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"I'll get her, old man." Gently he lifted the wounded Carrick, carried him to where, aside from the road, a bed of moss made a more comfortable pillow for the stricken red head, then, with a sigh, he set out to bring Trusia. Roweling deep, he raced with Death to bring a woman's solace to a dying man. "Where is Carrick?" Her question came from the thick copse in which she was concealed.
Round the bend in the road, as then, he heard approaching hoof beats. He marveled that his heart should beat so high merely for the advent of Lady Natalie. In the indulgence of his dream, the suggested thuds presaged the coming of Trusia. He sat immovably upon his horse in mid-road, waiting. Every sense was aquiver, every nerve on edge. A black horse swept into view as it first had in his fancy.
I don't intend to wound you. I am going to kill you." "You'll have no chance. We are three and we will carry off the Lady Trusia. She'll be a dainty bit for our feasting." A sob behind him apprised him that she had heard. "Cur," Carter cried, and drove straight for the neck he knew held a smirking face.
Instinct apprised him that this was no other than Trusia, waiting to receive her King. Her head was held high in regal pride, but her eyes were the wide dark eyes of a fawn, fear-haunted, at the gaze. Her throat and shoulders gleamed white as starlight while her tapering arms would have urged an envious sigh from a Phidias or a David.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts. "They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted. "If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught yet. How close are they?"
When he reached the spot where he had first seen Trusia the place of the accident, he checked his horse to indulge in the sensations the scene awakened. He beheld again the marble beauty of the face; he felt the wondrous softness of the skin, and once more his heart was entangled in the meshes of the fragrant hair as the loosened strands blew against his hot cheek.
Take this, Paul," he said, thrusting a flask into the hands of the nobleman, who was swaying upon uncertain legs. "Brace up." He caught his friend as the latter was about to topple over. "It must be Trusia first," said the Krovitzer, grasping the American's hand with a pressure which was fervently returned. "It will always be Trusia," he replied firmly.
I must be by to guide him for Krovitch. But, ah, 'twill be with a heavy heart!" He leaned across from his saddle. "I care not for Krovitch so much as you do. Tell me that you love me." She turned away her face that the eye of the man might not see and be blinded by the white light of the woman's love which shone in her own countenance. "Say it, Trusia," he urged; "say it for my soul's peace."
Somewhere in its boat of song, the nightingale was floating on the sea of darkness. Drawn aimlessly by the pathos of the songster's lay, Carter wandered to the window to gaze out into the moonless midnight. Racking his quivering heart, his imagination dwelt on a pictured life with Trusia, emphasizing the sweet moments of her complete surrender. Time lost all measure in his rhapsody.
"Your Lordship surely did not expect to catch such clever rogues by so innocent a ruse? They hardly would confess to a familiarity with Russian. Such an admission would convict them. Indulge them in French. One of the pair has that much linguistic ability. Besides, we have so far conducted our investigations in that diplomatic language." "You are presumptuous, sir," said Trusia sharply.
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