CHAPTER XXV
THE SWEETNESS OF LIFE
Von Salzinger was in a bad mood. He was feeling the effects of closepersonal contact with the authority which he had been bred toacknowledge, to obey. In the abstract he admitted the right of it. Inpractice he had little enough complaint. But in personal contact withthe administrators of it the tyranny became maddening. For once in hislife he realized how far short of a free-acting, free-thinking being hereally was, in spite of the considerable rank of Captain-General towhich he had risen.
He possessed all the dominating personality of his race, all thehectoring brutality of his fellow-Prussians. He had no difficulty insubmitting to a system which he found pleasure in enforcing upon thosewho acknowledged his authority, but to endure the personal meting outof such discipline by Von Berger was maddeningly irritating. He feltthat his association with the all-powerful intimate of the Emperor wasnearing the breaking-point, and when that point was reached he knewthat whatever breaking took place he was bound to be the chief sufferer.
His irritation lasted all day. He had received a number of definiteinstructions, as though he were some insignificant underling. VonBerger had dictated his requirements. And Von Salzinger was galled,galled and furious. Nor was it until Von Berger had taken his departurethat he felt he could again breathe freely.
Then had come a letter by hand. It was a letter for Vita, who remainedin his charge. But though he read the letter, carefully steaming itopen and re-sealing it so that detection was well-nigh impossible, andits contents proved satisfactory, still his temper underwent littlebetterment.
The day wore on filled with the many duties which Von Berger haddemanded of him, and which he almost automatically fulfilled. He sawmany callers. He held many consultations. He delivered manyinstructions in that harsh autocratic manner which he resented in VonBerger. But it was not until after he had dined amply in the evening,and his gastronomic senses had been indulged with an amplitude of goodwine and savory fare, that he began to forget the glacial frigidity ofthe man who had power to reduce his own dominating personality to thelevel of an anaemic lackey.
After dinner he moved out onto the terrace which fronted thedining-room. It was a splendid night with a bright full moon. It waschilly but refreshing, and Von Salzinger, whatever else his habitsmight be, loved the fresh air. He paced the broad walk under the moon,and every now and then his eyes were turned upon a distant portion ofthe upper part of the mansion, where shone the lights of Vita'sapartments. At last he seemed to have decided some momentous matter,and returned within the house and flung aside the heavy overcoat he wasenveloped in.
The heaviness of his military figure was carefully toned under theperfect lines of his evening clothes. But the rigidity of his squareshoulders and back would not be denied. Then, too, the shape of hishead. He was Prussian, so Prussian, and every inch a soldier of theHohenzollern dynasty.
He made his way down the long corridors which led towards a distantwing of the house, and passed on up-stairs.
Vita's days had become poignant with bitterness and self-reviling. Butthe despair in her grey eyes had lessened, and all the youthful beautyhad returned to her cheeks. Her abject dread had given place to acondition of dreary hope which left her haunted only by the hideousmemory of the price she had yet to pay.
Her mood was one of self-abasement and self-loathing. She told herselfthat she was purchasing life, or the chance of it, with all that wasbest in her. Sacrifice? She had told herself that she was sacrificingher love for her father's life. It was so. She knew she would sacrificeanything to safeguard that. But as time passed, and her dejected moodgained ascendancy, she began to question her purpose with a deplorablecynicism that, in reality, was no part of her nature.
She reminded herself of the cowardice she knew to be hers. How much ofthe sacrifice she asked was for her father, and how much for herself?Then came the self-castigation. She was afraid to die. She knew she wasafraid. And, in utter self-contempt, she told herself she was flingingaway the honest love of a man, of which she could never be worthy, asthe price of her life. Yes, there was no denying the truth. She valuedlife--her miserable life--at a price greater than anything else. Herlove? It was a poor thing. It was beneath contempt. She could sellherself to this brutal Prussian that she might live on to see the sunrise for a few more seasons, a few more miserable years of consciousexistence.
Such were her feelings as she sat before the cheerful blaze of the firein her apartment. The evening had closed in, her evening meal had beenbrought her, and finally cleared away. She had no desire foroccupation. There was only thought left her--painful, hideous thought.Everything had gone awry. All plans seemed to have miscarried. She, andher father, and her lover had been out-man[oe]uvred by the Prussianmachine, and now, now there only remained a sordid struggle for lifeitself.
But she was roused, as once before she had been roused, from the depthsof her misery by the coming of the man whom she now knew her wholefuture life was bound to. She heard the door open and close. She didnot turn from the contemplation of her fire. Why need she? It was oneof her jailers. If it were the women she did not desire to see them. Ifit were Von Berger she would allow him no sight of her misery. If itwere Von Salzinger----
"Vita!"
It was Von Salzinger. His manner was eager and urgent. It also had init that suggestion of fear of detection which she had witnessed before.
"It is the answer to your letter. I had it this morning, and would haveconveyed it you earlier, but I dared not risk it. Now Von Berger isaway, and, for the moment, we are safe. So--here it is. Read it quicklyand tell me of it. On it depends so much. The future. Our futures. Yourfather's. Read it."
But Vita's mood permitted no sudden reaction at the thought of thatlife and liberty for which she had bartered her soul. She took theletter, and, before opening it, her eyes searched the square featuresof the well-dined man before her. Her regard was sufficiently cold.
"Where has Von Berger gone?" she demanded.
"To Dorby."
In a moment the coldness had left Vita's eyes. She was caught again inthe hot tide of alarm.
"To Dorby? Have they discovered--my father?"
The hard eyes of the Prussian lowered before the woman's alarm. Thenhis reply came, conveying a momentary confidence which Vita clung to.
"I can't be sure," he said. "But I don't think so. Still it is thatpossibility which has brought me here now. That, and your letter. Theremust be no delay if we are to get away. Von Berger has to go elsewherebefore he reaches Dorby. He will not reach there until Monday. He willalso leave there on Monday, and be back here on Tuesday morning. Wemust be on the sea before Von Berger reaches Dorby. Now--your letter.Read it."
His final order came sharply. There was no request in it.
Vita tore it open. The alarm was still in her eyes, although there hadbeen reassurance in Von Salzinger's words.
For some moments she read down the two pages of the letter. Then shesighed in relief.
"It is all right," she said, passing the sheets across to hercompanion. "Read it yourself. He will meet us at the cove on Sundayevening. The submersible will be standing off to pick us up. And--thewhole thing remains a secret between us. He has merely told Mr. Farlowthat he is going."
If she were relieved there was no enthusiasm in her manner. Safety waslooming ahead, but the price was no less. The Prussian's eyes wereraised from the letter and a cold severity looked out of them and shonedown upon Vita's unsmiling features.
"It is well. But--you regret?" His gross lips pouted under their severecompression.
"Regret?" Vita passed one delicate hand across her brow. It was amovement which expressed something like unutterable weariness. It wasalmost as if she were beyond caring for consequences. "It is more thanregret," she said, and the eyes gazing up into Von Salzinger's were ashard as his own.
The man drew a whistling breath. He realized.
"I believe you hate me," he cried.
Vita shrugged.
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"Hate? You are about to give me back my life."
"Yes." The man passed her back the letter. His monosyllable conveyednothing. It was the expression of one whose thoughts and feelings areentirely preoccupied. A hot fury was surging through his veins. Hisvanity was outraged. He wanted to pour out the tide of brutal invectivewhich so naturally rose to his lips. But he drove it back under thepowerful lash of almost superhuman restraint.
"But you do hate me," he said, with simple regret in his heavy voice."And I would do anything to change that hate. Why? Why is it? It wasnot always so. You know the discipline under which we live. All I havedone I was compelled to do. Had I not obeyed I could not be here toserve you now. Had I rebelled, and refused to carry out my duty, whathope would there be for you now? None. Farlow could not save you. Noone could save you once you were in the clutches of this demon VonBerger. It is only that I have performed my share in your persecutionthat makes it possible to hold you out a hand of help. You are hard onme--harder than you have any right to be. You would say you are buyingyour life, I know. Well, do we not buy everything in life? And do wenot have to pay a price which always seems exorbitant? The price youare paying; what is it? Wifehood. A future cared for and sheltered by astrong man's hand. Behind you a memory, a memory of that which couldnever have been fulfilled, because you would have been sacrificed tothe discipline of the country which claims you. Ach! it isunreasonable. It is ungenerous. I would give my right hand for yourbetter regard."
But the man's appeal, his arguments, left Vita unmoved.
"Discussion is useless," she said firmly. "We have entered into anagreement which you had power to force upon me. Believe me, I shall notbe ungrateful for my father's safety and my own life. But it is abusiness agreement which makes no demand for the modification of anyregard. If my love is demanded, then you must invoke supernaturalpowers to bring it about. For surely no earthly power could bring aboutsuch a revulsion of my feelings. Let us keep to the business."
The hard eyes of the man had grown harder, but his lips smiled,displaying the strong white teeth behind them sharply clenched.
"Yes. To the business. There is much. To-day I have arranged thosethings which I could arrange. It is fortunate that your father hasappointed the one day which we must have chosen ourselves. It must beSunday night. Sunday night before Von Berger reaches Dorby. Vita, it isa pleasant thought to me that I--I can defeat this man. Ever since hecame to England he has treated me like a conscript. I hate him."
Vita watching him realized the truth. It pleased and satisfied her thatit was so. To her such animus between these men meant safety.
"Yes? Sunday night?"
Von Salzinger shrugged. He understood her manner.
"Listen," he said sharply. "On Saturday evening at 6:30 you must beready to get away. At that hour you must be ready, and I will provideyou with a long dark cloak for travelling. We shall go by car. We darenot risk any other means. Car the whole way, and the journey must takeus precisely the twenty-four hours. Now this is it. When the momentcomes I will arrange that your attendants are engaged elsewhere, andthat the doors of the corridor are unfastened. You will slip out andpass down the long passage till you come to the main staircase. Thisyou will descend, and reach the hall below. The entrance door will beopen. You will pass out and down the drive. Beyond the gates a car willbe standing--a cabriolet. The chauffeur will be at the wheel. Without aword you will get in the car. He will at once drive off. I shall joinyou at Bath, where we shall have a very late meal."
"How will you join me?"
Von Salzinger raised his brows.
"It is simple. I am in command here. My word is absolute. Within tenminutes of your going it will be discovered. I arrange this. I shall bein a fury, I shall terrify those with me. There will be three men.Among them Johann Stryj. I shall curse the women, and then set aboutrunning you down. Each man will be despatched in a car to certainplaces, in directions you have not gone. I shall pursue you alone. So Ishall come up with you at Bath. Then you will continue the journey toDorby with me. I shall time it so we reach the--the cove, eh? athalf-past six on Sunday evening. We shall travel all night."
In spite of herself excitement was growing in Vita. The prospect of therace for liberty was alluring and exciting.
"And we go straight for the Old Mill Cove?"
"It is so. This cove. Ha, it is a strange place and--secret. It is yoursecret and your father's. You will have to guide me." His manner becamereflective. "We know so much of the coast, yet we missed this place. Itis strange. You know it and your father, but Von Berger--no. So it wasthat your father escaped. It amuses me now. Still Von Berger does notknow. And so we shall escape. Now write your answer to that letter. Iwill help. We must have no hitch, for unless we get away at thatmoment--disaster will follow."
Vita had finally thrown off her uncompromising attitude of coldness.She was alive with a thrilling excitement. The man's plans were sosimple and adequate. Her only fear was Von Berger's unexpected return.She had moved to a table where writing materials lay and prepared towrite her letter.
"Von Berger will not change his plans?" she demanded eagerly.
"He will not change them. He has been summoned to meet---- He is on thesea. He has gone to make his report. Now write."
The next few minutes were occupied in the writing of Vita's reply toher father. It was practically dictated by Von Salzinger, as had beenher earlier letter. He left her no choice in what she must say, and, atthe conclusion of the writing, read it carefully over, and finallyfolded it and sealed it himself. He looked on silently while sheaddressed the envelope to Sir Andrew Farlow. Then he took possession ofit and placed it in an inner pocket.
With the completion of the letter his manner seemed to undergo achange. The smoothness, even deferential atmosphere of the man mergedinto one of sharp suspicion. His brows drew together, and a quicksidelong glance flashed in the woman's direction, and a surly notesounded in his next words.
"It is a fool that can trust a woman--a woman in love. How do I knowthat your father will not betray me to this man, Ruxton Farlow? How doI know that you will fulfil your promise? You, a woman hating me, andin love with Farlow. I am mad, mad to risk it. You hate me--because Iwould save you and your father. If Farlow knew there would be no mercyfor me. For you I am imperilling my life in every direction. VonBerger, and all he stands for, shadows me from behind. Before me is aman robbed of his love."
Vita had risen from the table. She had turned to the fire and stoodleaning against the great mantel.
"Your estimate of human character need not alarm you. Remember, wantontreachery is almost as rare as the highest virtues. Men and women donot betray unless they can see some gain ahead. My father needs safetyand security, not only for himself but for me. I, too, want thesethings. Your conditions will be fulfilled to the letter because we needyour aid. Will that satisfy you? Is it commercial enough? You have setthe price, and I have agreed to it. Nor am I bankrupt. It is anagreement between us, and the fact that it is not set out on paper, andduly signed by witnesses, makes it surely the safer."
The man's hard eyes were fixed steadily upon the beautiful face.
"Your tongue is bitter," he said in a deep guttural tone.
"But no more bitter than my lot. Please go now. Human endurance has itslimits. If you force me to mine I shall fling all to the four winds ofheaven, and accept the fate marked out for me by the merciless tyrantswho prevail at Berlin."