Her assumption of pleasure was perfect. Its sincerity even convinced the man who had come prepared for a rebuff.
He laughed in responsive cordiality. But his eyes somehow retained their normal hardness of expression.
"Do not let us talk of how I found you out," he said. "It is likely to arouse – memories. You see, I have still many friends in this England – of yours."
"Mine?" Vita shrugged her superb shoulders, and crossed over to the mantelpiece, where she stood resting an elbow upon it. "But I know what you mean." She sighed a regret. "You found me through your old Secret Service friends. I ought to have remembered." Then she smiled, and her eyes fixed themselves intensely upon the gross face of the man. "But I wanted to forget that. I wanted to remember only the man who had risen by the force of his own personality and attainments to high military command in our beloved Fatherland. You see, General, there is no woman but delights in the advancement of her friends over the open road of honor. The secret, underground roads," – she shook her head, – "no, they are not for a woman's delight in her – friends. They may be necessary, but – they are – underground."
Her purpose was better achieved than perhaps she knew. At the same time, however, she was incurring a serious risk in another direction. The passions of this Prussian were easily stirred. They had been stirred before when he had been younger, when perhaps his experience had not inspired him with so much of the cynicism and selfishness which had come to him through the ruthlessness of his recent campaigning. His ideals of womanhood, if he had ever really possessed any, were now completely negligible. Never in his doctrine could woman be anything but the amusement of man. This Princess at one time had suggested to his mind a means of advancement in his career. Now she was merely the daughter of the man who had sought to injure him, a man whom he was convinced was a traitor to his country. She was even something more than merely his daughter. She was something in this man's schemes and plans. This being so, he was left without compunction regarding her. She was beautiful and – a woman. He was a man. Moreover he felt that his was the power to impress his will upon her in any direction he chose. This was the Prussian who ever reckons without his adversary.
Von Salzinger settled himself in a comfortable chair and spread out his legs, while Vita pressed an electric bell.
"Maybe," he said drily. "But those underground channels have served me well – in the present instance. So I can't feel as you do towards them. Do you know, Princess," he went on, with greater warmth, "the sight of you last night left me no longer master of myself. Even then I knew where to find you. Seeing you again impelled me here to-day. I could not wait. I have come here to England in my first leisure to see you – in the hopes that you have at least forgiven if not forgotten our last meeting. You see, I was so much younger then, if not in years at least in the knowledge of those things which humanly speaking really matter. Four years! It seems a lifetime since I was with you."
At that moment the man-servant entered with the tea-tray. Ludwig von Salzinger watched him curiously as he set it before his mistress, in front of the crackling log fire. When the man had withdrawn Vita smiled across at him.
"Tea?" she enquired. "It is British – this tea habit. There are other refreshments if you prefer them, and – you may smoke. We have the house to ourselves. I have given orders. I could not have your visit disturbed by the possible intrusion of – neighbors."
At this fresh mark of the woman's cordiality even the cold eyes began to melt. Von Salzinger was rapidly abandoning himself to the pleasure of the moment. This woman stirred the full depths of passion in him. None had stirred them more deeply. He admitted it, and, with his admission, he promised himself the harvest of the power that was his.
He accepted a cup of tea and lit a cigar.
"Then perhaps you have forgiven the – past?" he said, with assurance.
Vita shrugged. But her smile was radiant.
"We all make mistakes in – our inexperience."
"Yes." The man sipped his tea noisily. Then for a moment he stirred it.
"Tell me," he went on abruptly. "It is four years – nearly – since you told me all you felt about – espionage. It is a long time and much has happened. You have many friends here in England. Still you remain – simply the daughter of your father? Am I rude?" Vita had glanced over at him swiftly, seriously. "You see it is much to me, for – I came over to see you."
He had taken care that she should have no misunderstanding of his meaning. She displayed no resentment, but her eyes lowered to the tea-things she was manipulating. The man abruptly sat forward in his chair.
"I must say what is on my mind. It is my way, Vita. You know that of old. I saw you last night with a man, a stranger to me. And" – he smiled, and leant more urgently towards her, – "I was mad – mad with jealousy. I did not know him. I had no means of knowing him, since I have been isolated away on my command, and I thought, I felt convinced he was your – lover. Ach, it made me mad – mad. So I dared not delay. I must see you at once – at once and learn the truth from you. You must know, Vita, that I love you just as I have always loved you. All the rest – what is it? My position? Nothing. Nothing to compare with my love for you. Then my first sight of you after all this time is with that man – a good-looking man – in the car. You together – alone. I thought – oh, I was convinced he was your husband, and I – I could have killed him. Will you tell me of him? Is he? Is he your lover? You must tell me."
Through her drooping lashes Vita was watching him. There was a curious manner in the man. He was not pleading. He was telling her of his feelings as though she had no alternative but to accept them. She was alarmed, but gave no sign.
She decided swiftly upon her next attitude. It must be frankness. She must keep, hold this man, and convince him that she had nothing to do with, and no knowledge of, Ruxton Farlow's movements. If she failed in this, then —
She laughed musically, a deep, soft laugh. The eyes which were raised to Von Salzinger's were full of amusement.
"The same headstrong, impetuous Ludwig. The years have not changed you," she said, shaking her head. "Ruxton Farlow is just one of many men friends I have over here. You cannot expect a woman of my position to live the life of a nun. I dined with him last evening. When we encountered you he was driving me home in his car. Have I committed a crime?"
"Here?"
There was a subtle brutality in the man's monosyllable.
Vita flushed. The amusement in her eyes had changed to a sparkle of anger. She shrugged.
"If you adopt that tone I have nothing more to say on the matter."
The man realized his mistake and changed his tone at once.
"Forgive me, Vita," he cried hastily. "It – it is jealousy. I cannot bear to think of you with that man – alone – or any other man. They have no right to you. They are natural enemies of our country. I – I am a Prussian, and you – you belong to our country. Can you not understand my feelings? Ach! It is maddening to think."
Vita's smile was wholly charming as she glanced at him across the tea-table.
"You are going to make me quarrel with you – again. And I don't want to quarrel. Tell me – about yourself and your affairs. They are more interesting. Tell me of that upward path – of that high command you occupy."
For some moments Ludwig von Salzinger did not reply. He had no desire to change the subject. His only interest in Vita was her beauty, her splendid womanhood; her appeal to his baser senses. His hard eyes regarded her unsmilingly for some moments. Then his nature drove him to the blunder which the woman had been awaiting.
"My affairs have no interest just now," he said, almost sombrely.
Vita caught at his reply with all her readiness.
"But they have – for your friends. Your old friends," she said, with well-assumed earnestness.
"Have they?" The man laughed bitterly. "I wonder." Again his greedy eyes had settled upon her with that curious regard which all good women resent.
At last Vita threw her head up in a manner which definitely but silently made her protest plain. Von Salzinger was forced to speech.
"For the moment the upward path is closed to me," he admitted coldly. "I no longer occupy my command. Do – you understand?"
But Vita shook her head.
In a moment there came an outburst of passion. It was the outburst of a headstrong man, which robs him of half his power in more delicate situations.
"I have been relieved of my command," he cried, springing to his feet and standing over her before the little tea-table. "For the moment my enemies have triumphed. But it will not be for long," he went on, working himself up till he almost forgot whom he was addressing. "The enemies of Ludwig von Salzinger do not triumph for long, and then we shall see. Oh, yes, we shall see."
Vita nodded sympathetically up at the passionate face.
"And you came to London, and," she added subtly, "you left your enemies behind you."
The man flung his cigar end in among the glowing logs with a vicious gesture.
"Some of them," he cried fiercely. Then he abruptly recovered himself. He began to laugh. The change was awkward, and the cunning that crept into his eyes was perfectly apparent to Vita. "Yes, I leave them behind me, where we are told to put all evil things. London is safer for me – at present. Besides, does it not bring me to your side?"
Vita had learned all she wanted to know in his brief admission. "Some of them," he had flung at her in his unguarded moment. The rest of it had no interest for her. She rose from her chair, and forced herself to a radiant smile.
"You are too deep for me, Ludwig," she cried, purposely using the intimate form of address. "But no one realizes your capacity better than I. I have known you so long. You will fight your battles successfully I am sure. Must you be going?"
The man was left without alternative. He had not thought of departure yet. He hesitated. Then he finally held out a hand. Vita only too readily responded. In a moment his hot clasp smothered hers. His eyes narrowed as they held hers, and the woman gathered something of the threat behind them.
"It is not good to be my enemy," he said unpleasantly. "Those who make an enemy of me will howl for mercy before I finish with them." Then his manner lightened to a tone Vita feared even more than the other. "But why talk of these things? I only think of you – dream of you. And some day," he went on, still retaining her hand in his, "you will be – kind to me. Eh? Is it not so? Surely – for it is our fate. And what a fate for any man, my Vita – my beautiful Vita. It will be – wonderful, wonderful."
The woman withdrew her hand sharply. She could stand no more of it. A growing terror was taking possession of her. Von Salzinger laughed as he released her hand with a final pressure. "It is good-bye now, but I shall come again, and then – again."
Vita was standing before the fire gazing down into its ruddy depths. The tea-things had been removed, and she was alone. She was glad. She was relieved. But she was not dissatisfied on the whole.
She felt that Von Salzinger was a greater blunderer than she had hoped. She knew he had blundered twice. He had blundered in visiting her at all. He had betrayed his whole purpose as surely as though he had told her all the details of his plans.
But with her satisfaction was a deep element of fear – personal fear. But she knew it was a fear – a weakness – that must not be encouraged. If it mastered her she would be left powerless to carry through the part she felt she had yet to play. So she resolutely thrust it from her. Meanwhile, her first duty must be to communicate with her father, and that – at once.
CHAPTER XVI
ENEMY MOVEMENTS
Busy days crowded upon Ruxton Farlow. The house in Smith Square only saw him at night-time, or at the political breakfasts which had become so great a fashion. The affairs of his portfolio moved automatically with but very little personal attention from him, and so he was left free to prosecute his own more secret plans, almost without interruption.
Apart from the affairs at the great Dorby works, his chief effort was a campaign of proselytism amongst the few of great position in the nation's affairs whose conviction and prejudice must be overborne. And no one knew better than he the meaning of such an undertaking in Britain.
For once, perhaps for the first time in the history of Great Britain, such an effort had been made possible through the reaction from ineptitude to the splendid unity and enthusiasm of the great National Party, of which he was a member. He had struck, at once, before the simmering down to conflict of influences had set in, and his decision and judgment had not been without their reward.
So his hours were spent in close communion with such men as Sir Meeston Harborough and the Marquis of Lordburgh; Sir Joseph Caistor and a few others who headed the party. Breakfasts and luncheons were his battle-fields. But week-ends for dilettante golf at Dorby Towers, which frequently developed into visits to the great yards at Dorby itself, were no mean factors in the success of his efforts.
It was from a luncheon in Downing Street that he emerged one afternoon on foot into the great official thoroughfare of Whitehall. It had been a very small but very successful function from his point of view. It had followed upon a week-end at Dorby Towers, at which the President of the Board of Admiralty, Sir Reginald Steele, had given his final verdict upon the new constructions in process at the Dorby yards. It had been more than favorable. It had very nearly approached enthusiasm. And in its expression Sir Reginald had swept away the final doubts of both the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary.
Even now, as he swung into Whitehall with long vigorous strides, the Prime Minister's words were still ringing in his ears.
"You have our approval and support, my boy," he had said in his quick, nervous way. "Go ahead, and when the time comes do not hesitate to look to us. We shall do everything we can to support your efforts; that is," he added, with a whimsical, twinkling smile, "subject, of course, to the permission of a certain section of the ha'penny press."
There was still a suggestion of summer in the autumn air, but the sky had lost its brilliancy, and the inevitable grey of smoke was beginning to settle upon the city. For Ruxton, however, it might have been spring. The vigor of his gait, his delighted feelings, certainly belonged to the birth rather than the old age of the summer. He saw nothing of that which moved and passed about him. His busy thoughts were alive only with those enthralling concerns which were his. Nothing seemed able to stir him out of his abstraction until a street arab selling papers, who had recognized him, with the humorous effrontery of his class raised a newspaper poster for his inspection, and almost thrust it under his nose.
"'Ere y'are, governor. Better 'ave one. Kaiser Bill an' old Tirps scrappin' it out in the Baltic."
There was no avoiding it. The boy's persistence would not be denied. Ruxton glanced at the contents bill, and a startled look crept into his eyes.
"HEAVY FIRING IN THE BALTIC
MYSTERY UNSOLVED"
Ruxton purchased a paper and passed on. But his eager eyes scanned the stop press paragraph as he went. It was a report from Copenhagen. It stated that heavy gunfire had been heard off the German coast, and fishermen stated that a German squadron had been seen twenty miles from land engaged in what appeared to be a heavy bombardment of some object in the water. It was also stated that seaplanes had been seen to be dropping bombs on the same object. Another report, from a German source, stated that a portion of the fleet had been engaged in long-range target practice. This was denied in a still further account from the captain of one of the Baltic ferries, who declared that no target had been visible to those on his vessel, which had suddenly found itself in the danger zone, with shells dropping in the water within a radius of a quarter of a mile.
A still later account hinted that the whole thing was an attempt to sink a foreign submarine discovered in the act of espionage.
It was this final paragraph which held Ruxton's attention and permanently altered the whole trend of his thoughts. The affairs discussed at the recent luncheon had been abruptly thrust out of his mind. His final triumph over prejudice and official conservatism seemed to have lost its meaning for the moment. The whole centre of his interest had been completely transferred. He was gazing out across the sea, a grey, dark, troubled autumn sea. A fierce and awe-inspiring picture filled his focus. A squadron of battleships; the hawk-like swooping of great seaplanes; a small, almost indistinct object bobbing amongst the waves. He remembered his escape from Borga. Something of such a scene had been acted there, only in that case the battleships had been absent, and in their place had been guns trained, with every spot on the narrow water carefully measured out. Was this such an adventure as his? He could not tell. But —
At that moment he hailed a passing taxi, and, giving the man an address in Kensington, he jumped in.
He folded up his paper and thrust it into a side pocket, and, with the sudden change of environment, his thoughts underwent a third development.
Somewhere in the west, there, he knew that a woman was waiting impatiently for his news. He had 'phoned her of his coming, and hinted at his success. Her reply had set every pulse in his body hammering out a reciprocal emotion.
"Of course you have succeeded," she had replied. "The rapidity with which you have done so only the more surely points my original conviction. You cannot fail. I shall be in Kensington until a late hour."
The invitation had been irresistible to a man of Ruxton's temperament. He snatched at it with an almost boyish impulse, determined to lose no moment of communion with this wonderful creature whose attractions had so overwhelmed the youth that was in him. He knew that whatever the future might hold for him there could be nothing comparable with the wonderful stirring which the bare thought of her created in him.
As he drove along her image was before his smiling dark eyes. The grey glory of her deeply fringed eyes had a power to thrill him as nothing else in life could. Her beautiful, oval face, so full of a power to express every emotion, suggested to him the mirror-like surface of a sunlit lake reflecting the wonders of a perfect life. The radiance of her smile alone seemed to him worth living for.
The heart of the man had been unloosed from the bondage of early restraint. Now it was a-riot, claiming in its freedom an excess of interest for its years of deprivation. He had no power nor desire to check it. It was as though a new life had opened out before eyes which had all too long confronted the sober grey of mere existence, a life which had been hidden behind a dark curtain raised at last only to dazzle and amaze.
Mrs. Jenkins, a hard-faced lady with a sniff, who had undoubtedly seen "worse" days, had performed her duty as only a superior British char-lady-turned-cook-housekeeper could have possibly performed it. She had regarded Ruxton Farlow on the door-step of Vita's flat for a few speculative moments. Then she sniffed.
"Name of Farlow, ain't it? She's in."
Then, shuffling down the passage, she thrust her head through the doorway of the sitting-room and sniffed again.
"It's 'im, miss," she announced, and beat a strategical retreat to the back regions of the flat, with the virtuous conviction that she had performed her duty in a manner which might well have been an example to a superior parlor-maid, or even a well-trained footman.
There seemed to be no necessity for greeting between Vita and Ruxton Farlow. For the man it was as if Vita had become a part of his life, as though she were always with him, ready to support him at every turn, ready to lead him on towards those great ideals which were his.
Just now the commonplaces of social intercourse had no meaning for Vita. She drew an armchair from its inevitable place beside the cold fireplace, and faced it towards the window, flinging the meagre cushion aside, so useless to a man's comfort.
"Take that chair," she said, with a warm smile of welcome. "You may smoke, too; I'd like you to. And there is refreshment on the table beside you." Then she seated herself upon a low chair in the vicinity. "Now tell me," she added, as Ruxton flung himself into the doubtful armchair with a contented sigh.
"Tell you?" he returned, with a smile in his dark eyes.
Then for some moments he was silent, contemplating the perfect oval of her face, the masses of her red-gold hair; the wonderful grace of the exquisitely clad body. But under his gaze her warm grey eyes were hidden. She felt the ardor of the man's regard, nor did it leave her unmoved.
"There ought to be a lot to tell you – there is a lot," he said presently, in a half-abstracted manner. "And yet – "
"Begin at the beginning," she helped him, and his eyes were caught in the upward glance of the wonderful grey, so eager, so clear, and yet so full of simple purpose.
"The beginning?" Ruxton smiled. "It makes it the harder." He shook his head. "No man can tell a woman the beginning. There is no beginning. It just comes along without his knowing it, and, in a moment, he is caught in mid-tide and borne along."
Vita's eyes were gazing up into the strong face in some doubt. She was demanding the story of his success. Something she beheld in the man's dark eyes made her lower her own, and she found herself powerless to urge him further. An absurdly chaotic feeling had suddenly taken possession of her, and amidst that chaos was a great and wonderful dread that had nothing fearful or terrifying in it. Yet the dread was there, a dread which urged her to flee from his presence, and hide herself somewhere, whither he could not follow. But opposed to such feeling was a fascination which held her waiting, waiting upon his words.
Her attitude conveyed something of the emotions his words had inspired, but Ruxton was incapable of interpreting them. He was absorbed in the triumph of his own feelings. His success in affairs of that day had intoxicated him. And their outcome was a wild desire to go further and crown them with the achievement of the passion of love which had set fire to his soul. He yearned for the love of this woman, and such was the impetuous tide let loose that there, and now, he must stake his whole future happiness on one single throw. Caution had no place when his passionate heart was stirred. Caution, and all its concomitants, were for the business of life. In the emotional side of him they had no place, they could never have place.
"I may be mad, I may be dreaming," he cried, suddenly springing to his feet and confronting the woman he loved with eyes grown darker with the sudden intensity of his feelings. "I may be mad to risk forever losing a companionship which has become so great a part of my life, so vital to my whole existence. I may be dreaming to believe, or hope, that my longings can ever reach fulfillment. But I cannot help it. It is not in me to act otherwise. The soul-mate of a man either belongs to him, or is denied to him, as the great controlling forces ordain. For thirty-five years I have walked through life alone. I have seen no woman whose companionship I desired, or could desire, during all that time. Never once in all that time have the soul-fires in me been stirred. Never once have I longed for the warm heart of a woman to beat in unison with mine. Then came a night – a mentally black and dreary night – when the work seemed desolate, and existence a condition almost intolerable in the future. The darkest thoughts of my life passed through my hot brain that night; darker even than the thoughts during the darkest days of the great war. That moment was the one that preceded dawn – my dawn.
"Ah, Vita," he went on, with deeper, more vibrant meaning. "That dawn came like the miracle of every other dawn. But, unlike the dawn which heralds mere sunrise, it heralded an eternity of beautiful dreams untouched by the bitternesses and contentions of the human day. It came with a voice out of the moonlit darkness. The voice of a woman, who, within a space of time almost negligible, had changed the despairing blackness of night to a – wonderful dawn."
Ruxton turned from her and began to pace the narrow length of the room. It was an unstudied expression of the fierce fire which had leapt up in his passionate, Slavonic heart. Vita's eyes followed his movements, fascinated yet unseeing in the tumult which he had roused within her. For her his words, his sudden outburst, had reduced to concrete form all that gamut of feeling which had been hers from the moment of their first encounter. All unacknowledged, the latent power of this man's personality had absorbed her every feeling. He was the one out of all the world. His handsome head, his superb body, so strong, so perfectly poised, but above all that wonderful idealism which saw so clearly through the fog of sordid influences which clogged all real progress. Almost breathless she waited while he went on.
He paused in his walk and abruptly flung out his arms.
"I can see her now, a figure of perfect beauty, regal, splendid in the silvery moonlight. The light playing upon her marbled features, finding reflection in eyes wide with sincerity, truth and passion. Vita, Vita, I can never tell you all that picture inspired in me. Suddenly I knew what life meant. Up till then I had merely existed. Life had had no meaning for me but the necessity of working out that simple duty of effort which belongs to us all. With your coming everything changed. Life became at once that superb thing of which the dreamer speaks. Where before only the black shadows of a drear depression had been, at once life became flooded with a golden light. It was beautiful, beautiful."
The woman's wondering gaze was now frankly held by the passionate eyes regarding her. She had no power to withdraw it, she had no desire to withdraw it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were parted, revealing the pearly whiteness of her teeth framed in their ruby setting, so full, so ripe.
"But this is madness," she breathed without conviction. It was the burden of her feelings seeking expression. She leant forward in her chair, her hands so tightly clasped that the blood was pressed back from her delicate finger-tips, and the simple rings dug hard into the tender flesh.
"Madness? Madness?" Ruxton drew nearer. He laughed as he echoed the word. It was the inconsequent laugh which is merely an audible expression and possesses no meaning. "If it is madness let me be mad. Madness? Then I never want sanity again. Love is madness, Vita, a madness that is ordained, and without it love can never be love. The man who can pause to reason does not know love. He can never love. Leave reason and sanity for the cold affairs of life. Love can know no check from such a course. That is how I love you, Vita. I want you – you. I want you always with me, near me. I want you so that our life together is all one. You must be part of me. You must be me. You speak of the beginning. There is no beginning, just as there can be no end. Love is all, everything. Vita – Vita – "
He had bent down from his great height. He had seized the woman's tightly clasped hands. He had raised them with gentle force, and, as though caught by the magnetism of all the love he had endeavored to express, she rose to her feet, and permitted him to hold her prisoner before him.
But now with his final appeal the tension seemed to relax. She stood there for a moment, silent. Then she sighed faintly. It was as though she had awakened from some beautiful dream. The flush on her oval cheeks lessened, and the light in her eyes changed unmistakably. The man seemed to become suddenly aware of the change, and a note of apprehension sounded in his voice as he repeated his appeal.
"Vita – Vita," he cried, with a passion of yearning in the words.
The woman shook her head, but her hands remained captive.
"No, no! It can't be. It is too beautiful, too good to be real. Not in this life. This life in which there is no peace – nothing that is – beautiful. Besides – "
"Besides?"
Again Vita shook her head. This time she gently released her hands. Ruxton contemplated her. Something in her manner was restoring his control of himself.
"We cannot – we dare not think of – ourselves now," Vita went on. "A time may come when – but not now. We must not pause – nor step aside."
Each word appeared to be an effort. It was as though she were fighting temptation in a forlorn hope. Ruxton saw it. He understood, and his whole Slavonic passion took fire again. Quite suddenly his two great hands fell upon the woman's rounded shoulders, and his strong fingers held the soft flesh firmly. Her face was turned up to his in a startled fashion, wondering but unresentful. His passion-lit eyes gazed deeply down into hers.
"Vita, my Vita, these protests are not you. They are the brave and loyal spirit seeking to abnegate those selfish claims which in my case are irresistible. You – you will love me. You do love me! I can see it in your eyes – now. God, was there ever so wonderful a sight for man? Tell me. Forget all else and tell me of it. I am hungry – starving for the love you can give me. I will not wait. I dare not. I love you with all that is in me. I love you beyond all earthly duties and cares. Tell me all that lies behind your beautiful eyes, hidden deep down in your dear woman's heart."
Vita was powerless. She was utterly powerless to resist the torrent of the love that leapt from him and overwhelmed her. All her protests died within her. She imperceptibly drew closer to him, and, in a moment, she lay crushed in his arms, her face hidden against his broad shoulder, the perfume of her hair intoxicating him still further. His head bent down against it and his lips rained caresses upon it. Then, in a second, one hand was raised and he lifted her face from its hiding-place so that his eyes gazed full upon it. Then, lower his face bent towards hers, and in a ravishing silence their lips met, and held for long, long moments.