The Second Promenade

Again the sun rose clear and bright, and again, having dispelled the mist and chill of the early morning, it lured forth for the inevitable promenade such of the sojourners at Weet-sur-Mer as had managed to get to bed before dawn. Prince Markeld, descending with the earliest, left nothing this time to chance, but took his station at the stairfoot, and waited there with a patience really exemplary. From which it will be seen that Princes in love are much as other men.

And presently, descending toward him, he descried the Misses Rushford; Susie radiant as the morning, Nell a trifle paler than her wont, but more beautiful, if anything, because of it. The Prince hastened forward to greet them.

"Which way shall we go?" he asked, with the comfortable certainty of including himself in their plans. "Good-morning," he added, to the occupant of an invalid chair which was standing just outside the door.

"Good-morning," replied Lord Vernon, his eyes on Nell's. "My outing yesterday was such a pleasant one that I was hoping it might be repeated."

"Going or coming?" queried Sue, with a quizzical curve of the lips.

"Both ways," answered Vernon, promptly; but his eyes were still on Nell.

Markeld also looked excellently satisfied.

"Very well," he said, in his autocratic way, "we will proceed as we did yesterday," and he led Susie away. Strange to relate, she followed quite meekly. Somehow, when the moment came, it seemed exceedingly difficult to snub him.

"Do you know," he was saying, "I fell quite in love with your father last night. His point of view is so fresh and so full of humour. Though," he added, "I must confess that sometimes I did not entirely understand him."

"Didn't you?" laughed Susie. "Dad does use a good deal of slang. It's an American failing."

"So I have heard. I know my aunt will like him, too—the Dowager Duchess of Markheim, you know."

"No," said Sue, a little faintly, "I didn't know." She had never before considered the possibility of the Prince having any women relatives; her heart fell as she thought what dreadful creatures they would probably prove to be.

"My aunt is the head of the family," explained the Prince, calmly, unconscious of his companion's perturbation. "She rules us with a rod of iron. But you will like her and I know she will like you. She adores anything with fire in it."

"Oh," said Susie, to herself, "and how does he know I've any fire in me?" But she judged it wisest not to utter the question aloud.

"She worships spirit," added the Prince. "She is very fond of quoting a line of your poet, Browning. 'What have I on earth to do,' she will demand, 'with the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?' Sometimes, I fear, she aims the adjectives at me."

Susie felt her heart softening, for she liked that line, too.

"I don't believe you deserve the adjectives,'' she said.

"Do you not?" he asked, eagerly, with brightened eyes.

"And I should like to meet your aunt," she continued, hastily.

"So you shall, most certainly," he assented, instantly. "As soon as it can be arranged."

"Oh, does it have to be arranged?" inquired Susie, in some dismay.

"Not in that sense—she is very democratic—she likes people for what they are. But until this question of the succession is concluded you will readily understand that, through anxiety, she is not in the best of humours—not quite herself."

"Is she, then, here?" asked Susie.

"Here? Oh, no; she is at Markheim—at the post of duty. That is another reason—until this affair is settled, I cannot ask her to join me here."

"You will ask her to do that?"

"Certainly; she can stop here very well on her way to Ostend. She would be at Ostend now but for this affair. Perhaps that is another reason why she is ill-humoured. She is so fond of life and gaiety, and in summer Markheim is rather dull. Besides, there is the tradition to maintain."

"How do you know that she is in an ill-humour," questioned Sue, "if you have not seen her?"

"Oh, she writes to me—I had a letter from her this morning. I can see she is not well-pleased—quite the opposite, in fact!—at the way things are going."

"And how are they going?"

"They seem to be going against us," said the Prince, with a touch of bitterness.

"But how can they be? I thought things were at a stand-still until
Lord Vernon got—got well enough to take them up again."

"So did I—that is what one would naturally suppose. Yet it seems that an undercurrent has set in against us. I fear that I made a mistake," he added, gloomily, "in agreeing with Lord Vernon not to proceed further for a week, though, under the circumstances, I could scarcely refuse. He seems well enough," and he glanced around, "to hear what I have to say."

"He is well enough!" cried Sue, indignantly; and certainly at that moment, talking eagerly to Nell, that gentleman appeared quite the reverse of an invalid. "I will speak to him—I am under no promise—I believe—"

She stopped, fearing that she might say too much—after all, she could not betray Lord Vernon; she could only appeal to him, warn him.

"Yes?" her companion encouraged her, his eyes on her face.

"I believe that I can help you," she concluded, a little lamely. "I want to help—the people. Of course, we Americans believe that a people ought to choose their own rulers—but where that isn't possible, the next best thing is to give them the best available. I should be proud to help do that!"

"But you are taking my word for it," he protested. "You ought to hear the other side. Perhaps they might convince you—"

"No, they wouldn't!" cried Susie. "Your word is all I need; you've explained things so clearly."

"Thank you," he said, in a vibrant voice, still looking at her.

"Besides," she added, with a glance upward, "dad agrees with you, and
I've a great deal of faith in dad."

"I shall be very glad of your help on any terms," he said, refusing to be cast down.

"And you will tell me if anything unexpected happens? I may be able to help you more than you think."

"Yes," he promised, "I will tell you the moment I have any news."

"You haven't any real news—about the undercurrent, I mean? You don't really know—"

"No; it is just in the air; I do not know where the rumours come from, but my aunt has heard them also. There is a vague impression that we are losing."

"But you shan't lose!" cried Susie. "You shan't lose; not even if I have to—to—"

"Not even if you have to—?" prompted the Prince, eagerly, as she stammered and stopped.

"To play my trump card," she finished, with a little unsteady laugh.
"Don't ask me what it is, but it's a good one!"

* * * * *

Meanwhile, as she walked beside the invalid chair, Nell was making her confession.

"Lord Vernon," she began, in a low voice, "for a time last night, I feared that I had utterly ruined your cause."

He glanced up at her quickly.

"In what way?" he asked.

"You remember the note you wrote m—us the first day?"

"Perfectly," he answered, noting the stammer, and understanding it, with a quick leap of the heart.

"I should, no doubt, have destroyed it at once, but I thought it would be perfectly safe in my desk."

"And it was stolen? No matter, Miss Rushford. It isn't worth worrying about. I'm sick of the whole affair, anyway—I shall rather welcome the catastrophe. You've lost sleep over it," he continued, looking at her keenly. "It has made you almost ill! I shall never forgive myself!"

"Thank you," she said, softly, her lips trembling, her eyes very bright. "It is beautiful of you to be so generous. But fortunately the note was not stolen. I found it afterwards among some note-paper, where it had somehow found its way."

"And you destroyed it?"

"No," she said, and took it from her bosom. "I thought I would better restore it to you, so that you yourself could destroy it. Here it is," and she held it out to him with fingers not wholly steady.

He took it, his eyes still on her face.

"It has caused us enough trouble," he said, and made as though to tear it into bits.

But Nell laid her hand upon his arm.

"Without looking at it?" she protested.

"You are right," he agreed, and opened it and glanced at the contents.

His hands were trembling slightly as he folded it again.

"On second thought," he said, and there was a certain thickness in the words which Nell was too agitated to notice, "I believe that I shall keep it. It is the only souvenir I have, you know, of our first meeting."

And he smiled up at her—such a smile as MeÏamoun must have bent upon
Cleopatra as he drained the poisoned cup.