"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," she moaned. "And he was going to kill me and my child when I screamed out and woke."
Was it an omen? The thought stayed with me long after I had calmed her fright and soothed her to sleep.
G.o.d help the helpless, trustful, clinging child! It might well be an omen, indeed. My heart was heavy for her and her trouble.
CHAPTER VII
GARETH"S FATHER
The next day was a busy one for me, for I had to find a place in which Gareth could remain safely hidden.
This I felt to be impracticable in my present house. I had rented it on first coming to Pesth, and it was recorded as my address in the register of the University. It was, of course, certain that Count Gustav would have every possible inquiry made about me; and if he or his agents came to the house, Gareth"s presence would at once become known.
Fortunately, I had already commenced some negotiations to take a villa in a secluded part of the hilly district of Buda; and my first step that morning was to go out and complete the matter, so that I could remove that day. I wrote to Madame d"Artelle that I was called out of Pesth, and should return to her on the following day.
I knew quite enough of Count Gustav already to be fully aware that my discovery of his secret in regard to Gareth might prove a source of danger to me. Discreetly used, it might be of the most vital importance for my purposes. But he was a very formidable antagonist; and unless I acted with the utmost wariness and caution, I knew he would beat me.
If I had read his actions aright, he would go to any length to prevent the secret of his marriage getting known; and until I was quite prepared for emergencies, I must guard my knowledge of it jealously.
I was to score the first point. The next morning brought me news from Paris--a telegram from James Perry telling me the whereabouts of M.
Constans. I should therefore have that knowledge to take with me to Madame d"Artelle"s.
With Gareth, however, I had some difficulty. The view she took of Count Gustav was of course diametrically opposed to mine. This was natural enough. To her he was just the loving husband who would be in an agony of suspense until he knew of her safety. The belief that he was suffering such suspense added to her own grief and worry; and during the day we were removing to the villa she was very impatient of the delay involved.
She was ill both in body and mind; and how to deal with her caused me much thought and anxiety. To tell her what I was convinced was the truth in regard to the Count was impossible, even had I wished to do so. She would not have accepted me as a witness against her faith in him. Moreover, I had no wish to break down that faith yet. What I desired, rather, was to find means to compel him to do her justice; and unwittingly she made that task, hard as it was, more difficult by her att.i.tude.
I repeated my urgent advice--that she should go to her father and tell him everything; but she would not listen to me. On the contrary, she declared that no earthly consideration would induce her to break the solemn vow she had taken; and nothing I could say made the slightest impression upon that resolve.
I could not tell her what I knew well enough was the case--that unless she took that course she would be in danger. I was convinced that Count Gustav would have a very sharp search made for her and that, if he discovered her, he would contrive to get her to a place where she would be prevented from causing him any trouble.
But her faith in him was unshakable. "I shall show myself in the streets," she said, smiling, "and go everywhere until I meet him. He will be desperate until he knows I am safe."
I had to frighten this intention away. "What will happen if you do is this," I told her. "Either your father will meet you; or the men who attacked you will see you, and in order to prevent your accusing them will make away with you. If you will trust me to make this search for you, I will do it; but only on condition that you promise me not to stir from the house unless I am with you."
Scared in this way, she at length was induced to give the promise.
It was at best but an unsatisfactory compromise; and more than once I debated with myself whether, in her interests, I should not be justified in breaking the pledge of secrecy and going to Colonel Katona myself.
But I put that course aside for the moment and set out for Madame d"Artelle"s house.
I had not been two minutes with her before I saw that a considerable change had come over the position in my absence. She was so affectionate that I knew she was deceiving me. She over-acted her new role outrageously. She overwhelmed me with kisses and caresses, called Heaven to witness how much she had missed me, and declared she had been inconsolably miserable in my absence. Considering the terms on which we had parted, I should have been a mole not to have seen that this was false.
She was so afraid of offending me indeed, that she scarcely dared to show a legitimate curiosity as to the cause of my absence. She had obviously been coached by Count Gustav; and when a man coaches a woman, he generally makes her blunder. I could see that she was quivering to know what I had been doing, and on tenterhooks lest I had been working against her.
I thought it judicious, therefore, to frighten her a little; and when the due moment came I asked, significantly: "Have you the proofs yet of M. Constan"s death?"
"You are not going to talk of disagreeable things directly you get back, are you?"
"His death would not be disagreeable to you, Henriette?"
"You cannot guess what I have endured from that man. I tell you, Christabel, he is a man to raise the devil in a woman."
"A good many men can do that," I said, sententiously. "But if he is dead he can raise no more devils in either man or woman. Where did he die and when?"
"It does not matter to me now whether he is dead or living. You have had your way. I shall not marry Count Karl."
"And your grat.i.tude to me for this is the reason of your kisses and caresses on my return?"
She was very easy to stab; and her eyes flashed with sudden anger. She was too angry indeed to reply at once.
"You are a very singular girl, Christabel--very difficult to love," she said, as if to reproach me.
"Easier to hate, perhaps; but you should not pretend to love me. We need not make believe to love each other, Henriette. I do not love you. I saved your life in Paris, and when I found you here you wished me to come into your house because you thought you could more easily prevent my saying what I knew about you. That has more to do with fear than love--much more. And it does not seem to have occurred to you that I too might have a selfish motive in coming."
"What was it?" She rapped the question out very sharply.
"For one thing I thought it would be interesting to know what the information was which your employers in France wished you to obtain."
"Then you are a spy, after all?" she cried, angrily.
"No. A spy, in the sense you mean, is a person paid by employers to obtain information--as the police used to pay Madame Constans in Paris.
I have no employers. I am seeking my own way, and acting for myself.
You will see the difference. Now will you tell me what you were sent here to do?"
"You are right in one thing, Christabel--you are easier to hate than to love."
"That does not answer my question."
"I am no spy."
"Henriette! I have been in communication with Paris since I saw you, and a special messenger is now on his way here to me with full tidings.
Let us be frank with one another. You promised to advance my fortunes: Count Gustav has made the same promise--why then should you try to deceive me? It is not playing the game fairly."
"I have not tried to deceive you."
"Henriette!" I cried again, this time with a laugh. "What! when you have changed your plans entirely within the last few hours?"
She could not suppress a start at this, and tried to cover it with a laughing suggestion of its absurdity. "You are ridiculous--always finding mysteries," she said.