IRIS.
From its beetling crags the Castle of Sagan looked out that night with
many luminous eyes over the crowding black pine woods and away across
the frost-bound, melancholy marshes of the frontier. The renewed
violence of the storm had not abated, and the wind moaned about the old
walls.
There was one in Sagan that night to whom the wind had an old yet new
story to tell. The Duke had heard it in his cradle even in the summer
palace where he was born; during later years his dulled senses paid
little heed to that wild singing, and, in truth, passing most of his
life as he now preferred to do in the low-lying sheltered palace at
Révonde, where the state apartments were well within the towering mass
of masonry, and protected on the river side by the Cloister of St.
Anthony, he seldom heard its voice. So that to-night, while the _tsa_
whimpered and clamoured about the exposed buttresses and towers of
Sagan, it sounded to his ears like the calling of some long-dead friend,
a wraith belonging to his lost youth. Sleeping memories awoke and
troubled him; he fancied he had read a vague menace in Count Simon's
bloodshot eyes, and every little incident that had taken place since
his arrival now assumed strange and malign meanings.
He looked around the great vaulted chamber oppressed by a presentiment
of danger, and tried to still his jangled nerves. For with the instinct
of failing mastership he resolved to think out some scheme of defence
and a spontaneous policy, by which he might not only defeat his enemies,
but outwit and overwhelm his rebellious servants.
Selpdorf--was he also false and self-seeking? For more years than he
cared to remember the Duke had forced this man to enact the part of
virtual ruler of the State, always believing in his loyalty--if not to
Gustave of Maäsau, at least to Maäsau the Free. Any dimmest doubt of
Selpdorf's patriotism had never during all that period entered into the
soddened brain of his master. But to-night, as the Duke recalled the
half-jesting proposal to disband the Guard, made by the Chancellor on
the day of the review, and added to that hint the pregnant significance
of Valerie's speech, he realised that evil days were overtaking him,
that his most trusted minister had been bid for and bought by his foes,
and that it now behoved him to strike out a personal policy, whereby he
should secure strong friends and supporters to aid him in the coming
struggle against these traitors.
He had retired to his room at an early hour under the plea of weariness.
He was, as a matter of fact, worn out by the flood of fears and
anxieties that Valerie's one reckless sentence had let loose upon him.
So long was it since he had placed these weightier matters of diplomacy
and government in other hands, that the renewed sense of responsibility
and the imminent need for action seemed to be crushing in his brain. But
the instinct of self-preservation, backed by the one kingly attribute
left him--love of his country--strengthened him to attempt a final
effort to combat the overpowering odds which he felt rather than knew to
be against him.
Tossed and harried by a hundred terrifying thoughts, the self-enfeebled
creature broke at length into that dreadful crying, the scanty painful
tears, the aching sobs, which is the weeping of age or of an exhausted
constitution.
When the paroxysm was over he lay back in his bed, absolutely drained of
strength and of all power to think longer. Whether he dozed or not he
scarcely knew, but after an interval he seemed to awake as if from sleep
with his thoughts once more under control.
Oh, that he had his Guard about him! The Guard, always reliable and full
of the old grim dash and power which had been the firm foundation of the
ducal throne from the beginning. Amongst their ranks was no slackening
of discipline, of devotion, or of that splendid recklessness which had
made them what they were--the premier Garde du Corps of Europe! In
spirit he yearned once more to see their plumes and gleaming equipment
come dancing down the sunny wind, and to hear the grand thunder of
their charge, which but the other day he had been half-inclined to call
stale and unprofitable. In this solitary hour, when the night-lamps
flickered on the massive walls and the sense of loneliness grew upon him
till he sickened at the unceasing cry of the pitiless wind, he realised
that the Guard was the sole bulwark now as always of Maäsau. He shivered
down among the soft coverings and listened apprehensively.
Unziar and Rallywood with two troopers watched in the guard-room,
through which lay the only approach to his sleeping chamber. Unziar,
could Unziar be trusted? He had heard something of Unziar and that
handsome vixen of Selpdorf's. Then Colendorp--ah, there was no doubt
there! Dark and resentful, his poverty and his pride were the bye-words
of the barracks; he, whatever the temptation, would never fall from
honour.
There remained Rallywood. He, too, was to be depended upon, the Duke
decided quickly, though for no special reason but that he had taken some
vague fancy to the Englishman's bronzed face and swinging stride. Yet
Simon was powerful and unscrupulous; how could this handful of men
oppose him?
He sprang up in his bed as the door opened and a man stood on the
threshold.
'Sire, there is treason! Colendorp has been murdered.'
'Is it you, Unziar?' The Duke's voice came strangely from his pillows.
'Send for the whole escort of the Guard from their quarters.'
'Impossible, sire! The corridors are held by Count Sagan's men.
Mademoiselle Selpdorf has brought the news.'
'What! You told me not two hours ago she was engaged to von Elmur. She
is the price of Selpdorf's treason.'
Unziar stepped nearer.
'Mademoiselle Selpdorf has already risked her life to warn us that we
are in danger. I'd stake my soul she is loyal.'
'Good indeed, Anthony! I'd sooner have your honour than your soul. But
go, in the name of the Virgin, and since the corridors are closed to the
men of my Guard, send the girl for Major Counsellor. She can but die!'
Unziar saluted and hurried back to the ante-room where Valerie and
Rallywood were waiting. In spite of his personal horror at the thought
of her danger, he was well aware that only by Valerie's aid could they
hope to reach Counsellor.
Valerie listened to the Duke's order, then wrapping the lace as before
about her head turned to Rallywood. He accompanied her through the
guard-room and some little way along the passage. It seemed as if he
could not let her go forth on this perilous enterprise.
'For God's sake, take care of yourself!' he said. 'If anything were to
happen to you.'
The prolonged excitement of events, the sense of responsibility and
danger, the exaltation of such a moment must have reacted on Valerie.
Whether prompted by some instinct of coquetry, or betrayed into a touch
of real feeling, or perhaps moved by the knowledge that death stood
close beside them both, she drew her hand from his arm and raising her
face asked in her soft voice:
'Do you remember what you said to me once--on the night of the palace
ball?'
He saw the deep eyes upraised to his, though their meaning in that dim
place he could not be sure of, but a rush of quick memories came over
him.
'Yes.'
She gave a little excited laugh.
'Then expect me!' she said. And she was gone.
When Valerie returned to Madame de Sagan half an hour later she was
still white and breathless. Isolde, in a fever of impatient terror,
caught her by the arm.
'Where is he? When is he coming! Valerie--'
Valerie made a supreme effort to control herself.
'He is on guard.'
'Yes, I know. I know! But he is coming!'
'It was impossible! He could not leave His Highness. Isolde, you would
not wish it!'
'What does anything matter unless it's found out?' cried Isolde, giving
in her adherence to a common creed. 'Did you give him all my message?
Did you make him understand? Then, when all else failed, you asked him
for the cigarette case? That would remind him----' Madame de Sagan spoke
in growing agitation.
Valerie looked into her wild eyes.
'I forgot that,' she admitted.
Isolde shook the arm she held.
'You have killed him! Valerie, you have been jealous of me, and by your
jealousy you have killed him! Had you spoken as I told you he would be
here now--and safe! As it is he is lost!' she flung herself down among
the cushions.
Her slender hands were clenched, her turquoise eyes stared wide and
blind from her white face. She seemed to hold her breath as if waiting
for the inevitable blow to fall. Valerie, greatly moved, knelt down
beside her.
'What does it matter if we die to-night or a month hence?' Isolde spoke
in a low voice; her heart had unconsciously been gathering up bitterness
against Valerie, and she had no longer the strength to conceal it under
this unbearable strain. 'Valerie, you have stooped to meanness--you who
have so scorned meanness in others. You knew long ago what--Rallywood's
love was to me. You have known my life, and much that I have to bear.
Amongst all who pretend to love me there is not one like him, not one!
He would be always kind and true. I think these are English qualities,
for in another way there is Major Counsellor----' the weary voice broke
off as if too tired for more.
It was well Counsellor never heard that little expression of opinion
concerning himself; it might have proved the thorn in a somewhat callous
diplomatic memory.
'You have betrayed me! You!' she repeated with a bitter laugh; then,
springing up, she ran towards the spot where her sables lay heaped upon
the floor just as Valerie had dropped them from her shoulders.
'It may be too late, but I will go myself. I will save him if I can!'
Valerie wrapped the cloak around her.
'Isolde, I will go with you.'
'You!' Isolde turned with a startling look of dislike and suspicion.
'No, I hate you, and I choose to go alone!'
Valerie drew back and Madame de Sagan passed her by and flung wide the
door. As she did so a confused noise could be heard, and the two women
stood listening while a distant hubbub of voices rose louder, then a
pistol shot followed by others echoed down the passages.
'He is dead! By your fault!'
Isolde turned upon Valerie with a wild gesture, as if she would have
struck her.
Valerie drew back.
'If you really loved him, Isolde, you would rather he was--there--with
his honour--than--here--without it,' she said.