My Lady Rotha: A Romance

For a moment I did not know how Count Leuchtenstein would take it. He stood gazing at the Waldgrave, his hand on a chair, his face purple, his eyes starting. At length, to my relief and the Waldgrave's utter dismay and shame, he sank into the chair and broke into a hoarse shout of laughter-laughter that was not all merriment, but rolled, in its depths something stern and sardonic.

The Waldgrave changed colour, glared and fumed; but the Count was pitiless, and laughed on. At last: 'Thanks, Waldgrave, thanks,' he said. 'I am glad I let you go on to the end. But pardon me if I say that you seem to do the Lady Rotha something less than justice, and yourself something more.'

'How?' the Waldgrave stammered. He was quite out of countenance.

'By flattering yourself that she could rate you so highly,' Count Leuchtenstein retorted, 'or fall herself so low. Nay, do not threaten me,' he continued with grim severity. 'It was not I who brought her name into question. I never dreamed of, never heard of, never conceived such a bargain as you have described; nor, I may add, ever thought of the Lady Rotha except with reverence and chivalrous regard. Have I said enough?' he continued, rising, and speaking with growing indignation, with eyes that seemed to search the culprit; 'or must I say too, Waldgrave, that I do not traffic in men's lives, nor buy women's favours, nor sell pardons? That such power as God and my master have given me I use to their honour and not for my own pleasure? And, finally, that this, of which you accuse me, I would not do, though to do it were to prolong my race through a dozen centuries? For shame, boy, for shame!' he continued more calmly. 'If my mind has gone the way you trace it, I call it back to-day. I have done with love; I am too old for aught but duty, if love can lead even a young man's mind so far astray.'

The Waldgrave shivered; but the position was beyond words, and he essayed none. With a slight movement of his hand, as if he would have shielded himself, or deprecated the other's wrath, he turned towards the door. I saw his face for an instant; it was pale, despairing-and with reason. He had exposed my lady. He had exposed himself. He had invited such a chastisement as must for ever bring the blood to his cheeks. And his cousin: what would she say? He had lost her. She would never forgive him-never! He groped blindly for the opening in the curtain.

His hand was on it-and I think that, for all his manhood, the tears were very near his eyes-when the other called after him in an altered tone.

'Stay!' Count Leuchtenstein said. 'We will not part thus. I can see that you are sorry. Do not be so hasty another time, and do not be too quick to think evil. For the rest, our friend here will be silent, and I will be silent.'

The Waldgrave gazed at him, his lips quivering, his eyes full. At last: 'You will not tell-the Countess Rotha?' he said almost in a whisper.

The Count looked down at his table, and pettishly pushed some papers together. For an instant he did not answer. Then he said gruffly, – 'No. Why should she know? If she chooses you, well and good; if not, why trouble her with tales?'

'Then!' the Waldgrave cried with a sob in his voice, 'you are a better man than I am!'

The Count shrugged his shoulders rather sadly. 'No,' he said, 'only an older one.'

CHAPTER XXXIV.

SUSPENSE

For a little while after the Waldgrave had retired, Count Leuchtenstein stood turning my lady's letter over in his hands, his thoughts apparently busy. I had leisure during this time to compare the plainness of his dress with the greatness of his part, to which his conduct a moment before had called my attention; and the man with his reputation. No German had at this time so much influence with the King of Sweden as he; nor did the world ever doubt that it was at his instance that the Landgrave, first of all German princes, flung his sword into the Swedish scale. Yet no man could be more unlike the dark Wallenstein, the crafty Arnim, the imperious Oxenstierna, or the sleepless French cardinal, whose star has since risen-as I have heard these men described; for Leuchtenstein carried his credentials in his face. An honest, massive downrightness and a plain sagacity seemed to mark him, and commend him to all who loved the German blood.

My eyes presently wandered from him, and detected among the papers on the table the two stands I had seen in his town quarters-the one bearing his child's necklace, the other his wife's portrait. Doubtless they lay on the table wherever he went-among assessments and imposts, regimental tallies and state papers. I confess that my heart warmed at the sight; that I found something pleasing in it; greatness had not choked the man. And then my thoughts were diverted: he broke open my lady's letter, and turning his back on me began to read.

I waited, somewhat impatiently. He seemed to be a long time over it, and still he read, his eyes glued to the page. I heard the paper rustle in his hands. At last he turned, and I saw with a kind of shock that his face was dark and flushed. There was a strange gleam in his eyes as he looked at me. He struck the paper twice with his hand.

'Why was this kept from me?' he exclaimed. 'Why? Why?'

'My lord!' I said in astonishment. 'It was delivered to me only an hour ago.'

'Fool!' he answered harshly, bending his bushy eyebrows. 'When did that girl get free?'

'That girl?'

'Ay, that girl! Girl, I said. What is her name? Marie Wort?'

'This is Saturday. Wednesday night,' I said.

'Wednesday night? And she told you of the child then; of my child-that this villain has it yonder! And you kept it from me all Thursday and Friday-Thursday and Friday,' he repeated with a fierce gesture, 'when I might have done something, when I might have acted! Now you tell me of it, when we march out to-morrow, and it is too late. Ah! It was ungenerous of her-it was not like her!'

'The Countess came yesterday in person,' I muttered.

'Ay, but the day before!' he retorted. 'You saw me in the morning! You said nothing. In the evening I called at the Countess's lodgings; she would not see me. A mistake was it? Yes, but grant the mistake; was it kind, was it generous to withhold this? If I had been as remiss as she thought me, as slack a friend-was it just, was it womanly? In Heaven's name, no! No!' he repeated fiercely.

'We were taken up with the Waldgrave's peril,' I muttered, conscience-stricken. 'And yesterday, my lady-'

'Ay, yesterday!' he retorted bitterly. 'She would have told me yesterday. But why not the day before? The truth is, you thought much of your own concerns and your lady's kin, but of mine and my child-nothing! Nothing!' he repeated sternly.

And I could not but feel that his anger was justified. For myself, I had clean forgotten the child; hence my silence at my former interview. For my lady, I think that at first the Waldgrave's danger and later, when she knew of his safety, remorse for the part she had played, occupied her wholly, yet, every allowance made, I felt that the thing had an evil appearance; and I did not know what to say to him.

He sighed, staring absently before him. At last, after a prolonged silence, 'Well, it is too late now,' he said. 'Too late. The King moves out to-morrow, and my hands are full, and God only knows the issue, or who of us will be living three days hence. So there is an end.'

'My lord!' I cried impulsively. 'God forgive me, I forgot.'

He shrugged his shoulders with a grand kind of patience. 'Just so,' he said. 'And now, go back to your mistress. If I live I will answer her letter. If not-it matters not.'

I was terribly afraid of him, but my love for Marie had taught me some things; and though he waved me to the door, I stood my ground a moment.

'To you, my lord, no,' I said. 'Nothing. But to her, if you fall without answering her letter-'

'What?'he said.

'You can best judge from the letter, my lord.'

'You think that she would suffer?' he answered harshly, his face growing red again. 'Well, what say you, man? Does she not deserve to suffer? Do you know what this delay may cost me? What it may mean for my child? Mein Gott,' he continued, raising his voice and striking his hand heavily on the table, 'you try me too far! Your mistress was angry. Have I no right to be angry? Have I no right to punish? Go! I have no more to say.'

And I had to go, then and there, enraged with myself, and fearful that I had said too much in my lady's behalf. I had invited this last rebuff, and I did not see how I should dare to tell her of it, or that I had exposed her to it. I had made things worse instead of better, and perhaps, after all, the message he had framed might not have hurt her much, or fallen far short of her expectations.

I should have troubled myself longer about this, but for the increasing bustle and stir of preparation that had spread by this time from the camp to the city; and filling the way with a throng of people whom the news affected in the most different ways, soon diverted my attention. While some, ready to welcome any change, shouted with joy, others wept and wrung their hands, crying out that the city was betrayed, and that the King was abandoning it. Others again anticipated an easy victory, looked on the frowning heights of the Alta Veste as already conquered, and divided Wallenstein's spoils. Everywhere I saw men laughing, wailing, or shaking hands; some eating of their private hoards, others buying and selling horses, others again whooping like lunatics.

In the city the shops, long shut, were being opened, orderlies were riding to and fro, crowds were hurrying to the churches to pray for the King's success; a general stir of relief and expectancy was abroad. The sunshine still fell hot on the streets, but under it life moved and throbbed. The apathy of suffering was gone, and with it the savage gloom that had darkened innumerable brows. From window and dormer, from low door-ways, from carven eaves and gables, gaunt faces looked down on the stir, and pale lips prayed, and dull eyes glowed with hope.

While I was still a long way off I saw my lady at the oriel watching for me. I saw her face light up when she caught sight of me; and if, after that, I could have found any excuse for loitering in the street, or putting off my report, I should have been thankful. But there was no escape. In a moment the animation of the street was behind me, the silence of the house 'fell round me, and I stood before her. She was alone. I think that Marie had been with her; if so, she had sent her away.

'Well?' she said, looking keenly at me, and doubtless drawing her conclusions from my face. 'The Count was away?'

'No, my lady.'

'Then-you saw him?' with surprise.

'Yes.'

'And gave him the letter?'

'Yes, my lady.'

'Well'-this with impatience, and her foot began to tap the floor-'did he give you no answer?'

'No, my lady.'

She looked astonished, offended, then troubled. 'Neither in writing nor by word of mouth?' she said faintly.

'Only-that the King was about to give battle,' I stammered; 'and that if he survived, he would answer your excellency.'