"He's rather nice," was the English girl's comment; "and his eyes

strike me as being too steady to be dishonest."

I had the decency to burn in the ears. I had taken the step, so now I

could not draw back. I sincerely hoped that they would not exchange

any embarrassing confidences. When alone women converse upon many

peculiar topics; and conversing in a tongue which they supposed to be

unknown to me, these two were virtually alone.

"But, my dear child," the other returned argumentatively, "we can not

offer hospitality to a strange man this night of all nights. Think of

what is to be accomplished."

(So something was to be accomplished? I was right, then, in deceiving

them. To accomplish something on a night like this, far from

habitation, had all the air of a conspiracy.)

"Feed him and his horse, and I'll undertake to get rid of him before

that detestable Steinbock comes. Besides, he might prove a valuable

witness in drawing up the papers."

(Papers?)

"I never thought of that. It will not do to trust Steinbock wholly."

Gretchen turned her searching eyes once more upon me. I confess that I

had some difficulty in steadying my own. There are some persons to

whom one can not lie successfully; one of them stood before me. But I

rather fancy I passed through the ordeal with at least half a victory.

"Will you go your way after an hour's rest?" she asked, speaking in the

familiar tongue.

"I promise." It was easy to make this promise. I wasn't a diplomat

for nothing. I knew how to hang on, to dodge under, to go about.

"Follow me," Gretchen commanded briefly.

(Who was she? What was going on?)

We passed through the gloomy salon. A damp, musty odor struck my sense

of smell. I was positive that the castle was uninhabited, save for

this night. Three candles burned on the mantel, giving to the gloom a

mysterious, palpitating effect. The room beyond was the dining-room,

richly paneled in wine-colored mahogany. This was better; it was

cheerful. A log crackled in the fireplace. There were plenty of

candles. There was a piano, too. This belonged to the castle; a heavy

tarpaulin covering lay heaped at one side. There was a mahogany

sideboard that would have sent a collector of antiques into raptures,

and a table upon which lay the remains of a fine supper. My mouth

watered. I counted over the good things: roast pheasant, pink ham, a

sea-food salad, asparagus, white bread and unsalted butter, an

alcohol-burner over which hung a tea-pot, and besides all this there

was a pint of La Rose which was but half-emptied. Have you ever been

in the saddle half a day? If you have, you will readily appreciate the

appetite that was warring with my curiosity.




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