"He was mighty human when he came to see us at the New Willard. Don"t you remember how he forgot himself--even had tears in his eyes when he referred to the dead d.u.c.h.ess and the fact that she was better off in her grave than she would have been at court? His wife had taken a genuine liking to Ruth, and the man himself was more than half convinced that she was all she claimed to be, but he wasn"t free to release her. He now wants to make reparation--but he wants also to support the idea that Ruth Atheson was only the _friend_ of the dead d.u.c.h.ess and, therefore, that the d.u.c.h.ess is really dead. It would be very unfortunate, if, later on, it should prove that he had been deceived. He would find it difficult to explain matters to His Majesty if a Grand d.u.c.h.ess, supposedly dead, should suddenly prove very much alive and demand possession of a throne already occupied by her successor. So His Excellency wants the lady married as "Ruth Atheson"
with due solemnity and with proper witness. There is method, Mr.
Saunders, even in his kindness."
Saunders whistled again. "It beats me, Father," he said. "I own up.
They know more than detectives."
At this moment Mark came striding over the lawn.
"h.e.l.lo, Saunders," he called. "I"ve been looking for you. Now that I"ve got you, I might as well have it out and be done with it. Ruth wants you to stay here. She wants to make you one of us. We are going to Ireland for six months, and then we"re coming back to live here part of each year. We want you to take charge of Killimaga. I"ve bought it. A good salary--no quarreling or d.i.c.kering about it. What do you say?"
"This is certainly a surprise," said Saunders, winking at the Padre.
"Have you room for an extra family?"
"You"re married?"
"Very much so."
"The bigger the family the better. But," he added, as an afterthought, "I"ll have to tell Ruth, or she"ll be trying to marry you off. You"ll come, then?"
"Yes," said Saunders, "I guess I"ll take you up on that."
Mark shook hands with him. "Done. You"re a good old chap. I thought you would stay."
Then, turning to Father Murray, Mark spoke more seriously. "Don"t you think, Father, that it is almost time to meet the Bishop? He is coming on the next train, you know." He paused and seemed momentarily embarra.s.sed. Then he straightened up and frankly voiced his thought.
"Before he comes, will you not step into the church with me? I have a lot of things to straighten out."
The priest stood up and put his hand on Mark"s shoulder. "Do you mean that, my boy?"
"I do," replied Mark. "I told you in Washington that I never pa.s.sed an open church door that my mind did not conjure up a beckoning hand behind it, and that I knew that some day I should see my mother"s face behind the hand. I have seen the face. It was imagination, perhaps--in fact, I know it must have been--but it was mother"s face--and I am coming home."
The last words were spoken softly, reverently, and together the priest and the penitent entered the church.
CHAPTER XXII
RUTH"S CONFESSION
Late that afternoon Mark sat alone in the great library at Killimaga, his head thrown back, his hands grasping the top of his chair. His thoughts were of the future, and he did not hear the light footsteps behind him. Then--two soft arms stole lightly around his neck, and Ruth"s beautiful head was bowed until her lips touched his forehead.
It was a kiss of benediction, speaking of things too holy for words.
He covered her hands with his own. "Ruth." The tones breathed a world of love.
"I am so happy," she murmured.
He started to rise, but one small hand, escaping from his grasp, rested on his head and held him firmly.
"I have a great deal to tell you, Mark. But first I want you to know how happy I am that you have come back to Mother Church. I have been praying so hard, Mark, and I should have been miserable had you refused to return. Our union would never have been perfect without full harmony of thought, and we might have drifted apart. But I am happy now." Lightly her fingers stroked his brow and twined among his curls.
He arose and, clasping her hands in both his own, he gazed down into her eyes.
"And I too am happy, dear one. You have brought me two blessings: I have found not only love, but peace at last after many years."
Tenderly he raised her hands to his lips. "But come, dear; it is too glorious a day to remain in the house. Shall we go outside?"
It was but a moment till she returned ready for a walk, and together they sauntered toward the bluff, where she seated herself on a great rock. Sitting at her feet, his head resting against the rock, his hand raised to clasp hers, he was content. For a while they sat in silence, gazing far out over the sea into the glory of the sunset. At last she loosed her hand from his grasp and rested it lightly on his head.
"Mark, dear, you know that there are to be no secrets between us two now, don"t you?"
He looked up and answered promptly. "Not one--not a single one, for all the days of the future, my darling. But," he added, "I have none that are unrevealed."
"I am not so fortunate, dear. I have a great one, and now I am going to tell it all to you."
"But--"
"No, let me do all the talking until you hear it to the end, and let me tell it in my own way."
"All right," and he pressed her hand lovingly.
"I never knew my father, Mark," she went on, "and yet I heard of his death only a short time ago--in Washington. His name was not "Atheson." He was a very great personage, no less than the Grand Duke of Ecknor, Prince Etkar."
Mark started, but Ruth put up her hand. "You promised. Let me go on."
"My mother married my father, who then called himself Edgar Atheson, in London. He was the younger son of the then reigning Grand Duke and had left home for political reasons, expecting never to return. But his father and his elder brother were both killed by a bomb a few days after his marriage to my mother. He returned to Ecknor, and she went with him. In six months he had married, legally but not legitimately, a princess of the protecting kingdom. Under the laws of the kingdom the princess was his legal mate, the Grand d.u.c.h.ess of Ecknor, but my mother was his wife before G.o.d and the Church. The Grand Duke gave her a large fortune, and she had a beautiful home near the palace.
Everyone knew and pitied her, but they respected her. The Grand Duke soon ceased to care for his morganatic wife, but he never deserted her.
Then, a year after the court marriage, I was born. It was given out that the Grand d.u.c.h.ess had also given birth to a daughter, Carlotta."
Mark patted her hand, but kept his promise of silence. Ruth went on.
"After that, the Grand Duke seemed to lose all interest in his English wife. My mother was very unhappy and wanted to return to England. She finally escaped, with me, in a closed carriage. My uncle met us as we crossed the frontier, and it was only then that mother understood why her escape had been so easy--the Grand Duke had wanted her away. She saw England only to die heart-broken, for she had loved her husband devotedly. My uncle kept me with him until he became a Catholic and went to Rome to study. Then I was sent to school in Europe. Later I came to America. But I had many friends in Europe and visited them frequently. It was on one of these visits that I met Carlotta. She knew, and we became fast friends, as well as sisters."
"But not full sisters," Mark said, thinking that the story was over.
"Wait," cautioned Ruth. "There is more. Mother died thinking I was her only child. But two girls were born to mother, and a dead child to the Grand d.u.c.h.ess. Mother never saw one of her babies. She never knew. And it was years before the Grand d.u.c.h.ess learned that her child had died. Carlotta was my full sister. She was stolen to replace the dead child. Now do you see?"
"But how did you come to know all this?" asked Mark.
"Carlotta told me. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess never seemed to care for Carlotta; Carlotta"s old nurse resented this and one day, after a worse storm than usual, told Carlotta that the d.u.c.h.ess was not her mother.
There was a terrible scene in the palace. The old nurse was all but banished, but Carlotta saved her. She was sworn to secrecy by the Grand Duke. The d.u.c.h.ess died later as a result of the affair--of apoplexy. Then the nurse disappeared, no one knew how or where, but not before she had told Carlotta all about the twins that were born to the Grand Duke"s English wife. Carlotta had the secret and ruled her father with it. She was allowed her own way, and it was not always a good way. Her last escapade was the one you already know. Poor girl, she was as good as a court would let her be; and here in Siha.s.set she repented. But she believed in her lover, which I never did. I knew his reputation, but she would not listen to a word against him. Now you have the whole story."
"And you," Mark managed to say, "you are the real Grand d.u.c.h.ess now.
What a misfortune!"
"No," she replied, "I could never make such a claim; for my mother"s marriage was never admitted by the court as a royal marriage. It was considered morganatic. Her children were legitimate, but could never succeed to the throne."
"But, even so," insisted Mark, "you are the Grand d.u.c.h.ess."
Ruth put her hand gently over his mouth. "I am to be more than a grand d.u.c.h.ess, dear. I am to be your wife--to-morrow."