 CHAPTER XXV of PRINCE OR SHOFER A story of Newport by Lawrence Perry, this LibriVox recording, is in the public domain. THE EX-PATRIOT In the doorway, Armitage paused, and as Sarah and Anne brushed silently past him, he turned back into the room. Without looking at Colt Soth, who was fumbling at push-buttons and roaring for his valet, he walked over to Taka Kika, took a knife from his pocket, reached down, and cut his soaking fetters. There, he said with a grim smile, I didn't leave you bound to the mercies of his highness over there, put that to my credit when you prayed to the ancient samurai. The Jack, scrambled to his feet, rolled his eyes angrily at Armitage, and then shot out of the room like a bolt from a gun. Armitage followed him, making his way to the rear stairway, and thus out into the night. Doggedly, he strode to the clump of bushes, where he had hidden the bag, and his fingers were on the handle, when with a quick exclamation he released his hold and sat down on the turf, his head in his hands. So this was to be the end. How quickly his house of cards had fallen, how completely had the fabric of a wonderful dream vanish to nothing. It was all coming over him strongly now for the first time as he reacted from the absorbing incidents of the past hour. Fool, Sarah Van Valkenburg had characterized him unerringly. He was all of that and worse, and yet she had done her part to make him one. He could understand exactly how Anne Wellington must have felt in view of Sarah's representations to her concerning his presence in the house, and certainly his own asinine attitude could have led the girl to believe nothing save that he had made his acceptance of employment at the crags the excuse for a romantic desire to be near her. Yet he had not desondedly deceived her. He had, of course, desired to be near her. As to that he would have been willing to attempt expedience tenfold more daring than serving as her chauffeur, that the main object of his sojourn there did not concern her was not his fault, and he had not concealed that object from her with any idea of enlisting her interest under false pretenses, or how he should like to tell her that now and make her believe it. But that opportunity had banished, if indeed it had ever existed, during those trying moments in Kohl's offspring. In any event there was no opportunity now. Well, once more his hand sought his bag he might as well clear out forthwith and have an end of it all. But no, he could not somehow. Sarah's warning flashed through his mind, don't you dare go away, but as she meant was there really some hope which she had devined where he saw nothing but blankness. It was but a faint spark of hope, but it kindled an irresistible desire to see Anne Wellington again, not to speak to her but to fix his eyes upon her face and burn every detail of her features into his mind. He fought against it, he picked up his bag and walked toward the gate, but it was like trying to dam a flood. As in a daze he tossed the bag back among the hydrangeas, and a few minutes later found himself in the house once more moving slowly through the crowded halls. A few of the guests were departing. At one end his questing eyes found Anne. She was shaking hands with an elderly couple and talking over her shoulder to a group of men. She was smiling, but her face was feverish. For several minutes Armitage stood watching her and then resolutely facing about. He went out of doors intent upon quitting the place for good and all. As he passed around the side of the house, he looked up instinctively and found himself under Kolesov's window. Once he saw the Russians shadow past the eliminated square, a thought occurred to him and then somehow flashed out of his mind. It left him looking blankly up at that window, vaguely trying to traverse the mental processes which had led to the missing thought. When it came to him, quickly he stepped from the path to the edge of the cliffs, perhaps twenty feet from the side of the house and guarded by a low iron railing. The moon now was well down in the western sky and a level path flowed across the waters to the base of the crags. He looked over the railing and a glittering object caught his eye. The revolver, in all probability, undoubtedly the upping tide had left it dry and if the weapon thrown from Kolesov's window was within reach, why not the control? Armourage's face burned. It must be somewhere down there. If he could find it, much loss of time would be prevented, but more, if it could be found, he and not Kolesov, must be the one to recover it. At his feet the cliffs were precipitous. He searched for the steps which he remembered were cut in the rock somewhere in the vicinity, but it was too dark. He could not find them. He must wait until the first light of dawn showed him his ground. It would save him perhaps a broken neck and, of course, simplify his search. He sat down on the grass to wait, lighting a cigar which he had taken from the smoking room. Dancing had resumed. The measured cadence of the music flowed from the windows and lulled by it, fatigued with all the excitement of the evening. His cigar waned and died, his head fell on the turf. He slapped. He dreamed that he was dancing with Anne and that Kolesov, with Sarah Van Balkenburg as a partner, persisted in stepping upon his toes. Even in that ballroom, with Mrs. Wellington's gorgon eyes, upon him the situation was getting unbearable. He hated making a scene, nevertheless. He woke with a start. The sound of wheels grinding through the gravel of the driveway brought him to his feet. It was a strange sound, eerie and canny. The darkness had gone and the moon. The world was all gray, objects showed dim and ghostly. The ocean was shrouded in mist, and the wind, from the face of it, was clammy, heavy with salt. Moisture was dripping from the leaves, the trees and shrubbery. The sound of laughter came from somewhere. For a moment, Armitage stood irresolute, knowing that his heart was heavy and that the new day would bring no light for him. Spiritlessly, he walked to the brink of the cliffs and saw the steps upon the far side of the curve. Lither, he slowly made his way. Sparrows of mist were arising from below. As from a cauldron, oh, new porters in truth had always known of it as the devil's cauldron, hiding the wet, slippery fangs over or among which the swish of waters was unceasing. As he reached the bottom, he paused for an instant and then, as his eyes became accustomed to the pallid gloom, he looked across, an intervening stretch of about three feet of water and saw glow of something lighter than the murk. The package, quick as thought, he stepped over to the rock and then almost stumbled over a figure in a white ball gown lying as seemed at first impression prone. A sickening horror passed through Jack as he bent down. It was Anne Wellington. She lay half on her side, resting on her elbow, her skirts twining bedraggled about her ankles. With one hand she was mechanically lifting water to an ugly bruise upon her forehead. As Jack appeared at her side, she smiled at him, day ziddly. There, she said, lifting her hand feebly and pointing toward a water-soaked package at her side, I wanted to show you I was not a trader. She closed her eyes wearily. I'm not really, you know. As she opened her eyes, smiling wandily, Jack, with a hurt cry, threw himself at her side, took her in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, Anne. I couldn't let you think that, she said. It would have been all right. I bungled horribly with my feet and slipped and fell. Tears were starting from Jack's eyes, and she saw them. No, no, I'm all right, she said, just a bit dizzy. I'm sorry I was going to bring it back to you so nicely improve I was not an expatriate. She shivered slightly, and Jack drew her clothes. Don't, he said. For a while she lay silent while the dawn whitened and gleams of steel flashed over the waters. She was smiling now contentedly. I looked all about for you after that, that dreadful scene. I couldn't find you anywhere. I was afraid, she paused. As Jack did not reply, she looked suddenly up into his face. Then you can't forgive me. Forgive you? Sarah told me all. She said she showed me how utterly outrageous I had been. Sarah, Jack and Willie breathed a prayer of gratitude to that young woman. Yes, she told me, but it was all so exciting, so sudden. How could I have known? She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes all smiles and all love. Of course it was so clear, after Sarah explained, and even in his ecstasy Jack found himself formulating a stern determination to demand at the first moment from Sarah just what her explanation had been, yet at the same time he would willingly have fallen out of her feet and worshipped her. Anne was still looking at him, then slowly she released herself from his arms and arose to her feet she was blushing. Haven't you anything to say to me, Jack? Now Jack blushed, anything to say, but he smiled guiltily. Really, she exclaimed frowning. Jack came very close to her, his hands at his side, but looking straight into her eyes. Yes, I have something to say. I haven't any right to, but I'm going to just the same. Anne Wellington, I love you. I honor you. Since that night at the Grand Central Station, hang it, Anne, I can't make a speech much as I should like to. I love you, that's all. Anne, Anne, Anne, he stopped short. She laughed that quick, fluttering laugh of happiness much more eloquent than words. Jack, she said, that night I stood with you on the bridge of the dusting, then I knew I loved you. The next instant she was crushed in his arms. Oh, Jack, there were no more words, but why words? As the tide ebbed and murmured and the birds sang in the trees above, they stood silent, emured from all the world, these two, but neither doubting nor fearing. End of chapter 25, chapter 26 of Prince or chauffeur, a story of Newport by Lawrence Perry. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Conclusion, in the library of the crags, the light of dawn stole in through the windows and turned the brilliant light of the lamps into a pale glow. The odor of stale flowers was all about. Mrs. Wellington with a headache stood in the doorway. Her husband sat in an armchair with legs outstretched, smoking about his 40th cigar. Sarah then, Valkenburg, stood in the middle of the floor. She had been speaking at great length and with many gestures and not once had she been interrupted. When at last she concluded there was a long silence. Well, Belle, said Ronald Wellington at last, turning his head toward his wife. Oh, I'm not surprised, said Mrs. Wellington grimly. I always suspected cold salt of some devil tree. I hoped only that it would remain beneath the surface until after the ball. It did. I'm not the slightest complaint. So he used this house as a rendezvous for spies. Mr. Wellington bit at his cigar savagely. Where is he now? He motored to town an hour or two ago, replied Sarah, his secretary told Ms. Hatch that they had booked for the metric tomorrow. Mr. Wellington could not repress a smile. Well, he said, and where is this armitage fellow now? Where is Anne? Sarah laughed. When I last saw her, she was searching for Lieutenant Armitage. Hmm, Mr. Wellington looked at his wife gravely. What is it now, Belle? Have they eloped or what? I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea, replied that lady yawning. Not interest today? There was sort of a chirp in the man's voice. Not the slightest was the reply with rising emphasis and might as well marry or elope with Lieutenant Armitage as someone equally or more objectionable to me. Oh, Mrs. Wellington, cried Sarah. Jack Armitage is eminently eligible really. As I told you, I know all about him. As Mrs. Wellington smiled her wintry smile and was about to reply, there was a flash of white in the doorway. An instant later, Anne had darted into the room and launched herself into her father's lap. Father! Ronald Wellington studied his daughter's flushed face for a moment, the sparkling eyes, the parted lips, the disarranged hair, the wet, the draggled gown, and the bruised forehead. Where is he? Did you find him? He asked. You look as though you had conducted a strenuous search, Anne. With a laugh, Anne, radiant as a spirit, ran out into the hall and when she returned, she had Jack by the hand. Father, mother, here is Jack Armitage, Lieutenant Armitage of, of our Navy. Mr. Wellington slowly arose. Say, Armitage, he said, I know your father. He has been a mighty capable enemy of mine, or rather, to my interests. What have you to say to that? Jack met his eyes with a brave smile. I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but he won't be any longer. I'll fix that. Of course we will, cried Anne. Oh, and then Mr. Wellington's hearty laugh shook the room. Mother, Anne turned to Mrs. Wellington, aren't you going to laugh too? Something like a look of tenderness crossed the mother's face. I am sorry, Anne, not now. She turned to leave the room, but I'm not going to cry, be assured. Several hours later, Jack caught Sarah alone. Sarah, he said sternly, what did you tell Anne about my being here? Sarah smiled enigmatically. Really, Jack, I've forgotten something to the effect that you could have sent government detectives had you not wanted to come here yourself. Jack thought a moment. By George, he said, you are not far wrong. Wrong, exclaimed Sarah, ingenuously. Jack stepped toward her, and as he did so, Anne entered the room. Come right in, Anne, cried Armitage. I was just going to kiss Sarah van Valkenburg. Well, smile, Dan, you may, just once. The end. End of chapter 26. End of Prince or chauffeur, a story of Newport by Lawrence Perry.