Clementina Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  It was still night when Wogan opened his eyes, but the night was nowclear of mist. There was no moon, however, to give him a guess at thehour. He lay upon his back among the dead leaves, and looking upwards atthe stars, caught as it seemed in a lattice-work of branches, floatedback into consciousness. He moved, and the movement turned him sick withpain. The knowledge of his wounds came to him and brought with it aclear recollection of the last three nights. The ever-widening blackstrip in the door on the first night, the clutch at his throat and theleap from the cupboard on the second, the silent watching of those fivepairs of eyes on the third, and the lackey with the knife in his breasthopping with both feet horribly across the floor,--the horror of theserecollections swept in upon him and changed him from a man into atimorous child. He lay and shuddered until in every creak of thebranches he heard the whisper of an enemy, in every flutter of leavesacross the lawn a stealthy footstep, and behind every tree-stem hecaught the flap of a cloak.

  Stiff and sore, he raised himself from the ground, he groped for hisboots and coat, and putting them on moved cautiously through the trees,supporting himself from stem to stem. He came to the borders of a wide,smooth lawn, and on the farther side stood the house,--a long,two-storeyed house with level tiers of windows stretching to the rightand the left, and a bowed tower in the middle. Through one of thewindows in the ground-floor Wogan saw the spark of a lamp, and aboutthat window a fan of yellow light was spread upon the lawn.

  Wogan at this moment felt in great need of companionship. He stoleacross the lawn and looked into the room. An old gentleman with adelicate face, who wore his own white hair, was bending over a book at adesk. The room was warmly furnished, the door of the stove stood open,and Wogan could see the logs blazing merrily. A chill wind swept acrossthe lawn, very drear and ghostly. Wogan crept closer to the window. Agreat boar-hound rose at the old man's feet and growled; then the oldman rose, and crossing to the window pressed his face against the paneswith his hands curved about his eyes. Wogan stepped forward and stoodwithin the fan of light, spreading out his arms to show that he came asa supplicant and with no ill intent.

  The old man, with a word to his hound, opened the window.

  "Who is it?" he asked, and with a thrill not of fear but of expectationin his voice.

  "A man wounded and in sore straits for his life, who would gladly sitfor a few minutes by your fire before he goes upon his way."

  The old man stood aside, and Wogan entered the room. He was spatteredfrom head to foot with mud, his clothes were torn, his eyes sunken, hisface was of a ghastly pallor and marked with blood.

  "I am the Chevalier Warner," said Wogan, "a gentleman of Ireland. Youwill pardon me. But I have gone through so much these last three nightsthat I can barely stand;" and dropping into a chair he dragged it up tothe door of the stove, and crouched there shivering.

  The old man closed the window.

  "I am Count Otto von Ahlen, and in my house you are safe as you arewelcome."

  He went to a sideboard, and filling a glass carried it to Wogan. Theliquor was brandy. Wogan drank it as though it had been so much water.He was in that condition of fatigue when the most extraordinary eventsseem altogether commonplace and natural. But as he felt the spiritwarming his blood, he became aware of the great difference between hisbattered appearance and that of the old gentleman with the rich dressand the white linen who stooped so hospitably above him, and he began towonder at the readiness of the hospitality. Wogan might have been athief, a murderer, for all Count Otto knew. Yet the Count, with no otherprotection than his dog, had opened his window, and at that late hour ofthe night had welcomed him without a word of a question.

  "Sir," said Wogan, "my visit is the most unceremonious thing in theworld. I plump in upon you in the dark of the morning, as I take it tobe, and disturb you at your books without so much as knocking at thedoor."

  "It is as well you did not knock at the door," returned the Count, "formy servants are long since in bed, and your knock would very likely havereached neither their ears nor mine." And he drew up a chair and satdown opposite to Wogan, bending forward with his hands upon his knees.The firelight played upon his pale, indoor face, and it seemed to Woganthat he regarded his guest with a certain wistfulness. Wogan spoke histhought aloud,--

  "Yet I might be any hedgerow rascal with a taste for your plate, and noparticular scruples as to a life or two lying in the way of itsgratification."

  The Count smiled.

  "Your visit is not so unexampled as you are inclined to think. Nearlythirty years ago a young man as you are came in just such a plight asyou and stood outside this window at two o'clock of a dark morning. Evenso early in my life I was at my books," and he smiled rather sadly. "Ilet him in and he talked to me for an hour of matters strange anddreamlike, and enviable to me. I have never forgotten that hour, nor totell the truth have I ever ceased to envy the man who talked to meduring it, though many years since he suffered a dreadful doom andvanished from among his fellows. I shall be glad, therefore, to hearyour story if you have a mind to tell it me. The young man who cameupon that other night was Count Philip Christopher von Koenigsmarck."

  Wogan started at the mention of this name. It seemed strange that thatfitful and brilliant man, whose brief, passionate, guilty life andmysterious end had made so much noise in the world, had crossed thatlawn and stood before that window at just such an hour, and maybe hadsat shivering in Wogan's very chair.

  "I have no such story as Count Philip von Koenigsmarck no doubt had totell," said Wogan.

  "Chevalier," said Count Otto, with a nod of approval, "Koenigsmarck hadthe like reticence, though he was not always so discreet, I fear. ThePrincess Sophia Dorothea was at that time on a visit to the Duke ofWuertemberg at the palace in Stuttgart, but Koenigsmarck told me only thathe had snatched a breathing space from the wars in the Low Countries andwas bound thither again. Rumour told me afterwards of his fatalattachment. He sat where you sit, Chevalier, wounded as you are, afugitive from pursuit. Even the stains and disorder of his plight couldnot disguise the singular beauty of the man or make one insensible tothe charm of his manner. But I forget my duties," and he rose. "It wouldbe as well, no doubt, if I did not wake my servants?" he suggested.

  "Count Otto," returned Wogan, with a smile, "they have their day's workto-morrow."

  The old man nodded, and taking a lamp from a table by the door went outof the room.

  Wogan remained alone; the dog nuzzled at his hand; but it seemed toWogan that there was another in the room besides himself and the dog.The sleeplessness and tension of the last few days, the fatigue of hisarduous journey, the fever of his wounds, no doubt, had their effectupon him. He felt that Koenigsmarck was at his side; his eyes couldalmost discern a shadowy and beautiful figure; his ears could almosthear a musical vibrating voice. And the voice warned him,--in somestrange unaccountable way the voice warned and menaced him.

  "I fought, I climbed that wall, I crossed the lawn, I took refuge herefor love of a queen. For love of a queen all my short life I lived. Forlove of a queen I died most horribly; and the queen lives, though itwould have gone better with her had she died as horribly."

  Wogan had once seen the lonely castle of Ahlden where that queen wasimprisoned; he had once caught a glimpse of her driving in the duskacross the heath surrounded by her guards with their flashing swords.

  He sat chilled with apprehensions and forebodings. They crowded in uponhis mind all the more terrible because he could not translate them intodefinite perils which beyond this and that corner of his life mightawait him. He was the victim of illusions, he assured himself, at whichto-morrow safe in Schlestadt he would laugh. But to-night the illusionswere real. Koenigsmarck was with him. Koenigsmarck was by some mysteriousalchemy becoming incorporate with him. The voice which spoke and warnedand menaced was as much his as Koenigsmarck's.

  The old Count opened the door and heard Wogan muttering to himself as hecrouched over the fire. The Count carr
ied a basin of water in his handand a sponge and some linen. He insisted upon washing Wogan's wounds anddressing them in a simple way.

  "They are not deep," he said; "a few days' rest and a clever surgeonwill restore you." He went from the room again and brought back a tray,on which were the remains of a pie, a loaf of bread, and some fruit.

  "While you eat, Chevalier, I will mix you a cordial," said he, and heset about his hospitable work. "You ask me why I so readily opened mywindow to you. It was because I took you for Koenigsmarck himself comeback as mysteriously as he disappeared. I did not think that if he cameback now his hair would be as white, his shoulders as bent, as mine.Indeed, one cannot think of Koenigsmarck except as a youth. You had thevery look of him as you stood in the light upon the lawn. You have, if Imay say so, something of his gallant bearing and something of hisgrace."

  Wogan could have heard no words more distressing to him at this moment.

  "Oh, stop, sir. I pray you stop!" he cried out violently, and noting theinstant he had spoken the surprise on Count Otto's face. "There, sir, Igive you at once by my discourtesy an example of how little I merit acomparison with that courtly nobleman. Let me repair it by telling you,since you are willing to hear, of my night's adventure." And as he atehe told his story, omitting the precise object of his journey, thenature of the letter which he had burned, and any name which might givea clue to the secret of his enterprise.

  The Count Otto listened with his eyes as well as his ears; he hung uponthe words, shuddering at each danger that sprang upon Wogan, exclaimingin wonder at the shift by which he escaped from it, and at times helooked over towards his books with a glance of veritable dislike.

  "To feel the blood run hot in one's veins, to be bedfellows with peril,to go gallantly forward hand in hand with endeavour," he mused and brokeoff. "See, I own a sword, being a gentleman. But it is a toy, anornament; it stands over there in the corner from day to day, and myservants clean it from rust as they will. Now you, sir, I suppose--"

  "My horse and my sword, Count," said Wogan, "when the pinch comes, theyare one's only servants. It would be an ill business if I did not see totheir wants."

  The old man was silent for a while. Then he said timidly, "It was for awoman, no doubt, that you ran this hazard to-night?"

  "For a woman, yes."

  The Count folded his hands and leaned forward.

  "Sir, a woman is a strange inexplicable thing to me. Their words, theirlooks, their graceful, delicate shapes, the motives which persuade them,the thoughts which their eyes conceal,--all these qualities make thembeings of another world to me. I do envy men at times who can standbeside them, talk with them without fear, be intimate with them, andunderstand their intricate thoughts."

  "Are there such men?" asked Wogan.

  "Men who love, such as Count Koenigsmarck and yourself."

  Wogan held up his hand with a cry.

  "Count, such men, we are told, are the blindest of all. Did notKoenigsmarck prove it? As for myself, not even in that respect can I beranked with Koenigsmarck. I am a mere man-at-arms, whose love-making is aclash of steel."

  "But to-night--this risk you ran; you told me it was for a woman."

  "For a woman, yes. For love of a woman, no, no, no!" he exclaimed withsurprising violence. Then he rose from his chair.

  "But I have stayed my time," said he, "you have never had a moregrateful guest. I beg you to believe it."

  Count Otto barely heard the words. He was absorbed in the fancifuldreams born of many long solitary evenings, and like most timid anduncommunicative men he made his confidence in a momentary enthusiasm toa stranger.

  "Koenigsmarck spoke for an hour, mentioning no names, so that I who frommy youth have lived apart could not make a guess. He spoke with a dealof passion; it seemed that one hour his life was paradise and the next ahell. Even as he spoke he was one instant all faith and the next alldespair. One moment he was filled with his unworthiness and wonder thatso noble a creature as a woman should bend her heart and lips from herheaven down to his earth. The next he could not conceive any man shouldbe such a witless ass as to stake his happiness on the steadiness of somanifest a weathercock as a woman's favour. It was all very strangetalk; it opened to me, just as when a fog lifts and rolls down again, amomentary vision of a world of colours in which I had no share; and totell the truth it left me with a suspicion which has recurred again andagain, that all my solitary years over my books, all the delights whichthe delicate turning of a phrase, or the chase and capture of an elusiveidea, can bring to one may not be worth, after all, one single minute ofliving passion. Passion, Chevalier! There is a word of which I know themeaning only by hearsay. But I wonder at times, whatever harm it works,whether there can be any great thing without it. But you are anxious togo forward upon your way."

  He again took up his lamp, and requesting Wogan to follow him, unlatchedthe window. Wogan, however, did not move.

  "I am wondering," said he, "whether I might be yet deeper in your debt.I left behind me a sword."

  Count Otto set his lamp down and took a sword from the corner of theroom.

  "I called it an ornament, and yet in other hands it might well prove aserviceable weapon. The blade is of Spanish steel. You will honour me bywearing it."

  Wogan was in two minds with regard to the Count. On the one hand, he wasmost grateful; on the other he could not but think that over his bookshe had fallen into a sickly way of thought. He was quite ready, however,to wear his sword; moreover, when he had hooked the hanger to his belthe looked about the room.

  "I had a pistol," he said carelessly, "a very useful thing is a pistol,more useful at times than a sword."

  "I keep one in my bedroom," said the Count, setting the lamp down, "ifyou can wait the few moments it will take me to fetch it."

  Mr. Wogan was quite able to wait. He was indeed sufficiently generous totell Count Otto that he need not hurry. The Count fetched the pistol andtook up the lamp again.

  "Will you now follow me?"

  Wogan looked straight before him into the air and spoke to no one inparticular.

  "A pistol is, to be sure, more useful than a sword; but there is justone thing more useful on an occasion than a pistol, and that is ahunting knife."

  Count Otto shook his head.

  "There, Chevalier, I doubt if I can serve you."

  "But upon my word," said Wogan, picking up a carving-knife from thetray, "here is the very thing."

  "It has no sheath."

  Wogan was almost indignant at the suggestion that he would go so far asto ask even his dearest friend for a sheath. Besides, he had a sheath,and he fitted the knife into it.

  "Now," said he, pleasantly, "all that I need is a sound, swift,thoroughbred horse about six or seven years old."

  Count Otto for the fourth time took up his lamp.

  "Will you follow me?" he said for the fourth time.

  Wogan followed the old man across the lawn and round a corner of thehouse until he came to a long, low building surmounted by a cupola. Thebuilding was the stable, and the Count Otto roused one of his grooms.

  "Saddle me Flavia," said he. "Flavia is a mare who, I fancy, fulfilsyour requirements."

  Wogan had no complaint to make of her. She had the manners of acourtier. It seemed, too, that she had no complaint to make of Mr.Wogan. Count Otto laid his hand upon the bridle and led the mare withher rider along a lane through a thicket of trees and to a small gate.

  "Here, then, we part, Chevalier," said he. "No doubt to-morrow I shallsit down at my table, knowing that I talked a deal of folly illbefitting an old man. No doubt I shall be aware that my books are thetrue happiness after all. But to-night--well, to-night I would fain betwenty years of age, that I might fling my books over the hedge and rideout with you, my sword at my side, my courage in my hand, into theworld's highway. I will beg you to keep the mare as a token and a memoryof our meeting. There is no better beast, I believe, in Christendom."

  Wogan was touched by the old gentle
man's warmth.

  "Count," said Wogan, "I will gladly keep your mare in remembrance ofyour great goodwill to a stranger. But there is one better beast inChristendom."

  "Indeed? And which is that?"

  "Why, sir, the black horse which the lady I shall marry will ride intomy city of dreams." And so he rode off upon his way. The morning wasjust beginning to gleam pale in the east. Here was a night passed whichhe had not thought to live through, and he was still alive to help thechosen woman imprisoned in the hollow of the hills at Innspruck. Woganhad reason to be grateful to that old man who stood straining his eyesafter him. There was something pathetical in his discontent with hissecluded life which touched Wogan to the heart. Wogan was not sure thatin the morning the old man would know that the part he had chosen was,after all, the best. Besides, Wogan had between his knees the mostfriendly and intelligent beast which he had ridden since that morningwhen he met Lady Featherstone on the road to Bologna. But he had soonother matters to distract his thoughts. However easily Flavia canteredor trotted she could not but sharply remind him of his wounds. He hadforty miles to travel before he could reach Schlestadt; and in thevillages on the road there was gossip that day of a man with a tormentedface who rode rocking in his saddle as though the furies were at hisback.