Myles Muredach - Charred Wood
M >>
Myles Muredach >> Charred Wood
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12
"You love her--you love her--" in monotonous cadence. And he knew
that, in spite of everything, he would love her to the end.
Then his thoughts went back to the beginning, and began again the
terrible circle. Despairing of getting any sleep, and too restless to
remain in the berth, Mark determined to get up and have a quiet smoke.
He was just arising when there came a most terrific crash. The whole
car seemed to rise under him. His head struck sharply against the end
of the berth and for an instant he could not think clearly. Then he
was out. It looked as if one end of the car had been shattered. There
were shouts, and cries of pain. The corridor was filled with
frightened people scantily clad; a flagman rushed by with a lantern and
his hastily-flung words were caught and repeated:
"Collision--train ahead--wooden car crushed." Cries began to arise
outside. A red glare showed itself at the windows. The passengers
rushed out, all white with fear.
Saunders was beside Mark. "The Padre! Where is he?" he cried.
"In his berth; he may be hurt."
They drew back the curtains. Father Murray was huddled down at the end
of his section, unconscious. The blow had stunned him. Mark lifted
him up as Saunders went for water. Then they carried him out and laid
him down in the air. He opened his eyes.
"What--what is it?" he asked.
"Wreck--there was a collision," answered Saunders.
Father Murray struggled to arise. "Collision? Then I must go forward,
if it is forward--where the people are--maybe dying."
Mark made no attempt to stop him. He knew it would be useless, and he
knew, too, that it was only the Soldier of the Cross called to his
battlefield. When Saunders would have remonstrated Mark motioned him
to silence.
"Let him go, Saunders," he said. "Perhaps his whole life has been a
preparation for this. I have given up trying to interfere with God's
ways."
So the Padre went, and his friends with him. The dead and wounded were
being borne from the two wrecked Pullmans, but the Padre seemed led by
some instinct to go on to where the engine was buried in the torn and
splintered freight cars of the other train.
"The engineer and the fireman! Where are they?" he asked of the
frightened conductor.
The man pointed to the heap of splinters. "In there," he answered.
The priest tore at the pile, but could make no impression on it.
"My God!" he cried to Mark; "they may need me. And I cannot get to
them."
A groan beneath his very hands was the answer. The priest and Mark
tore away enough of the splinters to see the face beneath. The eyes
opened and, seeing the priest, the man essayed to speak; the priest
bent low to catch the words.
"Father--don't--risk--trying--to get me--out--before you hear--my
confession."
"But the flames are breaking out. You'll be caught," remonstrated
Mark. "You have a chance if we act quickly."
"The only--chance--I want--is my--confession. Quick--Father."
With his head held close to that of the dying man, the priest listened.
The men stood back and saw the smoke and flames arise out of the pile
of splintered timbers. Then the priest's hand was raised in absolution.
"Quick now!" called Father Murray; "get him out."
The men stooped to obey, but saw that it was no use. The
blood-spattered face was calm, and around the stiller lips there
lingered a smile, as though the man had gone out in peace and
unexpected contentment.
Turning aside, they found the fireman, and one man from the wrecked
freight, lying beside the tracks--both dead. Then they went to the
lengthening line along the fence. The priest bent over each recumbent
form. At some he just glanced, and passed on, for they were dead. For
others he had only a few words, and an encouraging prayer. But
sometimes he stopped, and bent his head to listen, then lifted his hand
in absolution; and Mark knew he was shriving another poor soul.
Suddenly the same thought seemed to come to both Mark and Saunders.
Quickly passing along the line of pain and death, they both looked for
the same face. It was not there. Yet _she_ had been in the wrecked
coach. The light of a relief train was showing far down the straight
track, as Mark turned to a brakeman.
"Are there any others?"
"Yes; two--across the track."
Mark and Saunders hastened to the other side. Two women were bending
over the forms laid on the ground. One glance was enough. The whole
world seemed to spin around Mark Griffin. Ruth and Madame Neuville
were lying there--both dead.
The strange women who were standing around seemed to understand. They
stepped back. Mark knelt beside the girl's body. He could not see
through his tears--but they helped him. He tried to pray, but found
that he could only weep. It seemed as though there were a flood within
pushing to find exit and bring comfort to him. He could think of her
now in but one setting--a great empty church at the end of springtime,
crowds passing outside, a desolate man behind a closed door, and a
little child, with the face of an angel, sitting alone in a carven pew.
He could hear her answer him in her childish prattle, could feel her
cool little hand slip into his as she asked about the lonely man
within. Then he remembered the kiss. The floods dried up. Mark's
sorrow was beyond the consolation of tears.
Saunders aroused him.
"Be careful, Griffin. The Padre will come. Don't let him see her yet.
He was hurt, you know, and he couldn't stand it."
Slowly Mark arose. He couldn't look at her again. Saunders said
something to the women, and they covered both bodies with blankets from
the wrecked car, just as the priest came up.
"Are there others?" the priest asked.
Saunders looked at Mark as if begging him to be silent.
"No, Father, no others."
"But these--" he pointed to the blanket-covered bodies.
"They are--already dead, Father."
"God rest them. I can do no more."
The priest turned to cross the track, and almost fell. Mark sprang to
support him. The relief train came in and another priest alighted,
with a Protestant clergyman, and the surgeons and nurses.
"It's all right, Father," said Father Murray to his confrere. "I found
them all and gave absolution. I'm afraid that I am tired. There are
many of your people, too," he said, turning to the Protestant
clergyman. "I wish I were able to go back and show--"
He was tired. They carried him into the relief train, unconscious.
The young priest and the Protestant clergyman came frequently to look
at him as the train sped on toward Baltimore. But there was no cause
for alarm; Father Murray was only overcome by his efforts and the blow.
In half an hour he was helping again, Mark and Saunders watching
closely, in fear that he might lift the blanket that covered the face
of Ruth Atheson.
When Father Murray came to where she had been placed in the train, Mark
put his hand on the priest's arm.
"Don't, please, Father. She is dead--one of the two you saw lying on
the other side when you came over."
"Yes, I know. But I should like to see." Father Murray started to
raise the cloth, but again Mark stopped him.
"Please do not look, Father."
The deep sadness in Mark's voice caused the priest to stare at him with
widely opened eyes. A look of fear came into them as he glanced at the
covered body. For the first time he seemed afraid, and Saunders drew
near to catch him. But he did not fall.
"I think--Mark--that I will look. I can drink of the chalice--if it
must be--I am sure I can. Don't be afraid for me, my friend. Draw the
blanket back."
But Mark could not.
Father Murray pushed him gently aside and lifted the covering
reverently and slowly. He dropped it with a faint gasp as the face
stood revealed. Then he leaned over the dead girl and searched the
features for a full half minute, that seemed an age to Mark. The
priest's lips moved, but Mark caught only a few words: "I thank Thee
for sparing me, Lord."
He caught the end of the blanket and once more covered the dead face.
Then he turned and faced Mark and Saunders.
"God rest her. It is not Ruth."
[Illustration: "God rest her," Father Murray said after what seemed an
age to Mark; "it is not Ruth!"]
Mark stared bewildered. Had the priest's, mind been affected by the
blow, and the subsequent excitement? Father Murray sensed what was
going on in Mark's mind.
"Can't you trust me, Mark? I know that the likeness is marvelous--"
"Likeness?" gasped Mark. But there was a whole world of hope in his
voice.
"Yes, my friend--likeness. I--" the priest hesitated--"I knew her
well. It is not Ruth."
CHAPTER XV
"I AM NOT THE DUCHESS!"
A long, low-built limousine kept passing and repassing the Ministry,
and taking excursions to the parks, in an evident effort to kill time.
At last, the street being well clear of pedestrians and vehicles, the
car drew up in front of the house, the door of which was quickly thrown
open. The chauffeur descended and opened the door of the car, but said
nothing. A man stepped out backward.
"We have arrived, Your Highness," he said to someone within. "Will you
walk across the path to the door, or will you force us again to be
disrespectful in carrying out our orders?"
From within a girl's voice answered:
"You need not fear; I shall make no outcry."
"The word of Your Highness is given. It would be painful for us to be
disrespectful again. Come."
The girl who stepped out of the car was unmistakably Ruth Atheson.
Behind her came a raw-boned, muscular woman, and a powerful-looking man.
As she was hurried between the tall stone gateposts and up the cement
walk, Ruth had but little time to observe her surroundings; but her
eyes were quick, and she saw that the house she was about to enter was
set some twenty feet back in quiet roomy grounds bordered by an
ornamental stone wall. Distinguishing the house from its neighbors was
a narrow veranda extending for some distance across the front, its
slender columns rising to such a height that the flat roof, lodged with
stone, formed a balcony easily accessible from the second floor. To
one side, between the wall and the house, was a large tree whose
foliage, loath to leave the swaying boughs, defied the autumn breeze.
Before she had time to observe more, the party entered the Ministry;
the door was closed quickly, and Ruth's companions stood respectfully
aside. His Excellency was already coming down the steps, and met her
at the foot of the stairs. Bowing low, he kissed the white hand before
Ruth could prevent.
"We are highly honored by the presence of Your Highness."
With another low bow he stood aside, and Ruth passed up the stairs.
His Excellency conducted her into the room wherein the conference
regarding her had been held only a few days before.
"Your Highness--" he began.
But Ruth interrupted him. "I do not understand your language."
The Minister rubbed his hands, smiled, and, still using the foreign
language, said, "I am surprised that Your Highness should have
forgotten your native tongue during such a short sojourn in America."
Ruth spoke somewhat haughtily.
"I think, Your Excellency, that I know who you are--and also why I am
here. Permit me to tell you that you have made a serious blunder. I
am not the Grand Duchess Carlotta."
The Minister smiled again, and started to speak. But Ruth again
interrupted him.
"Pardon me, Your Excellency, but if you insist upon talking to me, I
must again request that you speak a language I can understand. I have
already told you that I do not understand what you say."
The Minister still kept his smile, and still rubbed his hands, but this
time he spoke in English.
"It shall be as Your Highness wishes. It is your privilege to choose
the language of conversation. We will speak in English, although your
own tongue would perhaps be better."
"My own tongue," said Ruth, "is the language that I am using; and again
I must inform Your Excellency that I am not the Grand Duchess. You
have simply been guilty of abduction. You have taken the wrong person."
For answer the Minister went over to the mantel and picked up a
portrait, which he extended toward the girl.
"I know," said Ruth, "I know. Many times in Europe I have been
subjected to annoyance because of the resemblance. I know the Grand
Duchess very well, but my name is Ruth Atheson."
The tolerant smile never left the face of the Minister.
"Your Highness shall have it as you wish. I am satisfied with the
resemblance. Since you left San Sebastian there has been scarcely a
minute that you have not been under surveillance. It is true that you
were lost for a little while in Boston, but not completely. We traced
you to Sihasset. We traced _him_ there also finally--unfortunately for
the poor fellow."
Ruth started: "You have not--"
The Minister looked sad. "Alas! Highness," he said, "he is no
more---an unfortunate accident. We do not even know where his body is.
I fear he may have been drowned, or something worse. At any rate he
will trouble you no more."
The face of the girl showed keen distress. "Poor child!" was all she
could say.
"He was not, Highness, exactly a child, you know," suggested the
Minister.
"I was not referring to _him_."
The Minister's smile returned.
"Then, Highness, perhaps you were referring to the Grand Duchess."
"I was referring to the Grand Duchess."
All this time His Excellency never lost his air of respect, but now a
somewhat more familiar tone crept into his voice.
"Highness," he said, "you will pardon me, I know, if I issue orders in
your regard. All is being done by your father's commands, given to me
through His Majesty. You know as well as I do that your marriage to
this Italian adventurer was impossible. You know that you are next in
line of succession, but you do not know something else. You do not
know that your father is even now dangerously ill. Your escapade has
been hushed up to avoid scandal, for you may be sitting on the throne
within a month. You must return to Ecknor, and you must return at
once. The easiest way, and the best way, would be to notify the
Washington papers that you have arrived on a visit to America
_incognito_, and that you are now a guest at the Ministry. Though it
is already midnight, I have prepared such a statement. Here is it."
The Minister pointed to a number of sealed envelopes on the desk. "If
you consent to be reasonable, I shall have these dispatched by
messenger at once, and to-morrow make arrangements for your
entertainment. We shall send you to see some of the cities of the
United States before you leave again for Europe. In this way your
presence in America is explained. Nothing need ever be said about this
unfortunate matter, and I can promise you that nothing will be said
about it when you return home."
It was Ruth's turn to smile.
"You are overlooking one thing, Excellency, and that the most
important. I am not the Grand Duchess."
"Of course, Highness. You have explained that before. It would not
become me to contradict you, and yet you cannot blame me for carrying
out my orders. If you do not agree to the plan I have suggested, I
must put you under restraint. No one will be permitted to see you, and
proper arrangements will be made to have you transferred secretly to
one of our warships, which will be making a cruise--for your especial
benefit--to America in the course of a month. A month, Highness, is a
long time to wait in restraint, but you must see that there is nothing
else for me to do."
Ruth was obliged to smile in spite of herself at the mixture of
firmness and respect in the suave Minister's tones. He was encouraged
by the smile.
"Ah," he said, "I see that Your Highness will be reasonable."
Ruth looked him straight in the eye.
"But what if I should convince Your Excellency that you have made a
mistake, that I am telling you the truth when I say I am not the Grand
Duchess Carlotta?"
The Minister bowed. "It would be easy to convince me, Highness, if you
could produce for me one who is more likely to be the Grand Duchess
than yourself. But, alas! could there be two such faces in the world?"
Admiration shone out of the little man's eyes.
"There is no doubt, Excellency," said Ruth, still smiling, "that His
Majesty was wise in appointing you a diplomat. We shall be good
friends even though I have to stay. You are making a mistake, and I am
afraid you will have to pay for it. I shall, however, be a model
boarder, and possibly even enjoy my trip on the warship. But I
certainly shall not receive your friends at a reception, nor will I
permit you to give me the honors due the Grand Duchess. Neither can I
produce her. She is probably far away by this time. I will tell you
my story, and you may judge for yourself."
His Excellency bowed profoundly.
"Your Highness is most gracious," he said. "Will you permit me to be
seated?"
"Certainly, Your Excellency."
The Minister drew up a chair and sat down, with a low bow, before his
desk; but not before he had placed Ruth in a chair where the light
would shine full on her face. He seemed now to be a changed
man--almost a judge; and the fingers thrummed on the glass as they had
done during the conference with Wratslav and Ivan.
With a half-amused smile, Ruth began.
"Excellency, my name is Ruth Atheson. You may easily verify that by
sending for my uncle, Monsignore Murray, of Sihasset, with whom I made
my home until he went to college in Rome to study for the priesthood.
I was left in Europe to receive my education. Afterward I came to
America to be near my uncle, but I made frequent trips to Europe to
visit friends. It was during one of these visits that I first met the
Grand Duchess Carlotta, four years ago, at San Sebastian. The
remarkable likeness between us caused me, as I have already told you, a
great deal of annoyance. Her Highness heard of it and asked to meet me.
"We became close friends, so close that in her trouble she turned to
me. I was with relatives in England at the time. She wrote asking me
to receive her there, telling me that she intended to give up her claim
to the throne and marry Luigi del Farno, whom she sincerely loved. I
sent her a long letter warning her against the step--for I knew what it
meant--and advising her that I was even then preparing to leave for
America. Unfortunately, she knew my address and followed me to
Sihasset, directing her lover to wait until she sent for him.
"I knew that the best means of concealing her would be to play upon the
likeness between us, and never go out together. For extra precaution,
when either of us went out, a veil was worn. She was taken for Ruth
Atheson; and Ruth Atheson, by your detectives, was taken for the Grand
Duchess Carlotta. Indeed," and here Ruth smiled, "she was very much
taken--in an auto, and as far as Washington. You propose now to take
her still farther. The Grand Duchess would know, ten minutes after it
happened, of my abduction, and she would guess who was responsible. So
you may be certain that she is no longer at Sihasset. The picture you
have, Your Excellency, is the picture of the Grand Duchess, not of me.
It happened that, as I was walking outside the gates of my home, your
friends appeared. The mistake was quite natural."
The Minister had listened respectfully while Ruth spoke, but he was not
convinced.
"It would be discourteous in me, Highness," he said, "to doubt your
word. But it would be worse than discourteous were I to accept it. I
am sorry; but you must offer me more than statements. My men could
scarcely have been deceived. They followed you each time you came out.
Two people do not look so much alike--especially outside of families--"
His Excellency's eyes opened as he flashed a keen look at Ruth. The
name "Atheson" had suddenly commenced to bother him. What was it he
should have remembered--and couldn't? The intentness of his gaze
disconcerted Ruth. The Minister changed it to look down at his
thrumming fingers, and continued in his suavest tones, following that
scarcely perceptible pause.
"--as to deceive men trained in the art of spying. I can only repeat
what I have already said: there are two courses open, and it is for you
to determine which you prefer."
"You may be sure, then, Your Excellency," said Ruth, "that I shall not
select the course that would put me in a false light before all the
world. I am not the Grand Duchess Carlotta, and I must refuse to be
taken for her. My uncle will not be long in deciding who is
responsible for my abduction, and I can assure you that you will have
explanations to make before your warship arrives."
The Minister arose promptly as Ruth stood up, her hand resting lightly
on the desk.
"I am tired, Your Excellency," she continued, "and--since you insist on
my being the guest of your government--I will ask to be conducted to my
apartments."
The Minister bowed. "If Your Highness will permit." He touched a
bell. The raw-boned woman was in the room so quickly that Ruth
wondered if she had been all the time just outside the door. At a
signal from His Excellency, the woman picked up Ruth's wrap and gloves.
His Excellency meanwhile, with a low bow, had opened the door. Ruth
passed into the broad corridor and, accompanied by the Minister,
proceeded to a handsome suite of rooms.
The Minister turned to Ruth. "I am sorry, Your Highness, but I have
strict instructions in the event of your refusal to comply with my
suggestion, that you are to remain in strict seclusion. I cannot
permit you to see or speak to anyone outside, so I hope you will not
embarrass me by making any such request." He pointed toward the
windows. "You will notice, Highness, that there is a balcony in front
of your apartments. In the next room, which also opens upon the
balcony, is a guard. There will be a guard also at your door and
another on the lawn below. Your windows will be under constant
surveillance, though you will never see the guards unless you venture
forth. Your guards will be changed constantly, and it will be--" the
minister's pause was significant, the tone of his voice even more so
"--unwise--to attempt to gain their friendship. They might find
it--disastrous." Again the smooth significance of the voice. He
paused for a moment, then spoke more lightly.
"If Your Highness will permit, Madam, my wife, will call on you and be
at your disposal at any time, as also my daughters. Since you have no
maid with you, Madame Helda," His Excellency called the raw-boned woman
from the next room as he spoke, "will wait upon you. Everything to
make your stay pleasant and comfortable has been arranged. But you are
an important personage and if we are firm, Your Highness, it is not
because we wish to be, but only because of duty to your country, and to
yourself. If you decide, at any time, that you should like to see
America, you have only to summon me. Your Highness will permit me to
retire?"
"Certainly, Your Excellency, and thank you."
With a profound bow His Excellency left the room. Ruth examined her
apartments with a pleased smile of gratification--for they looked
anything but a prison. The Minister knew how to make rooms pleasant.
The diplomat went slowly downstairs. He had lost his smile, and his
face was contracted with worry. The girl's story had impressed him
more than he had cared to own, and there was much of the human in him,
in spite of the diplomat's veneer. Then the name "Atheson" sounded
insistently in his ears and, momentarily, he felt that he was almost
grasping the clue as he strove to remember.
As he entered the library, his secretary stood up, a yellow paper in
his hands.
"I have been waiting to hand this to you personally, Excellency."
The Minister took the paper. It was a cablegram translated from code,
which read:
"The Duke is dead. If Her Highness has arrived do everything possible
to bring her to understand that there must be no scandal. Be
absolutely firm and have her return at any risk without delay. The
_Caspian_ has been dispatched from the coast of France and should
arrive in ten days. We have given out that the Duchess is traveling
incognito, but has been notified to return."
The worry on the Minister's face deepened.
"This complicates matters, Wratslav," he said, "and makes it more
imperative that Her Highness be kept most strictly secluded. Go to bed
now. We shall have enough to keep us awake for the next ten days."
Wratslav left, but the Minister sat down at his desk. Morning found
him there asleep.
CHAPTER XVI
HIS EXCELLENCY IS WORRIED
At eleven o'clock, His Excellency the Minister was handed a card which
read:
"RIGHT REV. DONALD MURRAY, D.D."
Touching a bell, His Excellency summoned Wratslav.
"There is a clergyman," he said, "who calls on me. I do not know him,
and of course I cannot guess his business. Perhaps you will see him."
The secretary bowed and went out. As he entered the reception room,
Father Murray arose. Before the priest could speak, the secretary
began:
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12