Up the steep ascent to the capital two men galloped their tired horses
in stern silence. For twelve hours they had ridden with scant waste of
breath in speech. Only at each change, and seven times since break of
day, had they changed horses. Prince Ughtred had lit a fresh cigar and
asked the same question and met with the same reply.
"How goes it, Nicholas?"
"We keep up with the time. Forward!"
As they neared the capital they rode through a stream of people
wending their way citywards. Reist drew rein.
"Whither away, friends?"
"To the capital, sir. Prince Ughtred of Tyrnaus, our future King, is
there. We go to greet him."
The two men exchanged quick glances as they rode on.
"I do not understand it," Reist admitted. "Our coming is unannounced.
A certain amount of secrecy was necessary. Something strange seems to
have happened."
By degrees their progress along the narrow road grew more and more
difficult. The country folk thronged the thoroughfare, gay in
picturesque holiday attire, many of them singing a strange national
air which stirred in Ughtred's heart some faint echo of far-away
recollections. He watched them eagerly, and his heart swelled with
pride. A fine, stalwart race, with the free swinging walk of
mountaineers, bright-eyed, clear-skinned, with cheeks as brown as
berries. His dormant patriotism, already awakened by his long ride
through the beautiful, dimly-familiar country, beat in his heart. He
would rule these people as his children, and though he died sword in
hand the yoke of the conqueror should never bow their shoulders. It
was a great task--a great heritage.
A train, brilliant with lights, glided serpent-like over the high
viaduct to their left. A murmur arose from amongst the people.
"The Prince," they cried. "The Prince."
"What does it mean?" Ughtred asked.
"God only knows," Reist answered, bewildered.
At the station a cordon of soldiers blocked the way. The two men
spurred on into the front ranks. Amongst a thunder of acclamation they
saw Domiloff and Brand in his brilliant uniform take their places in
the waiting carriage. They were speechless.
"To the palace," Reist cried at last. "Come, Ughtred; there's some
damned underhand plotting going on."
"It was Brand!" Ughtred exclaimed. "Brand in the uniform of the Theos
Guards. Is the man mad?"
"I do not think that it was Brand at all," Reist answered, fiercely.
"It is a plot of that accursed Russian. Way, good people, way!"
But the people, good-natured though they were, were wedged too thickly
to let them pass. At last in a rush they were almost unhorsed. A
direct progress to the palace was impossible. Reist turned up a side
street.
"We will go to my house," he said. "It will take us some time this
way, but we shall never succeed in reaching the palace."
* * * * *
The panel slid back behind them, and closed with a spring. From some
place upon the wall invisible to him the Countess took a small silver
lamp, and carefully lit it. Then holding it high over her head she
turned towards Brand.
"You must follow me closely," she said. "The way is narrow, and there
are steps. Listen!"
They both stood for a moment with bated breath. In the room behind was
tumult. There were angry voices, the ringing of bells, bewildered
exclamations.
"It is my friend, Domiloff," Brand whispered. "I am afraid that he has
lost his temper. I might at least have left a note."
She motioned him to follow her.
"You are quite safe," she declared. "The secret passage has not been
used for many years. It is unknown to any within the palace. I do not
know what made me think of it to-night."
"It was," Brand remarked, "a remarkable piece of good fortune for me.
I do not fancy that our friend Domiloff in a passion would be at all a
pleasant companion."
Her face hardened.
"Domiloff," she said, "is a traitor and a ruffian. When I saw you
alone with him and without Nicholas I knew that something must have
happened. My brother would never have suffered him to have stood by
your side to-night. This way."
They stepped into a large dimly-lit room, with high panelled walls and
a vaulted roof. The door rolled back behind them. The girl passed her
hands along the wall till even the crack was invisible. Then she moved
to the table and struck a gong.
"You must need wine," she said. "Basil!"
A grey-haired old servant entered the room, and at the sight of Brand
would have fallen upon one knee, but the girl stopped him.
"Basil, this is not Prince Ughtred," she said, "but a friend of his
and ours who has been taking the Prince's place in order that Domiloff
might be deceived. Bring us some wine."
Brand drank from the long Venetian glass, and afterwards sank
gratefully into the high-backed chair to which she motioned him. At
her request he told her everything which had happened since the coming
of Reist to London. And from below there came to them often the murmur
of the waiting crowds.
She was superbly devoid of nerves. She had no manner of apprehension.
"They will come," she said, "and the people will wait. Tell me some
more of your wonderful London."
"You have never been there?" he exclaimed in astonishment.
She shook her head.
"No, nor in Paris even. No further west than Vienna."
"It is incredible," he murmured.
"And why incredible?" she asked him, with delicately upraised
eyebrows. "I do not understand. Theos is my home--those places are
nothing to me. Whilst I was in Vienna I was miserable. All was hurry
and bustle. There was so little dignity, so little repose. I do not
think that people who live in such places can understand what it is to
love one's homeland. Everywhere, too, even amongst the aristocracy,
one met vulgar people. Shopkeepers and merchants who had made very
much money mixed freely with the nobles. They tell me that in England
it is also like this. In Theos I think that we are wiser."
She spoke simply--as one who points out a grievous impropriety. Brand
smiled.
"I have heard your country spoken of as one of the most aristocratic
in the world," he remarked. "I think that it must be true."
"From what I have seen," she answered, "it may be so. There are very
little of the old nobility left in Theos, but we are content to let
them die out rather than to raise to their ranks those who have
enriched themselves with commerce. We believe that our way is best."
"And you yourself?" he asked. "Tell me how you occupy yourself. You
have friends--amusements?"
She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly.
"My brother has large estates," she said, "and with them come many
duties. I see that our peasant women are properly brought up, and that
they retain their skill in lace work. Then there is music, and when we
are at Castle Reist we hunt. It is true that I have not many friends
of my own order, but that is scarcely to be expected. The care of so
many of those who are dependent upon one is a very absorbing duty. We
give a dowry to every girl who marries suitably amongst our own
people. For many generations this has been a religion with us. Tell
me, then, is it not so with the maidens of your country?--I speak, of
course, of those who are of noble birth."
He shook his head.
"I think not," he answered. "You see, for them there are many
diversions. They play games, hunt, shoot, and ride with their brothers
and their brothers' friends when they are at their estates. Then for
half the year they live in London, and every night there are dances,
concerts, theatres, and parties of all sorts."
She nodded gravely.
"That is what I have heard," she said. "They take life so much more
lightly than we who live in quieter places. Here there is born with us
the consciousness that our rank has many obligations. There is not a
peasant girl on my estates whom I do not know by name. It has been so
with the women of our house for many generations."
There was a short silence. Then she raised her eyes to his.
"Your own sisters?" she asked. "Are they, too, such as you describe?"
Brand smiled faintly.
"I have only one sister," he said, "and she is married. But my own
people would scarcely count--from your point of view."
She looked at him, faintly puzzled.
"You mean," she asked, "that you are not of noble birth?"
He shook his head.
"By no means! My father was a physician, and I myself write for the
newspapers!"
"But you spoke of Prince Ughtred," she remarked, "as your friend."
He smiled.
"In England," he explained, "all these things are regarded very
differently. We are a very democratic nation, and Prince Ughtred, you
must remember, is half an Englishman."
She was silent. He had an absurd fancy that she was disappointed--that
her momentary interest in him was gone. He was angry with himself for
the idea, angry with himself also for the effort which his little
speech had cost him. In England he counted himself a Radical, almost a
Socialist, and would have laughed to scorn the idea that the slightest
possible barrier could exist between men and women of unequal birth.
But out here, in the presence of this girl who spoke her mind so
simply, yet with such absolute conviction, he seemed to have come into
touch with a new order! The aristocracy which was to her as a creed
was a real and a live thing! He almost justified her in his mind. What
was surely a fallacy in England might be truth here.
The silence was prolonged. Then he glanced up to find her watching him
with a slight smile curving her lips.
"To you," she said, "I must seem very old-fashioned. Oh, yes, I can
understand your point of view. If I have not travelled I have at least
read, and your English books make these things clear enough. But here
we are surrounded with the old customs. It is not possible to escape
from them. We are almost mediaeval."
"I am looking forward to studying your country closely," he said.
"What I have seen of it has charmed me. So far I have come across but
one thing which I would gladly change."
"And that?" she asked.
"Is the uniform of the Thetian Guards," he answered, turning slightly
in his chair. "I must confess that my body was never made for such
gorgeousness."
She laughed and struck the gong.
"Basil will show you to my brother's room," she said. "Wear any of his
clothes you choose."
He rose with alacrity.
"You will be safe--alone?" he asked, with a doubtful glance towards
the door.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Domiloff has courage, I believe, of a sort," she answered, "but not
enough to bring him uninvited across the threshold of this house in my
brother's absence."
He followed the servant from the room, and was shown into a bedchamber
of huge proportions. He changed his clothes as quickly as possible for
those which were tendered to him, and returned to the room where he
had left the Countess. She welcomed him with a smile which she tried
in vain to suppress.
"You must forgive me," she said, as their eyes met. "Indeed, it is
hard to avoid a smile. My brother is of slight stature, and you are
very tall,--is it not so?"
"Oh, I don't mind," he answered, good-humouredly, conscious that his
trousers terminated at the ankle, and that the seams of his unbuttoned
coat were bursting. "I should be comfortable in anything since I have
got rid of that sword and the other thing like a satchel which kept
tripping me up. The management of a woman's train has always seemed to
me an accomplishment, but it is nothing compared with the difficulty
of walking like a soldier with those things whacking at your ankles
every few moments. One thing I can promise you and myself, Countess.
If Domiloff and the whole lot of them catch me nothing would induce me
to put on that uniform again."
"It was very becoming," she said, smilingly.
"You are making fun of me," he declared, reproachfully.
"Indeed I meant it," she assured him. "I never doubted but that you
were Ughtred of Tyrnaus!"
He felt absurdly pleased. There was a note of regret too in her tone.
Then, as though with some effort she addressed him more formally.
"You need have no fear," she said, "that Domiloff will find you here.
Neither he nor any of his creatures dare force their way into this
house. All that we must pray for now is the speedy coming of Nicholas
and the Prince."
Almost as she spoke they heard quick footsteps upon the corridor
outside. The door was thrown open.