Ughtred was, on the whole, a man ill versed in women’s ways. Yet even he was conscious of a subtle change in the girl who sat by his side. The frank friendliness of her manner towards him, which had been a constant barrier against any suggestion of more sentimental relations, was for the moment gone. Her eyes were soft and her face was eloquent with beautiful and unspoken sympathy. The change was indefinable, but apparent. Ughtred felt it, and sighed.
“This may be the last talk we shall have together for a long time,” he said, gravely; “perhaps forever. I wonder if I might be permitted—to say something, which has come very near my heart lately.”
“You may say anything you choose,” she murmured.
“You know that lately I have been travelling about my country—trying to get to know my people and to understand them. I will tell you, Sara, what has made the greatest impression upon me. It is their beautiful domesticity. I think that it has taught me to understand a little how much fuller and sweeter life may be when one has a wife to care for, and to help one. And, Sara, I think that I too have been often lonely, and I too have needed a wife.”
“Yes!”
It was no more than a whisper, but it thrilled theman. He touched her fingers—warm and soft, they seemed almost to invite his caress.
“Sara, I have been dreaming since then, and I thought that when my people got to understand me a little more, to trust me and believe in me, I would go to them and say ‘I am going to give you a Queen. Only I am a man as you are men, and I must choose as you have chosen, the one woman who has my heart.’ And, Sara, there might have been difficulties, but I think that we should have smoothed them away——”
“If!” she echoed.
“If the woman I love, Sara, cared a little for me.”
It was dusk, and Ughtred scarcely knew how it happened, but she was in his arms and they were very happy. It was dusk then, but the stars were shining when the cathedral clock reminded him that his love-making must be brief.
“Dear,” she murmured, “if you must go, at least remember that you have made me very happy.”
“And I,” he answered, cheerfully, “am afraid no longer of anything. I have become a raving optimist. I feel that if the war comes we shall sweep the Turks from the face of the earth.”
She held out her hand and drew him to her.
“You will not repent?” she murmured. “You ought to marry a princess.”
He kissed her on the lips.
“Every woman in the world,” he answered, “is a princess to the man who loves her. You are my princess. There will never be any other!”
She walked with him towards the house.
“I ought to have been discussing your departure with Mr. Van Decht, and instead I have been discussing other things with you.”
“Discussing what?”
“Your departure!”
She laughed softly.
“Do you think that we are going away?”
“You must,” he answered, sadly. “Theos may be no safe place for you in forty-eight hours even.”
She pressed his arm lightly.
“Dear,” she said, “you are foolish. If ever I am to be anything to you and these people what would they think of me if I ran away when evil times came? But wait! You must hear what father says. He knows nothing of this.”
They found him in the room he called his study. He looked up from his desk as they entered.
“Father,” Sara said, “the King wants us to leave to-morrow morning. In forty-eight hours he says the city may be in danger.”
Mr. Van Decht wheeled round in his recently imported American chair, and puffed vigorously at his cigar.
“I wasn’t reckoning upon leaving just yet,” he remarked, quietly. “Were you, Sara?”
“No!”
Ughtred looked from one to the other.
“I am afraid you don’t quite understand the situation, Mr. Van Decht. I do not think it probable of course, but it is possible that the city may be surrounded in less than a week.”
Mr. Van Decht nodded.
“I guess it isn’t quite so bad as that,” he answered. “In any case, I’d like you to understand this. We’ve had a pretty good time here, and we haven’t any idea of scuttling out just because things aren’t exactly booming. I’ve a tidy idea of engineering, and I think I can show you a wrinkle or two in trench-making. Then there’s another thing—you’ll allow a man’s a right to do what he pleases with his own money?”
“Why, I suppose so,” Ughtred answered.
“Well, I’m not given to bragging,” Mr. Van Decht continued, “but I reckon I’m one of the richest men in the States. Accordingly, as I’m sort of a resident here I claim the right to help the war fund. I’ve put a million to your credit at the Credit Lyonnaise, and if more’s wanted—there’s plenty. I don’t want any thanks; I don’t mind telling you that I’d give a lot more to see those low-down skunks get the whipping they deserve.”
Ughtred was for a moment speechless. It was Sara who replied for him.
“We are very much obliged, father,” she said, smiling at him. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He looked from one to the other. He did not affect any surprise, but his face was grave.
“Sara has promised that some day if we are spared she will be my wife,” Ughtred said, simply. “I hope that you will consent.”
Mr. Van Decht nodded thoughtfully.
“I had an idea,” he said, hesitatingly, “that you would be not exactly a free agent in such a matter.”
Ughtred smiled.
“My kingdom is a tiny one,” he answered, “and I do not think after a while that there will be any difficulty at all.”
Mr. Van Decht rose from his chair and shook hands solemnly with the young man.
“I wasn’t reckoning upon having a King for a son-in-law,” he said, “but I know a man when I see him, and if it works out to be possible you can take my consent for granted. Sara is the daughter of plain people with no family to boast of, but I tell you this, sir, I am a man with few wants, and I will give Sara the largest dowry that has ever been given by prince or commoner. I reckon I’m worth five million pounds, and I’ll settle four and a half upon her. Theos wants money, and that may take things a bit smoother in case of trouble.”
“You are magnificently generous, sir!” Ughtred answered. “I am afraid that nowadays a bride with such a dowry would rank above princesses.”
The cathedral clock chimed again. Ughtred tore himself away. Reist met him at the door, his eyes blazing with excitement.
“Effenden Pascha has left the city!” he exclaimed. “The Turks are streaming over the frontier—Bushnieff has wired for reinforcements.”
“The supply trains are waiting?” Ughtred asked, quickly.
“With steam up!”
“Your carriage quickly. To the barracks!” Ughtred exclaimed.
All night long the war-beacons of Theos reddened the sky and the thunder of artillery woke strange echoes amongst the mountains. There were three passes only through which the Turks could force their way into the fertile plain which stretched from Theos southwards, and each one, to their surprise, was found well guarded and fortified. A simultaneous advance was repulsed with heavy loss. At Solika only, on the far east, where the veteran General Kolashin was in command, the first position was carried, but this temporary success was counterbalanced by the immense losses inflicted on the advancing columns from the second and more secure line of fortifications. Across the plain a light railway from Theos all night long brought reinforcements and stores to the different positions. Ughtred himself, by means of an engine and fast horses, visited before daybreak the three points of attack. He was present and himself directed the successful resistance at Solika. He returned to Theos at daybreak hopeful, and even with a certain sense of relief that the worst had now come to pass.
Still in his uniform, stained with blood and dust, the King sat at a small writing-table in his retiring-room reading the day’s letters and telegrams. Already he had been busy with tongue and pen. His appeal for intervention, couched in dignified and measured terms, hadbeen written, signed, and dispatched by special messenger to England, France, and Germany. For Ughtred had a very keen sense of proportion. Courageous though he was, and confident in the bravery of his people, he knew that his resistance unaided could only be a matter of time.
Hiram Van Decht, now a privileged person at the palace, came in to him as he sat there.
“I guess you don’t want to be bothered just now,” he remarked, apologetically, “but Sara’s bound to know how things have gone so far.”
Ughtred wheeled round in his chair and welcomed his visitor.
“Cigars at your elbow,” he said. “Help yourself.”
Van Decht disregarded the invitation. He looked steadily at the King. Then he rang the bell.
“You’ll forgive the liberty, I know,” he said, “but I’m going to tell that flunkey of yours to fetch a flask of wine, and see you drink some.”
Ughtred smiled.
“I was just going to order something,” he said. “I’ve had a hard night. So far nothing has gone amiss. Our outposts were rushed at Solika, but our main position was easily held.”
Van Decht nodded.
“That’s good! Any fighting at Althea Pass?”
“We are being heavily shelled there and at Morania, but I consider that both places are almost impregnable. Solika is where we must concentrate. You see we have treachery to fear there. It is a frontier town and full of small Russian traders. Reist is garrisoning the place,and General Dartnoff is in command of the forces holding the Pass. Just now everything is quiet. I fancy they are waiting to bring up more heavy guns.”
Van Decht lit a cigar meditatively.
“This is what beats me,” he remarked. “I can never figure out your European politics, but I should never have thought that England and Germany would have allowed a small, unoffending country to be overrun and grabbed by a lot of heathen infidels.”
Ughtred sighed.
“It is hard to understand,” he said. “Only you must remember this. Selfishness is the keynote of international politics, as of many other things. A single Power is always afraid of moving for fear of disturbing the balance of nations. Besides, they all know that this is no war between Turkey and Theos. It is Russia who is pulling the strings.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Van Decht admitted, “but I should say that you’ve a sort of a claim on England. You’re half an Englishman, anyway. You’ve fought her battles. She’s big enough to give you a lift.”
“If help comes from anywhere,” Ughtred answered, “it will come from England. I have appealed to the Powers, and to England especially. Mr. Ellis has already been here, and he is representing my case strongly.”
Wine was brought in, and food. Ughtred ate little, but smoked a cigar.
“What’s the next move?” Mr. Van Decht asked.
“Well, I am waiting now for news from Reist,” the King said. “We are in telegraphic communication with Solika, and I can get there on my engine in anhour. So long as we can hold Solika we are safe, for I do not think that we can possibly be outflanked. Our whole southern frontier only extends for forty miles, and there are only two practicable passes.”
“Reist anything of a soldier?” Mr. Van Decht asked after a brief silence.
“For this sort of work—excellent!” Ughtred answered.
“You trust him?”
“As myself. I never knew a man more devoted to his country. It is his religion! Why do you ask?”
Van Decht took his cigar from his mouth and regarded it thoughtfully.
“Sara doesn’t like him!”
The King laughed.
“He’s no lady’s man.”
“Sara has instinct,” her father remarked. “Can’t say I take to him myself. There’s a kink in the man somewhere.”
Ughtred smiled.
“Well, it isn’t in his loyalty or his bravery,” Ughtred answered. “He is my best soldier, my most capable adviser, and I owe him my kingdom.”
Van Decht abandoned the subject.
“I’ll get along,” he said, rising. “Take my advice. Lie down a bit till your message comes along. You’re looking pretty bad.”
Ughtred smiled.
“The first day of war,” he said, “even on a small scale, is the most wearing. Later on we shall take things more easily. Only you must remember, sir, thatit is for the liberty of an ancient kingdom we fight, not only for our own lives, but for the happiness of unborn generations. I would sooner see Theos blotted out forever from the map of Europe and the memory of man than have her exist a vassal state of Russia.”
Mr. Van Decht departed in respectful silence. If tradition or sentiment appealed to him but slightly, he knew an honest man by instinct, and he was fast drifting into a very close sympathy with his future son-in-law.
There came word from Reist within the hour. Ughtred tore open the envelope and spread out the cipher-book before him.
“No signs of movement on part of enemy. Scouts report big guns being mounted on positions commanding ours. Solika restless. Have hung two spies. General Dartnoff desires council of war this afternoon.”
Before the great high window, Marie of Reist watched the red fires flaring in the mountains and listened to the far-off booming of the guns. Behind her the room was in darkness, for she had turned out the lamps to see more clearly into the night. So when a voice at her elbow roused her she started with a sudden fear.
“Countess, you hear the war-note yonder! Listen again! Those guns are sounding the knell of the House of Tyrnaus.”
She recovered herself—yet she was amazed.
“Baron Domiloff! What, are you still in Theos?”
“Still in Theos, Countess. I remain here to the end.”
“But you were banished,” she exclaimed.
He smiled inscrutably.
“Yes,” he answered. “I was banished—by Ughtred of Tyrnaus. Still, as you see, I remain. To tell you the truth, Countess, it did not seem worth my while to go—for so short a time.”
“You must be a master in the art of corruption,” she remarked.
“Indeed no,” he assured her. “There are a few of my country people in the city. There are also Thetians who understand that the Tyrnaus dynasty is only a passing thing.”
“I am not so sure,” she answered, “that I agree with you. They say that he is a skilful and gallant soldier, and we of Theos love brave men. An hour ago he rode back to the palace, his uniform stained with dust and blood, and the people cheered him like mad things. They say that he has driven the Turks back at all points.”
Domiloff smiled.
“Dear lady,” he said, “the successes of to-day or to-morrow are of no account. The Turks are mounting great guns in positions which must command every point where the Thetians are covering the passes. The end of it is as certain as a mathematical problem. Before a month has passed Theos must sue for peace or admit the Turks to the city.”
“You are very certain.”
“Warfare to-day,” he answered, “can be determined on mathematical lines. Bravery is a delightful quality in the abstract, but brave men are killed as easily as cowards. Tell me, have you spoken with your brother?”
“Yes!”
“He will not consent to this Van Decht alliance?”
“No!”
Domiloff smiled.
“It is good,” he answered. “I think that the time has come when I may approach him myself.”
She shook her head.
“He is wild with the excitement of fighting,” she said. “The King and he have fought together, and Nicholas speaks of him as a brave comrade and apatriot. Last night he wrote to me from Solika, and he spoke of the King as a brother. For the moment he has forgotten all about the Van Decht alliance. Take my advice—leave Nicholas alone.”
Domiloff looked out into the night, frowning and thoughtful.
“When the tide of battle changes,” he said, “your brother’s enthusiasm will wane. He will remember the slight upon you—upon his name.”
She regarded him proudly.
“It is very seldom,” she remarked, “that you permit me to forget it.”
He smiled. The sight of his white teeth gleaming in the twilight filled her with repulsion. The man was like a wolf.
“Countess,” he said, “I am not a hypocrite. I am pledged to the deposition of the King, and you are my natural ally, for it is your brother who must take his place, and you who must prevent the sacrilege of this proposed marriage. So you see I am open with you. We are both working towards the same end. Therefore I say, let us work together.”
They were silent for a few minutes listening to the distant roar of the guns, watching the lurid lights which every now and then lit up with an unholy glare that distant background. Then she turned to him.
“There is nothing,” she said, “which I can do. Besides, whilst the war lasts everything else seems small. To see Theos drive back the infidels and retain her freedom I would be content even to let things remain, and end my days there in the convent.”
He shook his head.
“Dear lady,” he said, “you were not made for a convent any more than Sara Van Decht was made for a throne. Try and believe in me a little more. I, too, desire a free Theos. You are a woman, and you have wit and courage. Say to yourself this. It is necessary for Theos that your brother and the King should quarrel. Keep it always in your mind. Remember that your brother’s anger only slumbers. The King has insulted you and your House. The whole history of your family could disclose no such affront tamely borne. Besides, there is your friend—the Englishman.”
She turned swiftly upon him.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Only that I know no man whose future I would believe in more readily if he were content to settle down in Theos. Your brother could see to it that it was made worth his while. Tell me—when will you see the Duke of Reist?”
“Perhaps to-night,” she answered, straining her eyes through the darkness. “If all is quiet in Solika he said that he might return for a few hours.”
Domiloff nodded.
“Very well! Remember what I have said to you, Countess. A rupture between your brother and the King will save Theos. You understand?”
“Yes,” she answered, in a low tone. “I understand.”
Ughtred sprang to his feet. He was half asleep and a little dazed—wholly bewildered at the apparition which was suddenly sharing the solitude of his chamber. It was Marie of Reist who stood before him in a wonderful rose-coloured gown tied loosely around her. She was paler than he had ever seen her—her eyes bright with purpose—behind the open panel.
“You bring news,” he cried. “Do you come from Nicholas?”
She shook her head.
“I know nothing of Nicholas,” she answered. “I came to see you.”
He was speechless. Her visit seemed to him amazing, its object an enigma.
“I wished to speak to you alone. Lately it has been impossible. Lock your door.”
He obeyed, but he returned to her with a grave face.
“Marie,” he said, “think for a moment. It is better that I should come to you. To-morrow——”
She interrupted him with an impatient gesture. At that moment the roar of distant artillery was distinctly audible.
“There may be no to-morrow,” she answered. “It is for the sake of Theos I have come. You must hear me.”
“For your own sake, Countess,” he begged, earnestly,“I beg that you will leave me. At any moment we may be interrupted. Messages are brought to me continually—and the hour is late.”
“I am the Countess of Reist,” she answered, proudly, “and the people of Theos know me. I have come to ask you a question. You must hear me, and you must answer me.”
He smiled.
“You are a little peremptory,” he said. “Never mind! The question?”
“There have been rumours, your Majesty, of a marriage between you and the American, Miss Van Decht.”
He looked across at her in displeased surprise.
“These are no times for thought or speech of such things,” he answered.
She turned upon him with a sudden fierceness. A spot of angry colour burned in her cheeks.
“You are wrong,” she exclaimed. “I have come to you resolved to know the truth. Listen, your Majesty. There are those who say that in your long exile you have forgotten all that is due to your birth and your country. They say that you are at heart a democrat. That it is in your mind to marry this daughter of an American tradesman, to offer her to the people of Theos as their queen.”
“It is true,” he answered. “What of it?”
She looked at him for a moment as though stricken with a sudden blow. To her the idea was heresy, rank and foul. A storm of indignant passion swept through her.
“It is impossible,” she cried, fiercely. “There is nota lady of Theos who would attend your Court. Do you think that I—Marie of Reist, would kiss the hand of this Van Decht woman—I, or any of the others? Oh, it is madness.”
“Countess,” he said, quietly, “we will choose another time for the discussion of this matter. You must forgive me if I beg that you will leave me.”
“Another time,” she answered. “Oh, listen! You depend at this moment on the loyalty of Theos to defend your throne. Do you believe that you could command it if this were known? In the mountains the Turks are gathering a great army, in the city there is treachery. Ah, you start, but my words are true. If the words which you have spoken to me had been spoken from the balcony there your throne would have been lost forever.”
He looked at her curiously—not altogether unimpressed. Treachery! What did she mean by that? She moved a step nearer to him. Underneath her loose gown her bosom rose and fell quickly. Her face was flushed and her eyes brilliant.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “do you know that by all the traditions of Theos you are betrothed to me—that the people of Theos wait day by day for the announcement?”
He looked at her in blank amazement. He was bereft of words. Her eyes flashed fire upon him.
“It is an insult—this purpose of yours,” she cried. “You and I have drunk together from the King’s cup. It has been the betrothal ceremony in the royal House of Theos for generations. You a stranger, who oweyour very throne to us, have dared to ignore it—you, who propose to raise to the throne of the most ancient kingdom of Europe a woman of unknown birth. It is an infamy.”
“Countess,” he answered, “you know quite well that I was ignorant of your custom, of the history of that cup.”
“There are times,” she said, fiercely, “when ignorance is worse than crime. No man yet, even a king, has lived to break faith with the House of Reist.”
He had recovered himself—and he remembered. He addressed her steadily, yet with a growing coldness in his tone.
“Is it your wish then, Countess, that I fulfil the obligations which you say I have incurred?”
Her face burned, her eyes were lit with fire. He had gained an advantage. He had made her angry.
“It is a brutal question,” she cried, “but quickly answered. You know quite well that if it were so I should not be here. No! I would not marry you—not even to be Queen of Theos.”
“Then why——”
“Oh, but you are blind,” she interrupted, passionately. “You understand nothing. I repeat that I would not marry you to be Queen of Theos. I am willing to be your friend. I am willing to forget your broken pledge. But listen! Theos is the dearest thing on earth to me. I am jealous for my country, not for myself. I will not have this tradesman’s daughter Queen of Theos. Do you think that I, Marie of Reist, would follow her from the room, would bend my knee to her, would call her Queen? It is madness inconceivable. I speak formyself, but there are others who feel as I feel. It would be an insult to every royal family in Europe. These are the things which I have come to say. You must abandon your purpose, or——”
“Or?”
There was a moment’s deep silence. She shook her head very slowly.
“There is not a noble of Theos, your Majesty, who would not consider himself justified in rescinding his oath to a king who could stoop so low.”
Ughtred eyed her gravely.
“Marie,” he said, “you are a peeress of Theos in your own right, and as such you yourself have taken an oath of allegiance to me.”
“It is true, your Majesty,” she answered, coldly. “And I tell you now that the announcement of your betrothal to Sara Van Decht would in my opinion and before my conscience justify me in breaking that oath. And your Majesty must remember further that those who are not with you are against you.”
The King sat down and leaned his head upon his hand. Was this really how the people of Theos would regard his marriage, if indeed it should ever come to pass? The girl was so terribly in earnest, and of personal feeling it seemed after all that she had none. A cloud crept over his face.
“It is a threat,” he said, quietly. “Countess, I beg that you will leave me. I will think over all that you have said, and I will discuss it fully with your brother, and my other advisers. Forgive me if I add that I think it would be more fitting.”
He pointed to the open panel. She held up her head as though listening, but Ughtred heard nothing. Then she looked once more at the King. Something in his face reminded her for the moment of the man whom he resembled. He was tired, and his distress touched her heart. She moved suddenly over to his side and dropped upon her knee. The heavy sleeves fell back from her wrists, her white fingers touched his arms. She remembered that they had been young together, and after all the destinies of Theos were largely in his hands. He looked into her face and was amazed at the change. Her tone no longer shook with anger. She pleaded to him.
“Your Majesty, you and I were children together. Listen to me. I have lived in Theos all my life, and the love of my country has become a religion to me. For her sake, listen. You must not think any more of Sara Van Decht. Your marriage would be impossible. The House of Laws would not permit it, the nobility of Theos, of whom alas there are but few left, would not tolerate it. I am speaking the truth to you. As for what has been between you and me it shall go for nothing. I—listen—I love another man. Wait for a few years, and then seek for a wife where the royal House of Theos has the right to seek. I, who know, tell you that this is your duty—that even now your throne is in peril that you know nothing of.”
“NICHOLAS OF REIST STOOD ON THE THRESHOLD.”“NICHOLAS OF REIST STOOD ON THE THRESHOLD.”
For the fraction of a second Ughtred hesitated, seeking about in his mind only how best to terminate a painful situation. And that brief period became almost a fatal interlude, for she saw what was passing in hismind. Then a low, fierce cry came to them from the shadows of the room. Nicholas of Reist stood on the threshold of the open panel, his drawn sword quivering in his hand.
It was a curiously deep silence which reigned for many moments in the King’s chamber. Ughtred slowly drew a little apart from Marie and glanced sternly from one to the other. His momentary suspicion, however, died away. The look on the face of Nicholas of Reist was such as no man, even the most consummate of actors, might assume.
“What news do you bring?” the King said, quietly. “Is all well at Solika?”
Reist pointed to his sister.
“There are no fresh tidings,” he answered. “I await your Majesty’s explanation of my sister’s presence here.”
Ughtred drew himself up. The blood of an ancient race asserted itself. He eyed Reist coldly. It was the King who faced a rebellious subject.
“I have no explanation to offer to you, Duke of Reist,” he answered. “Seek it instead from your sister. It is she who should afford it you, seeing that her presence here was undesired by me, and unexpected.”
“Your Majesty lies!” Reist thundered.
There was a deep and awful silence. Then Ughtred turned upon him, a fierce flash of anger in his blue eyes.
“Duke of Reist,” he said, “you are a privileged person at this Court, and I have called you my friend. You will unsay those words, or hand me your sword.”
“I repeat,” Reist said, fiercely, “that your Majesty lies.”
The King pointed to the open panel.
“Countess,” he ordered, “leave us. This matter is between your brother and myself. We can settle it best in your absence.”
She turned to her brother.
“Nicholas,” she said, “the King’s word is truth. I came here without any knowledge of his. I remained here against his will. It was unwise, perhaps, but the fault was mine. I wished to hear from his own lips what truth there was in these rumours of his coming marriage.”
“Was it your place to ask the King these things?” he demanded, fiercely. “Was it dignified or seemly of you—you, his affianced bride?”
“I am not his affianced bride, Nicholas,” she answered. “That was an idle ceremony. It was true we drank together of the King’s cup, but its history was unknown to him.”
He eyed them both with a fierce scorn.
“God alone knows of what cup you have drunk together,” he cried, bitterly. “How often have you found it necessary to seek him here in the solitude of his chamber? How often have you used this infernal passage?”
“To seek the King, never,” she answered firmly. “I used it when I found Brand here. If I had not, Theos might to-day have been a Russian State.”
He pointed with unshaking finger to the opening in the wall.
“Pass away, Marie!”
She hesitated.
“It is the truth which I have told you, Nicholas,” she said.
He thrust before her eyes a piece of paper.
“You are young, Marie, to lie so glibly even for your lover’s sake. Here is the message which summoned you here, written in the King’s handwriting, signed with the King’s name. You left it on the table, so that even the servants might know of the shame which has come upon our House.”
The King crossed the room and looked over Marie’s shoulder. It was indeed his own notepaper, and the writing of those few words strangely resembled his.
“Come now, I am alone.—U.”
The King looked up with grave face.
“It is a forgery!” he said.
“It is a forgery,” Marie echoed, white to the lips.
Nicholas of Reist said nothing. He pointed to the open panel. A look of horror flashed into the girl’s face. She understood.
“Nicholas,” she cried, “that message never came from the King. Where you found it I do not know, but I never saw it before. You must believe me, Nicholas. The King was ignorant of my coming. He was unwilling that I should remain even for a moment.”
“I repeat,” the King said, gravely, “that the writing which you hold in your hands is a forgery, Nicholas. I have never written to your sister in my life. This is part of a plot which shall be sifted to the bottom.”
Still Nicholas stood silent before the panel, and Marie passed out. He shut it carefully. Then he turned to the King, who was still standing with that half-sheet of notepaper in his hand.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I desire to know whether it is your intention to marry my sister.”
The King looked him squarely in the face.
“Nicholas,” he said, “have I ever in my life done or said anything to give rise to such a belief?”
“Your Majesty,” Reist answered, with a bow, “has been ever most discreet. Yet before witnesses you pledged my sister in our ancient betrothal cup, well knowing its immutable record.”
“That is true,” the King answered, “but at the time I showed clearly that with me at least it was a jest. I plead guilty to an act of folly. I came straight here from life amongst a people to whom symbols and ceremonies have become as empty things—a practical and utilitarian people, and I did not recognize the passionate clinging of the dwellers in these more romantic countries to old customs and old ritual. I deeply regret it, Nicholas. I have no other regret.”
Reist pointed to the letter which still remained in the King’s fingers. Ughtred tore it through with a gesture of contempt.
“I did not write it,” he said. “I did not invite your sister’s presence.”
Reist controlled himself with a visible effort.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I beg you for one moment to reflect. I appeal once more, less for your sake or mine, than for our country’s, to your honour. Yourthrone you owe to me. I have been your faithful servant, and my sword is yet wet with the blood of your enemies. Our name is great throughout Europe. An alliance with us can only strengthen your hold upon the people. It ill becomes me to force these things upon you, but the issue is great. Do you seek the hand of my sister in marriage?”
“I do not,” the King answered. “I never have done. Wait.”
Reist paused with his hand upon the hilt of his sword. The King continued.
“For the sake of my kingdom I do not order you from my presence, Reist. We are in danger, as you know, and I can ill spare a brave man. Listen. On my honour I, Ughtred of Tyrnaus, declare to you that the letter you found is a forgery, that your sister’s presence here was as much a surprise to me as to you, that I never for one single moment failed in the respect which I owe to her as the sister of my best subject.”
“That,” Reist said, coldly, “is your Majesty’s last word?”
“It is.”
Reist drew his sword from his scabbard and bent it upon the ground till the blade snapped. The pieces he threw before the King.
“I resign my position in the army,” he said, “and I withdraw my oath of allegiance. We are on equal terms now, Ughtred of Tyrnaus, and I demand satisfaction from you for this affront upon my House.”
Ughtred eyed him sternly for a moment, but without anger.
“First, sir,” he said, “discharge yourself of your duty. Report to me of the position at Solika.”
“We have withstood a fierce attack,” Reist answered, coldly, “and driven the Turks off with heavy losses. I regret to add, however, that Solika is a hotbed of Russian intrigue, and what we gain in the field we shall doubtless lose through treachery. My force are encamped outside the city, and there are scouts duly posted to warn us of any fresh attack. I desire your answer, Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”
The King’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Be careful, sir,” he exclaimed, “or my answer will be a file of soldiers and the prison.”
There was a brief pause. An angry spot burned on Reist’s cheeks, but he kept silent.
“My answer to you is this, sir,” the King said. “All duties which I owe as a private individual are secondary to those I owe my country. So long as the war lasts I decline your challenge. The day it is over I will meet you under any condition you choose to name. Now go!”
“But——”
“Sir,” the King thundered, “I do not bandy words with my subjects. Go!”
Reist passed out in silence. The panel rolled heavily back. The King was alone! He sank heavily on to his couch and buried his face in his hands.
Once more brother and sister stood face to face in the great shadowy audience-room of the Reist palace. Again, too, there was the clamour of many voices in the streets below, for a messenger had just galloped in with news from the front, and a sad procession of ambulance wagons had arrived for the hospital. Only it seemed to them both that that other day, of which both for a moment thought, lay far back in some uncertain past. Events had marched so rapidly during the last few months that all sense of proportion and distance was lost. They looked at one another with white, haggard faces. Marie saw that her brother no longer wore his sword.
“What has happened?” she asked, faintly.
The fires of hell were smouldering in his dark eyes. Yet he answered with some attempt at calmness.
“I challenged him. I had the right! He did not deny it, but he will not fight until the war is over. I have broken my sword. I am an outcast from my people—and he is still their king. Marie, you have brought great trouble upon our House.”
“It was not I who brought him here,” she answered. “I was against it always. The trouble is of your making—and his. He drank with me from the King’s cup.”
“Ay! And to-night he refused absolutely to marryyou, Marie. I suffered the everlasting humiliation of offering your hand—to have it refused.”
She drew a short, quick breath. It was humiliation indeed. A sudden wild anger seized her. She locked and interlocked her fingers nervously.
“They are an accursed race, these men of Tyrnaus,” she cried. “They make vows only to break them. Their honour is a broken reed.”
Then Nicholas, his face gleaming white through the darkness, leaned over to her.
“Marie,” he said, “those written words—which summoned you to him—were his?”
She hesitated. He raised his hand.
“Marie,” he said, solemnly, “answer me as though your foot were upon the threshold of eternity. Remember that the name of Reist will become a name of shame for ever if you speak falsely. He is young, and he came here a stranger to us and our traditions. With our country in peril I might forgive for the while his broken troth—if that were all. But if he has dared to hold you lightly—that I cannot forgive. Tell me the truth! Was that message, indeed, from him which summoned you to a clandestine meeting?”
She met his fixed gaze with beating heart. Her bosom rose and fell quickly. She was torn with a hundred emotions. At last she answered.
“Nicholas,” she said, “I know nothing of that note. I sought the king of my own free will.”
Reist paced the room with quick, uneven footsteps. Marie sat at the table, her head buried in her hands. He did not approach her. Through the open windowcame the dull booming of guns. The sound was a torture to him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, at last.
“God only knows!” he answered, bitterly. “I have no King and no country. Yet if I stay here I shall go mad.”
She removed her hands from her face and looked at him stealthily.
“If there were a way,” she whispered, “to save Theos, and to be avenged on Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”
He stopped short.
“What do you mean?”
“If there were still a way,” she whispered, “by which our old dream might come true. If it were still possible that you might become the saviour of our country, might even now rescue it from the Turks——”
“Plain words,” he cried. “Let there be no enigmas between you and me. What do you mean?”
She looked at him more boldly.
“If a great Power should say ‘I will not help Theos in her trouble because I do not recognize Ughtred of Tyrnaus, but if the right man is willing to accept the throne—so—I will stretch out my hand—the war shall cease—Theos shall be free.’ What do you think of that, Nicholas?”
He looked at her with new eyes.
“Whose thoughts are these?” he asked, slowly.
“Domiloff’s!”
“He has spoken to you?”
“Yes!”
“It is treason,” he cried, hoarsely. “I will have none of it.”
“Who,” she asked, “is a greater traitor than Ughtred of Tyrnaus?”
He was silent.
“Who,” she cried, “is better beloved in Theos?—who could rule the people more wisely than you, Nicholas? It would save our country from conquest and pillage. It is—the only way. Is it not what we have spoken of before—have not you yourself pointed upwards to that motto, whose writing is surely no less clear to-day? Oh, Nicholas, you cannot hesitate.”
He walked to the window and looked out towards the hills, where the red lights still flared and the guns made sullen music. Her words were like poison to him.
“Listen, Nicholas,” she said. “While Ughtred of Tyrnaus is king no help will come to us from any other nation, and without help how can Theos hold out against a hundred thousand Turks? We have few soldiers and fewer guns. Our population will be decimated, our country laid waste, and the end will be slavery. It is for you to save us all. It is you who can save Theos.”
He looked at her with cold, stern eyes.
“How long have you been the confidante of Domiloff?”
“It is only lately,” she answered, “that he has spoken to me of these things. I think, Nicholas, that he is afraid of you.”
“Perhaps,” Reist remarked, bitterly, “he mistook me for an honest man.”
“It is freedom for Theos,” she said, softly, “and revenge upon the King. Whatever may befall him from our hands he has deserved.”
“Is Domiloff still in Theos?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You will find him at the Café Metropolitan,” she said, “only he is now a Frenchman. You must ask for Monsieur Abouyat.”
Reist moved restlessly up and down the room. Often his fingers sought the place where his sword should have been.
“Something I must do,” he muttered. “I might disguise myself as a peasant and fight in the ranks. To be here idle is horrible; to go to Domiloff—I cannot!”
He looked gloomily out into the darkness. The inaction was unendurable. She crossed the room to his side and laid her hand upon his arm.
“It is not by standing still, Nicholas, or by indecision that you can preserve your country or avenge your honour,” she said. “Go to Domiloff. Hear what he has to say. Then ask yourself what is best for Theos.”
“Domiloff has the tongue of a fiend,” he answered, “or a serpent. I do not dare to trust myself with him. Russia would play us false in the end. Our freedom would be undermined. I myself should be a puppet, a doll, at the beck and call of a master. Oh, I know how these Russians treat an independent State if once their fingers are upon her throat.”
“You talk as though Theos were not already doomed,” she cried. “What hope have we as it is? Nicholas, have you ever thought what must happen when the Turks have crossed the frontier. You know their way—it is blood and fire and desolation. Have you considered the women and children, Nicholas?”
He groaned. The recollection of former raids was lurid and terrible enough. It was hard for him to see clearly. And his scabbard was empty.
“I will go to Domiloff,” he said at last, “I will hear what he has to say.”
It was very dark, very stuffy, and a strong, malodorous suggestion of garlic pervaded the littlecafé. The ordinary customers of the place preferred always the round tables outside, and very few passed through the worn swing doors which led to the gloomy interior. The two men who occupied one of the small partitions had the place to themselves.
“It is not the time, this, for any weak scruples, my dear Reist,” Domiloff was saying. “Theos in a week’s time will be either a Russian State forever, or once more a free country with a ruler who is one of her own sons, and in whom my master can repose every confidence. You see I am very frank with you. I admit that this attack upon your country is the will and the decree of Russia. It was broached in London, confirmed in St. Petersburg, and planned in Constantinople. Yet, believe me, it was conceived in no spirit of enmity to Theos. It is simply this. We will not have a Tyrnaus upon the throne of Theos.”
“Your country,” Reist answered, hoarsely, “has no great reputation for generosity. What are we to pay for our freedom? You would not have me believe that there is no price.”
“There is none,” was the quiet answer, “which you, as a patriot and a Thetian, need hesitate to pay. We should require the abolition of the present edict prohibitingRussians from holding public offices, and a few more such unimportant concessions. They are nothing. They will serve only to knit our countries more closely together in friendship.”
Reist laughed hardly.
“Yet I think,” he said, “that the freedom of Theos would become somewhat of a jest were I to accept your terms.”
“The alternative,” Domiloff remarked, “may seem more pleasing to you. Yet I have heard people say unpleasant things of the Turkish yoke.”
“Theos is not yet conquered,” Reist answered. “Ughtred, to do him justice, is a soldier, and my people have the love of fighting born in their hearts.”
“The odds are too great—and you know it,” was the quiet reply. “Besides, the Turkish army is led by Russians and supplied with Russian artillery. The result is certain.”
“There may be intervention!”
“From whom?” Domiloff asked, smiling. “France is the monkey who dances to my master’s music—Austria is bound to us, Germany is geographically powerless.”
“There is England.”
Domiloff laughed outright.
“England as a European Power,” he declared, “has ceased to exist. A few Dutch farmers have pricked the bubble of her military reputation. If she should have the sublime impudence to lift her voice we should treat her with the contempt she has earned. No, Reist, there will be no intervention. Your brave Thetians will becut to pieces, your country will be pillaged and burned, your women will become the consorts of the Turkish soldiery, your ladies will go to grace a Turkish harem. These things must be unless you have the courage to hold out your hand. You call yourself a patriot. Prove it! The issue is plain enough.”
The words bit into Reist’s heart. He sat in gloomy silence. From afar off he seemed to hear the battle-cry of his beloved soldiers, the thunder of hoofs, the flashing steel, the glory of the charge thrilled his blood. There was patriotism indeed—there, where the lances dripped red and the bullets flew. And he, Nicholas of Reist, sat skulking in the back room of a doubtfulcafé, safely out of harm’s reach, talking treason with one who had ever been the foremost of his country’s enemies.
“You bought Metzger,” he said, “and the people cast him out. You may buy me, and yet the people will not accept your terms. They will not have Russians in authority over them. The hatred of your country is a religion with them.”
“They believe in you as they would believe in no other man,” Domiloff answered. “You can make the situation clear to them. In your heart you know that it is their only salvation.”
“They may save their skins,” Reist admitted, “but after all life is a short thing. It is better to die like gods than to live like slaves.”
Domiloff shook his head.
“My friend,” he said, “there is but one life that we know anything of, and it should not be lightly thrownaway. You can save Theos if you will. Supposing, however, that you are obstinate—that you cling to your ancient prejudices—well, what will you do then? Consider your position. You have quarrelled with the King. Your place in the army has gone, you have surrendered your sword. How can you ever show yourself in Theos again, who lingered here in the hour of battle? Be wise, my friend. Before you there is but one possible course. Take it. The day will come when every man who calls himself a Thetian will bless your name.”
“Or curse it!” Reist muttered.
“Curse it, indeed,” Domiloff answered, “if you play the coward. It is the hour now for a strong man to rise. You are that man. Ughtred of Tyrnaus, whom you call your king, is even now forging the fetters to lead Theos into slavery. It is for you to thrust him aside and save your people.”
“His is the nobler way,” Reist cried, bitterly. “Domiloff, I can listen to you no longer. I am not the man you seek. My feet are not used to these tortuous ways. I will ask the King’s pardon. He will give me back my sword, and I can at least find a glorious death.”
“You can fight then for a King who has deprived you of your sword?” Domiloff whispered. “You can forgive him the insult he has thrust upon your sister. You can bear to think of her, slighted for the daughter of an American tradesman. Who is Ughtred of Tyrnaus that he should do this thing, and that the Duke of Reist should ask his pardon!”
Reist ground his teeth.
“I can force my way into the ranks and fight unknown,” he said, hoarsely. “It would be better to die there than to live to listen to your poisonous whisperings. I do not trust you, Domiloff. I cannot. I have no pledge that you would keep your word.”
A sudden change flashed into the white face of the Russian. He sat perfectly still—listening. Reist opened his lips to ask a question, but it remained unasked. He, too, heard the sound. Somewhere behind the partition a man’s breathing was distinctly audible. Domiloff’s hand sought his pocket, and he rose softly to his feet.
The intruder, whoever he might be, did not hesitate for a second. He leaped through the window by which he had entered, and ran down the passage. Domiloff followed him, and peering forward fired a couple of shots in rapid succession. Apparently they were fruitless, for the fugitive gained the open space in front of thecaféand mingled with the crowd. There was a rush of bystanders towards the two men, but Domiloff raised his hands and cried in Thetian—
“A Turk! A Turk! A spy! Follow him!”
There was a rush across the street. Domiloff and Reist exchanged rapid glances with one another.
“A spy indeed, but a spy from the other side,” Domiloff muttered. “I wonder how much he heard.”
But Reist was speechless. To him the interruption had come like the awakening from a horrible dream. There was a man then—a man of Theos who knew him for a traitor.
The hue and cry had left them alone. Suddenly Domiloff stooped down. A soft felt hat lay almost at their feet. Through the brim and crown was a small round hole.
“It is his hat,” Domiloff muttered. “Why did I not aim an inch lower?”
He struck a match, and looked for the name inside the lining. It was Scott and Co., Bond Street, London.
Reist felt his cheeks burn, though the night was cool. Domiloff’s voice sounded unnaturally calm.
“It was the Englishman then, Walter Brand. Good!”
“The King’s friend,” Reist faltered.
Domiloff nodded.
“I do not think,” he said, “that he will ever see the King again.”
Late that night a man stood motionless amongst the shrubs in the garden of the Reist house. His eyes were fixed always upon a certain window where a light was burning. He muttered often to himself, and the things which he said were not pleasant to hear. He was tired and cramped with his long waiting—yet so long as that light burned he dared not approach the house.
There came to him at last a welcome sound, a light footstep and the trailing of a skirt upon the gravel path. He leaned forward.
“Countess, I am here.”
Marie stooped to pluck a flower, and slipped behind the shrub. They were now invisible from the house.
“You received my note?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“It was more than two hours ago. I am cold and tired with waiting. Was it necessary to keep me here so long?”
“Quite,” she answered. “I came as soon as it was safe.”
“Who has been with your brother to-night?” he asked.
“How do you know that we have not been alone?”
He pointed to the light still burning in the window.
“That light,” he said. “See, it is just extinguished. Your visitor has gone.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You are well served—by my servants,” she said.
“It is for all our interests! The visitor?”
“It was General Kolashin.”
“The General himself?”
“Yes. He came to reason with my brother about giving up his command.”
Domiloff frowned.
“Your brother did not waver?”
“He wavered a good deal. But for me I think that he would have returned to camp. I am sorry now that I interfered.”
“You are not in a pleasant humour to-night, I fear, Countess.”
“I am never in a pleasant humour when I have to do with—such as you. Treason and deceit are ugly things, to us, at least, Baron Domiloff.”
“I do not agree with your terms, Countess,” he answered, “but this is scarcely the place or the time for argument. Your brother?”
“He awaits you.”
“He has spoken of our interview?”
“Yes!”
“And you have told him?”
“To beware of Baron Domiloff,” she answered, coolly.
He bent over to read her face, uncertain in the dim twilight.
“You are jesting,” he murmured.
“It is very possible,” she admitted.
She turned away from him, and looked towards thehills. The muttering of artillery still continued. Domiloff was uneasy.
“Countess,” he said, “I must go in to your brother, for this evening we were overheard in the Café Metropolitan, and I am not safe in the city any longer. But, I pray you to tell me this. What is your brother’s disposition concerning these matters of which we have talked?”
She shook her head.
“I cannot tell you. I have done what I can, but he himself is torn with doubts and fears. The sound of the guns, and the thought of the fighting goads him to madness. I have done what I promised. Through me he has broken with the King, and I have sent him to you. The rest you should have accomplished.”
“And so I should,” Domiloff declared, fiercely, “but for that cursed interruption. It is ill to do with men who do not know their own minds.”
“Or with women in the like straits, my friend,” she murmured.
He shot a quick glance at her.
“Of you,” he declared, quietly, “I have no fear. You would not see this American girl Queen of Theos. I do not think that you would stand in waiting before her throne.”
Marie’s face was for a moment white with passion. She seemed as though she would strike him. Domiloff watched her narrowly. He liked to be sure of every one with whom he had to deal, and there were times when she eluded him.
“No,” she answered at last. “It is not likely that Ishould do that. Baron Domiloff, I will show you the way to my brother’s room.”
“One moment.”
He touched her arm. She drew it away with an angry exclamation. Domiloff was not without vanity, and his personal repugnance to her, which she was at no pains to hide, galled him. For a moment he dared not trust himself to speak.
“Will you be so good as to remember,” she said, with cutting force, “that my toleration of you is on account of Theos, and Theos only. Personally, I hate all conspirators and plotters. The idea of this sort of thing and everybody connected with it is loathsome to me.”
He bowed low. It was as well that she could not see his face.
“Countess,” he said, “you will excuse my familiarity, but there was a matter—an urgent matter—which I had yet to mention to you. There is a man who must die unless he leaves Theos in four-and-twenty hours. I have heard him called your friend—else he were a dead man at this moment.”
She looked at him doubtfully.
“You do not mean the King?”
“No! I mean Walter Brand, the English journalist.”
She started. Domiloff watched her keenly.
“What has he done?” she asked.
“What has he not done. You remember his first appearance here?”
She laughed softly.
“I remember it very well,” she answered. “He was bold enough to befool the wily Baron Domiloff—to playwith him and beat him at his own game. Yes, his first coming I remember very well indeed.”
The darkness hid Domiloff’s face. His voice was under perfect control.
“I bear him no special grudge for that,” Domiloff said, “but it was only the beginning. He has done his very best to oppose us throughout. He is the King’s most intimate friend, he is our most dangerous enemy. His letters from here are influencing the whole European Press. In England they have created a sensation, and in Germany also. They have been translated into every language, and copied everywhere. The time has come when they must cease.”
She felt the significance of his words. She was not altogether unmoved under his close scrutiny.
“He is an Englishman,” she said, “and it is dangerous to interfere with Englishmen.”
“Nevertheless it must be done,” he declared. “To-night it has become a matter of urgency.”
“How so?”
“Because, not content with the mischief which he has already done, he must needs play the spy upon one or both of us. To-night he was at the Café Metropolitan and overheard some part of my conversation with your brother.”
A sudden colour flushed her cheeks. Her eyes were bright.
“He is a brave man,” she cried.
Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.
“The difference between a brave man and a fool,” he said, “is so slight. But listen, Countess! You wish his life spared?”
“If harm comes to him through you or any of your creatures,” she cried, with a little burst of passion, “I will go to the King and have you hung in the market-place.”
There was a moment’s silence. Domiloff was staggered by her bold words.