My Friend the Chauffeur
it before an audience as no other man I ever saw could or would. He
didn't seem to care what we thought of him, now that he was gaining his
point. But when fatty degeneration of the soul sets in, there is room
for little real pride in a man's breast.
"You will not allow yourself to be prejudiced against me?" he went on.
"Never," vowed the Countess. "No one had better try it."
"I will not try after to-night, if what I have to tell doesn't change
your mind," said Maida. "But, just this once--"
"No--no!"
"Very well then, I will say nothing except--"
"Be careful!"
"Oh," and the girl turned imploringly to me, "take us somewhere, so that
I can talk to her alone."
"There's said to be a good enough hotel in Cettinje. I'll take you both
there," I ventured.
"Come and see me early--early, Prince," said the Countess.
"Yes. But I am not 'Prince' to you now. I am 'Otto.'"
"Otto, then."
So I got them away, leaving the man behind, to his own devices, and at
the door I had the joy of wrapping Maida in my big coat. How glad I was
that I had brought it! I drove them to a hotel in the _place_ at the end
of the long main street, and when the Countess had hurried
ostentatiously off to her room, that no nefarious attempts might be made
upon her resolution. She and I stood for a moment hand in hand, in the
dim hall.
"You are mine?" I asked.
"Are you sure you want me?"
"I've been sure of that--too sure for my peace of mind since the first
day I saw your dear face--the loveliest on earth. But I never thought
to have you. I never thought that I would have a right to ask, for I'm
poor--horribly poor."
"Oh, as if that mattered!"
"I know it doesn't now, for this that's happened has given us to each
other. I'll work hard and make money. Nothing can part us--I couldn't
bear it. But it seems too good to be true. Is it possible you care for
me?"
"I think I've cared--ever since the first few days. I'd never guessed
that I would meet a man like you. But oh, I did not mean to marry _any_
man."
"I know, darling. I know what you'd planned. I lay awake nights over it,
wondering if, beggar as I was, I couldn't snatch you from that cold
future. But I shouldn't have thought I had the right if this thunder-bolt
hadn't struck me."
"As Aunt Kathryn--poor Aunt Kathryn!--is always saying, 'It must have
been meant.' I never promised that--that I would join the Sisters, you
know. I suppose this is why my father would have me go abroad when I
came of age. He was afraid I might make up my mind before I had--found
my heart."
"Have you found it now--for sure?"
"No. I--I've _lost_ it."
"Angel! But you've got mine instead. You won't mind marrying a beggar
and being a beggaress?"
The adorable creature laughed. "I shall love it," she said. There was no
one in the hall except Airole, and the shadows were asleep--so I kissed
her: and knew why I had been born. I'd often wondered, but I never will
again.
We had a fierce tussle with the Countess to prevent her stopping in
Montenegro and marrying her Prince there and then, as soon as might be.
The truth was, and she owned it, that she was afraid to face Beechy till
she had been made irrevocably a Princess. But finally we prevailed,
almost by force, and tore the poor lady from her lover, who protested
that he would follow, were it to the world's end. I believed he would,
too, for he had threatened to be the last man in Maida's world; the
Countess was now the last woman in his, and he would hold on to her and
her money as a drowning man grasps at a substantial spar.
I shall never forget that drive down from the mountain land where a King
rode to fetch a fairy bride.
At Cattaro we took the fishing boat which had carried me yesterday; and
I think the sailor-men realized, when they saw what I had brought back,
that I wasn't a madman after all.
Then the spin from Castelnuovo to Ragusa that I had taken in such a
different mood fifteen hours before. And at Ragusa, Beechy, still pale
and shaken, springing up from her sofa to meet Maida and me as we opened
the door.
Ralph sprang up too, and his chair had been drawn so close to her sofa
that the rush of her white wrapper--or whatever it was--upset it.
"Where's Mamma?" came the first question, as was natural.
"She's gone to her room, and we're to talk to you before she sees you,"
said Maida. "Oh Beechy, you must be good to her; she's miserable."
Then we told the story, preparing Beechy for her mother's decision, and
I expected hysterics. But she neither laughed nor cried. She only sat
still, looking curiously guilty and meek.
"Isn't it dreadful? But I couldn't do anything," said Maida. "He is a
wicked man--you don't know yet how wicked. He got me up to Montenegro by
a horrid pretence, and when I wouldn't promise to marry him at once he
tried arguments for about an hour, then locked the door of a room in the
house where we were because his motor broke down, and threatened to
shoot me. I don't know if he really would. Perhaps not. But anyway, Mr.
Barrymore saved me. He came just then and burst the door open."
"It's all my fault from beginning to end!" broke out Beechy, tragically.
"I confessed to Sir Ralph yesterday, when I was only worried for fear
something might happen, but now it _has_ happened, I'll confess to you,
too. I got afraid Mamma would really marry the Prince--oh, but that
wasn't the way it began! Just for fun, long ago, when we first started,
I let him pump me--it was great fun _then_--and told him how rich Mamma
was, and would be, even if she married again. I thought it would be such
larks to watch his game, and so it was for a while, till I was in an
awful stew for fear I'd gone too far and couldn't stop things. I was
ready then to do something desperate rather than find myself saddled
with _that_ Prince for my step-father. So I sacrificed you."
"I don't see--" Maida began; but Beechy cut her short.
"Why, when we went to that Sisterhood of yours, I overheard the Mother
Superior, or whatever you call her, confiding to Mamma that you were a
tremendous heiress, that you didn't quite know how rich you were
yourself, and wouldn't be told till you were safely back from Europe. It
was a secret, and I hadn't any business to know. But I let it out to the
Prince, when I was in such a state about him and Mamma, in Bellagio. He
_went_ for you at once, as I knew he would--but what's the matter, Mr.
Barrymore? It isn't for you to be angry with me. It's for Maida."
"I'm not angry with you, but with myself," I said. And then for a minute
I forgot Ralph and Beechy, and remembered only Maida. "Don't think I
knew," I said. "If I had, I wouldn't--"
"Oh, don't say you wouldn't. I love to feel you _had_ to," the Angel
cried. "I hold you to your word, oh, with all my heart in my right to
you. Beechy, your Chauffeulier and I--are engaged."
"There!" the child exclaimed, with a look at Ralph I couldn't fathom.
"Didn't I tell you so?"
"Well, it doesn't matter _now_, does it?" was his retort. "How shall I
feel if you don't wish Miss Destrey your best wishes?"
"Oh, I do, I do," exclaimed the strange child. "And I congratulate the
Chauffeulier. But he must do some congratulating too. I'm going to put
up my hair, come out in a long dress, and be engaged to Sir Ralph."
Maida's great eyes were greater than ever. "Beechy!" she protested. "You
aren't fourteen!"
"No, I know I'm not; but I'm seventeen. And when I told Ralph that, he
proposed at once. You see he's been my father confessor ever since we've
been on this trip, so he knows all that's best and worst of me; and I do
think we shall have real fun when we're married. I told Mamma I'd have
no Princes on _my_ ranch, and I won't. But if she's fool enough to take
that man, after all, she and I can visit each other's ranches after
this, and we'll be all right. Mine's going to be in England or Scotland
in summer, and in winter I'm to live with Felicite and the duck. Oh, I
shall be happy, and so will Ralph, I hope. But I never thought a good
democrat like Papa's daughter would go and marry a man with a title."
"A mere baronet. It needn't go against the grain much," remarked Sir
Ralph. "Think how much worse it is for your poor cousin!"
"Why?"
"To marry a 'real live lord,' who will some day be a marquis."
"Oh!" exclaimed Beechy. "She who said she would like to teach other
American girls a lesson."
"I didn't know," Maida faltered.
"What?" asked Ralph. "You didn't tell her?"
"I forgot all about it," I said. "But Maida, dearest, it doesn't matter.
I--"
"Nothing matters but you," she said.
"And you," I added.
THE END
Good Fiction Worth Reading.
A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the
field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and
diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.
* * * * *
WINDSOR CASTLE. A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII.
Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth,
12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
"Windsor Castle" is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and Anne
Boleyn. "Bluff King Hal," although a well-loved monarch, was none too
good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts,
none was more discreditable than his divorce from Catharine, and his
marriage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King's love was as brief as
it was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting maid on the Queen, attracted him,
and Anne Boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her successor.
This romance is one of extreme interest to all readers.
HORSESHOE ROBINSON. A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Carolina
in 1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by
J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Among the old favorites in the field of what is known as historical
fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger number of Americans
than Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the only story which
depicts with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists
in South Carolina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression of
the British under such leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton.
The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread of
the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those
times. The picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never
overdrawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared neither
time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love story all
that price in blood and tears which the Carolinians paid as their share
in the winning of the republic.
Take it all in all, "Horseshoe Robinson" is a work which should be
found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining
story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the
colonists which it contains. That it has been brought out once more, well
illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands who have
long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who
have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they might
read it for the first time.
THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND. A story of the Coast of Maine. By
Harriet Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.
Written prior to 1862, the "Pearl of Orr's Island" is ever new; a book
filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew
each time one reads them. One sees the "sea like an unbroken mirror all
around the pine-girt, lonely shores of Orr's Island," and straightway
comes "the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild,
angry howl of some savage animal."