"I speak the truth, my Lord, just as I demand to have justice done.
Not demand only, but command it shall be done--for the power to command has been put into my hands by the perfidy and wickedness of your son, Count Gustav."
I looked for an outburst from him in response; but none came. He sat silent, the right talon still gripping the left as though he wished it were my throat.
"I do not know with what motive you came to me," I said after a pause; "unless it was to try and frighten me into silence. But I will deal more frankly with you than you with me. If you have come to offer me less than justice to my father"s memory, we are only wasting time; and the interview, painful to both, may as well end right now."
"I offer you that and no less," he answered, and he loosed his wrist to wave his hand as if with a gesture of compliance.
It was my turn to be surprised now; but I was sceptical at so ready a surrender after his threats. "That is glad news, indeed. When will the truth be made known?"
"At once. I will see that it is done. As others have done, you have misjudged me. I see that of course. I have been secretly deemed, I know, to have had some guilty connivance in the death of the young Count Stephen; and in that, have had to bear the blame for the acts of my too zealous adherents. My family profited by their rashness; and so the world held, as it will, that advantage and guilt went hand in hand."
"I seek in that awful matter only justice for my father"s memory.
Restore his good name, and who else loses or gains, is nothing to me."
"I pledge myself as to that. The facts shall be drawn up and made public; and further, I will interest myself to secure that the t.i.tle he held, Count Melnik, shall be restored to you, together with the estate which was confiscated. Full justice shall be done."
"Thank G.o.d for that!" I exclaimed, intensely moved.
"To-morrow, my son Gustav is to come here to you, and he shall bring with him full confirmation in writing of what I have now promised you.
On that I give you my word."
I leant back in my chair overcome. The knowledge of what I had gained mingled with the poignant regret that my dear father had not lived to share the joy of his vindication brought the tears to my eyes. I could not speak, so mastering was the emotion.
"I will leave you now, Miss von Dreschler," said the Duke as he rose.
"When we next meet you will be the Countess Melnik--not that I think you will value such a t.i.tle except for what it means--the full rest.i.tution of your dead father"s honour."
He held out his hand, and I rose and gave him mine in silence.
When he had gone I sank back in my chair, elation at my success still battling with that vehement but useless regret that my father had not lived to see that night; and the battle was still being waged when his Excellency entered.
I dashed away my tears.
"I have won," I said, smiling. "I am sure I owe it chiefly to you.
The Duke has given me a solemn promise that my father"s name shall be cleared."
I looked for a sign of congratulation; but instead, my old friend glanced at me slowly and very shrewdly, and moved on to his chair.
"You are an excellent linguist, but probably do not know the dead languages, Christabel. There is an old tag of Virgil"s for instance: "Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes"."
"I know what that means, at any rate," I cried. ""I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts.""
He turned and looked at me again very thoughtfully. Then nodding his head he answered with slow emphasis; "It is possible to learn the meaning of it--even in Pesth."
"You think this is a Greek gift?"
"I think--we may still finish our game of chess, Christabel;" and he came over to the board and examined the position of the men.
CHAPTER XXIV
WHAT THE DUKE MEANT
"There is always this about chess," said his Excellency, when I had taken my place opposite to him; "you cannot play it unless you detach your thoughts from all other matters."
"I don"t wish to detach mine," I returned.
"Then I shall certainly beat you; for I intend to detach mine, at all events for a few moves. Now study this position;" and he insisted on talking chess for some minutes, and then we played. Gradually the fascination which the game always had laid hold of me, and, concentrating my thoughts upon it, I began to play very carefully, until I caught my old friend"s eyes studying my face instead of the game.
"I think you are playing earnestly now, so that we may as well stop and talk. While I light a cigar, think back to your conversation, and then tell me your impressions."
He was unusually deliberate in choosing and lighting his cigar, and leaving the chess table threw himself into an easy lounge chair and smoked for a while in silence.
"Well--what are the impressions?"
"You have disturbed them and me," I replied.
"Intentionally."
"Just as you intentionally misled me about your "old comrade"."
"He made me do that; but I knew you would see through it; and I had no scruple."
"But _he_ was surprised when I told him who he was."
"No man likes to have his incognito fail him. But your impressions."
"I think he will do what he said--and what I wish. You know what he promised?
"Oh yes, that of course."
"He did not come prepared to do it."
"No. You have made another convert, Christabel. He is charmed with you. You are a wonderful little lady."
"I did not exert many charms. I was just as hard as a stone, and then said things that made him look as if he would gladly have taken me by the throat with those talon hands of his."
"It was that daring of yours that won him round. I don"t know all you said; but from what he told me, I should think he was never spoken to in such a way before by man or woman--or child; for you are really little more than a child."
"What do you think he meant to do in coming here?" I asked.
"That was what made me so thoughtful during dinner."
"You are keeping something from me."
"I?"