I had now no thought of drawing back, of course, until at least I had cut the knot of Minna's difficulties; and I had begun to entertain some very unpleasant and disquieting doubts and anxieties as to how I could shake off my borrowed plumes and return to the humdrum, meaningless, empty, incognito existence.
As to that, indeed, a new set of thoughts had begun to take shape in my mind—wild and forlorn hopes, in truth, but none the less cherished. The idea was to try and so carry through this business of the Munich plot as to ingratiate myself sufficiently into the favor of the great ones at Berlin to win back my own position and inheritance.
The most spurring motive that can move a man was developing in me, and developing fast. As a supposititious Prince von Gramberg I was absolutely impossible as a suitor for Minna's hand. Even if I could save her from this terrible entanglement, and escape any recognition, I could not marry her. My life would then have to be lived over a mine which might be exploded under my feet at any moment, to the ruin of both her life and my own.
As an English adventurer and ex-play-actor my case was just as hopeless. But as Count von Rudloff there would be no such bar of family between us; my family was indeed as old as any in the kingdom, and I set my wits to work zealously to find means by which I could use this plot to that end. But the odds against me were enough to make any one despair, and the knowledge almost appalled me.
I was not long left in doubt as to the manner of my reception at Gramberg. My cousin was waiting for me on the very threshold, and she came to meet me, her face aglow with pleasure, and her eyes beaming with the warmest of welcomes. She took my hand in both hers, and for the moment could do no more than murmur words of welcome and gladness at my return. As for me, the sweetness of her beauty, the touch of her hands in mine, and the sheer delight I felt in her presence held me tongue-tied.
Then her words burst out with a rush, and she plied me with question upon question about my news, my doings in Munich, what was to happen, and a thousand other things, until I caught von Krugen's dark eyes—he had met me at the station and was standing by me now—fixed upon her in shrewd speculation.
"I could not hold back my impatience a minute longer, cousin Hans," she said at length, with a smile. "Although my good aunt Gratz would have had me wait upstairs in my rooms until you would find it convenient to see me. You will forgive me for this unceremonious assault?"
I would have loved to tell her what I really thought about it; but I put a curb on any such madness by reflecting that her anxiety had nothing in it personal to myself.
"It would take so long in the telling," I answered. "I can scarcely tell it to you here."
A look of regret and surprise dashed her face for the moment, and she withdrew her hands from mine and bit her lips.