Nature teaches
us to love all things fresh and beautiful; a rose, a face, a woman's
love."

"Here," holding forth a great red rose.

"No," said I, "I'll keep this one."

She said nothing, but went on snipping a red rose here, a white one
there.  She wore gloves several sizes too large for her, so I judged
that her hands were small and tender, perhaps white.  And there was a