CHAPTER XIX

While the Baron was thus loyally doing his duty, his Baroness, being

ignorant of the excellence of his purpose, and knowing only that he had

deceived her in one matter, and that the descent to Avernus is easy,

passed a number of very miserable days. That heart-breaking “us both”

kept her awake at nights and distraught throughout the day, and when for

a little she managed to explain the phrase away, and tried to anchor

her trust in Rudolph once more, the vision of the St. Petersburg window

overlooking the crops would come to shatter her confidence. She wrote

a number of passionate replies, but as the Baron in making his

arrangements with his Russian friend had forgotten to provide him with

his Scotch address, these letters only reached him after the events

of this chronicle had passed into history. Strange to say, her only

consolation was that neither her mother nor Sir Justin was able to

supply any further evidence of any kind whatsoever. One would naturally

suppose that the assistance they had gratuitously given would have

made her feel eternally indebted to them; but, on the contrary, she was

actually inconsistent enough to resent their head-shakings nearly as

much as her Rudolph's presumptive infidelity. So that her lot was indeed

to be deplored.

At last a second letter came, and with trembling fingers, locked in her

room, the forsaken lady tore the curiously bulky envelope apart. Then,

at the sight of the enclosure that had given it this shape, her heart

lightened once more.

“A sprig of white heather!” she cried. “Ah, he loves me still!”

With eager eyes she next devoured the writing accompanying this token;

and as the Baron's head happened to be clearer when he composed this

second epistle, and his friend's hints peculiarly judicious, it conveyed

so plausible an account of his proceedings, and contained so many

expressions of his unaltered esteem, that his character was completely

reinstated in her regard.

Having read every affectionate sentence thrice over, and given his

exceedingly interesting statements of fact the attention they deserved,

she once more took up the little bouquet and examined it more curiously

and intently. She even untied the ribbon, when, lo and behold! there

fell a tiny and tightly folded twist of paper upon the floor. Preparing

herself for a delicious bit of sentiment, she tenderly unfolded and

smoothed it out.

“Verses!” she exclaimed rapturously; but the next instant her pleasure

gave place to a look of the extremest mystification.

“What does this mean?” she gasped.

There was, in fact, some excuse for her perplexity, since the precise

text of the enclosure ran thus:

“TO LORD TULLIWUDDLE.

“O Chieftain, trample on this heath

Which lies thy springing foot beneath!

It can recover from thy tread,

And once again uplift its head!

But spare, O Chief, the tenderer plant,

Because when trampled on, it can't!

“EVA.”

Too confounded for coherent speculation, the Baroness continued to stare

at this baffling effusion. Who Lord Tulliwuddle and Eva were; why

this glimpse into their drama (for such it appeared to be) should be

forwarded to her; and where the Baron von Blitzenberg came into the

story--these, among a dozen other questions, flickered chaotically

through her mind for some minutes. Again and again she studied the

cryptogram, till at last a few definite conclusions began to crystallize

out of the confusion. That the “tenderer plant” symbolized the lady

herself, that she was a person to be regarded with extreme suspicion,

and that emphatically the bouquet was never originally intended for the

Baroness von Blitzenberg, all became settled convictions. The fact that

she knew Tulliwuddle to be an existing peerage afforded her some relief;

yet the longer she pondered on the problem of Rudolph's part in the

episode, the more uneasy grew her mind.

Composing her face before the mirror till it resumed its normal

round-eyed placidity, she locked the letter and its contents in a safe

place, and sought out her mother.

“Did you get any letter, dear, by the last post?” inquired the Countess

as soon as she had entered the room.

“Nothing of importance, mamma.”

That so sweet and docile a daughter should stoop to deceit was

inconceivable. The Countess merely frowned her disappointment and

resumed the novel which she was beguiling the hours between eating and

eating again.

“Mamma,” said the Baroness presently, “can you tell me whether heather

is found in many other European countries?”

The Countess raised her firmly penciled eyebrows.

“In some, I believe. What a remarkable question, Alicia.”

“I was thinking about Russia,” said Alicia with an innocent air. “Do you

suppose heather grows there?”

The Countess remembered the floral symptoms displayed by Ophelia, and

grew a trifle nervous.

“My child, what is the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied Alicia hastily.

A short silence followed, during which she was conscious of undergoing a

curious scrutiny.

“By the way, mamma,” she found courage to ask at length, “do you know

anything about Lord Tulliwuddle?”

Lady Grillyer continued uneasy. These irrelevant questions undoubtedly

indicated a mind unhinged.

“I was acquainted with the late Lord Tulliwuddle.”

“Oh, he is dead, then?”

“Certainly.”

Alicia's face clouded for a moment, and then a ray of hope lit it again.

“Is there a present Lord Tulliwuddle?”

“I believe so. Why do you ask?”

“I heard some one speak of him the other day.”

She spoke so naturally that her mother began to feel relieved.

“Sir Justin Wallingford can tell you all about the family, if you are

curious,” she remarked.

“Sir Justin!”

Alicia recoiled from the thought of him. But presently her curiosity

prevailed, and she inquired--

“Does he know them well?”

“He inherited a place in Scotland a number of years ago, you

remember. It is somewhere near Lord Tulliwuddle's

place--Hech--Hech--Hech-something-or-other Castle. He was very well

acquainted with the last Tulliwuddle.”

“Oh,” said Alicia indifferently, “I am not really interested. It was

mere idle curiosity.”

For the greater part of twenty-four hours she kept this mystery locked

within her heart, till at last she could contain it no longer. The

resolution she came to was both desperate and abruptly taken. At five

minutes to three she was resolved to die rather than mention that sprig

of heather to a soul; at five minutes past she was on her way to Sir

Justin Wallingford's house.

“It may be going behind mamma's back,” she said to herself; “but she

went behind mine when SHE consulted Sir Justin.”

It was probably in consequence of her urgent voice and agitated manner

that she came to be shown straight into Sir Justin's library, without

warning on either side, and thus surprised her counsellor in the act

of softly singing a well-known hymn to the accompaniment of a small

harmonium. He seemed for a moment to be a trifle embarrassed, and the

glance he threw at his footman appeared to indicate an early vacancy

in his establishment; but as soon as he had recovered his customary

solemnity his explanation reflected nothing but credit upon his

character.

“The fact is,” said he, “that I am shortly going to rejoin my daughter

in Scotland. You are aware of her disposition, Baroness?”

“I have heard that she is inclined to be devotional.”

“She is devotional,” answered this excellent man. “I have taken

considerable pains to see to it. As your mother and I have often agreed,

there is no such safeguard for a young girl as a hobby or mania of this

sort.”

“A hobby or mania?” exclaimed the Baroness in a pained voice.

Sir Justin looked annoyed. He was evidently surprised to find that the

principles inculcated by his old friend and himself appeared to outlive

the occasion for which they were intended--to wit, the protection

of virgin hearts from undesirable aspirations till calm reason and a

husband should render them unnecessary.

“I use the terms employed by the philosophical,” he hastened to explain;

“but my own opinion is inclined to coincide with yours, my dear Alicia.”

This paternal use of her Christian name, coupled with the kindly tone of

his justification, encouraged the Baroness to open her business.

“Sir Justin,” she began, “can I trust you--may I ask you not to tell my

mother that I have visited you?”

“If you can show me an adequate reason, you may rely upon my

discretion,” said the ex-diplomatist cautiously, yet with an encouraging

smile.

“In some things one would sooner confide in a man than a woman, Sir

Justin.”

“That is undoubtedly true,” he agreed cordially. “You may confide in me,

Baroness.”

“I have heard from my husband again. I need not show you the letter;

it is quite satisfactory--oh, quite, I assure you! Only I found this

enclosed with it.”

In breathless silence she watched him examine critically first the

heather and then the verses.

“Lord Tulliwuddle!” he exclaimed. “Is there anything in the Baron's

letter to throw any light upon this?”

“Not one word--not the slightest hint.”

Again he studied the paper.

“Oh, what does it mean?” she cried. “I came to you because you know all

about the Tulliwuddles. Where is Lord Tulliwuddle now?”

“I am not acquainted with the present peer,” he ansevered meditatively.

“In fact, I know singularly little about him. I did hear--yes, I heard

from my daughter some rumor that he was shortly expected to visit his

place in Scotland; but whether he went there or not I cannot say.”

“You can find out for me?”

“I shall lose no time in ascertaining.”

The Baroness thanked him effusively, and rose to depart with a mind a

little comforted.

“And you won't tell mamma?”

“I never tell a woman anything that is of any importance.”

The Baroness was confirmed in her opinion that Sir Justin was not a very

nice man, but she felt an increased confidence in his judgment.