THE GATHERING OF THE WAR-STORM
Mr. Sabin, entering his breakfast-room as usual at ten o'clock on the
following morning, found, besides the usual pile of newspapers and
letters, a telegram, which had arrived too late for delivery on the
previous evening. He opened it in leisurely fashion whilst he sipped his
coffee. It was handed in at the Charing Cross Post Office, and was
signed simply "K.":--
"Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am
anxious to see you. Read to-night's paper.--K."
The telegram slipped from Mr. Sabin's fingers. He tore open the _St.
James's Gazette_, and a little exclamation escaped from his lips as he
saw the thick black type which headed the principal columns:--
"EXTRAORDINARY TELEGRAM OF THE GERMAN
EMPEROR TO MOENIG!
GERMAN SYMPATHY WITH THE REBELS!
WARSHIPS ORDERED TO DELAMERE BAY!
GREAT EXCITEMENT ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE!"
Mr. Sabin's breakfast remained untasted. He read every word in the four
columns, and then turned to the other newspapers. They were all ablaze
with the news. England's most renowned ally had turned suddenly against
her. Without the slightest warning the fire-brand of war had been
kindled, and waved threateningly in our very faces. The occasion was
hopelessly insignificant. A handful of English adventurers, engaged in a
somewhat rash but plucky expedition in a distant part of the world, had
met with a sharp reverse. In itself the affair was nothing; yet it bade
fair to become a matter of international history. Ill-advised though
they may have been, the Englishmen carried with them a charter granted
by the British Government. There was no secret about it--the fact was
perfectly understood in every Cabinet of Europe. Yet the German Emperor
had himself written a telegram congratulating the State which had
repelled the threatened attack. It was scarcely an invasion--it was
little more than a demonstration on the part of an ill-treated section
of the population! The fact that German interests were in no way
concerned--that any outside interference was simply a piece of
gratuitous impertinence--only intensified the significance of the
incident. A deliberate insult had been offered to England; and the man
who sat there with the paper clenched in his hand, whilst his keen eyes
devoured the long columns of wonder and indignation, knew that his had
been the hand which had hastened the long-pent-up storm. He drew a
little breath when he had finished, and turned to his breakfast.
"Is Miss Sabin up yet?" he asked the servant, who waited upon him.
The man was not certain, but withdrew to inquire. He reappeared almost
directly. Miss Sabin had been up for more than an hour. She had just
returned from a walk, and had ordered breakfast to be served in her
room.
"Tell her," Mr. Sabin directed, "that I should be exceedingly obliged if
she would take her coffee with me. I have some interesting news."
The man was absent for several minutes. Before he returned Helene came
in. Mr. Sabin greeted her with his usual courtesy and even more than his
usual cordiality.
"You are missing the best part of the morning with your Continental
habits," she exclaimed brightly. "I have been out on the cliffs since
half-past eight. The air is delightful."
She threw off her hat, and going to the sideboard, helped herself to a
cup of coffee. There was a becoming flush upon her cheeks--her hair was
a little tossed by the wind. Mr. Sabin watched her curiously.
"You have not, I suppose, seen a morning paper--or rather last night's
paper?" he remarked.
She shook her head.
"A newspaper! You know that I never look at an English one," she
answered. "You wanted to see me, Reynolds said. Is there any news?"
"There is great news," he answered. "There is such news that by sunset
to-day war will probably be declared between England and Germany!"
The flush died out of her cheeks. She faced him pallid to the lips.
"It is not possible!" she exclaimed.
"So the whole world would have declared a week ago! As a matter of fact
it is not so sudden as we imagine! The storm has been long brewing! It
is we who have been blind. A little black spot of irritation has spread
and deepened into a war-cloud."
"This will affect us?" she asked.
"For us," he answered, "it is a triumph. It is the end of our schemes,
the climax of our desires. When Knigenstein came to me I knew that he
was in earnest, but I never dreamed that the torch was so nearly
kindled. I see now why he was so eager to make terms with me."
"And you," she said, "you have their bond?"
For a moment he looked thoughtful.
"Not yet. I have their promise--the promise of the Emperor himself. But
as yet my share of the bargain is incomplete. There must be no more
delay. It must be finished now--at once. That telegram would never have
been sent from Berlin but for their covenant with me. It would have been
better, perhaps, had they waited a little time. But one cannot tell! The
opportunity was too good to let slip."
"How long will it be," she asked, "before your work is complete?"
His face clouded over. In the greater triumph he had almost forgotten
the minor difficulties of the present. He was a diplomatist and a
schemer of European fame. He had planned great things, and had
accomplished them. Success had been on his side so long that he might
almost have been excused for declining to reckon failure amongst the
possibilities. The difficulty which was before him now was as trifling
as the uprooting of a hazel switch after the conquest of a forest of
oaks. But none the less for the moment he was perplexed. It was hard, in
the face of this need for urgent haste, to decide upon the next step.
"My work," he said slowly, "must be accomplished at once. There is very
little wanted. Yet that little, I must confess, troubles me."
"You have not succeeded, then, in obtaining what you want from Lord
Deringham?"
"No."
"Will he not help you at all?"
"Never."
"How, then, do you mean to get at these papers of his?"
"At present," he replied, "I scarcely know. In an hour or two I may be
able to tell you. It is possible that it might take me twenty-four
hours; certainly no longer than that."
She walked to the window, and stood there with her hands clasped behind
her back. Mr. Sabin had lit a cigarette and was smoking it thoughtfully.
Presently she spoke to him.
"You will get them," she said; "yes, I believe that. In the end you will
succeed, as you have succeeded in everything."
There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone. He looked up quietly, and
flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.
"You are right," he said. "I shall succeed. My only regret is that I
have made a slight miscalculation. It will take longer than I imagined.
Knigenstein will be in a fever, and I am afraid that he will worry me.
At the same time he is himself to blame. He has been needlessly
precipitate."
She turned away from the window and stood before him. She had a look in
her face which he had seen there but once before, and the memory of
which had ever since troubled him.
"I want you," she said, "to understand this. I will not have any direct
harm worked upon the Deringhams. If you can get what they have and what
is necessary to us by craft--well, very good. If not, it must go! I will
not have force used. You should remember that Lord Wolfenden saved your
life! I will have nothing to do with any scheme which brings harm upon
them!"
He looked at her steadily. A small spot of colour was burning high up on
his pallid cheeks. The white, slender fingers, toying carelessly with
one of the breakfast appointments, were shaking. He was very near being
passionately angry.
"Do you mean," he said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with
careful distinctness, "do you mean that you would sacrifice or even
endanger the greatest cause which has ever been conceived in the heart
of the patriot, to the whole skin of a household of English people? I
wonder whether you realise the position as it stands at this moment. I
am bound in justice to you to believe that you do not. Do you realise
that Germany has closed with our offer, and will act at our behest; that
only a few trifling sheets of paper stand between us and the fullest,
the most glorious success? Is it a time, do you think, for scruples or
for maudlin sentiment? If I were to fail in my obligations towards
Knigenstein I should not only be dishonoured and disgraced, but our
cause would be lost for ever. The work of many years would crumble into
ashes. My own life would not be worth an hour's purchase. Helene, you
are mad! You are either mad, or worse!"
She faced him quite unmoved. It was more than ever apparent that she was
not amongst those who feared him.
"I am perfectly sane," she said, "and I am very much in earnest. Ours
shall be a strategic victory, or we will not triumph at all. I believe
that you are planning some desperate means of securing those papers. I
repeat that I will not have it!"
He looked at her with curling lips.
"Perhaps," he said, "it is I who have gone mad! At least I can scarcely
believe that I am not dreaming. Is it really you, Helene of Bourbon, the
descendant of kings, a daughter of the rulers of France, who falters and
turns pale at the idea of a little blood, shed for her country's sake? I
am very much afraid," he added with biting sarcasm, "that I have not
understood you. You bear the name of a great queen, but you have the
heart of a serving-maid! It is Lord Wolfenden for whom you fear!"
She was not less firm, but her composure was affected. The rich colour
streamed into her cheeks. She remained silent.
"For a betrothed young lady," he said slowly, "you will forgive me if I
say that your anxiety is scarcely discreet. What you require, I suppose,
is a safe conduct for your lover. I wonder how Henri would----"
She flashed a glance and an interjection upon him which checked the
words upon his lips. The gesture was almost a royal one. He was
silenced.
"How dare you, sir?" she exclaimed. "You are taking insufferable
liberties. I do not permit you to interfere in my private concerns.
Understand that even if your words were true, if I choose to have a
lover it is my affair, not yours. As for Henri, what has he to complain
of? Read the papers and ask yourself that! They chronicle his doings
freely enough! He is singularly discreet, is he not?--singularly
faithful!"
She threw at him a glance of contempt and turned as though to leave the
room. Mr. Sabin, recognising the fact that the situation was becoming
dangerous, permitted himself no longer the luxury of displaying his
anger. He was quite himself again, calm, judicial, incisive.
"Don't go away, please," he said. "I am sorry that you have read those
reports--more than sorry that you should have attached any particular
credence to them. As you know, the newspapers always exaggerate; in many
of the stories which they tell I do not believe that there is a single
word of truth. But I will admit that Henri has not been altogether
discreet. Yet he is young, and there are many excuses to be made for
him. Apart from that, the whole question of his behaviour is beside the
question. Your marriage with him was never intended to be one of
affection. He is well enough in his way, but there is not the stuff in
him to make a man worthy of your love. Your alliance with him is simply
a necessary link in the chain of our great undertaking. Between you you
will represent the two royal families of France. That is what is
necessary. You must marry him, but afterwards--well, you will be a
queen!"
Again he had erred. She looked at him with bent brows and kindling eyes.
"Oh! you are hideously cynical!" she exclaimed. "I may be ambitious, but
it is for my country's sake. If I reign, the Court of France shall be of
a new type; we will at least show the world that to be a Frenchwoman is
not necessarily to abjure morals."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"That," he said, "will be as you choose. You will make your Court what
you please. Personally, I believe that you are right. Such sentiments as
you have expressed, properly conveyed to them, would make yours abjectly
half the bourgeois of France! Be as ambitious as you please, but at
least be sensible. Do not think any more of this young Englishman, not
at any rate at present. Nothing but harm can come of it. He is not like
the men of our own country, who know how to take a lady's dismissal
gracefully."
"He is, at least, a man!"
"Helene, why should we discuss him? He shall come to no harm at my
hands. Be wise, and forget him. He can be nothing whatever to you. You
know that. You are pledged to greater things."
She moved back to her place by the window. Her eyes were suddenly soft,
her face was sorrowful. She did not speak, and he feared her silence
more than her indignation. When a knock at the door came he was grateful
for the interruption--grateful, that is, until he saw who it was upon
the threshold. Then he started to his feet with a little exclamation.
"Lord Wolfenden! You are an early visitor."
Wolfenden smiled grimly, and advanced into the room.
"I was anxious," he said, "to run no risk of finding you out. My mission
is not altogether a pleasant one!"