“I see. You desire our understanding to remain in force, with the one unfortunate exception?” said the King, obviously much relieved.
“Exactly. We desire that our alliance with your Majesty’s kingdom may continue,” said M. Drakovics. “This object may appear a small advantage in return for which to waive our claim to the ceded territory; but it is of such importance to us that if it is assured, I can answer for the tranquillity of Thracia.”
“My brother is also extremely anxious not to press hardly upon your Majesty,” said Cyril. “It would not be like him not to feel keenly such a slight as he has received; but out of consideration for you, and for the sake of his kingdom, he will lay aside his own feeling in the matter. Your Majesty will wish, no doubt, to consult your Ministers—who were to arrive at the castle last night, I remember, in order to be present at the ceremony so unhappily interrupted—before signifying your adherence to the plan we suggest; and you will probably also consider it advisable to communicate with the Emperor of Pannonia. M. Drakovics will undertake that no active steps shall be taken until this evening in the matter of the frontier; and I do not doubt that your Majesty will think, on considering the circumstances, that to give us the assurance we ask is merely a piece of international courtesy.”
“It’s done!” said Cyril, meeting Caerleon that night on his return in triumph with the were-wolf’s skin, “though I thought my hair would have turned grey with anxiety while we waited. The treaty with Mœsia is to stand, and Pannonia will continue to support us at Czarigrad. These seem only little things; but they mean a good deal to us, and they stave off the Great War for a little while longer. Everything is quiet now.”
“Wait a minute,” said Caerleon. “There’s something I want to say. It seems to me that neither of you,” glancing from Cyril to M. Drakovics, “has quite understood hitherto my intentions about marrying. That there may be no doubt about them in the future, I intend to declare you my heir, Cyril, when we return to Bellaviste, and this must be confirmed by the Legislative Assembly if I am to stay in Thracia. Miss O’Malachy won’t marry me, and I won’t marry any one else; but this plan will secure the succession to the throne.”
“I don’t quite appreciate being set up side by side with you for Scythia to plot against,” said Cyril; “but never mind, I daresay I shall get used to it in time.”
“And I cannot doubt that your Majesty’s choice will be most popular in Thracia,” said M. Drakovics.
“Ah, very good,—and when I have time, Cyril, I will set about looking for a wife for you,” said Caerleon, lazily.
CHAPTER XV.
TERMS OF ACCOMMODATION.
The two months which had been fraught with events of so much moment to Caerleon had not been devoid of incident for Nadia, although her circumstances afforded at first sight far less promise of excitement than did his. Since their hasty departure from Bellaviste, the O’Malachy and his wife had been sojourning at the frontier village of Witska, where they seemed inclined to remain as a thorn in the side of M. Drakovics, and this the more that he could not discover any motive, even that of devising plots, for their doing so. His agents visited the village perpetually, both in disguise and in their proper persons, and after dogging the footsteps of the Herr Oberst and his wife for a longer or shorter time, and even making incursions into their rooms at the inn when they were out, returned to their employer baffled. In fact, there seemed nothing for them to observe. The “Kur” arrangements at Witska were more primitive even than those at Janoszwar; but the O’Malachy drank the regulation number of tumblers of medicated water with unfaltering bravery, and took the prescribed stroll afterwards, accompanied by his wife, on the only level piece of road in the village, duly increasing the distance a little every day. The afternoon was invariably spent in the open air, in a sheltered spot at the foot of a blank wall belonging to the oldest part of the inn, Madame O’Malachy reading aloud occasional extracts from one of the French novels which were her constant companions, and her husband responding lazily with good-humoured criticisms. No life could have appeared more simple and innocent, none more entirely above-board. And yet, as Nadia could have told, although she based her opinion rather upon various small indications than upon actual evidence, the worthy couple were the whole time carrying on an extensive and complicated secret correspondence, and acting as intermediaries between the Thracian patriots who disliked the present régime and their Scythian sympathisers. An unexpected meeting with her mother early one morning showed Nadia that she was pale and heavy-eyed, as though she had worked late the evening before; and the mystery was explained a few nights after, when, hearing sounds in the house after midnight, and fearing she knew not what, she equipped herself with great bravery for a search, and discovered both her father and mother still in their sitting-room, the one engaged in writing letters and the other in destroying a number of papers which appeared to contain reports of some kind.