CHAPTER III

CONFIDENCES

"This," thought Lionel, as he waited for her return, "is a queer

business, a very queer business indeed. Here we have the indispensable

ingredients for an adventure--night, a pretty actress, and an

impecunious young man who has played the Noble 'Ero. What happens? The

lady sweeps the 'Ero off in a chariot, takes him to her dressing-room,

behaves with surprising propriety (quite like an ordinary mortal, in

fact), and proceeds to tell him a tale worthy of a writer of

feuilletons. What does it mean? What is the idea, the general scheme?

The tale must be lies,--pure, unvarnished buncombe, in the language of

the vulgar. It is too much to swallow a kidnaping, a tour through, let

me see ... Germany, Austria, Rumania, and, h'm ... h'm ... Bulgaria and

Rumelia; a bashi-bazouk in Constantinople, a forced marriage--I suppose

that's bound to come--and all the rest.... No, my delightful charmer,

this really is a little bit too much ... your emotional faculties and

the life of the footlights have led you astray...."

But he shook his head, dissatisfied. The simple explanation that she was

telling lies was too simple. It explained nothing. The remembrance of

her delicious personality sent incredulity to the right-about. Her

gracious presence, dignified, commanding, womanly; her brilliant eyes,

shining with purity, sympathy and truth; her force of character that

revealed itself in every tone and gesture; her pretty hands ... these

and a hundred other witnesses battled in her favor. "Besides," he

thought, striving to weigh all evidence impartially, "what possible

object could she have in lying to me--to me of all people? She knows I

am poor and useless for purposes of blackmail. She is too ethereal a

creature for a vulgar intrigue--of that I am as sure as that I am

neither mad nor dreaming. No; the bare hard facts go to prove that she

is telling the truth. Again, why should she lie to the 'Ero who has

saved her life? Surely the 'Ero may bring that forward with

justice.--'Not guilty, my lord!'" he said aloud, acquitting the fair

defendant with a convinced enthusiasm, for he was really glad to believe

the new goddess a goddess indeed. Then for a moment doubt returned: "But

this room--this girl--the whole adventure is so fantastic, the tale so

unlikely, that I can hardly ... Lionel, enough! It may be true, and the

evidence is in her favor. Be content to wait on events. At least, it is

a variation from the normal--an agreeable break in the monotony of Mrs.

Barker and the world. Let me seize the moment, enjoy my brief hour, and

allow the future to take care of itself. At worst, I can be no loser at

the game ... no ... unless I fall in love with her.... But that must not

happen ... it _must_ not happen.... Still, I could wish she had no

husband!"

The wish being vain, if not immoral, he laughed wryly at himself and

picked up a book that he found lying on the mantelpiece. It was a little

volume of light verse, and it whiled away the time until his hostess

reappeared. This was about half an hour after her exit. She entered,

radiant with triumph.

"Has it seemed long?" she asked, pulling back the curtain and drawing

out a chair.

"An eternity," he answered smoothly enough, rising and closing the door.

"And now the rest of your wonderful story, if you are not too tired."

"Not at all," she said; "but it sounds odd to hear you call it

'wonderful.' To me, who lived it, it seemed inevitable and ordinary:

even now it hardly seems wonderful. But this is waste of time. I must

try to hurry the crisis.... Let me see, where did I stop?... Ah! I

remember now....

"Well, I lived two years a prisoner, and time dulled my pain. Escape was

hopeless, and I tried to be as cheerful as I could. No news reached me

of the outer world--I did not even know whether my father and sister

were alive. That was hard, but I, too, learned hardness from experience.

"One morning Lukos came to my room as usual, but not in his usual

spirits. I rallied him on his dulness (oh! we were good friends, in

spite of the anomalous position; that is really the least surprising

feature of the story!), but he did not respond. When at last he walked

toward the window and had stood, gloomily at gaze, for several minutes,

I felt alarmed. He had never been in such a mood before. 'Lukos,' I said

gently, 'what is the matter?'

"In a moment he was at my feet, pouring forth a torrent of words. 'Heart

of my heart!' he cried in tones that would have racked a devil; 'can you

ask! You know that I love you, for my eyes and soul have spoken. I

bought you as merchandise, with little care; I have learned to love you

as a woman should be loved, with all the strength of my being, the

force of my spirit, the frenzy of a madman that rejoices in his madness!

For you I would do anything--I would tear the sultan from his throne--I

would seize every mosque in the empire to found a new religion, the

worship of yourself! I am your master, and yet the meanest of your

slaves! You can stir me with a quiver of your eyelashes--'

"'Yet you will not set me free,' I said, pitying, but justly

reproachful.

"'No,' he groaned. 'I love you so much that I will not climb the heights

of renunciation. I love you enough to respect your defenselessness, but

I _can not_ let you go to be, perhaps, another's. Oh, lady of my soul,

can you not be merciful? Can you not unbend from your divinity and love

me? Star of the West, can you not illumine an eastern desert, for I love

you--I love you!'"

"Mountebank!" said Lionel with a fine contempt. He disliked Lukos.

"He had a poetic nature," pouted the lady. "Besides, we Occidentals,

colder in spirit, less imaginative, must make allowances for exotic

passion. I confess that his words moved me. But I took his hand and

said, 'It is impossible, my friend.'"

"Ah!" said Lionel, taking fresh courage and a cigarette.

"My words," she continued, "seemed to carry conviction. I felt a hot

tear fall on my hand, and there was silence. The next moment he stood up

and salaamed gravely. 'Lady of my dreams,' he said, 'you have conquered.

I will let you go ... at a price!'

"'What is the price?' I asked fearfully. He looked like a martyr.

"'My life,' he replied. 'I can give you up, but I can not live without

you. You are free, but I must die.'"

"Damned actor!" burst out Lionel, in the depths of despair, for he

foresaw the end. "I beg your pardon--I beg your pardon--but----"

"He really _meant_ it," said the lady with some petulance. "Please

control yourself while I finish. Of course I could not think of allowing

him to kill himself, so I reasoned with him. It was useless, for he was

resolved. I even offered, at last, to resign my freedom and remain with

him on the old terms: again he refused. 'No,' he said; 'it can not be,

Dispenser of Delight. I have suffered too much. You must marry me or bid

good-by to Turkey.'"

"So you married him?" said Lionel gloomily. He had forgotten all his

earlier doubts.

"Yes. I could not bear to think of his suicide, for I liked him very

well. Besides, I had grown less sentimental during my two years of

'life,' and believed I should find more happiness in such a union than

in many that are supposed to be made for 'love.' But I must admit that

romance found, and still finds, a corner in my heart. The primitive idea

of marriage by capture is even now immensely popular. You see, the

figure of Lukos, passionate, brave, reckless, fiery, ready to kill

himself----"

"Oh, say he was a demigod," interrupted Lionel with bitterness, "and let

us pass on."

"All these Byronic attributes," said the lady calmly, "combined to whip

my reluctant liking into a passable resemblance to love.... Well, I let

him go--as far as the door. As he was opening it I made my decision and

whispered '_Lukos!_' He turned, looking like a magnificent tiger,

crouching for a spring. A light gleamed from his eyes, rivaling the

flash of his jeweled sword-hilt. With a bound----"

"Quite so--quite so!" said Lionel uncomfortably: the idea of being

audience to such a love-scene was most repugnant. "I see--I see ... of

course he would be immensely pleased--in fact, quite another man. Well,

you married him----?"

"The next day," said the lady. "The Patriarch of Jerusalem, who happened

to be visiting the city at the time, made us one. And then I settled

down to what I imagined would be a peaceful and happy life.

"And it was happy. Of course I now had as much freedom as I wished, and

in a short while moved in the best European society in Constantinople.

No hint of my story got abroad: it was understood that I had met Lukos

in London. I wrote to my sister, telling the whole story and enjoining

secrecy. She replied affectionately, giving me at the same time the news

of my father's death, three months earlier. She suggested a visit, but

various trifling incidents--such as influenza and a craze for Christian

Science--continually postponed it until it was too late. Lukos and I

also promised ourselves a trip to England, but that, too, never came

about.... My little Lionel----"

The listener bounded in his chair. Then, recollecting himself, he

apologized.

"--My little Lionel was born a year after our marriage. He lived three

weeks.... At the moment, I was stricken; but in a very short time I

felt that he was fortunate. The end came thus--

"A month later Lukos entered my room one afternoon with a grave face.

'My wife,' he said, 'you must be brave. We leave Constantinople

to-night.'

"'Why?' I asked.

"He explained hurriedly. It seemed that for months past the sultan had

been intriguing with a foreign power against Great Britain. Lukos had

got wind of the negotiations and knew the policy was fatal. He

recognized that the interests of Turkey were bound up with those of

England. He resolved to foil the sultan's plans. Two courses were open

to him--a revolution and a new dynasty, or a disclosure of the plan to

England. Averse from plunging his country into civil war, he resolved to

try the latter first. After assiduous bribing he secured a draft of a

secret treaty between the Porte and the other Power, but within

twenty-four hours suspicion fell on him. He was warned that arrest was

imminent. Flight was imperative.

"'Disguise yourself as a _pustchik_ (water-carrier) and go on board our

yacht at once,' he said. Then, drawing a bundle of Cook's vouchers from

his pocket, 'Take these in case anything happens. And this, too--it is

the treaty. If anything happens to me, do not wait: fly to England and

take the treaty to the English Foreign Office. I can not go with you

now--there are duties to be done first--but I hope to join you. If I do

not come by eleven o'clock, weigh anchor. I shall have died for my

country. You will do this for the sake of Turkey?'

"My eyes filled with tears, but I knew that I could serve him best by

obedience. 'Yes, Lukos,' I said, and his eyes spoke his gratitude. We

embraced and parted.

"I reached the yacht safely and found that steam was up already. The

afternoon and evening passed like a heavy dream. At half past ten Lukos

had not come. A quarter to eleven, and I was still alone. At eleven

o'clock I wept (for I had grown to love him well), but I was true to my

promise and ordered the captain to start. We reached Brindisi in due

course, and there I determined to go overland to England, sending the

yacht back in the hope that it might still be useful to my husband if by

any chance he escaped. I did this, and in a very short time found myself

in London."

"And took a taxi to the F. O.?" said Lionel with interest. Really, it

was a most exciting story.

"No," said the lady. "The day I reached town a note was left at my

hotel--I had been dogged! It was written in Turkish and ran, 'The day

the British government receives your communication, that day your

husband dies.' There was neither address nor signature. It proved that I

and my schemes were known, but--it proved that my husband was still

alive.

"This gave me hope. With the treaty as a lever I might yet free Lukos. I

have been working to that end for six months--ever since I came to

England. It is a slow business, this diplomacy, but I am beginning to

have strong hopes. And now I think it is almost the time to strike."

"But you must be careful," said Lionel anxiously. "With such a

document----"

She smiled faintly.

"Twice already they have made attempts." She opened a drawer in an

escritoire near at hand. Within lay a small but serviceable revolver.

"See! I always go armed. Of course it is useless to approach the

police--that would sign Lukos' death-warrant at once.

"But to return and finish my tale.... As soon as possible I wrote to my

sister. I did not go to her, not wishing to involve her in my perils. I

explained as much of the situation as I could, hinted at high politics,

and begged her not to see me till I gave the word. She was puzzled, but

obeyed. She wrote back a loving letter, the most important feature of

which was the news that my share of my father's estate (eight hundred a

year) could be drawn on at Coutts'. Already a handsome sum was to my

credit, for I had not required any money while Lukos and I were

together. So with this sum and Lukos' notes at my disposal I was in no

need of money. But I soon found that I needed a hobby to keep me from

thinking too much, and that brings me rapidly to the stage.

"'A hobby' under such circumstances must sound curious: really, it is

mere common sense. The paths of diplomacy I discovered were very steep,

the movement of the wheels was very slow. When I had done everything

possible and could think of nothing else, I had a great deal of time on

my hands. Painting and music were not to my taste; acting was, for I had

always had, like most young people, a liking for the stage. Also, like

most young people, I believed I had the dramatic instinct. I got to know

a manager--with money things are easy--and he gave me a small part, a

few lines, in a new play. There was nothing in that, but what followed

was really my one piece of luck. In return for a consideration he

allowed me to understudy the lead, never dreaming my capacity would be

tested. A fortnight later my principal slipped on a fruit-skin and broke

her leg. (The incident gave rise to a correspondence on the Banana Fall

in one of the cheaper papers.) I played the part that night, and, unlike

most young people, my belief in myself was justified. I was a success.

The manager, rejoicing that he need not look for a new principal, plumed

himself on his discernment, and 'boomed' me for all he was worth.

"Well, I was a success; but naturally I had to pay the price. In this

case the price was my sister's affection. From the first she had

objected to my going on the stage: it was a case of conscientious

prejudice, and that is one of the stubbornest things on earth. She had

written daily letters of appeal, and all my arguments were useless. I do

not wish to dwell on this ... enough to say that there grew an

estrangement ... now, we do not even write...."

"Strange," said Lionel thoughtfully, "how even the best can be

obstinate. I hope that time may----"

"That reminds me!" said the lady briskly, shaking off her sadness and

glancing at the clock, "I shall be on again shortly. Will you do

something for me? Thank you--I was sure you would. At a quarter to

eleven go out and get me a cab or a taxi. Now, it is important that we

should not be seen leaving the theater together--there will probably be

spies. Oh, yes! I know it sounds absurd, but in this you must be guided

by me. Get the cab and drive back by devious ways to the stage-door.

There wait for me. I shall be ready by eleven-fifteen at the latest.

That is all.... No! I forgot the reward!"

"Reward!" he echoed, puzzled.

"You forget you saved my life," she replied, smiling. "Close your

eyes--promise you will not open them till I give you leave. You

promise?"

"Yes," he laughed, still not understanding.

He closed his eyes and waited. With a mischievous smile she bent forward

and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Lionel started. In a moment doubt

was forgotten--forgotten the husband. All he knew was that a heavenly

creature had deigned to kiss him. "Your promise!" she cried warningly,

and by an effort of pride he kept his eyes closed. But he stood up, his

arms held out. There was dead silence for a moment, and then--

"Am I still bound?"

"You are free," she said merrily. He opened his eyes, to find the

reality more alluring than the dream. He seized her hands. She could not

help shrinking a little, though her eyes shone defiance.

"Why did you do that?" he breathed, aflame.

She smiled mournfully.

"Forgive me," she pleaded in tones that disarmed him.

Lionel remembered his role as a man of honor and dropped her hand.

"I beg your pardon," he said, but a little bitterly. She lowered her

eyes.

"It is I who should beg yours. I must go now. Eleven-fifteen!"

Feeling that romance was somewhat overworked, he replied, "Right ho!"