William Black - Prince Fortunatus

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[Illustration: "_She dragged off the engagement ring, and dashed it on
the floor in front of his feet._" _See p._ 335.]

PRINCE FORTUNATUS

A Novel

BY

WILLIAM BLACK

AUTHOR OF "A PRINCESS OF THULE" "MACLEOD OF DARE"
"IN FAR LOCHABER" ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1905

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A REHEARSAL 5

II. THE GREAT GOD PAN 21

III. NINA 37

IV. COUNTRY AND TOWN 55

V. WARS AND RUMORS 78

VI. A DEPARTURE 90

VII. IN STRATHAIVRON 106

VIII. THE TWELFTH 123

IX. VENATOR IMMEMOR 142

X. AIVRON AND GEINIG 159

XI. THE PHANTOM STAG 174

XII. A GLOBE OF GOLD-FISH 192

XIII. A NEW EXPERIENCE 207

XIV. A MAGNANIMOUS RIVAL 225

XV. "LET THE STRUCKEN DEER GO WEEP" 243

XVI. AN AWAKENING 259

XVII. A CRISIS 276

XVIII. AN INVOCATION 294

XIX. ENTRAPPED 310

XX. IN DIRER STRAITS 326

XXI. IN A DEN OF LIONS, AND THEREAFTER 342

XXII. PRIUS DEMENTAT 359

XXIII. A MEMORABLE DAY 376

XXIV. FRIENDS IN NEED 393

XXV. CHANGES 410

XXVI. TOWARDS THE DAWN 425

XXVII. A REUNION 430

ILLUSTRATIONS.

"SHE DRAGGED OFF THE ENGAGEMENT-RING, AND DASHED
IT ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF HIS FEET" _Frontispiece._

"'YOU SAY AT YOUR FEET THAT I WEPT IN DESPAIR'" _Facing p._ 18

"WHEN THEY HAD FINISHED SUPPER, LIONEL MOORE
LIT A CIGARETTE, AND HIS FRIEND A BRIAR-ROOT PIPE" " 34

"THEY PASSED IN THROUGH THE GATE, AND FOUND THE
DOOR LEFT OPEN FOR THEM" " 64

"AND YET HERE WAS THIS GIRL WATCHING COOLLY
AND CRITICALLY THE MOTION OF THE LINE" " 116

"CAUTIOUSLY OLD ROBERT CREPT DOWN. WHEN HE
WAS CLOSE TO THE WATER, HE BARED HIS RIGHT
ARM AND GRASPED THE GAFF BY THE HANDLE" " 170

"ROBERT GOT THE SMALL PARCELS AND THE DRINKING-CUPS
OUT OF THE BAG, AND ARRANGED THEM ON THE WARM TURF" " 198

"AND NINA, HANGING SOME WAY BACK, COULD SEE
THEM BEING PRESENTED TO MISS BURGOYNE" " 252

"'WHY, YOU SEEM TO KNOW EVERYBODY, MR. MOORE!'
SHE SAID TO HIM, WITH A SMILE" " 264

"HE THREW HIS ARMS ON THE TABLE BEFORE HIM,
AND HID HIS FACE" " 310

"AND AGAIN SHE FILLED UP HIS GLASS, WHICH HE HAD
NOT EMPTIED" " 322

"THERE WAS A SLIGHT TOUCH OF COLOR VISIBLE ON
THE GRACIOUS FOREHEAD WHEN SHE OFFERED HIM HER HAND" " 346

"HE UTTERED A LOUD SHRIEK, AND STRUGGLED
WILDLY TO RAISE HIMSELF" " 394

"SHE THREW HERSELF ON HER KNEES BY THE BEDSIDE
AND SEIZED HIS HAND" " 400

"MAURICE WALKED BACK UNTIL HE FOUND A GATE,
ENTERED, AND WENT FORWARD AND OVERTOOK HER" " 420

"I HAVE AN EXTREMELY IMPORTANT LETTER TO SEND OFF" " 430

PRINCE FORTUNATUS.

CHAPTER I.

A REHEARSAL.

When the curtain fell on the last act of "The Squire's Daughter," the
comedy-opera that had taken all musical London by storm, a tall and
elegant young English matron and her still taller brother rose from
their places in the private box they had been occupying, and made ready
to depart; and he had just assisted her to put on her long-skirted coat
of rose-red plush when an attendant made his appearance.

"Mr. Moore's compliments, your ladyship, and will you please to step
this way?"

The box was close to the stage. Lady Adela Cunyngham and her brother,
Lord Rockminster, followed their guide through a narrow little door, and
almost at once found themselves in the wings, amid the usual motley
crowd of gas-men, scene-shifters, dressers, and the like. But the
company were still fronting the footlights; for there had been a general
recall, and the curtain had gone up again; and probably, during this
brief second of scrutiny, it may have seemed odd to these two strangers
to find themselves looking, not at rows of smiling faces on the stage,
but at the backs of the heads of the performers. However, the curtain
once more came down; the great wedding-party in the squire's hall grew
suddenly quite business-like and went their several ways as if they had
no longer any concern with one another; and then it was that the
squire's daughter herself--a piquant little person she was, in a
magnificent costume of richly flowered white satin, and with a
portentous head-gear of powdered hair and brilliants and strings of
pearls--was brought forward by a handsome young gentleman who wore a
tied wig, a laced coat and ruffles, satin knee-breeches, shining silken
stockings, and silver-buckled shoes.

"Lady Adela," said he, "let me introduce you to Miss Burgoyne. Miss
Burgoyne has been kind enough to say she will take you into her room for
a little while, until I get off my war-paint. I sha'n't keep you more
than a few minutes."

"It is very good of you," said the tall young matron in the crimson coat
to this gorgeous little white bride, whose lips were brilliant with
cherry-paste, and whose bright and frank eyes were surrounded by such a
mighty mass of make-up.

"Not at all," she answered, pleasantly enough, and therewith she led the
way down some steps into a long, white-tiled corridor, from which
branched the various dressing-rooms. "I'm afraid I can't give you any
tea now; but there's some lemonade, of my own making--it has become very
popular in the theatre--you would hardly believe the number of callers I
have of an evening."

By this time Lionel Moore, who was responsible for these strangers being
in the theatre, had gone quickly off to his own dressing-room to change
his attire, so that when the two ladies reached a certain half-open door
where the prima-donna's maid was waiting for her, Lord Rockminster
naturally hung back and would have remained without. Miss Burgoyne
instantly turned to him.

"Oh, but you may come in too!" she said, with great complaisance.

Somewhat timorously he followed these two into a prettily furnished
little sitting-room, where he was bidden to take a seat and regale
himself with lemonade, if he was so minded; and then Miss Burgoyne drew
aside the curtain of an inner apartment, and said to her other guest:

"_You_ may come in here, if you like. Mr. Moore said you wished to
know about stage make-up and that kind of thing--I will show you all the
dreadful secrets--Jane!" Thereupon these three disappeared behind the
curtain, and Lord Rockminster was left alone.

But Lord Rockminster liked being left alone. He was a great thinker, who
rarely revealed his thoughts, but who was quite happy in possessing
them. He could sit for an hour at a club-window, calmly gazing out into
the street, and be perfectly content. It is true that the pale
tobacco-tinge that overspread the young man's fair complexion seemed to
speak of an out-of-door life; but he had long ago emancipated himself
from the tyranny of field-sports. That thraldom had begun early with
him, as with most of his class. He had hardly been out of his Eton
jacket when gillies and water-bailiffs got hold of him, and made him
thrash salmon-pools with a seventeen-foot rod until his back was
breaking; and then keepers and foresters had taken possession of him,
and compelled him to crawl for miles up wet gullies and across
peat-hags, and then put a rifle in his hand, expecting him to hit a
bewildering object on the other side of a corrie when, as a matter of
fact, his heart was like to burst with excitement and fear. But the
young man had some strength of character. He rebelled; he refused to be
driven like a slave any longer; he struck for freedom and won it. There
was still much travelling to be encountered; but when he had got that
over, when he had seen everything and done everything, and there was
nothing more to do or to see, then he became master of himself and
conducted himself accordingly. Contemplation, accompanied by a
cigarette, was now his chief good. What his meditations were no one
knew, but they sufficed unto himself. He had attained Nirvana. He lived
in a region of perpetual thought.

But there was one active quality that Lord Rockminster certainly did
possess: he was a most devoted brother, as all the town knew. He was
never tired of going about with his three beautiful sisters, or with any
one of them; he would fetch and carry for them with the most amiable
assiduity; "Rock" they called him, as if he were a retriever. Then the
fact that they followed very different pursuits made all the greater
demand on his consideration. His youngest sister, Lady Rosamund Bourne,
painted indefatigably in both water and oils, and had more than once
exhibited in Suffolk Street; Lady Sybil devoted herself to music, and
was a well-known figure at charitable concerts; while the eldest sister,
Lady Adela, considered literature and the drama as more particularly
under her protection, nor had she ceased to interest herself in these
graceful arts when she married Sir Hugh Cunyngham, of the Braes, that
famous breeder of polled cattle. The natural consequence of all this was
that Lord Rockminster found himself called to a never-ending series of
concerts, theatres, private views, and the like, and always with one or
other of his beautiful, tall sisters as his companion; while on a
certain occasion (for it was whispered that Lady Adela Cunyngham was
engaged in the composition of a novel, and her brother was the soul of
good-nature) he had even gone the length of asking a publisher to dine
at his club. And here he was seated in an actress's room, alone, while
his sister was inspecting powder-puffs, washes, patches, and paste
jewelry; and not only that, but they were about to take an actor home to
supper with them. What he thought about it all he never said. He sat and
stroked his small yellow moustache; his eyes was absent; and on his
handsome, almost Greek, features there dwelt a perfect and continuous
calm.

Presently the door was opened, and the smart-looking young baritone who
had stolen away the hearts of half the women in London made his
appearance. He was a young fellow of about eight-and-twenty,
pleasant-featured, his complexion almost colorless, his eyes gray with
dark lashes, his eyebrows also dark. In figure he was slight and wiry
rather than muscular; but where he gave evidence of strength was in his
magnificent throat and in the set of his head and shoulders. It may be
added that he possessed, what few stage-singers appear to possess, a
remarkably well-formed leg--a firm-knit calf tapering to a small ankle
and a shapely foot; but, as he had now doffed his professional silken
stockings and silver-buckled shoes for ordinary evening wear, his merits
in this respect were mostly concealed.

No sooner had he begun to talk to Lord Rockminster than the sound of his
voice summoned forth from the inner apartment Lady Adela, who, with many
expressions of thanks, bade good-night to the prima-donna, and put
herself under charge of the young baritone.

"My sisters are at the Mellords' to-night," said she, as she accompanied
him along the corridor and up the steps and through the now almost
deserted wings. "They were dining there, and we left them as we came to
the theatre, and promised to pick them up on our way home. There will be
a bit of a crush, I suppose; you won't mind coming in for a few minutes,
will you, Mr. Moore?"

"I don't know Mrs. Mellord," said he, with becoming modesty.

"But everybody knows you--that is the great point," said this tall
young Englishwoman, who looked very gracious and charming, and who, when
she turned to talk to her companion, had a quick, responsive smile ever
ready in her clear, intelligent, gray-blue eyes. "Oh, yes, you must
come. It is one of the prettiest houses in London; and Mrs. Mellord is
one of the nicest women. We will get Sybil and Rose away as soon as we
can; and I shouldn't at all wonder if we found Georgie Lestrange and her
brother there too. Oh, almost certain, I should say. Then we could carry
them off to supper, and after that Pastora might try over her duet with
Damon. But as regards the Mellords, Mr. Moore," said she, with a
pleasant smile, as he handed her into her brougham, which had been
brought round to the stage-door, "I shall consider you to be under my
protection, and I will take care no one shall ask you to sing."

"But you know, Lady Adela, I am always delighted to sing for any friend
of yours," said he, promptly enough; and then, when he and Lord
Rockminster had entered the carriage, and the footman had shut the door
and got on the box, away they drove through the busy midnight world of
London.

It did not take them long to get from the New Theatre to the house of
the famous Academician; and here, late as it was, they found plenty of
people still arriving, a small crowd of onlookers scanning the various
groups as they crossed the pavement. On this hot night in May, it seemed
pleasantly cool to get into the great hall of white and black marble,
where the miniature lake, on which floated an alabaster swan, was all
banked round with flowers; and when Lady Adela had dispossessed herself
of her long plush coat, it was evident she had dressed for the reception
before going to the theatre, for now she appeared in a costume of
silver-gray satin with a very considerable train, while there were
diamond stars in her light brown hair, and at her bosom a bunch of deep
crimson roses. At the head of the stairs they encountered Mrs. Mellord,
who received the famous young baritone with the most marked kindness.
Indeed, he seemed to be known to a considerable number of the people who
were assembled in these spacious rooms of white and gold; while those
who were not personally acquainted with him easily recognized him, for
were not his photographs in every stationer's window in London? The
Ladies Sybil and Rosamund Bourne they found in the studio, talking to
the great Academician himself. These two young ladies were even taller,
as they likewise were fairer in complexion, than their married sister;
moreover, they were much more dignified in demeanor than she was, though
that may have merely arisen from maidenly reserve. But when Mr. Mellord
exhibited at the Royal Academy his much-talked-of picture of the three
sisters, most people seemed to think that though the two younger ladies
might have carried off the palm for their handsome, pale, regularly cut
features and their calm, observant eyes, there was something in the
bright, vivacious look of the eldest that outweighed these advantages;
while in society, and especially as a hostess in her own house, the
charm of Lady Adela's manner, and her quick, sympathetic, engaging ways
made her a universal favorite. And one was tempted, in amazement, to ask
how it came about that a woman so alert and intelligent, so conversant
with the world, so ready to note the ridiculous side of things, could
not understand what a poor and lamentable figure she made as an amateur
authoress? But had the Lady Sybil any less confidence in her musical
attainments, when she would undertake to play a duet with one of the
most distinguished of professional musicians, she on the violin, he at
the piano? And here, at this very moment, was Lady Rosamund talking to
by far and away the greatest painter in England, and there was a picture
before them on an easel, and she was saying to him, with perfect
coolness,

"Why, I see you use cadmium yellow, Mr. Mellord! I _never_ do."

Somehow an impression got abroad through these brilliant rooms that Mr.
Moore was going to sing; and at length Mrs. Mellord came to the young
man and frankly preferred her request.

"Oh, yes," said he, most good-naturedly.

"The serenade?" she ventured to hint.

"Oh, not the serenade!" said he, with a laugh. "Every butcher's boy in
the streets whistles it."

"All England is singing it--and a good thing, too," she made answer; and
then she said, with some emphasis: "I am sure no one rejoices more than
myself at the great popularity of 'The Squire's Daughter.' I am very
glad to see that a comedy-opera may be based on the best traditions of
English music; and I hope we shall have a great deal less of the
Offenbach tinkle-tankle."

"The serenade, if you like, then," said he, with, careless good-humor;
what did it matter to him?

"And whom shall I get to play an accompaniment for you?"

"Oh, you needn't trouble; I can do that for myself--"

"But you must make one young lady supremely happy," said she, with
insidious flattery.

He glanced round the studio.

"I see Miss Lestrange over there--she has played it for me
before--without the music, I mean."

"Then I'll go and fetch her," said the indefatigable hostess; and now
everybody seemed to know that Mr. Lionel Moore was about to sing "The
Starry Night."

Miss Georgie Lestrange was no sooner appealed to than she came through
the crowd, smiling and laughing. She was an exceedingly pretty lass,
with fresh-complexioned cheeks, a pert and attractive nose, a winsome
mouth, and merry blue eyes that were hardly made grave by the
_pince-nez_ that she habitually wore. She was very prettily dressed,
too--in blue-and-silver brocade, with a high Medici collar of silver
lace, puffed sleeves with twisted cords of silver, and silver fillets
binding the abundant masses of her ruddy-golden hair. She sat down at
the piano, and the first notes of the accompaniment deepened the silence
that now prevailed, not only in this big studio, but throughout the
communicating rooms.

Probably there was not a human being in the place who had not heard this
serenade sung a dozen times over, for it was the most popular air of the
most popular piece then being played in London; but there was some kind
of novelty in listening to the same notes that had thrilled through the
theatre (rather, that had sent their passionate appeal up to a certain
mysterious balcony, in the dim moonlight of the stage) now pulsating
through the hushed silence of these modern rooms. Lionel Moore was not a
baritone of altogether rare and exceptional gifts, otherwise he might
hardly have been content with even the popularity and the substantial
rewards of comic opera; but he had a very excellent voice for all that,
of high range, and with a resonant and finely sympathetic _timbre_
that seemed easily to find its way (according to all accounts) to the
feminine heart. And the music of this serenade was really admirable, of
subtle and delicate quality, and yet full of the simplest melody, and
perhaps none the less to be appreciated that it seemed to suggest a
careful study of the best English composers. The words were conventional
enough, of course; but then the whole story of "The Squire's Daughter"
was as artificial as the wigs and powder and patches of the performers;
and even now, when Harry Thornhill, bereft of all his gay silk and lace
and ruffles, and become plain Mr. Lionel Moore, in ordinary evening
dress, sang to Miss Georgie Lestrange's accompaniment, the crowd did not
think of the words--they were entranced by the music. "The starry
night"--this is how Harry Thornhill, in the opera, addresses Grace
Mainwaring, he standing in the moonlit garden and looking up to her
window--

"The starry night brings me no rest;
My ardent love now stands confessed;
Appear, my sweet, and shame the skies,
That have no splendor,
That have no splendor like thine eyes!"

The serenade was followed by a general murmur of approbation, rather
than by any loud applause; but the pretty Mrs. Mellord came up to the
singer and was most profuse of thanks. Prudently, however, he moved away
from the piano, being accompanied by Miss Georgie Lestrange, who seemed
rather pleased with the prominence this position gave her; and very soon
a surreptitious message reached them both that they were wanted below.
When they went down into the hall they found that Lady Adela had got her
party collected, including Miss Lestrange's brother Percy; thereupon the
four ladies got into the brougham and drove off, while the three
gentlemen proposed to follow on foot, and have a cigarette the while. It
was a pleasantly warm night, and they had no farther to go than Sir Hugh
Cunyngham's house, which is one of the large garden-surrounded mansions
on the summit of Campden Hill.

When at length they arrived there and had entered by the wooden gate,
the semicircular carriage-drive, lit by two solitary lamps, and the
front of the house itself, half-hidden among the black trees, seemed
somewhat sombre and repellent at this silent hour of the morning; but
they found a more cheerful radiance streaming out from the hall-door,
which had been left open for them; and when they went into the large
dining-room, where the ladies had already assembled, there was no lack
of either light or color there, for all the candles were ablaze, and
the long table was brilliant with silver and Venetian glass and flowers.
And, indeed, this proved to be a very merry and talkative supper-party;
for, as soon as supper was served, the servants were sent off to bed;
Lord Rockminster constituted himself butler, and Percy Lestrange handed
round the pheasants' eggs and asparagus and such things; so that there
was no alien ear in the room. Lionel Moore, being less familiar with the
house, was exempted from these duties; in truth, it was rather the
women-folk who waited upon him--and petted him as he was used to be
petted, wherever that fortunate young man happened to go.

However, it was not supper that was chiefly occupying the attention of
this band of eager chatterers (from whom the silent Lord Rockminster,
walking gravely round the table with a large jug of champagne-cup in his
hand, must honorably be distinguished), it was the contemplated
production of a little musical entertainment called "The Chaplet," by
Dr. Boyce, which they were about to attempt, out-of-doors, on some
afternoon still to be fixed, and before a select concourse of friends.
And the most vivacious of the talkers was the red-headed and merry-eyed
young maiden in blue silver and brocade, who seemed incapable of keeping
her rosebud of a mouth closed for more than a minute at a time.

"I do think it's awfully hard on me," she was protesting. "Look how I'm
handicapped! Everybody knows that Pastora was played by Kitty Olive; and
everybody will say, 'That Lestrange girl has cheek, hasn't she? thinks
she can play Kitty Olive's parts!' And you know Pastora is always
calling attention to her fascinating appearance."

"Georgie, you're fishing for compliments!" the young matron said,
severely.

"No, I'm not, Adela," said Miss Lestrange, who, indeed, looked as
charming as any Kitty Olive could ever have done. "Then there's another
thing: fancy my having to sing a duet with Mr. Moore! It's all very well
for you to sing a song off your own bat--"

"That _would_ be difficult, Georgie," Lady Adela observed.

"Oh, you know what I mean. But when you come to sing in conjunction with
an artist like Mr. Moore, what then? They will say it is mere
presumption, when my little squeak of a voice gets drowned altogether."

"If you give any weight to a professional opinion, Miss Lestrange," the
young baritone said, "I can assure you you sing your part in that
duet--or in anything else I've heard you sing--very well indeed. Very
well indeed."

"Ah, now Georgie's happy," said Lady Adela, with a laugh, as the
blushing damsel cast down her eyes. "Well, I propose that we all go into
the drawing-room, and we'll hear for ourselves how Pastora and Damon
sing together. You may make as much noise as ever you like; the children
are in Hampshire; Hugh is in Scotland; the servants are out of hearing;
and our neighbors are a long way off."

This suggestion, coming from the lady of the house, was of the nature of
a command, and so they leisurely trooped into the great drawing-room,
where the candles were still burning. But there was something else than
these artificial lights that attracted the sharp eyes of Miss Georgie
Lestrange the moment she entered this new apartment. There was a
curious, wan kind of color about the curtains and the French windows
that did not seem natural to the room. She walked quickly forward, drew
the lace hangings aside, and then, suddenly, she exclaimed,

"Why, it's almost daylight! Look here, Adela, why shouldn't we have a
rehearsal of the whole piece, from end to end--a real rehearsal, this
time, on the lawn? and Rose can tell us all how we are to stand, and Mr.
Moore will show us what we should do besides merely speaking the lines."

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