I did as he wished, then drove off for Asta. In less than half an hour mother and father were kissing with tears of joy the daughter whose tragic fate they had mourned with such bitter sorrow.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE LAST MEETING
The days that followed were some of the happiest of my life. There was, as may be imagined, more than ordinary delight in having been the instrument of that marvellous change from sorrow to joy, and such joy, the like of which it has been few men’s luck to witness. Then came the happiness of my betrothal, and the sunny days seemed to glide by with scarcely a cloud on our horizon. And, as though everything conspired to complete our happiness, one that did seem in our graver moments to threaten, was suddenly dispersed. One morning I saw in an Italian newspaper a paragraph to the effect that the Count von Rallenstein had on the previous day been seized with a paralytic stroke, and that the famous Chancellor’s state of health gave occasion for considerable anxiety.
Under the circumstances we could hardly pretend to take as anything but good fortune the news that the ruthless, vindictive autocrat’s power for harm was practically at an end. From Von Lindheim, now safe in Paris, I had received news; the end of the Chancellor’s reign would make all the difference to him; for, however matters might have otherwise changed (as by the failure of Rallenstein’s marriage scheme), he would never have dared to risk a return to his native country under the old régime. I sent the good news to my friend, with a suggestion that he should join us at Verona. Strode, now well again, was expected; naturally Asta’s parents were most anxious to make his acquaintance and thank him personally for the indispensable part he had taken in the rescue. We were going to be a very happy and merry party; but the night before our friend’s arrival a startling event happened which showed me on the brink of what an awful danger we were trifling.
That night we were invited to a rather grand reception at the Guacini Palace. Naturally the rooms were crowded, so crowded that Asta and I made our way from the crush, and finding a little room leading out of one of the salons we sat there cosily, out of touch, yet in sight of the restless crowd just beyond.
“What a change,” Asta remarked, “in my hopes, in my life, from only a few days ago. Think of me in that dismal room, a prisoner expecting every time the door opened that death would enter. Could I ever have dreamt to have seen the world again like this?”
“You must not let your mind run on that gloomy time now that it is so happily past,” I remonstrated, clasping the hand which was slid into mine. “We have now only joy to look forward to, for it shall not be my fault if the future does not compensate for all you have gone through. It is hard, but you must try, dearest, to dismiss it all as a hideous dream.”
“We are going to be so happy,” she said lovingly, “that I am sure as time goes on I shall think less of those terrible days. But can I forget them without ignoring a certain dear brave Englishman who——”