To distract her mind I told her tales of the grey city of the North where I had been colleged. I told of the bleak and biting winds which cut their way to the marrow of the bones. I described the students rich and poor, but mostly poor, swarming into the gaunt quadrangles, reading eagerly in the library, hasting grimly to be wise, posting hotfoot to distinction or to death. She listened with eyes intent. "We have something like that in Russia," she said; "but then, as soon as these students of ours become a little wise, they are cut off, or buried in Siberia." But I think that, with all her English speech and descent, Lucia never fully understood that these students of ours were wholly free to come or go, talk folly or learn sense, say and do good and evil, according to the freedom of their own wills. I told of our debating societies, where in the course of one debate there is often enough treason talked to justify Siberia--and yet, after all, the subject under discussion would only be, "Is the present Government worthy of the confidence of the country?"

"And then what happens? What does the Government say?" asked Lucia.

"Ah, Countess!" I said, "in my country the Government does not care to know what does not concern it. It sits aloft and aloof. The Government does not care for the chatter of all the young fools in its universities."

So in the tranced seclusion of this Alpine valley the summer of the year went by. The flowers carpeted the meadows, merging from pink and blue to crimson and russet, till with the first snow the Countess and her brother announced their intention of taking flight--she to the Court of the South, and he to his estates in the North.

The night before her departure we walked together by the lake. She was charmingly arrayed in a scarlet cloak lined with soft brown fur; and I thought--for I was but three-and-twenty--that the turned-up collar threw out her chin in an adorable manner. She looked like a girl. And indeed, as it proved, for that night she was a girl.

At first she seemed a little sad, and when I spoke of seeing her again at the Court of the South she remained silent, so that I thought she feared the trouble of having us on her hands there. So in a moment I chilled, and would have taken my hand from hers, had she permitted it.

But suddenly, in a place where there are sands and pebbly beaches by the lakeside, she turned and drew me nearer to her, holding me meantime by the hand.

"You will not go and forget?" she said. "I have many things to forget. I want to remember this--this good year and this fair place and you. But you, with your youth and your innocent Scotland--you will go and forget.

Perhaps you already long to go back thither."

I desired to tell her that I had never been so happy in my life. I might have told her that and more, but in her fierce directness she would not permit me.

"There is a maid who sits in one of the tall grey houses of which you speak, or among the moorland farms--sits and waits for you, and you write to her. You are always writing--writing. It is to that girl. You will pa.s.s away and think no more of Lucia!"

And I--what could or did I reply? I think that I did the best, for I made no answer at all, but only drew her so close to me that the adorable chin, being thrown out farther than ever, rested for an instant on my shoulder.

"Lucia," I said to her--"not Countess any more--little Saint Lucy of the Eyes, hear me. I am but a poor moorland lad, with little skill to speak of love; but with my heart I love you even thus--and thus--and thus."

And I think that she believed, for it comes natural to Galloway to make love well.

In the same moment we heard the sound of voices, and there were Henry and the Count walking to and fro on the terrace above us in the blessed dark, prosing of guns and battues and shooting.

Lucia trembled and drew away from me, but I put my finger to her lip and drew her nearer the wall, where the creepers had turned into a glorious wine-red. There we stood hushed, not daring to move; but holding close the one to the other as the feet of the promenaders waxed and waned above us. Their talk of birds and beasts came in wafts of boredom to us, thus standing hand in hand.

I shivered a little, whereat the Countess, putting a hand behind me, drew a fold of her great scarlet cloak round me protectingly as a mother might. So, with her mouth almost in my ear, she whispered, "This is delightful--is it not so? Pray, just hearken to Nicholas: 'With that I fired.' 'Then we tried the covert.' 'The lock jammed.' 'Forty-four brace.' Listen to the huntsmen! Shall we startle them with the horn, tra-la?" And she thrilled with laughter in my ear there in the blissful dark, till I had to put that over her mouth which silenced her.

"Hush, Lucy, they will hear! Be sage, littlest," I said in Italian, like one who orders, for (as I have said) Galloway even at twenty-three is no dullard in the things of love.

"Poor Nicholas!" she said again.

"Nay, poor Henry, say rather!" said I, as the footsteps drew away to the verge of the terrace, waxing fine and thin as they went farther from us.

"Hear me," said she. "I had better tell you now. Nicholas wishes me greatly to marry one high in power in our own country--one whose influence would permit him to go back to his home in Russia and live as a prince as before."

"But you will not--you cannot--" I began to say to her.

"Hush!" she said, laughing a little in my ear. "I certainly shall if you cry out like that"--for the footsteps were drawing nearer again. We leaned closer together against the parapet in the little niche where the creepers grew. And the dark grew more fragrant. She drew the great cloak about us both, round my head also. Her own was close to mine, and the touch of her hair thrilled me, quickening yet more the racing of my heart, and making me light-headed like unaccustomed wine.

"Countess!" I said, searching for words to thrill her heart as mine was thrilled already.

"Monsieur!" she replied, and drew away the cloak a little, making to leave me, but not as one that really intends to go.

"Lucia," I said hastily, "dear Lucy--"

"Ah!" she said, and drew the cloak about us again.

And what we said after that, is no matter to any.

But we forgot, marvel at it who will, to hearken to the footsteps that came and went. They were to us meaningless as the lapse of the waves on the sh.o.r.e, pattering an accompaniment above the soft sibilance of our whispered talk, making our converse sweeter.

Yet we had done well to listen a little.

"... I think it went in there," said the voice of the Count, very near to us and just above our heads. "I judge it was a white owl."

"I shall try to get it for the Countess!" said Henry.

Then I heard the most unmistakable, and upon occasion also the most thrilling, of sounds--the clicking of a well-oiled lock. My heart leapt within me--no longer flying in swift, light fashion like footsteps running, but bounding madly in great leaps.

Silently I swept the Countess behind me into the recess of the niche, forcing her down upon the stone seat, and bending my body like a shield over her.

In a moment Henry's piece crashed close at my ear, a keen pain ran like molten lead down my arm; and, spite of my hand upon her lips, Lucia gave a little cry. "I think I got it that time!" I heard Henry's voice say.

"Count, run round and see. I shall go this way."

"Run, Lucy," I whispered, "they are coming. They must not find you."

"But you are hurt?" she said anxiously.

"No," I said, lying to her, as a man does so easily to a woman. "I am not at all hurt. Have I hurt you?"

For I had thrust her behind me with all my might.

"I cannot tell yet whether you have hurt me or not," she said. "You men of the North are too strong!"

"But they come. Run, Lucy, beloved!" I said.

CHAPTER XII

A NIGHT a.s.sAULT

And she melted into the night, swiftly as a bird goes. Then I became aware of flying footsteps. It seemed that I had better not be found there, lest I should compromise the Countess with her brother, and find myself with a duel upon my hands in addition to my other embarra.s.sments.

So I set my toes upon the little projections of the stone parapet, taking advantage of the hooks which confined the creepers, and clutching desperately with my hands, so that I scrambled to the top just as the Count and Henry met below.

"Strike a light, Count," I heard Henry say; "I am sure I hit something.

I heard a cry."

A light flamed up. There was the rustling noise of the broad leaves of the creeper being pushed aside.

"Here is blood!" cried Henry. "I was sure I hit something that time!"