The Zeppelin's Passenger

  CHAPTER IV

  A new tenseness seemed to have crept into the situation. Theconversation, never without its emotional tendencies, at once changedits character. Philippa, cold and reserved, with a threat lurking allthe time in her tone and manner, became its guiding spirit.

  "We may enquire your name?" she asked.

  "I am the Baron Maderstrom," was the prompt reply. "For the purpose ofmy brief residence in this country, however, I fancy that the name ofMr. Hamar Lessingham might provoke less comment."

  "Maderstrom," Philippa repeated. "You were at Magdalen with my brother."

  "For three terms," he assented.

  "You have visited at Wood Norton. It was only an accident, then, that Idid not meet you."

  "It is true," he answered, with a bow. "I received the most charminghospitality there from your father and mother."

  "Why, you are the friend," Helen exclaimed, suddenly seizing his hands,"of whom Dick speaks in his letter!"

  "It has been my great privilege to have been of service to MajorFelstead," was the grave admission. "He and I, during our college days,were more than ordinarily intimate. I saw his name in one of the listsof prisoners, and I went at once to Wittenberg."

  A fresh flood of questions was upon Helen's lips, but Philippa brushedher away.

  "Please let me speak," she said. "You have brought us these letters fromRichard, for which we offer you our heartfelt thanks, but you didnot risk your liberty, perhaps your life, to come here simply ashis ambassador. There is something beyond this in your visit to thiscountry. You may be a Swede, but is it not true that at the presentmoment you are in the service of an enemy?"

  Lessingham bowed acquiescence.

  "You are entirely right," he murmured.

  "Am I also right in concluding that you have some service to ask of us?"

  "Your directness, dear lady, moves me to admiration," Lessingham assuredher. "I am here to ask a trifling favour in return for those which Ihave rendered and those which I may yet render to your brother."

  "And that favour?"

  Their visitor looked down at his torn attire.

  "A suit of your brother's clothes," he replied, "and a room in whichto change. The disposal of these rags I may leave, I presume, to youringenuity."

  "Anything else?"

  "It is my wish," he continued, "to remain in this neighbourhood for ashort time--perhaps a fortnight and perhaps a month. I should value yourintroduction to the hotel here, and the extension of such hospitality asmay seem fitting to you, under the circumstances."

  "As Mr. Hamar Lessingham?"

  "Beyond a doubt."

  There was a moment's silence. Philippa's face had become almost stony.She took a step towards the telephone. Lessingham, however, held out hishand.

  "Your purpose?" he enquired.

  "I am going to ring up the Commandant here," she told him, "and explainyour presence in this house."

  "An heroic impulse," he observed, "but too impulsive."

  "We shall see," she retorted. "Will you let me pass?"

  His fingers restrained her as gently as possible.

  "Let me make a reasonable appeal to both of you," he suggested. "I amhere at your mercy. I promise you that under no circumstances will Iattempt any measure of violence. From any fear of that, I trust my nameand my friendship with your brother will be sufficient guarantee."

  "Continue, then," Philippa assented.

  "You will give me ten minutes in which to state my case," he begged.

  "We must!" Helen exclaimed. "We must, Philippa! Please!"

  "You shall have your ten minutes," Philippa conceded.

  He abandoned his attitude of watchfulness and moved back on to thehearth-rug, his hands behind him. He addressed himself to Philippa. Itwas Philippa who had become his judge.

  "I will claim nothing from you," he began, "for the services which Ihave rendered to Richard. Our friendship was a real thing, and, findinghim in such straits, I would gladly, under any circumstances, have doneall that I have done. I am well paid for this by the thanks which youhave already proffered me."

  "No thanks--nothing that we could do for you would be sufficientrecompense," Helen declared energetically.

  "Let me speak for a moment of the future," he continued. "Supposing youring that telephone and hand me over to the authorities here? Well, thatwill be the end of me, without a doubt. You will have done what seemedto you to be the right thing, and I hope that that consciousness willsustain you, for, believe me, though it may not be at my will, yourbrother's life will most certainly answer for mine."

  There was a slight pause. A sob broke from Helen's throat. EvenPhilippa's lip quivered.

  "Forgive me," he went on, "if that sounds like a threat. It was not someant. It is the simple truth. Let me hurry on to the future. I ask solittle of you. It is my duty to live in this spot for one month. Whatharm can I do? You have no great concentration of soldiers here, nodocks, no fortifications, no industry. And in return for the slightservice of allowing me to remain here unmolested, I pledge my word thatRichard shall be set at liberty and shall be here with you within twomonths."

  Helen's face was transformed, her eyes glowed, her lips were partedwith eagerness. She turned towards Philippa, her expression, her wholeattitude an epitome of eloquent pleading.

  "Philippa, you will not hesitate? You cannot?"

  "I must," Philippa answered, struggling with her agitation. "I love Dickmore dearly than anything else on earth, but just now, Helen, we have toremember, before everything, that we are English women. We have toput our human feelings behind us. We are learning every day to makesacrifices. You, too, must learn, dear. My answer to you, BaronMaderstrom--or Mr. Lessingham, as you choose to call yourself--is no."

  "Philippa, you are mad!" Helen exclaimed passionately. "Didn't I have torealise all that you say when I let Dick go, cheerfully, the dayafter we were engaged? Haven't I realised the duty of cheerfulness andsacrifice through all these weary months? But there is a limit tothese things, Philippa, a sense of proportion which must be takeninto account. It's Dick's life which is in the balance against someintangible thing, nothing that we could ever reproach ourselves with,nothing that could bring real harm upon any one. Oh, I love my country,too, but I want Dick! I should feel like his murderess all my life, if Ididn't consent!"

  "It occurs to me," Lessingham remarked, turning towards Philippa, "thatMiss Fairclough's point of view is one to be considered."

  "Doesn't all that Miss Fairclough has said apply to me?" Philippademanded, with a little break in her voice. "Richard is my twin brother,he is the dearest thing in life to me. Can't you realise, though, thatwhat you ask of us is treason?"

  "It really doesn't amount to that," Lessingham assured her. "In my ownheart I feel convinced that I have come here on a fool's errand. Noobject that I could possibly attain in this neighbourhood is worth thelife of a man like Richard Felstead."

  "Oh, he's right!" Helen exclaimed. "Think, Philippa! What is there herewhich the whole world might not know? There are no secrets in Dreymarsh.We are miles away from everywhere. For my sake, Philippa, I implore younot to be unreasonable."

  "In plain words," Lessingham intervened, "do not be quixotic, LadyCranston. There is just an idea on one side, your brother's life on theother. You see, the scales do not balance."

  "Can't you realise, though," Philippa answered, "what that ideameans? It is part of one's soul that one gives when one departs from aprinciple."

  "What are principles against love?" Helen demanded, almost fiercely. "Asister may prate about them, Philippa. A wife couldn't. I'd sacrificeevery principle I ever had, every scrap of self-respect, myself and allthat belongs to me, to save Dick's life!"

  There was a brief, throbbing silence. Helen was feverishly clutchingPhilippa's hand. Lessingham's eyes were fixed upon the tortured faceinto which he gazed. There were no women like this in his own country.

  "Dear lady," he said, and for the first time his own voice shook, "
Iabandon my arguments. I beg you to act as you think best for your ownfuture happiness. The chances of life or death are not great things foreither men like your brother or for me. I would not purchase my end, norhe his life, at the expense of your suffering. You see, I stand on oneside. The telephone is there for your use."

  "You shan't use it!" Helen cried passionately. "Phillipa, you shan't!"

  Philippa turned towards her, and all the stubborn pride had gone out ofher face. Her great eyes were misty with tears, her mouth was twitchingwith emotion. She threw her arms around Helen's neck.

  "My dear, I can't! I can't!" she sobbed.