‘Sword and fire,Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,The craft of kindred and the ruthless hostsOf Scythia swarming o’er the Euxine sea.’
‘Sword and fire,Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,The craft of kindred and the ruthless hostsOf Scythia swarming o’er the Euxine sea.’
‘Sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,
The craft of kindred and the ruthless hosts
Of Scythia swarming o’er the Euxine sea.’
But you really must excuse me,” he broke off apologetically; “I seem to be dealing in English literature specimens, adapted to suit present circumstances, to-night. The fact is, that my mind is still so completely under the spell of the superb acting of her Royal Highness, that poetry comes to my tongue more readily than prose.”
The Prince frowned. “I fail to see why a European war should be the consequence of our marriage, as you seem to imply.”
“Simply because Thracia has been induced to part with territory under a misapprehension.”
“Ah, my price!” cried Princess Ottilie. “You see I am acquainted with your little plans, Lord Cyril, and I have out-plotted you. You are angry to-night, but to-morrow you will see that you have deserved it. You have done all you could to make me believe that your brother was deeply in love with me, when the whole time I knew from his own lips that it was all he could do to endure the sight of me. It was I who arranged with the Prince that you were to be brought here to-night. I was determined to have my revenge on you, to show you that there were others who could lay plots as well as yourself. Don’t talk about misapprehensions. Your brother the King will be the first to tell you that he has aided me throughout in this conspiracy of mine until to-day.”
“That my brother was foolish enough to allow himself to be persuaded to join you in playing a practical joke, in very doubtful taste, on your father, will make no difference to the Thracians,” retorted Cyril. “They will demand back the territory out of which they have been cozened, and the great Powers will be drawn into the war.”
“I hope the consequences will not be so serious as you seem to expect,” said Prince Alexis, breaking into the war of words. “I enjoy some little influence at the Scythian Court, and I can promise you that it shall be exerted on behalf of the independence of Thracia, and in favour of your brother, to whom I shall always be grateful for the part he has played during the last few days. And now, Lord Cyril, we must not detain you longer, or King Carlino will be anxious about you. Stefan here will take you to a room where there is refreshment prepared, and after that you will find a fresh horse and an escort of six of my guard to conduct you back to Thracia. I owe you many thanks for the assistance you have given me to-night.”
“And remember,” added Princess Ottilie, as Cyril bowed, “that though I can’t quite forgive King Carlino for the way in which he has treated me, I am sorry I teased him so much. But I am not sorry that I hoaxed you to-night.”
Thus dismissed, Cyril had no option but to take his leave of the royal couple, and commit himself to the charge of Stefan, who brought him to a buffet, where he made a hasty meal. He was conscious that it would have been more in keeping with his tragic utterances to quit the palace at once, refusing either to eat or drink within its walls, and denouncing vengeance against its perjured mistress; but the night was very cold, he was tired, and there was a long ride before him. And after all, it could not be denied that the Princess had played her part wonderfully well; there was no disgrace in having been deceived by her. But it was inexcusable to have been taken in by Caerleon, clumsy and unwilling actor as he was; and the only point Cyril could allege in his own favour was that he might be pardoned for not suspecting such an unprecedented event as his brother’s lending himself to support a course of deception. The thought comforted him to some extent, however, and as he mounted the horse prepared for him he felt more at peace with himself. The ride home occupied a much shorter space of time than the former one had done, and Cyril laughed angrily to himself as he remembered the amount of trouble he had wasted in giving a riding-lesson to the best rider in Mœsia. The thought recalled to him his grudge against Caerleon, and when he had dismissed his Dardanian escort a little way from the hunting-lodge, he made up his mind to punish his brother by giving him one more night’s suspense. He was bound to hear in the morning of what had happened; but it would only be a richly deserved punishment for him not to be relieved from his anxiety sooner. Accordingly, Cyril went straight to bed as soon as he entered the house, although he heard the voices of Caerleon and M. Drakovics still engaged in earnest discourse in the dining-room.
Half an hour later footsteps paused outside his door, and Caerleon’s voice said, “Asleep, old man?” to which he replied only by a sleepy grunt.
“I’m glad I didn’t let the fellow come in and bemoan himself to me,” he reflected, as the footsteps passed on. “I should have had to tell him the whole thing in self-defence.”
Cyril slept late the next morning, and when he awoke he heard Caerleon tramping moodily up and down outside his window, speaking a cheerless word now and again to the dogs. He rose and dressed slowly, turning over in his mind the various methods which occurred to him of utilising this defeat of his as a stepping-stone to further victories. Presently the sound of another voice in the garden arrested his attention, and looking out, he saw one of the King of Mœsia’s gorgeously attired jägers giving Caerleon a parcel, which he said he had been commanded by the Queen to place in his own hands. As soon as the man was gone, Caerleon, in some surprise, opened the packet, and Cyril saw that it contained the case of rubies which he himself had carried to Schloss Herzensruh the night before. Lying above the jewels was a paper, which Caerleon unfolded, and read the contents.
“Oh, joy! she’s off!” he cried, infinite relief in his tones. “I’m rid of her at last.”
“Chuck it in,” said Cyril, and his brother handed it to him, turning to rearrange the glowing gems on their velvet bed, with fingers that were not quite steady. The paper was in the Princess’s writing:—
“At last I am able to release your Majesty from a position which I grieve to see you have found intolerably irksome. They say that we women are willing to sell our very souls for jewels; but you will believe me when I tell you that I had far rather see your rubies in the possession of the person to whom they rightly belong, and to whom you would prefer to give them. When this time of storm and stress is over, and you meet Mdlle. Nadia again, present them to her with my love. Tell her this also in all friendliness, that if she desires a testimony to your character, she need only refer to me. You were right in saying, when you scolded me so rudely two days ago, that I should never have dared to go so far with any one else; but I felt that I could trust you, and my trust was justified by the event. At any rate, I will bear witness that you were softened by none of my overtures, that you kept me at a distance—not gently, no, I cannot say gently—but firmly, certainly, always firmly. Forgive me; this is the last time I shall tease you. My husband and I pray for your happiness and that of your bride.—From your friend,“Ottilie, Princess of Dardania.“I entreat you to give my remembrances to your brother, who will tell you any particulars about my wedding that you may care to hear.”
“At last I am able to release your Majesty from a position which I grieve to see you have found intolerably irksome. They say that we women are willing to sell our very souls for jewels; but you will believe me when I tell you that I had far rather see your rubies in the possession of the person to whom they rightly belong, and to whom you would prefer to give them. When this time of storm and stress is over, and you meet Mdlle. Nadia again, present them to her with my love. Tell her this also in all friendliness, that if she desires a testimony to your character, she need only refer to me. You were right in saying, when you scolded me so rudely two days ago, that I should never have dared to go so far with any one else; but I felt that I could trust you, and my trust was justified by the event. At any rate, I will bear witness that you were softened by none of my overtures, that you kept me at a distance—not gently, no, I cannot say gently—but firmly, certainly, always firmly. Forgive me; this is the last time I shall tease you. My husband and I pray for your happiness and that of your bride.—From your friend,
“Ottilie, Princess of Dardania.
“I entreat you to give my remembrances to your brother, who will tell you any particulars about my wedding that you may care to hear.”
“Then you are glad to be out of it?” said Cyril.
“Glad? Rather! If I wasn’t a middle-aged monarch, I should throw up my cap and jump for joy. Give me the letter and I’ll tear it up. I shouldn’t like Nadia ever to come upon the detestable thing. Fancy a woman’s writing like that!”
“Then you intend to try your luck again with Miss O’Malachy?”
“How can I, so long as I am king? But to have got rid of this wretched entanglement seems to bring me nearer to her at once.”
“What a selfish beast you are!” was Cyril’s remark. “Thinking only of yourself, and nothing about Thracia, and what the breaking off of this affair will involve.”
“I’m very sorry if it leads to trouble,” said Caerleon, trying to look suitably serious, “and I’ll do all I can to set it right, short of running into another engagement; but you can’t expect me to be sorry that this one is over.”
“The wedding will lead to war, undoubtedly.”
“Why should it? If I don’t feel myself insulted by the Princess’s way of leading up to it, I don’t see why any one else should.”
“Thracia won’t see things in the same light, though. The whole nation has been insulted in your person, and, furthermore, cheated into giving up territory without a return. Nothing but blood will wash out the remembrance.”
“But I will explain the whole thing to everybody.”
“Do. Who do you think will believe you? No one will imagine that a sane man could make such an utter and irretrievable idiot of himself. It will simply be thought that you are trying to shield the girl. No; all you can do is to keep your mouth shut. Look here,” Cyril was struck by a sudden inspiration, “Will you leave Drakovics and me to put things straight?”
“If you think you can do it better without me,” replied Caerleon pacifically, overlooking his brother’s uncomplimentary language in consideration of the provocation he had received. “But mind, on your honour, there must be no more meddling with marriages and engagements. If I hear so much as a whisper of such a thing, I will repudiate all your negotiations, and take the management of affairs into my own hands.”
“No fear. After this job has turned out so badly, I shall not take up the matrimonial agency business again in a hurry. I only want to have you out of the way, because I am afraid that King Johann will get round you. Go and kill your were-wolf, can’t you? and be a benefit to society.”
“I’d go like a shot, all the more that I shan’t have to bringherthe skin; but don’t you think it would look rather bad—rather unfeeling, you know?”
“I think you are the most exasperating idiot I ever had to do with,” returned Cyril, hopelessly. “Don’t you see that it will look worse for you to be hanging about here with that face on? Go and be alone with nature and your grief—or, in plain English, go and grin where no one can see you.”
“All right,” said Caerleon, with a laugh. “May I have breakfast first?”
“Yes, so long as you are well out of the way before they can send here from the castle. Give your orders now, so that you can start as soon as you have finished.”
“By the by,” said Caerleon, “what did the Princess mean by saying that you could give me particulars of the wedding?”
“Well, if you particularly want to know, I was present at the ceremony—not intentionally, as you can guess.”
“Last night? Queer that you should just have happened to drop in upon them.”
This was all that passed between them on the subject, for Cyril was resolved never to reveal the crowning deception of which he had been the victim. He could only hope that Princess Ottilie would be equally reticent.
The brothers breakfasted alone; and after the meal Cyril hurried Caerleon off to the mountains, in dire fear lest an emissary from Schloss Herzensruh should appear before he had arranged his plan of action with M. Drakovics. As soon as his brother had left the house he obtained admission to the Premier’s room, where M. Drakovics was devouring a blue-book full of statistics simultaneously with his breakfast. He looked up in some surprise as Cyril entered.
“You are early, milord.”
“Are you prepared to meet a great emergency, monsieur?”
M. Drakovics collected his thoughts, and was prepared immediately.
“You need not tell me what the emergency is, milord. The King refuses to fulfil his engagement.”
“Not at all. The Princess has bolted.”
“Bolted?” inquired M. Drakovics, mildly.
“Yes, bolted—cut and run, eloped, with the Prince of Dardania.”
“But is it too late to stop them?”
“Quite. They were married last night.”
“But this is appalling, milord!”
“It is bad enough; but there is worse behind. My brother was in the plot.”
“Impossible, milord! You cannot tell me that his Majesty would enter into an agreement to make himself the laughing-stock of the world?”
“It is unfortunately too true that my brother only engaged himself to the Princess that he might help her to carry out this design of hers. Of course the Queen was in it as well. Between them they have made a good deal of use of him. I am as much astonished as you can possibly be that he should have listened to them for an instant.”
“Ah! that admission scarcely accords with the claim which you advanced some time ago to a complete knowledge of his Majesty’s character,” said M. Drakovics, looking up with a smile which was more like a snarl.
“You have a right to make any remarks you please on the subject,” said Cyril, quietly. “They cannot be more bitter than those I have been making to myself. In fact, I have no doubt that we could pass an hour or two very pleasantly in exchanging a series of mutual recriminations. But if you are the man I think you, you will not waste time in squabbling, but will join with me in using the few minutes we have before us in taking measures which may yet turn this crushing defeat into a triumph.”
“Milord, you are superb!” said M. Drakovics, looking at him with heartfelt if somewhat reluctant admiration. “You have the true diplomatic spirit. I accept your rebuke willingly, and rejoice that I have such a colleague at my side in this crisis. What are the measures you would propose?”
“There is one fatal flaw in our case,” said Cyril,—“Caerleon’s connivance in the Princess’s plot. If that once comes out, nothing can save us. But the happy couple are both animated by sentiments of such deep gratitude towards him, that I don’t think they are likely to split. If the Queen was on the opposite side, she would be dangerous; but King Johann is not likely to ask her advice, and she will not feel inclined to interfere uninvited. Therefore I think we may count upon the facts not transpiring, unless Caerleon publishes it in one of these unaccountable chivalrous fits of his. He is out of the way for to-day, and we ought to be able to get things settled by the time he comes back in such a way that it will not dawn upon him how we managed it. Bounce is our only chance. Our business just now is to keep Caerleon on the throne, not to give Europe lessons in morality gratis at his expense. How soon can the First Army Corps be ready to mobilise?”
“In twenty-four hours. We tried the experiment only a fortnight ago.”
“Good. Then telegraph to Sertchaieff to mass it on the Mœsian frontier as soon as it can be got there. You see our game?”
“I do, milord. It is a bold, but not an impossible one to play. But why not occupy the ceded territory at once?”
“Because we don’t wish to start the war if we can help it. We must carry this business through without giving the Powers cause to interfere, if possible. Pannonia will do our work if we make proper use of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family influence; but for us to cross the Mœsian frontier would be to defy her to do her worst. Still, you might also telegraph to the commandant at Feodoratz, ordering him to be ready to move out with his troops at a moment’s notice. They are only ten miles away from the disputed strip, and could take possession and hold it easily until they were relieved the day after to-morrow by the First Army Corps. There is a horn! You had better be in the drawing-room with me to receive the messenger.”
“One moment, milord. Where is the King?”
“I have sent him out shooting. He is better out of the way this morning.”
“But if the King of Mœsia were to send after him and capture him, we should be lost.”
“King Johann Casimir will not know where he is, if I can help it,” said Cyril, “and the idea would scarcely occur to his mind, in any case. If he were on good terms with the Queen, it is the kind of bold measure that would suggest itself to her; but he isn’t, and therefore he won’t have the benefit of her advice.”
They went into the drawing-room, the only part of the little house that boasted of foreign furniture and decorations, and presently a very high official of the Mœsian Court was ushered in. M. Drakovics and Cyril received him with grave faces and in dead silence.
“My orders are to open my business to no one but the King himself,” said the messenger.
“His Majesty cannot grant an audience to any one this morning,” returned Cyril, coldly. “About an hour ago he received a letter from her Royal Highness, the perusal of which has deeply affected him. I will take charge of any message of which you may be the bearer.”
But this was not within the scope of the ambassador’s instructions, and after a little more parleying, he took his departure, after which M. Drakovics seized the opportunity of sending off his telegrams. It was some time before another horn was heard; but now it was King Johann Casimir himself who rode up to the shooting-box, and asked to see King Carlino, only to receive the same answer as his representative.
“It is absolutely impossible for me even to inform my brother of your Majesty’s arrival,” said Cyril; “but if you can suggest any means by which the gravity of the present crisis may be lessened, M. Drakovics and I are empowered to consider the proposal, and to take any preliminary measures that may be necessary.”
The King sat down, and Cyril saw that the battle was half won, although his first words were full of dignity.
“I do not understand you, Lord Cyril. This is a most unfortunate and disagreeable affair; but it does not seem to me to bring about a crisis.”
“No?” said Cyril. “Will your Majesty consider for a moment how the facts will strike the ears of Europe? A trustful young King, whose advisers are above all things anxious to live in peace with their nearest neighbours, is inveigled (I beg your Majesty’s pardon, but that is the word that will be used) into ceding a portion of territory in return for the promise of the hand of a certain lady. The unimportant detail that the lady is determined to marry another person is not communicated to him, although he himself insists, so delicate is his sense of honour, on acquainting her with the facts of a past and gone love-affair of his own before he will ask her to engage herself to him. Then, when the territory has been ceded, she suddenly elopes with the other man, and he is left in the lurch. I ask you whether the position is likely to be accepted meekly, either by a man of my brother’s character or by a high-spirited nation like Thracia?”
“But you cannot imagine that I had anything to do with my daughter’s marriage?” cried the King.
“I bring no accusations, your Majesty. I have merely stated the case as it will appear to Thracia and to Europe, although I grant there is at present no proof that you were acquainted with the Princess’s intention of eloping last night. Thracia gave up a portion of territory in order to gain a certain alliance, which is now refused her. It is impossible that you can have been ignorant of the mutual affection that existed between her Royal Highness and the Prince of Dardania; but you gave no hint of it either to my brother or to me, and this serves to complicate the situation. M. Drakovics will tell your Majesty what steps we have felt it necessary to take in order to vindicate the dignity of the country.”
King Johann Casimir turned helplessly to the Premier.
“I fear that when the news once becomes known in Thracia, the popular indignation there will be overwhelming,” said the latter, “and I have therefore been the more anxious to conduct everything in the most regular way possible. Unless your Majesty can suggest any means of relieving the tension of the situation, I may remark that we shall be forced to declare war this evening, and to proceed to occupy the disputed territory immediately.”
“But there will be a revolution in Mœsia if that strip of land is lost through the action of any member of my family,” cried the King.
A look of satisfaction flashed from M. Drakovics to Cyril over King Johann’s head. “The possibility of such an occurrence can hardly be expected to influence the action of Thracia, although it is doubtless fraught with much interest to your Majesty’s advisers,” said the Premier.
“Nothing could be further from our thoughts than to regard such a disastrous event with indifference,” cried Cyril, warmly. “My brother would be horrified by the very idea. Is there nothing that your Majesty can suggest that would avert such a calamity, while at the same time salving the wounded honour of Thracia?”
“We have no power of raising an indemnity,” said the King.
“The very suggestion is an insult, your Majesty!” cried M. Drakovics. “We Thracians are striving for our national life, not for money. What we desire is a place among the nations. Any assistance towards the attainment of our ideal——” he broke off, watching the King narrowly.
“In what direction?”
“Our chief reason for congratulating ourselves on the alliance proposed between King Carlino and your Majesty’s family was the conviction that Thracia would thereby range herself on the side of Pannonia and European peace. That hope is now lost, for what claim have we upon the friendship of Pannonia? But if there were any means by which she might be induced to support us still in obtaining our recognition from the Grand Signior of Roum——”
“I see. You desire our understanding to remain in force, with the one unfortunate exception?” said the King, obviously much relieved.
“Exactly. We desire that our alliance with your Majesty’s kingdom may continue,” said M. Drakovics. “This object may appear a small advantage in return for which to waive our claim to the ceded territory; but it is of such importance to us that if it is assured, I can answer for the tranquillity of Thracia.”
“My brother is also extremely anxious not to press hardly upon your Majesty,” said Cyril. “It would not be like him not to feel keenly such a slight as he has received; but out of consideration for you, and for the sake of his kingdom, he will lay aside his own feeling in the matter. Your Majesty will wish, no doubt, to consult your Ministers—who were to arrive at the castle last night, I remember, in order to be present at the ceremony so unhappily interrupted—before signifying your adherence to the plan we suggest; and you will probably also consider it advisable to communicate with the Emperor of Pannonia. M. Drakovics will undertake that no active steps shall be taken until this evening in the matter of the frontier; and I do not doubt that your Majesty will think, on considering the circumstances, that to give us the assurance we ask is merely a piece of international courtesy.”
“It’s done!” said Cyril, meeting Caerleon that night on his return in triumph with the were-wolf’s skin, “though I thought my hair would have turned grey with anxiety while we waited. The treaty with Mœsia is to stand, and Pannonia will continue to support us at Czarigrad. These seem only little things; but they mean a good deal to us, and they stave off the Great War for a little while longer. Everything is quiet now.”
“Wait a minute,” said Caerleon. “There’s something I want to say. It seems to me that neither of you,” glancing from Cyril to M. Drakovics, “has quite understood hitherto my intentions about marrying. That there may be no doubt about them in the future, I intend to declare you my heir, Cyril, when we return to Bellaviste, and this must be confirmed by the Legislative Assembly if I am to stay in Thracia. Miss O’Malachy won’t marry me, and I won’t marry any one else; but this plan will secure the succession to the throne.”
“I don’t quite appreciate being set up side by side with you for Scythia to plot against,” said Cyril; “but never mind, I daresay I shall get used to it in time.”
“And I cannot doubt that your Majesty’s choice will be most popular in Thracia,” said M. Drakovics.
“Ah, very good,—and when I have time, Cyril, I will set about looking for a wife for you,” said Caerleon, lazily.
Thetwo months which had been fraught with events of so much moment to Caerleon had not been devoid of incident for Nadia, although her circumstances afforded at first sight far less promise of excitement than did his. Since their hasty departure from Bellaviste, the O’Malachy and his wife had been sojourning at the frontier village of Witska, where they seemed inclined to remain as a thorn in the side of M. Drakovics, and this the more that he could not discover any motive, even that of devising plots, for their doing so. His agents visited the village perpetually, both in disguise and in their proper persons, and after dogging the footsteps of the Herr Oberst and his wife for a longer or shorter time, and even making incursions into their rooms at the inn when they were out, returned to their employer baffled. In fact, there seemed nothing for them to observe. The “Kur” arrangements at Witska were more primitive even than those at Janoszwar; but the O’Malachy drank the regulation number of tumblers of medicated water with unfaltering bravery, and took the prescribed stroll afterwards, accompanied by his wife, on the only level piece of road in the village, duly increasing the distance a little every day. The afternoon was invariably spent in the open air, in a sheltered spot at the foot of a blank wall belonging to the oldest part of the inn, Madame O’Malachy reading aloud occasional extracts from one of the French novels which were her constant companions, and her husband responding lazily with good-humoured criticisms. No life could have appeared more simple and innocent, none more entirely above-board. And yet, as Nadia could have told, although she based her opinion rather upon various small indications than upon actual evidence, the worthy couple were the whole time carrying on an extensive and complicated secret correspondence, and acting as intermediaries between the Thracian patriots who disliked the presentrégimeand their Scythian sympathisers. An unexpected meeting with her mother early one morning showed Nadia that she was pale and heavy-eyed, as though she had worked late the evening before; and the mystery was explained a few nights after, when, hearing sounds in the house after midnight, and fearing she knew not what, she equipped herself with great bravery for a search, and discovered both her father and mother still in their sitting-room, the one engaged in writing letters and the other in destroying a number of papers which appeared to contain reports of some kind.
After this revelation, Nadia kept her eyes open, and arrived before long at the conclusion that very few people came to the village, with the exception, of course, of the emissaries of M. Drakovics, who were not charged with messages of one kind or another for her parents. It seldom happened that a letter arrived by post, or was openly delivered; but pedlars and travelling showmen, artisans wandering in search of work, and roaming gipsies, each and all seemed to have a secret understanding with the O’Malachy and his wife. Sometimes a sign, scarcely perceptible save to the initiated, would convey the needed information—sometimes, Nadia felt sure, letters were brought; but she never saw one change hands, nor came upon any trace of it afterwards. It was evident that any documents which might prove compromising were immediately and punctiliously burnt, and this precaution it was that baffled the men employed by M. Drakovics, who had no means of distinguishing the remains of burnt paper among the ashes raked out from the great stove.
Another curious fact which Nadia discovered about this time was the secret of the means by which her parents held their necessary consultations without attracting the attention of the spies by prolonged conferences, or wasting a portion of their working hours at night. Coming upon them one day in the sunny spot where they usually sat, she found her mother, as she thought, reading aloud in French; but the first words that reached her ear scarcely sounded as though they were drawn from the novel on Madame O’Malachy’s knee.
“You see what Louis says: ‘Our friend X. has come over at last. His Majesty’s promises were too attractive. He engages to bring all his employés with him when the word is given.’ This despatch must be sent on immediately. It will show that there are others upon whom we can depend beside the city guard. ‘“Adorable Erminie!”s’écria Léonide, en se précipitant——’ What do you want, my daughter?”
Nadia delivered the message with which she was charged from the landlord, and retired, and it was some time before she lighted on the meaning of this curiously disjointed sentence. It occurred to her at last, in one of those flashes of insight which sometimes present to the mind in a moment the solution of a mystery long pondered over in vain, that the adventures of Léonide and Erminie were merely a blind, and that when Madame O’Malachy was supposed by those who were set to watch her to be reading to her husband in French, she was in reality discussing with him the progress of their schemes. No thought of profiting by this discovery to penetrate into her parents’ plans occurred to Nadia, and in any case the idea of acting as a spy would have been abhorrent to her; but even had she been anxious to probe more deeply the mystery of M. X. and his employés, her father and mother kept their secrets as carefully concealed from her as from the Thracian police-agents themselves. If the subject of Thracia was mentioned when she was in their company, it was merely as the text of a bantering discourse, conducted with more or less of good-humour on the O’Malachy’s part, but punctuated with bitter reproaches on that of his wife. Neither of them could forgive Nadia for her folly in refusing Caerleon, when the acceptance of his proposal would have raised the whole family to affluence and distinction, although Madame O’Malachy resented much more strongly than her husband the loss of the material benefits promised by the match. His easy-going nature accepted serenely enough the change in the position of affairs, and the necessity of plotting against the man he had hoped to welcome as a son-in-law; but both he and his wife were careful to guard against giving Nadia any inkling of the consequences which might ensue to Thracia and its king from her refusal. Although they never engaged in their mysterious work until she was out of the way, they would not run the risk of stimulating her curiosity by showing any eagerness to get rid of her, and allowed her to join them or not just as she pleased. But the certainty of finding herself either reproached or laughed at for the foolish way in which she had mismanaged what Madame O’Malachy called “l’affaire Carlino” made her only anxious to shun their society; and during the first few days of their stay at Witska she roamed about the garden alone, finding nothing to do but to recall the past, and feeling that she had nothing in the whole world to which to look forward. This being the case, it is not surprising that she caught herself one day wishing that she had not forbidden Caerleon so absolutely ever to renew his suit, but the discovery shocked and horrified her extremely.
“All my life I have been preparing to make a stand at some great crisis,” she said to herself; “and now that it has come, I am giving way already. I must find something to do. Of what use is it to train myself to be a martyr, if I cannot bear a week’s loneliness?”
She summoned all her resolution to enable her to meet this unexpected demand, and reviewed the state of affairs. With mingled shame and disgust she realised that she had been cherishing the vague thought that it was scarcely worth while to take up any settled work at present, and that this was owing to a half-hope that something might still happen to set things right and render her sacrifice unnecessary. It was a bitter disappointment to her to find that she could be so false to her dearest principles, and her first impulse was to place her determination beyond the possibility of change. As a step in the desired direction, she tore up the letter she had been about to despatch to her godmother, Princess Soudaroff, and wrote another. She knew that of late her letters had been somewhat short and superficial, telling all the trivial pieces of news she could find, but never touching on the all-important subject which had engrossed the minds of her parents, from the moment of their first sight of Caerleon, to that of her parting from him at Bellaviste. It is true that both Caerleon and Cyril had found a casual mention in the earlier letters written from Janoszwar; but as time went on both names, and especially that of the elder brother, had dropped out of sight in a way that would have caused some idea of the truth to enter the mind of most women, but the Princess was not inclined to be suspicious by nature. Nadia’s heart smote her now for her reticence, and she told her story to the Princess, suppressing only two material facts,—the name of her lover—this was due to her anxiety to behave fairly towards Caerleon,—and, as a natural corollary, her reason for refusing him. It must be confessed that she was not altogether sorry to be unable to lay the whole of the facts before her godmother; for although the Princess was very sympathetic in cases of conscience, she had a habit of looking at things differently from any one else, and Nadia had a lurking suspicion that in this case she might tell her that she had acted hastily, and ought to have asked advice. And this was merely what her own conscience hinted to her many times a-day. Before giving Caerleon her final answer she had been upheld by the expectation that the consciousness of having done right would bring her peace, if not happiness; but she now knew little indeed of either feeling. This made her begin to doubt whether she might not have been led astray by her own conviction of the goodness of the deed; and the doubt returned again and again to make her wretched.
Her duty to her godmother performed, and her resolution placed beyond recall, Nadia told herself that her lack of occupation had undoubtedly made it easier for her to fail in steadfastness, and that she must find something to do. She would no longer remain all day in the inn garden, but would go out into the village and try to make friends with the people, and this not only by way of a moral medicine for herself, but as a duty which she had neglected hitherto. She could not at first speak the language of the villagers nor they hers; but the interest she showed in the children won her a way into the hearts of the women, and she discovered, much to her surprise, that when a child was sick or hurt she could do more for it than any one else in Witska. In times of health the little ones found her somewhat solemn and unapproachable, for although she longed to make friends with them, she was not one of those who can throw themselves heart and soul into the small interests which seem so momentous to children; but when they were ill the experience she had gained in Princess Soudaroff’s cottage-hospital stood her in good stead. The nurses there had been wont to laugh at her as slow and clumsy; but at Witska, where there was no one to watch her with critical eyes, she succeeded in putting into practice the lessons she had learned. One or two cases of recovery from severe illness, which seemed miraculous to the villagers, but which were really due to patient nursing and modern methods of treatment, gained her a wide reputation, and appeals began to reach her from outlying hamlets and solitary huts, entreating her to pay a visit to some sick child. When these requests were translated to her by the cosmopolitan waiter, she welcomed them eagerly, for they promised fresh work, and work was what she wanted. A wild desire would seize her now and again to see Caerleon’s face once more, to hear his pleasant voice, to meet the glance, half puzzled, half amused, which he would cast at her when she had said anything that startled him. The vehemence of this longing for his presence alarmed her. She felt that she could almost volunteer to go to Bellaviste as a spy, if such a course would enable her to catch a glimpse of him; that she would be willing to meet the doom which Thracia kept for Scythian spies, if only she had seen him first. In this state of mind she welcomed the calls which came to her to take long mountain-walks and seek out distant families where a child lay ill, for the exertion of the day brought her back at night so tired that she was glad to go to bed and sleep the sleep of utter exhaustion. At first her long excursions drew upon her some opposition from her father.
“Sure it’s not the thing,” he said, “for a young lady to be roaming about alone like this. I won’t allow ut.”
“What would you have, O’Malachy?” asked his wife, scornfully. “Can we afford to engage a retinue to attend upon a girl who might be Queen of Thracia if she liked, and will not? Nothing will happen to her. She is a failure.”
Left to her own devices in this unflattering way, Nadia gladly accepted the implied permission to pursue her lonely walks, attended only by one of the great dogs which were kept to protect the flocks from the wolves, and which had attached himself to her. She saw no trace of the smugglers and outlaws of whom vague tales were current in the village; but one very real alarm beset her at times, of which she said nothing at home. It became evident to her by degrees that her proceedings were being watched. She would find herself tracked by pursuers of whom she could only obtain a glimpse by stratagem; and when she had learned to speak the language a little, she would hear at the cottages to which she was bound that a stranger had been there since her last visit, making inquiries as to the gracious lady and her doings. At first she was at a loss to imagine who could think her of sufficient importance to dog her steps in this way; but presently it dawned upon her that M. Drakovics, who still declined to be persuaded that she was not engaged in a conspiracy against Caerleon, had instructed his emissaries to keep an eye on her. This solution of the mystery satisfied herself; and as no one else appeared to notice anything unusual, she was not obliged to parry the remarks of others. The shepherds warned her to be careful, and not to stray from the beaten track, lest she should run into danger; but she knew that the wolves were not likely to venture from their fastnesses as yet, and, moreover, her mother’s words echoed bitterly in her ears. Nothing would happen to her, or, if it did, it would not signify. She was a failure. And yet, while her heart sank lower, she refused to allow herself to contemplate the possibility of reversing her decision. If she could bring Caerleon back to her with a word, she would not utter it, to ruin him and his kingdom. What he had called her mania for martyrdom was still strong upon her, and the more fervently she longed to reverse her decision the more sternly she crushed down the pain.
But there was a harder battle in store for her than the fight she fought daily with herself, and she was obliged to face it when she was weakest. The news had just reached her through a German newspaper of Caerleon’s initiation of the temperance legislation which she had pressed upon him, and it recalled to her mind his forecast of the difficulties of the work, and the appeal he had made to her to help him in it. Then she had received a letter from her godmother, overflowing with kindness, but containing a little gentle chiding.
“Why should you not be more frank with me, my child?” the Princess wrote. “Surely you know that if in any way I could help you, it would be my delight to do so, and yet you leave me to receive through a stranger an appeal on your behalf. I had a visitor this morning in the shape of Madame Bourenine, whom you know by name as the confidante of the Empress. She said that she had come to talk to me about the love-affair of Nadia Mikhailovna, but she mentioned no other names. Nor did I, for I knew none. After some conversation leading to nothing in particular, she inquired at last whether, if the obstacles to your marriage could be removed, I should be willing to give it my sanction. Knowing only that you had felt it your duty to refuse your lover for some reason with which I was not acquainted, what could I say but that if you thought it right to marry him I should be delighted to help you in any way I could? After receiving this answer, she left me, apparently satisfied. But, my child, have I deserved to be treated in such a way? Why should Madame Bourenine know more of your affairs than I? I do not ask for your confidence if you feel it right to withhold it, but I pray you to understand that no one on earth can desire your happiness and your best good more than I. I commit you to God’s keeping, dear child.”
“Why should you not be more frank with me, my child?” the Princess wrote. “Surely you know that if in any way I could help you, it would be my delight to do so, and yet you leave me to receive through a stranger an appeal on your behalf. I had a visitor this morning in the shape of Madame Bourenine, whom you know by name as the confidante of the Empress. She said that she had come to talk to me about the love-affair of Nadia Mikhailovna, but she mentioned no other names. Nor did I, for I knew none. After some conversation leading to nothing in particular, she inquired at last whether, if the obstacles to your marriage could be removed, I should be willing to give it my sanction. Knowing only that you had felt it your duty to refuse your lover for some reason with which I was not acquainted, what could I say but that if you thought it right to marry him I should be delighted to help you in any way I could? After receiving this answer, she left me, apparently satisfied. But, my child, have I deserved to be treated in such a way? Why should Madame Bourenine know more of your affairs than I? I do not ask for your confidence if you feel it right to withhold it, but I pray you to understand that no one on earth can desire your happiness and your best good more than I. I commit you to God’s keeping, dear child.”
After receiving this letter Nadia started on one of her mountain expeditions with her mind in a whirl. Who could the persons be that were interesting themselves in the state of affairs between her and Caerleon, and what was their motive for doing so? She puzzled herself with these questions in vain as she walked; but when she returned to the inn at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, she found that they were destined to a speedy solution. Entering the sitting-room, she was surprised to see a stranger talking to her parents,—a smooth and polished gentleman, with a highly waxed moustache. A conviction that she had seen him somewhere before came over her as she paused just inside the door; but she could not at the moment identify him with any one she knew.
“And this is mademoiselle!” said the stranger, an almost imperceptible smile curling the ends of his moustache as he saw her standing erect and astonished in the doorway, with her plain tweed dress damp and muddy, and her hair blown about by the wind.
“Yes, M. le Prince, it is my daughter,” said Madame O’Malachy, and Nadia noticed a repressed excitement in her manner. “Nadia, Vladimir Alexandrovitch has been so good as to pay us a visit here on his return journey from Czarigrad to Pavelsburg, entirely on your account.”
“Mademoiselle and I are not wholly unknown to each other,” said the visitor. “At one time I had the felicity of meeting her tolerably often at my sister-in-law’s house. If she does me the honour to recollect me, she may remember that even in those days I ventured to prophesy that she would be a beautiful woman; but I was not happy enough to discern that herbeaux yeuxwould exercise an influence on the history of Europe.”
Nadia’s brow grew stormy. She had now a very clear recollection of the elegant young man who had been wont to torment with compliments and caresses the shy, passionate little girl who followed his sister-in-law wherever she went, and also of her relief when circumstances had removed him from her neighbourhood. There was no very close intercourse nowadays between Princess Soudaroff and her brother-in-law, although the relations between them were perfectly friendly. The present Prince was not a member of the Cercle Evangélique.
“I fear I am an unfortunate messenger,” he went on, with a covert smile as he noticed the change in Nadia’s expression. “I have prejudiced mademoiselle against me already. But I would ask her to believe that I am here purely in the hope of being able to render some service to her and to the gentleman who is so happy as to possess her heart.”
“How dare you say that?” cried Nadia, angrily.
“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I remember that in the old days you used to prefer plain speaking to polite circumlocutions, and as only your own family are present, I have ventured to come to the point at once. It cannot, surely, be a secret to your respected parents that, with a generosity which does you infinite credit, you have declined the addresses of the person who is at present in possession of the throne of Thracia, for fear lest a marriage with you should endanger his future career?”
“I have never told you anything of the kind,” said Nadia, sharply, “and I am sure the King of Thracia has not. I cannot tell how you have found it out.”
“Ah, these wicked newspapers!” murmured the Prince, smiling gently at Nadia’s unintentional admission, “they publish everything. But if you assure me that they have been misinformed, mademoiselle, I can only resign the hope of serving you which has brought me here, and depart, entreating your forgiveness for having troubled you.”
“They were not misinformed. It is quite true that the King asked me to marry him, and that I refused,” said Nadia, bluntly.
“So I imagined, mademoiselle. I felt convinced that such a magnificent self-renunciation could not be merely a creation of fancy. But there is no reason,” he went on quickly, as she rejected his praise with a gesture of impatience, “why your delicacy should be alarmed by the thought that your admirable conduct has become known. It has won you friends all over Europe, and I may mention that in Scythia persons in a very exalted position have been much pleased with the spirit which you displayed under extremely trying circumstances, and have even been led to wonder whether it might not be possible to avert the difficulties which you feared might result from the marriage proposed to you. Pray sit down, mademoiselle,”—he rose and handed her his chair, and she accepted it mechanically, for her limbs were trembling so violently that she could scarcely stand,—“and let us consider the matter. The sympathies of my sister-in-law, Pauline Vassilievna, have been engaged, and she testifies the greatest eagerness to assist in bringing the affair to a happy conclusion. May I take it for granted that the only obstacle to a marriage between Lord Caerleon and yourself lay in these honourable scruples of yours?”
Nadia nodded silently, and he went on, watching her as a cat might watch a mouse.
“The first difficulty was caused, no doubt, by the difference of position? Well, I do not deny that between Nadia Mikhailovna and the King of Thracia there is a serious gap; but it is not so wide that it cannot be bridged. We can scarcely aspire to restore the ancient regal glories of your father’s house,” he smiled indulgently, “but his Majesty the Emperor has for some time entertained the desire of conferring on my good friend Colonel O’Malachy a patent of nobility, in recognition of his long and meritorious services; and between Lord Caerleon and the Countess Nadia, daughter of Count O’Malachy de Lisnacoola, there is no very great disparity of rank.”
“But Carlino is King of Thracia,” Nadia managed to say.
“Pardon me. I am aware that he calls himself king, but he has simply usurped the throne. He cannot be king without the consent of the Powers, and of Roum, the suzerain State. His so-called election is merely the work of an ignorant peasantry, led on by irresponsible agitators. The present condition of Thracia is a standing menace to European peace, and it cannot be suffered to continue. If this errand with which I am charged to you fails to bring about a settlement, Lord Caerleon must fall. He is nothing but an adventurer, a land-pirate.”
“But,” urged Nadia, more for the sake of gaining time than for any other reason, “if this patent of nobility is intended as a reward for my father’s services, why should it not be granted to him in any case?”
“Sure that’s the most sensuble thing I’ve ever heard you say, Nadia,” exclaimed the O’Malachy, with hearty approval, while his wife frowned angrily, and Prince Soudaroff looked a little nonplussed.
“You forget, mademoiselle, that the conferring of the patent would involve in this instance a grant of estates sufficient for the maintenance of the title, such as it would be invidious to bestow upon an officer of Colonel O’Malachy’s standing in an isolated case, unless for very special reasons of State. But not only are those whom I represent willing to aid you in this way,—I am further authorised to promise that the Scythian ambassador at Czarigrad shall be instructed, if the marriage takes place, to support the Thracian claim for the confirmation by the Grand Signior of Lord Caerleon’s election as king. The bride will thus have the satisfaction of bringing not only happiness to her husband, but peace and security to Thracia.”
“But only the confirmation of King Carlino’s election? Not the recognition of the right of the Thracians to elect their own king?”
“Certainly not, mademoiselle. Roum would be unable to accord such a recognition without the consent of the Powers, which would not be given under any circumstances.”
“I can quite believe it. And now, M. le Prince, I know that in the political world nothing goes for nothing. What is the price to be paid for this kindness on the part of the Emperor?”
“Nadia!” cried her mother. “I am grieved—astonished——”
“Madame,” said the Prince, with a deprecating wave of his hand, “when I undertook this errand I expected to be misunderstood. There are no conditions attached to his Majesty’s favours, mademoiselle. He gives without any desire of receiving in return. I do not say that he does not look for gratitude. His heart is so tender that even years of ruling and much bitter experience have not hardened it. He may well anticipate that some little attention would be paid to his wishes, some slight concessions made on the part of those who will owe so much to him; but that is all.”
“Ah!” said Nadia, sharply. “And what are these concessions?”
“They are so slight, mademoiselle, that his Majesty is quite content to leave them in the background until matters are as happily arranged as you can desire—in other words, until your marriage with Lord Caerleon has taken place. On so joyful an occasion the sole anxiety of a man of generous impulses, such as I understand this unfortunately misguided nobleman to be, would be to take counsel with his bride as to the means by which he might testify some portion of his gratitude to the potentate to whom he owed his happiness.”
“I see,” said Nadia, crimson but persistent. “And it would be my part to suggest that these concessions should be made, as signs of our joint gratitude to the Emperor. But I must know something more about them. It would be impossible for me to recommend them to the King unless I had been told what they were.”
“They are so slight, mademoiselle, as scarcely to be called concessions,—they would merely take the form of a graceful acknowledgment of the Emperor’s kindness. Until this unhappy revolution occurred, the connection was so close between Scythia and Thracia that there will appear nothing strange in returning to the custom by which in all matters of foreign policy the advice tendered by Scythia was followed by the Thracian Government. Again, Scythia has borne such a prominent part in organising the Thracian kingdom and in training the army that to appoint a Scythian officer as Minister of War would cause no surprise, and seem only natural.”
“Ah!” said Nadia again, “and that is not all?”
“It is evident, mademoiselle, that while the present Ministry is in power in Thracia, the Emperor cannot feel towards that country the cordiality he would wish to entertain. It is to the interest of the Cabinet at present in office to oppose any tendency towards a reconciliation with Scythia, simply because their own position depends upon their maintaining a hostile attitude. But the matter will right itself. When the King shows his gratitude and friendliness towards Scythia in the two ways I have indicated, the Drakovics Ministry cannot remain in office. The Assembly will be dissolved, M. Drakovics will disappear as suddenly as he rose to power, and the King, assisted, if necessary, by Scythia, will obtain by means of a general election a more serviceable Government.”
“By means of compulsion and forged voting-papers, I suppose,” said Nadia. She had no reason to feel any special love for M. Drakovics; but he was an honest man and a patriot, and really anxious to do what seemed to him to be best both for Caerleon and Thracia. She rose from her chair, and spoke wearily: “I am sorry that I shall not have the opportunity of advising the King to accept your conditions, M. le Prince.”
“There are no conditions, mademoiselle. What is desired is merely an honourable understanding that you will employ your influence over Lord Caerleon to induce him to comply with the Emperor’s wishes in this direction.”
“And into that understanding I cannot enter. I will not help to thrust the Thracians back into the bondage from which the revolution freed them. I will never advise the King to take the steps you propose, and I hope and believe that he would decline to listen to me if I did.”
“Nadia, you are mad!” cried Madame O’Malachy, shrilly. “If you have no regard for your lover, will not the thought of your family move you? The old age of your parents and your brother’s future would be secured by your accepting the gracious kindness you scorn.”
“It is still possible that on mature consideration mademoiselle may change her mind,” said Prince Soudaroff, looking calmly through a handful of papers which he took from his pocket. “His Majesty’s offer will remain open for a week. But I cannot honestly advise any delay. We have merely to seek arapprochementwith Pannonia, and secure her opposition, instead of her neutrality, to the negotiations at Czarigrad, and the fate of Lord Caerleon and his ‘kingdom’ is sealed. Thracia is honeycombed with disaffection, and such a failure in foreign policy will precipitate matters. One more thought, mademoiselle. I told you just now that Lord Caerleon was a land-pirate. Have you recollected what is the fate of a captured pirate?”
“I had rather know that he was dead than saved by betraying the nation that trusted him,” said Nadia, stoutly. No harassing doubts assailed her now. Such an offer as this could not but be refused.
“And again,” the Prince went on, not heeding her words. “Lord Caerleon is only a man; and we men are not angels in constancy. Your refusal has made him miserable, it is true; but he will not remain long in this state of mind. You have wounded his self-esteem; you have shown him that there are certain things which you love better than you love him. It does not signify that these things are the highest and most creditable sentiments—he must be a very exceptional man who could endure to see them preferred to himself. And Lord Caerleon is not an exceptional man; he is simply a young Englishman, half child and half barbarian, whose idea is that when he wants anything he must have it. You have denied him that on which he had set his heart, and very soon his one anxiety will be to punish you. I happen to know that M. Drakovics, his Minister, is doing his utmost to obtain for him the hand of some princess of a royal house. There is still time to win him back, for he loves you at present, in spite of the way in which you have treated him. But if you delay only a very few days you may be too late. Owing to your own cruelty, you may see your lover urged into a marriage with another woman, whom he does not love, but whom he is willing to accept in order to punish you. Or perhaps,” with a smile, “you may see him marrying joyfully—who shall say?—some royal lady who has succeeded in captivating his inconstant heart, which was at your disposal if you would have received it, but cannot support your coldness.”
“I can’t help it!” cried Nadia, trembling from head to foot. “If I could withstand him, do you think I will listen to you? He is quite right to marry some one else; I told him to do it. Ah! if you wanted me to give way, you should have brought him here; but you would never dare to utter to his face the horrible lies you tell of him behind his back. I can only thank you for not putting me to the test.”
“Would ut be quite impossuble?” asked the O’Malachy, as she closed the door sharply behind her.
“Quite,” returned his wife. “Drakovics and Milord Cyril watch over him night and day. No one is allowed to hold communication with him except through them.”
“Yes,” rejoined Prince Soudaroff, meditatively. “I fear King Carlino has had his last chance.”
“I observe,” said Madame O’Malachy, “that in your conversation with my daughter you made no allusion to the religious difficulty, M. le Prince.”
“If so, madame, it is for the excellent reason that no religious difficulty exists. On the contrary, the fact that mademoiselle is a member of the Orthodox Church has contributed largely to induce the Emperor to suggest the terms I was authorised to offer.”
“But sure the girl’s a schismatic—an Evangelical, or whatever the fools call themselves?” cried the O’Malachy, while his wife nodded quickly.
“Pardon me, my dear colonel, but Scythian law makes no provision for schismatics. Mademoiselle was baptised in the Orthodox Church, and it is impossible for her to quit it. Her marriage, to be valid, must be celebrated according to the orthodox rite, and the Emperor and the clergy may be trusted not to lose the hold they would thus gain upon Thracia.”
“That such a scheme should be wrecked by a girl’s obstinacy!” cried Madame O’Malachy. “It is maddening!”
Prince Soudaroffleft Witska that afternoon, and the week allowed to Nadia for deliberation slipped away, but no message was sent to request him to return or to accept the offer with which he was charged. If he was mortified by this lack of success, he must have felt himself avenged a little later, when both his auguries of evil in turn proved true. The first hint of the fulfilment of his prophecy reached Nadia one morning when her mother threw a newspaper to her as she came into the sitting-room.
“Now I hope you are happy!” she said. “You have succeeded in bringing about the ruin of Thracia and your Carlino.”
Nadia took up the paper, a German one, and read the piece of news which figured most prominently in its columns. Therapprochementwhich had taken place between the Emperors of Scythia and Pannonia was announced, and also the subsequent refusal by the Roumi Government to confirm Caerleon’s election as king—the two events which had plunged Cyril and M. Drakovics into their complicated intrigues with Mœsia. Mr Hicks had not yet given to the world the information which he was to amass with so much astuteness, and therefore nothing was at present known of these negotiations, so that the paper only reflected the general opinion when it remarked that the cause of Thracia was already lost. Cyril was still an unknown quantity in Balkan politics; and although most people were acquainted to a certain extent with the resourcefulness and strength of will of M. Drakovics, they could not conceive it possible that even he could devise any means of tiding over such a crisis as this. Nadia did not venture to dissent from the universal opinion; but there was no sign of trembling in the hand which held the paper as she read through the announcement and the editorial comments upon it, and she looked round unfalteringly at her mother.
“I had rather that he should fall honourably than reign as a pensioner of Scythia,” she said.
“You are a fool!” was Madame O’Malachy’s angry answer. “Go and look after your sick brats. It is all you are fit for.”
But three or four days later she came into Nadia’s room early in the morning wearing an expression in which rage and triumph were mingled.
“You have indeed done well for yourself, mademoiselle!” she said, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she slept and shaking her. “Your Carlino is to marry the Princess Ottilie of Mœsia. The betrothal is to take place next week.”
“It is not true!” cried Nadia, starting up in bed.
“It is most true. That touches you, does it not? This, then, is your faithful, your constant lover! He assures you of his undying affection, and six weeks after saying the words he betroths himself to another.”
“He is quite right,” said Nadia, recollecting herself. “I told him to do it.”
“I can quite believe it! But you never thought he would obey you,” said Madame O’Malachy, putting down her candle and gazing with cruel certainty into her daughter’s pale face. “Don’t tell me that you did, mademoiselle. You might try to impose upon Prince Soudaroff with your exalted generosity, but you felt confident that Carlino would remain faithful to you. However, I may tell you this for your comfort. Your father has always believed hitherto that Carlino would refuse to accept his dismissal as final, and would try his fate again before long. But now, if he meets him he will kill him.”
“Why?” asked Nadia, as calmly as she could. “He is only doing this in obedience to me.”
“Why!” cried her mother. “Because he has insulted us, played with us, made us the laughing-stock of Europe. Although you may be a fool, your father knows how to avenge the honour of his house, and he will not fail to do it. You refused to share the Thracian throne; but it is Carlino who has put it out of his own power to offer you the crown a second time, and for this he must be rewarded as he deserves. In every way we are undone. Not only have we lost the position we might have held in Thracia, but this marriage will endanger the result of all our labours in Europe.”
“Ah!” cried Nadia, assuming a sudden interest in politics in the vain hope of diverting from herself the gaze of her mother’s glittering eyes, “it was this marriage that Vladimir Alexandrovitch was anxious to prevent. He foresaw the possibility of its taking place, and he knew that it would bring Pannonia to the help of King Carlino. Thracia is saved, then!”
“Yes; and you——?” asked Madame O’Malachy, with her most merciless smile, as she retired from the room, half baffled by her daughter’s resolution, but certain that she left a sting behind her. And this was indeed the case. Although Nadia had succeeded in making herself believe that she wished Caerleon to follow the advice she had given him, she discovered now that she had never expected him to do so. She had found an unspeakable comfort in remembering the indignant rebuke with which he had answered her when she told him that although he loved her, it was his duty to marry some other woman; and even now she sorrowed less for the fact that she was herself forsaken than that her lover had proved unstable. He had failed in faith; he was fearless and stainless no more. Well, no doubt it was better so. He was no longer hers, he had not been hers since they parted at Bellaviste; and if he was proved not to be the blameless knight she had imagined him, at least he was a wise king, and was preparing to take the only step by which it seemed possible to save his kingdom in the present crisis. Undoubtedly it was better so. But Nadia’s heart and soul rose up in rebellion against this view of the case, and all day, as she followed the mountain-paths, or moved about inside the hut in which lay the sick child she was visiting, she was mourning in silence a trust betrayed, a high ideal shattered. It was her own fault, she knew; she had told him to forget her, but she had illogically expected him to disobey, and required him to be stronger morally than she was.
But after a day or two other things happened to trouble her. It was generally known throughout Europe by this time that there was a difference of opinion between Scythia and Pannonia on the subject of Thracia, and that in all probability the interposition of Pannonia and her allies at Czarigrad would obtain a settlement of affairs in Caerleon’s favour. This prospect served to stimulate the activity of the Thracian conspirators both at home and in exile, who had been lying low for a week or two, and watching the course of events, but now realised that they could not look to the Powers to do their business for them. The O’Malachy and his wife became increasingly busy, much to the alarm of Nadia, who felt certain that they contemplated delivering some blow, the nature of which she could not divine, against the Thracian kingdom. At last the O’Malachy left Witska on urgent business, and she gathered that his destination was Pavelsburg, although she could only guess at his probable errand there. Nor were her anxieties allayed one day when she found her mother reading with much irritation a newspaper which had just arrived by the post.
“There seems to be no end to the annoyance you bring upon us, Nadia,” said Madame O’Malachy. “As if your foolishness was not enough, your father must needs improve upon it for the benefit of the newspapers. It must have been after dinner, I suppose, as usual. No doubt they gathered round him and drank wine with him, and flattered and sympathised with him, until he was ready to tell them anything. I cannot trust him alone for a day, and yet I cannot leave Witska. Pig! ass! why does he not see that in recounting this pitiful story he forgets that Louis is in Bellaviste, in the Palace itself, and must stay there?”
“What has my father been saying?” asked Nadia, her colour changing.
“Merely parading you before the eyes of Europe as a forsaken heroine,” replied Madame O’Malachy, tearing the offending newspaper briskly across, and throwing the fragments into the stove; “but I will put a stop to that. Give me those telegraph-forms.”
Surprised by her mother’s unaccustomed confidence in her, Nadia obeyed, and was further astonished to find herself consulted as to the wording of the telegram which was to warn the O’Malachy not to repeat his indiscretion, but to maintain a strict silence on the subject of his daughter in future. Several forms were wasted before the message satisfied Madame O’Malachy, but she did not breathe freely until Nadia had taken it to the post-office. As soon as she had time to think, she made a mental resolution to seize any papers other than merely local ones which might enter the house, and destroy them before Nadia could see them. This measure was imperatively necessary, if there was to be any peace in the family; for even her intrepid spirit quailed when she pictured to herself the scene which would ensue if Nadia discovered the construction which the O’Malachy, or the reporters of his words, had placed upon Caerleon’s treatment of her. To Madame O’Malachy, whose common-sense was one of her strongest points, the state of mind in which her husband could choose to boast of the long-past glories of his race, while he did his best at the same moment to proclaim that his daughter had been most cruelly jilted, was incomparably absurd, and the telegram she sent him was short and sharp. The injury inflicted upon Nadia’s future by the publication of a report such as he had set on foot touched her keenly, for all her hopes for old age were based upon the possibility of her daughter’s making a brilliant marriage; and to have her name bandied about in such a connection could not but militate against her prospects. Trouble caused by an incident of this kind she could understand and sympathise with, while Nadia’s refusal of Caerleon and the reasons for it were a sealed book to her, and she was unusually kind to the girl during that day and the next. But on the second evening her sympathy seemed to have exhausted itself, for her manner once more became brusque and her tone sarcastic, and Nadia, whose spirits had risen under the influence of the change in her mother, realised that her presence was no longer desired in the sitting-room. As she opened the door a sudden impulse made her return to the table at which Madame O’Malachy was busied with her writing materials.
“If you are planning anything againsthim, spare him for my sake,” she said in a low voice, and stopped suddenly, amazed at her own temerity.
“Go to bed; you are a little fool,” returned her mother, scathingly.
Nadia’s sleep was much disturbed that night. Two or three times she thought she heard stealthy steps in the passage, and once the unmistakable sound of the shutting of a door. She could not rid herself of the idea that some deadly blow was being prepared against Caerleon; there were evil possibilities in the slightest noise that reached her ears as she lay awake trembling and listening. She cried herself to sleep at last, and was only awakened in the morning by a voice at her door.
“Fräulein! Fräulein!”—the agitated accents were those of the many-tongued waiter,—“pray come down at once. The gracious Frau Oberstin has met with an accident. Boris the cowherd found her lying on the hillside just now, and they are bringing her in.”
Startled and horrified, Nadia threw on a dressing-gown, and rushed down-stairs. The passage was filled with the hangers-on of the inn, who made way for her to pass into one of the smaller rooms on the ground-floor, into which a figure wearing the dress of the country-people had just been carried on a stretcher. Nadia looked round in amazement. This was a peasant woman, not her mother. But from the motionless form came a well-known voice.
“You need not look so terrified, my daughter. I am not injured, merely too stiff to move. Absolutely I cannot stir a foot. It is evident that I have been walking in my sleep again. You remember that it is an old trick of mine? I suppose you must send for a doctor, for form’s sake, but pray do not let any one be alarmed.”
It appeared that there was a doctor to be found at a little town some miles distant, and a messenger was despatched at once to bring him to Witska, while Nadia did her best to make her mother comfortable. Assisted by an excited maid-servant, who insisted on relating in bad German how it had happened to her, some weeks before, to meet the Frau Oberstin coming along the balcony at night with a candle in her hand and a fixed look in her eyes, she brought down a bedstead from one of the upper rooms, and succeeded in lifting Madame O’Malachy and placing her upon it, the sufferer still protesting that she felt no pain whatever, merely an inability to move. Nadia’s mind was occupied with the problem presented by the accident. If her mother had only been walking in her sleep, how had it happened that she had laid aside her own dress and put on the peasant costume? The place where she had been found was at the foot of a precipitous incline on which there abutted one of the walls of the garden belonging to the inn. Between the wall and the margin of the steep was a narrow ledge, affording just room for a sure-footed person to pass along it. It was unlikely that a sleep-walker would light upon this track without having seen it before; but any one who was bound on secret or important business would find it an excellent means of reaching the road which led down the mountain without being seen from the village. Was it possible that Madame O’Malachy had been carrying treasonable letters in disguise when a chance slip had made her lose her footing?
This was the question which, try as she would, Nadia could not succeed in banishing from her mind during the earlier part of the day, but when the doctor arrived he gave a new direction to her thoughts. He was a taciturn man, and asked so few questions that Madame O’Malachy set him down as a fool; but when his examination was over he made a sign to Nadia to accompany him out of the room.
“Where is the Herr Oberst?” he asked. “I understand from the landlord that he is away.”
“I think he must be in Scythia,” answered Nadia. “He went to Pavelsburg on important business, but I do not know whether he is there still.”
“He should be summoned at once,” said the doctor.
“But he will return in a few days,” said Nadia, astonished. “You don’t wish me to telegraph to him? That would make him think that my mother was dangerously ill——”