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THE TRAITORS
by
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of
"A Millionaire of Yesterday," "The
World's Great Snare," etc.
Illustrated
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
1903
Copyright, 1902
By E. Phillips Oppenheim
Copyright, 1903
By Dodd, Mead & Company
First Edition published March, 1903
[Illustration: "MARIE ... SHOT THE MAN THROUGH THE HEART."]
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"MARIE ... SHOT THE MAN THROUGH
THE HEART," _Frontispiece_
"'I BELIEVE,' HE SAID, 'THAT YOU OUGHT
TO KISS--MY HAND,'" 160
"NICHOLAS OF REIST STOOD ON THE
THRESHOLD," 220
"'THE WAR IS OVER,' HE CRIED," 342
The Traitors
CHAPTER I
"Down with the traitors! Down with the Russian spies! Down with
Metzger!"
Above the roaring of the north wind rose the clamour of voices, the
cries of hate and disgust, the deep groaning sobs of fierce and
militant anger. The man and the woman exchanged quick glances.
"They are coming nearer," he said.
She drew aside the heavy curtain, and stood there, looking out into
the night.
"It is so," she answered. "They are pouring into the square."
He rose and stood beneath the great carved mantelpiece. Over his head,
hewn out of the solid oak, black with age and coloured with that deep
richness which is to-day as a lost art, were blazoned the arms of one
of Europe's noblest families. He, Nicholas of Reist, its sole male
representative, stood deep in thought, his dark young face furrowed
with anxiety. The moment was critical. It was one of a lifetime.
She dropped the curtain and came over to his side. The flush of
excitement was in her cheeks. Her eyes were like shining stars. Of
their close relationship there could be no manner of doubt. The same
oval face and finely-cut features, the same pride of race, the same
firm, graceful bearing. Only there were lines upon his face--the lines
of thought and care; whilst hers remained as smooth as damask,
typically and wonderfully beautiful.
Again the murmur of hoarse voices--nearer now and more clamorous.
"Down with the traitor Metzger and his accursed government! Reist!
Reist! A Reist!"
Her white fingers fell upon his shoulder.
"They are calling for you, Nicholas," she said, softly. "Listen! It is
the voice of our people, and they need you. Will you go out and speak
to them? Shall I open the window--yes?"
"Not yet," he answered, swiftly. "Not yet."
Her hands were already upon the curtains. She turned around, an
impatient frown upon her face.
"You do not hesitate, my brother," she cried. "No, it is not possible.
It is our country, Nicholas, our homeland which calls for you to save
it."
"Ay, to save it--but how? Metzger has made the way difficult."
Her eyes flashed fire upon him. She was superbly disdainful.
"Are you the first Duke of Reist who has governed Theos?" she cried.
"Is there not the blood of former Kings in your veins? Holy Mother,
but it is intolerable that you should hesitate! Nicholas, if you let
these people call in vain you will be the first of our race who has
ever shrunk from his duty. I will not call you any longer my brother.
Listen!"
"Reist! Nicholas of Reist! Down with the common dogs. Down with the
traitors. Down with Metzger!"
He smiled faintly. Those subtle lines about his mouth were not there
in vain.
"I wonder where Metzger is hiding," he murmured. "How good it would be
to see him now. How he would quiver and shake. There is death in those
voices."
She flashed a look of impatient scorn upon him.
"You are trifling with your destiny, Nicholas," she cried. "What
matters the life or death of such as Metzger? Our people need you. Out
and tell the men of Theos that once again a Reist will save his
country."
"Brave words, little sister. Brave words."
Her eyes were ablaze with anger.
"Have I been mistaken in you all these years, Nicholas?" she cried.
"Listen again. Those are the children of your city who call to you for
aid. Have you no longer the heart of a man or the blood of a patriot?"
A storm of wind and rain shook the high windows. From below came the
sound of a multitude thronging nearer and nearer till the square
seemed filled to overflowing with a surging mob. The man raised his
head as one who listens, and the smile no longer lightened his face.
The woman who watched him anxiously drew a long sigh of relief. She
knew then beyond a doubt that it needed no words from her to fire his
resolution.
"Marie," he said, quietly, "those are the voices which I have prayed
all my life that I might hear. Only I fear that they have come too
soon. Have you considered what it is that they would have from me?"
"They would make you lord of the country," she cried. "Who better or
more fitted? Have no fear, Nicholas. You come of a race of rulers. The
God of our fathers will guide your destiny."
The room, huge, unlit and darkened with tapestry hangings, seemed full
of mysterious shadows. Only those two faces--the girl's passionate,
the man's keenly thoughtful--seemed like luminous things. From below
came still the murmur of voices rising every now and then to a hoarse
roar. The man became suddenly explicit. His face relaxed. He came back
from a far-away land of thought.
"Listen," he said. "These people have come to put me in Metzger's
place. There would be no difficulty about that. Already I have
received a message from the House of Laws. Bah! I have no stomach
to sit in council with tradesmen and citizens, to have my will
questioned, to rule only by a casting vote. These modern forms
of government are vile. They would make me President of their
Republic--I, a Reist of Theos, whose forefathers ruled the land
with sword and fire. They would put me in the place of Metzger, the
merchant--Metzger, who would have sold his country to the Russians.
I say no!"
"What, then?" she cried. "What, then? Speak, Nicholas. There are
thoughts behind. Who but I should know them?"
"When I rule Theos," he answered, slowly, "it shall be even as the
Dukes of Reist have ruled it before me, with a sceptre in their hands,
and a sword upon their knees. That time is not yet, Marie, but it may
come. I think that you and I will see it."
"Why not now?" she cried. "The people would accept you on any terms.
The Republic has fallen. You shall be their King."
He shook his head.
"The time is not yet," he repeated. "Marie, believe me, I know my
people. In their blood lingers still some taint of the democratic
fever. You must learn, little sister, as I have learned it, the legend
on our walls and shield, the motto of our race, 'Slowly, but ever
forward.'"
"But the people," she cried. "What will you say to them? It is you
whom they want. Their throats are hoarse with shouting."
He threw open the great windows, and a roar of welcome from below rose
high above the storm.
"You shall hear what I will say to them, Marie," he answered. "Come
out by my side."