The Gay Adventure: A Romance
"He left me in a state of stupefaction. For some days after this I saw
nothing of him. I was treated with the utmost respect, as if I were
mistress of the household, but I was a prisoner. I was allowed to walk
in the spacious high-walled garden; but devoted slaves were close at
hand to prevent my communicating with the outer world.
"After a week had elapsed, Lukos--for that was my master's name--began
to pay regular visits to my chamber. He exerted himself to the utmost to
interest and charm, but as yet he never mentioned love. He would talk of
a thousand things--books, philosophy, the drama, even of fashion--and
being most versatile and accomplished, I found him excellent company. I
did not feel much resentment, for I had begun to learn the world and
understand his point of view, but I was inflexibly opposed to a marriage
by force. I was resolved to die a captive, if necessary, rather than
yield.
"This went on for two years. You start? It is true. No breath of my
imprisonment reached the embassy--much less my home. For a captive, my
life was easy, and during the long months my hopes had died, though my
determination was as English and stubborn as ever. Lukos was equally
persistent in maintaining his original attitude--gentle, persuasive,
polite, though now he often urged his suit. I admit that in other
circumstances I might have yielded, but pride kept me strong.
"But I must hurry on--"
As she said these words there was a knock, and a dresser entered.
"Twenty minutes, Miss Blair," she said, without a glance at Lionel.
"More than enough," said the strange lady, but she rose as she spoke.
"You will stay to hear the end, Mr. Mortimer? I am on for most of this
act, but if you find it interesting, please stay and smoke. You must
excuse me."
"By all means," said Lionel, rising. "Shall I--?"
He looked toward the door. "Oh, no!" she replied, and drew the curtain
once more. Then she and the dresser disappeared behind it. A brief
interval elapsed and she came forth dressed to play her part. She threw
him a bright smile as he sprang to the door. "You must theorize till I
come again," she said cheerfully, and he smiled back. The dresser
followed her mistress, and he was left alone.
CHAPTER III
CONFIDENCES
"This," thought Lionel, as he waited for her return, "is a queer
business, a very queer business indeed. Here we have the indispensable
ingredients for an adventure--night, a pretty actress, and an
impecunious young man who has played the Noble 'Ero. What happens? The
lady sweeps the 'Ero off in a chariot, takes him to her dressing-room,
behaves with surprising propriety (quite like an ordinary mortal, in
fact), and proceeds to tell him a tale worthy of a writer of
feuilletons. What does it mean? What is the idea, the general scheme?
The tale must be lies,--pure, unvarnished buncombe, in the language of
the vulgar. It is too much to swallow a kidnaping, a tour through, let
me see ... Germany, Austria, Rumania, and, h'm ... h'm ... Bulgaria and
Rumelia; a bashi-bazouk in Constantinople, a forced marriage--I suppose
that's bound to come--and all the rest.... No, my delightful charmer,
this really is a little bit too much ... your emotional faculties and
the life of the footlights have led you astray...."
But he shook his head, dissatisfied. The simple explanation that she was
telling lies was too simple. It explained nothing. The remembrance of
her delicious personality sent incredulity to the right-about. Her
gracious presence, dignified, commanding, womanly; her brilliant eyes,
shining with purity, sympathy and truth; her force of character that
revealed itself in every tone and gesture; her pretty hands ... these
and a hundred other witnesses battled in her favor. "Besides," he
thought, striving to weigh all evidence impartially, "what possible
object could she have in lying to me--to me of all people? She knows I
am poor and useless for purposes of blackmail. She is too ethereal a
creature for a vulgar intrigue--of that I am as sure as that I am
neither mad nor dreaming. No; the bare hard facts go to prove that she
is telling the truth. Again, why should she lie to the 'Ero who has
saved her life? Surely the 'Ero may bring that forward with
justice.--'Not guilty, my lord!'" he said aloud, acquitting the fair
defendant with a convinced enthusiasm, for he was really glad to believe
the new goddess a goddess indeed. Then for a moment doubt returned: "But
this room--this girl--the whole adventure is so fantastic, the tale so
unlikely, that I can hardly ... Lionel, enough! It may be true, and the
evidence is in her favor. Be content to wait on events. At least, it is
a variation from the normal--an agreeable break in the monotony of Mrs.
Barker and the world. Let me seize the moment, enjoy my brief hour, and
allow the future to take care of itself. At worst, I can be no loser at
the game ... no ... unless I fall in love with her.... But that must not
happen ... it _must_ not happen.... Still, I could wish she had no
husband!"
The wish being vain, if not immoral, he laughed wryly at himself and
picked up a book that he found lying on the mantelpiece. It was a little
volume of light verse, and it whiled away the time until his hostess
reappeared. This was about half an hour after her exit. She entered,
radiant with triumph.
"Has it seemed long?" she asked, pulling back the curtain and drawing
out a chair.
"An eternity," he answered smoothly enough, rising and closing the door.
"And now the rest of your wonderful story, if you are not too tired."
"Not at all," she said; "but it sounds odd to hear you call it
'wonderful.' To me, who lived it, it seemed inevitable and ordinary:
even now it hardly seems wonderful. But this is waste of time. I must
try to hurry the crisis.... Let me see, where did I stop?... Ah! I
remember now....
"Well, I lived two years a prisoner, and time dulled my pain. Escape was
hopeless, and I tried to be as cheerful as I could. No news reached me
of the outer world--I did not even know whether my father and sister
were alive. That was hard, but I, too, learned hardness from experience.
"One morning Lukos came to my room as usual, but not in his usual
spirits. I rallied him on his dulness (oh! we were good friends, in
spite of the anomalous position; that is really the least surprising
feature of the story!), but he did not respond. When at last he walked
toward the window and had stood, gloomily at gaze, for several minutes,
I felt alarmed. He had never been in such a mood before. 'Lukos,' I said
gently, 'what is the matter?'
"In a moment he was at my feet, pouring forth a torrent of words. 'Heart
of my heart!' he cried in tones that would have racked a devil; 'can you
ask! You know that I love you, for my eyes and soul have spoken. I
bought you as merchandise, with little care; I have learned to love you
as a woman should be loved, with all the strength of my being, the
force of my spirit, the frenzy of a madman that rejoices in his madness!
For you I would do anything--I would tear the sultan from his throne--I
would seize every mosque in the empire to found a new religion, the
worship of yourself! I am your master, and yet the meanest of your
slaves! You can stir me with a quiver of your eyelashes--'
"'Yet you will not set me free,' I said, pitying, but justly
reproachful.
"'No,' he groaned. 'I love you so much that I will not climb the heights
of renunciation. I love you enough to respect your defenselessness, but
I _can not_ let you go to be, perhaps, another's. Oh, lady of my soul,
can you not be merciful? Can you not unbend from your divinity and love
me? Star of the West, can you not illumine an eastern desert, for I love
you--I love you!'"
"Mountebank!" said Lionel with a fine contempt. He disliked Lukos.
"He had a poetic nature," pouted the lady. "Besides, we Occidentals,
colder in spirit, less imaginative, must make allowances for exotic
passion. I confess that his words moved me. But I took his hand and
said, 'It is impossible, my friend.'"
"Ah!" said Lionel, taking fresh courage and a cigarette.
"My words," she continued, "seemed to carry conviction. I felt a hot
tear fall on my hand, and there was silence. The next moment he stood up
and salaamed gravely. 'Lady of my dreams,' he said, 'you have conquered.
I will let you go ... at a price!'
"'What is the price?' I asked fearfully. He looked like a martyr.
"'My life,' he replied. 'I can give you up, but I can not live without
you. You are free, but I must die.'"
"Damned actor!" burst out Lionel, in the depths of despair, for he
foresaw the end. "I beg your pardon--I beg your pardon--but----"
"He really _meant_ it," said the lady with some petulance. "Please
control yourself while I finish. Of course I could not think of allowing
him to kill himself, so I reasoned with him. It was useless, for he was
resolved. I even offered, at last, to resign my freedom and remain with
him on the old terms: again he refused. 'No,' he said; 'it can not be,
Dispenser of Delight. I have suffered too much. You must marry me or bid
good-by to Turkey.'"
"So you married him?" said Lionel gloomily. He had forgotten all his
earlier doubts.
"Yes. I could not bear to think of his suicide, for I liked him very
well. Besides, I had grown less sentimental during my two years of
'life,' and believed I should find more happiness in such a union than
in many that are supposed to be made for 'love.' But I must admit that
romance found, and still finds, a corner in my heart. The primitive idea
of marriage by capture is even now immensely popular. You see, the
figure of Lukos, passionate, brave, reckless, fiery, ready to kill
himself----"
"Oh, say he was a demigod," interrupted Lionel with bitterness, "and let
us pass on."
"All these Byronic attributes," said the lady calmly, "combined to whip
my reluctant liking into a passable resemblance to love.... Well, I let
him go--as far as the door. As he was opening it I made my decision and
whispered '_Lukos!_' He turned, looking like a magnificent tiger,
crouching for a spring. A light gleamed from his eyes, rivaling the
flash of his jeweled sword-hilt. With a bound----"
"Quite so--quite so!" said Lionel uncomfortably: the idea of being
audience to such a love-scene was most repugnant. "I see--I see ... of
course he would be immensely pleased--in fact, quite another man. Well,
you married him----?"
"The next day," said the lady. "The Patriarch of Jerusalem, who happened
to be visiting the city at the time, made us one. And then I settled
down to what I imagined would be a peaceful and happy life.
"And it was happy. Of course I now had as much freedom as I wished, and
in a short while moved in the best European society in Constantinople.
No hint of my story got abroad: it was understood that I had met Lukos
in London. I wrote to my sister, telling the whole story and enjoining
secrecy. She replied affectionately, giving me at the same time the news
of my father's death, three months earlier. She suggested a visit, but
various trifling incidents--such as influenza and a craze for Christian
Science--continually postponed it until it was too late. Lukos and I
also promised ourselves a trip to England, but that, too, never came
about.... My little Lionel----"
The listener bounded in his chair. Then, recollecting himself, he
apologized.
"--My little Lionel was born a year after our marriage. He lived three
weeks.... At the moment, I was stricken; but in a very short time I
felt that he was fortunate. The end came thus--
"A month later Lukos entered my room one afternoon with a grave face.
'My wife,' he said, 'you must be brave. We leave Constantinople
to-night.'
"'Why?' I asked.