Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

upon their backs, in carts, and upon a few since Leonidas held the pass have made a pack animals. Those that were best cir- marked change in the topography of the cumstanced had a few domestic animals that place. The waters have receded, leaving they were driving, seeking any place of the belt of table-land wider than it was at shelter for rest and refuge. I have never that eventful time; but it is easy to see seen a more desolate class of people or one which excited more sympathy.

The humanitarians were active and beneficent in their efforts to relieve the suffering of the unfortunate Greeks, especially of the wounded, and many men and women were engaged in this humane enterprise. The Society of the Red Cross was conspicuous in this work, and there were a number of American representatives. One especially worthy of note, whom I met later, was Mrs. Maud Howe Elliott, daughter of Julia Ward Howe, the authoress of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," of whose history and record we are justly proud. Mrs. Elliott was actively interested and engaged in correspondence for the relief of the unfortunate Greeks. Before leaving the Greek army, I had opportunity to ride over the historic ground of the Pass of Thermopylæ, where the Spartans so heroically fought and died. It is a singular formation: the high, precipitous mountains come close to the sea, leaving a narrow strip of land between impassable heights and the waters of the Bay of Lamia. The two thousand years that have elapsed

where they were in former times, and that the very narrow belt of land could have been defended by a few hundred heroic, stalwart men against any body of assailants. We spent an entire afternoon riding around the base of the mountain near the Pass of Thermopyla and following the trail that was evidently taken by a portion of Xerxes' army led by the Trachinian. This force circumventing the position held by the Spartans, succeeded in gaining their line of retreat, and so caused the death of the heroic band. So rugged are these mountains that there are only a few narrow trails by which they can be crossed, a small force well placed being capable of defending them against any number of assailants.

This visit to the Pass of Thermopylæ, recalling, as it did, one of the most thrilling episodes in the history of Greece, rather intensified than otherwise the painful impression of modern Greece which my observation. in Athens and at the front had produced. I came away from the country feeling that the glory of Greece had departed; that she is living to-day on the past.

KASTRAKI, A VILLAGE ON THE GREEK FRONTIER, IN THESSALY, A POINT OF
INTEREST IN THE RECENT WAR.

[graphic]
[graphic][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Being the sequel to a story by the same writer entitled "The Prisoner of Zenda."

WITH FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES DANA GIBSON.

INTRODUCTION AND SUMMARY OF EARLIER CHAPTERS.

Rudolf Rassendyll, as an act of friendship to Rudolf, King of Ruritania, his distant relative, takes advantage of a close resemblance between them and impersonates the king through a grave crisis in the latter's affairs. He even plays the king's part as the prospective husband of the Princess Flavia. But in so doing he loses his heart, while the princess suddenly discovers in her lover a fervor and fascination she had not found in him before. In the end, the princess dutifully marries the real king; but thereafter, once a year, she sends a gift and a verbal message to Rassendyll in token of her remembrance of him. This continues for three years. Then, under a passionate impulse, she sends with her yearly gift a letter. The bearer, Fritz von Tarlenheim, is betrayed by his servant Bauer, and assaulted and robbed of the letter by Rupert of Hentzau. Rassendyll secretly goes to Strelsau, where he means to force Rupert to give the letter up. He is soon discovered, and is everywhere mistaken for the king. Rupert, meanwhile, makes his way to the king, at a remote hunting-lodge, intending to betray the queen. But before he can do so, he and the king

THE

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TRIUMPH OF THE KING.

THE things that men call presages, presentiments, and so forth, are, to my mind, for the most part idle nothings: sometimes it is only that probable events cast before them a natural shadow which superstitious fancy twists into a heaven-sent warning; oftener the same desire that gives conception works fulfilment, and the dreamer sees in the result of his own act and will a mysterious accomplishment independent of

quarrel, and he kills the king, and then flies. Two friends of the queen, Colonel Sapt and Fritz von Tarlenheim, and Rassendyll's servant, James, coming soon after to the lodge, learn what has happened from the king's attendant, Herbert, who himself soon dies of a wound received in the fight. Von Tarlenheim carries the news to Rassendyll and the queen, who is also now at Strelsau. Sapt and James, while alone at the lodge, develop a scheme of destroying all evidence of the king's death and letting the general illusion that Rassendyll is the king quietly grow until he really becomes the king. The queen, by her charm, wins over Rischenheim, an accomplice of Rupert; and she has also among her adherents Lieutenant Bernenstein. After several trials, Rassendyll comes at Rupert, in the latter's lodging, No. 19 Königstrasse. As they are fighting a duel with swords for possession of the letter, a young girl in the house, believing Rassendyll to be the king, cries to the crowd outside that Rupert is killing the king. Thereupon Von Tarlenheim and Bernenstein, who chance to be of tlie crowd, press into the house.

his effort. Yet when I observe thus calmly and with good sense on the matter to the Constable of Zenda, he shakes his head and answers, "But Rudolf Rassendyll knew from the first that he would come again to Strelsau and engage young Rupert point to point. Else why did he practise with the foils so as to be a better swordsman the second time than he was the first? Mayn't God do anything that Fritz von Tarlenheim can't understand? A pretty notion, on my life!" And he goes off grumbling.

Well, be it inspiration, or be it delusionand the difference stands often on a hair's Copyright, 1898, by A. H. Hawkins.

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

breadth I am glad that Rudolf had it. For if a man once grows rusty, it is every thing short of impossible to put the fine polish on his skill again. Mr. Rassendyll had strength, will, coolness, and, of course, courage. None would have availed had not his eye been in perfect familiarity with its work, and his hand obeyed it as readily as the bolt slips in a well-oiled groove. As the thing stood, the lithe agility and unmatched dash of young Rupert but just missed being too much for him. He was in deadly peril when the girl Rosa ran down to bring him aid. His practised skill was able to maintain his defense. He sought to do no more, but endured Rupert's fiery attacks and wily feints in an almost motionless stillness. Almost, I say; for the slight turns of wrist that seem nothing are everything, and served here to keep his skin whole and his life in him.

There was an instant-Rudolf saw it in his eyes and dwelt on it when he lightly painted the scene for me when there dawned on Rupert of Hentzau the knowledge that he could not break down his enemy's guard. Surprise, chagrin, amusement, or something like it, seemed blended in his look. He could not make out how he was caught and checked in every effort, meeting, it seemed, a barrier of iron impregnable in rest. His quick brain grasped the lesson in an instant. If his skill were not the greater, the victory would not be his, for his endurance was the less. He was younger, and his frame was not so closely knit; pleasure had taken its tithe from him; perhaps a good cause goes for something. Even while he almost pressed Rudolf against the panel of the door, he seemed to know that his measure of success was full. But what the hand could not compass the head might contrive. In quickly conceived strategy he began to give pause in his attack, nay, he retreated a step or two. No scruples hampered his devices, no code of honor limited the means he would employ. Backing before his opponent, he seemed to Rudolf to be faint-hearted; he was baffled, but seemed despairing; he was weary, but played a more complete fatigue. Rudolf advanced, pressing and attacking, only to meet a defence as perfect as his own. They were in the middle of the room now, close by the table. Rupert, as though he had eyes in the back of his head, skirted round, avoiding it by a narrow inch. His breathing was quick and distressed, gasp tumbling over gasp, but still his eye was

alert and his hand unerring. He had but a few moments' more effort left in him: it was enough if he could reach his goal and perpetrate the trick on which his mind, fertile in every base device, was set. For it was towards the mantelpiece that his retreat, seeming forced, in truth so deliberate, led him. There was the letter, there lay the revolvers. The time to think of risks was gone by; the time to boggle over what honor allowed or forbade had never come to Rupert of Hentzau. If he could not win by force and skill, he would win by guile and by treachery, to the test that he had himself invited. The revolvers lay on the mantelpiece: he meant to possess himself of one, if he could gain an instant in which to snatch it.

The device that he adopted was nicely chosen. It was too late to call a rest or ask breathing space: Mr. Rassendyll was not blind to the advantage he had won, and chivalry would have turned to folly had it allowed such indulgence.

Rupert was hard by the mantelpiece now. The sweat was pouring from his face, and his breast seemed like to burst in the effort after breath; yet he had enough strength for his purpose. He must have slackened his hold on his weapon, for when Rupert's blade next struck it, it flew from his hand, twirled out of a nerveless grasp, and slid along the floor. Rupert stood disarmed, and Rudolf motionless. "Pick it up," said Mr. Rassendyll, never thinking there had been a trick.

66

Ay, and you'll truss me while I do it." "You young fool, don't you know me yet?" and Rudolf, lowering his blade, rested its point on the floor, while with his left hand he indicated Rupert's weapon. Yet something warned him: it may be there came a look in Rupert's eyes, perhaps of scorn for his enemy's simplicity, perhaps of pure triumph in the graceless knavery. Rudolf stood waiting.

66

You swear you won't touch me while I pick it up?" asked Rupert, shrinking back a little, and thereby getting an inch or two nearer the mantelpiece.

"You have my promise: pick it up. I won't wait any longer."

"You won't kill me unarmed?" cried Rupert, in alarmed scandalized expostulation.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

hand had shot out behind him and was on the butt of one of the revolvers. The whole trick flashed on Rudolf, and he sprang, flinging his long arms round Rupert. But Rupert had the revolver in his hand.

In all likelihood the two neither heard nor heeded, though it seemed to me that the creaks and groans of the old stairs were loud enough to wake the dead. For now Rosa had given the alarm, Bernenstein and I or I and Bernenstein (for I was first, and, therefore, may put myself first)—had rushed up. Hard behind us came Rischenheim, and hot on his heels a score of fellows, pushing and shouldering and trampling. We in front had a fair start, and gained the stairs unimpeded; Rischenheim was caught up in the ruck and gulfed in the stormy, tossing group that struggled for first footing on the steps. Yet, soon they were after us, and we heard them reach the first landing as we sped up to the last. There was a confused din through all the house, and it seemed now to echo muffled and vague through the walls from the street without. I was conscious of it, although I paid no heed to anything but reaching the room where the king where Rudolf-was. Now I was there, Bernenstein hanging to my heels. The door did not hold us a second. I was in, he after me. He slammed the door and set his back against it, just as the rush of feet flooded the highest flight of stairs. And at the moment a revolver shot rang clear and loud.

The lieutenant and I stood still, he against the door, I a pace farther into the room. The sight we saw was enough to arrest us with its strange interest. The smoke of the shot was curling about, but neither man seemed wounded. The revolver was in Rupert's hand, and its muzzle smoked. But Rupert was jammed against the wall, just by the side of the mantelpiece. With one hand Rudolf had pinned his left arm to the wainscoting higher than his head, with the other he held his right wrist. I drew slowly nearer: if Rudolf were unarmed, I could fairly enforce a truce and put them on an equality; yet, though Rudolf was unarmed, I did nothing. The sight of his face stopped me. He was very pale and his lips were set, but it was his eyes that caught my gaze, for they were glad and merciless. had never seen him look thus before. turned from him to young Hentzau's face. Rupert's teeth were biting his under lip, the sweat dropped, and the veins swelled

I

I

large and blue on his forehead; his eyes were set on Rudolf Rassendyll. Fascinated, I drew nearer. Then I saw what passed. Inch by inch Rupert's arm curved, the elbow bent, the hand that had pointed almost straight from him and at Mr. Rassendyll pointed now away from both towards the window. But its motion did not stop; it followed the line of a circle: now it was on Rupert's arm; still it moved, and quicker now, for the power of resistance grew less. Rupert was beaten; he felt it and knew it, and I read the knowledge in his eyes. I stepped up to Rudolf Rassendyll. He heard or felt me, and turned his eyes for an instant. I do not know what my face said, but he shook his head and turned back to Rupert. The revolver, held still in the man's own hand, was at his heart. The motion. ceased, the point was reached.

By

I looked again at Rupert. Now his face was easier; there was a slight smile on his lips; he flung back his comely head and rested thus against the wainscoting; his eyes asked a question of Rudolf Rassendyll. I turned my gaze to where the answer was to come, for Rudolf made none in words. the swiftest of movements he shifted his grasp from Rupert's wrist and pounced on his hand. Now his forefinger rested on Rupert's and Rupert's was on the trigger. I am no soft-heart, but I laid a hand on his shoulder. He took no heed; I dared do no more. Rupert glanced at me. I caught his look, but what could I say to him? Again my eyes were riveted on Rudolf's finger. Now it was crooked round Rupert's, seeming like a man who strangles another.

I will not say more. He smiled to the last; his proud head, which had never bent for shame, did not bend for fear. There was a sudden tightening in the pressure of that crooked forefinger, a flash, a noise. He was held up against the wall for an instant by Rudolf's hand; when that was removed he sank, a heap that looked all head and knees.

But hot on the sound of the discharge came a shout and an oath from Bernenstein. He was hurled away from the door, and through it burst Rischenheim and the whole score after him. They were jostling one another and crying out to know what passed and where the king was. High over all the voices, coming from the back of the throng, I heard the cry of the girl Rosa. But as soon as they were in the room, the same spell that had fastened Bernenstein and me to inactivity imposed its numbing power on

« AnteriorContinuar »