By Wit of Woman

  CHAPTER VI

  GARETH

  I was quite as anxious to avoid police interference as the menthemselves could be; but I knew the threat was more likely to drivethem off than any other.

  To recover the girl, they would have bludgeoned me readily enough, ifthey could have done it without being discovered; but my weapon madethat impossible. Moreover, they liked the look of the business end ofthe revolver as little as many braver men.

  The stick was lowered; they whispered together, and then tried to foolme. They began to edge away from one another, so as to be able to rushin from opposite directions.

  "You stand just where you are, or I fire, right now," I called.

  They stopped and swore.

  "Can't a man take his own daughter home?" growled one of them.

  "I am not his daughter," protested the girl.

  "I know that. Don't be afraid, I shan't give you up."

  "Who are you to interfere with us?" asked the other.

  "I'm a man in woman's clothes," I answered, intending this tale to becarried to their employer. "And I'll give you five seconds to clear.You get into that carriage and drive off, the lot of you together, orI'll bring the police about your ears. Now, one, two, if you let mecount to five, you'll eat nothing but prison fare for a year or two.Off with you;" and emboldened by my success I made a step toward them.

  It was good bluff. They shrank back; then turned tail and scurried tothe carriage, swearing copiously, and drove off in the direction of OldBuda.

  I watched the vehicle until the darkness swallowed it, and then hurriedwith my companion in the opposite direction. We recrossed the bridgeand made for my house.

  When we were near it I stopped, and she began to thank me volubly andwith many tears.

  "Don't thank me yet. Tell me where you wish to go."

  "I have nowhere to go in Pesth, sir," she answered.

  I smiled at her mistake. "Let me explain. I said that about my beinga man to frighten those ruffians. I am a girl, like yourself, and havea home close by. If you like to come to it, you will be quite safethere."

  "I trust you implicitly," she said, simply; and with that I took her tomy house.

  As we entered I managed to draw out a couple of hairpins, so that whenI took off my hat, my hair came tumbling about my shoulders insufficient length to satisfy her of my sex. She was quick enough tounderstand my reason; and with a very sweet smile she put her arm roundmy waist and kissed me on the cheek.

  "I did not need any proof, dear," she said. "But you are wonderful.How I wish I were you. So brave and daring."

  "You are very pretty, my dear," I answered, as I kissed her. She was;but very pale and so fragile that I felt as if I were petting a child.

  "I am so wretched," she murmured, and the tears welled up in her greatblue eyes. "If I were only strong like you!"

  "You shall tell me your story presently; but first I have something todo. Sit here a moment."

  I went out and told Mrs. Perry to get us something to eat and toprepare a bed for my friend; and I wrote a hurried line to Madamed'Artelle that I was staying for the night with a student friend, andsent it by Mr. Perry.

  When I went back the girl was sitting in a very despondent attitude,weeping silently; but she started up and tried to smile to me throughher tears. Then I made a discovery. She had taken off her gloves, andon her left hand was a wedding ring.

  "How can I ever thank you?" she cried.

  "First by drying your tears--things might have been much worse withyou, you know; think of that; then by having some supper; I ampositively famished; and after that, if you like, you can tell me yourstory, and we will see whether, by putting our heads together, wecannot find a way to help you further."

  "I am afraid----" and she broke down again.

  With much persuasion I induced her to eat something and take a littlewine; and this seemed to cheer her. She dried her eyes and as we satside by side on a couch, she put her hand in mine and gradually nestledinto my arms like a weary wee child.

  "I'll begin," I said. "My name is Christabel Gilmore. I'm anAmerican, and a student at the University here;" and I added somedetails about the States and so on; just talking so as to give her timeto gather confidence.

  "You haven't told me your name yet," I said, presently.

  "I am the Countess von Ostelen. You have heard the name?" she said,quickly, at my start of surprise.

  "I was surprised, that is all. Yes. I knew the name years ago inAmerica. I knew the Count von Ostelen."

  "He is my husband," she said, very simply. "My Christian name isGareth. You will call me by that, of course." With a sweet littlenervous gesture she slipped her arm away and began to finger herwedding ring.

  "I had seen that, my dear."

  "Your eyes see everything, Christabel;" and her arm came about me againand her head rested on my shoulder.

  I sat silent for a few moments in perplexity. If she were Karl's wife,how came his brother to have been----what a fool I was! Of course thething was plain. Gustav was the husband, and he had used his brother'sname. My heart was stirred, and my intense pity for her found vent ina sigh.

  "Why that sigh, Christabel?" Her sweet eyes fastened upon my facenervously, and I kissed her.

  "The sigh was for you, child, not for myself. Had you not better tellme everything? Have you your husband's likeness?"

  "I had it here in a locket," she said, wistfully, as she drew a chainfrom her bosom. "But to-day he said the locket was not good enough forme. I wish I had kept it now. You would have said he was thehandsomest man you had ever seen. Oh, how selfish I am," she brokeoff, with a quick cry of distress and sat up.

  "What is the matter?"

  "I never thought of it. He was with me when those men attacked us.Oh, if he should have been hurt!"

  "You can make your mind easy about that," I said, a little drily. "Isaw the attack and that he escaped."

  "He is so brave. He would have risked his life for me."

  "I saw him--get away, dear," I replied. I nearly said run away; butcould not yet undeceive her.

  "If anything had happened to him, it would have killed me. I wouldrather have died than that." Then with a change of manner she asked:"Did you see his face, Christabel?"

  "Yes, in the moonlight, but he passed me quickly."

  "But you saw he was handsome?"

  "One of the handsomest men I have ever seen," I assented, to please her.

  "Yes, yes. That is just it, and as good as he is handsome."

  "I could not see that, of course," I answered; and then was silent. Iwas growing very anxious as I saw the problem widening and deepening.Poor trustful little soul! How should I ever break the truth to herand not break her heart at the same time?

  There was a long pause, which she broke. "Oh, how I hope he has reallyescaped, as you say."

  "How came you to be where I saw you?" I asked. This reminded her, as Iintended, that she had told me nothing yet.

  "I said I was selfish, Christabel, didn't I? I had quite forgotten Ihad told you nothing. I will tell you: but you must first give me apromise not to repeat it. Our marriage is only a secret so far, youknow."

  "On my honour, I will do nothing to harm you. Why is your marriage asecret?"

  "My husband is afraid of his father's anger. You see, Karl--"

  "Karl?" I exclaimed, involuntarily.

  "That is my husband's name," she replied, with a touch of rebuke andpride. He had taken his brother's Christian name, it seemed.

  "Of course," I agreed.

  "My husband is a Count, but as yet only a poor one, dependent upon thegood will of his father who wishes him to marry some one else. So wedare not let it be known yet that we are married."

  "But your own friends know?" I said.

  She seemed to resent this in some way as a reflection upon her husband."I have no friends in Pesth except my dear father. He is alive and Iknow he loves me; but I don't know
why, I have never lived at home formore than a week or so at a time. I did wish to tell him; but Karlwould not let me--I mean, we decided it was better not until the truthcould be told to all." Then she showed me her innocent heart again."It is when I think of my father that I am so wretched. He willbelieve I have deserted him so cruelly;" and her eyes were full oftears again.

  "Who is your father, dear?"

  "Colonel Katona. My dear, dear father!" and her grief so overcame herthat my fresh start of surprise passed unnoticed. He had been thatfriend of my father's who was believed to hold the secret of the greatwrong in his keeping. And it was his daughter whom I had thus saved.

  Her tears passed soon, like a summer storm. She was a creature ofstrangely variable moods.

  "I know, of course, that Karl was right. My father is a stern, gloomyand sometimes hard man. He would have forced us to announce themarriage; and then Karl would have been ruined."

  "But did not your father know that he wished to marry you?"

  "Oh, no," she cried, smiling now. "That was the lovely part of it. Henever saw Karl. I meant it to be a surprise. I was at Tyrnau, stayingwith friends, when we met, and it was all settled in a few weeks. Yousee Karl loved me and I loved him, and--that was all."

  "You were married at Tyrnau?"

  She shook her head gaily. "No. It was such fun. We ran awaytogether, and were married by a friend of Karl's in his house atSillien, in the mountains. A heaven of a place. My home is there.Oh, the loveliest of homes, Christabel. You will say so when you seeit."

  "I may never see it, my dear."

  "Oh, but of course you will. You will come and stay with me. You willbe my dear friend always; and Karl's too, when he knows how you savedme to-night. And it will never be lonely there any more."

  "How came you to be in Pesth to-night then?" I asked, smothering thesigh which her last words impelled.

  "I suppose I did wrong to come. A wife should obey her husband, ofcourse, but I couldn't help it. You see, lately his father has keptKarl so much here that I have scarcely seen him; and something is goingto happen; I shan't be alone then; and--you understand, I wanted to letmy father know I was married before my child was born. I wrote this toKarl, and--it was naughty and wicked of me, I know--but when he wouldnot consent, I came to Pesth to-day and surprised him."

  "Yes, I think I understand," said I. It was easy to read now, indeed.Her visit meant discovery for him, and he had improvised the means ofgetting rid of her which I had prevented. "He was very angry, Isuppose?"

  "At first, yes. He tried to make me go back to Sillien; but I couldnot. I could not, could I, Christabel? And when he saw I was inearnest--I can be firm when I will"--and she made a great effort tolook resolute and determined--"and said I would go to my fatherto-morrow, he gave in and kissed me, and agreed to take me to hisfather and admit everything. We were on our way there when we wereattacked. I knew his love for me would conquer in the end. Howdelighted he will be when he knows that after all I am safe."

  "You will see him to-morrow and tell him. You know where to find himin the city here?"

  Her face clouded. "That is a strange thing. He was so afraid of hisfather's anger that he dared not let me write to his home. He gave mean address in the Altgasse, but it is only a place where letters arereceived. But I shall find him, of course, easily."

  "Would you take my advice, if I gave it?"

  "In that, oh yes, of course. I know you are clever."

  "It is to go straight to your father, Colonel Katona, and tell him all."

  "Oh, no, no, no, I dare not now," she cried, shrinking timidly. "Karlmade me take an oath to-day on the holy crucifix that, whateverhappened, I would never tell my father without his permission."

  "Why?"

  "Because no one but Karl must break the news of our marriage to hisfather. No, no. I dare not. I dare not. I cannot break my oath. Ishould be false to the Holy Church." And at the mere thought of it shebegan to tremble.

  It was clever; a stroke of almost diabolical cleverness; knowing thesimple, trusting child, to close her lips by such an oath.

  "You will not betray us?" she cried, taking alarm at my silence andserious expression. "You are my friend?"

  "Yes, I am your friend, my dear, and will always be, if you want one."She was a very tender little thing, and as I kissed her she threw herarms round my neck and clung to me. "And now, I'll give you some otheradvice--to go to bed; and after a night's rest, I daresay we shall seeour way."

  After I had seen her into bed and shown her that her room opened intomine, I went downstairs to think over all she had told me, all thetangle of trouble ahead for her, and its possible effects upon mycourse.

  It was quite late when at length I went to bed; and I was lying unableto sleep in my perplexed anxiety when I heard her call out as if infear. I started up and then she came running into my room.

  "Are you awake, Christabel?"

  "What is it, dear?"

  "I have had a dream and am frightened. Let me come to you."

  And just like a child she crept into my bed and into my arms.

  "I dreamt that Karl was dead and that my father had killed him," shemoaned. "And he was going to kill me and my child when I screamed outand woke."

  Was it an omen? The thought stayed with me long after I had calmed herfright and soothed her to sleep.

  God help the helpless, trustful, clinging child! It might well be anomen, indeed. My heart was heavy for her and her trouble.