CHAPTER XXIII.

UNDER WHICH KING?

“Your Majesty will relate to us your adventures?” said the Princess, when they were seated at table. “At present we know only that the insurgents declared most solemnly that they had killed you, and that we find you are here in Malta several days after your supposed death.”

“I can’t at all understand that confession myself,” said Caerleon, smiling, “for the men who made it had the best possible means of knowing what had really happened to us. Well, to go back to the beginning of everything, it seems, from what my brother has since told me, that he and Drakovics had some idea that an attempt would be made on my life at the coronation, which was to take place to-day--or yesterday--or was it the day before?--I am in a state of utter confusion now as to the day of the week. I suppose the rumour was a mere blind, intended to distract our attention from the real plot. At any rate, rather less than a week ago, Wright woke us in the middle of the night, and told us there was not a sentry to be seen about the place, and that the servants had all disappeared. We got up and looked for our revolvers, but they had been tampered with, and the only weapons we could find were the wretched Brummagem swords we wear in full dress. We started out along the corridor with these in our hands, but it wasn’t until we came to the landing that we caught sight of the enemy. Then we had a fight on the stair-way, like old Umslopogaas, and we were led forcibly to the conclusion that a Zulu battle-axe was a more satisfactory weapon than a tailor-made sword. Still, with General Sertchaieff’s sword, which Wright got hold of for me, I think we might have managed to hold our own, if they hadn’t come upon us from behind and knocked us down the stairs. Then they tied us up with curtain-ropes, and wanted me to sign a deed of abdication, but I wouldn’t do it.”

“I am sure you would not!” cried Nadia, with flashing eyes. “Did they threaten to kill you?”

“Well, the atmosphere was rather threatening, certainly, and they were kind enough to warn us that our fate was in our own hands, and that sort of thing. Then they took us down to the river, and on board a steamer, and there, I don’t mind telling you, I did think that our last hour was come. They blindfolded us, and I made sure we were to be shot at once; but then they began to drag us along the deck, and I thought they must be going to make us walk the plank, that there might be no signs of violence visible on our bodies. I know it crossed my mind even then that they must have a robust faith in human nature if they believed that three bound and blindfolded corpses would be imagined to have got into the river by accident. At last I felt them give me a good push forwards, but instead of falling overboard I found myself on my hands and knees in a cabin. The next moment my brother and Wright were flung in on top of me, and the door was locked. I believe they never really meant to kill us after all, only to frighten us into begging for mercy, or something of the kind; but if that was the case, they were disappointed. Before we had picked ourselves up we heard the men who had brought us on board putting off again in the boat, and the steamer started immediately. They must have been getting up steam beforehand in readiness for our arrival. We set to work at once to try and free ourselves, and as our hands were tied in front of us, we managed to do it after a time. Wright succeeded first, and he helped us. Then we got off the handkerchiefs which were tied over our eyes, but the place was quite dark. We felt all round and about it, and made up our minds that we must be in some sort of deck-cabin, but there were no windows, only wooden shutters. There was no furniture, nothing but a heap of old tarpaulins, and it was frightfully cold, for the snow was on the ground when we started. Cyril hadn’t got a proper coat on, merely a smoking-jacket, and he began to shiver horribly. I had no coat either, but Wright gave him his, and we took turns in walking about so as to keep warm, and covering ourselves as best we could with the tarpaulin. If you asked me how long we stayed in that place, I should say about six hundred years, but I suppose it can’t have been more than six days,--or was it only five? A grinning Scythian rascal with a lantern opened the door and poked us in some ship’s biscuit and water several times during our voyage. I really never knew before how old and stale ship’s biscuit could be. We tried to induce the fellow to bring us some better food for Cyril and a blanket or two; but we had no money with us, and he demanded cash down, and exhibited a holy horror of dealing on credit. Cyril got worse and worse, and we couldn’t do anything for him. We gave him all the tarpaulin to keep him warm, but it was wretched stiff stuff, and wouldn’t cover him properly. At first he was able to talk sensibly to us, and to try to appeal to the jailer’s better nature in Scythian, but as time went on he became half-delirious, and we could see that he was suffering horribly. We banged at the door and did everything we could devise to attract attention, and we promised the jailer unheard-of sums if he would bring the captain or some one in authority to speak to us, but he only laughed. All this time we could tell that the ship was moving, but happily there was not much sea on. At last, this morning, she stopped suddenly, and as far as we could make out, a boat came on board, and then put off again. Whether this was an order for some change in our destination I don’t know, but not very long afterwards they called to us to come out of the cabin. Wright and I dragged Cyril up, and helped him out into a sort of passage-place, where the light dazzled us, for we had seen nothing but the jailer’s lantern since we had been on board. Before we could look round or manage to see who was there, we were blindfolded again and our hands tied, and we were taken down the ship’s side into a boat. We were rowed some way until we felt the keel grate on some sort of shore, and then they hauled us out and dumped us down upon the sand, and we heard them rowing away again. Our hands were tied behind us this time, so that it was a long while before we could get them free, and when we got our eyes uncovered, the ship was steaming away from us right out at sea, almost out of sight. There we were stranded, on a desert island for all we knew, with poor old Cyril gabbling away in all sorts of languages, and quite off his head. We drew him under the shadow of the cliff, and Wright went a little way along the beach to look for a path. He found a place where there was a gap in the cliffs, and went up it a short distance, and then came back and told me that he could see houses a good way off. We lifted poor Cyril between us, and carried him up through the gap and along a little field-path to the house where you found us. There were only the women and children at home, and they couldn’t understand us, nor we them; but they were very kind to us, and gave us food and made up a bed of leaves for Cyril. Then when the farmer came back from work, we had another try at making ourselves understood; but it was no good, and we couldn’t even get him to tell us slowly where we were. He talked so fast, and said so much, that though I had an idea that he mentioned Valetta, I couldn’t be sure of it. However, I thought it was very likely that they had brought us to Malta as the nearest piece of British territory to Thracia, so Wright and I agreed that he had better get the farmer to take him to the town we could see in the distance, and look about for some good Samaritan who could speak English, and might be able to guide him to a doctor. But I never hoped to fall in with two such good Samaritans as those who brought him back.”

“Hush!” said the Princess, “let us have no compliments, please. To have been the means of helping fellow-creatures in distress is enough for me, and if it is not enough for Mdlle. O’Malachy, she may say so for herself. But tell me--do you seriously consider that you are in danger here?”

“I haven’t an idea,” said Caerleon. “The English Government has never recognised me as King of Thracia, and therefore it has no right to consider me as anything but a private person; but there might be some official who would prefer security to logic, and put me in prison just to prevent any risk of accidents. I must telegraph to Drakovics to-morrow, and see how things stand, and after I have heard from him I shall know better what to do.”

“Quite so,” said the Princess. “You are aware that the Thracians, believing you to be dead, have chosen one of the Schwarzwald-Molzau princes as their king?”

“I know--Prince Otto Georg, a very good fellow; he was staying with me at Bellaviste before I--well, left. I have no wish whatever to interfere with his election,--though no doubt it will be an awful sell for him when he hears that I am alive after all.”

“I doubt whether you could interfere even if you were anxious to do so,” said the Princess. “We heard that he was to be crowned to-day, and it is possible that his coronation might bar any claim on your part.”

“I shan’t be sorry,” said Caerleon. “It seems to me that this would end a very difficult situation in a very desirable way. It certainly looks as though my captors were of your opinion. If that boat this morning brought the news of Otto Georg’s coronation to the men who had me in charge, it appears that they considered me no longer dangerous. Otherwise they might have marooned us somewhere along the North African coast, where there would have been very little chance of our ever turning up again to trouble them, or if they were particular about British territory, they could have found one or two rather nasty places on the shores of Cyprus.”

“But you are the King still,” said Nadia, with fierce eagerness.

“I really don’t know, and I can’t say that I care very much if I am not. It has not been such a delightful post as to make me want to turn the other man out of it if he likes it. And if I am not king I must surely be a very harmless individual, who might safely be left in peace.”

“Yes,” said the Princess, “and yet it might be supposed that you had come here for the purpose of setting on foot a plot for your own restoration. I will tell you what I will do. We have not yet attended one of the Governor’s receptions, but I brought with me a letter of introduction to him, and I will deliver it to-morrow morning. I will represent your situation to him in his private capacity, and if as Governor he considers it his duty to arrest you, he will give me some hint of his intention, and you shall take refuge on board the Anna Karénina, and leave the port. Under the Scythian flag you will be safe.”

“This is the irony of fate,” said Caerleon. “Scythia has turned me out of Thracia, and now she is to protect me against the lawful authorities of my own country.”

“Then you believe that the plot against you was of Scythian origin?” asked the Princess. Caerleon reflected for a moment before answering.

“I do not think that there were any Scythians among the actual plotters,” he said; “but I feel pretty sure that they would never have entered into the conspiracy if they had not felt sure of Scythia’s support in case of success, and her sympathy if they failed. I think it’s quite possible, too, that she strained a point in granting the exiles permission first to settle in her territory, and then to leave it.”

“But who were the leaders of the conspiracy?” asked Nadia, suddenly.

“Well, I saw most of General Sertchaieff; but I hear that his brother, the former Premier, was in it too.”

“Yes, I saw their names; but that is not what I mean. Was my brother there?”

“There were a good many of them altogether,” said Caerleon, evasively.

“Was Louis there?” she persisted.

“Well--yes, he was,” admitted Caerleon.

“You need not be afraid of hurting my feelings,” said Nadia, her eyes gleaming ominously. “He has no special tenderness for me--he would have shot me once if another man had not knocked his hand up just in time, so don’t try to spare him.”

“My child,” said the Princess, “do not say what you may afterwards regret. Your unhappy brother is dead.”

“Dead?” said Nadia, awed. “Was he killed in the fighting?”

“No,” said the Princess, “afterwards. Do you wish to leave us, my child? His Majesty will be so kind as to excuse you,” and Nadia rose and left the room.

“What became of Louis O’Malachy?” asked Caerleon, returning to his place after opening the door for her. “All that I know about the outbreak is what I heard from your man just now, and he did not mention his name.”

“He was to be shot this morning with General Sertchaieff and others among the rebels who had belonged to the army,” said the Princess.

“I can’t say that I don’t think his fate was well deserved,” said Caerleon, hotly. “When I remember the way in which that fellow deceived us all--pretending that he had given up his commission in the Scythian army for the sake of throwing in his lot with Thracia, and how he took the oaths to me, and received the pay of our Government while all the time he was plotting against it--I feel as though shooting was too good for him. But that’s not all,” he rose from his seat and began to walk up and down the room. “As Miss O’Malachy says, when she came to Bellaviste to warn me that her father meant to murder me, he actually fired at her--would have killed her rather than allow her to betray his secret. There are some things one feels it very hard to forgive a man, though he is dead.”

“It is cases of this kind,” said the Princess, with apparent irrelevance, “that make one wish that Scripture and reason allowed us to believe in the efficacy of prayers for the dead.”

“It is, indeed,” Caerleon assented heartily, although wondering a little at the turn the conversation was taking. But when the Princess spoke next, she had changed the subject again.

“My poor Nadia is very much alone in the world,” she remarked. “Now that her father has cast her off, she has really no relations left.”

“Is the O’Malachy acting the Roman father?” asked Caerleon. “I was surprised that he took no part in the rebellion.”

“He has been laid up with a bad attack of gout at a little town in Scythian Sarmatia,” said the Princess, “and no doubt his illness has saved his life. He must have heard from his son the reason for the failure of the plot which you mention, for Nadia has received a long letter from him, containing the promise of his dying curse, and declaring that from thenceforward she was no daughter of his.”

“She could have worse spared a better father,” said Caerleon.

The Princess smiled. “That is exactly my idea. No doubt it is selfish of me, but I cannot but rejoice that Colonel O’Malachy has cast her off so unequivocally. When she came to me first, as a little child, I was always afraid that a day would come when her parents would claim her again, and, as you know, they did.”

“And I’m afraid that I can’t say I’m sorry for it,” said Caerleon. “It was to my advantage, you see, for if Miss O’Malachy had remained in Scythia with your Highness, I might never have met her--nor yourself, madame,” he added, hastily.

“I did not know that Englishmen were so fond of paying compliments,” said the Princess, looking surprised. “However, as I was about to remark, it is a great happiness to me to know that my god-daughter is altogether mine from henceforth.”

“I--I’m afraid you don’t quite understand what I wanted to say,” said Caerleon, desperately. “I don’t know whether she has told you, but it doesn’t seem right for me to be staying in your house without your knowing it--I mean that I have twice asked Miss O’Malachy to marry me.”

“You are candid,” said the Princess, smiling. “Nadia has told me of your obliging offer, I assure you. May I ask whether this plain speaking is intended as a prelude to a third proposal?”

“I wish it might be! But that must depend upon circumstances.”

“I see. Your Majesty is a prudent lover.”

“But you don’t see what I mean,” persisted Caerleon. “I can’t be certain until I know whether I am still King of Thracia or not.”

“Then you consider that Nadia is good enough to be your wife, but not to be your queen?”

“I think she is fit for any throne on earth,” said Caerleon, indignantly. “Your Highness seems determined to misunderstand me. It is not my fault that Nadia--I beg your pardon, Miss O’Malachy--is not Queen of Thracia at this moment; but she would not have me when I was King, and yet she wouldn’t allow me to abdicate. She put me on my honour to stay in Thracia until I was turned out, and refused to have anything to say to me as long as I stayed there. Of course I see the difficulties in the way. Her Scythian blood, and her name, would make the people detest the marriage at first, even now, especially after what has just happened, and Drakovics would oppose it violently, and he is capable of a good deal. But time works wonders, and if she would have given me a grain of hope, I would have waited any number of years; but she wouldn’t, and therefore your Highness can’t wonder that I shall be glad if Prince Otto Georg is left in peaceable possession of the throne.”

“This is a declaration of war, then? If you find yourself once more a private individual, you will again ask Nadia to marry you, and do your best to deprive me of my child?”

“Like a shot,” returned Caerleon, promptly. “I am sorry if you think I am ungrateful, but I thought it only fair to tell you the state of the case.”

“You are right. I prefer an open enemy. Now, I can see that all your fatigues and anxieties have left you very tired, and no wonder. Don’t let me keep you up if you would rather go to your room at once. I hope the servants have made you comfortable?”

“Perfectly, thank you. But I am going to sit up and look after my brother.”

“Are you?” asked the Princess. “I think not. I lay my commands upon you to leave him to-night to my care and Tatiana’s, while you take a good rest. If you wish to please me (and you know that I am a very important person to please if you want to marry Nadia) you will do as I tell you.”

“How can I thank you for all your kindness?” asked Caerleon, gratefully, but she stopped him at once.

“By saying nothing about it. Good night.”

“I don’t think she is really as angry with me for wanting to marry Nadia as she seemed to be just now,” was Caerleon’s reflection as he kissed her hand, while the Princess was congratulating herself that she had at least shown him plainly that he need not contemplate marrying Nadia out of pity, nor imagine that she had no friends.

The next day opened brightly for the fugitives from Thracia. In the first place, Tatiana announced that she thought Cyril seemed a shade better. Next, Wright won a victory which filled his soul with delight. Entering his master’s dressing-room before he was up, he discovered Alessandro and an aiding and abetting boy engaged in putting out the clothes which they had procured for Caerleon to wear. In the present state of affairs, Wright looked upon this duty as his own, and after the employment of much broken English and many Italian gestures on the side of the two foreigners, and much silent contempt on his part, he ousted his rivals and remained master of the situation. Lastly, the Princess interviewed the Governor at an absurdly early hour, and found him in a most reasonable frame of mind. Truth to tell, when his Excellency heard that Princess Soudaroff wished to see him on urgent private business, his thoughts flew immediately to Captain Binks, whose tyranny, owing to his own boastful spirit, had become a joke in the town. As a man of honour, the Governor was rejoiced to welcome the opportunity of delivering this harmless and excellent foreign lady from her oppressor, and accorded her an interview at once. His amazement, when he found that she had come to inquire his opinion as to the personality of the reigning King of Thracia, and not to ask his advice as to the best way in which to get rid of the captain of her yacht, was extreme, but he was quite ready to help her. He had not a doubt that Prince Otto Georg would immediately be recognised as King by the Powers, and in that case Caerleon could probably count on being left unmolested, unless he took to devising plots against the new _régime_ in Thracia. At any rate, if orders for his arrest should be sent from England, his Excellency would contrive that the Princess should hear of the mandate by a side wind before it could be carried out.

This was the news which the Princess imparted to Caerleon when he appeared, much ashamed of having overslept himself, at the late breakfast. The intelligence, following on his conversation with her the night before, served to raise his spirits considerably, and he went so far as to chaff her gently on the subject of the exactions of Captain Binks, of which he had heard from Wright, much to her amusement, while Nadia listened in silence, pleased at his cheerfulness, but still puzzled by it. After breakfast, nothing would satisfy him but to go out at once and despatch his telegrams to King Otto Georg and M. Drakovics. He felt himself a free man once more, but he was feverishly anxious to have the charter of his liberty signed and sealed. It was only as he enjoyed the unwonted sensation of filling in the telegraph-forms that he realised what a relief it was not to find himself waylaid during his walk to the post-office by half-a-dozen broken-hearted officials, all beseeching him, reverentially and almost with tears, not to give himself the trouble of writing out his messages with his own hand. As he left the building he made an eager mental calculation of the time which must necessarily elapse before he could receive his assurance of release from Bellaviste, and rejoiced to discover that a few hours ought to be sufficient to end his suspense. It was not only that he was desirous to escape from the trammels of etiquette--he had endured them for the past three months, and could manage to endure them again, he thought, if it would do any human being any earthly good,--but there was Nadia. He could not help knowing that she had been glad to see him again the night before; she had allowed him to hold her hand, and her beautiful eyes had been full of tears when they fell before his,--and yet, if he was King of Thracia still, she would persist in maintaining the barrier which she had erected between them. If it was his duty to go back to Thracia and take up the weary round again without the support of her companionship, he would do it, doggedly if not with a good grace; but if things had been settled otherwise without any action on his part, how gladly would he hail the release! He was fully convinced by this time that he was not suited to be a king--the position demanded mental and moral (or perhaps unmoral) qualifications of which he was not possessed, and a quiet life in England with Nadia was more than ever his ideal of happiness. He walked back to the house as though he had been treading on air, and was greeted by a friendly smile from Alessandro, who had washed his hands of Wright, but still retained a proprietary interest in Wright’s master, and took occasion to inform him that the doctor had arrived some time ago to pay his morning visit to Cyril. Almost before the courier had finished speaking, Caerleon caught sight of Nadia standing on the piazza and apparently waiting for him. He ran up the steps at once.

“I have just been telegraphing my congratulations to the new King,” he said, “and assuring him that I had far rather he was on the throne than I. I feel like a schoolboy out for a holiday.”

“Oh, hush!” said Nadia, gravely. “I have bad news for you. The doctor is here, and he says that your brother is decidedly worse.”

Caerleon gazed at her in astonishment. “But I thought he was so much better!” he cried.

“That was only a temporary improvement, attributable to the greater comfort of his surroundings,” she answered, quoting the medical pronouncement word for word. “The doctor hoped that the pain would decrease a good deal in the night; but it is worse, and he is afraid he will be obliged to perform an operation.”

With a muttered apology, Caerleon hurried past her, and hastened up-stairs to Cyril’s room, meeting the doctor on the way, and hearing the unfavourable verdict confirmed. The patient’s state was critical, and the remedies which had been applied seemed to have failed of their effect. Everything depended now on constant care and attention, and this the Princess and her household might be relied upon to furnish. But such a transference of responsibility could not satisfy Caerleon. He insisted on taking his share, and much more than his share, of the nursing, and would never have quitted his brother’s room if he had not been compelled to do so. The Princess and the doctor between them hunted him out for a walk twice a-day, and obliged him to take his meals in an adjoining room, but except during these short intervals he insisted on remaining with Cyril. The telegram which reached him from M. Drakovics, inquiring anxiously what course he intended to pursue with regard to Thracia, and that from King Otto Georg, offering to resign the kingdom to him at once, were read and answered by the patient’s bedside, and forgotten as soon as they had been disposed of, in the all-absorbing interest of the struggle between life and death. The Princess was surprised and touched by the devotion of the elder brother to the younger, but Nadia read Caerleon’s feelings more clearly. He was indignant with himself for acquiescing so easily in the cheerful view at first taken of Cyril’s state, and for allowing his mind to turn to considerations respecting his own love and happiness when the brother who had come to Thracia for his sake, who had done his best to keep him on his unstable throne, and who was suffering even now through his misfortune, was too much prostrated by pain and weakness even to realise the gravity of his own condition. To devote himself now altogether to Cyril, and to atone for his past neglect by cutting himself off almost entirely from Nadia’s society, was his first impulse, but Nadia only admired him the more on this very account, for in a similar case her own instinct would have been to do exactly the same. As it was, she stifled a sigh over the memories of that first evening and morning, when Caerleon had seemed so happy and had talked so cheerfully as to recall the first days of her acquaintance with him, and turned heroically to taking her share of the nursing, or to doing what she could towards leaving her godmother free to devote herself to the invalid.

“What an ungrateful wretch I am!” she said to herself. “A week ago it would have seemed to me the very height of happiness merely to know that Carlino was alive, and yet now that he is in the same house, and I see him every day, I am not content. Can it be that I am jealous of poor Lord Cyril? It sounds dreadful, and yet, when I see that Carlino is always thinking about him, and never speaks to me unless he is obliged, it makes me miserable. And I ought to be glad to be able to do anything for Lord Cyril, and so I am,--only I am glad that I forgave him before I knew how hard it would be.”

Another thing that made the time she spent in nursing Cyril more than ordinarily hard for Nadia was the fact that her presence always seemed to exert on the patient an influence the reverse of soothing. Whether it was that her anxious, painstaking ways irritated him, or that his conscience pricked him with regard to her, did not appear, but his fevered eyes followed her persistently about the room, and seemed to be addressing some entreaty to her. The doctor noticed it at last.

“He has something on his mind,” he said to Caerleon. “Has anything occurred to trouble him, do you know?”

“Nothing but our leaving Thracia, so far as I am aware.”

“He did not leave any young lady behind him there, of whom Miss O’Malachy may remind him, did he?”

“Oh no. He’s not that sort of fellow at all,” responded Caerleon, with absolute assurance. But no other suggestion presented itself to his mind, and he found himself puzzling continually over the uneasiness Cyril showed in Nadia’s presence. Could it be that for some reason she was vaguely connected in his mind with her brother? Nadia herself could offer no explanation but this, and the discovery of the real cause of Cyril’s aversion to her surprised her almost as much as it did Caerleon. She was left in charge of the patient one day, while Caerleon ate his lunch in the dressing-room, and he was astonished after a time to hear the sounds of an altercation from the sick-room,--if that could be called an altercation in which all the speaking was on one side.

“Is he delirious?” he asked, opening the door slightly. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, do go away,” said Nadia, her face flushed and angry. “No, it’s too late; he has heard your voice. I think he must be delirious.”

“But what is it? Does he want anything?”

“He wants me to tell you something, and I won’t. There is no reason why I should, and it can’t do any good.”

“But how do you know that is what is troubling him?”

“It struck me suddenly that he wanted something, and I asked him all the things I could think of, until it flashed upon me that it was this, and I have told him I can’t do it, and he won’t be satisfied.”

“Can’t you tell me, just to quiet his mind? I will never think of it again, but this excitement must be very bad for him.” He glanced at Cyril, who was straining his ears to catch their low-toned conversation.

“No; I can’t. He has no right to ask it of me, nor have you. It is merely a thing between him and me, and it would make no difference if I told it to you, except that you would think worse of him. I say to him that he must tell you about it himself if he wants you to know it.”

“How can he, when he hasn’t strength to utter a word?” asked Caerleon, indignant at what seemed her unkindness. “Come, I must insist on your telling me. Do you know that this anxiety is the worst possible thing for him? You cannot refuse to ease his mind.”

“You care a great deal more for his feelings than you do for mine!” cried Nadia, angrily.

“If you really believe that, I must bear it, I suppose. Kindly tell me this mystery.”

“It is merely that he came to see me at Bellaviste, some days before the great ball, and got me to promise that I would not marry you if you asked me. That’s all. And it made no difference whatever. I would never have married you under any circumstances.”

And launching this Parthian arrow at him, she retreated defiantly, leaving him stupefied. He remembered how Cyril had offered to help him in his suit, had arranged for him a meeting with Nadia, had contrived to keep M. Drakovics from suspecting what was going on,--and all the time he had been playing this double game. Now he was lying helpless, gazing with anxious eyes at his brother, and awaiting his reception of the news. With those eyes upon him, Caerleon could not hesitate.

“It’s all right, old man,” he said, with something like a groan; “she says herself that it made no difference, you see.”

Whether Cyril accepted the forgiveness with less difficulty than it was offered, or whether it was that his act of treachery did not loom so large in his eyes as in his brother’s, certain it is that he seemed to begin to mend from that time. The doctor commented on the improvement in his condition, and opined that the load on his mind had been removed, and Caerleon, although conscious that it had merely been transferred to his own, agreed with him. It was fortunate for the ex-King that public affairs were now once more of a character to engross his mind, for side by side with the realisation of Cyril’s perfidy came the knowledge that Nadia was most grievously offended with him, and that she ignored him resolutely whenever they met. But it was high time that the affairs of Thracia should be settled on a definite basis, and two delegates, one the president of the Legislative Assembly, the other M. Drakovics’s chief supporter in the Ministry, were about to visit Malta for the purpose of opening negotiations with Caerleon, since the Premier himself dared not leave the kingdom at this juncture. A very short conference with their late sovereign convinced the ambassadors that they were not likely to meet with any opposition on his part to the established state of things. To King Otto Georg’s offer to abdicate he had from the first returned an unqualified refusal, and he scouted even the idea of retiring into private life on his laurels and a pension, as his predecessor had done. His reign of three months had been merely an interlude in his life, he said, although a most picturesque and stirring one, and he was quite content to return to England as poor as he had left it now that peace and liberty were so happily secured to Thracia. The news of this noble self-abnegation was duly telegraphed to Bellaviste, and rehearsed to the Assembly by M. Drakovics, who was overcome by emotion during the delivery of his speech, although not to such an extent as to be unable to cope with the business side of the question. It was immediately arranged to give legal effect to the renunciation by drawing up a document renouncing all claims to the Thracian throne, to be taken to Malta with all possible speed, and there signed by Caerleon and Cyril. To Caerleon the signing of this document was a formal release from his fetters, and when he was informed that the commissioners had brought it to the house, and were awaiting his presence, he so far forgot the dignity of his late position as to whistle while he hurried down-stairs. But before he could enter the drawing-room Nadia came flying along the lofty stone passage, and forgetting her displeasure of the past week, caught his arm.

“Don’t sign it,” she gasped. “You are the true King.”

“But I have no objection whatever to signing it,” he replied.

“Oh, don’t say that!” she entreated. “Don’t forsake your work. There was so much to be done, and you were sent there to do it.”

“Perhaps,” said Caerleon, “and I was ready to stay on there as long as I was wanted. I was not anxious to leave Bellaviste--in fact, I objected most strongly to doing so; I had no hand in announcing my own death, nor in getting King Otto Georg crowned, but all these things happened, and it is pretty clear to me that any work that is to be done is left for other people.”

“But you must not leave it,” she cried. “Oh, why won’t you listen to me?”

“Isn’t that rather hard, when I have always obeyed you so implicitly? I don’t deny that if you would have listened to me at Bellaviste on a certain evening, Thracia would not have appeared quite such a howling wilderness as it did latterly. But after all, that was not the cause of my leaving, and I would not go back there now, even if you refused to have anything more to say to me unless I did.”

“You have no right whatever to suggest such a thing,” said Nadia, with great dignity.

“Quite so; I haven’t. But I know very well that I am not going back on the old footing, which I suppose you intended should continue? I thought so. It seems to me that you are making the choice a very easy one. But I beg your pardon for teasing you. The fact is, that I am not going to plunge Thracia, and perhaps Europe, into bloodshed to gratify my personal ambition--or even yours for me. King Otto Georg is liked by the people and acceptable to the Powers, whereas my return would be the signal for revolution, perhaps for a European war. That risk I will not incur, even to please you.”

“I never thought you were a coward!” she cried, bitterly. Caerleon looked down at her with a smile which he could not repress.

“I wonder whether it has ever occurred to you what a very queer girl you are?” he said. For the moment he thought that Nadia would have struck him.

“How dare you say that to me?” she cried, and rushed away.