Trusia Part 23

"What are you driving at?"

"It's this wye, sir," said his whilom chauffeur, taking grace of words.

"You know we struck this plyce yesterday. Feelin' out o' plyce among them furrin-speakin' Krovitzers I hiked down to the Russian guard mount."

"You mean that you understood Russian better than the native language?"

"Not that, sir, but I knew I would feel more at 'ome there than I would with the big bugs. When I got there the band was a plyin' over at the side o' the square, the flags was aflyin', and blyme me if something didn't stick in my throat, thinkin' of old times, sir." His eyes grew soft at the recollections evoked. "When it came time for 'Sergeants front and centre' I got to thinkin' how old Sarge Judson used to stalk up as proud as Colonel Wood himself. I 'ad to rub my bloomin' eyes, for large as life, there was Doc Judson with all them whiskered chaps."

"Surely, Carrick," interrupted the astonished Carter, "you must be mistaken. You don't mean Sergeant Judson of the First Volunteer Cavalry?"

"The syme, sir. When they countermarched back to barracks I saw 'im again. That was fine, sir," said the fellow enthusiastically. "Quite like old times, sir. Right 'and grippin' the piece; left 'and swingin'

free. Swingin' along, swingin', swingin', swingin' to the music o' the band. When a fellow who is out of it has been in the service, 'e feels bloomin' soft when 'e sees the fours sweep by 'im. I wanted to cheer and swing me bloomin' cap just to keep from blubberin'. Then, right guide of his four, come Judson. Six paces awye he saw me. He turned white, then red, but like the good soldier 'e was, 'e never let it spoil 'is cadence. 'E tipped me the wink and pa.s.sed by. I waited. Presently 'e came back. 'Are you with the gang at the castle?' 'e arsked. I said I was. 'Cut it, Bull, and run,' 'e said. They used to call me John Bull, you know. Then 'e added slow as if 'e was not sure 'e 'ad the right to tell--'I'm on to their game. To-morrow mornin' I'm goin' to squeal on 'em to the commandant. That'll give you plenty o' time for you to get awye. For old times' syke, Bull,' 'e said as 'e gripped my 'and."

Then Carrick went on to narrate how Judson had told him that a fellow named Johann, who had broken jail, had just that morning drifted into the guardhouse where the sergeant had the relief. He had promised Judson if given twenty-four hours' start he would disclose a big game of treason. Judson promised, and the fellow,--none other than the pent-browed peasant,--had related all he knew of the Krovitzers' plans.

Carrick confessed to some trepidation when he had heard that so much was known outside their own party. But he had stood his guns manfully and refused to fly. He gave as his reason his loyalty to Calvert Carter.

When Judson learned that his old captain was walking straight into the impending peril he was greatly surprised, but promised to take care of him or forfeit his life. Carrick by way of reply had innocently inquired who was sergeant of relief that night.

"'E was wise, though," said Carrick with a laugh. "'E looked at me suspiciously. 'I am,' 'e said with a jerk; 'why?'

"'Better 'ave ball cartridges,' I says, 'I'm goin' to give you a surprise. That's a fair warnin' for a fair warnin', Doc,' I said. 'E showed 'e was worried. 'E begged me not to do it, sayin' that they'd 'ave ball cartridges an' reinforcements a-plenty to-morrow, which is to-day, sir. I knew by that that they were shy at that time, sir. I found out that their strength was only 'arf a battalion. We sprung our surprise last night, sir, overpowered the sentries and took the bloomin'

town."

"It will surely be traced to Judson, Carrick. You know what that means for him. I hope the poor fellow made his escape before they had the chance of standing him up against the wall. Did you see him again?"

Carrick's mobile face took on an unaccustomed gravity.

"Once," he answered with some effort. "Don't worry, sir, the Russians won't bother _him_. You see," he hurried on with obvious haste, "we sneaked on each sentry until we came to Number One Post. It was near the gates--connected by phone and electric light wires with the barracks."

"How did you manage?"

"Cut the bloomin' wires."

"Didn't the guard rush out?"

"They did, sir. Couldn't find their pieces in the dark. They rushed right into the arms of the two companies Colonel Sutphen had there waiting for them. Only one, a sergeant, 'ad grit enough to fight. 'E picked me out, sir. Rushed me with 'is sword and gave me all I could do," said Carrick giving gallant tribute to a valiant foe. The c.o.c.kney became silent.

"Well?" inquired Carter after a prolonged season of expectancy.

"The old trick you taught me in E Troop did for 'im, sir. As 'e fell, 'e said, 'Bull, you are a d.a.m.ned rascal,' and laughed as if the joke was on 'im. 'I'm done for, Bull,' 'e went on, 'but I'd rather die this wye in a fair fight with a friend, than blindfold against the wall for a traitor.

Take care o' Cap Carter, 'e said. Then 'e croaked."

"Judson," cried Carter regretfully at the death of a brave man.

"Judson, of old E Troop," replied Carrick solemnly. "We sounded taps over 'im this mornin', sir."

XX

A SOUND AT MIDNIGHT

Two days later a royal banquet followed by a cotillion celebrated the coming of the King. The monarch was in the white uniform of a Field Marshal, above which his handsome face rose in striking contrast. His collar, heavy with gold embroidery, seemed held in place by the Star of the Lion. At his right hand sat Trusia, resplendent and warmly human, while flanking him on the left was the grizzled Sutphen. Carter's place as an aide was far down the side of the table. Only by leaning forward, and glancing past those intervening, could he get a glimpse of the marvelous woman, who, young as she was, had made this event a possibility.

Sallies, laughter, repartee came floating down to him. A momentary pang of envy shot through him that the royal party, which to him meant Trusia, should be in such high feather. Owing to his remoteness it was impossible for him to partic.i.p.ate in their mirth, so he resigned himself to the duty of entertaining the daughter of an elderly n.o.bleman who was under his escort.

"And you," he said, "you, too, are delighted with the das.h.i.+ng King.

Confess."

"I am afraid," she laughed back, "that all girls, even in America, dream what their ideal king should be."

"Your s.e.x's ideal man?" he inquired quizzically.

"Oh, no, monsieur," she replied with grave, wide eyes. "Our ideal man is only a prince."

"Then your ideal king must be something more than a man," he said in soberer mood as she unfolded to him the working of a maiden mind, which is always awe-inspiring.

"Yes," she responded, "something less than a G.o.d."

"And the maidens of Krovitch, what have they dreamed?"

She glanced up to see if his expression matched the apparent gravity of his words. Rea.s.sured by the entire absence of banter in his face, she answered him sincerely. She was too guileless to a.n.a.lyze his possible mental att.i.tude save by these superficial indications. "A demiG.o.d like our ancient sovereign, Stovik First," she responded reverently.

"So you have deified His Majesty already?"

"G.o.d save His Majesty from ill," she answered, "but I think he is very human--and handsome." She blushed uneasily. A merry peal of laughter from the group about the King drew their attention. Leaning her elbow on the cloth, the girl turned her head to learn the cause of the hilarity.

Carter, thankful for the opportunity, employed the pause in studying Trusia. The d.u.c.h.ess's eyes were sparkling like some l.u.s.trous jet. The deep flush of the jacqueminot burned in her cheeks as she smilingly regarded Natalie, the heroine of the jest. Was all this scintillation a mask, he wondered, or had the coming of the King--the remembrance of her vow--driven the recollection of that momentary surrender in Paris from her heart? He sighed. The girl next him turned in apology.

"Forgive me, monsieur, for forgetting you. But Her Grace--is she not beautiful? When she makes us girls forget, is it any wonder the youths of Krovitch are oblivious of our poor existence?"

"She has had many suitors, then?" Carter to save him could not refrain from the question.

"A legion," she answered; "but all have withdrawn n.o.bly in favor of the King. Even Paul Zulka and Major Sobieska. They are transferring to him their lives and their swords to please her."

A slight commotion at the head of the table again caused them to turn their heads in that direction. The King was rising.

"He is going to announce his betrothal," suggested the girl at Carter's side. Carter's face grew grim and white. But such was not the royal intent. Being a.s.sured that all present understood French, King Stovik in a short speech thanked the people of Krovitch for their devotion to his House. He promised that, if destiny placed him on their throne, he would treat his power as a trust for them.

"For this day at least we give ourselves over to the joy of meeting you.

To-morrow comes the fearful care of kings. You have labored faithfully, to-night be merry," he said in conclusion. He lifted a bubbling gla.s.s from the table. "Our battle cry, my lords, is 'G.o.d and Krovitch.'"

There was an hysteric outburst. Men and women leaped to their feet to drain the toast. When the King regained his seat the cheers subsided.

Slowly, impressively Trusia arose at his side, the light of inspiration radiating from her glorious self like the warm light that comes from the sun.

"There can be only one other toast after that, my people," she said.

"G.o.d save the King." Like a real prayer, solemn and soul-felt, arose a responsive, "G.o.d save the King." Then deliberately, that the gla.s.ses might never be profaned with a less loyal toast, the guests snapped the fragile stems between their fingers and cast the dainty bowls to the floor in tinkling fragments.

At a signal from Stovik the banquet was over. He arose, and, taking Trusia by the hand, escorted her to the great hall to lead the cotillion with him. The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their King.