CHAPTER XV
FOR heaven's sake, wake up—tell me you 're not hurt!" a familiar voice was saying in my ear, or I was dreaming it. And because it was such a good dream I was afraid to break it by waking to some horror, so I kept my eyes shut, hoping and hoping for it to come again.
In an instant, it did come. "Child—little girl—wake up! Can't you speak to me?"
His hand, holding mine, was warm and extraordinarily comforting. Suddenly I felt so happy and so perfectly safe that I was paid for everything. My head was on somebody's arm, and I knew very well now who the somebody was. He was real, and not a dream. I sighed cozily and opened my eyes. His face was quite close to mine.
"Thank God!" he said. "Are you all right?"
"Now you 're here," I answered. "I thought they were coming to kill me."
"Who?" he asked, quite fiercely.
"An old gipsy woman and her sons."
"Those people!" he exclaimed. "Why, it was they who told me you were in this place. If it had n't been for them I should n't have found you so soon—though I would have found you. The wretches! What made you think ⸺"
"The old woman was in the room above," I said, "waiting for her sons; and she begged me to look down here for a rosary she dropped. She must have known the bottom steps were gone. She wanted me to fall; and though I called, she did n't answer, because she 'd probably hobbled off to find her sons and bring them back to rob me. I have n't hurt myself much, but when I found I could n't climb up I was so frightened! I thought no one would ever come—except those horrible gipsies. And when I heard a sound above I was sure they were here. I felt sick and strange, and I suppose I must have fainted."
"I heard you call, just as I got into the upper room. Then, though I answered, everything was still. Jove! I had some bad minutes! But you 're sure you 're all right now?"
"Sure," I answered, sitting up. "Did I call you 'Jack'? If I did, it was only because one can't shriek 'Mister,' and anyway you told me to."
"Now I know you 're all right, or you would n't bother about conventionalities. I wish I had some brandy for you "
"I would n't take it if you had."
"That sounds like you. That's encouraging! Are you strong enough to let me get you up into the light and air?"
"Quite!" I replied briskly, letting him help me to my feet. "But how are we to get up?"
"I 'll show you. It will be easy."
"Let 's look first for the wicked old creature's rosary. If it is n't here, it 's certain she 's a fraud."
"I should think it 's certain without looking. I 'd like to put the old serpent in prison."
"I wouldn't care to trouble, now I'm safe. And anyway, how could we prove she meant her sons to rob me, since they had n't begun the act, and so could n't be caught in it?"
"She did n't know you had a man to look after you. When the guide and I came this way, searching, we met a gipsy woman with two awful brutes, and asked if they 'd seen a young lady in a gray coat. They were all three on their way here, as you thought; but when they saw us close to this house, of course, they dared not carry out their plan, and the old woman made the best of a bad business. No doubt they 're as far off by this time as they could get. It might be difficult to prove anything, but I 'd like to try."
"I would n't," I said. "But let 's look for that rosary. Have you any matches?"
"Plenty." He took out a match-case, and held a wax vesta for me to peer about in the neighbourhood of the broken stairway.
"Here's something glittering!" I exclaimed, just as I had been about to give up the search in vain. "She said there was a silver crucifix."
I slipped my fingers into a crack where the rock had been split in breaking off the lower steps. A small, bright thing was there, almost buried in debris, but I could not get my fingers in deep enough to dislodge it. Impatiently I pulled out a hat-pin, and worked until I had unearthed—not the rosary, but a silver coin.
"Somebody else has been down here, dropping money," I said, handing the piece up for Mr. Dane to examine.
"Then it was a long time ago," he replied, "for the coin has the head of Louis XIII. on it."
"Oh, then she was right!" I cried. "I can find lost treasure. I'm going to look for more. I believe that piece must have fallen out of a hole I've found here, which goes back ever so far into the rock. I can get my arm in nearly to the elbow."
"Who was 'right'?" my brother wanted to know.
"The gipsy. She told my fortune. That was why I did n't refuse to look for her rosary."
"I should have thought a child would have known better," he remarked, scornfully; and his tone hurt my sensitiveness the more because his voice had been so anxious and his words so kind when I was fainting. He had called me "child" and "little girl." I remembered well, and the words had been saying themselves over in my mind ever since. I rather thought that they betrayed a secret—that perhaps he had been getting to care for me a little. That idea pleased me, because he had been abrupt sometimes, and I had n't known what to make of him. Every girl owes it to herself to understand a man thoroughly—at least, as much of his character and feelings as may concern her. Besides, it is not soothing to one's vanity to try—well, yes, I may as well confess that!—to try and please a man, yet to know you 've failed after days of association so constant and intimate that hours are equal to the same number of months in an ordinary acquaintance. Now, after thinking I 'd made the discovery that he really had found me attractive, it was a shock to be spoken to in this way.
"Oh, you are cross!" I exclaimed, still poking about in the hole under the stairway.
"I'm not cross," he said, "but if I were, you'd deserve it, because you know you 've been foolish. And if you don't know, you ought to, so that you may be wiser next time. The idea of a sensible young woman chumming up in a lonely cave, with a dirty old gipsy certain to be a thief, if not worse, letting her tell fortunes, and then falling into a trap like this. I would n't have believed it of you!"
"I think you're perfectly horrid," said I. "I wish you had let the guide find me. He would have done it just as well, and been much more polite."
"Doubtless he would have been more polite, but he is n't as young, and might have had trouble in getting you out. There! that 's my last match, and you mustn't waste any more time looking for treasure which you won't find."
"Which I have found!" I announced. "I've got something more—away at the back of the hole. Not that you deserve to see it!"
However, I held up my hand in its torn, bloodstained glove, with two silver pieces displayed on the palm.
"A child's hidey-hole, I suppose," he said without showing as much interest as the occasion warranted. "Otherwise there would be something more valuable. A young servant of the Grimaldis, perhaps; these coins are all of the same period—of no great value as antiques, I 'm afraid."
"They 're of value to me," I retorted. "They 'll bring me luck." I would of course have given him one, if he had n't been so disagreeable; but now I felt that he should n't have anything of mine if he were starving.
"You are very superstitious, among other childlike qualities," he replied, laughing. So that was what he thought of me, and that was why he had called me "child"! It was all spoiled now, from the beginning; and the guide might as well have found me, as I had said, without quite meaning it at the time.
"If you don't like lucky things, you can throw away my St. Christopher," I said, coldly. "You must have thought it very silly."
"I thought it extremely kind of you to give it, and I 've no intention of throwing it away, or parting with it," said he. "Now, are you ready?"
"Yes," I snapped.
In an instant he had me by the waist between two hands which felt strong as steel buckles, and swung me up like a feather on to the first step of the broken stairs. Then, in another second, he was at my side, supporting me to the top without a word, except a muttered "Don't be childish!" when I would have pushed away his arm.
Strange to say, I forgot Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel until we saw the guide, to whom long ago Mr. Dane had called up a reassuring "Tout va bien!" Then, suddenly, the awful truth sprang into my mind. All this time they had been waiting for me! What would they say? What would they do?
In my horror, I even forgot my righteous anger with the chauffeur. "Oh!" I gasped. "The Turnours!" Then Mr. Dane spoke kindly again. "Don't worry," he said. "It 's all right. They 've gone on."
"In the car?" I cried.
"No. Sir Samuel can't drive the car. And as Lady Turnour thought she had a chill, rather than wait for me to find you they took a carriage which was here, and drove down to St. Remy. They 'll go on by rail to Avignon, and ⸺"
"There must have been a dreadful row!" I groaned.
"Not at all. You're not to worry. Lady Turnour behaved like a cad, as usual, but what can you expect? Sir Samuel did the best he could. He would have liked to wait, but if he 'd insisted she would have had hysterics."
"How came there to be a carriage here?" I asked the guide.
"The gentleman paid three young men who had driven up in it a good sum to get it for himself," he explained, "and they are walking down. They are of Germany."
"Was it a long time?" I went on. "Oh, it must have been. It 's nearly dark now, except for the moonlight."
"It is perhaps an hour altogether since mademoiselle separated herself from the others," the guide admitted. "But they have been gone for more than half that time. They did not delay long, after the little dispute with monsieur about the car."
"Oh, there was a dispute!" I caught him up, wheeling upon the chauffeur. "You must tell me."
"It was nothing much," he said, still very kindly, "and it was her ladyship's fault, of course. If you were plain and elderly she 'd have more patience; but as it is, you 've seen how quick she is to scold; so, of course, she was angry when she 'd finished her grog and you did n't turn up."
"What did she say," I asked.
He laughed. "She was quite irrelevant."
"I must know!"
"Well, she seemed to lay most of the blame on the colour of your hair and eyelashes."
"She said ⸺"
"What could be expected of a girl that dyed her hair yellow and her eyelashes black?"
"Horrid woman! You don't believe I do, do you?"
"I must say it had n't occurred to me to think of it."
Then I remembered how angry I was with him, and did n't pursue that subject, but turned again to the other. However, I made a mental note that there was one more thing to punish him for when I got the chance.
"What else did she say?"
"She began to turn purple when Sir Samuel would have defended you, and said she would n't stand your taking such liberties. That it was monstrous, and a few other things, to be kept freezing on mountains by one's domestics, and that she should be ill if she waited. Sir Samuel persuaded her to give you fifteen minutes' grace, but after that she was determined to start. Of course, she did n't know that an accident had happened. She thought you were simply dawdling, and wanted Sir Samuel to arrange for you to drive down with the newly arrived German tourists. Sir Samuel and I objected to this, and later it was settled for the Turnours to do what her ladyship planned for you, without the company of the tourists. Lady Turnour resents lèse-majesté." "It 's a miracle she consented to leave the car," I said.
"She could n't use it without a chauffeur, and naturally I refused to go without knowing what had happened to you."
"You refused!" I stammered.
"Of course. That was where the row came in. We had a few words, and eventually I was deputed to look you up."
"Deputed!" I echoed, desperately. "They never 'deputed' you to do it, I'm sure."
"They jolly well couldn't help themselves. You can't make a man drive a car if he won't. So they went off in the Germans' carriage, and the Germans were enchanted."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, so miserable now that anger leaked out of my heart like water through a sieve. "It 's all my fault. Did they discharge you?"
"I didn't give them the chance. After a few little things her ladyship said, I felt rather hot in the collar, and discharged myself. That is, I gave them notice that I would go as soon as they could get another chauffeur. It would have been bad form to leave them in the lurch, without anyone, on tour."
The tears came to my eyes, and I was thinking so little about myself that I let them roll down without bothering to wipe them away. "Do, do forgive me," I implored. "But you never can, of course. All through my foolishness you 're out of an engagement. And you depended upon it, I know, from what you said."
"There 's nothing to forgive, my dear little sister," he said. "It 's you who must forgive me, if I 've distressed you by telling the story in a clumsy way. It was n't your fault. I could n't stand that bounderess's cruel tongue, so I have myself to blame, if anyone. And it 's sure to turn out right in the end."
"You refused to drive their car because you would stay behind and find me ⸺"
"Any decent chap would do that—even a chauffeur." He spoke lightly to comfort me. "Besides, I wanted to stop. You 're the only sister I ever had."
"You must hate me," I moaned.
"I don't. Please don't cry. I shall faint if you do."
I was obliged to laugh a little through my tears.
"Come," he said, gently. "Let me take you down. Just a word with the guide about those gipsies, and ⸺"
"Oh, leave the wretched gipsies alone!" I begged. "Who cares, now? If you say anything, they may call us as witnesses at St. Remy or some town where we don't want to stop. Let them go."
"I suppose we might as well," he said, "for we can't prove anything worth proving. Come, then." He slipped some money into the guide's hand, and thanked him for his courtesy and kindness. But another pang shot through my remorseful heart. More money spent by this man for me, when he had so little, and had lost the engagement which, though unworthy his rank in life, was the only present means he had of earning a livelihood. I came, obeying in forlorn silence, and could not answer when he tried to cheer me up as we walked down to the Hotel Monte Carlo. There stood the Aigle in charge of a youth from the inn, and there was more money to be paid to him. I wanted to give it, but saw that if I insisted Mr. Dane would be vexed.
He suggested putting me inside, as the air was now very cold, with the chill that falls after sunset; but I refused. "I want to sit by you!" I implored, and he said no more. With the glass cage behind us empty, and the great acetylene lamps alight, the Aigle turned and flew down the hill.