“Of course, if you care to force yourself upon her after what she has said——”
“You will drive me wild, Cyril. I will write to her, then.”
“No, you won’t. At least, I am not going to carry any letter. You ought to know by this time that you should never put on paper anything that might prove compromising later on. I’ll take any number of messages from you, if you like, and deliver them without note or comment.”
“What do I care about being compromised? If you will tell me the most compromising form in which a letter can be written, I’ll write it.”
“I see. What I was afraid of was your compromising her.”
“Oh, go and tell her what I want. You badger a man till he doesn’t know whether he’s standing on his head or his heels! But if you will make her understand that I beg and beseech and entreat her to marry me, and that I undertake that the people shall receive her joyfully as queen, I’ll forgive you—that is, if you bring back word that she says yes.”
“Very well. I suppose I may give orders for a carriage and relays of horses to be ready to-morrow morning? Whether Miss O’Malachy decides to take the Trans-Continental express for Pavelsburg, or to go and stay at Eusebia preparatory to being transformed into the Queen of Thracia, we must get her out of the place before people are about. I’ll take Wright to drive, if you can spare him. He couldn’t tell tales here if he would.”
“Oh, all right. But what on earth is the good of all this fuss? Tell her that if she will only have me, we will be married as soon as we can get a British chaplain up here.”
“Do keep cool,” entreated Cyril. “In any case, I thought that the lady always fixed the day?”
He left the room as Caerleon gave a despairing groan, and returned to the gaol for his second interview with Nadia. He found her sitting with the wife of the governor, a pleasant-looking, white-haired old lady whom deafness appeared to condemn to perpetual speech. Cyril could hear her monotonous voice rambling on as he came up the stairs, and it was not until he had written on a piece of paper that it was very important he should speak to Nadia Mikhailovna in private that she withdrew to the chimney-corner and comparative silence. Nadia had laid aside her peasant’s dress, which had been torn almost to rags in the rough handling she had received from the crowd, and the old lady had lent her a black gown of her own, which was so much too large about the waist that it was necessary to keep it in place by a sash. This gave her a somewhat nun-like appearance, and she looked very tall and severe as she accompanied Cyril to the window.