V
I AM THE LADY TRUSIA
"I hope she's not dead," Carter said fervently as he bent over theunconscious girl. He beckoned to his chauffeur. "You can't catch herhorse, Carrick. No use trying. Just hand me my flask."
As he forced the brandy through the pale lips he inwardly cursed his ownlust for speed which had been the cause of the possibly fatalcatastrophe.
Tempted by a bit of road, straight and smooth, full power had been puton in a feverish desire to interpose as much space as possible betweenthe automobile and the Gray Man at the inn, repugnance for whom seethedin Carter's soul. As the touring car had neared a turn in the way, itstwo occupants had been horrified to see a spirited black horse, riddenby a beautiful girl, swing at a sharp gallop directly in their path. Arare presence of mind on Carrick's part had prompted an instantapplication of the brakes which had undoubtedly prevented a collisionalthough it had very nearly hurled him and his companion from theirseats. The steed for a fraction of a second had been petrified withfear. Then it had reared violently, thrown its rider, andpanic-stricken, had turned and fled in the direction of its coming.
Carter, kneeling, gently placed the girl's head against his shoulder,while he passed an arm around her the better to support the relaxedbody. He looked helplessly at the Cockney.
"Wasn't there some one with her?" he inquired, with the memory of ameteoric vision of another rider fleeing back along the road on aplunging, squealing steed.
"Yes, Mr. Carter, a young chap in uniform. 'Is 'oss bolted too, sir. 'Estuck on all right though. We've certainly 'ad a bad day for a start,don't you think, sir?"
Calvert did not answer; he was bending anxiously over the still face,praying for a sign of life. He was appalled by the girl's beauty and atwofold fear possessed him. He feared she was dead. Scarcely less thanthis, if fortunately she was alive, he dreaded the necessity that wouldrequire his laying desecrating masculine hands upon her for her betterresuscitation.
"Is she dead, sir?" asked Carrick, bending above them as he noted Cartergroping blindly for her pulse. "She looks like a queen," he added in avoice husky with the awe inspired by the marble stillness of her face.
Hesitatingly Carter's finger rested on her wrist. A lump leaped to histhroat, he could have shouted with joy as he found that the pulse stillstirred.
"She is not dead," he said in a voice vibrant with thanksgiving. Hiseyes sought the Cockney's for a responsive gleam of gratitude.
His trembling fingers awkwardly loosened the habit about the round whitethroat. The unavoidable contact with the satiny skin caused his head towhirl and his face to crimson. Finally controlling himself he began towatch patiently for the sign of returning consciousness. During the agesit appeared to take, he inventoried the beauty of the face, the perfectensemble of which had impressed him as she rode into view.
A shapely little head of wavy black hair lay in the crook of his elbow.The loosened strands breeze-blown against his cheek seemed light as thesheen of a spider's craft. These waved to the rhythm of beauty above alow white forehead veined in an indefinite tint of blue. The eyebrowswere fine and daintily arched. Black lashes long and up-curling sweptthe unexplainable curve of her cheek, at the present time apparentlymasking eyes too rare for the vision of man. The nose, thin and ever soslightly bridged, was an epitome of aristocracy.
The mouth, just beginning to quiver with reanimation, was curved in thecurl of flowers in bud, and sweet and kind as the animate soul of arose. A womanly chin turned, none could say where, into the matchlesssweep and curve of the throat and breast, a glimpse of which he had hadvouchsafed in such a breathless vision.
"Where's her hat, Carrick?" Carter asked, not because there was anyimmediate use for that article of apparel, but with the instinct of anorderly man to keep all things together. After a considerable search thechauffeur picked up something from the gutter by the side of the roadand handed it to his master.
"This must be it, sir," he commented. It was a broad felt hat with oneside of the brim looped up with a jewel _a la cavalier_ while a fineblack plume curled about it. For the first time, attracted doubtless bythe head covering, Calvert noticed that the girl's was not theconventional costume one sees on equestriennes either in the Park oralong the Row. Nevertheless the habit itself was elegantly plain.
Across from the right shoulder passing to the waist at the left wasstretched a broad ribbon as red as war. A great jeweled star movedsluggishly upon it above her faintly struggling breast. The centre ofthe medal bore a lion rampant in blue enamel. On the beast's head was aroyal crown. There was something suggestive about it which awakened hismind to grope tentacle-like for that of which it was reminiscent.
A startled exclamation from Carrick caused him to look up quickly.Fumbling nervously at his shirt with one hand, with the other thewide-eyed Cockney was pointing at the star.
"The guvnor's shiner," he exclaimed excitedly as he drew forth from thefolds of his blouse a battered duplicate of the medal she wore.
Barring its condition attributable to time and rough usage it wassimilar in every respect.
Growing surmise as to its origin and Carrick's connection thereto wereinterrupted by a tearful incoherence on the part of the reviving girl.Her bosom heaved convulsively, her eyes opened wide and startled intolife. She arose to a sitting posture glancing around as a child mightwho has been suddenly awakened from slumber. Carter still knelt at herside with ready arm for her support should weakness overtake her.
Like the sweep of rose light across a sunset land, the blush ofrecollection passed over her face, as the full details of thecatastrophe came back to her and she recalled that, inevitably, thisstranger had held her in his arms while he had performed servicesstrictly feminine. Her eyes retreated behind the satin sheen of theirlids. She struggled to her feet.
"Pardon, monsieur," she addressed him in the French of St. Germain."Where is my gentleman? And my horses, where are they? Horses,hereabouts, are strangers to the automobile."
"Both have bolted, mademoiselle, doubtless for that very reason. I feelvery guilty, I assure you. I hope and pray that you are not seriouslyhurt. I assure you that I would have given anything to have spared youthat fall. Can you ever forgive me? Will you let me make amends?"
As one born of high places, she raised her eyes straight and frankly tohis. Reading sincere regret and pain in the face of this handsomestranger, she smiled as she generously held out her hand.
"You are forgiven," she said graciously. "I am only a trifle shaken.Will you kindly take me to my castle in your car, as I do not wish mypeople to worry?"
Nothing could have more tactfully displaced Carter's self-censure thanthis expressed wish of hers. Seeing that she was still weak he gravelyoffered his arm for her support.
Lightly she placed her gauntleted hand upon his elbow, but soft as thattouch was, no other woman had so thrilled him.
"To whom am I indebted, monsieur?" she asked with native curiosity.
"Calvert Carter, of New York, mademoiselle, is indebted to you foroverlooking the accident he has caused."
"Mr. Carter," she added in delicious English, "the Duchess of Schallbergis grateful for your kindness. The question of indebtedness we will notpursue. It is not a good basis of friendship."
This was the Duchess of Schallberg; the possible aspirant to its throne?
"You--you are Trusia?" he stammered.
"I am the Lady Trusia," she corrected gently.