The Princess Elopes | Page 7

residence. Certainly you can not remain
here over night."
"Six miles?" I echoed dismally. "Madam, if I have seemed impertinent,
pardon me. I have been in the saddle six hours. I have ridden nearly
thirty miles since noon. I am dead with fatigue. At least give me time to
rest a bit before taking up the way again, I admit that the manner of my
entrance was informal; but how was I to know? There was not even a
knocker on the door by which to make known my presence to you."
The truth is, I did not want to go at once. No one likes to stumble into
an adventure--enchanting as this promised to be--and immediately pop
out of it. An idea came to me, serviceable rather than brilliant. "I am an
American. My German is poor. I speak no French. I have lost my way,
it would seem; I am hungry and tired. To ride six miles farther now is a

physical impossibility; and I am very fond of my horse."
"He says he is hungry, Gretchen," said the English girl, dropping easily
into the French language as a vehicle of speech. (I was a wretch, I
know, but I simply could not help telling that lie; I didn't want to go;
and they might be conspirators.) "Besides," went on the girl, "he looks
like a gentleman."
"We can not always tell a gentleman in the candle-light," replied
Gretchen, eying me critically and shrewdly and suspiciously.
As for me, I gazed from one to the ether, inquiringly, after the manner
of one who hears a tongue not understandable.
"He's rather nice," was the English girl's comment; "and his eyes strike
me as being too steady to be dishonest."
I had the decency to burn in the ears. I had taken the step, so now I
could not draw back. I sincerely hoped that they would not exchange
any embarrassing confidences. When alone women converse upon
many peculiar topics; and conversing in a tongue which they supposed
to be unknown to me, these two were virtually alone.
"But, my dear child," the other returned argumentatively, "we can not
offer hospitality to a strange man this night of all nights. Think of what
is to be accomplished."
(So something was to be accomplished? I was right, then, in deceiving
them. To accomplish something on a night like this, far from habitation,
had all the air of a conspiracy.)
"Feed him and his horse, and I'll undertake to get rid of him before that
detestable Steinbock comes. Besides, he might prove a valuable
witness in drawing up the papers."
(Papers?)
"I never thought of that. It will not do to trust Steinbock wholly."

Gretchen turned her searching eyes once more upon me. I confess that I
had some difficulty in steadying my own. There are some persons to
whom one can not lie successfully; one of them stood before me. But I
rather fancy I passed through the ordeal with at least half a victory.
"Will you go your way after an hour's rest?" she asked, speaking in the
familiar tongue.
"I promise." It was easy to make this promise. I wasn't a diplomat for
nothing. I knew how to hang on, to dodge under, to go about.
"Follow me," Gretchen commanded briefly.
(Who was she? What was going on?)
We passed through the gloomy salon. A damp, musty odor struck my
sense of smell. I was positive that the castle was uninhabited, save for
this night. Three candles burned on the mantel, giving to the gloom a
mysterious, palpitating effect. The room beyond was the dining-room,
richly paneled in wine-colored mahogany. This was better; it was
cheerful. A log crackled in the fireplace. There were plenty of candles.
There was a piano, too. This belonged to the castle; a heavy tarpaulin
covering lay heaped at one side. There was a mahogany sideboard that
would have sent a collector of antiques into raptures, and a table upon
which lay the remains of a fine supper. My mouth watered. I counted
over the good things: roast pheasant, pink ham, a sea-food salad,
asparagus, white bread and unsalted butter, an alcohol-burner over
which hung a tea-pot, and besides all this there was a pint of La Rose
which was but half-emptied. Have you ever been in the saddle half a
day? If you have, you will readily appreciate the appetite that was
warring with my curiosity.
"Eat," bade she who was called Gretchen, shortly.
"And my horse?"
"Where is it?"
"Tied to a tree by the gate."

She struck a Chinese gong. From the kitchen appeared an elderly
servitor who looked to me more fitted to handle a saber than a
carving-knife; at least, the scar on his cheek impressed me with this
idea. (I found