'Your sword——' she began.
'Is broken.'
'No, no! Anthony brought another to Count Sagan, not yours. Yours was not the sword of a traitor! That also I will keep.'
'Unziar—I thank him. And Valerie, listen! When they condemned me there was one vote in my favour. You can guess whose.'
'Anthony's?'
'Yes, Valerie, and he loves you, and I will not blame—I wish—I would ask——'
Valerie's glance met his. She understood.
'No,' she said; 'I will thank him, and like him dearly and pray for him, but not that—no, not ever that!'
A quiet knock on the door.
'And now it is good-bye.'
DUKE GUSTAVE.
Whatever may be said to the contrary, the fact remains that a little independent success acts on a morally weak man as a glass of wine upon a physically weak one. For a time it exalts and quickens him.
Duke Gustave of Maäsau was in a condition of mental exhilaration, and experiencing to the full the false sensation of strength thus created when Sagan was announced. Selpdorf, who had been listening for some minutes to his master's self-gratulations on the newly ratified British contract rose as if to take his departure.
'Wait, Selpdorf!' the Duke said.
'My lord has asked for a private interview, your Highness,' Selpdorf reminded him.
'Yes, but I have no private affairs to discuss with my cousin. Anything that need be said between us is better said before a witness,' replied the Duke. 'How do you suppose he will take the news of our agreement with England?'
Selpdorf's answer was slow in coming, and before he spoke Count Sagan strode into the room. He carried a sheaf of papers; his imperious temper was wont to rush every business through to which he put his hand.
'I begged for a few moments in private with your Highness,' he said, with a glance at the Minister.
'Our good Selpdorf is too discreet to be considered a third,' answered the Duke blandly. 'He knows our secrets without being told them. Pray proceed, my lord; is there anything I can do for you?'
'Yes, sire; I wish to lay before you the matter I was forced to postpone at the Castle. I also made use of the opportunity to bring one or two papers relating to the Guard for signature.'
The Duke took the papers. He was seated at a writing-table, and he glanced carelessly over them as Sagan went on.
'Under your approval those papers include Lieutenant Unziar's appointment as captain, vice Colendorp——'
'Deceased,' put in the Duke with a sharp significance.
Sagan frowned. Gustave had a curious alertness about him to-night.
'Yes, poor fellow! We can ill spare him,' he said. 'Also we have agreed to propose Abenfeldt as junior subaltern.'
'I have no objection,' the Duke said.
'As for the other subject upon which I have for some time wished to speak to you, sire, I am authorised to lay before your Highness certain proposals—'
'Stop, my lord,' again interrupted the Duke, 'if those proposals have any reference to von Elmur and his projects for the good of the State, I absolutely decline to hear them. What's this?' he had laid aside the upper papers after signature, and was scanning the one below with an expression of countenance which showed that he liked what he read very little.
Sagan watched him with a deepening frown, the more subtle Selpdorf with curiosity. At other times it had been the Duke's custom to add his signature to papers without a glance at their contents. The destiny of one man is thus often decided by the passing mood of another.
'What's this about Rallywood?'
'A bad business, but your Highness's signature makes many a wrong right,' said Sagan, with a clumsy attempt at pleasantry; 'it needs only that. You have the pen and ink, sire.'
'But, by Heaven, not the will!' cried the Duke. 'I will not sign it! And if I will not, hey?'
'M. Selpdorf will assure you that it is necessary in the case of discipline,' urged Sagan with a lowering look.
'And I will assure M. Selpdorf that I am accustomed to make up my own mind! You know it already, Selpdorf!'
'I have always known it, sire,' said the supple Chancellor.
'You will hear my reasons?' asked Sagan angrily.
The Duke nodded.
'Captain Rallywood was guilty of gross disobedience of orders. His case has been laid before a court-martial of his brother officers, and he has been condemned to be shot. The trial has been conducted with justice.'
'What were Captain Rallywood's orders, then?'
'He was ordered to carry certain dispatches to the Chancellor, but he carried them elsewhere for his own purposes.'
The Duke nodded slowly and half closed his eyes. He remembered a certain damp morning by the river, when Rallywood had ridden to take orders from Selpdorf.
'So you are in this also, Selpdorf?' he said. 'What despatches were these? Pray tell me frankly. I believe I know something already.'
'Despatches sent to me from the Frontier, sire.'
'Which he failed to bring to you. Where then did he take them?'
The delay and the persistent unexpected questioning of the Duke irritated Sagan almost beyond endurance. He struck in.
'Sire, does it matter what he did with them, as we have proof that he disobeyed orders? That is the point—what need to ask further?' Then, as the Duke still shook his head, he burst out, 'Well, then, he carried them to the British Legation—to his own countrymen, mind you. He was false to his oath as a soldier! He must be shot!'
Gustave of Maäsau was a man who lied much and often, as those of poor moral calibre will. He lied now with zest.
'So? Although Captain Rallywood acted under my personal instructions, Simon?' he said quietly.
Sagan sprang to his feet.
'Yes,' resumed the Duke, warming to hisrôle. 'Yes, he acted under my orders, for the despatches were connected with the agreement I have within the last hour signed with England, and about which the first proposals were laid before me at midnight by the British Envoy during my visit to your Castle!'
'What?' shouted Sagan, as his house of cards fell about him. 'You lie, Gustave! And Germany? Selpdorf, we hold your promises! It is impossible to think this to be true?'
'It is true,' said the Chancellor. 'I beg you will recollect that his Highness is present, my lord. This excitement——'
Sagan stood gasping and staring. His passion seemed to choke him as he stood, but the Duke, still exalted by the sense of triumph and power, mistook the silence for speechless humiliation. His temper rose as the other's seemed to sink.
'You can deceive me no more, my lord Sagan!' he cried in a high excited voice. 'You took Colendorp from me, you would now take Rallywood, one by one all my faithful Guard! But I am sovereign still! You shall not tamper any longer with my loyal State; you shall never bring your traitorous German schemes to an issue!'
But there were things impossible for Count Simon of Sagan to endure. Never before had he been twitted with impotence and failure. He could not survive so utter a defeat. A man to bear these things must be less thorough than the Count. He was too fierce, too imperious, to bear so great a reverse. If he must be put to shame before the world, if even a paltry captain of the Guard were to be permitted to negative his will, why then life had best be over!
He seemed to struggle for speech; at last, without warning, his passion leaped into flame. Like a wild beast he sprang across the table at the Duke—the poor snivelling coward who had dared to flay him with his tongue! The old hate fired the new fury as he clutched Gustave.
The Duke gave a shrill feeble cry, not such a cry as one would have expected from a man of his age, and then Selpdorf was between them shouting for the Guard.
'You false hound!' Sagan gnashed his teeth in Selpdorf's face as the Chancellor threw himself upon him.
Shouts and shots, and the wild turmoil of a deadly struggle. Then the Guard had secured Sagan. The Duke stood trembling and incoherent, leaning upon the table, and between them, face downwards on the floor, the Chancellor with a bullet in his groin and for once playing arôlehe had not prepared.
Sagacious, supple, self-seeking, yet not utterly seared, in the last resort he offered up his life for the master he had almost betrayed.
FOR A SEASON.
Queens Fain lies upon the inner edge of Lincolnshire, in an undulating countryside amongst great old trees, where of an evening the sun throws bars of light across the levels of turf, where homing rooks fly in scattered lines against a gleaming sky, the air breathes coolness and peace, and the scene lays that ineffable spell upon the heart of which only the exile can ever know the full pathetic power.
Round the house tall fences of yew and holly fend off the colder winds. On an evening in early spring Rallywood and Counsellor strolled under the shelter of a massive black wall of yew. The daffodils were blowing about the border of the lake below them, and along the distant hedges furry catkins were already nodding and floating on the crisp breeze.
'I have found it necessary once or twice before to say that you were a fool, John,' said Counsellor, looking up at a corner of the great stone-built mansion, its cold aspect yellowed and mellowed by the strengthening sunshine.
'Always or on occasion?' Rallywood laughed easily.
'Mostly. You will not leave the Guard. If I were you I should go to-morrow. Marry the girl as soon as she will let you, and bring her here. Then sit down and shoot partridges. She will like it. It is better than Maäsau.'
'It is altogether good to own the old place again,' Rallywood said, 'and we'll do our duty by the partridges, Major, you and I, I hope, by-and-by, but to do that and nothing else—not yet!'
'You've stalked bigger game and that has spoilt you,' grumbled the Major. 'After Count Sagan, partridges pall. Yet it is a pity.'
'I shall bring Valerie here sometimes, of course. I think she'll like the old place almost as much as I do.'
'More, since it is the birthplace and home of one John Rallywood,' said Counsellor with a twist of his big moustache. 'You lucky, undeserving beggar! So Selpdorf's gone. A queer compound.'
'His death redeemed—much,' said Rallywood, shortly.
'Yes,' Counsellor puffed out a great cloud of smoke, 'yes, but we have no reason to forget the fact that he was very ready to secure himself at a heavy cost to you.'
'For the sake of Maäsau,' interposed Rallywood.
'Hum—for the sake of Maäsau! And you were an inconvenient personality also. Well, well, let it pass. But it was touch and go with you, John, for no one could have foreseen that shaky old Gustave would rise to the occasion as he did. And what has he done for you after all?'
'He saved my life first, and gave me the Gold Star of Maäsau afterwards,' said Rallywood, 'an honour which I share with some monarchs—and Major Counsellor.'
'Dirt cheap, too!' grunted Counsellor. 'I hear that Madame de Sagan sent you a very neat congratulation.
"A genoux sur la terreNous rendons grâces à DieuEt nous lui faisons vœuxD'une double prière."
You can take your own meaning out of it,' ended the Major.
'And the people being chiefly malicious will take the wrong one.'
'That is as it may be. But for you I hope a fine morning will follow the stormy evening. You will grow fat and selfish, John, like many a better man.'
Rallywood smiled. He was thinking of a certain elderly diplomat who, rumour said, had been moved out of his usual composure on one occasion only. It was at the moment when he heard that Captain Rallywood of the Maäsaun Guard was sentenced to be shot.
'By the way,' resumed Counsellor, 'did I tell you that I saw von Elmur yesterday at Charing Cross? He said he was starting for Constantinople. I bade him good-bye, but he corrected me, "Au revoir, my dear Major," and kissed the tips of his fingers to me as the train passed. So perhaps the end is not yet.'
'God bless the present!' said Rallywood.
And while they walk and talk over the past and the future in the pleasant places of England, the surf is beating round an island off the Maäsaun coast, upon which a storm-stricken fortification has been adapted to the use of a certain political prisoner, Count Simon of Sagan. There he frets, and schemes, and longs through the endless afternoons. He does not accept his destiny as final, his hopes are unimpaired, his resolves as strong as in the old keen days at Sagan. He clings to a blind conviction that Time and the Man must inevitably meet together, and he lives for that meeting.
There, too, Anthony Unziar serves his country and his sovereign, relentlessly watchful through the dead monotony of the days. At his own urgent request he was given charge of the lonely prison, its solitude appearing to him the one bearable condition of life. He has his work to do and he does it well, and always between Count Sagan and his dreams stands the irrevocable figure of the young Maäsaun.
Sometimes Sagan taunts him with his hopeless love, but he only answers by a look. And each knows that wherever he may turn, he will find the other standing up against him—the fierce imbruted prisoner with his royal fearlessness, and his intense and frigid guard.
They are waiting. They have each his dream. Sagan's of empire and revenge, for he is after all a splendid ruffian, untamable, gallant, a man who could never be compelled to cry 'Enough' to evil fortune.
Sometimes deep in the night, while the two enemies play their long games together, Sagan flings down the cards and laughs and speaks of another game which will find its conclusion in the dim paths of the future. But Unziar only smiles. If that day should ever come it will find him ready. But to-day is not to-morrow, and 'God bless the present!' as Rallywood said.