Who Goes There!

All Americans must understand that henceforth a passport does not mean permission to travel in Europe. They must have written and vouched for proof that they are not German spies before they can feel safe.

It is all the result of too free issuance of American passports at the outbreak of the war, coupled with German quickness to profit by American leniency in this respect.

Before the train started a commissionaire appeared, hurrying. He opened the door of their compartment, set a pretty basket inside, which was to be removed at the first station beyond.

The basket contained a very delicious luncheon, and Karen looked up shyly but gratefully as Guild set about unpacking the various dishes. There was salad, chicken, rolls and butter, a pâté, some very wonderful pastry, fruit, and a bottle of Moselle that looked like liquid sunshine.

There was one pasteboard box which Guild gave to her without opening it. She untied the violet ribbon, opened it, sat silent. He seemed to pay no attention to what she was doing.

After a moment she lifted out the cluster of violet-scented orchids, drew the long pin from them, and fastened them to her blouse.

"Thank you – very much," she said shyly.

"Do you care for orchids?"

"Yes … I am a little – surprised."

"Why?"

"That you should – think to offer them – to me– "

He looked up, and his grey eyes seemed to be laughing, but his mouth – that perplexing, humorous, inscrutable mouth of his remained grave and determined.

"Karen," he said, "if you only understood how much I do like you, you wouldn't perhaps deal so mercilessly with me."

"I? Merciless?"

"You are. You made me use force with you when you should not have resisted. And now you have done something more merciless yet."

"W – what, Kervyn?"

"You know … I must have those papers."

"Kervyn!"

"Dear – look at me. No – in the eyes. Now look at me while I say, as seriously and as gently as I know how, that I am going to have those papers!.. You know I mean what I say… That is all – dear."

Her eyes fell and she looked at her orchids.

"Why do you speak that way to me – after giving me these?"

"What have orchids to do with a man's duty?"

"Why did you give them to me?"

"Why? Because we are friends, if you will let us be."

"I was willing – am still – in spite of – everything. You know I am. If I can forgive you what you did to me in our stateroom last night, surely, surely Kervyn, you won't take any more chances with my forgiveness – will you?"

He said: "I shall have to if you force me to it. Karen – I never liked any woman as much as I like you. We have known each other two days and a night. But in that time we both have lived a long, long time."

She nodded, thoughtfully.

"Then – you know me now as well as you ever will know me. Better than any other woman has ever known me. When my mind is made up that a certain thing is to be done, I always try to do it, Karen… And I know that I ought to have those papers… And that I am going to have them. Is that clear – Karen, dear?"

She remained silent, brushing her orchids with her finger-tips, absent-eyed, serene. After a moment he thought that the ghost of a smile was hovering on her lips, but he was not sure.

Presently she looked up:

"Shall we lunch?" she asked.

CHAPTER XIII

THE DAY OF WRATH

Three times they were obliged to change cars after passing through Utrecht. Night fell; the last compartment into which they had been crowded was filled with Dutch cavalry officers, big, talkative fellows in their field uniforms and jingling equipments, civil to Guild, courteous to Karen, and all intensely interested in the New York newspaper which Guild offered them and which they all appeared to be quite able to read.

They all got out at Maastricht, where the lantern-lit platform was thronged with soldiers; and, when the train started, the two were alone together once more.

They had been seated side by side when the officers were occupying the compartment; they remained so when the train rolled out of the station, neither offering to move, perhaps not thinking to move.

Karen's Tauchnitz novel lay open on her lap, her eyes brooded over the pages, but the light was very dim and presently she lay back, resting her arm on the upholstered window ledge.

Guild had been sitting so very still beside her that she suspected he was asleep. And when she was sure of it she permitted herself closer scrutiny of his features than she had ever ventured.

Curiosity was uppermost. To inspect at her leisure a man who had so stirred, so dominated, so ruled and misruled her was most interesting.

He looked very boyish, she thought, as he lay there – very clear cut and yellow-haired – very kind – except for the rather square contour of the chin. But the mouth had relaxed from its sternly quiet curve into pleasant lines.

One hand lay on his knees; it was clenched; the other rested inert on the cushioned seat beside her, listless, harmless.

Was that the hand of iron that had closed around her shoulders, pinning both her arms helpless? Were these the hands that had mastered her without effort – the hands which had taken what they chose to take, gently violent, unhurried, methodical and inexorable?

How was it that her swift hatred had not endured in the wake of this insolent outrage? Never before had a hand been laid on her in violence – not even in reproof. How was it that she had endured this? Every womanly instinct had been outraged. How was it that she was enduring it still? – acquiescing in this man's presence here in the same compartment with her – close beside her? She had resented the humiliation. She resented it still, fiercely – when she remembered it. Why didn't she remember it more frequently? Why didn't she think of it every time she looked at him? What was the trouble with her anger that she seemed to forget so often that she had ever been angry?

Was she spiritless? Had his violence then crippled her pride forever? Was this endurance, this submission, this tacit condoning of an unforgivable offense to continue?

There was colour in her cheeks now as she sat there gazing at him and remembering her wrongs, and industriously fanning the rather sickly flames of her wrath into something resembling a reasonable glow.

But more fuel seemed to be needed for that; the mental search for it seemed to require a slight effort. But she made it and found her fuel – and a brighter colour stained her face.

Dared he lay hands on her again! What did his recent threat mean? He was aware that she had sewed the papers to her clothing. What did he mean by warning her that he would take them by violence again if necessary? It was unthinkable! inconceivable! She shivered unconsciously and cast a rather scared glance at him – this man was not a Hun! She was no Sabine! The era of Pluto and Proserpine had perhaps been comprehensible considering the times – even picturesque, if the galleries of Europe correctly reflected the episode. But such things were not done in 1914.

They were not only not done but the mere menace of them was monstrous – unbelievably brutal. She needed more fuel, caught her breath, and cast about for it to stoke the flames before her flushed cheeks could cool.

And to think – to think that she, Karen, was actually at that moment wearing his orchids – here at her breast! Her gloved hand clenched and she made a gesture as though to tear the blossoms from her person… And did not… They were so delicate, so fresh, so fragrant… After all the flowers were innocent. It was not these lovely, scented little things she should scorn and punish but the man – this man here asleep beside her —

Her heart almost ceased for a moment; he moved, opened his eyes, and lay looking at her, his lids still heavy with sleep.