"But I explained that he wasn't Tulliwuddle."

"He is so like," repeated the Baron moodily. "He most be ze same."

Bunker looked at it and shook his head.

"A different man, I assure you."

"Oh, ze devil!" replied the Baron.

"What's the matter?"

"I haff a head zat tvists and turns like my head never did since many years."

The Count had already surmised as much.

"Hang it out of the window," he suggested.

The Baron made no reply for some minutes. Then with an earnest air he began—

"Bonker, I have somezing to say to you."

"You have the most sympathetic audience outside the clan."

The Count's cheerful tone did not seem to please his friend.

"Your heart, he is too light, Bonker; ja, too light. Last night you did engourage me not to be seemly."

"I!"

"I did get almost dronk. If my head vas not so hard I should be dronk. Das ist not right. If I am to be ze Tollyvoddle, it most be as I vould be Von Blitzenberg. I most not forget zat I am not as ozzer men. I am noble, and most be so accordingly."

"What steps do you propose to take?" inquired Bunker with perfect gravity.

The Baron stared at the picture.

"Last night I had a dream. It vas zat man—at least, probably it vas, for I cannot remember eggsactly. He did pursue me mit a kilt."

"With what did you defend yourself?"

"I know not: I jost remember zat it should be a warning. Ve Blitzenbergs have ze gift to dream."

The Baron rose from the table and lit a cigar. After three puffs he threw it from him.

"I cannot smoke," he said dismally. "It has a onpleasant taste."

The Count assumed a seriously thoughtful air.

"No doubt you will wish to see Miss Maddison as soon as possible and get it over," he began. "I have just learned that their place is about seven miles away. We could borrow a trap this afternoon——"

"Nein, nein!" interrupted the Baron. "Donnerwetter! Ach, no, it most not be so soon. I most practise a leetle first. Not so immediately, Bonker."

Bunker looked at him with a glance of unfathomable calm.

"I find that it will be necessary for you to observe one or two ancient ceremonies, associated from time immemorial with the accession of a Tulliwuddle. You are prepared for the ordeal?"

"I most do my duty, Bonker."

"This suggests some more inspiring vision than the gentleman in the gold frame," thought the Count acutely.

Aloud he remarked

"You have high ideals, Baron."

"I hope so."

Again the Baron was the unconscious object of a humorous, perspicacious scrutiny.

"Last night I did hear zat moch was to be expected from me," he observed at length.

"From Mrs. Gallosh?"

"I do not zink it vas from Mrs. Gallosh."

Count Bunker smiled.

"You inflamed all hearts last night," said he.

The Baron looked grave.

"I did drink too moch last night. But I did not say vat I should not, eh? I vas not rude or gross to—Mistair Gallosh?"

"Not to Mr. Gallosh."

The Baron looked a trifle perturbed at the gravity of his tone.

"I vas not too free, too undignified in presence of zat innocent and charming lady—Miss Gallosh?"

The air of scrutiny passed from Count Bunker's face, and a droll smile came instead.

"Baron, I understand your ideals and I appreciate your motives. As you suggest, you had better rehearse your part quietly for a few days. Miss Maddison will find you the more perfect suitor."

The Baron looked as though he knew not whether to feel satisfied or not.

"By the way," said the Count in a moment, "have you written to the Baroness yet? Pardon me for reminding you, but you must remember that your letters will have to go out to Russia and back."

The Baron started.

"Teufel!" he exclaimed. "I most indeed write."

"The post goes at twelve."

The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table and toyed with his pen. A few minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked—

"Vat shall I say?"

"Tell her about your journey across Europe—how the crops look in Russia—what you think of St. Petersburg—that sort of thing."

A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the Baron burst out

"Ach, I cannot write to-day! I cannot invent like you. Ze crops—I have got zat—and zat I arrived safe—and zat Petersburg is nice. Vat else?"

"Anything you can remember from text-books on Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar. Just a word or two, don't you know, to show you've been there; with a few comments of your own."

"Vat like comments?"

"Such as—'Somewhat annoyed with bombs this afternoon,' or 'This caused me to reflect upon the disadvantages of an alcoholic marine'—any little bit of philosophy that occurs to you."

The Baron pondered.

"It is a pity zat I have not been in Rossia," he observed.

"On the other hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn't. Look at the bright side of things, my dear fellow."

For a short time, from the way in which the Baron took hasty notes in pencil and elaborated them in ink (according to the system of Professor Virchausen), it appeared that he was following his friend's directions. Later, from a sentimental look in his eye, the Count surmised that he was composing an amorous addendum; and at last he laid down his pen with a sigh which the cynical (but only the cynical) might have attributed to relief.

"Ha, my head he is getting more clear!" he announced. "Gom, let us present ourselves to ze ladies, mine Bonker!"



CHAPTER XII

"It is necessary, Bonker—you are sure?"

"No Tulliwuddle has ever omitted the ceremony. If you shirked, I am assured on the very best authority that it would excite the gravest suspicions of your authenticity."

Count Bunker spoke with an air of the most resolute conviction. Ever since they arrived he had taken infinite pains to discover precisely what was expected of the chieftain, and having by great good luck made the acquaintance of an elderly individual who claimed to be the piper of the clan, and who proved a perfect granary of legends, he was able to supply complete information on every point of importance. Once the Baron had endeavored to corroborate these particulars by interviewing the piper himself, but they had found so much difficulty in understanding one another's dialects that he had been content to trust implicitly to his friend's information. The Count, indeed, had rather avoided than sought advice on the subject, and the piper, after several confidential conversations and the passage of a sum of silver into his sporran, displayed an equally Delphic tendency.

The Baron, therefore, argued the present point no longer.

"It is jost a mere ceremony," he said. "Ach, vell, nozing vill happen. Zis ghost—vat is his name?"

"It is known as the Wraith of the Tulliwuddles. The heir must interview it within a week of coming to the Castle."

"Vere most I see him?"

"In the armory, at midnight. You bring one friend, one candle, and wear a bonnet with one eagle's feather in it. You enter at eleven and wait for an hour—and, by the way, neither of you must speak above a whisper."

"Pooh! Jost hombog!" said the Baron valiantly. "I do not fear soch trash."

"When the Wraith appears——"

"My goot Bonker, he vill not gom!"

"Supposing he does come—and mind you, strange things happen in these old buildings, particularly in the Highlands, and after dinner; if he comes, Baron, you must ask him three questions."

The Baron laughed scornfully.

"If I see a ghost I vill ask him many interesting questions—if he does feel cold, and sochlike, eh? Ha, ha!"

With an imperturbable gravity that was not without its effect upon the other, however gaily he might talk, Bunker continued,

"The three questions are: first, 'What art thou?' second, 'Why comest thou here, O spirit?' third, 'What instructions desirest thou to give me?' Strictly speaking, they ought to be asked in Gaelic, but exceptions have been made on former occasions, and Mac-Dui—who pipes, by the way, in the anteroom—assures me that English will satisfy the Wraith in your case."

The Baron sniffed and laughed, and twirled up the ends of his mustaches till they presented a particularly desperate appearance. Yet there was a faint intonation of anxiety in his voice as he inquired—

"You vill gom as my friend, of course?"

"I? Quite out of the question, I am sorry to say. To bring a foreigner (as I am supposed to be) would rouse the clan to rebellion. No, Baron, you have a chance of paying a graceful compliment to your host which you must not lose. Ask Mr. Gallosh to share your vigil."

"Gallosh—he vould not be moch good sopposing—Ach, but nozing vill happen! I vill ask him."

The pride of Mr. Gallosh on being selected as his lordship's friend on this historic occasion was pleasant to witness.

"It's just a bit of fiddle-de-dee," he informed his delighted family. "Duncan Gallosh to be looking for bogles is pretty ridiculous—but oh, I can't refuse to disoblige his lordship."

"I should think not, when he's done you the honor to invite you out of all his friends!" said Mrs. Gallosh warmly. "Eva! do you hear the compliment that's been paid your papa?"

Eva, their fair eldest daughter, came into the room at a run. She had indeed heard (since the news was on every tongue), and impetuously she flung her arms about her father's neck.

"Oh, papa, do him credit!" she cried; "it's like a story come true! What a romantic thing to happen!"

"What a spirit!" her mother reflected proudly. "She is just the girl for a chieftain's bride!"

That very night was chosen for the ceremony, and eleven o'clock found them all assembled breathless in the drawing-room: all, save Lord Tulliwuddle and his host.

"Will they have to wait for a whole hour?" asked Mrs. Gallosh in a low voice.

Indeed they all spoke in subdued accents.

"I am told," replied the Count, "that the apparition never appears till after midnight has struck. Any time between twelve and one he may be expected."

"Think of the terrible suspense after twelve has passed!" whispered Eva.

The Count had thought of this.

"I advised Duncan to take his flask," said Mr. Rentoul, with a solemn wink. "So he'll not be so badly off."

"Papa would never do such a thing to-night!" cried Eva.

"It's always a kind of precaution," said the sage.

Presently Count Bunker, who had been imparting the most terrific particulars of former interviews with the Wraith to the younger Galloshes, remarked that he must pass the time by overtaking some pressing correspondence.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for shutting myself up for an hour or so," he said to his hostess. "I shall come back in time to learn the results of the meeting."

And with the loss of his encouraging company a greater uneasiness fell upon the party.

Meanwhile, in a vast cavern of darkness, lit only by the solitary candle, the Baron and his host endeavored to maintain the sceptical buoyancy with which they had set forth upon their adventure. But the chilliness of the room (they had no fire, and it was a misty night with a moaning wind), the inordinate quantity of odd-looking shadows, and the profound silence, were immediately destructive to buoyancy and ultimately trying to scepticism.

"I wish ze piper vould play," whispered the Baron.

"Mebbe he'll begin nearer the time," his companion suggested.

The Baron shivered. For the first time he had been persuaded to wear the full panoply of a Highland chief, and though he had exhibited himself to the ladies with much pride, and even in the course of dinner had promised Eva Gallosh that he would never again don anything less romantic, he now began to think that a travelling-rug of the Tulliwuddle tartan would prove a useful addition to the outfit on the occasion of a midnight vigil. Also the stern prohibition against talking aloud (corroborated by the piper with many guttural warnings) grew more and more irksome as the night advanced.

"It's an awesome place," whispered Mr. Gallosh.

"I hardly thought it would have been as lonesome-like."

There was a tremor in his voice that irritated the Baron.

"Pooh!" he answered, "it is jost vun old piece of hombog! I do not believe in soch things myself."

"Neither do I, my lord; oh, neither do I; but—would you fancy a dram?"

"Not for me, I zank you," said his lordship stiffly.

Blessing the foresight of Mr. Rentoul, his host unscrewed his flask and had a generous swig. As he was screwing on the top again, the Baron, in a less haughty voice, whispered,

"Perhaps jost vun leetle taste."

They felt now for a few minutes more aggressively disposed.

"Ve need not have ze curtain shut," said the Baron. "Soppose you do draw him?"

Through the gloom Mr. Gallosh took one or two faltering steps.

"Man, it's awful hard to see one's way," he said nervously.

The Baron took the candle, and with a martial stride escorted him to the window. They pulled aside one corner of the heavy curtain, and then let it fall again and hurried back. So far north there was indeed a gleam of daylight left, but it was such a pale and ghostly ray, and the wreaths of mist swept so eerily and silently across the pane, that candle-light and shadows seemed vastly preferable.

"How much more time will there be?" whispered Mr. Gallosh presently.

"It is twenty-five minutes to twelve."

"Your lordship! Can we leave at twelve?"

The Baron started.

"Oh, Himmel!" he exclaimed. "Vy did I not realize before? If nozing comes—and nozing vill come—ve most stay till one, I soppose."

Mr. Gallosh emitted something like a groan.

"Oh my, and that candle will not last more than half an hour at the most!"

"Teufel!" said the Baron. "It vas Bonker did give him to me. He might have made a more proper calculation."

The prospect was now gloomy indeed. An hour of candle-light had been bad, but an hour of pitch darkness or of mist wreaths would be many times worse.

"A wee tastie more, my lord?" Mr. Gallosh suggested, in a voice whose vibrations he made an effort to conceal.

"Jost a vee," said his lordship, hardly more firmly.

With a dismal disregard for their suspense the minutes dragged infinitely slowly. The flask was finished; the candle guttered and flickered ominously; the very shadows grew restless.

"There's a lot of secret doors and such like in this part of the house—let's hope there'll be nothing coming through one of them," said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.

The Baron muttered an inaudible reply, and then with a start their shoulders bumped together.

"Damn it, what's yon!" whispered Mr. Gallosh.

"Ze pipes! Gallosh, how beastly he does play!"

In point of fact the air seemed to consist of only one wailing note.

"Bong!"—they heard the first stroke of midnight on the big clock on the Castle Tower; and so unfortunately had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the instant its flame expired.

"Vithdraw ze curtains!" gasped the Baron.

"I canna, my lord! Oh, I canna!" wailed Mr. Gallosh, breaking out into his broadest native Scotch.

This time the Baron made no movement, and in the palpitating silence the two sat through one long dark minute after another, till some ten of them had passed.

"I shall stand it no more!" muttered the Baron. "Ve vill creep for ze door."

"My lord, my lord! For maircy's sake gie's a hold of you!" stammered Mr. Gallosh, falling on his hands and knees and feeling for the skirt of his lordship's kilt.

But their flight was arrested by a portent so remarkable that had there been only a single witness one would suppose it to be a figment of his imagination. Fortunately, however, both the Baron and Mr. Gallosh can corroborate each detail. About the middle, apparently, of the wall opposite, an oblong of light appeared in the thickest of the gloom.

"Mein Gott!" cried the Baron.

"It's filled wi' reek!" gasped Mr. Gallosh.

And indeed the space seemed filled with a slowly rising cloud of pungent blue smoke. Then their horrified eyes beheld the figure of an undoubted Being hazily outlined behind the cloud, and at the same time the piper, as if sympathetically aware of the crisis, burst into his most dreadful discords. A yell rang through the gloom, followed by the sounds of a heavy body alternately scuffling across the floor and falling prostrate over unseen furniture. The Baron felt for his host, and realized that this was the escaping Gallosh.

"Tulliwuddle! Speak!" a hollow voice muttered out of the smoke.

The Baron has never ceased to exult over the hardihood he displayed in this unnerving crisis. Rising to his feet and drawing his claymore, he actually managed to stammer out—

"Who—who are you?"

The Being (he could now perceive dimly that it was clad in tartan) answered in the same deep, measured voice—

"Your senses to confound and fuddle, Behold the Wraith of Tulliwuddle!"

This was sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to excuse the Baron for following the example of his host. But, though he found afterwards that he must have perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground.

"Vy have you gomed here?" he demanded in a voice nearly as hollow as the Wraith.

As solemnly as before the spirit replied—

"From Pit that's bottomless and dark— Methinks I hear it shrieking—Hark!"

(The Baron certainly did hear a tumult that might well be termed infernal; though whether it emanated from Mr. Gallosh, fiends, or the piper, he could not at the moment feel certain.)

"I came o'er many leagues of heather To carry back the answer whether The noble chieftain of my clan Conducts him like a gentleman."

After this warning, to put the third question required an effort of the most supreme resolution. The Baron was equal to it, however.

"Vat instroction do you give me?" he managed to utter.

In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted—

"Hang ever kilt above the knee, With Usquebaugh be not too free, When toasts and sic'like games be mooted See that your dram be well diluted; And oh, if you'd escape from Hades, Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!"

The spirit vanished as magically as he had appeared, and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the Baron found himself in inky darkness again. This time he did not hesitate to grope madly for the door, but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that seemed to be pawing the panels. He was, fortunately; as quickly reassured by hearing the voice of Mr. Gallosh exclaim in terrified accents—

"I canna find the haundle! Oh, Gosh, where's the haundle?"

Being the less frenzied of the two, the Baron did succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of relief burst into the lighted anteroom. The piper had already departed, and evidently in haste, since he had left some portion of a bottle of whisky unfinished. This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover something of their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.

"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured. "Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!"

He was making for the door when the Baron seized his arm.

"Vait!" he cried. "Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"

"I'll not swear I heard just exactly what passed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful feared!"

"Tuts! tuts!" said the Baron kindly. "Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze ghost."

"I will that!" said Mr. Gallosh.

By the time they reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral spirit.

"Bot vere is Bonker?" he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.

A moment later the Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.

"Vat a strange smell you have!" he exclaimed.

"Peat smoke, probably. This fire wouldn't draw."

"Strange!" mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night."

"Yes; one notices it all through the house with an east wind."

This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence.



CHAPTER XIII

At the house in Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg, an event of considerable importance had occurred. This was nothing less than the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon a visit both of affection and state. So important was she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that the preparations for her reception would have served for a reigning sovereign. But the Countess had an eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting as Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced the Baroness and kissed her ceremoniously upon either cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something that she deemed should have been there also.

"And where is Rudolph?" she demanded. "Is he so very busy that he cannot spare a moment even to welcome me?"

The Baroness changed color, but with as easy an air as she could assume she answered that Rudolph had most unfortunately been summoned from England.

"Indeed?" observed the Countess, and the observation was made in a tone that suggested the advisability of a satisfactory explanation.

This paragon among mothers and peeresses was a lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression and commanding voice were commonly held to typify all that is best in the feudal system; or, in other words, to indicate that her opinions had never been contradicted in her life. When one of these is a firm belief in the holder's divine rights and semi-divine origin, the effect is undoubtedly impressive. And the Countess impressed.

"My dear Alicia," said she, when they had settled down to tea and confidential talk, "you have not yet told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so soon."

On nothing had the Baron laid more stress than on the necessity of maintaining the most profound secrecy respecting his mission. "No, not even to your mozzer most you say. My love, you vill remember?" had been almost his very last words before departing for St. Petersburg. His devoted wife had promised this not once, but many times, while his finger was being shaken at her, and would have scorned herself had she thought it possible to break her vows.

"That is a secret, mamma," she declared.

Her mother opened her eyes.

"A secret from me, Alicia?"

"Rudolph made me promise."

"Not to tell your friends—but that hardly was intended to include your mother."

The Baroness looked uncomfortable.

"I—I'm afraid——" she began, and stopped in hesitation.

"Did he specifically include me?" demanded the Countess in an altered tone.

"I think, mamma, he did," her daughter faltered.

"Ah!"

And there was a world of meaning in that comment.

"Believe me, mamma, it is something very, very important, or Rudolph would certainly have let me tell you all about it."

Lady Grillyer opened her eyes still wider.

"Then I am to understand that he wishes to conceal from me anything that he considers of importance?"

"Oh, no! Not that! I only mean that this thing is very secret."

"Alicia," pronounced the Countess, "when a man specifically conceals anything from his mother-in-law, you may be quite certain that she ought to be informed of it at once."

"I—I can't, mamma!"

"A trip to Germany—for it is there, I presume, he has gone—back to the scenes of his bachelorhood, unprotected by the influence of his wife! Do you call that a becoming procedure?"

"But he hasn't gone to Germany."

"He has no business anywhere else!"

"You forget his diplomatic duties."

"Ah! He professes to have gone on diplomatic business?"

"Professes, mamma?" exclaimed the poor Baroness. "How can you say such a thing! He certainly has gone on a diplomatic mission!"

"To Paris, no doubt?" suggested Lady Grillyer, with an intonation that made it quite impossible not to contradict her.

"Certainly not! He has gone to Russia."

The more the Countess learned, the more anxious she appeared to grow.

"To Russia, on a diplomatic mission? This is incredible, Alicia!"

"Why should it be incredible?" demanded Alicia, flushing.

"Because he is a mere tyro in diplomacy. Because there is a German embassy at Petersburg, and they would not send a man from London on a mission—at least, it is most unlikely."

"It seems to me quite natural," declared the Baroness.

She was showing more fight than her mother had ever encountered from her before, and the opposition seemed to inflame Lady Grillyer's resentment against the unfilial couple.

"You know nothing about it! What is this mission about?"

"That certainly is a secret," said Alicia, relieved that there was something left to keep her promise over.

"Has he gone alone?"

"I—I mustn't tell you, mamma."

Alicia's face betrayed this subterfuge.

"You do not know yourself, Alicia," said the Countess incisively. "And so you need no longer pretend to be keeping a secret from me. It now becomes our joint business to discover the actual truth. Do not attempt to wrangle with me further! This investigation is necessary for your peace of mind, dear."

The unfortunate Baroness dropped a silent tear. Her peace of mind had been serenely undisturbed till this moment, and now it was only broken by the thought of her husband's displeasure should he ever learn how she had disobeyed his injunctions. Further investigation was the very last thing to cure it, she said to herself bitterly. She looked piteously at her parent, but there she only saw an expression of concentrated purpose.

"Have you any reason, Alicia, to suspect an attachment—an affair of any kind?"

"Mamma!"

"Do not jump in that excitable manner. Think quietly. He has evidently returned to Germany for some purpose which he wishes to conceal from us: the natural supposition is that a woman is at the bottom of it."

"Rudolph is incapable——"

"No man is incapable who is in the full possession of his faculties. I know them perfectly."

"But, mamma, I cannot bear to think of such a thing!"

"That is a merely middle-class prejudice. I can't imagine where you have picked it up."

In point of fact, during Alicia's girlhood Lady Grillyer had always been at the greatest pains to preserve her daughter's innocent simplicity, as being preeminently a more marketable commodity than precocious worldliness. But if reminded of this she would probably have retorted that consistency was middle-class also.

"I have no reason to suspect anything of the sort," the Baroness declared emphatically.

Her mother indulged her with a pitying smile and inquired—

"What other explanation can you offer? Among his men friends is there anyone likely to lead him into mischief?"

"None—at least——"

"Ah!"

"He promised me he would avoid Mr. Bunker—I mean Mr. Essington."

The Countess started. She had vivid and exceedingly distasteful recollections of Mr. Bunker.

"That man! Are they still acquainted?"

"Acquainted—oh yes; but I give Rudolph credit for more sense and more truthfulness than to renew their friendship."

The Countess pondered with a very grave expression upon her face, while Alicia gently wiped her eyes and ardently wished that her honest Rudolph was here to defend his character and refute these baseless insinuations. At length her mother said with a brisker air—

"Ah! I know exactly what we must do. I shall make a point of seeing Sir Justin Wallingford tomorrow."

"Sir Justin Wallingford!"

"If anybody can obtain private information for us he can. We shall soon learn whether the Baron has been sent to Russia."

Alicia uttered a cry of protest. Sir Justin, ex-diplomatist, author of a heavy volume of Victorian reminiscences, and confidant of many public personages, was one of her mother's oldest friends; but to her he was only one degree less formidable than the Countess, and quite the last person she would have chosen for consultation upon this, or indeed upon any other subject.

"I am not going to intrust my husband's secrets to him!" she exclaimed.

"I am," replied the Countess.

"But I won't allow it! Rudolph would be——"

"Rudolph has only himself to blame. My dear Alicia, you can trust Sir Justin implicitly. When my child's happiness is at stake I would consult no one who was not discretion itself. I am very glad I thought of him."

The Baroness burst into tears.

"My child, my child!" said her mother compassionately. "The world is no Garden of Eden, however much we may all try to make it so."

"You—you don't se—seem to be trying now, mamma."

"May Heaven forgive you, my darling," pronounced the Countess piously.



CHAPTER XIV

"Sir Justin," said the Countess firmly, "please tell my daughter exactly what you have discovered."

Sir Justin Wallingford sat in the drawing-room at Belgrave Square with one of these ladies on either side of him. He was a tall, gaunt man with a grizzled black beard, a long nose, and such a formidably solemn expression that ambitious parents were in the habit of wishing that their offspring might some day be as wise as Sir Justin Wallingford looked. His fund of information was prodigious, while his reasoning powers were so remarkable that he had never been known to commit the slightest action without furnishing a full and adequate explanation of his conduct. Thus the discrimination shown by the Countess in choosing him to restore a lady's peace of mind will at once be apparent.

"The results of my inquiries," he pronounced, "have been on the whole of a negative nature. If this mission on which the Baron von Blitzenberg professes to be employed is in fact of an unusually delicate nature, it is just conceivable that the answer I received from Prince Gommell-Kinchen, when I sounded him at the Khalifa's luncheon, may have been intended merely to throw dust in my eyes. At the same time, his highness appeared to speak with the candor of a man who has partaken, not excessively, you understand, but I may say freely, of the pleasures of the table."

He looked steadily first at one lady and then at the other, to let this point sink in.

"And what did the Prince say?" asked the Baroness, who, in spite of her supreme confidence in her husband, showed a certain eager nervousness inseparable from a judicial inquiry.

"He told me—I merely give you his word, and not my own opinion; you perfectly understand that, Baroness?"

"Oh yes," she answered hurriedly.

"He informed me that, in fact, the Baron had been obliged to ask for a fortnight's leave of absence to attend to some very pressing and private business in connection with his Silesian estates."

"I think, Alicia, we may take that as final," said her mother decisively.

"Indeed I shan't!" cried Alicia warmly. "That was just an excuse, of course. Rudolph's business is so very delicate that—that—well, that you could only expect Prince Gommell-Kinchen to say something of that sort."

"What do you say to that, Sir Justin?" demanded the Countess.

With the air of a man doing what was only his duty, he replied—

"I say that I think it is improbable. In fact, since you demand to know the truth, I may inform you that the Prince added that leave of absence was readily given, since the Baron's diplomatic duties are merely nominal. To quote his own words, 'Von Blitzenberg is a nice fellow, and it pleases the English ladies to play with him.'"

Even Lady Grillyer was a trifle taken aback at this description of her son-in-law, while Alicia turned scarlet with anger.

"I don't believe he said anything of the sort!" she cried. "You both of you only want to hurt me and insult Rudolph! I won't stand it!"

She was already on her feet to leave them, when her mother stopped her, and Sir Justin hastened to explain.

"No reflection upon the Baron's character was intended, I assure you. The Prince merely meant to imply that he represented the social rather than the business side of the embassy. And both are equally necessary, I assure you—equally essential, Baroness, believe me."

"In fact," said the Countess, "the remark comes to this, that Rudolph would never be sent to Russia, whatever else they might expect of him."

Even through their tears Alicia's eyes brightened with triumph.

"But he HAS gone, mamma! I got a letter from him this morning—from St. Petersburg!"

The satisfaction of her two physicians on hearing this piece of good news took the form of a start which might well have been mistaken for mere astonishment, or even for dismay.

"And you did not tell ME of it!" cried her mother.

"Rudolph did not wish me to. I have only told you now to prove how utterly wrong you both are."

"Let me see this letter!"

"Indeed, mamma, I won't!"

The two ladies looked at one another with such animosity that Sir Justin felt called upon to interfere.

"Suppose the Baroness were to read us as much as is necessary to convince us that there is no possibility of a mistake," he suggested.

So profoundly did the Countess respect his advice that she graciously waived her maternal rights so far as actually following the text with her eyes went; while her daughter, after a little demur, was induced to depart this one step further from her husband's injunctions.

"You have no objections to my glancing at the post-mark?" said Sir Justin when this point was settled.

With a toss of her head the Baroness silently handed him the envelope.

"It seems correct," he observed cautiously.

"But post-marks can be forged, can't they?" inquired the Countess.

"I fear they can," he admitted, with a sorrowful air.

Scorning to answer this insinuation, the Baroness proceeded to read aloud the following extracts:

"'I travelled with comfort through Europe, and having by many countries passed, such as Germany and others, I arrived, my dear Alicia, in Russia.'"

"Is that all he says about his journey?" interrupted Lady Grillyer.

"It is certainly a curiously insufficient description of a particularly interesting route," commented Sir Justin.

"It almost seems as if he didn't know what other countries lie between England and Russia," added the Countess.

"It only means that he knows geography doesn't interest me!" replied Alicia. "And he does say more about his journey—'Alone by myself, in a carriage very quietly I travelled.' And again—'To be observed not wishing, and strict orders being given to me, with no man I spoke all the way.' There!"

"That certainly makes it more difficult to check his statements," Sir Justin admitted.

"Ah, he evidently thought of that!" said the Countess. "If he had said there was anyone with him, we could have asked him afterwards who it was. What a pity! Read on, my child—we are vastly interested."

Thus encouraged, the Baroness continued

"'In Russia the crops are good, and from my window with pleasure I observe them. Petersburg is a nice town, and I have a pleasant apartment in it!'"

"What!" exclaimed the Countess. "He is looking at the crops from his window in St. Petersburg!"

Sir Justin grimly pursed his lips, but his silence was more ominous than speech. In fact, the Baron's unfortunate effort at realism by the introduction of his window struck the first blow at his wife's implicit trust in him. She was evidently a little disconcerted, though she stoutly declared—

"He is evidently living in the suburbs, mamma."

"Will you be so kind as to read on a little farther?" interposed Sir Justin in a grave voice.

"'The following reflections have I made. Russia is very large and cold, where people in furs are to be seen, and sledges. Bombs are thrown sometimes, and the marine is not good when it does drink too much.' Now, mamma, he must have seen these things or he wouldn't put them in his letter."

The Baroness broke of somewhat hurriedly to make this comment, almost indeed as though she felt it to be necessary. As for her two comforters, they looked at one another with so much sorrow that their eyes gleamed and their lips appeared to smile.

"The Baron did not write that letter in Russia," said Sir Justin decisively. "Furs are not worn in summer, nor do the inhabitants travel in sledges at this time of the year."

"But—but he doesn't say he actually saw them," pleaded the Baroness.

"Then that remark, just like the rest of his reflections, makes utter nonsense," rejoined her mother.

"Is that all?" inquired Sir Justin.

"Almost all—all that is important," faltered the Baroness.

"Let us hear the rest," said her mother inexorably.

"There is only a postscript, and that merely says—'The flask that you filled I thank you for; it was so large that it was sufficient for——' I can't read the last word."

"Let me see it, Alicia."

A few minutes ago Alicia would have torn the precious letter up rather than let another eye fall upon it. That her devotion was a little disturbed was proved by her allowing her two advisers to study even a single sentence. Keeping her hand over the rest, she showed it to them. They bent their brows, and then simultaneously exclaimed—

"'Us both!'"

"Oh, it can't be!" cried the poor Baroness.

"It is absolutely certain," said her mother in a terrible voice—"'It was so large that it was sufficient for us both!'"

"There is no doubt about it," corroborated Sir Justin sternly. "The unfortunate young man has inadvertently confessed his deception."

"It cannot be!" murmured the Baroness. "He said at the beginning that he travelled quite alone."

"That is precisely what condemns him," said her mother.

"Precisely," reiterated Sir Justin.

The Baroness audibly sobbed, while the two patchers of her peace of mind gazed at her commiserately.

"What am I to do?" she asked at length. "I can't believe he really—— But how am I to find out?"

"I shall make further investigations," promptly replied Sir Justin.

"And I also," added the Countess.

"Meanwhile," said Sir Justin, "we shall be exceedingly interested to learn what further particulars of his wanderings the Baron supplies you with."

"Yes," observed the Countess, "he can fortunately be trusted to betray himself. You will inform me, Alicia, as soon as you hear from him again."

Her daughter made no reply.

Sir Justin rose and bade them a grave farewell.

"In my daughter's name I thank you cordially," said the Countess, as she pressed his hand.

"Anything I have done has been a pleasure to me," he assured them with a sincerity there was no mistaking.



CHAPTER XV

In an ancient and delightful garden, where glimpses of the loch below gleamed through a mass of summer foliage, and the gray castle walls looked down on smooth, green glades, the Baron slowly paced the shaven turf. But he did not pace it quite alone, for by his side moved a graceful figure in a wide, sun-shading hat and a frock entirely irresistible. Beneath the hat, by bending a little down, you could have seen the dark liquid eyes and tender lips of Eva Gallosh. And the Baron frequently bent down.

"I am proud of everyzing zat I find in my home," said the Baron gallantly.

The lady's color rose, but not apparently in anger.

"Ach, here is a pretty leetle seat!" he exclaimed in a tone of pleased discovery, just as though he had not been leading her insidiously towards it ever since they, came into the garden.

It was, indeed, a most shady and secluded bench, an ideal seat for any gallant young Baron who had left his Baroness sufficiently far away. He glanced down complacently upon his brawny knees, displayed (he could not but think) to great advantage beneath his kilt and sporran, and then with a tenderer complacency, turned his gaze upon his fair companion.

"You say you like me in ze tartan?" he murmured.

"I adore everything Highland! Oh, Lord Tulliwuddle, how fortunate you are!"

Nature had gifted Miss Gallosh with a generous share of romantic sentiment. It was she who had egged on her father to rent this Highland castle for the summer, instead of chartering a yacht as he had done for the past few years; and ever since they had come here that sentiment had grown, till she was ready to don the white cockade and plot a new Jacobite uprising. Then, while her heart was in this inspired condition, a noble young chief had stepped in to complete the story. No wonder her dark eyes burned.

"What attachment you must feel for each stone of the Castle!" she continued in a rapt voice. "How your heart must beat to remember that your great-grandfather—wasn't his name Fergus?"

"Fergus: yes," said the Baron, blindly but promptly.

"No, no; it was Ian, of course."

"Ach, so! Ian he vas."

"You were thinking of his father," she smiled.

"Yes, his fazzer."

She reflected sagely.

"I am afraid I get my facts mixed up some times. Ian—ah, Reginald came before him—not Fergus!"

"Reginald—oh yes, so he did!"

She looked a trifle disappointed.

"If I were you I should know them all by heart," said she.

"I vill learn zem. Oh yes, I most not make soch mistakes."

Indeed he registered a very sincere vow to study his family history that afternoon.

"What was I saying? Oh yes—about your brave great-grandfather. Do you know, Lord Tulliwuddle, I want to ask you a strange favor? You won't think it very odd of me?"

"Odd? Never! Already it is granted."

"I want to hear from your own lips—from the lips of an actual Lord Tulliwuddle—the story of your ancestor Ian's exploit."

With beseeching eyes and a face flushed with a sense of her presumption, she uttered this request in a voice that tore the Baron with conflicting emotions.

"Vich exploit do you mean?" he asked in a kindly voice but with a troubled eye.

"You must know! When he defended the pass, of course."

"Ach, so!"

The Baron looked at her, and though he boasted of no such inventive gifts as his friend Bunker, his ardent heart bade him rather commit himself to perdition than refuse.

"You will tell it to me?"

"I vill!"

Making as much as possible of the raconteur's privileges of clearing his throat, settling himself into good position, and gazing dreamily at the tree-tops for inspiration, he began in a slow, measured voice—

"In ze pass he stood. Zen gomed his enemies. He fired his gon and shooted some dead. Zen did zey run avay. Zat vas vat happened."

When he ventured to meet her candid gaze after thus lamely libelling his forefather, he was horrified to observe that she had already recoiled some feet away from him, and seemed still to be in the act of recoiling.

"It would have been kinder to tell me at once that I had asked too much!" she exclaimed in a voice affected by several emotions. "I only wanted to hear you repeat his death-cry as his foes slew him, so that it might always seem more real to me. And you snub me like this!"

The Baron threw himself upon one knee.

"Forgive me! I did jost lose mine head mit your eyes looking so at me! I get confused, you are so lovely! I did not mean to snob!"

In the ardor of his penitence he discovered himself holding her hand; she no longer seemed to be recoiling; and Heaven knows what might have happened next if an ostentatious sound of whistling had not come to their rescue.

"Bot you vill forgive?" he whispered, as they sprang up from their shady seat.

"Ye-es," she answered, just as the serene glance of Count Bunker fell humorously upon them.

"You seem to have been plucking flowers, Tulliwuddle," he observed.

"Flowers? Oh, no."

The Count glanced pointedly at his soiled knee.

"Indeed!" said he. "Don't I see traces of a flower-bed?"

"I think I should go in," murmured Eva, and she was gone before the Count had time to frame a compensating speech.

His friend Tulliwuddle looked at him with marked displeasure, yet seemed to find some difficulty in adequately expressing it.

"I do not care for vat you said," he remarked stiffly. "Nor for ze look now on your face."

"Baron," said the Count imperturbably, "what did you tell me the Wraith said to you—something about 'Beware of the ladies,' wasn't it?"

"You do not onderstand. Ze ghost" (he found some difficulty in pronouncing the spirit's chosen name) "did soppose naturally zat I vas ze real Lord Tollyvoddle, who is, as you have told me yourself, Bonker, somezing of a fast fish. Ze varning vas to him obviously, so you should not turn it upon me."

Bunker opened his eyes.

"A deuced ingenious argument," he commented. "It wouldn't have occurred to me if you hadn't explained. Then you claim the privilege of wooing whom you wish?"

"Wooing! You forget zat I am married, Bonker."

"Oh no, I remember perfectly."

His tone disturbed the Baron. Taking the Count's arm, he said to him with moving earnestness—

"Have I not told you how constant I am—like ze magnet and ze pole?"

"I have heard you employ the simile."

"Ach, bot it is true! I am inside my heart so constant as it is possible! But I now represent Tollyvoddle, and for his sake most try to do my best."

Again Count Bunker glanced at his knee.

"And that is your best, then?"

"Listen, Bonker, and try to onderstand—not jost to make jokes. It appears to me zat Miss Gallosh vill make a good vife to Tollyvoddle. She is so fair, so amiable, and so rich. Could he do better? Should I not lay ze foundations of a happy marriage mit her? Soppose ve do get her instead of Miss Maddison, eh?"

His artful eloquence seemed to impress his friend, for he smiled thoughtfully and did not reply at once. More persuasively than ever the Baron continued—

"I do believe mit patience and mit—er—mit kindness, Bonker, I might persuade Miss Gallosh to listen to ze proposal of Tollyvoddle. And vould it not be better far to get him a lady of his own people, and not a stranger from America? Ve vill not like Miss Maddison, I feel sure. Vy troble mit her—eh, Bonker?"

"But don't you think, Baron, that we ought to give Tulliwuddle his choice? He may prefer an American heiress to a Scottish."

"Not if he sees Eva Gallosh!"

Again the Count gently raised his eyebrows in a way that the Baron could not help considering unsuitable to the occasion.

"On the other hand, Baron, Miss Maddison will probably have five or ten times as much money as Miss Gallosh. In arranging a marriage for another man, one must attend to such trifles as a few million dollars more or less."

For the moment the Baron was silenced, but evidently not convinced.

"Supposing I were to call upon the Maddisons as your envoy?" suggested Bunker, who, to tell the truth, had already begun to tire of a life of luxurious inaction.

"Pairhaps in a few days we might gonsider it."

"We have been here for a week already."

"Ven vould you call?"

"To-morrow, for instance."

The Baron frowned; but argument was difficult.

"You only jost vill go to see?"

"And report to you."

"And suppose she is ogly—or not so nice—or so on——zen vill I not see her, eh?"

"But suppose she is tolerable?"

"Zen vill ve give him a choice, and I vill continue to be polite to Miss Gallosh. Ah, Bonker, she is so nice! He vill not like Miss Maddison so vell! Himmel, I do admire her!"

The Baron's eyes shone with reminiscent affection.

"To how many poles is the magnet usually constant?" inquired the Count with a serious air.

The Baron smiled a little foolishly, and then, with a confidential air, replied—

"Ach, Bonker, marriage is blessed and it is happy, and it is everyzing that my heart desires; only I jost sometimes vish it vas not qvite—qvite so uninterruptable!"



CHAPTER XVI

In a dog-cart borrowed from his obliging host, Count Bunker approached the present residence of Mr. Darius P. Maddison. He saw, and—in his client's interest—noted with approval the efforts that were being made to convert an ordinary fishing-lodge into a suitable retreat for a gentleman worth so many million dollars. "Corryvohr," as the house was originally styled, or "Lincoln Lodge," as the patriotic Silver King had re-named it, had already been enlarged for his reception by the addition of four complete suites of apartments, each suitable for a nobleman and his retinue, an organ hall, 10,000 cubic yards of scullery accommodation, and a billiard-room containing three tables. But since he had taken up his residence there he had discovered the lack of several other essentials for a quiet "mountain life" (as he appropriately phrased it), and these defects were rapidly being remedied as our friend drove up. The conservatory was already completed, with the exception of the orchid and palm houses; the aviary was practically ready, and several crates of the rarer humming-birds were expected per goods train that evening; while a staff of electricians could be seen erecting the private telephone by which Mr. Maddison proposed to keep himself in touch with the silver market.

The Count had no sooner pressed the electric bell than a number of men-servants appeared, sufficient to conduct him in safety to a handsome library fitted with polished walnut, and carpeted as softly as the moss on a mountain-side. Having sent in his card, he entertained himself by gazing out of the window and wondering what strange operation was being conducted on a slope above the house, where a grove of pines were apparently being rocked to and fro by a concourse of men with poles and pulleys. But he had not to wait long, for with a promptitude that gave one some inkling of the secret of Mr. Maddison's business success, the millionaire entered.

In a rapid survey the Count perceived a tall man in the neighborhood of sixty: gray-haired, gray-eyed, and gray-faced. The clean-shaved and well-cut profile included the massive foundation of jaw which Bunker had confidently anticipated, and though his words sounded florid in a European ear, they were uttered in a voice that corresponded excellently with this predominant chin.

"I am very pleased to see you, sir, very pleased indeed," he assured the Count not once but several times, shaking him heartily by the hand and eyeing him with a glance accustomed to foresee several days before his fellows the probable fluctuations in the price of anything.

"I have taken the liberty of calling upon you in the capacity of Lord Tulliwuddle's confidential friend," the Count began. "He is at present, as you may perhaps have learned, visiting his ancestral possessions——"

"My dear sir, for some days we have been expecting his lordship and yourself to honor us with a visit," Mr. Maddison interposed. "You need not trouble to introduce yourself. The name of Count Bunker is already familiar to us."

He bowed ceremoniously as he spoke, and the Count with no less politeness laid his hand upon his heart and bowed also.

"I looked forward to the meeting with pleasure," he replied. "But it has already exceeded my anticipations."

He would have still further elaborated these assurances, but with his invariable tact he perceived a shrewd look in the millionaire's eye that warned him he had to do with a man accustomed to flowery preliminaries from the astutest manipulators of a deal.

"I am only sorry you should find our little cottage in such disorder," said Mr. Maddison. "The contractor for the conservatory undertook to erect it in a week, and my only satisfaction is that he is now paying me a forfeit of 500 dollars a day. As for the electricians in this country, sir, they are not incompetent men, but they must be taught to hustle if they are to work under American orders; and I don't quite see how they are to find a job anyways else."

He turned to the window with a more satisfied air.

"Here, however, you will perceive a tolerably satisfactory piece of work. I guess those trees will be ready pretty near as soon as the capercailzies are ready for them."

Count Bunker opened his eyes.

"Do I understand that you are erecting a pine wood?"

"You do. That fir forest is my daughter's notion. She thought ordinary plane-trees looked kind of unsuitable for our mountain home. The land of Burns and of the ill-fated Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, should have more appropriate foliage than that! Well, sir, it took four hundred men just three days to remove the last traces of the last root of the last of those plane-trees."

"And the pines, I suppose, you brought from a neighboring wood?" said the Count, patriotically endeavoring not to look too dumbfoundered.

"No, sir. Lord Tulliwuddle's factor was too slow for me—said he must consult his lordship before removing the timber on the estate. I cabled to Norway: the trees arrived yesterday in Aberdeen, and I guess half of them are as near perpendicular by now as a theodolite can make them. They are being erected, sir, on scientific principles."

Restraining his emotion with a severe effort, Bunker quietly observed

"Very good idea. I don't know that it would have occurred to me to land them at Aberdeen."

From the corner of his eye he saw that his composure had produced a distinct impression, but he found it hard to retain it through the Silver King's next statement.

"You have taken a long lease of Lincoln Lodge, I presume?" he inquired.

"One year," said Mr. Maddison. "But I reckon to be comfortable if I'm spending twenty minutes at a railroad junction."

"Ah!" responded the Count, "in that case shifting a forest must be child's-play."

The millionaire smiled affably at this pleasantry and invited his guest to be seated.

"You will try something American, I hope, Count Bunker?" he asked, touching the bell.

Count Bunker, rightly conceiving this to indicate a cock-tail, replied that he would, and in as nearly seven and a half seconds as he could calculate, a tray appeared with two of these remarkable compounds. Following his host's example, the Count threw his down at a gulp.

"The same," said Mr. Maddison simply. And in an almost equally brief space the same arrived.

"Now," said he, when they were alone again, "I hope you will pardon me, Count, if I am discourteous enough to tell you that my time is uncomfortably cramped. When I first came here I found that I was expected to stand upon the shore of the river for two hours on the chance of catching one salmon. But I have changed all that. As soon as I step outside my door, my ghillie brings me my rod, and if there ain't a salmon at the end for me to land, another ghillie will receive his salary. Since lunch I have caught a fish, despatched fifteen cablegrams, and dictated nine letters. I am only on holiday here, and if I don't get through double that amount in the next two hours I scarcely see my way to do much more fishing to-day. That being so, let us come right to the point. You bring some kind of proposition from Lord Tulliwuddle, I guess?"

During his drive the Count had cogitated over a number of judicious methods of opening the delicate business; but his adaptability was equal to the occasion. In as business-like a tone as his host, he replied—

"You are quite right, Mr. Maddison. Lord Tulliwuddle has deputed me to open negotiations for a certain matrimonial project."

Mr. Maddison's expression showed his appreciation of this candor and delicacy.

"Well," said he, "to be quite frank, Count, I should have thought all the better of his lordship if he had been a little more prompt about the business."

"It is not through want of admiration for Miss Maddison, I assure you——"

"No," interrupted Mr. Maddison, "it is because he does not realize the value of time—which is considerably more valuable than admiration, I can assure you. Since I discussed the matter with Lord Tulliwuddle's aunt we have had several more buyers—I should say, suitors—in the market—er—in the field, Count Bunker. But so far, fortunately for his lordship, my Eleanor has not approved of the samples sent, and if he still cares to come forward we shall be pleased to consider his proposition."

The millionaire looked at him out of an impenetrable eye; and the Count in an equally guarded tone replied,

"I greatly approve of putting things on so sound a footing, and with equal frankness I may tell you—in confidence, of course—that Lord Tulliwuddle also is not without alternatives. He would, however, prefer to offer his title and estates to Miss Maddison, provided that there is no personal objection to be found on either side."

Mr. Maddison's eye brightened and his tone warmed.

"Sir," said he, "I guess there won't be much objection to Eleanor Maddison when your friend has seen her. Without exaggeration, I may say that she is the most beautiful girl in America, and that is to say, the most beautiful girl anywhere. The precise amount of her fortune we can discuss, supposing the necessity arrives: but I can assure you it will be sufficient to set three of your mortgaged British aristocrats upon their legs again. No, sir, the objection will not come from THAT side!"

With a gentle smile and a deprecatory gesture the Count answered, "I am convinced that Miss Maddison is all—indeed, more than all—your eloquence has painted. On the other hand, I trust that you will not be disappointed in my friend Tulliwuddle."

Mr. Maddison crossed his legs and interlocked his fingers like a man about to air his views. This, in fact, was what he proceeded to do.

"My opinion of aristocracies and the pampered individuals who compose them is the opinion of an intelligent and enlightened democrat. I see them from the vantage-ground of a man who has made his own way in the world unhampered by ancestry, who has dwelt in a country fortunately unencumbered by such hindrances to progress, and who has no personal knowledge of their defects. You will admit that I speak with unusual opportunities of forming a judgment?"

"You should have the impartiality of a missionary," said Bunker gravely.

"That is so, sir. Now, in proposing to marry my daughter to a member of this class, I am actuated solely by a desire to take advantage of the opportunities such an alliance would confer. I am still perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly," replied Bunker, with the same profound gravity.

"In consequence," resumed the millionaire, with the impressiveness of a logician drawing a conclusion from two irrefutable premises—"in consequence, Count Bunker, I demand—and my daughter demands—and my son demands, sir, that the nobleman should possess an unusual number of high-class, fire-proof, expert-guaranteed qualities. That is only fair, you must admit?"

"I agree with you entirely."

Mr. Maddison glanced at the clock and sprang to his feet.

"I have not the pleasure of knowing my neighbor, Mr. Gallosh," he said, resuming his brisk business tone; "but I beg you to convey to him and to his wife and daughter my compliments—and my daughter's compliments—and tell them that we hope they will excuse ceremony and bring Lord Tulliwuddle to luncheon to-morrow."

Count Bunker expressed his readiness to carry this message, and the millionaire even more briskly resumed—

"I shall now give myself the pleasure of presenting you to my son and daughter."

With his swiftest strides he escorted his distinguished guest to another room, flung the door open, announced, "My dears, Count Bunker!" and pressed the Count's hand even as he was effecting this introduction.

"Very pleased to have met you, Count. Good day," he ejaculated, and vanished on the instant.



CHAPTER XVII

Raising his eyes after the profound bow which the Count considered appropriate to his character of plenipotentiary, he beheld at last the object of his mission; and whether or not she was the absolutely peerless beauty her father had vaunted, he at once decided that she was lovely enough to grace Hechnahoul, or any other, Castle. Black eyes and a mass of coal-black hair, an ivory pale skin, small well-chiselled features, and that distinctively American plumpness of contour—these marked her face; while as for her figure, it was the envy of her women friends and the distraction of all mankind who saw her.

"Fortunate Baron!" thought Bunker.

Beside her, though sufficiently in the rear to mark the relative position of the sexes in the society they adorned, stood Darius P. Maddison, junior—or "Ri," in the phrase of his relatives and friends—a broad-shouldered, well-featured young man, with keen eyes, a mouth compressed with the stern resolve to die richer than Mr. Rockefeller, and a pair of perfectly ironed trousers.

"I am very delighted to meet you," declared the heiress.

"Very honored to have this pleasure," said the brother.

"While I enjoy both sensations," replied the Count, with his most agreeable smile.

A little preliminary conversation ensued, in the course of which the two parties felt an increasing satisfaction in one another's society; while Bunker had the further pleasure of enjoying a survey of the room in which they sat. Evidently it was Miss Maddison's peculiar sanctum, and it revealed at once her taste and her power of gratifying it. The tapestry that covered two sides of the room could be seen at a glance to be no mere modern imitation, but a priceless relic of the earlier middle ages. The other walls were so thickly hung with pictures that one could scarcely see the pale-green satin beneath; and among these paintings the Count's educated eye recognized the work of Raphael, Botticelli, Turner, and Gainsborough among other masters; while beneath the cornice hung a well-chosen selection from the gems of the modern Anglo-American school. The chairs and sofa were upholstered in a figured satin of a slightly richer hue of green, and on several priceless oriental tables lay displayed in ivory, silver, crystal, and alabaster more articles of vertu than were to be found in the entire house of an average collector.

"Fortunate Tulliwuddle!" thought Bunker.

They had been conversing on general topics for a few minutes, when Miss Maddison turned to her brother and said, with a frankness that both pleased and entertained the Count—

"Ri, dear, don't you think we had better come right straight to the point? I feel sure Count Bunker is only waiting till he knows us a little better, and I guess it will save him considerable embarrassment if we begin."

"You are the best judge, Eleanor. I guess your notions are never far of being all right."

With a gratified smile Eleanor addressed the Count.

"My brother and I are affinities," she said. "You can speak to him just as openly as you can to me. What is fit for me to hear is fit for him."

Assuring her that he would not hesitate to act upon this guarantee if necessary, the Count nevertheless diplomatically suggested that he would sooner leave it to the lady to open the discussion.

"Well," she said, "I suppose we may presume you have called here as Lord Tulliwuddle's friend?"

"You may, Miss Maddison."

"And no doubt he has something pretty definite to suggest?"

"Matrimony," smiled the Count.

Her brother threw him a stern smile of approval.

"That's right slick THERE!" he exclaimed.

"Lord Tulliwuddle has made a very happy selection in his ambassador," said Eleanor, with equal cordiality. "People who are afraid to come to facts tire me. No doubt you will think it strange and forward of me to talk in this spirit, Count, but if you'd had to go through the worry of being an American heiress in a European state you would sympathize. Why, I'm hardly ever left in peace for twenty-four hours—am I, Ri?"

"That is so," quoth Ri.

"What would you guess my age to be, Count Bunker?"

"Twenty-one," suggested Bunker, subtracting two or three years on general principles.

"Well, you're nearer it than most people. Nineteen on my last birthday, Count!"

The Count murmured his surprise and pleasure, and Ri again declared, "That is so."

"And it isn't the American climate that ages one, but the terrible persecutions of the British aristocracy! I can be as romantic as any girl, Count Bunker; why, Ri, you remember poor Abe Sellar and the stolen shoe-lace?"

"Guess I do!" said Ri.

"That was a romance if ever there was one! But I tell you, Count, sentiment gets rubbed off pretty quick when you come to a bankrupt Marquis writing three ill-spelled sheets to assure me of the disinterested affection inspired by my photograph, or a divorced Duke offering to read Tennyson to me if I'll hire a punt!"

"I can well believe it," said the Count sympathetically.

"Well, now," the heiress resumed, with a candid smile that made her cynicism become her charmingly, "you see how it is. I want a man one can RESPECT, even if he is a peer. He may have as many titles as dad has dollars, but he must be a MAN!"

"That is so," said Ri, with additional emphasis.

"I can guarantee Lord Tulliwuddle as a model for a sculptor and an eligible candidate for canonization," declared the Count.

"I guess we want something grittier than that," said Ri.

"And what there is of it sounds almost too good news to be true," added his sister. "I don't want a man like a stained-glass window, Count; because for one thing I couldn't get him."

"If you specify your requirements we shall do our best to satisfy you," replied the Count imperturbably.

"Well, now," said Eleanor thoughtfully, "I may just as well tell you that if I'm going to take a peer—and I must own peers are rather my fancy at present—it was Mohammedan pashas last year, wasn't it, Ri?" ("That is so," from Ri.)—"If I AM going to take a peer, I must have a man that LOOKS a peer. I've been plagued with so many undersized and round-shouldered noblemen that I'm beginning to wonder whether the aristocracy gets proper nourishment. How tall is Lord Tulliwuddle?"

"Six feet and half an inch."

"That's something more like!" said Ri; and his sister smiled her acquiescence.

"And does he weigh up to it?" she inquired.

"Fourteen, twelve, and three-quarters."

"What's that in pounds, Ri? We don't count people in stones in America."

A tense frown, a nervous twitching of the lip, and in an instant the young financier produced the answer:

"Two hundred and nine pounds all but four ounces."

"Well," said Eleanor, "it all depends on how he holds himself. That's a lot to carry for a young man."

"He holds himself like one of his native pine-trees, Miss Maddison!"

She clapped her hands.

"Now I call that just a lovely metaphor, Count Bunker!" she cried. "Oh, if he's going to look like a pine, and walk like the pipers at the Torrydhulish gathering, and really be a chief like Fergus MacIvor or Roderick Dhu, I do believe I'll actually fall in love with him!"

"Say, Count," interposed Ri, "I guess we've heard he's half German."

"It was indeed in Germany that he learned his thorough grasp of politics, statesmanship, business, and finance, and acquired his lofty ambitions and indomitable perseverance."

"He'll do, Eleanor," said the young man. "That's to say, if he is anything like the prospectus."

His sister made no immediate reply. She seemed to be musing—and not unpleasantly.

At that moment a motor car passed the window.

"My!" exclaimed Eleanor, "I'd quite forgot! That will be to take the Honorable Stanley to the station. We must say good-by to him, I suppose."

She turned to the Count and added in explanation—

"The last to apply was the Honorable Stanley Pilkington—Lord Didcott's heir, you know. Oh, if you could see him, you'd realize what I've had to go through!"

Even as she spoke he was given the opportunity, for the door somewhat diffidently opened and an unhappy-looking young man came slowly into the room. He was clearly to be classified among the round-shouldered ineligibles; being otherwise a tall and slender youth, with an amiable expression and a smoothly well-bred voice.

"I've come to say good-by, Miss Maddison," he said, with a mournful air. "I—I've enjoyed my visit very much," he added, as he timidly shook her hand.

"So glad you have, Mr. Pilkington," she replied cordially. "It has been a very great pleasure to entertain you. Our friend Count Bunker—Mr. Pilkington."

The young man bowed with a look in his eye that clearly said—

"The next candidate, I perceive."

Then having said good-by to Ri, the Count heard him murmur to Eleanor—

"Couldn't you—er—couldn't you just manage to see me off?"

"With very great pleasure!" she replied in a hearty voice that seemed curiously enough rather to damp than cheer his drooping spirits.

No sooner had they left the room together than Darius, junior, turned energetically to his guest, and said in a voice ringing with pride—

"You may not believe me, Count, but I assure you that is the third fellow she has seen to the door inside a fortnight! One Duke, one Viscount—who will expand into something more considerable some day—and this Honorable Pilkington! Your friend, sir, will be a fortunate man if he is able to please my sister."

"She seems, indeed, a charming girl."

"Charming! She is an angel in human form! And I, sir, her brother, will see to it that she is not deceived in the man she chooses—not if I can help it!"

The young man said this with such an air as Bunker supposed his forefathers to have worn when they hurled the tea into Boston harbor.

"I trust that Lord Tulliwuddle, at least, will not fall under your displeasure, sir," he replied with an air of sincere conviction that exactly echoed his thoughts.

"Oh, Ri!" cried Eleanor, running back into the room, "he was so sweet as he said good-by in the hall that I nearly kissed him! I would have, only it might have made him foolish again. But did you see his shoulders, Count! And oh, to think of marrying a gentle thing like that! Is Lord Tulliwuddle a firm man, Count Bunker?"

"Adamant—when in the right," the Count assured her.

A renewed air of happy musing in her eyes warned him that he had probably said exactly enough, and with the happiest mean betwixt deference and dignity he bade them farewell.

"Then, Count, we shall see you all to-morrow," said Eleanor as they parted. "Please tell your hosts that I am very greatly looking forward to the pleasure of knowing them. There is a Miss Gallosh, isn't there?"

The Count informed her that there was in fact such a lady.

"That is very good news for me! I need a girl friend very badly, Count; these proposals lose half their fun with only Ri to tell them to. I intend to make a confidante of Miss Gallosh on the spot!"

"H'm," thought the Count, as he drove away, "I wonder whether she will."



CHAPTER XVIII

As the plenipotentiary approached the Castle he was somewhat surprised to pass a dog-cart containing not only his fellow-guest, Mr. Cromarty-Gow, but Mr. Gow's luggage also, and although he had hitherto taken no particular interest in that gentleman, yet being gifted with the true adventurer's instinct for promptly investigating any unusual circumstance, he sought his host as soon as he reached the house, with a view to putting a careless question or two. For no one, he felt sure, had been expected to leave for a few days to come.

"Yes," said Mr. Gallosh, "the young spark's off verra suddenly. We didn't expect him to be leaving before Tuesday. But—well, the fact is—umh'm—oh, it's nothing to speak off."

This reticence, however, was easily cajoled away by the insidious Count, and at last Mr. Gallosh frankly confided to him—

"Well, Count, between you and me he seems to have had a kind of fancy for my daughter Eva, and then his lordship coming—well, you'll see for yourself how it was."

"He considered his chances lessened?"

"He told Rentoul they were clean gone."

Count Bunker looked decidedly serious.

"The devil!" he reflected. "The Baron is exceeding his commission. Tulliwuddle is a brisk young fellow, but to commit him to two marriages is neither Christian nor kind. And, without possessing the Baron's remarkable enthusiasm for the sex, I feel sorry for whichever lady is not chosen to cut the cake."

He inquired for his friend, and was somewhat relieved to learn that though he had gone out on the loch with Miss Gallosh, they had been accompanied by her brothers and sisters.

"We still have half an hour before dressing," he said. "I shall stroll down and meet them."

His creditable anxiety returned when, upon the path to the loch shore, he met the two Masters and the two younger Misses Gallosh returning without their sister.

"Been in different boats, have you?" said he, after they had explained this curious circumstance; "well, I hope you all had a good sail."

To himself he uttered a less philosophical comment, and quickened his stride perceptibly. He reached the shore, but far or near was never a sign of boat upon the waters.

"Have they gone down!" he thought.

Just then he became aware of a sound arising from beneath the wooded bank a short distance away. It was evidently intended to be muffled, but the Baron's lungs were powerful, and there was no mistaking his deep voice as he sang—

"'My loff she's like a red, red rose Zat's newly sprong in June! My loff she's like a melody Zat's sveetly blayed in tune!

Ach, how does he end?"

Before his charmer had time to prompt him, the Count raised his own tolerably musical voice and replied—

"'And fare thee weel, my second string! And fare thee weel awhile! I won t come back again, my love, For tis ower mony mile!

For an instant there followed a profound silence, and then the voice of the Baron replied, with somewhat forced mirth—

"Vary goot, Bonker! Ha, ha! Vary goot!"

Meanwhile Bunker, without further delay, was pushing his way through a tangle of shrubbery till in a moment he spied the boat moored beneath the leafy bank, and although it was a capacious craft he observed that its two occupants were both crowded into one end.

"I am sent to escort you back to dinner," he said blandly.

"Tell zem ve shall be back in three minutes," replied the Baron, making a prodigious show of preparation for coming ashore.

"I am sorry to say that my orders were strictly to escort, not to herald you," said the Count apologetically.

Fortifying himself against unpopularity by the consciousness that he was doing his duty, this well-principled, even if spurious, nobleman paced back towards the house with the lady between him and the indignant Baron.

"Well, Tulliwuddle," he discoursed, in as friendly a tone as ever, "I left your cards with our American neighbors."

"So?" muttered the Baron stolidly.

"They received me with open arms, and I have taken the liberty of accepting on behalf of Mr., Mrs., and Miss Gallosh, and of our two selves, a very cordial invitation to lunch with them to-morrow."

"Impossible!" cried the Baron gruffly.

Eva turned a reproachful eye upon him.

"Oh, Lord Tulliwuddle! I should so like to go."

The Baron looked at her blankly.

"You vould!"

"I have heard they are such nice people, and have such a beautiful place!"

"I can confirm both statements," said the Count heartily.

"Besides, papa and mamma would be very disappointed if we didn't go."

"Make it as you please," said the Baron gloomily.

His unsuspicious hosts heard of the invitation with such outspoken pleasure that their honored guest could not well renew his protest. He had to suffer the arrangement to be made; but that night when he and Bunker withdrew to their own room, the Count perceived the makings of an argumentative evening.

"Sometimes you interfere too moch," the Baron began without preamble.

"Do you mind being a little more specific?" replied the Count with smiling composure.

"Zere vas no hurry to lonch mit Maddison."

"I didn't name the date."

"You might have said next veek."

"By next week Miss Maddison may be snapped up by some one else."

"Zen vould Tollyvoddle be more lucky! I have nearly got for him ze most charming girl, mit as moch money as he vants. Ach, you do interfere! You should gonsider ze happiness of Tollyvoddle."

"That is the only consideration that affects yourself, Baron?"

"Of course! I cannot marry more zan vonce." (Bunker thought he perceived a symptom of a sigh.) "And I most be faithful to Alicia. I most! Ach, yes, Bonker, do not fear for me! I am so constant as—ach, I most keep faithful!"

As he supplied this remarkable testimony to his own fidelity, the Baron paced the floor with an agitation that clearly showed how firmly his constancy was based.

Nevertheless the Count was smiling oddly at something he espied upon the mantelpiece, and stepping up to it he observed—

"Here is a singular phenomenon—a bunch of white heather that has got itself tied together with ribbon!"

The Baron started, and took the tiny bouquet from his hand, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"It must be a gift from——" he began, and then laid it down again, though his gaze continued fixed upon it. "How did it gom in?" he mused. "Ach! she most have brought it herself. How vary nice!"

He turned suddenly and met his friend's humorous eyes.

"I shall be faithful, Bonker! You can trust me!" he exclaimed; "I shall put it in my letter to Alicia, and send it mit my love! See, Bonker!"

He took a letter from his desk—its envelope still open—hurriedly slipped in the white heather, and licked the gum while his resolution was hot. Then, having exhibited this somewhat singular evidence of his constancy, he sighed again.

"It vas ze only safe vay," he said dolefully. "Vas I not right, Bonker?"

"Quite, my dear Baron," replied the Count sympathetically. "Believe me, I appreciate your self-sacrifice. In fact, it was to relieve the strain upon your too generous heart that I immediately accepted Mr. Maddison's invitation for to-morrow."

"How so?" demanded the Baron with perhaps excusable surprise.

"You will be able to decide at once which is the most suitable bride for Tulliwuddle, and then, if you like, we can leave in a day or two."

"Bot I do not vish to leave so soon!"

"Well then, while you stay, you can at least make sure that you are engaging the affections of the right girl."

Though Bunker spoke with an air of desiring merely to assist his friend, the speech seemed to arouse some furious thinking in the Baron's mind.

For some moments he made no reply, and then at last, in a troubled voice, he said—

"I have already a leetle gommitted Tollyvoddle to Eva. Ach, bot not moch! Still it vas a leetle. Miss Maddison—vat is she like?"

To the best of his ability the Count sketched the charms of Eleanor Maddison—her enthusiasm for large and manly noblemen, and the probable effects of the Baron's stalwart form set off by the tartan which (in deference, he declared, to the Wraith's injunctions) he now invariably wore. Also, he touched upon her father's colossal fortune, and the genuine Tulliwuddle's necessities.

The Baron listened with growing interest.

"Vell," he said, "I soppose I most make a goot impression for ze sake of Tollyvoddle. For instance, ven we drive up——"

"Drive? my dear Baron, we shall march! Leave it to me; I have a very pretty design shaping in my head."

"Aha!" smiled the Baron; "my showman again, eh?"

His expression sobered, and he added as a final contribution to the debate—

"But I may tell you, Bonker, I do not eggspect to like Miss Maddison. Ah, my instinct he is vonderful! It vas my instinct vich said. 'Chose Miss Gallosh for Tollyvoddle!'"



CHAPTER XIX

While the Baron was thus loyally doing his duty, his Baroness, being ignorant of the excellence of his purpose, and knowing only that he had deceived her in one matter, and that the descent to Avernus is easy, passed a number of very miserable days. That heart-breaking "us both" kept her awake at nights and distraught throughout the day, and when for a little she managed to explain the phrase away, and tried to anchor her trust in Rudolph once more, the vision of the St. Petersburg window overlooking the crops would come to shatter her confidence. She wrote a number of passionate replies, but as the Baron in making his arrangements with his Russian friend had forgotten to provide him with his Scotch address, these letters only reached him after the events of this chronicle had passed into history. Strange to say, her only consolation was that neither her mother nor Sir Justin was able to supply any further evidence of any kind whatsoever. One would naturally suppose that the assistance they had gratuitously given would have made her feel eternally indebted to them; but, on the contrary, she was actually inconsistent enough to resent their head-shakings nearly as much as her Rudolph's presumptive infidelity. So that her lot was indeed to be deplored.

At last a second letter came, and with trembling fingers, locked in her room, the forsaken lady tore the curiously bulky envelope apart. Then, at the sight of the enclosure that had given it this shape, her heart lightened once more.

"A sprig of white heather!" she cried. "Ah, he loves me still!"

With eager eyes she next devoured the writing accompanying this token; and as the Baron's head happened to be clearer when he composed this second epistle, and his friend's hints peculiarly judicious, it conveyed so plausible an account of his proceedings, and contained so many expressions of his unaltered esteem, that his character was completely reinstated in her regard.

Having read every affectionate sentence thrice over, and given his exceedingly interesting statements of fact the attention they deserved, she once more took up the little bouquet and examined it more curiously and intently. She even untied the ribbon, when, lo and behold! there fell a tiny and tightly folded twist of paper upon the floor. Preparing herself for a delicious bit of sentiment, she tenderly unfolded and smoothed it out.

"Verses!" she exclaimed rapturously; but the next instant her pleasure gave place to a look of the extremest mystification.

"What does this mean?" she gasped.

There was, in fact, some excuse for her perplexity, since the precise text of the enclosure ran thus:

"TO LORD TULLIWUDDLE.

"O Chieftain, trample on this heath Which lies thy springing foot beneath! It can recover from thy tread, And once again uplift its head! But spare, O Chief, the tenderer plant, Because when trampled on, it can't! "EVA."

Too confounded for coherent speculation, the Baroness continued to stare at this baffling effusion. Who Lord Tulliwuddle and Eva were; why this glimpse into their drama (for such it appeared to be) should be forwarded to her; and where the Baron von Blitzenberg came into the story—these, among a dozen other questions, flickered chaotically through her mind for some minutes. Again and again she studied the cryptogram, till at last a few definite conclusions began to crystallize out of the confusion. That the "tenderer plant" symbolized the lady herself, that she was a person to be regarded with extreme suspicion, and that emphatically the bouquet was never originally intended for the Baroness von Blitzenberg, all became settled convictions. The fact that she knew Tulliwuddle to be an existing peerage afforded her some relief; yet the longer she pondered on the problem of Rudolph's part in the episode, the more uneasy grew her mind.

Composing her face before the mirror till it resumed its normal round-eyed placidity, she locked the letter and its contents in a safe place, and sought out her mother.

"Did you get any letter, dear, by the last post?" inquired the Countess as soon as she had entered the room.

"Nothing of importance, mamma."

That so sweet and docile a daughter should stoop to deceit was inconceivable. The Countess merely frowned her disappointment and resumed the novel which she was beguiling the hours between eating and eating again.

"Mamma," said the Baroness presently, "can you tell me whether heather is found in many other European countries?"

The Countess raised her firmly penciled eyebrows.

"In some, I believe. What a remarkable question, Alicia."

"I was thinking about Russia," said Alicia with an innocent air. "Do you suppose heather grows there?"

The Countess remembered the floral symptoms displayed by Ophelia, and grew a trifle nervous.

"My child, what is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," replied Alicia hastily.

A short silence followed, during which she was conscious of undergoing a curious scrutiny.

"By the way, mamma," she found courage to ask at length, "do you know anything about Lord Tulliwuddle?"

Lady Grillyer continued uneasy. These irrelevant questions undoubtedly indicated a mind unhinged.

"I was acquainted with the late Lord Tulliwuddle."

"Oh, he is dead, then?"

"Certainly."

Alicia's face clouded for a moment, and then a ray of hope lit it again.

"Is there a present Lord Tulliwuddle?"

"I believe so. Why do you ask?"

"I heard some one speak of him the other day."

She spoke so naturally that her mother began to feel relieved.

"Sir Justin Wallingford can tell you all about the family, if you are curious," she remarked.

"Sir Justin!"

Alicia recoiled from the thought of him. But presently her curiosity prevailed, and she inquired—

"Does he know them well?"

"He inherited a place in Scotland a number of years ago, you remember. It is somewhere near Lord Tulliwuddle's place—Hech—Hech—Hech-something-or-other Castle. He was very well acquainted with the last Tulliwuddle."

"Oh," said Alicia indifferently, "I am not really interested. It was mere idle curiosity."

For the greater part of twenty-four hours she kept this mystery locked within her heart, till at last she could contain it no longer. The resolution she came to was both desperate and abruptly taken. At five minutes to three she was resolved to die rather than mention that sprig of heather to a soul; at five minutes past she was on her way to Sir Justin Wallingford's house.

"It may be going behind mamma's back," she said to herself; "but she went behind mine when SHE consulted Sir Justin."

It was probably in consequence of her urgent voice and agitated manner that she came to be shown straight into Sir Justin's library, without warning on either side, and thus surprised her counsellor in the act of softly singing a well-known hymn to the accompaniment of a small harmonium. He seemed for a moment to be a trifle embarrassed, and the glance he threw at his footman appeared to indicate an early vacancy in his establishment; but as soon as he had recovered his customary solemnity his explanation reflected nothing but credit upon his character.

"The fact is," said he, "that I am shortly going to rejoin my daughter in Scotland. You are aware of her disposition, Baroness?"

"I have heard that she is inclined to be devotional."

"She is devotional," answered this excellent man. "I have taken considerable pains to see to it. As your mother and I have often agreed, there is no such safeguard for a young girl as a hobby or mania of this sort."

"A hobby or mania?" exclaimed the Baroness in a pained voice.

Sir Justin looked annoyed. He was evidently surprised to find that the principles inculcated by his old friend and himself appeared to outlive the occasion for which they were intended—to wit, the protection of virgin hearts from undesirable aspirations till calm reason and a husband should render them unnecessary.

"I use the terms employed by the philosophical," he hastened to explain; "but my own opinion is inclined to coincide with yours, my dear Alicia."

This paternal use of her Christian name, coupled with the kindly tone of his justification, encouraged the Baroness to open her business.

"Sir Justin," she began, "can I trust you—may I ask you not to tell my mother that I have visited you?"

"If you can show me an adequate reason, you may rely upon my discretion," said the ex-diplomatist cautiously, yet with an encouraging smile.

"In some things one would sooner confide in a man than a woman, Sir Justin."

"That is undoubtedly true," he agreed cordially. "You may confide in me, Baroness."

"I have heard from my husband again. I need not show you the letter; it is quite satisfactory—oh, quite, I assure you! Only I found this enclosed with it."

In breathless silence she watched him examine critically first the heather and then the verses.

"Lord Tulliwuddle!" he exclaimed. "Is there anything in the Baron's letter to throw any light upon this?"

"Not one word—not the slightest hint."

Again he studied the paper.

"Oh, what does it mean?" she cried. "I came to you because you know all about the Tulliwuddles. Where is Lord Tulliwuddle now?"

"I am not acquainted with the present peer," he ansevered meditatively. "In fact, I know singularly little about him. I did hear—yes, I heard from my daughter some rumor that he was shortly expected to visit his place in Scotland; but whether he went there or not I cannot say."

"You can find out for me?"

"I shall lose no time in ascertaining."

The Baroness thanked him effusively, and rose to depart with a mind a little comforted.

"And you won't tell mamma?"

"I never tell a woman anything that is of any importance."

The Baroness was confirmed in her opinion that Sir Justin was not a very nice man, but she felt an increased confidence in his judgment.



CHAPTER XX

From the gargoyled keep which the cultured enthusiasm of Eleanor and the purse of her father had recently erected at Lincoln Lodge, the brother and sister looked over a bend of the river, half a mile of valley road, a wave of forest country, and the greater billows of the bare hillsides towering beyond. But out of all this prospect it was only upon the stretch of road that their eyes were bent.

"Surely one should see their carriage soon!" exclaimed Eleanor.

"Seems to me," said her brother, "that you're sitting something like a cat on the pounce for this Tulliwuddle fellow. Why, Eleanor, I never saw you so excited since the first duke came along. I thought that had passed right off."

"Oh, Ri, I was reading 'Waverley' again last night, and somehow I felt the top of the keep was the only place to watch for a chief!"

"Why, you don't expect him to be different from other people?"

"Ri! I tell you I'll cry if he looks like any one I've ever seen before! Don't you remember the Count said he moved like a pine in his native forests?"

"He won't make much headway like that," said Ri incisively. "I'd sooner he moved like something more spry than a tree. I guess that Count was talking through his hat."

But his sister was not to be argued out of her exalted mood by such prosaic reasoning. She exclaimed at his sluggish imagination, reiterated her faith in the insinuating count's assurances, and was only withheld from sending her brother down for a spy-glass by the reflection that she could not remember reading of its employment by any maiden in analogous circumstances.

It was at this auspicious moment, when the heart of the expectant heiress was inflamed with romantic fancies and excited with the suspense of waiting, and before it had time to cool through any undue delay, that a little cloud of dust first caught her straining eyes.

"He comes at last!" she cried.

At the same instant the faint strains of the pibroch were gently wafted to her embattled tower.

"He is bringing his piper! Oh, what a duck he is!"

"Seems to me he is bringing a dozen of them," observed Ri.

"And look, Ri! The sun is glinting upon steel! Claymores, Ri! oh, how heavenly! There must be fifty men! And they are still coming! I do believe he has brought the whole clan!"

Too petrified with delight to utter another exclamation, she watched in breathless silence the approach of a procession more formidable than had ever escorted a Tulliwuddle since the year of Culloden. As they drew nearer, her ardent gaze easily distinguished a stalwart figure in plaid and kilt, armed to the teeth with target and claymore, marching with a stately stride fully ten paces before his retinue.

"The chief!" she murmured.

Now indeed she saw there was no cause to mourn, for any one at all resembling the Baron von Blitzenberg as he appeared at that moment she had certainly never met before. Intoxicated with his finery and with the terrific peals of melody behind him, he pranced rather than walked up to the portals of Lincoln Lodge, and there, to the amazement and admiration alike of his clansmen and his expectant host, he burst forth into the following Celtic fragment, translated into English for the occasion by his assiduous friend from a hitherto undiscovered manuscript of Ossian:

"I am ze chieftain, Nursed in ze mountains, Behold me, Mac—ig—ig—ig ish!

(Yet the Count had written this word very distinctly.)

"Oich for ze claymore! Hoch for ze philabeg! Sons of ze red deers, Children of eagles, I will supply you Mit Sassenach carcases!"

At this point came a momentary lull, the chieftain's eyes rolling bloodthirstily, but the rhapsody having apparently become congested within his fiery heart. His audience, however, were not given time to recover their senses, before a striking-looking individual, adorned with tartan trews and a feathered hat, in whom all were pleased to recognize Count Bunker, whispered briefly in his lordship's ear, and like a river in spate he foamed on:

"Donald and Ronald Avake from your slumbers! Maiden so lovely, Smile mit your bright eyes! Ze heather is blooming! Ze vild cat is growling! Hech Dummeldirroch! Behold Tollyvoddle, Ze Lord of ze Mountains!"

Hardly had the reverberations of the chieftain's voice died away, when the Count, uttering a series of presumably Gaelic cries, advanced with the most dramatic air, and threw his broad-sword upon the ground. The Baron laid his across it, the pipes struck up a less formidable, but if anything more exciting air, and the two noblemen, springing simultaneously from the ground, began what the Count confidently trusted their American hosts would accept as the national sworddance.

This lasted for some considerable time, and gave the Count an opportunity of testifying his remarkable agility and the Baron of displaying the greater part of his generously proportioned limbs, while the lung power of both became from that moment proverbial in the glen.

At the conclusion of this ceremony the chieftain, crimson, breathless, and radiant, a sight for gods and ladies, advanced to greet his host.

"Very happy to see you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Mr. Maddison. "Allow me to offer you my very sincere congratulations on your exceedingly interesting exhibition. Welcome to Lincoln Lodge, your lordship! My daughter—my son."

Eleanor, almost as flushed as the Baron by her headlong rush from the keep at the conclusion of the sword-dance, threw him such a smile as none of her admirers had ever enjoyed before; while he, incapable of speech beyond a gasped "Ach!" bowed so low that the Count had gently to adjust his kilt. Then followed the approach of the Gallosh family, attired in costumes of Harris tweed and tartan selected and arranged under the artistic eye of Count Bunker, and escorted, to their huge delight, by six picked clansmen. Their formal presentation having been completed by a last skirl on the bagpipes, the whole party moved in procession to the banqueting-hall.

"A complete success, I flatter myself," thought Count Bunker, with excusable complacency.

To the banquet itself it is scarcely possible for a mere mortal historian to pay a fitting tribute. Every rarity known to the gourmet that telegraph could summon to the table in time was served in course upon course. Even the sweetmeats in the little gold dishes cost on an average a dollar a bon-bon, while the wine was hardly less valuable than liquid radium. Or at least such was the sworn information subsequently supplied by Count Bunker to the reporter of "The Torrydhulish Herald."

Eleanor was in her highest spirits. She sat between the Baron and Mr. Gallosh, delighted with the honest pleasure and admiration of the merchant, and all the time becoming more satisfied with the demeanor and conversation of the chief. In fact, the only disappointment she felt was connected with the appearance of Miss Gallosh. Much as she had desired a confidante, she had never demanded one so remarkably beautiful, and she could not but feel that a very much plainer friend would have served her purpose quite as well—and indeed better. Once or twice she intercepted a glance passing between this superfluously handsome lady and the principal guest, until at last it occurred to her as a strange and unseemly thing that Lord Tulliwuddle should be paying so long a visit to his shooting tenants. Eva, on her part, felt a curiously similar sensation. These American gentlemen were as pleasant as report had painted them, but she now discovered an odd antipathy to American women, or at least to their unabashed method of making themselves agreeable to noblemen. It confirmed, indeed, the worst reports she had heard concerning the way in which they raided the British marriage market.