Count Rondell came to a stop at his desk and, laying his hands upon the back of the chair, said quietly:
“Mr. Morton, I am a doomed man. The doctor tells me I have, at best, but a very little while to live—and I feel he is right. I would not hesitate an instant to do what is my duty—but I know I cannot. My weak body will not obey my will. You are young, strong and resourceful. God has led you to this boat, led you to me in my hour of great need. Mr. Morton, I ask you, in the name of humanity, to rescue the girl from the fury of an insane populace—from the nameless horror that might be her fate—I ask you, my friend, to take my place and bring this girl safely out of Roumelia!”
He waved aside Morton’s protesting gesture and continued with deep emotion but with impressive dignity:
“Pray—my dear sir—do not answer me now. Take it under consideration. In an hour, two hours if you wish, let me know your decision. Do not act on the spur of the moment.”
Morton could hardly restrain himself. He felt he could not wait. Rising nervously, he exclaimed, his voice filled with indignation:
“Count Rondell, this is not fair! Why do you come to me, a stranger, with so impossible, so absurd a proposition? What right have you to unload your burden upon a chance acquaintance and put the blame of a possible fearful fate of a young girl at my door—my door of all men? What do I know of kings and princes? What do I care? Why do you come to me with this? Much as I esteem you—much as I feel for you in your sorrow——”
The Count drew himself up proudly and placed his hand firmly upon Morton’s shoulder.
“I have asked myself those same questions many times during the last two hours, when I was seeking for a solution, looking for a ray of hope in my despair. I came to you, sir, because I must do all that I can do—and there is not a soul to whom I can appeal or who can do what I ask, but you! I can hold out no inducements to you. I know not if glory or money means anything to you. Honors I cannot offer, for I have fallen from my proud position by the very events that have brought me pleading to you. Riches I have none—my property has been confiscated. I am a ruined man. I have some forty thousand francs with me—the money is at your disposal to cover your expenditures for the labors I am praying you to undertake. Why do I come to you? Because you are the last resource and the only hope left me; because I would do anything and everything to save this girl and——”
Morton was about to interrupt, but the old man, trembling violently, collapsed in his seat. Recovering himself slowly he reached for the large portfolio and opening it, slowly and almost mechanically fingered and folded the papers within it.
Morton watched him, stern and wide-eyed, resolved to remain calm and patient.