The Minneapolis journal. [volume], July 26, 1906, Fiction Supplement, Page 2, Image 18

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'Here is a man who wishes to be my
friend and will be so regardless of the
consequences.'
The boldness of his utterance found
the earl altogether unarmed. Under
other circumstances he would have
rung the bell and ordered a carriage
for Mr. Gavin Ord but the whole prob
lem was too full of perplexities for
that. It may be that Lord Melbourne
was fully alive both to the truths and
falsehoods of his position. He had done
a man a great wrong and that man's
son had crossed Europe to bid him
right the wrong and act -justly. How
easy would it all have been if Evelyn
had loved this son and married him!
No story then to delight a scandal-lov
ing multitude no fear, growing upon
weak nerves, that the man who had
suffered might avenge his wrong. Yea,
Evelyn could save him and
here was a stranger who forbade her
~-to do so.
"You speak very freely,'' he said
to Gavin presently. I will do you
the justice to believe that you also
speak honestly. If Evelyn has told you
anything, it will be that Count Odin
is the son of one of my oldest friends,"
I have learned that from two
sources," said Gavin. "Will you let
me add, my lord, that you are prob
ably speaking of a man who is dead?"
The earl started and looked up
quickly.
"Have you any knowledge of that?"
"None whatever, but I have heard
of Count Odin's story."
"He is as other young men, I sup
pose neither better nor worse
"While for the daughter you love,
you would have chosen just such a
man. Is that so, my lord!"
Here was a shrewd hit, going straight
to the heart of one who, for fifteen
long years, had striven to shield his
daughter from that which her dead
mother's genius had bequeathed to her
the life and passion of the east the
nomad's craving for change and excite
ment the gilt and tinsel of the thea
ter. Yes, truly, they had been years
of self-sacrifice and of ceaseless vigil
to end in this specter of youth reborn
and of vengeance awake.
"Mr. OTd," he said, I perceive that
my story is known to you. Your judg
ment of me is what the world's judg
ment would be if half the truth were
knownand, remember, it is rarely
more than half a truth that the world
comes to possess. I am acting, you
sav, not from a desire to do the best
for my daughter, but to shield myself.
It may be "so, for men are blind enough
when their own salvation is at stake.
At the same time, there are reasons
other than these, and such that you
will hardly discover. I believe it is
very .necessary to Evelyn's happiness
that this story shall be hushed up, for
the tflae being at any rate. But I
have made no promise to Count Odin
other than those you know. If his
father is still a prisoner in the mines
at Yoliska, then I will do my best to
obtain his liberty when I have assur
ances that such liberty will not be
used to my disadvantage or to Eve
lyn^s. I tell you upon my word as an
Englishman that I am guiltless of such
knowledge. When he fought with me
in Bukharest more than twenty years
ugo, 1 met him as a man of honor and
nearlv paid with my life for the folly.
They now assert that my friends laid
the compJaint which induced the Ru
manian government to arrest hint. I
do not believe it to be true. Georges
Odin, the records say, died in the for
tress prison of Krajova nearly ten
years ago. Prince Charles' govern
ment arrested him, I admit, .on the
score o the duel he fought with me
but they had been trying to arrest him
foT many years, and that was their ex
cuse. Of the rest I knew nothing. II
he is dead
"My lord, have vou taken no steps
to ascertain the truth of his" death?"
"My solicitors are now making afl
inquiries at Bukharest and Kraiova."
I should have thought that solici
tors were scarcely the people to em-
ploy."
"Who else is to be trusted with such
a story asftbist"
f. I an Lor4 Melbourne."
"You-but you are a stranger to
f me and my bouse."
A stranger who is willing to be
come a friend^ Say that you will put
jao opposition in my way and I will
feoegin my task at once."
&1 I appreciate your offer, but must
'decline it." Acceptance would imply
Jan obligation I am unwilling to rec-
tognize.**
r$ I ask for no recognition. ^Tonight,
?my lord, I leave London for Bukharest.
In a month or less I will return to tell
Jead."
ou whether Georges Odin is alive or
The earl stared at him amazed.
"Bring me news of Georges Odin^S
death," he said, "and you shall marry
my daughter."
Gavin rose and offered him his hand.
I will start directly I harvo seen the
Lady Evelyn," he said. ^&
BOOK ni.
**H LIGHT.* 4,V
CHAPTER XXIXC.
$j$*ir
1 Bukharest.
"In America, my dear Gavin, they
would certainly name you for a very
prince of hustlers."
The speaker, a lad of 22 years of
age, leaned back indolently in his chair
sad sipped tt tiny cop of Turkish cof-
fee with lazy satisfaction. Gifted with
brown curly hair, ridiculously blue
eyes and a beardless chin, Cambridge
had named him ironically "the Lamb?'
His name was Arthur Kenyon, and
there had been no prettier athlete in
all London when he was there, precise
ly ten days ago.
"Yes," he went on, "you lure me to
this place, which might be half a mile
at the most from the infernal regions,
and promise me a ripping holiday. I
come like a sheep to the shearing and
what is my reward? Hours of self
contemplationlong musings upon an
innocent past, and the thermometer at
112 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade.
Ye gods, what a thing to be a traveling
Englishman!"
They sat in the restaurant of the
Hotel Moskowa at Bukharest, justly fa
mous, as the English boy had said, for
its historic prices and ancient meats,
long matured. Gavin Ord, grown a lit
tle older since he left Ierbyshir some
fifteen days ago, had a map of Bumania
before him and all his intentions ap-
?'he
eared to be concentrated upon this,
restaurant, dqepite the season of
the year, could show a fair array, of
Ettley
rett women in Vienna gowns and of
gold-laced officers who chaper
oned them. The heat of the night had
become intense and a great block of ice
upon a marble pedestal melted visibly
as tho despairing of the effort to exist.
Energy might have been deemed a for
gotten art but for the frantic exer
tions of a typical gipsy band which
fiddled as tho its very salvation de
pended upon the marvels of its presto.
"My dear Arthur," said Gavin at
length, folding up his map and lighting
a cigaret with the air of one who is
thinking of anything but a smoker's
pleasure, "lama beast, certainly. But,
then. I am a successful beast."
Do you mean to say that you have
found him?"
"Good Master IndiscretionI have
found the house which Cook built and
I am going to visit it tomorrow
"Yes, yes, of course, that ancient
and interesting Roman building
well, I always wanted to see Bumania,
and, of course, we shall do Budapest
going baek. By the way, do you no
tice that acrobat playing the 'cello
over there? Don't turn round yet.
He's been watching you ever since we
sat down just as tho he loved you
dearly.''
Gavin smoked for a little while with
out shifting his position in any way.
Presently he said:
I don't know why he should. Un
less they watched me from London,
which is not improbable, they are hard
ly likely to know of my arrival yet.
When you have drunk your eoffee, we 11
go and take a turn on the Corso. The
'cellist certainly likes me. I see what
yon mean."
Half Bukharest seemed to have
flocked to the Corso, or public park, by
the time they arrived there. Even the
innumerable gaming tables, which are
the chief fame of the pretentious city,
were deserted upon such a night as
this while the open-air cafes were so
many illuminated ieehouses, thronged
by perspiring civilians and equally per
spiring soldiers, whose talk began and
ended with an anathema upon the heat.
Gavin Ord had traveled but little his
one real friend, Arthur Kenvon, had
already been half across the world and
back but for both the interests of this
strange scene, with its babble of ex
cited tongues, its Hungarians, Servians,
Bulgarians, Bumanians and by no
means least numerous, its sallow-faced
Turks, were beyond any within their
experience.
"No wonder the people at the min
istry tell vou to be careful," said Ken
yon amiably, as he pointed to a great
Bashi-Bazouk whose very mustache
might have been inflammable. "I,
would sooner meet a Chinese mandarin
than that fellow anywhere. And there
are plenty more of the kind, you see.
All sorts, shapes and sizes, ready to cut
your throat for a golden coin any day
you may be wanting the job done."
"All sham, my dear Arthur. Knives
made in Birmingham and pistols in Ger
many! Don't worry your head about
them. We start for Okna at 7 o'clock
tomorrow.''
"Oh, you*ve found out where it is,
then?'*
I wanted to tell you before dinner,
but these fellows were listening. Cecil
Chesney was at the ministry today and
he could not have done more for me.
Okna means a stiff ride into the moun
tains and some hunting when we get
there. If the old man, Georges Odin,
is alive, he is at Okna. Our task is to
persuade him that London is a healthier
place
"And the son. this man they call the
count, what of him?"
I can learn little. He has evidently
been living on his wits for a long time.
He was here a fortnight ago throwing
promises to his creditors right and left.
The local papers announce his engage
ment to Lord Melbourne's daughter
they spell it "Sir Lc*d Milbawn," and
declare that he is going up to buy tho
old castle at Gravitza. I don't believe
he is in Bukharest todayif he is, well,
I must look out for myself, ana you
must help to look out for me. The rest
depends upon his father. I could go
back to England tonight and tell the
earl that Georges Odin was released
four years ago from the mines at Pra
hova. but that would not help me. The
count would go baek and blackmail
them again on the--score of-*what his
friends, the gipsies*, meant to do. No,
I shall bring the father if he is to be
brought, and carry my purchase baek
THE MINNEAPOLIS JOURNAL. Thursday, July 26, 1906.
to England. That's my plan, Arthur.
Time will prove whether it's clever or
foolish."
Arthur Kenyon listened as one lis
tens to the tale of an eastern romanee.
Gavin had told him the whole story
before they left London but here in
Bukharest it seemed so much easier to
comprehend, amid a people careless of
life and little unacquainted with death.
All the gauds of passion, of love and
hatred were known to this mean city.
Here, at least, it did not appear diffi
cult to understand how Count Odin,
the adventurer, having heard the his
tory of Robert Forrester's youth and of
his present wealth, had set out for
England determined to profit by his
knowledge.
"We have no color in our roguery
in London,' Arthur said presently.
"It's all lust-one drab tintthe same
color as the yellow press that delights
in it. Here one begins to understand
why the fittest survive. You are a pret
ty plucky
chapeasilyr-or
not take it so-
"Not for a woman's sake, Arthurf"
"Oh, well, I suppose if one is suffi
ciently in love, one would hack at Cer
berus for a woman's sake. I am less
fettered. Here in Bukharest I begin
to wonder whether I shall die for the
charming Lucy or the equally beauti
ful Lucinda, You have no doubts. My
dear fellow, I'm afraid you're in
deadly earnest."
"So much in earnest, Arthur, that if
I cannot go back to make Evelyn my
wife, I will never go back at all."
"Eros living in a dirty Rumanian
hotel on aneient meats! No, by all
the gods. But, tell me, does your
friend Chesney think you are unwise
to go to Okna?"
He says I am mad. I told him as
much as I had the right to tell. Odin,
the son, is a swindler but his gipsy
friends are honest. They believe that
an Englishman shut up one of their
heroes for twenty years and if they
ean find the man who did it, they will
kill him. There's the count's chance.
I am going one better by offering to
take his father to England to meet the
man who wronged him and say that
the vendetta is at an end. A mad
scheme! Yes. Well, possibly, mad
Bchemes are better than the others
sometimes, and this may be the par
ticular instance. I will tell you when
we get to Okna, if ever we get there.'/
"Then you are plainly not an opti-
mist."
"Huslithere's your old friend, the
cellist, going home, it appears. A gip
sy to the finger tips, Arthur. Let us
talk of the weather!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Price of Wisdom.
An eastern sun, monstrous and mol
ten and blinking tears of fire, dwelt
an instant in the west ere it
sank beneath the rim of the
mountains, beyond whieh lies the
river Danube. Instantly, as tho
bv a wizzard enchantment, the heat
spell passed from the face of the with
ered land and the sweetness of the
night came down. All the woods were
alive now, as tho the voice of Even
had bidden them rejoice. Birds ap-
Eoughs,
eared flitting from the swaying
of oak and elm and sycamore.
Springs bubbled over as tho reioicmg
that their enemy slept. Life that had
been dormant but ten minutes ago an
swered to the reveille of twilight and
added a note musical to the song. Men
breathed a full breath of the soft
breezes and said that it was good to
live. The very landscape, revealing
new beauties in the mellow light, might
have been sensible of the hour and its
meaning.
It was the evening of the second day
after Gavin Ord and his friend Arthur
Kenyon had dined together in the Hotel
Moscow at Bukharest. A railway and
twelve hours' abuse of its tardiness
had carried them a stage upon this
journey. Willing Hungarian ponies,
mult 3, in whose eyes the negative vir
tues might be read, brought them to
tho foot of the mountains and left
them there to camp with what luxury
they might. Attended by a sleek Turk
they had discovered in the capital,
their escort boasted no less than four
heroes of the linefor this had been
Cecil Chesny's unalterable determina
tion, that they should not go to the
mountains alone.
"It's a fool's errand and may be
dangerous," said he "these soldiers
are thieves, but they will see that no
one else robs you. I will ask the min
istry to pick out as good specimens as
he can. Don't eomplain when you
see them. They are much less harmless
than they look."
Gavin did not like the business at
all, but as Chesny's good-will was nec
esssary to the expedition, he put up
with it, and the four shabby soldiers
accompanied him from Bukharest. They
were ill-mannered fellows enough, raw
boned, high-cheeked sallow-faced ruf
fians, whose "paradise enow" could be
found wherever good comely, plump
girls and bad tobacco might be found.
Their energy at mealtimes became tru
ly prodigious. They were as ravenous
wolves, seeking what they might de
vour and, as Arthur Kenyon remarked,
they would have eaten his boots if he
had taken them off.
Now, this pretty company, English
men, Bumanians, a Greek and a Turk,
encamped in the woods together upon
the evening of the second day, and
found what comfort they could beneath
the sheltering leaves of & spacious
beech. It had been Gavin's intention
to ju np at a guesthouse named by the
ut
Gavin, you would
uidebook he had purchased in Vienna
when they came to the place where
the inn should have stood, they discov
ered nothing but charred ruins and cin
erous relics and, "by all the gods,"
said Arthur Kenyon, "the red cock has
crowed here before us." A romantic
ear would have listened greedily at
such a time to the guide's tales of bor
der pleasantriesgiiis carried shriek
ing to the mountains, roofs Jlazing
Eriests burned in their holy ofls, babes
oist on bayonetsfor such they would
have made a simple affair in which a
drunken herdsman and a paraffin lamp
had figured notably but Gavin was in
no mood for narratives, and he sent
them to the right about, one for wood,
another for water, a third to hunt a cot
or homestead, if such were to be dis
covered.
"The Hotel of the Belle Etoile after
all," he said gloomily "well, it might
have been worse, Arthur."
"Just so. If I had not stocked your
larder at Slavitesti, you would now be
doing what the amiable Foulon advised
the French people to do a hundred years
agoeating hay with relish, my dear
boy. Well, there's red wine strong
enough to poison White Bull, and maize
bread tough enough for a guinea set of
ready-made,grinders, to say nothing of
eheese, sausage, and biscuits. Fall on,
Macduff, and damned be he who eats
enough!"
I don't care twopence about the
food," said Gavin savagely "it's the
delay I fret over. We may be within
riding distance of the place for all I
know. They could have told us at this
inn."
The boyon the burning deck grown
eloquent. We might have put out the
fire for them or comforted some of the
ladies. Are you really in such a hurry,
Gavin?"
"Judge for yourself. From the cas
tle at Okna I can write to Evelyn and
tell her the truth. Until it is told, she
will be the daily victim of a rogue's
plausible suggestions. Why, the man
may have returned to Derbyshire by
this timeall that is possible and
more."
"And there was a great square moon
in the sky and thereon the people read
the story of the Jabberwock. Tell me
frankly, would Evelyn listen to the man
now?"-
"Evelyn would not, but Etta Romney
might EnigmasI shall not explain
them. Let us go to supper. The day
will come after the centuries."
"Gavin, my dear fellowthis is the
ancient fever. I bow to it. Pass the
wine and 111 drink to your enigma. We
are people of importance and our escort
is a royal one. It is also musical. That
song suggests. Siegfried or is it the
'Belle of ^Jew Yorkt' My musical ed
ucation was completed at Magdalen
college within Cambridge and is incom
plete."
He frivolled on as young men will,
nqt without purpose, for Gavin's anxie
ty was patent to all about him. It had
seemed an easy thing in England to
visit the near east and learn for himself
the simple truth ot Georgea Odin's
fate. Here on the slopes of the moun
tains he began to understand his diffi
culties, perhaps the danger, of his pur
suit. For this, he remembered, had
been the scene of Robert Forrester's
youth, this the home of Zallony, the rev
olutionary brigand upon whose head
three eountries had set a price. Time
had not changed the disposition of the
mountain people, nor had civilization
influenced its social creeds. Beware of
Zallony's gypsies, they had said to him
at Bukharest. This night had brought
him within a post of his goal. It would
be hard enough if any mischance should
send him back to England emptyhand1
ed to say to Evelyn, I have failed
I can tell you nothing."
Arthur Kenyon, for his part, had be
gun to enjoy the whole adventure amaz
ingly. Especially he liked the four
merry soldiers who ate and drank as
tho they had been fasting and athirst
for a week, and lay down afterwards to
fall instantly to sleep. In this the
Greek muleteer and the Turkish robber
of all trades imitated them without loss
of time so that by 9 o'clock nothing
but the red glow ox two English pipes
and the sonorous nasal thankoffering of
the sleepers would have betrayed the
camp or its occupants. Such conversa
tion as passed between Gavin and Ar
thur was in fitful whispers, the talk of
men thoroly fatigued and wistful for
the day. They, too, dropped to sleep
over it at last, and when they awoke
it was to su^h a scene as neither would
ever forget, however long he might live.
Gavin slept without dreaming, the
first night he had done so since he left
England. He could remember after
wards that his friend's voice awoke him
from his heavy slumber and that, when
he sat up and stared about him, Arthur
Kenyon was the first person his eyes
rested upon. Instantaneously, as one
sees a picture in a vision, the scene of
the camp presented itself to his view
the great trunks of the oaks and
beeches, the hollow, wherein the horses
were tethered, the tangle of grass and
undergrowth. Just as he had seen it
when he fell asleep, so the reddening
embers of the camp-fire showed it to
him nowunchanged, and yet how dif
ferent. He was, fox this brief instant,
as a sleeper who wakes fn a familiar.
room and wonders why he has been
awakened. Then, just as rapidly, the
scales fell from his eyes and he knew. j
Arthur Kenyon stood with his back,
against the trunk of a beech, his re-*
volver drawn and about him such at,
&&"**
Bess*
L