“Is that to-day’s paper?” she asked, moved by a sudden impulse of alarm for which there appeared no special reason.
“Yes, your Highness. Sad business this about Thracia. I wish I had the men that murdered that poor fellow aboard of my ship. There would be no yard-arms to let when I’d done with ’em.”
“Murdered?” said the Princess, with sinking heart. “Please let me see.”
Captain Binks smoothed out the crumpled sheet and handed it to her, and she read the account, telegraphed in the first instance from Bellaviste to London, over a hastily repaired wire, by the correspondent of the ‘Fleet Street,’ of the recapture of the city, of Louis O’Malachy’s confession, and of Prince Otto Georg’s election to the vacant throne. As she read it she resolved instantly that Nadia should hear nothing of the news until the report was confirmed.
“Thank you, my good captain,” she said, handing the paper back to its owner. “It is indeed terrible! Will you have the goodness to send Alessandro to me as you go out?”
Captain Binks departed, somewhat disappointed by the indifference with which the Princess had received the news, and which he attributed to the fact of her being a foreigner, and she hastily laid her plans while waiting for the courier to appear. The account in the newspaper had mentioned the presence of Mr Hicks in Bellaviste, apropos of the accident which had delayed his arrival there, and the Princess had a certain amount of acquaintance with Mr Hicks. He had been sent on a journalistic mission to Scythia some time ago, charged to ascertain the real facts as to the persecution of the Evangelicals, rumours of which had reached America, and he had gone to the fountainhead, and had interviewed Count Wratisloff and herself. When Alessandro entered the room she directed him to procure a carriage for the whole day, and intrusted him also with a telegram to be despatched immediately, addressed to Mr Hicks at Bellaviste, and inquiring whether the reports which had reached Malta of recent events in Thracia were trustworthy. Alessandro was relieved of his usual duty of accompanying the carriage, and ordered to wait at the house and bring the return telegram to his mistress as soon as it arrived. Having made these arrangements, the Princess went in search of Nadia, whom she found still curled up on the stone window-seat.
“I have ordered the carriage to take us to Il Boschetto this morning, my child,” she said, briskly. “We will spend the day there, and come back in the evening. It will be a pleasant change, and you will like to see the orange-groves.”
“Yes, Marraine,” assented Nadia, without showing much interest in the prospect. “I suppose there is not likely to be any news before we get back—genuine news, I mean?”
“If there is, it shall be brought out to us,” said the Princess. “You may be sure of that, dear child.”
Somewhat comforted, Nadia went to her room to prepare for the drive; but her godmother did not breathe freely until they were safely outside the gates of the city and well on their way. At any moment, while they were in the house, some acquaintance might come in, and enter upon the one absorbing topic of conversation. But it was too early as yet for most of the Valetta ladies to be out, while the gentlemen were still busy in office or orderly-room, and all was safe when once the white city on its steep hill had been left behind, and the long country drive begun. Bare little fields with stone walls enclosing them, without a tree or a bush to break the monotony, interspersed with small houses like square stone boxes, windowless and chimneyless, lay on either side of the road. After driving some distance, they came in sight of Città Vecchia. Here there is a grotto which is said to have been at one time the abode of St Paul; but the Princess thought that its genuineness was too problematical for it to call for a visit, and the city was left on one side, in spite of the remonstrances of the driver of the carriage.