Arms and the Woman

The suddenness of this demand overwhelmed him, and he fell back into

the chair, his eyes bulging and his mouth agape.

"Do you hear me?" I cried. "The proofs!" going up to him with clenched

fists. "What have you done with those proofs? If you have destroyed

them I'll kill you."

Then, as a bulldog shakes himself loose, the old fellow got up and

squared his shoulders and faced me, his lips compressed and his jaws

knotted. I could see by his eyes that I must fight for it.

"Herr Winthrop has gone mad," said he. "The Princess Hildegarde never

had a sister."

"You lie!" My hands were at his throat.

"I am an old man," he said.

I let my hands drop and stepped back.

"That is better," he said, with a grim smile. "Who told you this

impossible tale, and what has brought you here?"

"It is not impossible. The sister has been found."

"Found!" I had him this time. "Found!" he repeated. "Oh, this is not

credible!"

"It is true. And to-morrow at noon the woman you profess to love will

become the wife of the man she abhors. Why? Because you, you refuse

to save her!"

"I? How in God's name can I save her?" the perspiration beginning to

stand out on his brow.

"How? I will tell you how. Prince Ernst marries Gretchen for her

dowry alone. If the woman I believe to be her sister can be proved so,

the Prince will withdraw his claims to Gretchen's hand. Do you

understand? He will not marry for half the revenues of Hohenphalia.

It is all or nothing. Now, will you produce those proofs? Will you

help me?" The minute hand of the clock was moving around with deadly

precision.

"Are you lying to me?" he asked, breathing hard.

"You fool! can't you see that it means everything to Gretchen if you

have those proofs? She will be free, free! Will you get those proofs,

or shall your god-child live to curse you?"

This was the most powerful weapon I had yet used.

"Live to curse me?" he said, not speaking to me, but to the thought.

He sat down again and covered his face with his hands. The minute

which passed seemed very long. He flung away his hands from his eyes

with a movement which expressed despair and resignation. "Yes, I will

get them. It is years and years ago," he mused absently; "so long ago

that I had thought it gone and forgotten. But it was not to be. I

will get the proofs," turning to me as he left the chair. "Wait here."

He unbolted the door and passed forth. . . . It was a full confession

of the deception, written by the mother herself, and witnessed by her

physician, the innkeeper and his wife. Not even the King could contest

its genuineness.