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Page 96
The next morning Fitzgerald found Cathewe's note under his plate. He
opened it with a sense of disaster.
"MY DEAR OLD JACK:
I'm off. Found a pony and shall jog to Ajaccio by the route we came.
Please take my luggage back to the Grand Hotel, and I'll pick it up.
And have my trunk sent ashore, too. I shan't go back to America with
the admiral, bless his kindly old heart! I'm off to Mombassa. Always
keep a shooting-kit there for emergencies. I suppose you'll
understand. Be kind to her, and help her in any way you can. I hope I
shan't run into Breitmann. I should kill him out of hand. Happiness
to you, my boy. And maybe I'll ship you a trophy for the wedding.
Explain my departure in any way you please.
"CATHEWE."
The reader folded the note and stowed it away. Somehow, the bloom was
gone from things. He was very fond of Cathewe, kindly, gentle, brave,
and chivalrous. What was the matter with the woman, anyhow? How to
explain? The simplest way would be to state that Cathewe had gone back
to Ajaccio. The why and wherefore should be left to the imagination.
But, oddly enough, no one asked a second question. They accepted
Cathewe's defection without verbal comment. What they thought was of
no immediate consequence. Fitzgerald was gloomy till that moment when
Laura joined him. To her, of course, he explained the situation.
Neither she nor Hildegarde cared to go up to the forest. They would
find nothing but a hole. And indeed, when the men returned from the
pines, weary, dusty, and dissatisfied, they declared that they had
gone, not with the expectation of finding anything, but to certify a
fact.
M. Ferraud was now in a great hurry. Forty miles to Corte; night or
not, they _must_ make the town. There was no dissention; the spell of
the little man was upon them all.
Hildegarde rode alone, in the middle carriage. Such had been her
desire. She did not touch her supper. And when, late at night, they
entered the gates of Corte and stepped down before the hotel lights,
Laura observed that Hildegarde's face was streaked by the passage of
many burning tears. She longed to comfort her, but the older woman
held aloof.
Men rarely note these things, and when they do it has to be forced upon
them. Fitzgerald, genuine in his regret for Cathewe, was otherwise at
peace with the world. He alone of them all had found a treasure, the
incomparable treasure of a woman's love.
Racing his horses all through the night, scouring for fresh ones at
dawn and finding them, and away again, climbing, turning, climbing
round this pass, over that bridge, through this cut, thus flew
Breitmann, the passion of haste upon him. By this tremendous pace he
succeeded in arriving at Evisa before the admiral had covered half the
distance to Carghese.
How clear and keen his mind was as on he rolled! A thousand places
wove themselves to the parent-stem. He even laughed aloud, sending a
shiver up the spine of the driver, who was certain his old _padrone_
was mad. The face of Laura drifted past him as in a dream, and then
again, that of the other woman. No, no; he regretted nothing,
absolutely nothing. But he had been a fool there; he had wasted time
and lent himself to a despicable intrigue. For all that he outcried
it, there was a touch of shame on his cheeks when he remembered that,
had he asked, she would have given him that scrap of paper the first
hour of their meeting. Somewhere in Hildegarde von Mitter lay dormant
the spirit of heroes. He had made a mistake.
Two millions of shining money, gold, silver, and English notes! And he
laughed again as he recalled M. Ferraud, caught in a trap. He was
clever, but not clever enough. What a stroke! To make prisoners of
the party on their return, to carry the girl away into the mountains!
Would any of them think of treasures, of conspiracies, with her as a
hostage? He thought not. In the hue and cry for her, these elements
in the game would fall to a minor place. Well he knew M. Ferraud: he
would call to heaven for the safety of Laura. Love her? Yes! She was
the one woman. But men did not make captives of women and obtain their
love. He knew the futility of such coercion. He had committed two or
three scoundrelly acts, but never would he or could he sink to such a
level. No. He meant no harm at all. Frighten her, perhaps, and
terrorize the others; and mayhap take a kiss as he left her to the
coming of her friends. Nothing more serious than that.
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