“He did not carry her off from me, Georgi, for I have no claim upon her. She only placed herself under my protection, and therefore it is my duty to do all that I can to set her free.”
The girl looked at him, and there was a glance as of suppressed passion in her beautiful eyes.
“Why do you not speak the truth, sir? Say that you love her! Tell me that you love her and I will bring her back to you—and this very evening.”
“You, Georgi, how in all the world will you be able to manage that? Do you know then where the lady is to be found?”
“I know it from your servant, Morar Gopal. She is there, in that tent of the Maharajah of Chanidigot, before whose door the two Indians are standing sentry. Take care and do not attempt to force your way in, for the sentries would cut you to pieces before allowing you to put a foot in the tent.”
“It may be that you are right,” said Heideck, whose breast was now filled with a blissful feeling at having at last learned with certainty that the adored woman was close by. “But how shall you be able to get to her?”
“I am a woman, and I know how one must treat these miserable Indian rogues; the Maharajah of Chanidigot is ill, and in his pain he has something else to think of than of the joys of love. You must make use of this favourable moment, sir! and in this very night whatever is to happen must happen.”
“Certainly! every minute lost means perhaps a terrible danger to Mrs. Irwin. But if you have a plan for saving her please tell me—”
The Circassian shook her head.
“Why talk of things that must be first accomplished? Return to the banquet, sir, that no one may suspect of you. At midnight you will find the English lady in your tent, or you will never set eyes on me again.”
She turned as if to go; but after having taken a few steps came back once more to him.
“You will not tell the Prince that I am here, do you understand? It is not time yet for him to learn that.”
With these words she disappeared, before Heideck could ask another question. Little as he felt inclined after what he had just experienced to return to the mad riot of the banquet, he perceived that there was scarcely anything else open to him, for any interference with the unknown plans of the Circassian would scarcely be of any advantage to Edith.
But if the minutes had hitherto appeared endless, they now crept on with quite intolerable slowness. He scarcely heard or saw anything that was taking place about him. The rajah who had the next place to him tried in vain to open a conversation in his broken English, and at last, shaking his head, abandoned the silent stranger to his musings, which in the middle of this riotous festivity must certainly have appeared very strange to him.
Shortly before midnight, before Prince Tchajawadse and his other comrades thought of moving, Heideck once more left the state tent of the Maharajah and turned his steps towards the Russian camp, which was far away visible in the red glare of the bivouac fires, around which the loudest merriment was also taking place.
In reality he entertained very little hope that the Circassian would be able to fulfil her bold promise, for what she had taken upon herself appeared to him to be absolutely impracticable. Yet his heart throbbed wildly when he thrust back the linen sheet that covered the entrance of the tent which had been assigned to him.
On the folding-table in the middle of the little room were two lighted candles beside a burning lantern. And in their light Heideck discerned—not Edith Irwin, but instead, the handsomest young rajah who had ever crossed his eyes under the glowing skies of India.
For a moment Heideck was uncertain, for the slender youth, in the silken blouse tied round with a red scarf, English riding-breeches and neat little boots, had turned his back to him, so that he could not see his face, and his hair was completely hidden under the rose-and-yellow striped turban. But the blissful presentiment which told him who was concealed beneath the charming disguise could not deceive him. A few rapid steps and he was by the side of the delicate-limbed Indian youth. Overpowered by a storm of passionate emotions, he forgot all obstacles and scruples, and the next moment clasped him in his arms with an exultant cry of joy.
“Edith! my Edith!”
“My beloved friend!”
In the exceeding delight of this reunion the confession which had never passed her lips in the hours of familiar tete-a-tete, or in the moments of extreme peril which they had endured together, forced its way irresistibly from her heart—the confession of a love which had long absorbed her whole life.
XXI
EDITH’S ADVENTURES
It was a long time before the two lovers were sufficiently composed to explain to each other fully the almost fabulous events that had lately occurred.
Heideck, of course, wanted to know, first of all, how Edith had contrived to escape without making a disturbance and calling for the aid of those about her. What she told him was the most touching proof of her affection for him. The Maharajah’s creatures must have heard, somehow or other, of Heideck’s imprisonment and condemnation, and they had reckoned correctly on Edith’s attachment to the man who had saved her life.
She had been told that a single word from the Maharajah would be sufficient to destroy the foolhardy German, and that her only hope of saving him from death lay in a personal appeal to His Highness’s clemency. Although she knew perfectly well the shameful purpose this suggestion concealed, she had not hesitated, in her anxiety for her dear one’s safety, to follow the men who promised to conduct her to the Maharajah, full of hypocritical assurances that she would come to no harm. She had had so many proofs of the revengeful cruelty of this Indian despot that she feared the worst for Heideck, and resolved, in the last extremity, to sacrifice her life—if she could not preserve her honour—to save him.
The Maharajah had received her with great courtesy and promised to use his influence in favour of the German who had been seized as a spy and traitor by the Russians. But he had at the same time thrown out fairly broad hints what his price would be, and, from the moment she had delivered herself into his hands, he had treated her as a prisoner, although with great respect. All communication, except with persons of the Maharajah’s household, was completely cut off; and she was under no delusion as to the lot which awaited her, as soon as the Prince again felt himself completely secure in some mountain fastness unaffected by the events of the war.
Feeling certain of this, she had continually contemplated the idea of flight; but the fear of sealing the fate of her unhappy friend, even more than the ever-watchful suspicion of her guards, had prevented her from making the attempt.
Her joy had been all the greater when, the same evening, Morar Gopal appeared in the women’s tent with the Circassian, to relieve her from the almost unendurable tortures of uncertainty as to Heideck’s fate.
The cunning Hindu had managed to gain access to the carefully guarded prisoners for himself and his companion by pretending that the Maharajah had chosen the Circassian girl to be the English lady’s servant. He had whispered a few words to Edith, telling her what was necessary for her to know for the moment.
After he had retired, it roused no suspicion when she asked to be left alone for a few moments with the new servant. With her assistance, she made use of the opportunity to put on the light Indian man’s clothes which the Circassian had brought with her in a parcel. The guards, who were by this time intoxicated, had allowed the slender young rajah, into whom she had transformed herself, to depart unmolested, and Morar Gopal, who was waiting for her at a place agreed upon close at hand, had conducted her to Heideck’s tent, where she might, for the moment at least, consider herself to be safe.