CHAPTER XXX
THE PLAY OF CROSS PURPOSES
When Max St. George, with seven emaciated Arabs and five dilapidatedcamels, crawled into Omdurman, bringing Richard Stanton's young widow,their arrival made a sensation for all Egypt. Later, in Khartoum, whenthe history of the murder and the subsequent march of nine hundred milescame out, it became a sensation for Europe and America.
Rumours had run ahead of the little party, from Kordofan, birthland ofthe terrible Mahdi; but the whole story was patched together fromdisjointed bits only, when the caravan arrived in civilization. Verylittle was got out of the fever-stricken, haggard young man who(according to Mrs. Stanton) was the hero of the great adventure,impossible to have been carried through for a single day without him. Itwas Sanda who told the tale, told it voluntarily, even eagerly, to everyone who questioned her. She could not give Max St. George--thatmysterious young man who apparently had no country and no past--enoughpraise to satisfy her gratitude. There had been terrible sandstorms inwhich they would have given themselves up for lost if it had not beenfor his energy and courage. Once they had strayed a long way off theirtrack and nearly starved and died of thirst before they could find anoasis they had aimed for and renew exhausted supplies. But Max St.George's spirit had never flagged even after the mosquito-ridden swampwhere he had caught a touch of malarial fever. Through his presence ofmind and military skill the party had been saved from extinction in asurprise attack by a band of desert marauders twice their number. Everynight he had protected the little camp by forming round it a hollowsquare of camels and baggage, and keeping a sentinel posted, generallyhimself. It was through these precautions they had been able towithstand the surprise and drive the robbers off with the loss only of afew men and some of the camels. They had fought and conquered the enemyunder a flag of the Legion, a miniature copy given by Colonel DeLisle tohis daughter. There had not been one desertion from their ranks, exceptby death, and all was owing--Sanda said--to the spirit Max St. Georgehad infused into his followers. He insisted that the latter were theonly heroes, if any, and the Arabs from far-off Touggourt enjoyed suchfame as they had associated with the delights of a paradise reserved forwarriors. But of himself Max St. George would not talk; and people saidto each other, "Who is this young fellow who was the only white man withStanton? He seems at home in every language. Where did he come from?"
Nobody could tell. Not a soul knew what his past had been. But as forhis future, it seemed not unlikely that it might be limited on thisearth; for having finished his mission, and taken Mrs. Stanton as far asCairo on her way back to Algeria, he succumbed to the fever he hadresisted ferociously while his services were needed. When there wasnothing to do he relaxed a little and the flame in his blood burnedunchecked.
Mrs. Stanton's exhibition of gratitude, however, was admirable in theeyes of the world focussed upon her. If Richard Stanton had not been amagnificent man, celebrated for his successes with women, and having theadded attraction of fame as an explorer, people might have suggestedthat the widow's remaining in Cairo to nurse St. George was not entirelydisinterested. But as it was, nobody said disagreeable things about thebeautiful, pale young creature, and the haggard skeleton of a man whohad pioneered her safely through the Sahara and Libyan deserts.
It was as much because of her beauty, which gave a glamour of almostclassic romance to the wild business, as because of Stanton's reputationand the amazing madness of his last venture, that newspapers all overthe civilized world gave columns to the story. Somehow, snapshots of MaxSt. George, as well as several of Sanda, had been snatched byenterprising journalists before St. George fell ill in Cairo. These weretelegraphed for and bought by newspapers of England, Spain, Italy,France, America, Algeria, and even Germany, which had not loved Stanton.The next thing that happened was the report in Algerian papers that MaxSt. George, "_le jeune homme de mystere_," was a missing soldier of theLegion, who had deserted from an important mission to join Stanton'scaravan. Sensation everywhere! Paragraphs reminding the public of acurious fact: that young Mrs. Stanton was the daughter of the colonel ofthe Legion. Strange if she had not known from the first that the recruitto her husband's expedition was a deserter from her father's regiment.And what a situation for the colonel himself! His daughter protectedduring a long desert journey of incalculable peril by a man whom itwould be her father's duty to have arrested and court-martialled if hewere on French soil.
Journalists argued the delicate question, whether, in the circumstances,it would be possible for Colonel DeLisle to do anything officiallytoward obtaining a pardon for St. George--whose name probably was notSt. George, since no man wore anything so obvious as his own name in theForeign Legion. Retired officers wrote letters to the papers and pointedout that for DeLisle to work in St. George's favour, simply becauseaccident had enabled the deserter to aid a member of his colonel'sfamily, would be inadmissible. If St. George were the right sort of manand soldier he would not expect or wish it. As a matter of fact, he didneither; but then, at the time, he was in a physical state whichprecluded conscious wishes and expectations. He did not know or carewhat happened; though sometimes, in intervals of seeing marvellousmirages of the Lost Oasis, and fighting robbers, or prescribing for sickcamels, he appeared vaguely to recognize the face of his nurse; not theprofessional, but the amateur. "Sanda, Sanda!" he would mutter, or cryout aloud; but as fortunately no one knew that Mrs. Stanton, _nee_Corisande DeLisle, was called "Sanda" by those who loved her, the doctorand the professional nurse supposed he was babbling about the sand ofthe desert. He had certainly had a distressing amount of it!
Max would have been immensely interested if he could have known at thistime of three persons in different parts of the world who were workingfor him in different ways. There was Manoeel Valdez in Rome, where he hadarrived with Ourieda by way of Tunis and Sicily, instead of getting toSpain according to his earlier plan. Manoeel, singing with magnificentsuccess in grand opera, proclaimed himself Juan Garcia, afellow-deserter with St. George, in order to gild St. George's escapadewith glory. Not only did he talk to every one, and permit hisfascinating Spanish-Arab bride to talk, but he let himself beinterviewed by newspapers. Perhaps all this was a good advertisement ina way; but he was making a _succes fou_, and did not need advertisement.Genuinely and sincerely he was baring his heart and bringing his wifeinto the garish limelight because of his passionate gratitude to Max St.George.
The interview was copied everywhere, and Sanda read it in Cairo,learning for the first time not only many generous acts of St. George ofwhich she had never heard, but gathering details of Ourieda's escapewith Valdez, at which till then she had merely been able to guess. Theentire plot of Manoeel's love drama, from the first grim scene ofstunning the prospective bridegroom on the way to his unwilling bride,to the escape from the _douar_ in the quiet hours when Tahar wassupposed to be left alone with the "Agha's Rose," on to the hiding atDjazerta, and stealing away in disguise with a caravan while the hunttook another direction, all had played itself out according to his plan.Valdez attributed the whole success to St. George's help, advice, andgifts of money, down to the last franc in his possession. And now Manoeelbegan to pay the debt he owed, by calling on the world's sympathy forthe deserter, who might not set foot on French soil without beingarrested. Thus the singer's golden voice was raised for Max in Italy. InAlgeria old "Four Eyes" was working for him like the demon that helooked; having returned with his colonel and comrades to Sidi-bel-Abbesafter the long march and a satisfactory fight with the "Deliverer," hesoon received news of the lost one. With roars of derision he refused tobelieve in the little "corporal's" voluntary desertion, and from thefirst moment began to agitate. What! punish a hero for his heroism?That, in Four Eyes' vilely profane opinion, expressed with elaborateexpletives in the Legion's own choicest vernacular, was what it wouldamount to if St. George were branded "deserter." Precisely why Max hadjoined Stanton's caravan instead of returning to Sidi-bel-Abbes, perhapsa few days late, Four Eyes was not certain; but there was
no one betterinstructed than he in pretending to know things he merely conjectured.He had seen Ahmara, the dancer, and had told Max the scandal connectingher with the explorer. "What more natural than that a soldier of theLegion should, for his colonel's sake, sacrifice his whole career toprotect the daughter from such a husband as Stanton? No doubt the boyknew that Stanton meant to take Ahmara with him, and had left everythingto stand between the girl and such a pair."
In his own picturesque and lurid language Four Eyes presented theseconjectures of his as if they were facts; and to do him justice hebelieved in them. Also, he took pains to rake up every old tale ofcruelty, vanity, or lust that had been told in the past about RichardStanton, and embroider them. Beside the satyr figure which he flauntedlike a dummy Guy Fawkes, Max St. George shone a pure young martyr. Neverhad old Four Eyes enjoyed such popularity among the townfolk ofSidi-bel-Abbes as in these days, and he had the satisfaction of seeingveiled allusions to his anecdotes in newspapers when he could afford tobuy or was able to steal them. On the strength of his triumph he got upamong his fellow Legionnaires a petition for the pardon andreinstatement of Corporal St. George. Not a man refused to sign, foreven those who might have hesitated would not have done so long underthe basilisk stare of the ex-champion of boxing.
"Sign, or I'll smash you to a jelly," was his remark to one recruit whohad not heard enough of St. George or Four Eyes to dash his name onpaper the instant he saw a pen.
While the petition was growing Colonel DeLisle (who gave no sign that hehad heard of it) obtained ten days' leave, the first he had asked for inmany years, and took ship for Algiers to Alexandria to see his daughter.But that did not discourage Four Eyes; on the contrary, "The Old Mandoesn't want to be in it, see?" said Pelle. "It ain't for him, in thecircus, to do the trick; it's for us, _ses enfants!_ And damn all fourof my eyes, we'll _do_ it, if we have to mutiny as our comrades once didbefore us, when they made big history in the Legion."
The third person who, unasked, took an active interest in Max St.George's affairs was, of all people on earth, the last whom he or anyone else would have expected to meddle with them. This was BillieBrookton, married to her Chicago millionaire, and trying, tooth andnail, with the aid of his money, to break into the inner fastnesses ofNew York and Newport's Four Hundred. It was all because of a certainresistance to her efforts that suddenly, out of revenge and not throughlove, she took up Max's cause. The powder train was--unwittingly--laidmonths before by Josephine Doran-Reeves, as she preferred to callherself after her marriage with the son of the Dorans' lawyer. Neithershe nor Grant--who had taken the name of Doran-Reeves also--liked tothink or talk of the man who had disappeared. On consideration, theReeveses, father and son, had decided not to make public the story ofJosephine's birth which Max had given to them. They feared that hisgreat sacrifice would create too much sympathy for Max and rouseindignation against Josephine and her husband for accepting it, allowingthe martyr to disappear, penniless, into space. At first they saidnothing at all about him, merely giving out that Josephine Doran was adistant relative who had been brought to the Doran house on Rose'sdeath; but all sorts of inconvenient questions began to be asked aboutMax Doran, into whose house and fortune the strange-looking,half-beautiful, half-terrible, red-haired girl had suddenly,inexplicably stepped.
Max's friends in society and the army did not let him pass into oblivionwithout a word; therefore some sort of story had to eventually be toldto silence tongues, and, still worse, newspapers. Grant was singularlygood at making up stories, and always had been since, as a boy, he hadunobtrusively contrived to throw blame off his own shoulders on to thoseof Max if they were in a scrape together.
Half a lie, nicely mixed with a few truths, makes a concoction that thepublic swallows readily. Max was too young, and had been too much awayfrom New York, to be greatly missed there, despite Rose Doran'spopularity; and when such an interesting and handsome couple as Grantand Josephine Doran-Reeves began entertaining gorgeously in therenovated Doran house, the ex-lieutenant of cavalry was forgottencomparatively soon. It seemed, according to reluctant admissions made atlast by Grant and Josephine to their acquaintances, that Max had hadsecret reasons for resigning his commission in the army and vanishinginto space. It was his own wish to give up the old house to Josephine,his "distant cousin from France," and in saying this they carefully gavethe impression that he had been well paid. Nobody dreamed that the moneyMr. and Mrs. Grant Doran-Reeves spent in such charming ways had oncebelonged to Max. He was supposed to have "come a cropper" somehow, as somany young men did, and to have disappeared with everything he had, outof the country, for his country's good. When people realized that therewas a secret, perhaps a disgraceful one, many were sorry for poor Grantand Josephine, mixed up in it through no fault of their own; and thename of Max Doran was dropped from conversation whenever his innocentrelatives were within hearing distance. Then, by and by, it waspractically dropped altogether, because it had passed out ofrecollection.
This was the state of affairs when the beautiful Billie (Mrs. JeffHouston) arrived, covered with diamonds and pearls (the best of thelatter were Max's), to storm social New York. She had already won itsheart as an actress, but as a respectable married woman who had leftthe stage and connected herself by marriage with a sausage-maker she wasa different "proposition."
"You ought to know some woman in the smart set," advised a friend in thehalf-smart set who had received favours from Billie, and had not beenable to give the right sort of return. "Oh, of course, you do know a lotof the men, but they're worse than no use to you now. It must be awoman, 'way high up at the top.'"
Billie racked her brains, and thought of Josephine Doran-Reeves.Josephine was "way up at the top," because she was a Doran and veryrich, and so queer that she amused the most bored people, whether shemeant to or not. Unfortunately, Billie did not know her, but the nextbest thing, surely, was to have known Max Doran.
Billie had made capital out of Max in the shape of a famous blue diamondand a string of uniquely fine pearls, and her idea had been that she hadgot all there was to be got from him. In fact, she had not mentionedthis little love-idyll even to her husband. Suddenly, however, sheremembered that they two had been dear, dear friends--perfectly platonicfriends, of course--and she felt justified in writing a sweet letter toJosephine asking tactfully for news of Max. She put her pointcharmingly, and begged that she might be allowed to call on dear Mrs.Doran-Reeves, to chat cozily about "that darling boy," or would Mrs.Doran-Reeves rather come and have tea with her one day, any day, at thePlaza Hotel? She was staying there until the house her husband hadbought for her (quite near the Doran house) should be out of thedecorator's hands.
But the last thing that appealed to Josephine was the thought of a cozychat about "that darling boy" Max. Besides, the moment was a bad onewith her. Captain de la Tour had got long leave and come to America, shedid not know why at first, and had been inclined to feel ratherflattered, if slightly frightened. But soon she found out. He had cometo blackmail her. There were some silly letters she had written whenthey were in the thick of their flirtation at Sidi-bel-Abbes, and theheight of her ambition had been to marry a French officer, no matter howpoor. Captain de la Tour had kept those letters.
He did not threaten to show them to Grant Doran-Reeves. He judged theother man by himself and realized that, having married a girl for hermoney, Grant would not throw her over, or even hurt her feelings, whileshe still had it.
What Captain de la Tour proposed was to sell the letters and tell theromantic story of Mrs. Doran-Reeves's life in a little Algerian hotel ifshe did not buy up the whole secret and his estates in France at thesame time. For the two together he asked only the ridiculously smallprice of three hundred thousand francs--sixty thousand dollars.
Josephine had raged, for Grant, even more than she, hated to spend moneywhere a show could not be made with it. But Captain de la Tour wasrather insistent and got on her nerves. In an hysterical fit, therefore,she made a clean breast of the story to he
r husband. When she haddescribed to him as well as she could what was in the letters, and whata Bohemian sort of life she had led in Bel-Abbes, Grant decided that itwould be romantic as well as sensible to buy the Chateau de la Tour.Josephine had actually been born there; and they could either keep theplace or sell it when it had been improved a bit and made famous by afew choice house-parties.
So the Doran-Reeveses bought the chateau and got back the letters, andhoped that Captain de la Tour would take himself and his ill-gottengains out of the United States. But he lingered, looking out for anAmerican heiress, while Josephine existed in a state of constantirritation, fearing some new demand or an indiscretion. And it was justat this time that she received Mrs. Jeff Houston's letter. Naturally itgave her great pleasure to snub some one, especially a woman prettierthan herself. She took no notice of Billie's appeal, and when Mrs.Houston, hoping somehow that it had not reached its destination, spoketo her sweetly one night at the opera, Josephine was rude before some ofthe "best people" in New York.
After that, Billie said to every one that Mrs. Doran-Reeves was insaneas well as deformed; but that "cut no ice," as Jeff Houston remarked,and when the snapshot of Max St. George, deserter from the ForeignLegion, appeared with the newspaper story of Sanda Stanton, Billie didwhat Jeff described as "falling over herself" to get to the office of_Town Tales_.
She told nothing damaging to the late Miss Brookton in mentioning MaxDoran, and of him she spoke with friendly enthusiasm. He had been _so_good, so kind to her, and so different from many young men who were goodto actresses. It broke her heart to think of his fate, for there was nodoubt that Max St. George, the Legionnaire, and Max Doran were one.Billie told how, to her certain knowledge, Max had sacrificed himselffor Josephine Doran, who (for some reason he was too noble to reveal,but it had to do with a secret of ancestry) seemed to him the rightfulheiress.
Penniless, Max had been forced to resign from an expensive regiment,where he lived expensively. He had done this for Josephine's sake,though he had loved his career better than anything else in the world.And then, last of all, he had effaced himself rather than accept pity orfavours. He had enlisted in the Foreign Legion, and now he had furthershown the nobility of his nature by the very way in which he had falleninto disgrace. But what did the Doran-Reeveses do, though they owedeverything to him? They told lies and ignored his existence. Mrs. JeffHouston said that she felt it her duty as Max Doran's only faithfulfriend to bring this injustice to public notice.
_Town Tales_ was delighted to help her do this, because she was BillieBrookton, a celebrity, and because it was "good copy." Otherpapers--many other papers--took up the hue and cry which _Town Tales_started; and the Doran-Reeveses' life became not as agreeable as it hadbeen.
They defended themselves to friends and enemies and newspaper men, andthought of suing _Town Tales_ for libel, but were dissuaded from doingso by old Mr. Reeves. Then it occurred to Josephine to let every oneknow that, though she was being cruelly maligned, she wished, as a proofof her admiration for Max's desert exploits, to present him with all herFrench property, the magnificent old vineyard-surrounded Chateau de laTour, where he could cultivate grapes and make his fortune.
The papers pointed out that this was something like sending coals toNewcastle, as St. George, alias Doran, was debarred from entering Franceunless he wanted to go to prison. But Josephine and Grant quicklyretorted that the recipient of their bounty need not live in France inorder to benefit. He could sell or let the Chateau de la Tour throughsome agent.
Not an echo of all this play of cross purposes reached Max at thenursing home in Cairo, where he had been carried by Sanda's orders afterbreaking down. But Sanda, who took in a dozen papers to see what theyhad to say about the "deserter," read what was going on at New York aswell as in Rome and at Sidi-bel-Abbes. She saw that Max had beenpresented with estates in France by the woman who had taken everythingand given nothing; and because of queer things Max had let drop in hisdelirium she understood more of the past than he would have revealed ofhis own free will. For one thing, she learnt that a certain Jack andRose Doran had had a child born to them at the Chateau de la Tour. Thisenabled her to put other things together in her mind, and loving Max asshe did, she saw no harm in thus using her wits, while she respected himwith all her heart for not telling the secret. Besides, she had metCaptain de la Tour in Sidi-bel-Abbes, and she had guessed that it waspartly because of him and one or two others like him that her father hadsent her to the Agha's rather than leave her at Bel-Abbes alone.
"It would be the most wonderful sort of poetic justice," she reflected,sitting at Max's bedside one day while he slept, "if the old place ofhis ancestors should come back to him at last."
This thought reminded her of her plan. Not that she ever forgot it; butshe had to put it into the background of her mind until she was surethat Max was going to get well. Until then, she could not and would notleave him. But at last she was sure; and she was waiting only to findout if her father could help; or if not, till his leave was over and shewas left to act for herself without compromising the Legion's colonel.
If Sanda had loved her father in their days together at Bel-Abbes, sheloved him a thousand times more in those few days of his visit at Cairo.He forgave her without being asked for leaving him "in the lurch," asshe repentantly called it, and letting herself be carried away byStanton. "You thought you loved him, my darling," DeLisle said. "And Icould forgive anything to love."
It was in his arms, with her face buried on his breast, that she toldwhat her marriage had been, and then came the confession (for it seemedto her a confession, though she was not ashamed of it, but proud) aboutMax.
"He didn't speak one word of love to me," the girl said. "He tried noteven to let his eyes speak. But they did, sometimes, in spite of him.And no man could possibly endure or do for a woman the things he enduredand did for me, every one of those terrible days, if he didn't love her.So when I was afraid he might die from the viper's bite, I wanted him tohave one happy moment in this world to remember in the next. I told himthat I cared, and he kissed my hand and looked at me. That's all,except just a word or two that I keep too sacredly to tell even you. Andafterward when Richard was dead, and Max and I were alone in the desert,save for a few Arabs, he never again referred to that night, or spoke ofour love. I was sure it was only because we were alone and I depended onhim. But after those weeks and months of facing death together, it seemsthat we belong to each other, he and I. Nothing must part us--nothing."
She was half afraid her father might remind her of the situation whichhad arisen between Max as a deserter and himself as colonel of theregiment from which Max had deserted.
But Colonel DeLisle did not say this or anything like it. He knew thatlove was the greatest thing in the world for his daughter, as it hadbeen for him, and he could not cheat her out of it. He was sad becauseit seemed to him that in honour he could do nothing for this deserterwho had done everything for him--nothing, that is, save give him hisdaughter, and abandon what remained of his own career by resigning hiscommission. As colonel of the Legion, his child could not be allowed tomarry a deserter, a fugitive who dare not enter France. As for him,DeLisle, though the Legion was much to him, Sanda was more. But she saidshe and Max would not take happiness at that price. They must think ofsome other way. And the other way was the plan.
When the colonel returned to Algeria and his regiment Max had not yetgained enough strength to be seen and thanked for what he had done, evenif DeLisle had found it compatible with his official duty to say to adeserter what was in his heart to say to Sanda's hero. And perhaps,Sanda thought, it was as well that they did not meet just then.Irrevocable things might have been spoken between them.
The day after her father's ship sailed for Algiers she took another thatwent from Port Said to Marseilles. From Marseilles she travelled toParis, which was familiar ground to her. What she did there gave a newfillip to the Stanton-DeLisle-St. George sensation, though at the sametime it put an extinguisher
on all discussions: a blow to those retiredofficers who liked writing to the papers.
Lest what the papers said should be prematurely seen by theconvalescent's eyes, however, Sanda hurried back to Egypt.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE GIFT
Max was sitting up in a reclining chair, for the first time, on the dayof Sanda's return to Cairo.
He knew that she had gone to France on business of some sort, but he hadno idea what it was. It did not occur to him that it might have to dowith his affairs. Probably (he thought) it was connected with Stanton,who had left money, and who had "geographical investments," as he calledthem, all over the world, in France, perhaps, among other places. Butsomehow Max could not imagine Sanda accepting money for herself thatcame from Stanton, even if it were legally hers.
Although Max was still weak, he had begun to think urgently,insistently, about the future. All the objections that Colonel DeLislecould see to the marriage of Sanda Stanton with the deserter St. George,the deserter St. George saw, and many more. It was caddish to think ofmarrying her, and monstrous to think of giving her up. His anxiousthoughts toiled round and round in a vicious circle whence there seemedno way out.
In the morning the doctor came in and laid down on the table, with hishat, gloves, and stick, a newspaper. As he examined his patient, thenurse picked up the journal and began to glance quickly from column tocolumn in order to have absorbed the news by the time the doctor wantedher services--or his paper. Suddenly, not being possessed of greatself-control except in professional emergencies, she gave vent to ashrill little squeak of excitement.
Max and the doctor both turned their heads; and when the latter saw hisnewspaper open in the young woman's hand, he guessed instantly what hadexcited her. He anathematized himself for putting the paper where shecould get at it; for without doubt Mrs. Stanton would want to tell thegreat news herself. She must not be defrauded of the pleasure, for shewould certainly make a point of getting back for a "look at the patient"to-day or to-morrow. If to-day, she might appear at any minute, for a P.& O. boat-train had arrived at Cairo late the night before, DoctorTaylor had heard, and it was now nine-thirty in the morning--not tooearly to expect her.
Nurse Yorke must not blurt out the tidings in her common way! But how tostop her without arousing St. George's curiosity?
"Oh, I suppose you've got hold of the advertisement of that sale I toldyou of," he said, glaring over the top of Max's head.
"Why! I've found----" the nurse began briskly, but withered under DoctorTaylor's forbidding gaze.
"I knew nothing else could have excited you so much," he went onmasterfully, still hypnotizing her with his eyes, until even a dullerwoman would have grasped his meaning. But maybe he wanted to read outthe news himself? Nurse Yorke handed him the paper.
"Perhaps Mr. St. George will be interested in the advertisement of thissale," she suggested, with a coy emphasis which made Doctor Taylor wantto smother the well-meaning creature with a pillow.
"We'll let Mrs. Stanton read it to him when she comes," he saidwaspishly; and at that moment Mrs. Stanton came.
They both knew her knock, and Nurse Yorke flew to open the door.
She had a smile and a word for them, and then went straight to Max. "Howsplendid! You're sitting up," she said. "This is worth travelling fastfor, if there were nothing else. But there is. There's something nextbest to your getting well." Then she caught sight of the open paper inthe nurse's hand. "Have you--has any one been telling you--or readingyou to-day's news?" she asked, breathless.
"Nurse Yorke was just beginning to read something about a sale, Ithink," Max answered, hardly knowing what he said because his eyes wereupon her--this girl of girls, this pearl of pearls, whom honour wasforcing him to give up, and at the same time bidding him to keep. Hethought that he had never seen her so lovely as to-day, in the simpletravelling dress and hat all of black, yet not mourning. There was alook of heaven in her eyes, and they seemed to say that this heaven wasfor him. Could he refuse it? He gave her back look for look; and neitherhe nor she knew what they said when Doctor Taylor invited Nurse Yorke togo with him into the next room and examine the chart.
"Are you glad I'm back?" Sanda asked, drawing a chair close up to the_chaise longue_.
"Glad? You're worth all the doctor's medicines and tonics. I'm wellnow!"
"Aren't you dying to hear my news?"
"It's such wonderful news that you've come, I can't think of anythingelse," Max assured her, gazing at her hair, her eyes, her mouth--hersweet, sweet mouth.
"All the same I'm going to tell you," Sanda insisted, panting a littleover her heartbeats. "My news is not about a 'sale,' it's about a_gift_. Yet I think it's the very same news Nurse Yorke almost read you.Oh, I should have been thwarted, cheated, if she had! This is for _me_to tell you, my Soldier, me, and no one else, for the gift is to me, foryou. The President of the French Republic has given it to me for Max St.George of the Tenth Company, First Regiment of the Legion; Max St.George, owner of the Chateau de la Tour, home of his far-offancestors--where he and his Sanda will go some day together when he'stired of soldiering--and Sanda's father, Max's grateful colonel, willvisit them. And that wonderful old Four Eyes, who has almost worked theLegion into a mutiny for the Soldier's sake, will live with them, if hecan ever bear to leave the Legion. Now, can't you guess what thePresident's gift is?"
"Not--not pardon?" Max's lips formed the words which he could not speakaloud. But it was as if Sanda heard.
"Pardon, and a lieutenant's commission in the Legion."
"Sanda!"
All the worship of a man's heart and soul were in that name as it brokefrom him with a sob.
"My Soldier!" she answered, in his arms. And then they spoke no more;for again they were living through in that minute all the long months ofagony and bliss in the desert, when their dream had been coming true.
* * * * *
Four months later Max left his bride to go with a French, English, andRussian contingent of the Legion to fight with the Allies in France, inthe War of the World.
Sanda waits, and prays--and hopes.
THE END
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N.Y.
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