CHAPTER VIII.
Bennett’s face was pale but smiling as he witnessed the dismay of his baffled foes. That his possession of a pistol at this crisis had saved his life he had not the slightest doubt. The count hated him because he had introduced poker into the kingdom; the baron, with the jealous eyes of a lover, saw in the American a possible rival for the favor of the princess. Furthermore, the courtiers realized, doubtless, that if they were captured in the company of the American their chance of winning pardon from Wilhelm, the successful usurper, would be slight.
All this passed through Bennett’s mind as he leaned against the great door and pointed his weapon first at the count and then at the baron, taking a mischievous pleasure in their not unnatural disquietude. Hardly a sound broke the stillness. A rat gnawed noisily somewhere in the woodwork. The asthmatic breathing of the deposed king could be heard, irregular and ominous.
Suddenly a swishing of skirts startled Bennett and his foiled assailants, and the Princess Hilda, white and anxious, stood between them. The American returned his revolver to his pocket and folded his arms silently.
“What does this mean?” asked the Princess sternly, turning from one to another of the trio. “Is it not enough that we are driven like rats into a hole? Why should you quarrel? Herr Bennett, why have you threatened the lives of these men? Are they not unarmed? And you stand there, like a highwayman, pointing a pistol at their heads. Speak, sir! Have you nothing to say?”
Bennett’s face, flushed at first, had grown white and drawn.
“I have nothing to say, your royal highness,” he answered in a low voice.
Count von Reibach and Baron Wollenstein gazed at the American in amazement. His generosity was inexplicable.
The Princess Hilda stood silent for a time, plunged in deep thought. Then she said firmly:
“Give me your revolver, Herr Bennett.”
He removed the weapon from his pocket and placed it carefully in her outstretched hand.
“A wasp is harmless without his sting,” muttered the baron under his breath. Count von Reibach, more generous than his colleague, placed his hand upon the latter’s mouth and whispered to him to remain silent.
The Princess Hilda had retreated toward her apartment. Before she dropped the curtain she turned and looked at the little group behind her. In one hand she held the pistol, while with the other she drew the curtains aside. The picture that she made at that moment in the flickering light, with the fitful gleams playing on her golden hair, while heavy shadows behind her threw the outlines of her tall figure into strong relief, Bennett never forgot. Suddenly she dropped the curtain and disappeared. The deep gloom of the apartment seemed to return on the instant, and the American turned sadly toward his foes. Deprived of weapon, he had determined to sell his life, if the struggle were forced upon him, as dearly as he might. To his astonishment, however, he saw Count von Reibach approaching him with an outstretched hand.
“You are a gentleman, Herr Bennett,” said the count cordially, “in spite of the fact that you go to extremes.”
“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” muttered Bennett coldly, not accepting the count’s hand. “You must acknowledge, sir, that by going to extremes I took the only course open to me at the moment.”
Count von Reibach smiled grimly. “The fact is, Herr Bennett, that we had formed no diabolical design, the baron and myself. For certain reasons—reasons of state, as our unhappy king would say—we felt that your presence here was inopportune, and we had decided to—to——”
“Assassinate me,” remarked Bennett curtly.
“Not at all. You do us grave injustice, I assure you. It is just possible that, had you not checked our impetuosity at the right moment, we might have imprisoned you in an empty wine-cask somewhere in the cellar, but we had no wish to take your life. The Count von Reibach and Baron Wollenstein are not cut-throats, Herr Bennett. And let me assure you we appreciate your generosity in refusing to accuse us to the princess.”
The Baron Wollenstein had listened sullenly to his comrade’s rather lame apology. He gazed with stubborn enmity at Bennett, and then said to the count:
“Come, von Reibach, let’s get some sleep. The fact is. I’m ausgespielt. As for this—gentleman, let me assure him that we have no further intention of interfering with his liberty. Come, count.”
The two courtiers retired toward a dark corner of the room, not far from the entrance to Princess Hilda’s apartment. Here they stretched themselves upon a dilapidated piece of furniture that had once served as a regal couch for a reigning Schwartzburger. Bennett could hear their guttural voices as they talked together in low tones for a time. Then silence, broken only by the king’s labored breathing and the occasional snores of the exhausted courtiers, reigned in the old lumber-room, made barely habitable by Cousin Fritz’s efforts.
The Princess Hilda, upon her return to the inner room, had thrown herself fully dressed upon the improvised bed prepared for her by the dwarf, and had vainly attempted to forget her woes in sleep. The horrors of her situation forced themselves persistently upon her mind and the events of a long and dreadful day allied themselves in opposition to peaceful slumber. It seemed an age since she had stood beside King Rudolph in the morning and had attempted to impress him with the seriousness of the crisis that confronted them. The downfall of her uncle, and their undignified flight, had occurred with such suddenness that she had not yet been able to grasp their full significance. Then a strange, inexplicable feeling stole over her and she realized, with a sensation of shame, that in this dark hour she took comfort in the presence of Herr Bennett. Annoyed by this discovery, she turned restlessly upon her pillow and again attempted to forget her woes and weariness in sleep.
The lower regions of the castle of the Schwartzburgers were not wholly under the control of Cousin Fritz. His sway was disputed by the rats, liberty-loving creatures having no respect for the rights of property nor reverence for royalty. A rat-hole, running clear through the wall, opened like a speaking-tube just where the shapely ear of the Princess Hilda rested as she lay quiet, fervently praying for sleep. Suddenly her wandering thoughts were recalled from the borderland of oblivion by the stern realities of her surroundings. She heard distinctly the guttural voice of Baron Wollenstein as he said to Count von Reibach:
“You are too soft-hearted, Count. Our only safety lies in Herr Bennett’s death. Mark my words, it is his life or ours in the end. This is no time for gentle deeds and kindly words. We’ll be captured in this hole, as sure as Wilhelm reigns. If we kill Bennett and conceal his body, we can prove to Wilhelm that we followed Rudolph in the interest of the new régime. Verstehen Sie? Am I not right?”
The horrified princess could not catch the count’s answer. She strained her ear in vain, but the rat-hole no longer served her purpose as an eavesdropper. How long she lay motionless she knew not, but after a time the snoring of the conspirators convinced her that they had ceased their plotting for a time and were plunged in sleep.
The princess arose softly, grasped the revolver that she had placed on the floor near her bed, and stole toward the entrance to the chamber. As she pulled aside the curtains and glanced furtively around the larger room she saw that one candle still burned dimly in a corner near the main entrance. By its flickering gleams she could make out the figure of the exhausted American as he lay, sprawled in broken slumbers, in an antique chair near the door through which he expected the return of Cousin Fritz.
As she approached Bennett a feeling of mingled tenderness and repentance came over her. This man had been in peril of his life, and she had harshly accused him of a crime. Was it not more than possible that she had always misjudged him; that he had found it impracticable to fulfil the oath he had sworn to her in the Hall of Armor? Surely he had not promised to leave the castle before the morning, and the morning, she imagined, was only just breaking. She glanced down at his white, clear-cut face, rendered almost ghastly by the dim light in contrast with his black, luxuriant hair.
“Herr Bennett,” she whispered gently, bending forward and placing a hand upon his shoulder. He awoke on the instant and their eyes met.
“Take your pistol,” she said simply. “You are still in grave danger. I did you an injustice.”
He had sprung to his feet, a mournful smile playing across his face.
“Your royal highness,” he said, “I thank you from my heart—not for the weapon but for your words.”
A flush arose to her cheeks and there came into her eyes a light as sweet as the dawn that drove the shadows from the hills outside.