CHAPTER XIX

A SAVED SITUATION

He waited impatiently for her return. Bessie, he knew, might be in one of the rooms just across the hall, but, though Bessie was a trump, he did not go to look for her. The girl might come back at any moment--and he did not wish to miss one instant of her presence.

Again he considered the miracle of her appearance in his life, and he rejoiced that, from the first, he had been able to be of service to her.

Those loving, trusting words that she had just spoken--how they glowed in his heart! She had known that he would succeed! He could only think that the secret telegraphy of his love had sent her messages of confidence.

And yet he did not even know her name. The house was just such a one as he might have imagined to be her home--beautiful, with the air of a longer family tradition than is commonly found in the Middle West--un.o.btrusive but complete. And the furnishings of the room in which he was standing were in quiet but perfect taste.

On a table near him lay a book. Mechanically he picked it up.

It opened at the fly-leaf. Something was written there--her name, perhaps.

He closed the cover without reading the inscription, conscious only of a line of writing in a feminine hand that might be hers or another's. No, he could wait. The name did not matter. She was his, and that was enough.

Near the book lay an empty envelope, addressed to--he averted his eyes.

He found himself wondering whether Poritol was still kneeling in the field, and whether Maku was still running, and whether the j.a.panese minister was still telling charming stories on the porch at Arradale.

And presently, when she came again, her face radiant, and said softly, "You have done a great thing, my dear"--when she said that, he could only look and look and thank Heaven for his blessedness.

"Where were the papers when you fooled me into leaving you?" she asked.

"Arima had them. It's quite a story, Girl, dear."

"Then, wait a little while," she interrupted; "we have permission to see the papers signed."

A smile of mischief alone betrayed her recognition of his bewilderment.

Why should the signing be treated as a matter of such importance? It must mean a great deal to her and hers. The hour was now about half-past eleven, and he remembered that in a short time it would have been too late.

She led him through the adjoining room and to the curtained doorway of a library--long, alcoved, shelved with books, and furnished with heavy leather chairs. In the center was a large table of polished mahogany, upon which rested a reading-lamp.

The glow of this lamp illuminated the forms and faces of a group of serious-faced men--two seated, the others standing. In the golden light, with the dim background of shelves, surmounted here and there by a vase or a cla.s.sic bust, the group impressed Orme like a stately painting--a tableau distinguished by solemn dignity.

"We are to remain here and keep very quiet," whispered the girl.

Orme nodded. His eyes were fixed on the face of a man who sat at the table, a pen poised in his hand. Those strong, straight features--the eyes, with their look of sympathetic comprehension, so like the girl's--the lips, eloquent in their calmness--surely this was her father.

But Orme's heart beat faster, for the face of this man, framed in its wavy gray hair, was familiar. He seemed to know every line of it.

Where had he seen this man? That they had never met, he felt certain, unless, indeed, they had shaken hands in a casual and forgotten introduction.

Or was he led into a feeling of recognition by the undoubted resemblance of father to daughter? No, it could not be that; and yet this man, or his picture--ah! The recognition came to Orme in a flash.

This was the magnetic face that was now so often appearing in the press--the face of the great, the revered, the able statesman upon whom rested so great a part of the burden of the country's welfare. No wonder that Orme recognized it, for it was the face of the Secretary of State!

And the girl was his daughter.

Orme was amazed to think how he had failed to piece the facts together.

The rumors of important international negotiations; the sudden but not serious illness of the Secretary; his temporary retirement from Washington to Chicago, to be near his favorite physician--for weeks the papers had been full of these incidents.

When South Americans and j.a.panese combined to hinder the signing of mysterious papers, he should have realized that the matter was not of private, but of public importance. But the true significance of the events into which he had been drawn had escaped his logical mind. It had never occurred to him that such a series of plots, frequent though they might be in continental Europe, could ever be attempted in a country like the United States. And then, he had actually thought of little besides the girl and her needs.

He glanced at her now, but her gaze was fixed on the scene before them.

The brightness of her eyes and her quickened breathing told him how intense was her interest.

Across the table from the Secretary of State sat a younger man. His breast glittered with decorations, and his bearing and appearance had all the stiffness of the high-born Teuton.

Of the men who stood behind the two seated figures, some were young, some were old, but all were weighted with the gravity of a great moment. Orme inferred that they were secretaries and _attaches_.

And now pens scratched on paper. The Secretary of State and the German Amba.s.sador--for Orme knew that it must be he--were signing doc.u.ments, apparently in duplicate, for they exchanged papers after signing and repeated the action. So these were the papers which at the last hour Orme had restored; and this was the scene which his action had made possible--all for the sake of a girl.

And when the last pen-stroke had been completed and the seated men raised their eyes and looked at each other--looked at each other with the responsible glance of men who have made history--at that moment the girl whispered to Orme: "Come," and silently he followed her back to the room in which he had first awaited her.

"Oh, Girl," he whispered, as she turned and faced him, "Oh, Girl, I am so glad!"

She smiled. "Please wait for a moment."

When she had disappeared he repictured the scene they had just witnessed.

With all its absence of pomp, it had left with him an impression that could never be effaced.

Again the girl appeared in the doorway, and leaning on her arm was her father. Orme stepped forward. The Secretary smiled and extended his hand.

"Mr. Orme," he said, "we owe you much. My daughter has told me something of your experiences. You may be sure that I had no notion, when this affair began, that she would have to envelop herself and others in so much mystery, but now that all has ended well, I can only be thankful."

He seated himself. "You will excuse me; I am not quite strong yet, though, as I might say, very convalescent."

The girl was leaning on the back of her father's chair. "Tell father the story, won't you, please?" she asked.

So Orme quickly narrated the series of events that began with his stroll along State Street the afternoon of the day before. "It doesn't sound true, does it?" he concluded.

"But the marked five-dollar bill will always be evidence of its truth,"

said the girl; and then, with a suggestion of adorable shyness, "We must go and redeem that bill sometime."

The Secretary was pondering. He had listened with manifest interest, interrupting now and then with questions that helped to bring out salient points. At the report of the conversation between Alcatrante and the j.a.panese concerning the commissions on ships, he had leaned forward with especial attention. And now, after a few moments of thought, he said:

"The j.a.panese minister we can handle. As for Alcatrante, I must see to it that he is recalled--and Poritol."

"Poor little Mr. Poritol!" exclaimed the girl. "Do you think he is still kneeling in that field?"

"Possibly," said Orme, smiling. "We will look to see when we go to redeem the bill."

"I think, Mr. Orme," said the Secretary, "that I may fairly give you a little clearer insight into the importance of the papers which you rescued for us. You have seen stories of the rumors of negotiations with some foreign Power?"

"Yes," said Orme.