I was certain that he had not the least intention of doing so when we had lunched together.
"His Royal Highness gave me to understand that he intended paying a visit to their Majesties in the country," the man replied apologetically.
This sudden and entirely unexpected action on Max's part was inexplicable to me. Could he have proposed to the Princess, and had she refused him? I was still turning this problem over in my mind, when a letter, balanced against the inkstand on my writing table, attracted my attention. It was addressed to myself, and the handwriting was quite familiar to me. To pick it up and open it was the work of a moment.
My dear Paul (it ran)—
At last, thank Heaven, I have been able to come to a decision with myself. After years of doubt and darkness I can see light ahead. God knows whether I am doing right or wrong, but my belief is that it is my duty. I want you to be the first to hear it, and then to act as may seem best to you. Do you think, my brother, that your secret is unknown to me? Have you flattered yourself that I am not aware that you love Ottilie of Lilienhöhe as truly as I do myself? If so, you are wrong. I knew it from the first moment that you spoke of her to me. It was written on your face as plain as any words. At that time I had not seen her, and, in consequence, I was as careless of the future as I was of the present. From the fatal moment, however, that we crossed the threshold of the Prince's house in Curzon Street, I realised that I was destined by fate to be your rival. (Here followed a tribute to my own behaviour in the affair, which, with your permission, I will pass over.) ... I saw her and loved her from the moment that I looked into her eyes. At first I resolved that nothing should induce me to play you false; but I did not know then the strength of my love, or the violence of the temptation to which I was to be subjected. I give you my word, Paul, that for the first fortnight I wrestled with myself and my love with all the strength of a man, who was despairing, and who wished to be honourable. But it proved too powerful for me in the end, and at last I was obliged to succumb. The devil was at my elbow whispering continually that it was not myself alone that I had to think of, but of my country. To marry the daughter of the Prince of Lilienhöhe would be to unite the two strongest factions in Pannonia, to bring peace and happiness to it as a nation, and to lift it again, from its place in the mire, to its former proud position among the great peoples of the earth. I can only wonder how it was that you did not see my misery. That it was misery for me I can only ask you to believe. The uncertainty was heart-breaking. One day I felt sure that she loved me, and, in consequence, I walked in an earthly paradise; the next I was certain that she did not, and then I tasted all the bitterness of hell. Meanwhile, my conscience was calling upon me to be as loyal to you as you had been to me. But it was of no avail. The temptation was more than I could withstand; at last I fell. My punishment, however, was not long in coming. This afternoon, as you know, I arranged to ride with the Princess in the Row. I met her near Hyde Park Corner, and I assure you, that I, who have never since our escape from Pannonia known the meaning of the word "fear," felt a tremor run through me as she rode towards me. But I soon discovered that I was not alone in my fear. The moment I saw her face I knew that she also was dreading our meeting. That was sufficient to tell me my fate. Failure had dogged me all my life, and it was scarcely likely that, when I desired something that was more to me than life itself, she would grant it to me. Having exchanged greetings with an appearance of pleasure on either side, we turned our horses' heads and made our way down the Row together. With a make-believe of composure, we discussed the trivialities of the day. This, however, did not last long. We began sentences and did not finish them, and at last lapsed altogether into silence. I stole a glance at her face, and, as I did so, enlightenment came to me. Her secret was a secret no longer. I knew, not only that she did not love me, but that her love was given elsewhere. I would have had pity on her, and have left my question unasked, but that the devil was still behind me, whispering in my ear, "Why do you trouble yourself about her feelings? What does it matter to you whether she loves anyone else or not? There are reasons of State why she should be your wife, and you have only to put them before her, backed up by her father's authority, and she must surrender." However, I had not fallen so low as that yet. I had still sufficient of the gentleman left to declare to myself that, if she did not love me, and the union was distasteful to her, I would not force it upon her. When we turned our horses, I brought mine a little closer to hers.
"Princess," I said, "will you take pity on me, and give me a plain answer to a question I want to ask you?"
Her face was bloodless in its pallor. She tried to answer, but no word escaped her lips. My God! man, you can't conceive what a brute I felt at that moment. And yet I was well aware that I must go on, that I should know no peace until I had tortured her to the end. All this time she was striving to be brave. Fortunately, there were few people about in that particular part of the Row, otherwise her agitation could scarcely have failed to attract attention.
"What is the question your Highness desires to ask me?" she faltered.
"Surely you can guess," I answered. "Ottilie, I love you, and I want you to tell me whether in return you can love me well enough to be my wife."
Though she must have known what was coming, a little cry escaped her.
"What can I say? What can I say?" she repeated in a choking voice. "Can you not see that I am prepared to do my duty at any cost to myself?"
"But you shall not do it at the expense of your heart," I answered. "Ottilie, do you love me?"
"Oh, why do you ask me?" she cried, with a catch of her breath that was almost hysterical. "How can I answer as you wish?"
"You have given me my answer," I returned. "It seems I have lived in a fool's paradise. But I have loved you, and, as God is my witness, I will not force you into a loveless marriage."
What I said to her after that can have no interest for anyone save our own two selves; let it suffice that, when I left her, I came on here. Strangely enough, I had no sooner quitted the Park than my composure returned to me, and by the time I had reached this room, I could stand off and look at everything in its proper light. And now one other matter, and the last. I know what you have thought of me these last few weeks, and the suspicions you have entertained—well, I might also say, concerning my sanity. But you are in error, my dear brother. No man was ever saner than I am at this moment. The result of it all is, as I said at the commencement of my letter, that I have arrived at a decision. I have come to an understanding with myself. By the time you open this letter I shall have left London, never, I hope, to return to it. As far as I am concerned, the farce of kingship is played out. I, for one, have been wearied to death by the performance. With this letter I cast it off. To-night I enter upon a new life, in which, please God, I shall comport myself more like a man than I have done hitherto. I have chosen a name which will not furnish any clue as to my identity, so that it will be impossible for you to trace me. Under it, as under a new banner, I shall fight and endeavour to win that self-respect which up to now I have never been able to attain. Look upon me as one who is dead, and try, if you can, to forgive me for the pain I have caused you these few weeks past. Remember always that, even though I gave way, I did not fall altogether. Try also to understand that my victory over myself was, in a great measure, a proof of my love for you. God bless you always. Think sometimes of
Your ever affectionate brother,
Max.
In a postscript there were a few directions as to what should be done with his valet, Theodore, and the manner in which his horses and other belongings should be disposed of.
For some moments after I had read it, I stood holding the letter in my hand, staring at it in blank amazement. I read it again and again, trying, in vain, to arrive at a proper understanding of it. Of one thing there could be no doubt. He had proposed to the Princess, and she had told him that she did not love him. He had accordingly determined to relinquish his position in society and to go abroad, rather than allow her to be forced into a marriage with a man she did not love. Was ever a man more noble? At the same time it occurred to me that he had often stated that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to endeavour to win a position for himself in a new country, where nobody knew him, and his rank could be of no assistance to his efforts. This was what he was going to do now. But it was impossible we could permit it. At any hazard I felt that I must find him, and argue it out with him, before he could leave England. For my father's and mother's, for his own, for mine, and for Pannonia's sakes, he must be prevented from committing this rash act. At that moment Felix entered the room once more.
"I have made inquiries," he began, "but Theodore declares he knows nothing of his master's movements. He was told to wait here until he received his instructions from your Highness."
"Tell him that I will see him later," I answered. "In the meantime give me my hat and call a hansom. I am going out."
A cab having been obtained, I bade the man drive me to the nearest telegraph office. Once there I wired to my father to know if he had seen anything of Max, and implored him, should he put in an appearance, to keep him until I arrived. Then I drove to Scotland Yard, where I sent in my card to the Chief Officer of the Detective Department. To him, in confidence, I imparted my fears, and told him that, if possible, I wanted my brother's whereabouts ascertained before it would be possible for him to leave England, convincing him, at the same time, of the necessity that existed for secrecy. This precaution he promised most religiously to observe. After that, I returned to my own abode to await the telegram from my father. At last it came. It was worded as follows: "Max left here more than an hour ago, having said good-bye to us prior to leaving for the Continent." I immediately sat down and scribbled a note to Scotland Yard, informing them of the discovery I had made. Then, when I had written another to my hostess of that evening, asking her to excuse me not being present at her dinner, on account of urgent private trouble, I took a hansom and drove to Waterloo. Instantly on my arrival at home I gave my father and mother a full account of all that had occurred. They, like myself, were overwhelmed by the suddenness of the catastrophe, and could give me no further information than that Max, after bidding them good-bye, had driven to Eastleigh, in order to catch, so they supposed, a train either for London or Southampton. I inquired at the station, but in vain. The station-master had not seen him, nor could he tell by what train he would have been likely to have travelled.
"There was the 6.50 up to town, your Royal Highness," he said, "and the 6.45 down to Southampton. He might have taken either."