The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon
It was not a bright light, but what she saw satisfied her. He could not see her face, for she stood outside the strip of dusky yellow.
“Two men lie beneath your window, and two are coming to this room. Where shall I go? Come, be quick, madam! Do you want to be carted off to Ganlook? Then don’t stand there like a—like a—pardon me, I won’t say it.”
“I trust you fully. Shall I alarm the guard?” she whispered, recovering her self-possession.
“By no means. I want to catch those devils myself. Afterwards we can alarm the guards!”
“An ideal American!” she surprised him by saying. “Follow me!”
She led him to the doorway. “Stand here, and I will call the Countess. At this side, where it is dark.”
She opened the door gently and stood in the light for a second. He saw before him a graceful figure in trailing white, and then he saw her face. She was Miss Guggenslocker!
“My God!” he hoarsely gasped, staggering toward her. “You! You! The Princess?”
“Yes, I am the Princess,” she whispered, smiling as she glided away from his side. His eyes went round in his head, his legs seemed to be anywhere but beneath him, he felt as though he were rushing toward the ceiling. For the moment he was actually unconscious. Then his senses rushed back, recalling his mission and his danger.
“She is sleeping so soundly that I fear to awaken her,” whispered a soft voice at his back, and he turned. The Princess was standing in the doorway.
“Then pray stand back where you will be out of danger. They will be here in a moment, unless they have been frightened away.”
“You shall not expose yourself,” she said, positively. “Why should you risk your life now? You have accomplished your object. You have saved the Princess!”
“Ah—yes, the Princess!” he said. “And I am sorry you are the Princess,” he added, in her ear.
“Sh!” she whispered, softly.
The door through which he had first come was softly opened, and they were conscious that some one was entering. Lorry and the Princess stood in the dark shadow of a curtain, she close behind his stalwart figure. He could hear his own heart and hers beating, could feel the warmth of her body, although it did not touch his. His heart beat with the pride of possession, of power, with the knowledge that he had but to stretch out his hand and touch the one woman in all the world.
Across the dim belt of light from the open doorway in which they stood, crawled the dark figure of a man. Her hand unconsciously touched his back as if seeking reassurance.
He shivered beneath its gentle weight. Another form followed the first, pausing in the light to look toward their doorway. The abductor was doubtless remembering the instructions to chloroform the Countess. Then came the odor of chloroform. Oh, if Anguish were only there!
The second figure was lost in the darkness and a faint glow of light came from the canopied bed in the corner The chloroformer holding the curtains had turned his screen-lantern, toward the pillow in order to apply the dampened cloth. Now was the time to act!
Pushing the Princess behind the curtain and in the shelter of the door-post, Lorry leaped toward the center of the room, a pistol in each hand. Before him crouched the astonished desperadoes.
“If you move you are dead men!” said he, in slow decided tones. “Here, Harry!” he shouted. “Scoundrels, you are trapped! Throw up your hands!”
Suddenly the room was a blaze of light; flashing candles, lamps, sprung into life from the walls, while a great chandelier above his head dazzled him with its unexpected glare.
“Hell!” he shouted, half throwing his hands to his eyes.
Something rushed upon him from behind; there was a scream and then a stinging blow across the head and neck. As he sank helplessly, angrily, to his knees he heard the Princess wail:
“Dannox! Do not strike again! You have killed him!”
As he rolled to the floor he saw the two forms near the bed moving about like shadows: two red objects that resembled dancing telegraph poles leaped past him from he knew not where, and then there was a shout, the report of a pistol, a horrid yell. Something heavy crashed down beside him and writhed. His eyes were closing, his senses were going, he was numb and sleepy. Away off in the distance he heard Harry Anguish crying:
“That settles you, damn you!”
Some one lifted his head from the carpet and a woman’s voice was crying something unintelligible. He was conscious of an effort on his part to prevent the blood from streaming over her gown—a last bit of gallantry. The sound of rushing feet, shouts, firearms—oblivion!
* * * *
When Lorry regained consciousness, he blinked in abject amazement. There was a dull, whirring sound in his ears, and his eyes had a glaze over them that was slow in wearing off. There were persons in the room. He could see them moving about and could hear them talking. As his eyes tried to take in the strange surroundings, a hand was lifted from his forehead and a soft, dream-like voice said:
“He is recovering, Mr. Anguish. See, his eyes are open! Do you know me, Mr. Lorry?”
The unsteady eyes wandered until they fell upon the face near his pillow. A brighter gleam came into them, and there was a ray of returning intelligence. He tried to speak, but could only move his lips. As he remembered her, she was in white, and he was puzzled now to see her in a garment of some dark material, suggestive of the night or the green of a shady hillside. There was the odor of roses and violets and carnations. Then he looked for the fatal, fearful, glaring chandelier. It was gone. The room was becoming lighter and lighter as his eyes grew stronger, but it was through a window near where he lay. So it was daylight! Where was he?
“How do you feel, old man?” asked a familiar voice. A man sat down beside him on the couch or bed, and a big hand grasped his own. Still he could not answer.
“Doctor,” cried the voice near his head, “you really think it is not serious?”
“I am quite sure,” answered a man’s voice from somewhere out in the light. “It is a bad cut, and he is just recovering from the effect of the ether. Had the blow not been a glancing one his skull would have been crushed. He will be perfectly conscious in a short time. There is no concussion, your Highness.”
“I am so happy to hear you say that,” said the soft voice. Lorry’s eyes sought hers and thanked her. A lump came into his throat as he looked up into the tender, anxious blue eyes. A thrill came over him. Princess or not, he loved her—he loved her! “You were very brave—oh, so brave!” she whispered in his ear, her hand touching his hair caressingly. “My American!”
He tried to reach the hand before it faded, but he was too weak. She glided away, and he closed his eyes again as if in pain.
“Look up, old man; you’re all right,” said Anguish. “Smell this handkerchief. It will make you feel better.” A moist cloth was held beneath his nose, and a strong, pungent odor darted through his nostrils. In a moment he tried to raise himself to his elbow. The world was clearing up.
“Lie still a bit, Lorry. Don’t be too hasty. The doctor says you must not.”
“Where am I, Harry?” asked the wounded man, weakly.
“In the castle. I’ll tell you all about it presently.”
“Am I in her room?”
“No, but she is in yours. You are across the hall in”—here he whispered—”Uncle Caspar’s room. Caspar is a Count.”
“And she is the Princess—truly?”
“What luck!”
“What misery—what misery!” half moaned the other.
“Bosh! Be a man! Don’t talk