CHAPTER III
A MOMENTOUS MEETING
GORLA’S MEIERHOF, or Grange, was a picturesque house which had been converted into a kind of shooting-box from a farmhouse, which, in turn, had been adapted from the ruins of an ancient building left centuries before by the Turks. It was a rough and primitive abode, but one which in that wild country would be considered comfortable enough and a not undesirable summer mountain residence, situated as it was on the fringe of the vast hill forests and commanding a view along the great sweep of the valley.
As the three approached the house they saw a man sitting before it smoking and reading a newspaper. At the sound of their voices he turned his head, then rose and sauntered to meet them. He was small but well set-up, somewhat dandified even in the loose lounging suit he wore; there was a good deal of the town man, Von Tressen thought, in his appearance and manner, and, what struck him forcibly, a decided military air in his carriage. This rather surprised him, for had the other been a soldier he would surely at his age have borne a high military title, whereas the Count had distinctly alluded to him more than once as plain Herr Harlberg. But that he had seen enough soldiering to have acquired a manifest military bearing was to the Lieutenant’s mind a certainty.
“At last!” Harlberg exclaimed, a little peevishly Von Tressen thought. “My dear Philippa, where have you been wandering?”
“Not so far, father,” she answered, with a laugh, and she introduced Von Tressen, who had been the object of his rather suspicious scrutiny.
The accident was related and the Lieutenant’s apologies accepted not ungraciously; the Count, who had dismounted and led his horse up the ascent to the house, standing in silence with his lips drawn back in the inevitable smile. At length he spoke, and it was to the purpose.
“The Herr Lieutenant has most kindly offered to ride into Kulhausen for a doctor to see Fräulein Philippa’s hand. Dare one suggest that the sooner it is professionally examined the better it will be?”
“There is no hurry; it hardly pains at all,” the girl protested.
For an instant the expression on the Count’s sharp face was not a pretty one. But he replied merely by a shrug of mingled protest and annoyance.
“Certainly. I am going at once,” Von Tressen said, watching the girl’s face involuntarily for a sign. “I only came so far, sir,” he added to Harlberg, “at the desire of the Fräulein, who was good enough to express a wish to present me to you.”
“But how will you get to Kulhausen?” Harlberg asked, with what seemed to the young man a rather too suggestive glance at the Count’s horse.
Anyhow Zarka accepted it with some alacrity. “If the Lieutenant will honour me by making use of my horse, it will be the quickest way, and I shall be only too charmed.”
As he turned to the animal to bring him over, Von Tressen instinctively glanced at the girl. She was biting her lip, and as their eyes met she gave a little, almost imperceptible, shake of the head.
“The Herr Lieutenant,” she said, “tells us he also has a horse close by. If he is kind enough to ride over to Kulhausen it would be perhaps a pity to deprive the Count of his means of getting home.”
The Count, however, did not seem to look at the proposed arrangement in that light. “I should be only too content and pleased to wait,” he protested. “There, Herr Lieutenant——”
He brought the horse round for Von Tressen to mount. But the hint had not been lost.
“I could not think of inconveniencing the Count,” he objected resolutely. “And it is absurd when my own horse is so near.” He made as though to move off. Zarka for a moment forgot his somewhat oppressive politeness.
“It is waste of time, man!” he hissed rather than spoke. “Take the horse; he will carry you well.”
But the other was resolved he would not be forced. He could not quite guess the reason of the girl’s anxiety, but he did not like the Count, and could understand that he might not be singular in his antipathy.
“No, no! Not for the world!” he cried, backing off. “Herr Harlberg, Fräulein, I have the honour. Auf Wiedersehen!” He turned and ran off, divided between amusement at the Count’s furious disgust and pleasure at the look of thanks in Fräulein Philippa’s eyes.
Zarka smoothed the strong muscles of his expressive face.
“An obstinate young Bursche,” he observed spitefully. “I hope the dangers of our forest are not to be increased by these mad marksmen.”
“It was entirely my own fault that he fired and hit me,” the girl said emphatically, as though annoyed at his tone. “You, Count, or any other sportsman, would have fired under the same provocation.”
The Count could smile again; he had evidently quite recovered his equanimity. “Then I can only congratulate myself that I was not in a position to inflict harm on you,” he returned. “You are not going, Fräulein?” for, with a slight bow as disdaining further argument, she had turned towards the house.
“Yes. I am tired with my long walk. I bid you good-evening, Count.” And she left them.
The two men did not speak till she was out of earshot. Then Harlberg remarked:
“It might have been an awkward contretemps, Count. As it is, I used to know this young fellow’s father. He was a cavalryman.”
Zarka gave a shrug. “It is nothing. The Lieutenant is of no account and an unsuspecting”—soldier, he was going to say, but substituted—“young swaggerer. I shall keep my eye on him. I gather that he is camping in the forest alone.”
“I hope he likes it,” Harlberg said wearily. “I find it dull enough.”
The Count laughed unsympathetically. “You miss the Königstrasse, my friend. Patience! It will not be for long. The grass will soon have grown over this excitement.”
“You have heard no news?”
“None. Except that the search is active. Naturally. A prince is a prince even though he be a fool, and cannot be allowed to disappear like a rag-picker. Well, good-evening, General——”
“Hush!” Harlberg held up a silencing hand.
“Oh, it is all safe here,” Zarka laughed in his masterful fashion. “There is no one to overhear us. You may trust me not to make a slip at the wrong time. I shall see you to-morrow, and, I hope, Fräulein Philippa.”
So with a sweeping glance at the house he mounted and rode off.
Harlberg went in and, lighting a fresh cigar, took up a novel and proceeded to make himself as comfortable as the place permitted. He had scarcely settled himself in the easiest chair the room afforded when his step-daughter came in.
“The Count has gone?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered casually, glancing up from the book. “He talks of coming again to-morrow. He is an agreeable fellow and will enliven our exile. By the way, my dear girl,” he went on in a voice of languid expostulation, “you must take care of yourself in the forest. How foolish of you to play the water-rat. Lucky the fellow was a bad shot and only hit your hand.”
“It was hardly a question of his being a bad shot,” the girl replied indifferently. “He could see nothing to aim at except the movement of my hand, and he hit that.”
“No; the wound is absurdly slight.”
“I meant,” he said a little querulously, “the fact of the Lieutenant’s breaking in upon our privacy.”
“I do not see,” she returned, “that we have anything to fear. I thought you would be glad of company beyond our own.”
“Quite so. But under the circumstances, perhaps the fewer acquaintances we make the better. We have always the Count.”
“Yes,” she repeated, “we have always the Count. Father,” she added suddenly with a change of tone, “I do not care for Count Zarka’s attentions.”
His look of surprise was rather obviously unreal. “Have they been very marked?” he asked.
“No,” she answered drily, “because I have not given him the chance. Only I think it well you should know I do not care to see very much of Count Zarka.”
He threw out his hands deprecatingly. “Of course you know best, my dear. Only,” he added, changing from a resigned to a persuasive tone, “I should have imagined you would not have slighted the chance of an alliance with a man of the Count’s wealth and position.”
“And character?” The sharp question made him feel uncomfortable.
“Do you know anything against his character?” he inquired blandly.
“Nothing definite,” she answered quietly. “But I am not a fool, and Count Zarka’s personality does not seem to me to belie a certain evil reputation which I believe he enjoys.”
“Philippa——” he began, but she cut him short.
“Apart from this, father, I do not like Count Zarka, and I think he knows it. Anyhow, I have told you now so that there may be no misunderstanding or cross purposes between us on the subject.”
Philippa spoke quietly, but with a slight tremor in her voice which betrayed the feelings she repressed. She knew well how little affection her step-father really had for her. A handsome, vivacious girl, much admired wherever she appeared, her companionship was far less irksome to her sole guardian than might have been the case had she been plain and uninteresting. She knew all this, and although she accepted it as the inevitable logic of her step-father’s character, which was to have a real affection for no one outside his own skin, yet she rebelled at the idea of being disposed of to suit his convenience.
Harlberg spread out his hands in a gesture of protestation. “I have nothing to do with it, my dear,” he said, almost petulantly. “You are quite old enough to choose for yourself; and if our friend Count Zarka wishes to marry you, why, he has a tongue in his head, and a pretty glib one too.”
“I only wish you not to encourage him in that idea,” Philippa said.
“You may be sure I shall not,” he replied, taking up his novel again with a suggestion that argument was fatiguing, and he did not feel just then in the humour for it. The girl was far from sure, but, realizing the uselessness of further discussion, she said no more.
Meanwhile Lieutenant Von Tressen had saddled his horse and ridden post haste in search of the doctor. Having found the only practitioner of which the little place boasted, and arranged for him to come out to Gorla’s Farm without delay, he was starting back again, when he saw on the other side of the street a face which he recognized.
“Galabin!” he shouted. “So it is, by Jupiter. Why, Horaz, my friend, what on earth brings you here?”
The other man, on hearing his name called out, had glanced up quickly with a look of mingled suspicion and annoyance. But on recognizing Von Tressen his expression changed to a smile; he went across and shook hands.
“What on earth are you doing in these outlandish parts?” the Lieutenant repeated.
“Is it only in the military service that men take holidays?” Galabin retorted.
“A holiday?”
“Why not, my friend? Do we spend our leave in town?”
“But here? Why, Horaz, you are never married?”
“And on my honeymoon? No, thank you. I have come for the mountains and a little sport in the forest.”
“So? That is good to hear. I, too, am staying in the forest under canvas for sport. You must join me. The deer-stalking will begin in a few days. It will be glorious. You know Molvar of my regiment? He has deserted me. We arranged the expedition together, and at the last moment he cried off. Ah, well, he could not help it. If you are in earnest you shall take his place. I can promise you fine sport.”
Galabin’s face had become thoughtful, almost business-like. “You are camping in the forest?” he asked. “Anywhere near the Schloss Rozsnyo?”
“At present I am within half an hour’s walk of it. By the way, do you know Count Zarka?”
“Not I. Perhaps you do?”
“I met him just now for the first time.”
“An agreeable fellow, eh?”
“H’m! Yes, doubtless. Now, my dear Horaz, will you join me?”
“To-morrow? Yes, I shall be delighted.”
“Very well. I will come in the morning and fetch you and your traps.”