Into the black night across the level plain which stretched between
Theos and the pass of Althea a woman rode as one rides a race with
death. Her servants had been left far away behind--her horse's sides
were streaked with foam, once or twice he had swerved and almost
unseated her. She plied him with whip and spur, and passionate words.
It was for the honour of a great race, for her own salvation that she
rode. All was well as yet. The lights of the camp were twinkling like
a band of ribbon across the hillside, and there was silence as deep as
death everywhere, except when the wind came booming down the valley in
fitful gusts, and bowed the tops of the lonely and stunted trees.
Upwards she mounted, and the road grew rougher. Her horse's eyes were
streaked with blood, his nostrils quivered. Still she urged him on. A
little further now, and her goal was reached. So she rode on, white to
the lips with fear--lest even now she should be too late.
At the outposts they stopped her, and the great bay horse, after
staggering for a moment like a drunken man, fell over dead. She
scarcely glanced at him. The officer, who knew her, rapidly
transferred her saddle to his own pony.
"It is a message from the King to Nicholas," she said. "Tell me, how
long will it take me?"
"The Duke is himself guarding the Beacon," the soldier answered.
"Madame the Countess will reach him in ten minutes."
She galloped off, never noticing that her pony's feet were shod with
felt. She looked neither to the right nor the left, and she saw
nothing of the strange restlessness which seemed to pervade the camp.
Everywhere the shadows of men were moving noiselessly about. Spectral
guns were surrounded by little groups of whispering soldiers. There
was no bivouacing, the camp-fires burned low. Every now and then, when
challenged, she mechanically repeated the countersign. All the while
her lips were moving in one ceaseless, passionate prayer.
They took her pony at the summit, and a silent sentry pointed to where
a single dark figure stood out against the empty background. A few
yards to his left was the great beacon, and a row of torches burned in
a stand, ever ready for the signal. She called to him softly, and even
to herself her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
"Nicholas! Nicholas!"
He turned towards her, and she saw that his face was livid. He was
horrified to see her.
"Marie! The good God! What has happened?"
"I have deceived you, Nicholas," she whispered, hoarsely. "The writing
was not the writing of the King. It was Domiloff's plot, and I wanted
to see you King. The King has saved my life. Forever, Nicholas, you
and I must be his faithful subjects. I have given my word. I have
pledged your honour."
Then into the face of Nicholas of Reist there came a transfiguring and
almost holy joy. He uttered no word of reproach. The glory of life
was once more hot in his pulses. He drew her to him.
"Thank God!" he sobbed. "This way, Marie! Now listen!"
She stooped with him over that awful chaos. From below came a sound
like the falling of autumn rains upon dead leaves. He held her to him.
"It is the Turks," he whispered.
She sprang away in horror, but he laughed softly.
"Marie," he said, "that is well. Instead of a sleeping camp our guns
will rake the Pass, our men await only the signal. Up here, where one
is near God, one sees clearly. I am the faithful servant of Theos,
even though the King had been my enemy. See!"
He listened for a moment, and then crossing the hill, took a torch
from the stand and plunged it into the heart of the great beacon.
Tongues of fire leaped up to the sky, and a hoarse murmur passed like
a wind through the camp. Then the ground beneath them shook with the
roar of artillery. Nicholas took her by the arm.
"Ride for Theos at once," he directed. "You will be quite safe, for no
Turk will pass alive through the Pass. Tell the King that I am his
faithful servant."
* * * * *
About halfway to Theos, Brand, galloping furiously out from the city,
came face to face with Marie riding leisurely home on a small pony. He
leaped from his horse in amazement.
"Marie," he exclaimed, "what is happening at the Pass? How came you
here?"
She was very tired, but she smiled at him reassuringly.
"Nicholas has over ten thousand Turks in the defile," she said. "They
must either surrender or be killed."
"Thank God!" he exclaimed.
She got off her pony and sat on a bank.
"I am very tired," she said, and, swaying suddenly towards him,
fainted in his arms.
Brand was a man of resource, and in a few minutes she reopened her
eyes. He poured some brandy between her lips, and she sat up.
"I am very sorry," she said. "I rode last night from Theos to Althea,
and I have had no rest."
He made her drink some milk. They sat hand in hand, a wonderful dawn
breaking in the east. By and by a horseman from Theos passed them at
full gallop.
"The war is over," he cried. "The English fleet is at Constantinople!
The Turks have sued for peace. Long live the King."
He vanished in a cloud of dust, riding furiously for the Pass. Brand
took Marie into his arms and kissed her.
"Dear," he said, "I haven't much money, and I'm only an ordinary man."
She laughed softly.
"I think in Theos," she said, "we have clung a little too closely to
the old ideals. Rank is very well, and money I know little about. But
on the whole, I am glad that you are an ordinary man."
[Illustration: "'THE WAR IS OVER,' HE CRIED."]
They rode into Theos as the King arrived from Solika. The Cathedral
bells clanged out a welcome, the people lined the streets, everywhere
breathless excitement prevailed. Old Baron Doxis met the King on the
palace steps. He held out both hands, but his eyes were wet with
tears.
"Your Majesty," he said, "this is your day of triumph, and yours
alone. May God send you in the future wiser and better councillors."
But Ughtred passed his arm through the old man's, and led him into the
palace.
"I am young and I was unproven," he said. "I shall be quite satisfied
if God will preserve for many years my present ones."
* * * * *
Theos won for herself, as the fruits of that brief campaign, a
wonderful military reputation, and every prospect of unbroken peace.
She entered indeed upon that golden age which comes once in the
world's history to every nation, great or small. Mr. Van Decht built a
palace within the city, and invested all his vast capital in the
country. Brand, whose services no one realized more thoroughly than
the King, accepted a Government appointment and entered the House of
Laws a naturalized Thetian. And when they asked the King what gift a
grateful nation could offer him, he answered them promptly but in very
few words.
"The right to depart from a constitutional principle. The right to
share my throne with the woman I love."
There was no hesitation, no break in the thunderous applause which
greeted his answer, and which Nicholas of Reist himself led. The
marriage of Ughtred of Tyrnaus and Sara Van Decht under such
conditions touched the imagination of Europe. Every capital was
anxious to _fete_ them, the Society papers lived upon their doings
for years. But even they did not know that during that famous visit to
London, where they were received with a consideration rarely accorded
even to royalty, they stole away one evening and dined together
_tete-a-tete_ at a famous London restaurant. They were unrecognized,
and they enjoyed themselves like children. Afterwards they found out a
certain seat in a certain corner of the palm lounge, and spent a very
delightful hour there. When at last they rose to go he took her hand
for a moment softly in his.
"Tell me," he whispered, "you find it possible to be happy, although
you are a queen?"
"I am your wife, dear," she answered, with a little squeeze of his
hand, which seemed to satisfy him.
An amazing whisper suddenly passed from group to group of the
brilliantly-dressed men and women who sat about in the Court. The band
broke off in the middle of a selection and played the National air of
Theos. Every one rose respectfully. He passed her hand through his arm
with a little grimace.
"They have found us out, dear," he whispered.
The people gazed with breathless but well-bred interest. They saw a
tall, distinguished-looking man, with the mark of a recent scar
slightly disfiguring his left temple, and upon his arm the most
beautiful woman in the room, her eyes wonderfully soft and brilliant,
a delicate flush upon her cheeks. The King and Queen of Theos passed
out to their carriage.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.