"It's because we have so much at stake, Beverly, dear," whispered
Dagmar. "Forgive me if I have hurt you."
Of course, Beverly sobbed a little in the effort to convince them that
she did not care whom they accused, if he proved to be the right man in
the end. They left her alone on the balcony. For an hour after midnight
she sat there and dreamed. Everyone was ready to turn against
Baldos. Even she had been harsh toward him, for had she not seen him
relegated to the most obnoxious of duties after promising him a far
different life? And now what was he thinking of her? His descent from
favor had followed upon the disclosures which made plain to each the
identity of the other. No doubt he was attributing his degradation, in a
sense, to the fact that she no longer relished his services, having seen
a romantic little ideal shattered by his firm assertions. Of course, she
knew that General Marlanx was alone instrumental in assigning him to the
unpleasant duty he now observed, but how was Baldos to know that she was
not the real power behind the Iron Count?
A light drizzle began to fall, cold and disagreeable. There were no
stars, no moon. The ground below was black with shadows, but shimmering
in spots touched by the feeble park lamps. She retreated through her
window, determined to go to bed. Her rebellious brain, however, refused
to banish him from her thoughts. She wondered if he were patroling the
castle grounds In the rain, in all that lonely darkness. Seized by a
sudden inspiration, she threw a gossamer about her, grasped an umbrella
and ventured out upon the balcony once more. Guiltily she searched the
night through the fine drizzling rain; her ears listened eagerly for the
tread which was so well known to her.
At last he strode beneath a lamp not far away. He looked up, but, of
course, could not see her against the dark wall. For a long time he
stood motionless beneath the light. She could not help seeing that he
was dejected, tired, unhappy. His shoulders drooped, and there as a
general air of listlessness about the figure which had once been so full
of courage and of hope. The post light fell directly upon his face. It
was somber, despondent, strained. He wore the air of a prisoner. Her
heart went out to him like a flash. The debonair knight of the black
patch was no more; in his place there stood a sullen slave to
discipline.
"Baldos!" she called softly, her voice penetrating the dripping air with
the clearness of a bell. He must have been longing for the sound of it,
for he started and looked eagerly in her direction. His tall form
straightened as he passed his hand over his brow. It was but a voice
from his dream, he thought. "Aren't you afraid you'll get wet?" asked
the same low, sweet voice, with the suggestion of a laugh behind
it. With long strides he crossed the pavement and stood almost directly
beneath her.