THE express for Ostend was punctual to the minute, and John ensconced himself in the luxurious seat of his compartment, glad to be alone with his thoughts, alone for the first time in many weeks. As he took a mental survey of what had happened in the past three weeks, it seemed to him as if he had lately lost his identity. Instead of John Randolph Morton, he had been some soldier of fortune. It was indeed time he came back to himself, for the latest advice from home had been very disquieting. His father had been badly shaken in an elevator accident and, although no bones were broken, yet coming on a previous illness, his condition might, any day, be serious.

He blamed himself for his absence, thinking that the accident, perhaps, might not have occurred had he gone with his father on that trip to the western mines. Then he remembered that it would have been impossible for him to get to New York from Brindisi until three days after the accident, and felt relieved.

Brindisi? Ah, yes— Where was the Count? He was afraid the old man was no better or he would have sent word. “I shall not see you again, my son,” he had said on parting. Were the words to be prophetic? If he should die, what would become of HelÈne? Who would take care of her? Who will take care of her? He repeated the question so often that he suddenly found the clicking of the train’s wheels over the rail-joints keeping time to them. Who will take care of her? Who will take care of her? It was as if they were reminding him of the greater duty he had left unfulfilled—the duty he owed to his own heart’s promptings.

Why had he not taken her with him? She would have been so tenderly cared for by his mother and by sister Ruth. And he had left her—with no friends to protect her, with no one near to whom she could turn in her loneliness or distress!

And what if her father died? Who would tell her the sad news? How would she be able to bear up should she hear of it in the cold words of a telegram? Thank heaven, he had Tyler to help him. He would provide for that, at any rate.

Should he write to her from London and offer her his heart and hand? He began thinking of the possible outcome of such an action on his part. If he did write, was there not the danger that she might refuse him without her father’s consent? And suppose he heard in the meantime that Count Rondell was dead, how could he dare to plead his own cause at a time of such distress? Surely her heart and mind would be closed to him, then! What a quandary he was in!

Thinking thus, he lost himself in a tangle of his own weaving. It seemed as if he were beset by worry and anxiety from all sides. Look which way he would, he found illness, trouble and portending disaster there. Of what value to him his wealth and education in this present predicament? He was up against it, as he put it to himself.

What had Tyler, his father’s old friend and experienced man of the world, what had he said to him? “Never forget, my boy, that not one of us can escape the rules of life as the world lays them down. The very restraint of the conditions is salutary, aye, even for the freedom of choice we occasionally must exercise. Our rights would cease to be rights were it not at the price of the corresponding duties. If a man thinks he can cheat life—evade the rules—he’ll find he is only cheating himself.”

Duties? Ah, yes, Tyler was right. His duty must come first—and he owed that to his father and to his anxious mother. If the Comtesse HelÈne could not bear up before that test—why—he must lose her. He rose excitedly and raised the window. The night air rushing in cooled his hot head. He stood for some moments breathing in deep gulps of it as if it were allaying a great thirst, staring stonily into the darkness.

By God, no! He would never lose her. The window closed with a crash and he threw himself once more on the cushions. Never, for an instant, would he doubt her. It was up to him—everything was up to him. He must be a man—or he was not deserving of her. And she, oh, she was worth the winning! Thus determined, he slept heavily and awoke the next morning to the refreshing sounds of the Bavarian country life.

All journeys have an end and in time Morton arrived at the Hotel Cecil in London. Here he found his mail awaiting him. A cable from home confirmed the one he had received in Vienna. They were glad he was soon to sail. His father’s condition remained unchanged. The telegram from Brindisi from the doctor was a shock. It read: “Our friend died on November twelfth, conscious to the last, of acute uremia and heart failure. Body in vault. Property all sealed, your agent in possession. Wire or write further instructions. Detailed letter mailed you Mont Cenis mail, reach you seventeenth.”

Morton held the flimsy paper in his hand scarcely believing what he had read. It had come at last. He expected it and yet it shocked him deeply. Well, he must be up and doing quickly.

The wire from Donald told him that the ladies were leaving for Weimar that day. Mr. Tyler was with them and everything had been satisfactorily arranged; he had received no news from Brindisi.

He also opened a note from his friend Stillman which said that he would call on him at nine that evening.

Morton looked at the clock; he had just forty minutes before Stillman was due.

It was absolutely necessary that some person should convey the sad tidings to the poor girl. Tyler was the man, of course; there was time to wire him asking him to wait for a letter. He rang for a messenger and sent off the following telegram: “Please wait at Weimar for my letter mailed you via Oriental Express. What we anticipated has happened. Rondell is dead. Say nothing to the Comtesse HelÈne until you receive my letter.”

Morton was putting the finishing touches to a hasty toilet when his friend Stillman was announced.

“Hello, Jack!”

“How do, Harry!”

The two exchanged cordial and prolonged handshakes.

“Well, upon my soul, Jack, old man, you’ve not changed nearly as much as I expected. You look perfectly civilized. Where have you been and why are you leaving us so quickly? We surely will have a couple of days together, eh? How’s the governor and Mrs. Morton? What do you hear from Ruth?”

“My dear Harry, you are asking for my biography. I came here from Egypt and I must leave to-morrow for home because father has had a serious accident in a mine elevator. Mother and Ruth report being well. Are you satisfied, now? I suppose you are still on deck at the Embassy? But you look fine—quite like a Britisher. Still the same old Harry, though, eh?”

“The same, I guess. Same job, too,—a bit closer to the chief, perhaps, and a bit of raise in the salary. But, say, I’m awful glad to see you. Have you dined?”

“No, I was hoping you would be free so that we could go out together. I wanted to see you about presenting some reports I have made to the British Colonial Office. I haven’t much time, as I tell you, and, perhaps, I may not be able to manage it this time. But you’ll come and eat with me first. How will the Red Room below suit you? You see, I’m not in evening clothes and I know you fellows of the Diplomatic Corps are sticklers on that score. Will you take a chance with me?”

“Who wouldn’t with John R. Morton, my dear boy. You’re above clothes. The ‘Red Room’ is all right; but why not come up to my club, the Hoarders? They serve a bully good dinner there and you may meet some of our fellows. I expect the Chief may drop in after ten and, I am sure, he wouldn’t want to miss you while you’re in town. How does that strike you?”

“It suits me down to the ground.”

“Then come right along, old man.”

As they were passing the clerk’s desk, Morton turned to his friend and excusing himself for a moment, left with the clerk the address of the club where he could be found in case a message came for him.

“Lady, eh, Jack?”

“No such luck. Speaking of ladies, Harry, how do you manage to escape all the beautiful English girls—not to mention the beauties from our own land? I should think they’d be glad to bag a Secretary of the American Legation.”

“A prophet, my boy, is not without honor save in his own country. Our girls take no stock in Secretaries of the Legation; and as for the English girls they’ve enough Secretaries to choose from of their own. We’re all of us only cogs in a big wheel.”

They stepped out of the hansom and entered the splendid home of the Hoarders. John enjoyed the novelty of the place—its refined atmosphere appealed to him. The dinner was excellent and excellently served. It was his first real taste of civilization in two years. The two friends chatted and gossiped over old times and new. John was treated to a good deal of politics and not a few instances of the Chief’s peculiarities. Evidently, it was not all beer and skittles at the Legation. He was not much interested really, though he gave Stillman the politest attention and sympathy. But he could not put out of his mind the many matters which just then were weighing heavily on him. The very brilliancy of the room with its coruscating crystals and heavy crimson and gold draperies served but to accentuate the difference between his own present situation and that of the dear girl he had left alone and friendless. He would write that letter to Tyler immediately he got back to the hotel.

They were about to retire to the lounging room when a servant came up to Stillman and handed him a note on a salver. Stillman read it with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I say, Jack, what does this mean? There are several newspaper fellows in the hall who want to interview you. They learned at the hotel that you were here and have come in a body? I didn’t know you were a celebrity of that kind. What’s the game?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose I’d better see them and find out. Can they come up to the reading-room?”

Stillman turned to the waiting servant and told him to bring the gentlemen into the reading-room—the small one, he added.

When they entered the room they found awaiting them four gentlemen of various ages who introduced themselves as representatives of the Associated Press, the Times, the New York Herald and the Sphere, respectively. Their spokesman, a Mr. Worcester, begged permission to explain their seeming intrusion. Morton nodded his willingness to listen.

“Mr. Morton,” he began briskly, “we have been advised of the arrival in Vienna of Her Royal Highness Princess Marie-Louise of Roumelia and her Lady-in-Waiting, the Comtesse HelÈne Rondell. We have been given to understand that you escorted the ladies over the border, or, in other words, that you rescued them from the castle in which they had been confined. Are we correct in our information?”

John was both astonished and chagrined. Who on earth had spread the news? It never occurred to him that any publicity would follow his adventure. Confound these newspaper fellows! However, he knew the class well from past experience and also that it would be better if he told them the facts himself rather than leave them to their imaginations. Assuming a friendly and frank manner, he smiled and said:

“Why, gentlemen, I shall be very glad to tell you all I know. Pray, be seated. Harry, will you be good enough to order some drinks and cigars for the gentlemen?”

He was gaining time and doing some quick and hard thinking as well. “Now, Mr. Worcester, go ahead with your questions so that I may know what you want me to tell you.”

“Would it not be better, Mr. Morton, if you told us the story in your own way?” Evidently, Mr. Worcester was no tyro at the game. “We shall ask questions and, perhaps, more than you care to answer, after we have had your story?”

The waiter came in with the refreshments and by the time glasses were filled and cigars lit, John was ready for them.

“There is not much to tell,” he remarked in a tone of admirably assumed regret. “So, I think, you’d get more out of me if you put your questions first.”

“As you wish, Mr. Morton. Reuter’s report the arrival of the two ladies at the Bristol in Vienna. They came to the city accompanied by you and your man. The report says further that they were left in charge of Mr. Gordon S. Tyler, the American Minister to Germany. Mr. Tyler denies any knowledge as to how the ladies got out of Roumelia, nor does he give any other information except that he is escorting them to their friends in Germany. He refused permission to have the ladies interviewed. We had heard, of course, all kinds of rumors from Sophia and Belgrade, but nothing in which we could place any confidence. The papers have been full of the escape during the past few days, but gave no details. That is what we are here for now.”

John had made up his mind. He would tell the story or some simple, plausible tale that would satisfy the papers so that they would leave the rest alone.

“Well, gentlemen, if you will have it, here it is—all I know. My friend, Count Rondell, shortly after I arrived in Italy on my return from Egypt, asked me to assist him in getting his daughter to him. He gave me full instructions, provided me with the necessary guides and equipment and led me to a place close to the Roumelian border where we remained in hiding. When all was ready, one stormy night, we entered a small town,—you will pardon me if I do not give its name—and took the ladies away in a closed carriage. The ladies had been prepared for our arrival, so that there was little or no delay. We managed to elude the officials and guards and, after crossing the border, arrived at a railway station where we took the train for Vienna. The rest you seem to know.”

“Were you acquainted with the ladies before you undertook to assist Count Rondell?”

“Not at all. I am sure my fame never reached the Princess’s ears. I had neither time nor opportunity to see much of them on the journey and I question if they know even my name. To them I was simply the man in charge of the expedition.”

John sipped his brandy and soda and puffed calmly at his cigar as he looked his interlocutor steadily in his face.

“Of course,” he added, smiling, “I am happy and proud to have succeeded. It was certainly exciting driving over those hills. But Count Rondell had seen to everything and there wasn’t a hitch. Will you have another glass, gentlemen?”

“May I inquire what you are going to do now?”

“Oh, I am sailing for home on the Umbria from Liverpool on Saturday morning. I haven’t seen my people for two years. What I shall do when I get there is hard to say.”

“May I be permitted to ask a question?” The voice came from a young, red-haired dapper little fellow with an upturned nose on which were placed thick eye-glasses.

“Certainly, Mr. Witherspoon.”“You must have driven at a break-neck speed. Were the ladies frightened?”

John smiled at the inanity of the question. “I was hardly in a position to know. As you say, we rode fast and I sat with the driver, so there was not much opportunity for conversation. The only occasion for talk was when we took the train for Vienna.”

“How did the Princess appear to you, Mr. Morton?” Mr. Witherspoon was insistent.

“The Princess appears to be a very noble and serious-minded young woman. Perhaps I am wrong in using the word woman—she looked so young.”

“The Almanach de Gotha gives her age as nineteen.”

“Well, the Almanach de Gotha ought to know—the poor thing does not look it.”

“Were the ladies surprised to find that their rescuer was no other than the son of the richest living American?”

John rose in all his dignity. The pup was getting unbearable with his impertinent questions. But he kept himself well in restraint.

“I think, Mr. Witherspoon, you heard me say that the ladies knew nothing about me. There was no occasion when it was at all necessary for them to know who or what I was. As I have already said, they knew me only as Count Rondell’s deputy—they obeyed his instructions as I did. I think, gentlemen, that will be all.”

The reporters rose quickly and withdrew as quickly.

It was late when Morton got back to his hotel and he was very tired. He would write his letter to Tyler to-morrow, and by that time he would most likely hear from the Brindisi doctor, and then he would know better what to say.

Early next morning he received a telegram from Tyler, who expressed his willingness to remain over in Weimar and act on John’s letter when it should reach him. Somewhat later in the day the French mail brought him the anxiously expected letter from Brindisi. It was more of a physician’s report than a letter, and was written in a dry, professional style. Count Rondell had rallied a little two days after landing. He constantly inquired for letters which he was expecting. On the fourth day, he received a letter which made him very happy. He was much better that day. Then he began to fail again. His heart became so weak that it was deemed advisable to call in a specialist from Rome. This was done, but he proved of no help. For two days the Count remained in a comatose condition. On Tuesday morning, he rallied somewhat. When the message from Hermanstadt arrived he had it read to him. The news seemed to make him very happy and he murmured words of prayer. He dozed off in the afternoon, awoke in the evening and dictated a few sentences which the nurse wrote down. Soon after he sank slowly and expired towards midnight. The report went on to say that Mr. Morton’s agent was in possession of all the papers and personal property of the deceased gentleman as well as such letters he had written or dictated while in Brindisi. Mr. Morton’s agent had discharged liberally all the costs, for which the writer begged to thank him herewith.

Another letter, one from Morton’s agent, confirmed the doctor’s report. He now had all the information for which he had been waiting. Sitting down immediately, he wrote his letter to Tyler at Weimar:

“My dear Mr. Tyler:

“I have your wire advising that you will await in Weimar the arrival of this letter. Thank you for this most heartily.

“I enclose herewith letter of Dr. —— of Brindisi which gives the details of Count Rondell’s death. I have wired my agents in Rome to forward promptly all letters and papers left by Count R. to you and to hold other personal property at the order of yourself or the Countess.

“As, perhaps, you are aware, my dear Mr. Tyler, my interest in Comtesse HelÈne is very deep and sincere. I want you to be the person to tell her of her sad loss. You will know how to soften the blow. She will need all her courage and the help of a good friend in this hour of her sorrow.

“I would give a great deal were it possible for me to be there to protect and comfort her; but my duty calls me home. I have received another cable confirming the earlier one and I fear I must be prepared for the worst.

“Please advise the Comtesse in all things; you will know best what and how. It would be best if the money left by her father were to be deposited in an ordinary checking account to her order. The Comtesse is a minor and you must avoid a guardianship. She is a foreign subject and it would lead to complications and red tape. She will do what you suggest, I am confident. Don’t allow her to act on her own initiative, and urge her to keep her affairs to herself. The German laws are tedious—but you know all about that!

“I shall be back in Europe right after New Year, I think, and will then take occasion to thank you in person for your splendid friendship. Father will, I hope, perhaps be also able to thank you for having done this for his son.

“Once more assuring you of my deepest appreciation and hoping to see you soon, I am,

“Yours very sincerely,

“Morton.”

The letter written, John felt greatly relieved. But he had other tasks before him—one, the most difficult of all—his letter to HelÈne herself. She had never, for one moment, been out of his thoughts since he left her in Vienna. He dared not put it off any longer, especially now when she would need the heartfelt sympathy of a dear friend.

“My dear Comtesse Rondell:

“My friend, Mr. Tyler, whom I trust you will permit to be your friend also, has, no doubt, told you of your loss and of the calm and happy last hours of your beloved father.“He will also have let you know that my dispatch telling your father that you were well and safe in Transylvania had reached him when perfectly conscious. His mind had been freed from worry about your welfare. He died with a smile upon his lips, whispering a blessing.

“In this sad hour of your bereavement, I, a friend of but recent date, should perhaps not presume to dwell upon it. But I remember that I was probably the last man to whom your father spoke freely; and it is the honor he did me by his confidence that moves me to write to you now.

“I dared not tell you, but we both knew, even before our arrival in Italy, that the days remaining to him were few, and that he despaired of seeing you again. He made me promise to look after you, his most beloved in this world. He was afraid you would be left friendless. You know now, perhaps, that I am happy and proud to have this privilege.

“My own dear father is in serious condition and I fear that before long, I, too, shall lose a parent. The information I have received in another cable makes it imperative for me to sail to-morrow for America. But for this duty which I owe to my mother and father—nothing would have prevented me from returning to Weimar and telling you the sad tidings myself. Mr. Tyler, for whom I beg your full confidence, is a most honorable and experienced gentleman. His official position puts him where he may well be able to lighten the terrible burden which has now fallen upon your young life.

“It may be presumptuous on my part, but I would remind you again of our last interview in Vienna. I beg of you not to take any important step in your life until I can present myself once more before you.

“May God bless you, and soften the heavy blow that has come to you now. May He in His great goodness and wisdom guide your thoughts and give you the strength you need.

“Rest assured, dear lady, that I shall be ever ready to devote myself, if you and the kind fates permit, to your happiness. With my highest regard and my most fervent hope that you will still permit me to be your sincere friend and servant, I am, in deepest sympathy and devotion,

“Yours most sincerely,

“John Randolph Morton.”

He enclosed this letter in one he had written to Don, because he wished HelÈne to read it after Tyler had seen her. He then drove to the Post-office and despatched the letters himself.

The rest of the afternoon he spent in making various calls on officials and agents, and by midnight he was on the train rushing to Liverpool where early the next morning he boarded the steamer which was to carry him home—home at last!