The Princess Yetive had not flinched a hair's breadth from the
resolution formed on that stormy night when she sacrificed pride and
duty on the altar of love and justice. Prince Bolaroz's ultimatum
overwhelmed her, but she arose from the wreckage that was strewn about
her conscience and remained loyal, steadfast and true to the man in the
monastery. To save his life was all she could hope to accomplish, and
that she was bound to do at any cost. She could be nothing to him--not
even friend. So long as he lived he would be considered the murderer
of Lorenz, and until the end a price would hang over his head. She,
Princess of Graustark, had offered a reward for him. For that reason he
was always to be a fugitive, and she least of all could hope to see
him. There had been a brief, happy dream, but it was swept away by the
unrelenting rush of reality. The mere fact that she, and she alone,
was responsible for his flight placed between them an unsurmountable
barrier.
Clinging tenaciously to her purpose, she was still cognizant of the debt
she owed the trusting, loving people of Graustark. One word from her
could avert the calamity that was to fall with the dawn of the fatal
twentieth. All Graustark blindly trusted and adored her; to undeceive
them would be to administer a shock from which they could never recover.
Her heart was bursting with love for Lorry; her mind was overflowing
with tender thoughts that could not be sent to him, much as she trusted
to the honor of Quinnox, her messenger. Hour after hour she sat in her
window and marveled at the change that had been wrought in her life by
this strong American, her eyes fixed on the faraway monastery, her
heart still and cold and fearful. She had no confidant in this miserable
affair of the heart. Others, near and dear, had surmised, but no word of
hers confirmed. A diffidence, strange and proud, forbade the confession
of her frailty, sweet, pure and womanly though it was. She could not
forget that she was a Princess.
The Countess Dagmar was piqued by her reticence and sought in manifold
ways to draw forth the voluntary avowal, with its divine tears and
blushes. Harry Anguish, who spent much of his time at the castle and
who invariably deserted his guards at the portals, was as eager as the
Countess to have her commit herself irretrievably by word or sign,
but he, too, was disappointed. He was, also, considerably puzzled.
Her Highness's manner was at all times frank and untroubled. She was
apparently light-hearted; her cheeks had lost none of their freshness;
her eyes were bright; her smile was quick and merry; her wit unclouded.
Receptions, drawing-rooms and state functions found her always
vivacious, so much so that her Court wondered not a little. Daily
reports brought no news of the fugitive, but while others were beginning
to acquire the haggard air of worry and uncertainty, she was calmly
resigned. The fifteenth, the sixteenth, the seventeenth, the eighteenth
and now the nineteenth of November came and still the Princess revealed
no marked sign of distress. Could they have seen her in the privacy of
her chamber on those dreary, maddening nights they would not have known
their sovereign.
Heavy-hearted and with bowed heads the people of Graustark saw the
nineteenth fade in the night, the breaking of which would bring the
crush of pride, the end of power. At court there was the silent dread
and the dying hope that relief might come at the last hour. Men, with
pale faces and tearful eyes, wandered through the ancient castle,
speechless, nerveless, miserable. Brave soldiers crept about, shorn of
pride and filled with woe. Citizens sat and stared aimlessly for hours,
thinking of naught but the disaster so near at hand and so unavoidable.
The whole nation surged as if in the last throes of death. To-morrow
the potency of Graustark was to die, its domain was to be cleft in
twain,--disgraced before the world.
And, on the throne of this afflicted land sat the girl, proud, tender,
courageous Yetive. To all Graustark she was its greatest, its most
devoted sufferer; upon her the blow fell heaviest. There she sat,
merciful and merciless, her slim white hand ready to sign the shameful
deed in transfer, ready to sell her kingdom for her love. Beneath her
throne, beneath her feet, cowered six souls, possessors of the secret.
Of all the people in the world they alone knew the heart of the Princess
Yetive, they alone felt with her the weight of the sacrifice. With
wistful eyes, fainting hearts and voiceless lips five of them watched
the day approach, knowing that she would not speak and that Graustark
was doomed. Loyal conspirators against that which they loved better than
their lives--their country--were Dangloss, Quinnox, Allode, Ogbot and
Dagmar. To-morrow would see the north torn from the south, the
division of families, the rending of homes, the bursting of hearts. She
sanctioned all this because she loved him and because he had done no
wrong.
Aware of her financial troubles and pursuing the advantage that his
rival's death had opened to him, Prince Gabriel, of Dawsbergen, renewed
his ardent suit. Scarce had the body of the murdered Prince left the
domain before he made his presence marked. She was compelled to receive
his visits, distasteful as they were, but she would not hear his
propositions. Knowing that he was in truth the mysterious Michael who
had planned her abduction, she feared and despised him, yet dared make
no public denunciation. As Dawsbergen was too powerful to be antagonized
at this critical time, she was constantly forced to submit to the
most trying and repulsive of ordeals. Tact and policy were required to
control the violent, hot-blooded young ruler from the south. At times
she despaired and longed for the quiet of the tomb; at other times she
was consumed by the fires of resentment, rebelling against the ignominy
to which she was subjected. Worse than all to her were the insolent
overtures of Gabriel. How she endured she could not tell. The tears
of humiliation shed after his departure on the occasion of each visit
revealed the bitterness that was torturing this proud martyr.
He had come at once to renew his offer of a loan, knowing her
helplessness. Day after day he haunted the castle, persistent in his
efforts to induce her to accept his proposition. So fierce was his
passion, so implacable his desire, that he went among the people of
Edelweiss, presenting to them his proposal, hoping thereby to add public
feeling to his claims. He tried to organize a committee of citizens to
go before the Princess with the petition that his offer be accepted and
the country saved. But Graustark was loyal to its Princess. Not one of
her citizens listened to the wily Prince, and more than one told him or
his emissaries that the loss of the whole kingdom was preferable to the
marriage he desired. The city sickened at the thought.
His last and master-stroke in the struggle to persuade came on the
afternoon of the nineteenth, at an hour when all Edelweiss was in gloom
and when the Princess was taxed to the point where the mask of courage
was so frail that she could scarce hide her bleeding soul behind it.
Bolaroz of Axphain, to quote from the news-despatch, was in Edelweiss,
a guest, with a few of his lords, in the castle. North of the city were
encamped five thousand men. He had come prepared to cancel the little
obligation of fifteen years standing. With the hated creditor in the
castle, his influence hovering above the town, the populace distracted
by the thoughts of the day to come, Gabriel played what he considered
his best card. He asked for and obtained a final interview with Yetive,
not in her boudoir or her reception room, but in the throne room, where
she was to meet Bolaroz in the morning.
The Princess, seated on her throne, awaited the approach of the
resourceful, tenacious suitor. He came and behind him strode eight
stalwart men, bearing a long iron-bound chest, the result of his effort
with his bankers. Yetive and her nobles looked in surprise on this
unusual performance. Dropping to his knee before the throne, Gabriel
said, his voice trembling slightly with eagerness and fear:
“Your Highness, to-morrow will see the turning point in the history of
two, possibly three nations--Graustark, Axphain and Dawsbergen. I have
included my own land because its ruler is most vitally interested.
He would serve and save Graustark, as you know, and he would satisfy
Axphain. It is in my power to give you aid at this last, trying hour,
and I implore you to listen to my words of sincerest friendship,--yes,
adoration. To-morrow you are to pay to Prince Bolaroz over twenty-five
million gavvos or relinquish the entire north half of your domain. I
understand the lamentable situation. You can raise no more than fifteen
millions and you are helpless. He will grant no extension of time. You
know what I have proffered before. I come to-day to repeat my friendly
offer and to give unquestioned bond as to my ability to carry it out.
If you agree to accept the loan I extend, ten million gavvos for fifteen
years at the usual rate of interest, you can on to-morrow morning place
in the hand of Axphain when he makes his formal demand the full amount
of your indebtedness in gold. Ricardo, open the chest!”
An attendant threw open the lid of the chest. It was filled with gold
coins.
“This box contains one hundred thousand gavvos. There are in your halls
nine boxes holding nine times as much as you see here. And there are
nine times as much all told on the way. This is an evidence of my good
faith. Here is the gold. Pay Bolaroz and owe Gabriel, the greatest
happiness that could come to him.”
There was a dead silence after this theatrical action.
“The interest on this loan is not all you ask, I understand,” said
Halfont, slowly, his black eyes glittering. “You ask something that
Graustark cannot and will not barter--the hand of its Sovereign. If
you are willing to make this loan, naming a fair rate of interest,
withdrawing your proposal of marriage, we can come to an agreement.”
Gabriel's eyes deadened with disappointment, his breast heaved and his
fingers twitched.
“I have the happiness of your Sovereign at heart as much as my own,” he
said. “She shall never want for devotion, she shall never know a pain.”
“You are determined, then, to adhere to your original proposition?”
demanded the Count.
“She would have married Lorenz to save her land, to protect her people.
Am I not as good as Lorenz? Why not give--” began Gabriel, viciously,
but Yetive arose, and, with gleaming eyes and flushing cheeks,
interrupted him.
“Go! I will not hear you--not one word!”
He passed from the room without another word. Her Court saw her standing
straight and immovable, her white face transfigured.