CHAPTER XIV.

OVER THE BORDER AND AWAY.

Cyril’s appearance at so late an hour caused some surprise at Schloss Herzensruh, but his ostensible errand did not take long to perform. After receiving a promise from the high functionary to whom he delivered the jewels that they should be placed in the Princess’s hands immediately, and declining alike the King’s invitation to come in and rest and his offer of an escort through the forest, he was very soon outside the grounds again. When he had gone far enough to be out of sight of any one who might be looking after him from the porter’s lodge, he turned aside from the path, and made his way to the little door in the wall which Prince Alexis had described to him. It opened immediately at his third knock, and in the shadow behind it he saw two ladies standing, the taller of whom was unmistakably the Queen.

“I was not expecting you, Lord Cyril,” she said, but without any show of surprise.

“The Prince of Dardania has intrusted me with the honour of escorting Fräulein von Staubach over the frontier into his territory, your Majesty,” said Cyril, while the other lady giggled hysterically.

“My Sophie, control yourself,” said the Queen, with an authoritative touch on her shoulder. “You have met Lord Cyril Mortimer before, I think? I will not keep you here, in case my absence should be remarked. Lord Cyril, I may trust you?”

“I will do my best to justify the confidence which your Majesty and the Prince are reposing in me,” said Cyril. “But if you will pardon my hurrying you, I think that Fräulein von Staubach and I ought to start at once. We have a fairly long ride before us.”

“Farewell, my child!” said the Queen, pressing what struck Cyril as a very affectionate kiss on the girl’s forehead. “I shall expect to hear from you to-morrow.”

Fräulein von Staubach’s reply was inaudible; but she threw her arms round the Queen’s neck and kissed her vehemently, then, without looking back, she took Cyril’s offered arm and walked quickly away with him, the Queen locking the door after them. As they picked their way among the tree-trunks--for Cyril thought it better not to keep to the path--he stole a look once and again at his companion when they came to a patch of moonlight. She was of middle height, and apparently rather stout, although this might be the fault of her wraps, and her fair hair was elaborately frizzed in front, and gathered into the fashionable lump behind. Her eyes were concealed by her spectacles; but Cyril could just distinguish that her eyebrows were so fair as to be almost colourless under the long gauze veil which covered her face, and was tied in a bow under her chin. So far as he could tell, she was wearing a white evening dress, with the train carefully looped up, and a heavy fur cloak over it. A less suitable costume for a midnight ride in winter could scarcely be imagined, and he remarked that it might have been wise to come in a riding-habit.

“Oh, but I could not be married in a habit. What a hideous idea!” she exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice with a marked Low German accent, such as after that night Cyril could never hear without a shudder.

“I fear you will find it difficult to ride in that dress,” he persisted.

“It will be difficult for me to ride at all,” she said, with a giggle; and Cyril restrained with difficulty an exclamation of disgust. It began to be clear to him now why the Prince had so readily resigned to him the honour of escorting his bride from her old to her new home. They had reached the horses by this time, and Cyril prepared to assist his charge to mount.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder, and hold the pommel with your right,” he said; “and give me your left foot. Now, spring!”

He gave a mighty heave, and the lady sprang; but with such ill success that she came down again in the same place. A second and a third attempt failed in like manner, and Cyril lost patience.

“If I can’t mount you this time, Fräulein, I shall be obliged to take you back to the castle. It won’t do to keep you poised in mid-air all night.”

On this occasion, however, they were successful, thanks to a frantic effort on the part of Fräulein von Staubach, and Cyril mounted his own horse (the animals were fortunately quiet ones) and guided both into the path.

“Try to sit a little straighter in your saddle,” he said to his companion. “If the beast begins to trot, you will go off.”

“Oh no!” she giggled shrilly. “I shall hold round his neck.”

Cyril was silent in deep disgust, and resolved mentally that he would not speak to her again; but when a disposition on the part of the horses to break into a trot had been checked two or three times by little screams from her, he remarked drily--

“We shall never reach the palace to-night at this rate.”

“Never mind me, then, _Mein Herr_, I will hold to the pommel,” she responded valiantly, and Cyril set his teeth hard and urged the horses on. In some wonderful way his companion managed to keep her seat, and, with the help of a few directions from him, got on better than he had expected, although he still muttered wrathfully to himself that he was thankful there was no one about to see him giving riding-lessons to a _sack_! Slowly the long miles were covered, and midnight had passed when the riders entered the courtyard of the Prince of Dardania’s palace, which Cyril had already visited with Caerleon. Here all was bustle, servants bearing torches were ranged on either side of the door, and Prince Alexis himself hastened anxiously forward to receive his bride, who slipped from her horse into his arms with a hysterical laugh.

“It has been almost too much!” Cyril heard her say, as the Prince led her up the steps, and it struck him that she had visibly increased in height since his first glimpse of her in the castle garden.

“I’ve heard of people who got two inches taller owing to the consciousness of success, but I never saw it happen before,” he said to himself, as he gave the horses into the charge of a servant, and allowed himself to be conducted into the palace by a bowing official. The door opened into a great hall, through which Prince Alexis had just led his bride into a side room, where Cyril had a momentary view of a number of Dardanian ladies, evidently of high rank, gathering around their future Princess; but his guide conducted him through a long passage into a chapel, where everything was in readiness for the celebration of the Greek marriage-rite. The space on one side of the aisle was filled with Dardanian chiefs and nobles, splendid-looking men in gorgeous national costumes; and as Cyril was ushered to his place among them, he wondered how long it would be before a similar throng was gathered together for Caerleon’s wedding, and how many different religious ceremonies it would take to marry him. He had abundant opportunity for meditation, for the Lutheran rite was proceeding in another room; but after a while the vacant seats on the other side of the chapel were filled by the ladies of whom he had caught a glimpse, and the bride and bridegroom entered, and advanced up the aisle. The lady’s face was hidden by an elaborate lace veil, and Cyril felt a momentary curiosity as to the means by which she had managed to bring it with her; but his attention was soon distracted to more important details. The half-married bride was undoubtedly taller than she had appeared in the garden, and carried herself regally; and as Cyril gazed at her by the flickering light of the lamps burning before the sacred pictures and on the dais, it struck him that she was otherwise altered. Fräulein von Staubach was fair, but he was almost certain that this girl’s knot of hair was dark; and when she turned her head for a moment, it seemed to him that her eyebrows also were dark and strongly marked.

What had happened? What was the meaning of this enigma? Had he been fooled? He listened eagerly to the words of the priest, trying to discover some clue to the mystery; but he was unacquainted with the service and with the language in which it was conducted, and he had no prayer-book. He gathered that some question was being asked of the bridegroom; but strain his ears as he would, he could not distinguish in it the name of Sophie von Staubach, while for one awful instant he was haunted by the dread that he had heard the words Ottilie Ivanovna. A moment or two more, and his fear was confirmed, for the question addressed to the bride was answered, not in the shrill Low German accents of Fräulein von Staubach, but in the clear decided tones of Princess Ottilie. Cyril was standing quietly by, while his brother’s bride was married to another man before his eyes! He sprang forward, but a hand laid upon his shoulder on either side held him back. He was gripped by the two stalwart Dardanians between whom he was standing.

“Monsieur must not disturb the ceremony,” said one of them in bad French; and Cyril, seeing that he was overmatched, resisted the temptation to disturb the ceremony to some purpose by a shout proclaiming the falseness of the bride, and remained mute and motionless throughout the protracted rite, with its prayers and incense, its presentation of the Common Cup, and its crowning and marching round the dais, although during the whole time the thought was forcing itself into his mind that Caerleon must have known of all this. The fact that he had been looking forward to such a _dénoûment_ explained both his willingness to enter into the engagement at all, and his callousness with regard to his _fiancée_, while his anxiety and misery throughout the past week were accounted for by the uncertainty of his position. And Princess Ottilie! Cyril ground his teeth as he remembered her tormenting doubts as to Caerleon’s affection, and how he had comforted her, while all the time she had been carrying on this complicated train of deception. But, after all, her moral turpitude was nothing to that of Caerleon. Cyril, the shrewd, the far-sighted, the diplomatist, had been duped, and by the brother whom he had always regarded as an honest simpleton, whose every thought he believed that he knew. It may seem a paradox to say that when Cyril’s first rage had cooled, the effect of his discovery was to heighten very considerably his respect for Caerleon, but so it was. The man by whom he had been deceived in this way must be possessed of a certain amount of brains.

Cyril had arrived at this point in his meditations when the ceremony concluded, and the bridal company left the chapel to sign the register. He was among the foremost who followed them into the room in which the book was placed in readiness, and when she had written her name, Princess Ottilie offered the pen to him with a mischievous smile--

“Come, Lord Cyril; you will add your name as a witness?”

“I am much honoured, but your Royal Highness will not catch me twice,” he replied; and she turned away with a laugh. He felt tempted to make his escape at once; but pride forbade him to slink away and show himself defeated, and he determined to face her again, and tell her one or two home-truths. His opportunity came later, when the bridal pair had proceeded to the throne-room to receive the congratulations of those present, and his name was duly announced by the grand chamberlain.

“Now, Lord Cyril,” said the Princess, when he had uttered the requisite formula with just the shade of exaggeration which showed that his good wishes were not wholly sincere, “confess that you were completely deceived. Of course it would have been much more sensible to wear a riding-habit; but I knew that the real Sophie von Staubach would never consent to be married in one, and I felt that I must dress the character consistently.”

“The illusion was perfect,” returned Cyril. “I can only congratulate your Royal Highness on the skill with which you have rendered the first act of your--tragedy.”

“Tragedy?” asked Prince Alexis, sharply. “Why tragedy?”

“If I wished to be unpleasant,” said Cyril, “I might quote Shakespeare, and say, ‘She has deceived her father, and may thee.’ But that would be impolite, and besides, the tragedy to which I refer is not a domestic but a public one. It doesn’t require much foresight to prophesy that the results of this night’s work will be

‘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.”

“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 bring _her_ the 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.