"You'd better deal with this." He handed him the lesser envelope, which had been enclosed in the other.
Ruxton took it and glanced at it. His father's eyes were watching him closely; they were twinkling.
"It is tempting, eh?"
Ruxton shook his head.
"But Vita trusts us," he said simply.
Once again Ruxton found himself looking into the wide eyes and remarkable face of Prince von Hertzwohl. With the simple courtesy which was so much a part of him, the latter had thrust his guest into the only chair his uninviting quarters afforded. For himself, he was more than content with the doubtful flock bed, with its frowsy patchwork quilt. The chair creaked under Ruxton's weight, but he said no word. He was waiting, waiting while the other read the letter he had just put into his hands.
Ruxton was disguised in a suit of clothes that left nothing to be desired. Mrs. Clark, the landlady, could have possessed no doubts as to his calling. She knew the type of mechanic too well. Von Hertzwohl was still arrayed in his work-soiled suit, which his intellectual features denied as the yellow lamp-rays fell upon them. Ruxton's outward seeming was calm, but inwardly his active thoughts were teeming. The opportunity which otherwise must have been made had been afforded him without his personal effort. He knew that the crisis in all his plans had arrived. It was for him to turn the course of affairs in his own favor, or accept almost certain defeat. So he waited, coördinating every mental force he could make available.
It was a serious, almost pathetic pair of eyes which were at last raised from the letter, which was in Vita's handwriting. There was something almost like dismay in their wide depths as they encountered the steady gaze of Ruxton's. It was a moment of grave embarrassment—but only for Von Hertzwohl. He felt like a man hunted before the gaze of the younger man's dark eyes.
But Ruxton had no desire to discompose him. His mind was clear, his course marked out. He saw with perfect understanding the only road by which he could achieve his end. The night when, in the midst of all his doubts and difficulties, he had suddenly caught a glimpse of daylight, he had realized that Vita's father sat under pledge to his daughter. The nature of that pledge was difficult to appraise definitely, but it was obviously directed towards secrecy to which he must not be admitted. His hope lay in admitting its inviolability.
"I want you to listen to me, Prince, for some moments," he began at once. "I have one or two things to put before you, simply and straightforwardly. In doing so I want you to realize my motive. I have told you, her father, of my love for Vita. That love burns as deeply in my soul for her now as it has done ever since I first met her. I want you to know that I am fighting for that love now, that I shall continue to fight for it so long as I have the power. Nothing will deter me; nothing our enemies can do, nothing Vita can say, short of a direct dismissal. This is my motive, simple and honest. I have not come here to ask you the contents of your letter from her. I do not want to know them. I have not come here to press you in any direction which your honor, your loyalty to your daughter denies. I have come here to tell you the things I know, and the things I believe, without exaggeration, and to obtain your consent to a small favor, which, in common fairness, you cannot deny me."