CHAPTER VIII.

FOR HIS GOOD.

“I think I have one piece of news that at any rate you will like to hear,” said Cyril, as Madame O’Malachy rustled out of the room and down the corridor towards the lift.

Nadia’s grey eyes glanced towards him. “You did not come here to offer us hothouse flowers,” she remarked. “There is something else that you have to say.”

“Won’t you believe that I came to enjoy the delightful conversation of Madame and yourself?” asked Cyril, lazily, for he was in a particularly comfortable chair, and found the spectacle of Nadia’s laborious dealing with the flowers very entertaining.

“No,” she answered, bluntly, irritated by his manner.

“Well, Caerleon intends to offer your brother a commission in the palace guard. Is that important enough to satisfy you?”

“I daresay it is important, but it is not what you came to say.”

“You are a little exacting, mademoiselle. Is this what you want? My brother asked me to tell you that he proposes to begin to-day the investigation you recommended him to set on foot.”

“That is good!” she cried. “I knew I should not be disappointed in him. But you have another message still.”

“Pardon me, I have no other message, although my business with you grows, if I may say so, out of that last message.”

“Precisely, and I know what it is. You wish to say that his Majesty’s eager compliance with my wishes betokens a state of affairs which you, as a man of the world, consider highly inexpedient when it exists in connection with the King of Thracia and a penniless foreigner.”

“I had no intention of saying anything so rude; but I will own that although when Caerleon and I first had the honour of meeting your family, I saw no insuperable objection to his pleasing himself in marrying, things are different now. I blame myself very much that I did not foresee this change and try----”

“I don’t want your regrets, Lord Cyril,” interrupted Nadia. “Let us keep to the facts as they are. They are sufficiently obvious. I agree with you, that for the King to marry me would probably cost him his throne, and that is a sacrifice I could not accept.”

“I’m very glad you see it in this light,” began Cyril, rather taken aback by her coolness; but she interrupted him.

“You know quite well that I should have preferred our acquaintance to cease when we parted at Witska, and that since that could not be, I am most anxious to leave Thracia as soon as possible. I have done all I could to induce my parents to return to Janoszwar, but in vain. You must do your part. Why will you not help me? Why have you given Louis this commission, when it will only be an excuse for our remaining in the country?”

“As a delicate compliment to the future Queen of Thracia,” said Cyril, in his smoothest tones. “At least, I am sure that is the light in which Caerleon regards it.”

“He should not be so confident,” said Nadia. “Queen of Thracia you at least know that I shall never be. I expect you to help me in disappointing the King for his good. This is my plan. My parents are Scythian agents--you know that already, but I make the admission that you may have fuller right to take action”--and she laughed bitterly. “As for Louis, I don’t know whether he has accepted the commission you are offering him or not; but if he has, it is only that he may do you greater harm. He is here for the purpose of plotting against the independence of Thracia. Well, then, have us arrested to-night and conveyed to the frontier; then your anxieties may cease.”

“I beg your pardon; they would only begin,” said Cyril. “You are leaving Caerleon out of your reckoning altogether, Miss O’Malachy. Do you know, I wished most fervently as I came down here just now that I could bring myself to say that I was come to make terms with you on Caerleon’s behalf and with his knowledge. Matters would be so much easier if I could only request you in his name to leave the kingdom, and not seek to continue a friendship begun under such different circumstances. But I couldn’t make up my mind to rob the poor fellow of his character in that way, and so----”

“I should never have believed you!” cried Nadia, with flashing eyes.

“You are very flattering. But if I had assured you that it was true?”

“I should have asked the King himself.”

“Surely not?” said Cyril. “I thought that young ladies never, under any circumstances, spoke out boldly and asked for an explanation?”

“I should in such a case,” said Nadia, proudly. “I would do anything rather than believe him false and a coward.”

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t make you think that of him,” said Cyril. “I know perfectly well that if you left Bellaviste, as you propose, he would simply follow you anywhere, and insist upon your marrying him.”

“I would never do it,” said Nadia, her lips white.

“I never thought you would; but I am afraid it would move Europe to laughter to see the King of Thracia pursuing from place to place a young lady----”

“Who was the daughter of a Scythian spy!” cried Nadia, with a fierce laugh. “You are right, Lord Cyril; it would be worse than wrong, it would be ridiculous. And ridicule must never touch any one connected with Lord Cyril Mortimer; he could not endure it, all his relations must be above suspicion in that respect. Well, I will not only leave Bellaviste, but I will write to his Majesty a letter explaining my reason for doing so. Does that satisfy you?”

“But--excuse me,” said Cyril; “has my brother ever really asked you to marry him?”

“If he had, he would have received his answer already,” returned Nadia. “Most certainly he has not.”

“You really must pardon me--but do you intend to write a letter declining a proposal that has never been made to you?”

“Why not? You know, and he knows, and I know, that he loves me. Why make all this trouble? You do not wish him to write to me first? I might keep his letter, sell it to a newspaper, make it the groundwork of a scandal that would spread through Europe, who knows? Come, I will write now: you shall tell me what to say if you like.”

“Excuse me, but this will never do,” said Cyril, refusing to give way when she tried to pass him and reach the writing-table. “Do you think Caerleon would under any circumstances consent to regard a message in a letter--which was not even written in answer to one from him--as your final decision? He would see at once that there had been outside influence at work, and suspect that you had written under pressure. He must hear everything from your own lips.”

“Oh, why must you make it so hard for me? Let me write,” entreated Nadia, standing before him with clasped hands.

“It is impossible,” said Cyril, firmly. “You must see him.”

“Is it absolutely necessary? Then I suppose I must,” said Nadia, drawing a deep breath. “But remember, Lord Cyril, I will tell no lies. He shall know my reason for refusing him.”

“I thought,” said Cyril, “that young ladies considered themselves justified in telling a little fib on such occasions, such as saying that they found they did not care for their suitors in quite the right way, or something of the kind?”

“The young ladies with whom you are acquainted may tell fibs,” returned Nadia, with a cool incisiveness that reminded him of her mother, “but I do not. Does it not seem to you hard enough to have to refuse the man who loves me, that you wish me to do it by means of a lie?”

“How can you expect him to accept his dismissal if you go into details in the way you propose?” asked Cyril. “Can’t you simply refuse him without giving a reason? It is a lady’s privilege, you know.”

“That I will not do!” cried Nadia, fiercely. “He shall not be forced to think that the woman to whom he has given his love is insensible--a stone. He shall know that her suffering is at least as great as his.”

“Well, you have your own ideas as to the best way of imparting consolation, certainly,” said Cyril. “I suppose I can’t quarrel with you, so long as you do really send him off.”

“Of course I shall send him away,” said Nadia. “I have known for a week that it must be done. Bring him here, and I will tell him that I cannot marry him. Perhaps you would wish to remain in the room, so as to assure yourself that I keep faith with you?”

“Caerleon must not come here,” said Cyril, thoughtfully, disregarding the taunt. “It is most important for us to avoid notice. I must contrive a meeting for you somewhere, which may seem accidental, even if it is observed.”

“Do you wish to destroy my good name as well as your brother’s happiness, Lord Cyril?” she asked, cuttingly. Cyril made a movement of impatience.

“You are determined to put me in the wrong,” he said, facing her indignant eyes without flinching. “If you will only remember that my brother’s name would be at least as much affected as yours in such a case, you will judge me more fairly. I can assure you that the only meeting of which I was thinking was one in the intervals of a dance, or some entertainment of the kind. Surely you must see the need for secrecy? It is not merely that my brother must not marry you. He must marry some one else.”

Cyril had his revenge for all the unpleasantness of the morning, for Nadia, after one wild start, stood as if she had been turned to stone.

“Another girl?” she gasped at last. “Who is she? Do I know her? No; don’t tell me her name. I shall hear it quite soon enough, and I don’t want to hate her. Some princess? and she is to marry him?--and he is mine!”

“I am sure you must see,” Cyril went on quietly, “that both for her sake and his we must get this matter settled without any fuss.”

“If she marries him, I don’t think a little trouble would hurt her,” said Nadia, enviously.

“I hope it may be so. But you must remember that this marriage would be an arranged thing--a literal _mariage de convenance_, indeed. We could hardly expect her to feel towards Caerleon as--as you do, and although, if she cared for him, she might overlook even a scandal, yet if she did not, the merest whisper might turn her against him. Without considering her feelings in such a case at all, you must remember that it would be very painful indeed for Caerleon. I am sure you would not wish their married life to be unhappy.”

“If she married him for the sake of the crown, she would deserve to be unhappy,” said Nadia.

“I am afraid we must leave that to her own conscience,” said Cyril.

“Conscience!” cried Nadia, “and what of yours? If the King ever discovers what you have been doing this morning, I think--I should be almost sorry--even for you.”

“I leave myself in your hands, you see, in perfect confidence.”

“Oh yes, honour among thieves!” said Nadia, bitterly. “We are both plotting against the King, and therefore we may well keep faith with one another. Have you delivered all your messages now, Lord Cyril? If so, I must ask you to go, for I am busy. Pray ring for a waiter to attend you down-stairs.”

She gave him a distant bow, and remained standing by the table, tall and rigid, until he was out of sight, then dragged herself slowly across the corridor to her own room, groping with outspread hands as though she had been in darkness, opened the door, entered, locked it, and threw herself on the floor, a shuddering, sobbing heap.

“Quite an exciting morning!” said Cyril to himself, as he strolled back to the palace. “It’s a pity that that Nadia girl can’t be queen, after all. She is cut out for ruling a nation given to revolutions, like this one. I can fancy her facing a yelling mob without turning a hair. But melodrama in daily life is a bore. After our conversation one feels mean, somehow--rather as if one had been committing murder.”

All unconscious of what Nadia stigmatised as the plot against his happiness, Caerleon spent the morning in the balcony of the Hôtel de Ville, listening, with what patience he might, to speeches of which he could not understand a word. It was his first opportunity of making the acquaintance of the other members of the Drakovics Ministry, who were on ordinary occasions rather cast into the shade by the commanding personality of their chief. The greater number of them were country gentlemen, belonging to the class of landed proprietors which formed the backbone of the nation, since each man’s tenants and villagers followed his lead in peace and war as his feudal vassals. Living in rude plenty, untouched by the influence of western luxury, on their own estates, these chieftains had found their patriotic and religious instincts outraged by the irregular life and Scythian sympathies of the late king, and they had given their support loyally to M. Drakovics at the time of the revolution, believing him to be the only man who could save the State from the various dangers which threatened it. They had accepted posts in the Administration merely in order that the prestige of their names might assist the Premier in his task, and he reciprocated the service by allowing them to remain at their ease in the country unless their presence was demanded at the capital on some important occasion, such as a parliamentary crisis; but they had rallied around him to-day in their full strength without being summoned, conspicuous in their rich national costume, magnificent with fur and gold embroideries. Caerleon they were prepared to welcome as the Premier’s choice, but their first meeting with him disposed them to take a fancy to him for his own sake; and when some one had remembered that the English were supposed to be, as a nation, lovers of sport, he received so many invitations to come and hunt various animals that he might have imagined that life in Thracia was mainly devoted to the chase.

The persons who in reality carried on the work of government were not the grey-haired chiefs who surrounded their new King, but the army of inferior officials to whom the Scythian newspapers were wont to refer scathingly as “briefless barristers and unsuccessful journalists.” They were western to a fault, wore their black broadcloth as though to the manner born, and it was easy to see that it was on them, and not on the titular heads of their departments, that M. Drakovics relied for the prosecution of his policy. Each of these men was directly responsible to him, for the nominal Ministers relied on him to tell them what papers they were to sign, and what orders they were to give, and he sent them as subordinates whom he chose. On these subordinates he could depend, for he had raised them from their original obscurity to the position they occupied at present, and all their interests were bound up with his, so that they were ready to cling to him through thick and thin. Perilous as such an autocracy may appear, the dangers which usually accompany an experiment of the kind had not as yet shown themselves in any great degree, probably owing to the common peril from Scythia which menaced ruler and ruled alike, while the administration of King Peter Franza had been so corrupt that the people hailed the present one as a foretaste of the millennium.

During the greater part of the time Caerleon found abundant interest in watching the throng around him, while the Ministers made speeches one after the other, or presented loyal addresses from the districts they represented, and the people in the market-place cheered whenever they caught an allusion to the revolution or to the new King. When this preliminary business was over, M. Drakovics came forward for the most important event of the day--the speech which was to explain the postponement of the coronation. As he proceeded, Caerleon became interested in spite of his ignorance of the language, for the Premier’s tones and gestures were almost eloquent enough to take the place of words. He had appeared hitherto as an astute politician, genuinely patriotic, no doubt, according to his lights, but not capable of any very lofty flight of imagination. But now Caerleon could wonder no longer at his power of swaying the susceptible Thracians, since he himself could feel the force of his scathing denunciation of the former _régime_, his reference to the revolution, brief yet full of meaning, his indignant declaration that to Scythia, their constant enemy, they owed the two years of uncertainty and instability which had retarded the rightful development of the country, and his joyful reminder that at last they had found a prince willing to cast in his lot with theirs, and to dare and suffer as a Thracian. When the wild outburst of cheering which followed the last sentence had ceased, M. Drakovics continued in a lower voice, charged with deep meaning. Scythian jealousy was not yet dead, Scythian enmity was not even slumbering; already had an attempt been made to prevent the ratification of the people’s choice. Be it so! Thracia was in no hurry; she would delay the ceremony of crowning her king for a while, and make more seemly preparations for conducting it with fitting splendour. Scythia had endeavoured to brand the opening of the new reign with a bad omen, by the destruction of the ancient relic which was at once the sign and the home of the nation’s faith; but Thracia would turn the omen into one of joy, for as St Peter’s chapel rose stronger and more beautiful from its ashes, so would the kingdom of Carlino rise powerful and pure from the unavoidable disorders of the revolution, and the oppression and corruption which had marked the rule of Peter Franza and Ivan Sertchaieff.

“If that man’s words are equal to his voice and manner,” said Caerleon to himself, as M. Drakovics ceased, “he must be one of the greatest orators in the world.”

More speeches from different representatives of the people followed; but at last the King was able to return to the palace, and to seek his brother in the room which M. Drakovics had recommended should be allotted to him for the performance of his duties as Caerleon’s secretary. Cyril was testing the security of the cupboards which lined the panelled walls, and he was so resolutely bent on expatiating on the business-like appearance of his surroundings that it was some time before Caerleon could put the question he was anxious to ask.

“Well, did you see her?”

“Oh, Miss O’Malachy?” asked Cyril, raising his eyebrows. “Yes, I saw her. I can’t say that she impressed me favourably. She never does, somehow.”

“Happily it’s not necessary that she should,” returned Caerleon, sharply. “When am I to see her?”

“I have been thinking about that, and I can’t find an opportunity earlier than that ball which the municipality are to give next week.”

“But how am I to speak to her when we are dancing?”

“You don’t imagine she would dance? You must sit out, of course. This is how we shall have to work it. I will ask her to sit out with me, and take her into the conservatory, or some place of that kind, where you will be waiting. Then I’ll keep guard until you have said what you want to say (I hope and trust it won’t take long), and I will convoy her back to her mother.”

“I think I am capable of doing that,” said Caerleon.

“Yes, if she accepts you; but I don’t for a moment think she will. You see what I mean, old man?--it seems rather a nasty thing to say--but I don’t believe she cares for you sufficiently. She’s as proud as Lucifer, and people are bound to say that she married you for the sake of the crown. Would she be able to stand it?”

“I believe she is sensible enough not to care what people say if she once sees that it is right to marry me. But you never have understood her. Look here, Cyril; why should we put it off so long? Let us give a ball ourselves one evening this week.”

“How can we, when you haven’t a lady at the head of affairs? You might let yourself in for most horrible awkwardness. I don’t even know whether it would be proper for Madame O’Malachy to bring her daughter. You can’t go compromising yourself in the eyes of Europe in this way. Don’t think of giving balls until you are married, unless you like to get Mrs Sadleir out from home, and introduce her as your aunt and the natural head of your establishment.”

“I’m certain she would never come,” said Caerleon, gloomily. “But after all,” and his face brightened, “perhaps it is as well to wait for a week. If I can tell Nadia that I have come to some conclusion on the question of initiating temperance legislation, it may please her, so I will set to work at once. I am going to send to England for some books I want. I don’t know whether there is anything you would like me to order for you at the same time?”

“Give me the list, and let me write,” said Cyril, quickly. “You have a secretary now, Caerleon, and you mustn’t go sending orders to tradesmen with your own royal hand. It’s making yourself too cheap.”

But writing to a London bookseller was an inconsiderable trifle compared with the work which Caerleon proceeded to undertake as a necessary consequence of his promise to Nadia. Cyril showed no inclination for the inquisitorial rambles he meditated, and he was therefore obliged to secure the services of the detective whom M. Drakovics had recommended, and who spoke English sufficiently well to be of use. Under his guidance, the King paid surprise visits to different parts of his capital at various hours of the day, mingling freely with the people who thronged the _cafés_ and there spent their time in drinking brandy and discussing politics. It was in vain to attempt any disguise, for the Thracians knew their sovereign’s height and figure too well for anything of the kind to be successful; but they are a polite nation, and when Caerleon came among them _incognito_, they did not appear to recognise him, perceiving that he wished to acquaint himself with the characteristics of the national life. Perhaps they were also a little flattered by the interest he showed in their favourite pursuits, for they were always ready to talk, and through the medium of his escort he obtained a great deal of valuable information, the result of which went far to convince him that Nadia was in the right, and that temperance legislation of some kind was a crying need of the country. There seemed to be no effective restraint on the sale of spirits, and during the last two years more especially the vendors had reaped a golden harvest. The feeling of uncertainty and unrest caused by the revolution, and the delay in obtaining a king, had disposed the people to indulge in much talk and speculation on political subjects; and to enjoy this to its fullest extent, it was natural that they should resort to the _cafés_, where coffee proved inadequate to quench their patriotic thirst. That some change must be made in this state of affairs if the country was to prosper, Caerleon was not slow to recognise, and the wisdom of his decision was confirmed by the statistics which M. Drakovics obtained at his request from Government officers all over Thracia; so that the subject cost him much anxious thought during the week which preceded the municipal ball at the Hôtel de Ville.

For Cyril, also, this was a period not devoid of anxiety. In spite of all his precautions, the secret of Caerleon’s admiration for Nadia had become public property. The disclosure was mainly due to an American journalist who was supposed to be writing up the minor Courts of Europe for the benefit of aspiring New York belles, and who had hastened to Thracia as soon as he heard of the accession of a bachelor king, and taken up his quarters at the Hôtel Occidental. At the _table d’hôte_ he fell in with the O’Malachy family, and was immediately captivated by the cosmopolitan charms of Madame O’Malachy. From her he learnt all that there was to be learnt about the new sovereign, and not improbably a good deal more; and since nothing is sacred to the New Journalist, he worked up all that he heard into what he called “A Real Royal Romance,” for the columns of the paper he represented. The details caused great excitement among the heiresses of the Fifth Avenue, and filtered gradually back, through the medium of English and Parisian newspapers, to those of Bellaviste, where M. Drakovics, after reading them, made Cyril’s life a burden to him.

“There has been frightful mismanagement somewhere!” he cried, charging into the secretary’s office on the very morning of the municipal ball, after Cyril had with difficulty restrained him hitherto from issuing edicts for the suppression of the offending newspapers and the expulsion of the American special correspondent. “This is the point to which your diplomacy has led us, milord. Here is the editor of the ‘Empire City Crier’ telegraphing to this Mr Hicks, ‘Cable immediately full particulars of Miss O’Malachy’s appearance, style of dress, taste in perfumes and bonbons. All the latest novelties here are named after her. Send any recent portraits.’ And here in Bellaviste we have the whole female population, from the wives of the Ministers to the shop-girls, crowding the street in front of the hotel to catch a glimpse of her, and insisting on dressing their hair like hers. It is intolerable!”

“It is,” assented Cyril. “But I hope this state of affairs will come to an end to-day. If it does not, I shall perceive that in some way or other you have failed to adhere to our compact. Have confidence in me, and you will see that it will be all right. Only you must be absolutely passive at the ball to-night; and if you happen to miss my brother from the room at the same time as Miss O’Malachy, merely try to cover his absence as far as possible. If you don’t, I give you fair warning, I’ll advise her to marry him.”

“Naturally I will keep to our agreement, milord,” said M. Drakovics, and went away unhappy. But Cyril was doomed not to be left in peace this morning. Another visitor was announced--this time the O’Malachy, who entered with his most military air, and with a look of repressed sadness on his face.

“Come to play the outraged parent!” groaned Cyril, mentally, and he was not mistaken. The O’Malachy refused to take a chair, and stood tall and solemn in the middle of the floor, looking at Cyril more in sorrow than in anger.

“Lord Cyrul,” he said, “I’m aware that your position and ours have changed since circumstances first introjuced us to each other. But I am still a father, with a father’s feelings, and the representatuv of the ancient kings of Leitrum is not a man that can rightly be slighted. I’d willingly have remained with me family in our modust obscurity, but we have been removed from ut by the King’s action. I am not an ambitious man, there’s no one can accuse me of thrusting me daughter upon his Majusty, but neither will I have a slur cast upon her. You know as well as I do how greatly your brother sought me daughter’s presence until a week ago. Since then he has never come near her, and people are talking. I ask you plainly, what are his Majusty’s intentions?”

“The most honourable possible,” replied Cyril, with suitable seriousness. “I may mention to you, in the strictest confidence, that my brother is hoping to propose to Miss O’Malachy at the ball to-night. Of course she will be there?”

“The last thing I heard was that she did not dance, and would not come,” said the O’Malachy, ruefully. Cyril smiled.

“I think Madame O’Malachy will be able to induce her to come, if you take them a special message from me to say that her presence is indispensable,” he said.

“Ah now, if you could write that to them in the King’s name?” suggested the O’Malachy, brightening.

“Wouldn’t you like to have it to show?” thought Cyril. Aloud he added, “I think you must know, O’Malachy, that M. Drakovics is bent upon the King’s marrying some lady belonging to a royal house. Under these circumstances, it is as well not to give him any opportunity of interfering until my brother has settled things with Miss O’Malachy. Such a paper as you propose might lead to complications with him.”

“I dislike all this secrecy greatly,” grumbled the O’Malachy. “Why would not his Majusty have given some public hint of his intentions? ’Twould have been an excellent opporchunity when he gazetted umself honorary colonel of the Carlino Regiment.”

“My dear O’Malachy, would you have him imply that your daughter was ready to jump at his offer?” asked Cyril, and he looked rather nonplussed.

“I’ll not keep you longer now,” he said, moving towards the door. “You understand, Lord Cyrul, that in case of--of an alliance between your family and mine, me wife and I would esteem ut alike our juty and our pleasure to place what little experience and influence we may possess at the disposal of his Majusty and the Thracian Government?”

“What a double-dyed old traitor he is!” thought Cyril, as he returned from seeing his visitor to the door. “I believe I should prefer his enmity to his friendship.”

And having disposed of the matter satisfactorily, he applied himself to more important business, not thinking again of the evening until it was time to dress for the ball.