TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I—CELIA.

CHAPTER II—SIR HENRY’S REASONS

CHAPTER II—WAS IT MURDER?

CHAPTER IV—THE FIRST MOVE

CHAPTER V—CELIA LEARNS THE TRUTH

CHAPTER VI—‘A FURTHER DEVELOPMENT

CHAPTER VII—PLANNING A STATE MARRIAGE

CHAPTER VIII—KATRINE

CHAPTER IX—A GENUINE SURPRISE

CHAPTER X—CELIA’S MOTHER

CHAPTER XI—A FAMILY COUNCIL

CHAPTER XII—AT THE EMBASSY

CHAPTER XIII—THE SHADOW OF A NEW DECISION

CHAPTER XIV—ALMOST THE MARRIAGE EVE

CHAPTER XV—GONE

CHAPTER XVI—THE SEARCH

CHAPTER XVII—THE LETTERS

CHAPTER XVIII—AT CRUDENSTADT

CHAPTER XIX—NEWS FROM KATRINE

CHAPTER XX—THE CHALLENGE

CHAPTER XXI—THE NIGHT

CHAPTER XXII—TRICKED

CHAPTER XXIII—A STRANGE DEVELOPMENT

CHAPTER XXIV—THE WORK OF RESCUE

CHAPTER XXV—TOGETHER ONCE MORE

CHAPTER XXVI—NET MAKING AND NET BREAKING

CHAPTER XXVII—THE NET PROVES ITS STRENGTH

CHAPTER XXVIII—SCHWARTZ BRINGS STRANGE NEWS

CHAPTER XXIX—CELIA WRITES

CHAPTER XXX—DEATH TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER XXXI—AT LAST

CHAPTER I

CELIA.

Love laughs at locks and bolts and bars and every other kind of obstacle, and so Celia and I were sitting hand-locked on a bit of rock on Moreby Point, watching the waves as they dashed against the cliffs below us, and churned themselves into foam on which the thin April sunlight danced and sparkled brilliantly.

There were no bolts, or bars, or locks in our case, but there were plenty of other obstacles, and the fact that we had evaded them made the meeting all the sweeter for the spice of defiance to all our authorities that flavoured it.

“There’ll be an awful row, Stanley,” said Celia, laughing, as she turned her eyes on me. “ Mrs. Collingwood will glower and glare at me when I go back, and put on that horrified expression of hers, and promptly write off to Sir Henry. But I don’t care,” and she laughed rebelliously.

“And I’m sure I don’t. Try the effect of one of those laughs on her and see what it does. It would kill my anger.”

“You’re a goose,” and she pushed her hand further into mine and nestled closer to my side.

“I shall get it too. He’ll be just mad with me.”

Sir Henry Meredith was my uncle and her guardian, and in both our eyes a somewhat terrifying old man. “But I don’t care, either. We’re not doing any harm. I’m twenty-five, you’re twenty; quite old enough to choose for ourselves. And if he doesn’t like it he must find his own consolation.”

“That’s all very well for you. I don’t know what he can do to you. I suppose he can’t do much, but he can pack me off to the end of the earth.”

“He can’t put you where I can’t find you, Celia. At least, he hasn’t been able to so far. Besides, it’s a glaring shame to shut you up in a ghastly place like this Moreby. What does he expect ? He might as well stick a veil on you and shove you into a convent at once.”

“You wouldn’t find me there.”

“I would, if I had to pull the place down or break in to carry you off. I’m not the sort of man to be beaten easily when I’ve set my heart on a thing.”

“Am I the ‘thing ‘? “she asked, with another merry laugh.

I chose to interpret it as a challenge, and I put my arm round her, and drawing her face to me, kissed her on the lips.

“That’s one of the things,” I answered, as she struggled and drew away, blushing furiously. “ And now I’ve another. It’s time you wore this, Celia,” and I took out a diamond ring that I had brought with me. “Give me your left hand.”

“I daren’t, Stanley.”

“Daren’t ! That’s a new word in your vocabulary; and I can’t very easily think of anything you daren’t do. Give me your hand.”

“Daren’t I refuse ? “she asked, with a glance of witching roguishness in her bright, laughing blue eyes. She was very fair, with lovely colouring, hair a sheen of gold, complexion clear white, with a ruddy glow of health and strength; and her features regular, clear-cut, and strong. The most beautiful girl in the world to me.

“Give me your left hand, or “

“Or what ? “and she put them both behind her.

“Or I’ll say you’re afraid and sorry I came to see you.” She capitulated then, and gave it me. I held the third finger, and put the ring close to it. “With this ring “

“Stanley ! “and she dragged it away with a sharp tug. I looked at her and laughed.

“I mean it,” I said. “I mean that if I put that ring on, you’re never to take it off until “

“You’re behaving abominably to-day,” she cried, covering her blushing, happy face with both hands. Her bosom was rising and falling with the quick breathing of emotion.

“Is it abominable to show you how much I love you, Celia? To make it plain to all the world that I mean you and no other to be my wife? To ask you to wear the proof of our love, that all the world may see it? “

“I’ll wear it, Stanley,” she said, instantly; and she slid her hand into mine. “I shall be so proud of it.” This last in a whisper.

I slipped the ring on then, held her hand tight in mine, and kissed her again on the lips.

“You are mine now for always, Celia,” I whispered.

“For always, Stanley.” She drew her hand away for a moment to kiss the ring, and then slipped it bacnto mine, nestled to my side, and leant her head on my shoulder; and we sat in another delicious silence and watched the waves and the sea-birds and the sunlight.

Presently she sighed deeply, then laughed merrily and sat up.

“Now there will be a row; but I shall glory in it.”

“I don’t think there will,” I said quietly. “I thought of that, and I am going to do something. You don’t think I should leave you to bear the brunt of it alone ? “

“Alone ? “she repeated, with a quick question in her voice and look.

“Alone,” I said, enjoying her puzzlement.

“Why, what can you do ? I should like it. I should, really. I should like to have to bear something for your sake. I’m not a bit afraid of what any one can say or do — now. They can’t do anything very terrible. And I should always have this as a consolation,” and she fingered the ring, with a look of pride on her face.

“They might take it away from you.”

“Stanley ! “and a light flashed into her eyes, and such indignation, such pride in her new possession, and such defiance of any interference with it, that I was glad I had put the thought into words. “Do you think I would let anyone touch that ? “she asked, when I didn’t speak.

“I shouldn’t care to be the one to try, Celia.”

“I should like to see anyone dare.” Then, in a lower voice: “It will be my armour against all their attacks.”

“I mean it to be more than armour. It shall be a key.”

“A key ? To open what ? Oh, I know — the gate of a new life,” she cried, her momentary perplexity flashing off into a radiant smile.

“I meant partly that. A key to open the doors of this prison.”

“There can be no prison where I have that — and all that it means.”

It was very intoxicating sweetness to hear this, and for a while we lapsed into that strange lovers’ bliss which finds its aptest expression in the rhapsodies that are barely intelligible to any ears save those for which they are murmured. Then, after a long interval, I returned to the point from which it had started.

“But I am going to do something, Celia.”

“I wish there were nothing to do but sit and dream,” she murmured, and sighed happily.

“There is, however. We can’t hope to beat my uncle without a fight of some sort, I’m afraid. He’s not that kind of man.”

“What are you going to do ? “

“It’s nearly time for you to go back to Mrs. Collingwood, for one thing — for the sun’s very nearly setting.”

Celia shivered. “I dread letting you go. But I don’t care what she says. Nothing can matter now.”

“I’m going back with you, for one thing,” I said, and she started and sat bolt upright, and looked at me, surprise in every feature.

“You going to face the dragon ?” she cried.

“Yes, I’m going to face the dragon. I’m going to tell her point-blank that we’re engaged, and that, as I shall one day be the baronet, she’d better be careful how she treats my future wife.”

Celia laughed, happily and unrestrainedly. “Let me be there,” she said. “Do let me. She won’t be frightened; but she won’t know what to say.”

“Of course you shall.”

*’ I suppose it’s very absurd, but I have been so long under her rule, that I believe I could be afraid of her, if I could really be afraid of anyone. I — I think you’d better not.”

M But how would you account for that ring ? “

“Tell her you gave it me.”

“Well, then, of course, I’d much better do that. There’s really nothing to stand in the way of our engagement except Sir Henry’s stupid prejudice, or whatever it is; and I’m the proper person to tell her, as I don’t suppose Sir Henry will.”

“She’ll be mad,” said Celia, whose long subjection to the “dragon,” as she termed the stern woman in whose care my uncle had placed her, had bred an exaggerated conception of her authority and power.

“We must go in a quarter of an hour,” I said, glancing at my watch; and that the time slipped away rapidly may be imagined. It was a deliciously unlucid interval.

Then we rose, glanced for the last time seawards, and walked back along the broken path to the gloomy, solitary village about a mile inland where Celia lived.

“When I have settled Mrs. Collingwood, I shall tackle Sir Henry at once,” I declared.

“I should like to be with you then, too, Stanley.”

“There will be no fun in that interview,” I said, drily. “He is not exactly the kind of man to get much fan out of; and I know he’ll be as unpleasant as he can.”

“I am an awful lot of trouble,” she said whimsically.

11 The more for us to laugh at when it’s all over.”

“I hope it will be got over. But Sir Henry seems a hard man, although he has done so much for me. I owe everything to him.”

“And he has an awkward habit of requiring payment for any debts in full and at the most inopportune time.” I did not like my uncle.

“Can he do anything to you — to stop this ? “asked Celia, with unusual nervousness. “I am not afraid of him, but if he could I should be, I think.”

“No, he can’t do much. He can’t keep me out of the title or the entailed estates. He could leave his private fortune to somebody else, of course; and I should be rather glad if he did. I shouldn’t be verywell off for a time — I’m not now. But that’s all — and it’s not much.” I laughed with the contempt of healthy youth for mere money matters; and Celia joined in the laugh when I added: “Nothing can keep me froou.

By this time we had reached the village, and were near the house. As we walked up the narrow front path to the door, Celia whispered that the dragon was peeping at us from behind the bedroom curtains.

“If it weren’t that other eyes may be watching us, I’d kiss you here in full view of her, Celia, just for mere devilment,” I said, and it made her laugh, as I intended.

I gave my card to the servant, and said that I particularly wished to see Mrs. Collingwood at once. We went into the severely furnished drawing-room, and, for all her courage, Celia was looking nervous. The environment affected her.

The rustle of a stiff, black silk dress on the stairway and across the hall warned us of the enemy’s approach; and purposely I drew Celia to the window, pointed to some object outside and said something to make her laugh. In the middle of the laugh Mrs. Collingwood — a tall, bony, hard-featured woman — entered. She paused in the doorway, frowned upon Celia, and then, with a very slight and ceremonious bow over my card, which she held in her hand, looked at me.

“Ah, Mrs. Collingwood, how do you do ? “I said, putting an unusual and unnecessary warmth into my manner as I hastened across the room and held out my hand. She regarded me sternly, and held out two fingers; but I. captured the whole hand and shook it, while I smiled into her face. “I have something very particular to say to you; but I shan’t detain you long.”

She advanced in her stiff, stately fashion to a chair, and was in the act of sitting down, when she caught sight of the ring which Celia was purposely displaying.

“What does that mean, Celia ? “she demanded, in a quite angry tone, as though my love were a child and had been detected in some wilful mischief and wrongdoing.

“Ah, I’m glad you’ve seen it,” I said, readily, in a chatty voice. “I hope you’ll like it. Celia, let Mrs. Collingwood examine it closely. It’s the engagement ring I’ve just given Celia. I chose diamonds “

“Take it off at once, Celia. How dare you wear it in my presence ? “broke in the dragon, in a tone of such indignation and command that I was very glad I had come to bring the news myself.

“My dear Mrs. Collingwood, I assure you that’s quite

impossible. Please listen to me. Celia is going to be my wife. I love her, and she loves me. You have been young yourself, and will understand these things. Well, as we are engaged, I think it best that Celia should have the usual token of an engagement; and, of course, she will wear it always.”

“I shall write at once to Sir Henry Meredith, and tell him everything, and that you have been down here and conspired together to meet in this clandestine and secret way, hoodwinking me in the most deceitful manner in the world. It is most disgraceful, most deceitful, most shameful.”

“Excuse me, madam, but I cannot permit you to apply such terms to my conduct, nor will I hear them applied to Celia. Apparently you forget,” I said, putting as much authority into my tone and manner as I could, “that after Sir Henry, I shall be the next baronet; that I have a perfect right to choose my own wife, that Celia has an equal right to consent to marry me.”

** Sir Henry Meredith will never consent; and I repeat “

“Sir Henry can’t help himself,” I broke in, not wishing to hear any more of her adjectives; “and, as you have spoken so frankly, be good enough to hear me in my turn. I am going straight from here to my uncle myself to tell him what I have told you. If he attempts any unreasonable objection, I shall simply disregard it; and if Celia writes to me that any kind of restraint or unpleasantness is attempted here in consequence of this, I shall make arrangements for her to be removed from your care to that of my aunt and sister.”

There was sufficient determination in my manner to convince her that I was thoroughly in earnest, and she made no reply. Then Celia did a clever and characteristic thing. She knelt down by the old lady’s lap, took her hand and said gently:

“You will not be sorry because I am so happy, Mrs. Collingwood ? “

But the feeling that she had been outwitted hardened her.

“It is nothing to do with me. You have deceived me, Celia. I shall write to Sir Henry. You ought never to have met Mr. Meredith without my knowledge. You both know what strict injunctions Sir Henry gave me not to allow you to meet.”

“If I could not see Celia at your house because of my uncle’s absurd prejudices, how was I to see her, Mrs. Collingwood ? “I asked. “I should have been only too eager to come here to see her. But, in any case, the matter is settled, and no questions of where and when and how we ought or ought not to have met can unsettle it. That is what I came to tell you, and what I am going to tell my uncle.”

But she would not be appeased. “I shall write to Sir Henry,” was all she would say.

“As you will; only please remember what I have said about my aunt and sister, and that I am quite in earnest. Good-afternoon. Celia, will you walk with me a little way ? “and before the dragon could recover from her astonishment at this new development, Celia and I were out of the house again, to say our goodbye in private.

CHAPTER II

SIR HENRY’S REASONS

Although I was thoroughly in earnest in my determination to have my engagement to Celia an acknowledged fact and had taken the ring down as the result of a carefully-considered plan of campaign, and further, had spoken so resolutely to her of my intention to set my uncle at defiance, I was not without misgivings at the thought of my coming interview with him as the train carried me back to London.

I disliked my uncle, and the feeling was mutual. My father’s death, some ten years before, had left him my guardian, and he had treated my sisters and myself with neglect and harshness. He was not only a severe man, but an unjust one, and when I was old enough to understand things, I knew that his life was about as evil, self-indulgent, dissipated, and wrong going as it could possibly be.

There was, moreover, some kind of mystery attaching to it which I could not solve. He would disappear for months at a time, going no one knew whither, and doing no one knew what, except, perhaps, his German valet and confidential man — a fellow named Schwartz, whom I detested as cordially as I distrusted. A sly, unctuous man, with a servile manner, who could put insolence even into the waggle of an eyelash. I had thrashed him once when I was about eighteen, fonsolence to my sister, on one of our rare and exceedingly unpleasant visits to my uncle’s country house; and I knew that he bore me a grudge, which he would repay if chance ever gave him the opportunity.

“My uncle and I rarely met without quarrelling, and I knew that he would make this coming interview as unpleasant as he could. And his capacity in that respect was very considerable; for, with all his vices, no one denied his cleverness.”

Who Celia was, and why he had brought her up, none of us knew. He had certainly taken great care in her education. I had asked him about her, but he always told me to hold my tongue; and when he had learned once that I had seen her without his knowledge, he flew into a great passion, and ordered me never to dare to do such a thing again. More than that, he hurried her and the dragon away, first to the Continent, and then, on their return, to an out-of-theway place in England, where I should never have found her, had she not written secretly to my sister to describe her troubles.

His antagonism in this matter baffled me completely. There was no possible reason that I could see why Celia and I should be separated in this way; and, with my staunch little sister’s help, I had systematically evaded his precautions, and outwitted him, and had managed to see her.

It was late when I reached London, but I drove at once to his house, resolved to see him before any letter could reach him from Mrs. Collingwood.

His creature, Schwartz, opened the door to me.

“I want to see my uncle at once,” I said.

“I am afraid he is not at home, Mr. Stanley. If you will step into the dining-room, I will go and see,” he answered, with his customary half-deferential, halffurtive air.

“I’ll go and see for myself,” I answered, curtly. I did not mean to give my uncle the chance of denying himself, and I knew I should find him in what he called his sanctum.

“It is as much as my place is worth to permit you to go in unannounced,” said the fellow, putting himself in my way.

“Very well, then; come and announce me,” I said, as I pushed my way past him and went towards the room. My height was useful to me then. I was close on six feet, broad, and very tough, and he was a shrinking creature, scarcely above my shoulder. He would have stopped me, had he dared; but he contented himself with another protest, which I heeded as little as the first. I knew, by the way he hurried to the room, that I had guessed my uncle’s whereabouts correctly.

“Will you wait, sir, while I prepare Sir Henry?”

He put an emphasis on the word prepare, which made me look at him. He winced under the glance, and opened the door without any more nonsense.

My uncle was sitting smoking and turning over some papers as I entered; and, at the mention of my name, looked around angrily at being disturbed.

“Tell him I can’t see him,” he said, as though he had not already seen me.

“Isn’t that a little superfluous, uncle, as I am already here ? “and without more ado, I went to him and held out my hand. “I want to speak to you particularly.”

“Can’t you write it ? I’m very comfortable and don’t want to be troubled. Besides, I’ve something important to think about.”

He did not offer to take my hand, nor did he raise his eyes from the letter he was reading — a discouraging beginning. However, I drew up an easy-chair on the other side of the fireplace, threw myself into it, and answered cheerfully:

I won’t interrupt you.” I lighted a cigar, and sat waiting for him to finish reading his papers. The silence lasted for nearly half an hour, during which he behaved precisely as if he had been alone in the room, not glancing once in my direction. But if he could be obstinate, so could I, and I would have waited not only half an hour, but half a week, if necessary, to tire him out of his own tactics.

I began at last to admire his excellent acting, and I watched him closely until he pretended to have finished, packed the papers up neatly, locked them away in a drawer, and, putting his keys in his pocket, got up as if to leave the room. To do this, he had to pass between me and the table, and I drew my chair across the space quietly, and blocked his path.

He stopped, looked down at me, and said:

“You’re an impudent young beggar ! What do you want with me?”

“If you’ve finished that other business, I wish to talk to you about mine. But I’m in no sort of hurry.”

He laughed — a short, dry laugh, with no merriment in it, and, sitting down again in his chair, took a cigar, and said:

“If you were always as impudent, I should like you better. What is it you want ? Money? “

“No “— I shook my head — “I want to speak to you about something quite different.”

“Well, what is it ? What is it ? “

“I’ve just come up from Moreby. I have been down to see Celia, to ask her to marry me. We are engaged to be married, and I have given her an engagement ring.”

I looked for a violent outburst at this; but nothing of the sort came. Instead, he looked at me with cynical coolness, as though I were a particularly pitiable specimen of a fool, nodded his head, and went on smoking, and then made as if he were quite willing to hear more. A most aggravating manner.

“Well ? “he said, when I was silent.

“I wished to tell you at once.”

“Nothing else to say ? “

“No.”

“Very well. Good-night.” His manner was inscrutable.

“Have you nothing to say at the news ?” I asked.

“Oh, do you want my opinion ? “

“I hope you will have no objection,” I answered, beginning to feel very uncomfortable at his strange attitude.

“Why do you hope that ? Are you prepared to heed it ? I know the unreasonableness of the average idiot who fancies himself in love.”

“I would rather marry with your consent than without it, and, of course, Celia herself is anxious to do what you wish.”

“When are you going to be married ? “he asked, in the casual tone in which he might have asked about a perfect stranger. I began to feel my blood warming under what I knew he intended me to regard as his contemptuous indifference to me and my plans.

“Of course, that’s not settled yet,” I said.

“Oh, well, that’s all right. You’ll make a very striking couple. You’re a tall fine fellow, and Celia’s certainly pretty. A pretty pair of turtle doves.” His sneer and the dry little snort of a laugh with which he pointed it, brought a flush to my cheek. He saw it, but pretended to see nothing. “Oh, by the way, you forgot to drop in and give me a hint of what you meant to do ? How was that ? “

“I thought you would have done your best to prevent my seeing Celia in that case,” I answered, bluntly.

“Very creditable to your perspicacity. But all the same, of all the blundering young fools that ever made a deliberate ass of himself and ruined a girl’s life, you are the biggest and the blindest.”

He spoke in just the even tone in which he might have uttered a formal congratulation. Still, open abuse from him was less galling than his tone of sneering indifference, and less dangerous.

“I don’t profess to understand you, although that remark is much more in character than your previous ones. You are the one man I allow to insult me with impunity. But I don’t want to hear any more,” and I got up to go. I had done my errand. Had told him my news, and he knew I was in earnest.

“Yes; I suppose you can’t very well thrash me,” he said. “But you’d better not go yet. You’ve done Celia enough harm already, and though I shouldn’t mind letting you ruin yourself, I don’t want her life wrecked in the process. Of course, this thing can’t go any further. Sit down. Take another cigar. You’ll need it, probably, to settle your nerves.”

“I don’t understand what you mean about Celia’s life being wrecked by marrying me,” I said. He didn’t answer directly, and in the silence I sat down again and lit a cigar. I was now more uneasy than ever. He stared into the fire very thoughtfully. “What do you mean ? “I asked, when the pause had lasted some minutes.

The question seemed to rouse him from a reverie, for he started and his face lost its close, tense expression.

Did it never occur to you to ask yourself whether I could not have a good reason for keeping you and Celia apart ? Or again, have you had no curiosity as to who she is? You’re one of those thoughtless, dogged young fools who think every thing’s right if they are only happy — but you must have had some sort of intelligent interest in the matter.”

“I set it down to your prejudice against me.”

He laughed sneeringly again.

“Ah, self again. Everything that suits you is right; everything that doesn’t is motived by spite. When are you going to learn that the world has an even more important axis to run on than you and your likes and dislikes ? “

“What was your reason then ? “I asked, passing by his taunt.

“Mainly that you’re absolutely impossible as a husband for Celia. Yes, even you, Stanley Meredith, and future baronet.”

“Of course you’ll give me the reasons for this impossibility.”

“Of course you ought to have come for them before you did this blundering mischief,” he retorted angrily.

“I don’t see yet that I have done any mischief. Celia loves me even as I love her.”

“And because two turtle doves coo in the same key the world may go hang. Oh, the unselfishness of this true love ! “and he threw up his hands in mockery. “Well, and who do you suppose Celia is?” He leant forward and looked at me sharply.

“I don’t know, and for that matter don’t care. To me she is Celia.”

“Very Arcadian, no doubt. But Arcadia isn’t the world we live in. Don’t it seem odd to you that, as I’m not exactly a man with any deep mines of affection in my nature, I should have taken all this care about her and spent all this money on her education.”

“You may not always have been so cynically indifferent to affection. Mines are emptied by sudden explosions as well as worked out. You don’t volunteer much about your past.”

“By Heaven, you’re not such a hopeless fool after all ! “he exclaimed with energy. “You’ve hit it very nearly. Celia is a survival of my past.”

I looked at him quickly and started as a thought occurred to me. He read it, laughed, and shook his head. M No. She’s not my child. If she was you should marry her.”

“Who is she then ? “I asked, breathing a sigh of relief. He pursed his lips, set his features, and frowned heavily as he looked into the fire.

“I’m going to tell you what only one other soul on earth knows — that’s Schwartz. Celia is an impossible wife for you, because in her own right she stands next but one in direct succession to the Throne of the Duchy of Saxe-Lippe, and the life between her and the succession is only that of a lad little more than a lunatic in mind, and so feeble and frail in body that any day may see the road clear for her. Now do you understand what a fool you’ve made of yourself, and what a wrong you’ve done her?”

I listened dumfounded in amazement and consternation.

“If you were to marry her and her brother were to die, and she were called to the throne, your marriage would be declared a morganatic one, and would be set aside in order that she might be given to some other man with proper blood in his veins to rear Grand Dukes.” He said this with such gloating cruelty that all my senses were impulsed with hate of him, and my hands clenched and my teeth set in impotent rebellion against his words.

“Nor is that all. You would interfere. Don’t blame me. Because of the circumstances under which Celia came into my care, I have been a proscribed man with a price on my head, in that most deadly form of proscription — a heavy reward for the man whose bullet or knife could reach my heart. By luck I was able to disappear at the time, by luck again your uncle’s death gave me the baronetcy, and no one looked for the quondam colonel of the German Lancers in the prosaic person of an English baronet. But at any moment the secret may be known and the end may come. That danger passes to anyone who takes Celia from her seclusion — with another, and no less a one, believe me — the implacable hatred of the family who look to the

Grand Duke’s present line being extinguished with the feeble idiot, Celia’s brother, Constans.”

He paused, glanced at me, and laughed.

“This sounds high falutin’ to you, I suppose; preposterous in this dull, ugly, foggy, prosaic London. See here, this will tell you what I, cynically indifferent to everything as you deem me, think,” and, putting his waistcoat and shirt aside, he showed me a shirt of mail that he was wearing. “I have worn one for twenty years.”

I said nothing. My sudden wonderment bereft me of speech. He stood up and shook his finger warningly at me.

“You would meddle,” he repeated. “I warned you. I tried to keep you apart from Celia and all this mess of intrigue and conspiracy. You would plunge in, and you must take the consequences. May they make you no worse a cynic than they have me. Go away now. Come to-morrow morning and you shall know everything. If you think you can take better care of Celia than I can, you shall try your hand.”

I got up without a word other than a hastily mumbled good-night, and stumbled out of the room and the house, mentally blinded with what I had heard. I drove home in the same dull stupor and lay tossing through the night seeking to find a clearance of the chaotic tangle of my thoughts, till I fell asleep, only to be awakened in the grey light of the dawn by a loud summons on my bedroom door.

I jumped up and opened it to find Schwartz and my man Wilson there.

“If you please, Mr. Stanley, Sir Henry has been found dying; will you come at once to the house ? “

CHAPTER II

WAS IT MURDER?

I hurried on my clothes, and in a few minutes was in a cab driving furiously to my uncle’s.

“Tell me all you know,” I said to Schwartz. “Has he been taken suddenly ill, or what ? “

“I do not know precisely, sir. I sleep next my master, and, as I always did in the night, I got up and went to him. To my consternation I found him lying on the bed with his clothes on in a state of collapse. 1 I’m done for, Schwartz,’ he said. ‘Fetch my nephew at once. Go ! ‘I insisted upon rousing the other servants, sent for Dr. Marston, and then came for you.”

“What is the cause of it ? “

“I know nothing, sir.”

“And suspect nothing ? Make no guess ? “

“I know nothing, sir,” he repeated, and I questioned him no more.

I may say at once the mystery of my uncle’s death was never cleared up. To the doctor he gave no explanation whatever except that he had been taken ill and felt a pain in his heart. He had before been treated for heart disease, and the doctor was satisfied apparently that that was all the matter.

To me, however, my uncle told a very different story, and what his motive may have been I cannot divine. It may all have been an hallucination; or it may have been that, feeling himself at the point of death, he wished to produce a startling impression upon me to confirm the extraordinary story which he had outlined to me on the previous evening, and the further details of which I was to learn from his papers; or, on the other hand, all that he said may have been true. Wild, high-strung, improbable and far-fetched as it sounded, I am inclined to believe that he told me only what had occurred, and that his death was due to murder and not to natural causes. There was one curious item in confirmation which made a great impression upon me. A servant who had been recently taken into service had disappeared on the following morning, and in her room was found a pair of peculiarly-shaped forceppliers.

Let me give the events in due sequence, however.

When I reached my uncle’s room the doctor had finished with him, and Sir Henry, who had been waiting eagerly for my arrival, at once motioned me to the bedside.

“Pack ‘em all off,” he said, speaking slowly and with great difficulty; and I cleared the room promptly.

“I’m done for. Marston says heart. Let that be the public reason. No one need know the truth but you.” The effort to speak exhausted him greatly, and there were long gaps between his words, many of which only came after much gasping and striving.

“Hadn’t you better lie quiet ? You will only exhaust yourself.”

His white face gathered in a frown at this, and his lips muttered something I could not catch. It would not have surprised me, even at such a moment, to hear an oath. He looked it.

“Listen. They found me. I woke up. Two men were in my room. They told me their errand first, threatened to shoot me, and then forced something down my throat — poison. I didn’t tell. But you must look out.”

I listened to the incoherent, rambling, impossible tale with astonishment and incredulity, and I suppose he saw I did not credit it, although I said, quietly:

“It is very terrible, It must be looked into. But if you try and rest quietly it’ll be much the best thing. Quiet is what you want.”

My impression was that he had suddenly gone clean out of his mind.

His irritation with me at this seemed to give him strength, for he surprised me with the vigour of his next words:

“You’re a fool, Stanley. What I say is true,” and then the spasm of strength passed, and he lay quite still and white on the bed.

I waited some time in silence when, thinking the doctor should be in attendance, I bent over and asked him:

“Have you anything else to say to me ?”

“Remember about Celia. They are looking for her. Be careful. Her papers and fortune at bank. You’ll be her guardian. Look out for — for Kronheims “

At that point he fainted and I called in the doctor to restore him.

The fact that he was dying affected me, and in many respects softened me towards him. I would have done anything in my power to alleviate his sufferings and ease his last hours; but my prevailing thought was that his mind had given way under some strain or other, and that it would be better for him to die than live on a madman. I could not bring myself to feel any deep grief at his death, and it was thus with something of surprise that I saw his servant, Schwartz, manifestly overcome with a passion of sorrow.

My uncle did not rally from the fainting fit, and in less than an hour from the time of my entering the house he was dead.

Although I did not at the first attach any importance to the extraordinary statement he had made about his having been poisoned secretly, I questioned Schwartz as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his prostration.

“When you went to my uncle in the night, did you see anyone in the room or any signs of anyone having been there ?”

He looked much surprised at the question.

“No, Sir Stanley,” he answered, readily. “My room, as you know, adjoins his, with a double door between. The outer door of my room and that of his room were always locked by his orders, but the doors of communication were never locked.”

“Did you hear, and would you have heard anyone in his room? “

“Not unless there was some rather loud noise made, sir. I heard nothing until I was going in. It was my invariable practice to go into the room at least once in a night.”

“Did he say anything to you about anyone having been in his room ? “

“No, sir, but I seemed to read it in his face, and believed it for a moment until I found the outer door of his room locked with the key inside. I knew then it was impossible.”

“You were deeply in his confidence, Schwartz. Had he any enemies ? “

“He is dead, sir, and I don’t know whether he would have wished me to speak of such things.”

“He had told me something of the old Saxe-Lippe business. Could it be possible that anyone would make an attempt upon his life for any reasons connected with that ? “

“He lived in constant expectation of it, sir. We were always on our guard, always prepared against some form of attack.”

“And the cause of this ? “

“Are matters that he never permitted me to discuss, sir.”

For a moment I considered whether to tell the man my uncle’s extraordinary story of the secret attack upon him, but I reflected it could do no good. He, like the doctor, was convinced that death was due to heart failure. Why start a scandal which seemed to have its only origin in my uncle’s mental failure and the ground for which appeared to be effectually disposed of by the locked door with the key inside the room ?

But when I was alone I made a point of examining the key closely. I knew of the burglar’s trick of turning a key from* the outside by using a particularly powerful pair of forceps to grip the small end of the key which protrudes through the lock. I found on it certain marks just at the spot which might have been caused by such use, and the discovery made me thoughtful.

In the morning when I heard of the departure of one of the servants I made a point of personally examining her room. Then it was that I found the pliers and made a little experiment. I carried them to my uncle’s door, and, having locked it, tried if the pliers were strong enough to turn the key from the outside. I did it without any difficulty, and a very short examination showed me that the lock had been most carefully oiled in order to admit of its turning smoothly and readily.

It was now quite clear that if anyone had really been minded to get into my uncle’s room and out again, locking the door securely after them, here were the means ready to hand. It might not be more than a coincidence; but, on the other hand, it might; and, with this in my mind I sent for the police, told them that the servant who had left hurriedly had committed a theft of some particular valuables, and desired them to raise the hue and cry everywhere for her. At the same time I put private inquiry agents on her track and spent much money in the search.

But it was all to no purpose. The woman vanished as completely as though she had been a wraith ; and thus, although nothing was ever proved, or even provable, I could never think of my uncle’s death as other than a baffling mystery.

It had one marked effect upon me. I was young, strong, confident and self-reliant; able to see very clearly any end I desired to gain, and quick and resolute, not to say obstinate, in getting to it by my own way. But the completeness with which this stroke had been dealt, supposing my uncle’s story to have been true, forced home upon me a conviction of secret dangers and undercurrent sources of violence and conspiracy which I should have dismissed with a jeer as impossible a few hours before. The thought of that coat of mail worn for twenty years under the frock coat of irreproachable fashion and cut, and the weird story •whispered between the laboured gasps of the fast dying man, were enough in the future to give me a chill and to set me looking for the chief dangers anywhere but on the surface.

I found my uncle’s affairs in complete confusion. He had left no will, and his papers were in absolute disorder. But this did not trouble me, as I left everything for the lawyers to settle. But what did trouble me greatly was the problem of Celia’s affairs.

At the bank I found the papers which my uncle had mentioned, together with instructions for them to be given to me; and I set to work on them at once. They told me an extraordinary story.

They were all the papers necessary to prove her parentage. She was unquestionably the daughter of the reigning Grand Duke Constans of Saxe-Lippe and of his wife, the Duchess Marie; and with the proofs of this were a number of documents of a private character, forming a chain of confirmatory testimony. There were, further, between twenty and thirty photographs of Celia taken at various ages from babyhood up to within the last few months, and I saw at once that my uncle had hit upon this unusual but shrewd method of establishing her identity beyond question, when and if the need should arise.

In addition there were letters from her mother, the Grand Duchess, to my uncle, showing that it was she who gave Celia to his charge; and through them and a statement in my uncle’s handwriting, I came upon the secret history of an intrigue which was at the bottom of the whole extraordinary case. The part which had played in it occasioned me more surprise than I can describe.

I had known him always, as I have before said, for a man utterly self-indulgent, cynical and wrong-living; and yet these letters showed him to me as the one right-thinking, level-headed character in all the mess of intrigue, wrongful love and crime. He had fought with all his power and strength to protect the Duchess, and to keep her from the consequences of her wild, willful nature; and when he had failed, had taken upon himself the whole blame that should have fallen upon another man, her lover, and had shattered his career and placed his very life in jeopardy to save her.

I need give no more details of the affair than will suffice to make clear its effects upon my own life and Celia’s. The Princess Marie was deeply in love when, at the age of eighteen, she was forced to marry the Grand Duke Karl, nearly thirty years older than herself, a morose, stern, harsh tyrant, without an atom of sympathy for any one of her girlish tastes, and yet so much in love with her beauty that he was consumed by the maddest jealousy of any man on whom she ever chanced to look. He shut her up in his gloomy palace,vetoed the slightest attempt at gaiety, surrounded her with a lot of psalm-singing Lutheran parsons and soured old women, and made her life one long round of monotonous misery.

Driven in upon herself in this way her neurotic temperament sought relief in morphia, with most disastrous results. The habit became a curse, and when her first child was born, the doctors, in hope of a cure, ordered her change of scene and circumstances. This checked her mania, but unfortunately product feverish longing for excitement that she broke through all the restraints of Court life and began to indulge in wild, but generally secret, dissipation.

At this point my uncle intervened. He was at the time high in the confidence of the Grand Duke himself, and was entrusted with the task of effecting a reconciliation. He soon found that the Duchess was on the very brink of ruin.

She was in touch with her old lover, was endeavouring to bring him to the capital, Crudenstadt, and was hopelessly involved in the coils of her passion. My uncle succeeded in warding off the crisis for some time, until the second child was born, Celia. But, unhappily, the Grand Duke’s jealousy then fastened upon him, with the terrible result that the Duke charged him with having an intrigue with the Duchess, sought to have him assassinated, and declared that Celia was not his child but my uncle’s. To cover her real lover, the Duchess only laughingly and partially denied the truth of the charge, and the matter stood thus when an event occurred which provoked a tragic crisis.

My uncle was in the act of flying the country. He had agreed with the Duchess to take Celia away with him, and she had placed a considerable fortune in his hands for Celia. At that juncture the Duchess’s real lover was killed in a duel, and the news being told her suddenly, the poor girl — she was then barely one-and twenty — lost her reason under the shock. Her madness took the form of refusing to believe that her lover was dead; but her poor jangled brain was possessed by the craze that my uncle was he, while the chance similarity of their Christian names gave an apparently complete confirmation of the Grand Duke’s madly jealous blunder. The unfortunate girl filled the air with her cries for her lover, and in this miserable condition was put under restraint.

My uncle fled taking Celia with him, and though absolutely innocent of a single harmful thought towards her and as loyal and honourable as a man could be, both to her and the Grand Duke, he was everywhere accepted as guilty, and drew upon himself, not only the hot anger of the Duke and those about him, but also the vengeance of the members of the Duchess’s family who vowed to take his life as that of her betrayer.

The feud had never died out. Among my uncle’s papers — the only ones which he had kept with any system and regularity — he had included several proofs that the most exhaustive efforts had been made to trace him, and that on the occasion of secret visits to Saxe-Lippe, two attempts had been made upon his life. The second of these had been made within the past few months, in Crudenstadt, where he had been recognised.

I was thus left to speculate whether, after all, his strange story to me on his death-bed was true, and that these sleuth hound enemies had tracked him at last, or whether that idea was no more than the fancy of a brain and nerves worn out at length by that relentless fight against the fear of assassination.

I could not determine it. But what might it not mean to Celia? The thought disturbed and harassed me sorely.

What ought I to do in her interest ?

CHAPTER IV

THE FIRST MOVE

My uncle’s death produced one noteworthy change in me in regard to Celia. While he lived and had sought to keep me from her I had rebelled heart and soul against his interference, had delighted in using every means in my power to thwart him, and had longed for the moment to come when I could marry her.

But now I repented my haste and contumacy. The biting sneers with which he had shown me the effects of my rashness and secrecy rang like a warning bell in my ears, and I was torn with perplexity and harassed by regret.

What I had regarded as the only obstacle to our love was removed by death, but the obstacles between us were greater and vastly more real than ever. My clearer knowledge and authority showed me the difficulties, and my freedom riveted the fetters upon my action more firmly than ever. The mantle of responsibility had fallen on my shoulders, and I found it heavy and cumbersome enough to impede me at every step.

The one great act of my uncle’s life had resulted in his unmerited ruin and overthrow, and had involved a life of threatening peril, until in his revolt against

3he sheer injustice of it he had developed into a cynic and a rout. So this great love on which I had fixed the hopes of my life threatened an issue to the full as sad and perilous for both Celia and me.

Look at the case as I would, with all the infatuated casuistry and special pleading of a lover, I could not bring myself to decide or to believe that we could marry. Not, at any rate until she knew everything and until we both knew more of how the matters of her destiny as a possible ruler of the Saxe-Lippe Duchy would shape themselves.

I did not work my way laboriously and painfully to this conclusion without estimating carefully the chances of deliberately destroying all the evidence of Celia’s history and letting the secret of her identity die with my uncle. But to this there was one fatal obstacle.

My uncle’s man, Schwartz, knew all the facts about Celia’s infancy, and knew also Celia herself.

I sent for him a day or two after my uncle’s funeral to question him.

“You are aware, Schwartz, that my uncle has left no will,” I said, “and we can find nowhere among his papers any mention of his wishes concerning either family, friends, or servants. I desire, however, to try and interpret his wishes so far as I can. What are your plans ? Do you wish to remain in my service or have you other intentions?”

“I have scarcely had time to think, Sir Stanley. The death of my dear master is such a blow to me. By his generosity I have enough to make me independent for my life, if need be, but I would like to devote myself to furthering his plan.”

I did not like the ring of this at all, and his tone suggested more than the words.

“And what does that mean in plain terms ? “I asked.

“His great object, Sir Stanley, was to clear himself in the eyes of his old master, the Grand Duke of SaxeLippe, to see Miss Celia acknowledged as the rightful daughter of the Duke and Duchess, and, considering the weak health of her brother, probably succeeding to the throne. Anything that interfered with that, sir, always met with his bitterest antagonism and opposition.”

I knew what he meant. He was fully aware of our love, for he had constantly been employed by my uncle to put obstacles in the way of our meeting, and there was an implied threat in his words that he would continue to do so.

“You mean that you wish to bring about that reconciliation ? “

“If you are taking up the task, Sir Stanley, I shall be only too glad to work with you faithfully and serve you as I may claim to have served your late uncle, otherwise — “He paused.

“Well, otherwise ? “I asked.

“I shall respectfully ask you to allow me to resign my position in your household.”

“You are a free agent, Schwartz. Do as you think best.”

I was not going to be drawn into committing myself.

In the pause that followed he glanced at me very searchingly as if to read my meaning, shuffled about in some hesitation, half-turned as if to leave the room, then stopped, looked at me again, and, facing round, stood as though waiting for me to speak.

“Well, have you anything you wish to say ? “I asked.

“I am only waiting to know your commands, Sir Stanley.”

“I have told you you are a free agent and can please yourself. I have nothing to add to that, except that if you decide to leave I shall make you some substantial present in place of the legacy which I have no doubt my uncle would have included in his will had he made one. I shall give you five hundred pounds.”

“That is very generous, Sir Stanley,” he answered, with a bow. “Do I understand, however, that I should have your countenance in carrying forward the work I have named ? “

“That is not a question I can discuss with you at present. It will make no difference in the sum I have set aside for you.”

“No amount of money would make any difference to me, sir, in that respect.”

“I was not trying to buy you, Schwartz,” I answered, irritably. “Take a couple of days to make up your mind and let me know.”

“I did not wish to suggest you were bribing me, Sir Stanley,” he answered, quickly. “I meant only to assure you that it will be the one purpose of my life for the future. I have nothing else left to live for. If you could tell me that you are going to work for the same end it would be such a help, sir; that’s why I said what I did.”

“Very well, I accept your explanation. Come to me when you have decided,” and I sent him away feeling that the interview had only increased the difficulties of my position.

Schwartz knew everything, and was clearly resolved to use his knowledge to restore Celia to her birthright, and this meant, in other words, her final separation from me.

It became obvious that I had only one course. I must tell Celia herself the whole story and then lay plans in concert with her as to her future. I had written to tell her of my uncle’s death, and once since to explain that I was very busy, but would run down to see her as soon as practicable. I resolved to try and get away on the following day, and I wrote to her a letter saying this and telling her there was strange news for her to hear.

I was writing this letter in the afternoon when my man, Wilson, brought me the card of a Captain von Weimar, and as the name was strange to me and I was in a mood to be suspicious of all strange Germans, I scanned my visitor very curiously when I went to him.

“Sir Stanley Meredith ? “he asked, rising and smiling as he offered me his hand.

“Yes,” I replied, rather formally, for I did not care for his looks.

“I am the bearer of a letter of introduction to you from my friend, Major Von Haussmann, the husband of your charming sister,” and he gave it me.

My sister Alice had been married about three years before to this Saxe-Lippe Captain, and as I had the worst possible opinion of him the letter did not much increase my cordiality. But I could not do less than welcome him to London and express my readiness to be of such service to him as lay in my power.

He thanked me very warmly and chatted glibly, telling me that he had come to London partly because wealthy relative of his, the Baroness Borgen had taken up her residence here with her daughter, and that he hoped to present me to her.

I did not encourage this advance, using my uncle’s death as a reason. Then he surprised me.

“Your uncle was Sir Henry Meredith, I think, at one time playing a prominent part in Saxe-Lippe affairs?”

How could he know this? Alice knew no more than 1 had known.

“I do not know the incidents of my uncle’s career,” I said, coldly.

“Indeed, is that possible ? Yet perhaps so; it has only just become public knowledge in Crudenstadt. You know he was in the Saxe-Lippe Army in his younger days. A magnificent officer, held in the highest honour and esteem. But he was not then ennobled, I mean he had not his title. Everyone thought he had died years and years ago. It is only quite recently that the facts have leaked out, although there was a whisper, I remember, that he had been seen and recognised in Crudenstadt some few months ago. But no one believed it.”

“What you say is very interesting, but you must excuse me if I say it is a subject I do not wish to discuss.”

“I beg your pardon, I am sure, if I have been indiscreet,” and he turned away to other matters.

And while he chatted I sat watching him and wondering whether there was more in his words and visit than mere coincidence, and whether I was to regard it as having some sort of connection with the strange intricacies which were now developing in my life.

I answered him somewhat disconnectedly, and he noticed my abstraction. I wished he would go, but he appeared very anxious to make a favourable impression upon me. And when at length he rose to leave he said, with an air of great frankness:

“I am afraid I have intruded upon you at a time of much trouble, and have really been very selfish, but you can understand how great a stranger a man can feel coming to your huge city and knowing no one. I did not refer to your uncle’s affairs without a reason, believe me. I had hoped to have been in London earlier and to have seen him, because there was a matter of great importance I wished to see him about. I will not say anything now, as you do not wish it, but perhaps you will permit me to return to it at another time.”

“If there is anything I can tell you pray ask me now.”

While he was hesitating as if uncertain how to answer someone knocked at the door of the room and entered.

It was Schwartz. He stood as if waiting for orders.

“What do you want ? “I asked, sharply.

“You rang, Sir Stanley?”

“I did nothing of the kind. Be more careful in the future,” I said, in a sharp tone, annoyed at the interruption.

As he bowed and went out I saw him shoot a quick, searching glance at my visitor.

“I will ask you some other time, Sir Stanley, when you are less occupied. Once more let me apologise for this intrusion, and express a hope that we may meet during my stay.”

“Perhaps you will dine with me, say, on Tuesday next. Of course, you will understand that we shall be quite alone.”

I gave the invitation unwillingly, but I did not wish the man to carry away with him the impression that I was a churl in hospitality.

“I shall have the greatest pleasure,” he answered, effusively; “and I am not without hope that I may be able to be of much use to you in a way we can then discuss. I know Saxe-Lippe politics very thoroughly.”

Again he surprised me into thinking there was some secret purpose in his visit, but I shut out the evidence of this from my face.

As we shook hands I heard voices and some signs of commotion in the hall, and when I opened the door for the Captain to leave there was a surprise that filled me at once with delight and embarrassment.

Celia was in the hall declaring vigorously to Schwartz that she must see me at once, and was protesting against not being shown in to me. She was in the act of entering the room opposite when I opened the door.

“Celia ! “I cried, in my astonishment, and with a laugh she turned and came to me with outstretched hands, her eyes dancing and her cheeks flushed; but seeing a stranger with me she stopped suddenly halfway. I took her hands warmly. “Just a moment,” I whispered.

Captain von Weimar had his eyes fixed upon her beautiful face, while old Schwartz tossed up his hands as though in dismay and looked steadily at the German.

The Captain recovered himself in a moment, bowed to Celia as he passed her and then to me, and was shown out by Schwartz.

As the door closed behind him Celia laughed.

“Who is that, Stanley?” she asked.

“I don’t know. His name is Captain von Weimar, and he came to me with a letter of introduction from Alice’s husband. But what is much more important is, how came you here ? “

She laughed again at the question, pressed my hands, looked into my eyes, her own lighting with love and dancing with mischief, while she bit her lip and tried to appear afraid.

“Are you very angry? I — I’m a rebel and a runaway, and awfully wicked and wilful. But I couldn’t be exiled any longer. It’s your fault,” and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t I look very angry?” I answered smiling, and was only kept from putting my arm around her and kissing her by the fact that we were still in the hall, and I saw Schwartz watching us gloomily and furtively while he pretended to busy himself at the hat-rack. “Come into my room and tell me all about it,” I said, going towards the door.

Then Schwartz came forward and intercepted me. His look was very dark and almost threatening.

“Can you give me one moment, Sir Stanley? “

“Well, what is it ? “I asked, carelessly, over my shoulder, impatient at the interruption.

“May I speak to you alone, sir ? It is important.”

“Oh, the worries of authority,” I cried lightly to Celia. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” and I turned back to Schwartz while she went on into my room. “Now, my good fellow, what on earth is it ? “

He looked at me with an expression of aggressive reproach.

“Do you know who your visitor was, sir? “

“No, except his name.”

“I don’t think you quite understand all that has happened, sir. There is very grave and serious news. I have heard to-day that the young Duke Constans lies dangerously ill at Crudenstadt. The Kronheims are moving Heaven and earth to find the missing sister, and he who has just gone out is the younger brother of the man who hopes and means to get the throne for himself when the young Duke dies. He has now seen Miss Celia, heard you call her by her name, and recognised her. I saw the recognition in his eyes.”

The news sobered me instantly, and I bit my lip in dismay.

Then Celia put her head out of the door and called to me impatiently: “Are you coming, Stanley ?”

As I turned to go to her I caught sight of my face in a mirror, and was startled to see how the colour had left my cheeks.

CHAPTER V

CELIA LEARNS THE TRUTH

The change in my face startled Celia, and for a moment her eyes looked troubled.

“Have I done very wrong in coming like this? Does it trouble you ? I am afraid I was born to be a rebel.”

I felt very serious and am afraid that I looked as I felt. The sense of my responsibilities had been forced home upon me with such sudden completeness, that for a moment I could neither say nor do anything that my sweetheart had a right to expect. I crossed to my table and she followed me wondering. Then the unfinished letter to her caught my eye.

“I was writing to you, Celia. See, here is the letter,” and I handed it to her. She took it but looked at me instead of reading it. Our eyes met, and hers were full of astonishment, wonder and reproach. She looked down at her engagement ring and she drew my attention to it by twisting it, and then glanced at me again.

I understood the little action. It was the first time we had met since our engagement, and my manner was a sore puzzle to her. I had not kissed her.

“You have not read the letter, Celia,” I said.

“I don’t want to read it,” she cried, tossing it down on the table and turning away to the window. I thought her lips quivered slightly as she spoke, and her whole attitude was certainly a protest against my strange conduct.

I stood by the table playing nervously with some papers, perplexed and still undecided. I longed to take her in my arms and tell her again and again what she already knew, that I loved her. But between us two the barrier that must keep us apart, and of which I must tell her before another word of love passed my lips. Before I spoke, she turned round.

“I will go back again, Stanley. I am sorry I came. You are angry. I will make my peace with Mrs. Collingwood, if you wish it. Schwartz can go with me. Good-bye,” and she held out her hand. All the pleasure was out of her face, which was wistful and very sad.

“Don’t look like that, Celia. I “I stopped myself on the brink of a sentence, drawn by her sorrowful looks. “If you had read the letter you would have seen that I was going down to Moreby to-morrow to see you.”

“Then “she began eagerly, her face brightening, but dulling again as she saw no change in mine. u I will read it, please.” I gave it her and she read it through quietly.

“You are cultivating a very formal style, Stanley,” she said, drily, as she put it in her pocket. “What is the news you have to tell me ? “

“When you know, you will understand how difficult I found it to write to you.”

“You mean as my guardian?” she cried, with a half mischievous smile. “I am ready to hear it. Does it account for all this change in you?”

“The change in my manner, you mean? “I could not resist saying, and she was quick to understand me. The woebegone expression passed and she laughed.

“My new guardian’s manner, I suppose it is. I don’t like it, please. Besides, it’s so — so unexpected. I always looked for it in Sir Henry, but in Sir Stanley -“she ended with an expressive and pretty gesture of dismay. “Remember I am a rebel and very hard to drive and coerce. Can you get the lecture over soon ? “

I could not resist a smile, and, seeing it, she made a step nearer me, but drew back and stood with an assumption of demure humility and obedience. She was very lovely in my eyes, and the temptation to fling everything but our love to the winds was almost overpowering. In truth, I was longing to kiss her quite as keenly as she was looking for some sign of love from me.

“Will you sit down here, Celia ? “and I drew up an easy-chair close to the table.

“Please. I’ve had a long journey and should like some tea. Even criminals must eat and drink,” she said, as she sank into the chair and looked up to me piteously. She refused to take the situation seriously. I rang the bell and Schwartz answered so quickly that I knew he must have been in waiting close to the door. He eyed us both closely.

“Bring some tea, Schwartz,” I said, and as it was impossible for me to begin what I had to say while the servants were bustling in and out, I sat drumming my fingers on the blotting-pad in perturbed silence.

“Are you going to keep that horrid man about you ? I have always had a fear of him.”

“I believe he is to be trusted, Celia. But nothing is settled yet.”

“He looked so angry when he saw me arrive that I think he’d have given me in charge to a policeman if he could, and he made such a fuss of hurrying me out of your way.”

“I wish he had succeeded,” I said, involuntarily, and, while her eyes were asking the meaning of this, the tea was brought, Schwartz again coming in to superintend.

Celia insisted upon pouring it out, and made much of the task, asking me how much sugar and cream she was to give; whether I liked this and that, and took such pleasure in it all, and looked altogether so charming and bewitching, that I watched her with delight.

I always think one is more human after a cup of tea; do have some more,” she said, holding the teapot in readiness, and looking at me with her head prettily poised on one side.

As I handed her my cup our fingers touched. I think she did it designedly, but as I glanced at her she begged my pardon for her clumsiness, and when she had filled one cup, she said with a smile I had better take it up myself.

She was making my task much harder, for it seemed difficult to plunge from this atmosphere of flirtatious trifling into the ugly business of telling her the new position of things. Suddenly she seemed to read this thought in me, for when she had finished her tea she said:

“There, I think I have been very good. I have not teased you much and I have not -punished you at all. I can hold that over. But I can see you have something really grave to tell me, and I will try to make the telling as little difficult as possible. What has happened, Stanley ? “and her tone and manner were both serious.

“You have done wrong in coming up like this, Celia; but not for any reasons that you can see yet.”

“What does that mean ? That you are not angry ? Then I don’t mind. I was really afraid I had vexed you.”

“It is rather difficult to explain things, and for a moment you must try and think of me only as — as guardian and friend. Of course I can see,” I said, plunging on and paying no heed to her round-eyed look of consternation, “that my reception to-day has surprised you. It was bound to — but the truth is things are so changed from what they were that — that I couldn’t do anything else.”

“What is changed, Stanley?” and her face told me the only change that could chill her heart with dread.

“No, it’s not that,” I said, feeling I must reassure her. “I’m not made that way,” I smiled, and her eyes told me she did not care for anything else. “But it’s a most extraordinary story, Celia, and it’s bound to make — to alter everything.” I wasn’t getting along very glibly, but she sat with her face turned towards me, a look of deep, close interest on it. She was earnest enough now.

“Try and tell me shortly, Stanley, if it is bad news, as it seems to be.”

“It is news which many would consider the very reverse of bad, for it may mean great things for you. Did my uncle ever drop you a hint about your past — your parents, I mean ? “

“No. I have often wondered and wondered till sometimes my heart ached.” Her eyes grew tender and very grave. “Are you going to tell me ? Is it that which has caused all this difference in you ? “

“Yes,” I nodded, and then I blurted it out with a rush. “You are by birth one of the great ones of the world, Celia, the daughter of one of the reigning Continental Dukes,the Grand Duke of Saxe-Lippe, and it may soon be the case that you will have to sit on a throne.”

She caught her breath and the blood ebbed from her face leaving it very white.

“Sit on a throne?” she repeated, under her breath.

“Yes, a throne, Celia. It came about in this way. My uncle, at the time you were born, stood high in the confidence of the Grand Duke and the Duchess Marie, your mother, and, in consequence of a serious difference between them, she entrusted you to my uncle’s charge, and he brought you to England. It was agreed that you were to be kept in ignorance of your birth until the time when, if it ever came, your claim to the succession might have to be made.”

“My mother ! “She was learning forward in her chair now, and the words slipped from her lips like a sigh. A long pause followed, and then she asked wistfully: “Is she alive ? “

“I don’t know, Celia.” I did not.

She buried her face in her hands, and sat there for some time.

“I can’t realise it, Stanley. What will it mean to us?”

She sat up and looked intently at me. I smiled, but no smile of hers answered me.

I only learnt it the night after I left you at Moreby.” She put her hand up and kissed her engagement ring. “Yes, just after I had given you that. It was because of this secret that my uncle had endeavoured to prevent my seeing you. He knew the impossibility,” I said, as gently as I could utter the words.

She frowned at them and locked her fingers together.

“Do you mean “she began.

“He saw that a man in my position, a private Englishman, could never be regarded as a fit match for the daughter of the reigning Duke of Saxe-Lippe, and he tried in his rough and ready way to prevent what happened, Celia. He should have told us. You will need now to be very brave.”

For a moment a flush of anger and indignation warmed her cheek and her eyes glowed.

“Do you want this back ? “she cried, holding out the hand on which the ring glittered.

“Don’t, Celia,” I exclaimed, wincing in my pain and distress. I leant my head on my hand and sighed, but recovering instantly and remembering that it was I who had to be strong, I said: “I have tried very hard to see the right thing to do. Don’t make it harder.”

“If you wish it back I will give it you,” she said, stubbornly, and in a tone that seemed hardened by pride and resentment. “If you think that of me you had better have it back,” and she half-drew the ring from her finger, but stopped, caught her breath again as if in pain, bit her lip hard, and then with a moan bowed her head right down and sat crouching with her face hidden in her hands.

“I don’t think you would wish to recall your words because of any change in your position, Celia,” I

said, understanding vaguely what she meant, and loving her the more for her resentment of the suspicion.

Then lifting her head suddenly, she said vehemently and almost passionately:

“Then it is your own pride. You are afraid of what the world would say.”

“No, I am not afraid of a few jeers at my looking too high. I am only trying to look the facts in the face for what they are.”

“You are able to look very coldly.”

Even the injustice of the taunt drew no protest from me.

“I have been face to face with them for more than a week, and they were first impressed on me with the pungent sharpness of my uncle’s bitter tongue. You are only in the first stage of suffering.”

“Oh, forgive me, Stanley. I am so selfish, and I love you so,” she cried, in a passion of remorse and despair.

“No, my dear, you are only natural. We must both suffer.”

“Oh, I cannot lose you, I cannot.” She stretched out her hand and thrust it into mine. “I cannot ! “

My fingers closed on hers, and the touch stilled us into silence. Suddenly she slipped from her chair to the ground, and kneeling by me she threw her arms about me and clung to me, nestling her head against me and caressing me with her hands till my great love for her threatened to burst all the bonds of my self control.

I felt that her love must have its course, and for a time made no effort to break the silence or move her from where she knelt. I sat fighting down my intense and absorbing desire to press my lips to hers as a pledge that, come what might, nothing should ever part us, while I strove to think out some means of softening the pain I knew was tearing at her heart.

When she grew somewhat calmer I lifted her to her feet and we stood up. She wound her arms round my neck and put her face close to mine and whispered:

“You said you loved me, Stanley.”

“I shall love you to my life’s end,” I answered, with a sudden rush of passion I could not control. She smiled then.

“Say that again. It sounds like the only kind thing you have said since I came. Do you really mean it? “

“You must be braver than this,” I answered.

“If you will say that again I will do whatever you wish.”

Then I grew once more weak and unstable as water. I drew her face to mine and kissed her passionately on the lips, repeating the vow with all the energy of my love. Her face lighted and her eyes shone as she smiled radiantly at me.

“Whatever must happen I shall know that,” she said, and drew away with a sudden movement and sat down again.

The moments that followed were full of embarrassment for me, but Celia was now calm. It was as if she had feared to lose my love, but being now assured of that was prepared to face anything.

“What do you wish me to do, Stanley? I promise to do it.”

“There is still a good deal to tell you and much to be decided.” And I told her so much as I thought

necessary of the details of the quarrel between her father and mother, of her own fortune, of the later news about her brother’s breakdown in health, and then of the efforts the Kronheims were likely to make to thwart her chances of the succession.

“Why should I do anything to keep them out of it ? “she asked. ** I do not want it. If I had to choose between you and a throne at this moment, do you think I would hesitate? If my mother is alive why has she never sought me? If my father cares for me why has he done nothing to show it all these years ? They want me when I may be of use for their own plans.”

I framed my answer to try and make her realize the duties and obligations which her birth imposed; but I was no very ardent advocate and she remained utterly unconvinced.

“I would rather let the whole matter remain a secret,” she said.

“That is impracticable, because Schwartz knows the facts and is resolved to tell them.”

“Then let us destroy the proofs that you say Sir Henry kept at the bank. They could do nothing then, could they?”

“I don’t know what they could or would do, but we must not destroy the proofs. What I have to see to is your safety until these matters are decided. I think you should return to Moreby.”

“To Moreby and the dragon ? “she cried, with a look of dismay. “I should be more rebellious than ever.”

“You will be safer there than in London,” I said.

“I will go,” she agreed, readily. “When shall I go?”

I smiled at the sudden change to submission. She looked at me curiously.

“You are surprised that I agree so easily ? Don’t be misled, Stanley. I shall be submissive only to a point. I will never agree to do anything that shall part you from me. There shall be as much comedy as you will — but no tragedy. I will pretend anything — anything. But you understand the limit even of pretense, and it will never be more than pretense.”

“You mean ? “I asked.

“That I will do anything on earth you ask or tell me except the one thing that means I must lose you.”

Her tone was firm and resolute and her face full of energy and determination as she spoke, and I felt she would keep her word whatever happened.

CHAPTER VI

‘A FURTHER DEVELOPMENT

If Celia was resolved not to see the tragedy in the perplexing complications that had come into our lives, Schwartz was equally determined to see nothing else. His gloom was chronic and his long association with the real or imaginary feud which had shadowed and soured my uncle’s life, had bred in him a readiness to see intrigue and conspiracy everywhere. I began to think he was disappointed when the days passed and nothing occurred to give a tangible foundation to his fears.

Celia did not go back to Moreby. She pleaded so earnestly against the dulness of the place that I agreed upon Brighton as a compromise. I took her to my aunt and sister for a couple of days while I made the arrangements for Mrs. Collingwood to go to Brighton, and when a house had been found I took Celia down there.

Our relations during those two days were somewhat peculiar, and puzzled my sister Flora considerably. We had called Flora Blossom as a child, and the name clung to her always. She had been weakly, and on this account was a good deal spoilt by my aunt and the rest of us. She had taken considerable interest in my love affairs, and now that Celia and I were free to be together as much as we pleased, she could not understand why we seemed to hold aloof from one another by mutual consent.

“Why doesn’t Celia come to Cromwell-road to live, Stanley ? “she asked me when I had explained that Aunt Margaret and Blossom were to come to the big house with me.

“Sea air is so much more bracing,” said I.

“As Celia is ten times as strong as I am what does that mean? Don’t you wish her to live with us?”

“Brighton is very close now; such a short run by train.”

“Have you changed to her? I don’t understand you.”

“A good many problems are not worth ail that trouble.”

“But you’re engaged, aren’t you ? What’s that ring on Celia’s finger ?”

“Has she a ring ? “

“‘Has she a ring ? ‘I like that. As if you hadn’t seen it ! “

“Oh, yes, I have seen one, of course. Rather a pretty ring too, now you mention it. Where did she get it?”

“Where do girls generally get engagement rings: I suppose someone gave it her ? “

“Yes, if it is an engagement ring, I suppose someone did.”

“Why do you want to make such a secret of it ? And why do you two go on in such an odd fashion ? You’re not a bit like an engaged couple.

“There may be a very good reason for that, Blossom, mayn’t there?” and I smiled.

“I think you’re very horrid to laugh about it in that way,” replied my sister, quite irritably. “If you’re not engaged I think you’re behaving abominably to her.

You don’t suppose girls’ hearts can be dangled on strings and made to follow at heel like lap dogs. You’ll go too far,” she added, oracularly.

At that moment Celia came into the room and Blossom turned the fire upon her.

“We were talking about your engagement ring, Celia,” she said.

“Do you mean this one?” holding out her hand to Blossom and glancing swiftly at me.

She was quite collected and straightened the ring unconcernedly.

“Of course I do. Stanley’s ring, isn’t it ? “

Celia laughed merrily. “Did Stanley tell you he gave me this ring ?” as if in great surprise.

“No, but he did, didn’t he ? “

“Blossom, dear, how can you ask? Why, if Sir Stanley had given it to me I should be engaged to marry him, of course, shouldn’t I ?”

“Oh, but you are, you must be,” protested my sister.

“You make a mistake about the ring, Blossom. This is not an engagement ring, at least in the ordinary sense. Do you want to know about it ? Well, I once took part in a play, a comedy, not a tragedy, and this ring was used in the course it and became my property. As I would not part with it of course it became mine, and it is thus more a memorial ring than anything else. In fact, that’s how I regard it.”

“But you wear it on your engagement finger.”

“It fits that finger best dear. Indeed, I couldn’t get it off without both trouble and pain.”

My sister frowned and looked up in Celia’s smiling face with perplexity written on every feature.

“I don’t understand you two a bit,” she said pettishly.

I laughed. “I’m not sure that we understand ourselves,” said I.

“There’s nothing to puzzle over,” said Celia. “It’s just the memorial of a comedy, Blossom. But I prize the ring none the less. I couldn’t prize it more if it were actually an engagement ring.”

“We shall have a memorial of a tragedy if we keep the horses standing much longer,” I said, and then we went for our drive and the next day Celia went to Brighton.

But tragedy was always plucking at my sleeve in the gloomy form of Schwartz; and as soon as Celia had left, my own heartache and inner fear that, for all her resolution an ultimate separation was inevitable, made me yield a ready ear to his forebodings. And something occurred a couple of days later to increase my uneasiness.

I called to see Blossom, and when I went into the drawing-room I found there a handsome woman, richly dressed in the height of fashion. She was a stranger to me, but my sister appeared to be on friendly terms with her, and I observed with some surprise that they were bending together over an album of photographs as I entered.

“O Stanley, I am so glad you have come,” cried Blossom, getting up quickly and coming to me. “The Baroness Borgen, one of Alice’s friends from Crudenstadt, is so anxious to know you. This is my brother, Baroness.”

She gave me her hand, lifted her eyes to me, and let them rest there just long enough to express little emotion of pleasure, and then dropped them discreetly.

“I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Stanley. I have heard much of you from your sister.”

The voice was very soft and pleasant, and the manner more than cordial. But the name had already put me on my guard. She was the “relative “of whom Captain von Weimar had spoken to me, and her presence here might mean another thread of the web which these people had come to weave round Celia.

“Do you know my sister well ? “I asked.

“I cannot say very well. She lives rather a retired life, you know, but she is very delightful,” a reply whose equivocation did not escape me.

I hoped Blossom had said nothing about Celia, but I did not like this apparent interest in the photographs. The Captain had seen Celia herself, and this handsome, dashing German woman might very well be anxious to get all the information she could from Blossom and my aunt. I resolved to stay on guard until she left and then warn them both.

M I had the pleasure of a visit from a relative of yours, I think — Captain von Weimar.”

“Yes, he told me how courteously you received him, Sir Stanley. He finds London a little dull at present, knowing no one.”

“It may be dull for a stranger, of course. Still, he need not stay long enough to be bored, and it must be a great change from Crudenstadt.”

“Do you know Crudenstadt?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, I have been to my sister’s house and know a great number of the officers there. I think Captain von Weimar’s regiment is there. I wonder I have not met him.”

“His regiment is not quartered there,” she said quickly, with a smile that I thought was intended to cover her uneasiness at my reference.

“Crudenstadt is a delightful little city. You would revel in it, Blossom. Have you been long resident there, Baroness? “

“I am rather a bird of passage,” she replied, parrying the question adroitly, but not so adroitly as to hide the fact that it was a parry. “Since my dear Baron died, Katrine — that is my daughter, you know — and I have scarcely lived at my home. And now we are trying London.”

“I shall hope to see much of you while you are here,” said I, with a bow, thinking that the closer I kept them under observation the better.

She looked at me very keenly as she murmured: “I shall be delighted. I am at home on Tuesdays.”

It was obvious that my words pleased her, although my tone and the drift of my questions had puzzled her. She turned then to Blossom, and holding up the album, which I noticed she had kept in her hands, said: “You were showing me a photograph, dear.”

“That reminds me,” I broke in, quickly. “There will be some people there you will know. Allow me one moment,” and I held out my hand for the album, which, as I knew, contained more than one of Celia’s photographs.

Our eyes met as she seemed to hesitate an instant, and then gave it me reluctantly. I think she understood me.

“That is not your album, Stanley, it is mine,” cried my sister, laughing.

“How stupid of me. Then mine must be on the table there,” and I took it away and fetched my own in its place. “These will interest the Baroness much more, Blossom,” and I opened it at a portrait of the Grand Duke Constans and handed it to her.

She accepted the defeat smilingly, and chatted and laughed as she turned over the pages and recognised several of the people in the book until she rose to leave.

“I shall do myself the pleasure of calling to-morrow if I may,” I said, as I shook hands, “ and if Captain von Weimar should be with you it would be an excellent opportunity for the discussion of our mutual Crudenstadt associations.”

“He will be thereabout four o’clock,” she answered, and her look and tone told me I had set her wondering.

“How odd you were about that album,” said Blossom, when she had gone. “I was going to show her Celia’s photograph.”

“I knew you were, and I wished to prevent it just yet. Had you told her much about Celia ? “

“No, only that being my dearest friend I wished she was in London instead of Brighton.”

“Oh, is that all ? I am afraid it’s more than enough. I ought, perhaps, to have warned you before, but for a time don’t speak of to Celia anyone. I can’t tell you why, but it’s very important.”

“How mysterious you are, Stanley,” she cried, pettishly.

“I haven’t time now to be plainer. I’m overdue as it is for an engagement.”

I drove back without an instant’s delay to Cromwell-road. As Blossom had disclosed Celia’s whereabouts I must see to it at once. I sent for Schwartz.

“By a mischance, Schwartz, the fact that Miss Celia is at Brighton has come into the knowledge of that Captain von Weimar. Tell me quickly what there is to know about him and why he is dangerous.”

“The danger cannot be exaggerated, Sir Stanley. The Kronheims stand next in succession after the Duke and his children, and they are thus particularly and directly interested in preventing any discovery of the missing daughter of the Duke and Duchess. They are a wild, reckless, daring, evil lot, and would stop at nothing, Sir Henry believed — and he knew much about them — not at kidnapping or even violence to make away with Miss Ceclia’s claims. That was why her whereabouts were always kept such a secret.”

I listened very attentively and perceived that if there were really anything in these fears of his and of my uncle’s, measures of precaution must be adopted instantly.

“Get ready to go to Brighton by the next train? I am writing to Miss Celia and Mrs. Collingwood. They must leave there to-night without fail, and it must be your business to see that it is done in such a way as to give no trace of their movements. Go for to-night anywhere along the coast there, to Hastings, or Eastbourne, or somewhere, and to-morrow make another move to another town, and on the following day clear right out of the district to Bath, or Cheltenham, or up to Leamington. Miss Celia can settle that.”

I wrote my letters quickly, promising explanations later, and in a few minutes Schwartz had left. I sahinking out a plan that had occurred to me in connection with these people.

I was not much of a diplomatist, and if there was to be much intriguing and plotting they would probably get the better of me. But I could at least hit out straight from the shoulder, and I resolved to face them both the next day and tell them plainly that I knew their object. Meantime, I would get to know what I could. I telegraphed a description of both to my sister Alice, told of the letters of introduction, and asked her to wire me as fully as possible all she knew of them.

Her reply reached me the next day, just before I was starting to pay my visit to the Baroness, and was pretty much what I had anticipated. The Captain von Weimar whom she knew did not answer at all to the description I had sent out. This man was thus evidently masquerading in another’s name. The Baroness was an adventuress with a very unsavoury character, with certainly no right to mention Alice as one of her friends.

Armed with this telegram, which I read over several times in the brougham, I anticipated an interesting interview, and was much amused by the reception which both accorded to me. It was excessively cordial, and intended to make me feel that the two regarded my visit as an especially friendly and welcome act. And yet it was not difficult to perceive that they were both ill at ease, although the Baroness acted better than her companion. I chose him, therefore, for my opening attack.

I asked him generally as to the object of his visit to London, and when he had made a roundabout, clumsily-worded answer I said, quietly:

“By the way, you told me you knew the Saxe-Lippe politics very well, and that you could probably assist me in certain matters. I think you can. Will you tell me, in the first place, why you, a member of the Kronheim family, are travelling under an assumed name and have used another man’s letter of introduction to make my acquaintance ? “

His astonishment was complete. He jumped to his feet, turned fiery red, his eyes blazed with anger, and he seemed on the point of making a very hot reply, when with an effort he recovered himself, threw himself back in his chair, and, assuming an air of offence, answered:

“I really don’t understand you, Sir Stanley.”

“The object of my visit is that you shall do so, I assure you, and also that I shall understand you. The interview promises to be very interesting,” and I looked at him steadily as I waited for his reply.

It was, in truth, a very pretty situation, and I enjoyed it,

CHAPTER VII

PLANNING A STATE MARRIAGE

The discomfiture of “Captain von Weimar” was complete, and he sat frowning heavily and biting his nails in confusion, at an utter loss what line to take in answer to my questions.

The embarrassing silence was broken by an incident. I heard a girl’s voice singing the refrain of an old German folk song, and the door opened and the song ceased suddenly as the singer entered and caught sight of me. I looked at her in surprise. She bore a strong resemblance to Celia, was of about the same age, and had similar colouring of eyes, complexion and hair.

“My daughter, Katrine, Sir Stanley,” said the Baroness, apparently welcoming the interruption. The girl regarded me with interest quite equal to my own, and as she gave me her hand looked straight into my eyes, as I thought, anxiously and nervously. But I am not quick at. reading expressions.

She murmured some commonplace, and sat down by her mother.

“Katrine is very charmed with London,” said her mother. “It is all so strange and fresh to her,” and, taking this cue, I talked to them both for some minutes about what they had seen and where they were going. All this time the Captain did not speak and had taken no notice of the girl’s entrance, but after some minutes I saw him exchange a signal with the Baroness to send her daughter away. I gathered two things from this; that he was commander-in-chief in that household, and that he had at length made up his mind as to what course to take with me.

Katrine’s likeness to Celia was limited strictly to outward appearance. Despite her mother’s assurance that she was charmed with London, I could get nothing from her that showed more than a precociously cynical indifference to everything. She was dull, heavy, and preoccupied in manner, and the impression the short interview left on my mind was that there was some overpowering influence in her life, grief or fear, or love trouble perhaps, which blunted her sensibilities and deadened her interest in everything that went on about her. She appeared to be greatly in fear of her mother, and scarcely less so of the Captain, at whom I saw her now and again shoot quick, furtive glances.

No word was spoken, or sign given that I detected to send her away, but she appeared to understand intuitively that she was to go, and voluntarily invented a pretext and left us.

“Poor Katrine has always felt her father’s death so keenly,” said the Baroness, as if she felt some explanation of her manner were necessary.

“Never mind Katrine, now,” interrupted the Captain, brusquely. “We have serious matters to discuss.” It was not only bad manners, but bad tactics for him to show his predominance in this way, and the Baroness looked at him with surprise and concern, and I thought she was going to protest, but she did not.

“I owe you an apology, Sir Stanley,” he said to me, “and I tender it to you. I am not Captain von Weimar, and I did use a letter of introduction given bour brother-in-law to the Captain. I am travelling incognito, and I am, as you have said, a member of the Kronheim family. I am the Graf Karl von Kronheim. I made a mistake, and should have come to you openly and in my own name. There was no need for any such secrecy. My mission to London is a perfectly open and honourable one. I wish to find a daughter of the Grand Duke Constans of Saxe-Lippe, who was committed to your uncle’s care by the Duchess many years ago. I should have told you the object of my visit. had I dined with you to-night.”

“On whose behalf are you searching for her ? “

“On my own. I wish to marry her.”

“To marry her?” I repeated, surprised in my turn at his pithy frankness.

“To marry her,” he insisted. “I presume you can have no objection to that?” he added, superciliously. A glance at the Baroness told me that she was as much surprised as I was by this new turn of the wheel.

“I don’t know that any right of decision rests with me,” I answered.

“Neither do I,” he retorted with a laugh. “Except perhaps that, as you have the present charge of the lady herself, you may think that gives you a right. I saw her at your house under somewhat singular, not to say compromising, circumstances, you will remember.”

“I remember nothing of the kind,” said I, warmly.

“She was at your house.”

“She called at my house on her way to my sister’s.”

“Well, where is she now? “

u That I decline to tell you.”

“It is a little strange, surely, that you should spirit her away in this fashion. A little ambiguous, don’t you think, considering who and what she is?”

“Considering who she is, it is more than a little ambiguous that no one from Crudenstadt has ever inquired for her.”

“You know the circumstances under which she was entrusted to your uncle’s care, I presume ? “

“Probably more fully and certainly than you can possibly know them,” I answered, feeling that I must make an effort if this man was not to make me lose my temper.

“Then I should think the reason is patent to you.”

“On the contrary, the reason is all the more unintelligible.”

“Your late uncle’s reputation in Crudenstadt “

“Is my affair, sir, if you please,” I broke in, angrily. He shrugged his shoulders to point the sneer on his face.

“We will leave that alone then. Despite everything, I am willing to make her my wife for the sake of Saxe-Lippe.”

“I’m sure Saxe-Lippe ought to be profoundly touched by such a sacrifice,” I could not resist saying. “But if the lady herself should not share your sacrificial impulses ? “

“That is not a matter which I consider can concern you,” he answered, haughtily. “This is an affair of State importance. I wish to be frank with you, despite your personal heat. You should know therefore, that there are reasons which make it exceedingly impolitic, impossible, in fact, for my brother, the Graf Wilhelm — I am the younger brother, you know — to take the succession to the Saxe-Lippe Duchy, and consequently it

will devolve upon me. To prevent the serious strife and civil feud which would inevitably follow any struggle for the throne, my marriage with the present Duke’s daughter has therefore become imperative. The arrangement has the approval of all concerned — all in Crudenstadt that is to say — and I have come over to carry it out. I wish, therefore, to see Celia as soon as practicable and have everything settled. Where the issues are so great, of course, nothing can be allowed to stand in the way.”

Every feeling and instinct in my nature rose in revolt against this man’s arrogant, boastful manner, and the thought of Celia being united to such a selfish, sensual brute as I believed him to be, was a suggested desecration of her purity that maddened me. But I was not so mad as not to recognize the plausibility of the claim and the imperative need for me to walk warily.

“Well, what do you say?” he asked, putting the question as though my answer were a matter of supreme indifference.

“I don’t know enough of the ways of Court marriages to answer.”

“I dare say it surprises you, and, as it may tend to explain my action in coming to you incognito, I will make a little confession. My object was to see Celia first in a private character, to try to make a favourable impression upon her, so that the thing might not be so sudden and perhaps embarrassing. I understand that she has been living a life of absolutely private seclusion — under the circumstances very wise and prudent, no doubt — and I thought that with your uncle’s aid the whole matter could have been arranged. His death and your discovery of my incognito have, however, changed the state of matters, and I must deal with circumstances as I find them. If practicable, I should still prefer to see her first in a private capacity. You can decide that — but of course in any event the result must be the same. The marriage is imperative in the public interest, and must take place.”

His insolently confident appropriation of Celia, to the utter disregard of her own feelings or wishes, was insufferable and exasperating.

“I do not, of course, see the same necessity for the marriage which you do. Nor do I forget that it was the unhappy State marriage into which her mother was coerced that led to so much of the after trouble,”

“These things do not come within the sphere of consideration in regard to Court, marriages, Sir Stanley,” he said, with an air of great superiority. “And your suggestion is not very flattering to myself.”

“I did not come here to flatter you, or the reverse. I came to ask for an explanation of certain matters.”

u Which I have explained, I think, and I shall be glad to be assured that I am to have your friendly cooperation in the matter. You have some responsibility, since you have the charge at present of Celia. But you will be relieved of that immediately.”

“As I have said, I have yet to be convinced of the necessity, and even of the desirability, of the marriage,” I answered, coldly.

“Perhaps Sir Stanley knows of some previous attachment, and fears accordingly,” said the Baroness Borgen, speaking for the first time.

The German laughed and shrugged his shoulders, and when I made no response turned to me airily :

“I hope there’s nothing of the kind, though it is really of the smallest consequence. What think you?”

“As it is of no consequence, need we discuss it?”

The Baroness laughed very softly and sweetly, yet with much significance.

“I gathered yesterday from your sister that there was some — some, what shall I term it, not exactly attachment or entanglement, but preference.”

“Indeed ! “I answered, as indifferently and coldly as I could, considering that I knew what she meant quite well, and that inwardly I was burning with rage.

“Your sister seemed to think that you yourself were greatly impressed,” she replied, with an especially sweet and insinuating smile.

“Which sister do you mean, Baroness ? Alice, who has communicated with me as to your friendship with her in Crudenstadt, or Flora, whom you visited under the cover of Alice’s introduction?”

“The dear girl whom I saw yesterday, of course,” she said, not in the least disturbed by what my words implied. “She is a sweet girl, so charming and natural. I am sure you will be delighted with her, Herr Graf,” she added, turning to the Count. “Quite a typical innocent English beauty. I should so like her for a friend for Katrine, Sir Stanley.”

“Well, the question is,” he said, brusquely, “whether you propose to help me in the matter, or whether I must rely upon my own resources and report that you are keeping the young duchess in hiding.”

“To whom do I understand you will have to report ? “

“To her family, of course. By the way, does she know of her high position ? “

“Certainly.”

“Well, then, what do you say ? Despite his assumption of a tone and manner of indifference, it was plain that he was anxious.

“It is not for me to stand in her path, of course,” I began, and his face lighted. “And I shall be happy to do everything in my power to further her interests.”

“When and how shall we arrange the interview then ? I should prefer it to be in a private character, as I said.”

“As soon as I am assured that you are acting with the assent of the Duke and her family, I shall be at your service.”

“Do you doubt my word, sir? “he asked, angrily.

“If I ask for confirmation of it, it is only because of your own method of coming to me — in an assumed name.”

He tried unsuccessfully to hide his annoyance at my words.

“We ought to be grateful to Sir Stanley for his evident intention to guard his treasure so carefully,” said the Baroness, in the same dulcet tone.

“Where is she now, sir? “

“At the present moment, I am quite unable to tell you,” I answered, and this was absolutely true, for I had not heard from Schwartz where they were going that day.

“It is surely strange that a young unmarried girl of such high birth should be wandering about the country at the bidding of a young unmarried man who is not related to her. Do your English ideas of propriety countenance such an equivocal and compromising state of things?”

“She is in perfectly safe keeping,” I answered, keeping my temper. “The circumstances of the case altogether are unusual.”

“Very,” put in the Baroness, drily; but I took no notice.

“You may rely upon me to take very prompt measures,” I said, as I rose to leave. “And I will communicate with you.”

“Do you refuse even to permit me to see the Duchess Celia? I can scarcely believe it possible,” exclaimed the Count, very warmly. “It is monstrous. You will have to answer for this.”

“As you please,” said I; and with that I left.

I carried away a very unpleasant impression of the interview. I was convinced that some kind of villainy was intended, but I could not see what. The attempt which the pair had made to win their way with us by false pretenses had been explained plausibly by the Count; but I was convinced that it was more plausible than true, and I had not the least doubt that they were plotting some underhand work that boded ill for Celia. But what could it be ?

If what he had said were true — that he was acting at the instigation of the reigning Duke and that the marriage had indeed been planned by their sanction, it was not hard to see that Celia would have great difficulty in opposing them. But was it true? If her family were so anxious for this match, why had not the Duke himself sent someone to me ? All this pretence of a desire to make love to Celia in a private capacity sounded like so much high-falutin’ romance which was altogether unlikely to have any place in the cold and formal routine of State marriage plans. It was far more probable that he wished to get some kind of hold over her for his own personal ends, and had brought this dashing adventuress to London to help him in his object.

I had pricked that balloon at any rate; and I drove to my aunt’s at once and told her and my sister not to see the Baroness again, and I hurried forward the arrangements for them to join me at Cromwell-road, fixing the following day for their arrival.

But I must find some means of testing the truth of the Count’s story, and must in someway get into communication with the Saxe-Lippe Court. There was but one way of doing this well, to go personally to Crudenstadt and ascertain at first hand what was intended. But I shrank from leaving England when these two birds of prey had just arrived and were scheming to find Celia. There might be danger to her in my absence.

I was in doubt, too, whether to let Celia herself know w r hat had passed in regard to this Count von Kronheim. There were indeed a hundred questions involved, all uniting to make the position difficult and perplexing, and I was thinking them over and striving to see my way, when a telegram was brought to me worded very curiously.

“Remain at home this evening, a friend will call. Urgent.”

I was disposed to smile at the message on account of its air of melodramatic mystery, and a few days before I should have tossed it into the waste-paper basket without another thought. But now it seemed in some way to fit in with the atmosphere of secrecy that gradually surrounding me, and I resolved to wait in on the chance that it might have some connection with all this mystery.

It was well, indeed, that I did so, for the visit was to mean much to us all in the end; and it provided a genuine surprise for me.

CHAPTER VIII

KATRINE

I was just finishing my dinner when my servant Wilson, brought me word that a lady had asked to see me.

“Her name?”

“She gave no name, Sir Stanley, but said you would be expecting her.”

I went to the drawing-room in much curiosity, and scanned the darkly-dressed and closely-veiled woman, who was walking restlessly up and down the room awaiting me with much impatience.

“You wish to see me ? “I asked.

“You will think me a strange girl, Sir Stanley, but I felt I must come to you at once at any risk — and I know there is risk.”

It was the Baroness Borgen’s daughter, Katrine, and I could not repress a start of astonishment. What on earth could she want ?

“It was from you I had the telegram ? I have waited in to see you. Pray tell me if I can be of any service ? “

“You will keep my visit secret ? “

“Certainly, if you desire it.”

“If it can be kept secret, that is,” she exclaimed.

“No one can know you here.”

“I don’t mean that. But your house is being closely watched. Of course you know this, or guess it. I know not what may be the consequences of this to me. But I felt I must come.”

She spoke with manifest excitement, and with distress in both tone and manner.

Apparently her object was friendly to me and hostile to her mother; and I waited for her to speak voluntarily. Yet I was not off my guard. I was dealing with curious people, and had to look warily for any kind of trap that they might lay.

“You are being deceived, Sir Stanley; grossly deceived. And more than that, you yourself are likely soon to be in danger. I have come to warn you to be on your guard. But if they knew I was telling you, I believe they would kill me.”

“I can only guess vaguely at your meaning,” I answered, when she paused abruptly, as if at a loss how to say what she had come to tell me. “But, of course, you will see that I cannot question you in such a case.”

“If we study only the conventionalities all may be lost,” she cried, impatiently. “Others will not. I know what has been told you this afternoon about the projected’ marriage.” The emphasis on the last word gave me a hint of my visitor’s motive, and I began to feel my interest quickening. “Did you believe what they said to-day ? “

“I can scarcely say I have yet the means of judging it.” She shrugged her shoulders and uttered an expressive exclamation of dissatisfaction at my evasive reply.

“Do you think I have come here as their tool ? “she cried, almost fiercely.

“I should not be so blind or so unjust,” said I, still on my guard.

“Oh, I know what you mean. You do distrust me. I can see it, and you are blind. Well, then, we have one object in common and I have come to offer you my help. Will you have it?”

“The projected marriage is that which Count von Kronheim is contemplating ? “I asked, slowly.

“It shall never take place, never, I swear it ! “she cried, with such a burst of vehemence that I needed no farther evidence of either her sincerity or motive. “He has lied to you. He came over purposely in the name of Captain von Weimar intending to find this girl, this young Duchess, as he calls her, and get her into his power. He was mad when you discovered his disguise, and then patched up that further lie about his having the consent of her family. It is a lie from beginning to end. He has n:> such consent at all. He is making a bold bid for the throne himself, and he thinks that if he can carry out his purpose here and get this girl into his power he can force her to marry him or ruin her, and he is reckless enough to do that. With her as his wife he reckons he can oust his brother from the succession. He tried to cheat you with the tale to-day. But, mark me ! If you ever allow him to set eyes on her, or to know where she is, he will get her in his clutches by fair means or foul, and then, God have mercy on her, for he will not. O Sir Stanley, I am the most miserable girl on earth,” and with this climax to her violent tirade she threw herself on a couch and hid her face in her hands, in complete abandonment to her paroxysm of distress.

Jealousy, I had thought at first. But this looked like something far worse. I waited some minute o; two in embarrassing silence, and then made a shot.

“He has promised to marry you ? “I said.

“You know that? How did you know it? Tell me quick. Oh, I see; it is only a guess.” She had looked up eagerly and swiftly at my words, but, reading my expression, hers changed from eagerness to bitterness. “Of course he has. Should I be here if it were not so ? “

The infinite pathos of her tone chilled me with its piteous eloquence of pain, of unavailing remorse and bitter self-condemnation.

“You will be on my side, Sir Stanley ? You will not help this wicked scheme ? You will not see me betrayed like this? I know you won’t. I am sure you are honest and good.”

“If I can thwart it, believe me, there is nothing I will not do,” I cried, as earnestly as she herself had spoken.

“I was sure of it. I knew it to-day when I saw you for the few minutes. If I had only someone like you to call him to account and make him keep his solemnly pledged word ! “

“Your mother “I began, when she cut me short with a sob that was like a cry of pain from her heart.

“Don’t, don’t ! For heaven’s sake, don’t ! My mother is in his power. She dare not oppose him if she would, and, to my shame I say it, she would not.” Seeing the expression which her words called to my face, she closed her eyes in anguish and cried again: “I tell you I am the most miserable girl on earth, and the most desolate, the most helpless.”

“Not helpless, if I can help you,” I said, sincerely moved.

“You cannot, you cannot,” she moaned. “It is not revenge I wish, though my soul cries for it at times. But I would not have him harmed. I — I love him.”

The hopelessness suggested by her tone no words can express. It thrilled me with its suffering and stirred every chivalrous instinct in my nature to help her. But I could express none of my feelings, and it was she who broke the long silence.

“I have accomplished my object, and must go; or I shall be missed. I have told you my piteous story that you may know those you have to deal with and the lengths to which they will go, and may understand the real dangers that threaten the girl who is in your charge. I shall try to communicate with you from time to time; but unless there is urgent need I shall not venture the risk of trying to see you again. This one visit was necessary, despite the risk of it. If I should ever need to see you again, will you keep any appointment ?”

“Certainly I will,” I said, readily. “And if you are in any trouble and think I can help you, pray let me try.”

“I am always in sore sorrow, but no one can help me,” she answered, mournfully; and with this prose dirge she left me.

By a freak of coincidence my thoughts flew back to Celia’s words at the interview when I had first told her everything: “There shall be as much comedy as you like, but no tragedy.” There was tragedy enough in this poor girl’s life, brought into it by the very people who were threatening Celia; and it looked very much as though we should need all our wits to prevent our comedy from taking the same gloomy tone.

I thought long and carefully over all that I had heard and over the best means of checkmating the plans laid so cunningly and daringly. A man so reckless as the Count von Kronheim, backed by the shrewd counsel of a callous, heartless and unnatural woman like his accomplice, could not but prove a very dangerous antagonist, and although I now held the key to his intentions, I was disposed to doubt my ability to cope with him.

There were two things that I must do. Keep Celia’s whereabouts a secret, and acquaint myself with the real intentions of the Crudenstadt people as to her future. They were both difficult. I could not keep Celia and her companion always moving restlessly about the kingdom, and yet the moment they settled down anywhere I saw that the chances of their discovery would be immensely increased. My fears led me, no doubt, to exaggerate the capacity of her enemies to find her; and it seemed to me by no means a difficult task for their agents to trace her, no matter what precautions and care we took. I should have felt she would be safe if I could be with her, but the second necessity prevented that.

A visit to Crudenstadt appeared to be a sheer necessity if I was to get at the truth. That visit must occupy some days, and these might easily stretch themselves into weeks in face of the possible difficulties of getting the information I needed and to be absent in Saxe-Lippe for such a length of time when this impetuous and dangerous Count was here in England, scheming to find Celia, was to take a risk from which I shrank. I dared not leave.

I thought of sending Schwartz to Crudenstadt; but my old dislike and distrust of him stood in the way. I believed him to be in earnest in his wish to carry out my uncle’s plans, but I could not answer for his discretion or even good faith in such delicate work as might have to be done there.

For the present, therefore, I contented myself by writing to my sister Alice, and, under the plea that I had private reasons for desiring to know exactly how the question of the succession in Saxe-Lippe was viewed, I asked her to let me know all that she could ascertain as to the precise condition of the young heir’s health, and as to those who were named to succeed the present Duke in the event of his son dying. In particular had she heard anything about the supposed missing daughter? And I asked her if she could put me in correspondence with anyone in the confidence of the court.

As I was in the act of ringing for the servant to take the letter to the post Katrine’s warning that my house was being watched came into my thoughts, and I resolved to try and ascertain for myself whether this was the case. In addition to the usual means of exit by the front door I was able to pass out through the dining room windows into the square at the back and so into a quiet road behind. I chose that now, and saw enough to convince myself that that way, at any rate, was not under observation; and when I had posted my letter and strolled into the main road I saw nothing to rouse my suspicions. I waited about for a considerable time smoking, but not a soul came near the house that suggested anything in the nature of a spy.

I was thus smiling at the uneasiness which the suggestion of this spying had roused, when my attention was attracted to the house next to my own. It had been to let and unoccupied, except by a caretaker, and it was thus with some surprise that I now saw a man respectably dressed come out and shut the front door carefully behind him. He stood a moment on the steps and then on the pavement, scanning my windows, and after he had walked some thirty or forty yards he hailed a hansom-cab, jumped in, and was driven away. He was certainly no caretaker. What, then, could he be doing in an empty house at eleven o’clock at night ? The incident set me thinking.

I waited a few minutes, and, after satisfying myself that there was no light in any of the windows, either back or front, I went to the door and rang the bell. I heard it clanging noisily, and when no one came in reply to it I rang again. There was no response, and it was evident therefore, the man I had seen had been there alone.

It was an easy inference for me to draw that he had been using the house for the purpose of his spying, and this conclusion made me extremely uneasy. It was a probable step for any one wishing to have my house under close surveillance to secure such an excellent vantage-post as the empty house would afford; and it required very little imagination to foresee that it would lend itself to further measures against me of a much more aggressive character than mere spy work.

I caught my breath quickly, too, when it occurred to me that in this fact of the empty house I might not unreasonably look for the true solution of the mystery of my uncle’s death, supposing that strange story of his to have been true. It was evident that I might have to be much more on my guard than before, and that the risks of the position might be even far greater than I had anticipated.

I went back to my study and sat smoking and thinking over this new development until long after midnight, and as I went up to bed I was conscious of a new feeling of apprehension which caused me to be very careful in locking my door and in seeing that no one was concealed in my room.

The next day I sent for a builder, and under the pretense that I was nervous of burglars, gave him instructions to secure all the windows strongly that could possibly be entered from the roof or the adjoining house, and to fit to all the windows and doors an elaborate system of electric burglar alarms, so that not a window or door in the house could be opened without rousing the household when once the alarm was on. And I had the key to the whole system fixed in my own bedroom, so that I should be in command of everything.

As I was going round the house with him one thing struck me forcibly — the ease with which an entry could be effected into the house from the roof. And again at this, the question recurred to me whether this way had already been used with such mysterious and fatal results on the night of my uncle’s death.

I went then to the agents, whose name had been on the bill in the next house; and what I learnt there tended to increase my disquiet.

“We have had an unusual experience with the house,

Sir Stanley,” said the head of the firm. “We let about six weeks ago, and when all arrangements have been completed and possession actually given, the family were unable to come to London, and it passed

on to our books again; but, by a coincidence, within three days we had another application and let it instantly.”

“Would you tell me the names of both tenants ? “

“Certainly, with the greatest pleasure. The first was a Mr. Charrington, who had been a long time abroad, on the Continent; and so also, by a singular coincidence, has the present tenant. Mr. Smythe the name is.”

“His references satisfactory?”

“Certainly; his bankers,” naming a well-known bank.

“When did Mr. Charrington give it up and Mr. Smythe take it ? “

“Just at the time of Sir Henry Meredith’s death, because I remember I was speculating whether that house would also be to let and mentioned it.”

“You have seen Mr. Smythe, then ? “

“No, his secretary, or some one acting for him only.”

I thanked him and left. It was, as he had said, “a singular coincidence,” and I did not like the look of it at all. It might of course, be no more than coincidence; but there seemed so many coincidences, all pointing to one conclusion, that each of them began to look like a distinct mesh in the web of a carefully designed plan. I drove to the bank to try and trace this “Mr. Smythe,” and what I heard there was the reverse of reassuring. The manager told me that the account had been opened on the introduction of a large German house, who had remitted a sum of some thousands of pounds; that they had every reason to suppose Mr. Smythe was a man of means, but had not seen him; and all the business had been transacted by correspondence; and they had given the reference for the house in Cromwell-road in the ordinary course of business.

Coincidence again — or something more !

It was a daring step to take the very house next mine and to use it as a base of operations against me. But then I knew I had to deal with a bold and even desperate man playing for a big stake, and determined to resort to any and every means to gain his end.

CHAPTER IX

A GENUINE SURPRISE

The next two or three days were filled with much anxiety for me. My thoughts were constantly harassed by doubts and fears of unknown but impending troubles, and I found myself perpetually speculating as to what move my antagonists could take next.

The consciousness that my house and movements were under perpetual surveillance was irritating and depressing to a degree difficult to describe, and it began to wear upon my nerves so much that I grew more and more anxious to take some decisive step that would bring about a climax; and yet knew not what to do.

I heard from Schwartz and from Celia. They had acted on my suggestions and had gone from Brighton to Worthing then to Bournemouth, and from there to Cheltenham. Celia’s letters were exceedingly characteristic. She held to her resolve to see nothing but comedy in the situation, and she wrote me in a vein of laughing, light-hearted protest, with touches of tender regard to be read between the lines. But the burden of the cry was always the same: “How long?” “When can we ring down the curtain and begin the play of my life in earnest ? “she put it once; and with the actual proofs round about me of the real and possibly deadly seriousness of the position the tone jarred even while it charmed me.

My sister importuned me also about Celia’s movements and why all this mystery and secrecy were necessary.

“What has Celia done that she should be packed away from us like this with that dreadful woman ? “she asked me.

“She has ‘done ‘nothing, Blossom. It is simply more expedient for her to remain in the country at present.”

What words you are learning to use. ‘Expedient ‘; what does that mean ? “

“It means much more than I can explain, or perhaps understand myself,” I replied, with a suspicion of a sigh born of my perplexity.

My sister looked at me shrewdly.

“What does it all mean, Stanley ? You’re looking dreadfully worried. I’m sure you’d be better if you trusted me. I know Celia’s awfully fond of you.”

“It’ll come right some day, Blossom. Don’t worry yourself.”

“You mean don’t worry you, I suppose. But I want her here with us. Why can’t she live with us ? “She was disposed to set down everything to some lovers’ quarrel.

“There are things I can’t tell you, my dear child. I would if I could, but there’s nothing wrong between Celia and me. We quite understand the position and each other, I assure you.”

“Well, you are the funniest pair I ever heard of. Of course, it’s nothing to do with me,” she retorted, shrugging her shoulders crossly and turning away.

I should have liked to tell her, but it was impossible at that juncture. Indeed, I felt in sore need of some-

one with whom I could talk matters over. The suspense was irksome and trying, and the fact that I had to bear the responsibility alone added to the weight of the burden.

I was not to be alone in it much longer, for a great and genuine surprise was in store for me. But just before that happened I had a lesser surprise in a visit from the Count von Kronheim.

His card was brought to me just after I had had one of these interviews with my sister, and I went to him speculating curiously as to his object. He was not long in making that clear enough.

“My visit will probably be a surprise to you, Sir Stanley, considering how our last interview closed,” he said.

“Yes, it is a surprise. What is your object ? “

“I wish to come to some arrangement with you. I believe that you have my cousin Celia’s welfare at heart although you adopt so curious a method of consulting it.”

“What fresh development, now? “I asked, curtly.

“I wish to know whether you have told my cousin the drift of the arrangement proposed from Crudenstadt as the solution of the difficulty in regard to the Saxe-Lippe succession.”

“Certainly I have not. Your agents have probably informed you that I have not been out of London since I saw you.”

I watched him closely as I made this thrust, but he gave no further sign than a passing frown, and affected to misunderstand me.

“My agents? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your spies, if you prefer the word. I mean the persons you have set to watch me. Don’t affect to misunderstand me, for I assure you I know quite well what you are doing.”

“Do you intend to inform her? “

He put the question sharply and imperiously, passing by my words. I smiled.

“Yes, perhaps it is more convenient to ignore the existence of your spies.”

“Do you intend to inform her, Sir Stanley ? “

“I would really prefer not to discuss matters with you at all. I shall act simply as my own judgment and my information concerning you dictate.”

He glanced at me very sharply.

“Can we come to no understanding on the matter?” he asked.

“None,” I answered, decisively. “None whatever.”

“I am prepared to do anything you wish — in reason.”

“I cannot discuss the matter with you at all,” was my uncompromising reply, and I rose to end the interview. But he did not move.

“The urgency is increasing. The health of the young Duke is growing rapidly worse, and if my cousin’s claims are to be advanced no time must be lost.”

“I shall take my own line and choose my own time to take it.”

“You take the serious responsibility very lightly.” I made no answer to this, and after a moment he added: “I have the right to demand to see my cousin.”

“You have already made the demand.”

“True, but you have not complied with it,” he said, his tone and manner suggesting a rise in temper.

“And at present do not intend to,” I answered, as curtly as before.

“Your conduct is most extraordinary, sir.”

“I am not accountable to you for it.”

You are accountable to me for this unwarranted detention and concealment of the woman I am to marry,” he began, in great heat, but checked himself and said: “But I did not come to speak in any but a friendly tone.”

“I have no desire for your friendship, and am indifferent to any unfriendly tone you may please to adopt.”

“Do you mean to insult me ?”

“You must place such construction on my words as you please. I did not seek this interview and do not wish to prolong it.”

“I may find means to make you bring my cousin back.”

“In such a case, of course, I should do so; but until then “— I smiled and waved my hand to indicate my indifference — “I am not likely to pay much attention to your threats.”

“If you were in my country you would not dare to insult me in this way,” he cried, with an oath, his face now full of rage.

“We may have an opportunity of discussing that in Crudenstadt itself,” I answered, quietly.

“I wish I had you there,” he exclaimed, furiously. “I would teach you a lesson in manners.”

I crossed the room and rang the bell.

“Show this gentleman to the door, and be careful not to admit him again,” I said to the servant.

“Do you dare to turn me out of your house?” cried the Count.

“You have my orders, Wilson,” I said, sharply, to the servant.

The Count stared at me a moment with such a look of fury that I thought he was going to attempt to strike me, but, mastering this impulse, or seeing the futility of it, he exclaimed: “ You shall hear from me ! “and hurried out of the room.

I hoped he would keep his word. I “was no fireeater and certainly no lover of the duel. I had no wish to lose my life and none to take his, but the abominable character of the scheme he had formed to sacrifice Celia to his own sordid ambition had roused my resentment to such a pitch that I vowed I would even go to the length of a meeting if he gave me the chance.

I had no doubt that he had come with the object of frightening or bribing me into what he called some arrangement, and as I recalled his words and manner my rage against him was to the full as great as that he had shown.

But no messengers came from him; only a letter on the following day, saying that, as I had so grossly insulted him he should hold himself at liberty to demand satisfaction at any time when we were so situated that I could not hide myself behind the cowardly conventions of English society, and when his own matters were not pressing with such importance.

His insolent words stung me like shot pellets in the face, and revived all the anger of the previous day. Smarting under the insult, I sat down to pen a reply that I would meet him when and where he pleased, if he sent me a challenge, and my rage was so hot that I rejoiced in the prospect of a chance to punish him for his treatment of me, as well as for his infamous scheming against Celia.

It was, indeed, as much for her sake as my own that I looked on such a quarrel as this with its issue of a fight as the proper and logical climax of the position. There was nothing ridiculous or even ill-proportioned in the thought that I should fight in this way on Celia’s account. I was more than willing to run any risk for her sake, and the events of the past week or two had forced me to believe that those risks were real and ugly enough to be taken very seriously.

I was young and hot-blooded. I loved her with an intense passion which even she may scarcely have realised, and while my cheek was burning at the recollection of this man’s words, and my heart was torn with the thought that he had dared to attempt to thrust himself and his miserable ambitions between us, I could even bring myself to wish that in a fair fight I might take his life.

But my letter of fiery acceptance of his challenge was not destined to be sent, for a new development of the matter commenced in that very hour when I was writing it, and while I was giving a free rein to all the bitterness and wildness of my thoughts against him.

My servant brought me the card of a Countess von Klafter. My house was becoming a rendezvous for unknown German nobilities, apparently, and I went to this one with a feeling of impatience.

“Are you Sir Stanley Meredith?” she asked me as I entered, and the tone of the question impressed me. There was a note of authority in it, with a dash of surprise. She did not offer me her hand, but instead bent on me a look so earnest that it brought a frown to her forehead.

“Yes, I am Sir Stanley Meredith.”

“The son of Sir Henry Meredith?”

She spoke with a somewhat strong German accent.

“No; the nephew of the late Sir Henry Meredith,” I answered in German, and the conversation was continued in that language.

“I have reasons for being very particular,” she said, and then paused.

During the pause I looked at her closely. She was a woman of some forty years of age, I judged, but her features were lined with trouble and marked by such an expression of melancholy and sternness as I had rarely seen on a woman’s face. She had been very beautiful in her youth, and the colouring reminded me of Celia’s — complexion fair, hair golden but silvering fast, and eyes blue, but with a strange unfeeling coldness and glitter that came either from close melancholy introspection and brooding, or from temper heightened by suffering. Her manner was strangely repellent, harsh, austere and cold.

“You were in your uncle’s confidence?” she asked, breaking the pause somewhat abruptly.

“At the close of his life; and, in some respects, I may say fully in his confidence.”

“There was a young German lady in whom he took much interest. Do you know her? “

The question was a little difficult to answer.

“What is her name?” I asked, guardedly.

“I do not know precisely. But do you know whom I mean ? “

“It would perhaps be better that you give me some other details; something to make the description a little less general,” I replied, cautiously. “And perhaps you would like to tell me first the nature of your interest in her, and your reasons for coming to me.”

“I have come to you because Sir Henry Meredith is dead. I have the strongest interest in her. I wish to find her, and I have every right to do so.” This was too suggestive of von Kronheim’s tone to satisfy me.

“Permit me to ask the nature of that interest.”

“I can satisfy you completely on that head,” she exclaimed, sharply and imperiously, as though impatient of my question.

“I do not doubt that,” said I, with a bow. “But my uncle did not tell me of any recent inquiries of the kind that were made of him. May I ask if you made any ? “

The effect of this question upon my visitor, simple as it was, surprised me. She flinched and showed signs of agitation, and for some moments was obviously undecided how to reply. But she retained her self composure. I did not understand her, but she did not appear to me to be acting like an emissary of the Count von Kronheim.

“There have been ample reasons to prevent my making any,” she said at length. “But, of course, you can’t understand me, unless you know the facts.”

“I am quite at your service to hear anything you may wish to tell me.”

“Did your uncle never tell you anything of his life in Germany; in Saxe-Lippe, I mean? “

“Scarcely anything, except in regard to one incident.”

“And that incident?”

The question came sharply, and was accompanied with a quick, searching glance.

“You must excuse me. It was confidential,” I said.

“But I must know of it “She paused suddenly,

and shook her head as if in perplexity.

“I never heard him mention your name,” I said.

“Never heard him mention me?” she exclaimed, in manifest astonishment. “Oh, you mean as the Countess von Klafter? That was not my name. But he mentioned to you this girl, a baby when she was placed in his charge. Her Christian name might be Celia. He must have done so.”

My only reply was a bow, which she might interpret as she pleased. “She is not dead ? “There was keen interest, but little feeling, in the tone.

“May I invite you to speak frankly ? I am placed in a very embarrassing position by your reticence.”

I meant her to understand that I would say nothing at all until I knew more of her and of her object in coming to me. And she read my intention quickly.

“The child was placed in your uncle’s care by — by her mother, under circumstances of a very exceptional kind. And now the — the mother wishes to reclaim her daughter. That is all.” She spoke very slowly and very emphatically.

“The mother has been a long time remembering her duty.” Intentionally my tone was stern. “Do you come from her ? “

“Is Celia alive? “she asked, ignoring my question.

“Yes; but she has grown up in complete ignorance of her mother, and until lately “

I checked myself. I did not yet know enough oy visitor to speak frankly. She was listening most intently to my every word, and when I stopped, sat regarding me sternly with a frown on her hard, cold face.

“Thank Heaven she lives,” she said, and then after a pause: “You can help me to see her soon ? There is need for the most urgent haste. When can it be ? To-day ? Is she here ? “

“No; she is not here,” I answered.

I spoke coldly and formally, for my former suspicions were roused again by her eagerness.

II I must see her. I tell you I must. There is not a moment to lose. You must help me. Everything will be endangered by delay. Your uncle would have done this at once.”

“My uncle would probably have known you, madame,” I replied, pointedly. “To my regret, I do not.”

She started at this and was silent for a moment, thinking; and then, with an effort to restrain all evidence of excitement, she said:

“I am the mother whom you are so quick to judge and to censure, Sir Stanley. I am the Duchess Marie of Saxe-Lippe. It was I who confided Celia to your uncle’s care.”

“Celia’s mother ! “I exclaimed, in excited surprise, seeing instantly how full of import for us all this most strange development must be.

Of all things, this visit was the most unexpected that could have happened.

CHAPTER X

CELIA’S MOTHER

Celia’s mother alive !

It was some moments before I could recover from the astonishment which my visitor’s avowal produced, and then my chief feeling was one of deep regret at my implied reproach of her neglect of Celia.

I had always believed her dead, and my uncle had not let drop a word to cause me to think otherwise. So far as he was concerned, I knew that her history had stopped abruptly at the moment she had been placed under restraint. As I thought of her years of suffering, my heart softened to her, and my suspicions died out, despite her cold, repelling, and, as it seemed to me, heartless manner. A woman dead to tenderness.

“Your statement has moved me deeply, madame. If I can be of service to you, pray tell me how,” I said at length.

“I desire to see Celia. She must come back to me and to Crudenstadt. You know what is happening there ? My son is dying, and I cannot go to him. If your uncle has told you all this hideous story of mine, you will know that for many years I have been kept a close prisoner, under the pretence that I was mad. I have escaped but recently, in the confusion caused by the sudden death of the medical man in charge of me, and I am resolved to prosecute my rights. I have been treated shamefully and abominably, and foully persecuted by my husband; but I will have my revenge. I have still powerful friends, and I will yet show my husband and the world I am too dangerous to be trodden upon with impunity. I will rouse Europe.”

Excitement flashed from her eyes and flushed on her cheeks, and she spoke with vehemence and rage. Whatever else the long confinement had done, it had not quenched her spirit.

“May I venture to ask your purpose in regard to Celia ? “

“She shall sit where it is her right to sit; on the Throne of the Saxe-Lippe Duchy. She is the rightful heiress, and I, her mother, will see that she is not robbed of her birthright. Does she know the secret of her birth ? “

“Yes, I have told her within the past few days, since my uncle’s death, and I have been in doubt what course I ought to adopt.”

“There is but one course possible,” she began, vehemently, when with a sudden change she paused and asked: “Why does Celia think she was placed in Sir Henry’s charge ? “Her face wore a look of distrust.

“I have told her only that there was a dispute which rendered that step necessary for her safety, your Highness.”

“Do you know ? “she asked, sharply.

“My uncle left behind him a full written statement of all the facts, your Highness.”

Her hesitation passed instantly, giving place again to her decisive vehemence.

“She must know everything. I must see her at once. It must come from my lips, not from those of my enemies. I must see her at once. Can you bring her here ? “

“Yes, if you wish it. But you should know that she has expressed to me a strong disinclination to seek her rights.”

“Why?” The question was very sharply asked, and with a keen, quick glance which embarrassed me. “You know the reason, Sir Stanley, I see. What is it?”

“The concealment has had one most disastrous result. I have reason to know that, being in complete ignorance of the fact of her birth, she has — she had engaged herself to a man who, himself also ignorant of the facts, had asked her to be his wife.”

“Do you mean that she has — do you mean yourself?”

“I have told you, madame, so that you may understand exactly the position. My uncle did his utmost to keep us apart, although he said nothing of the real obstacles between us, and when I learnt the truth from him I told Celia that great objections would certainly be raised to our marriage.”

I could not hide the embarrassment which made my words sound halting and lame.

“Of course it is impossible, quite impossible; out of all reason,” she cried, quickly and angrily. Her tone sounded harsh to me and had not a touch of sympathy for my poor Celia. This indifference roused my resentment. “You have not seen her since, of course? You are a man of honour.”

I made no reply, for the implied reproach wounded me.

“I don’t understand your silence, Sir Stanley. It

seems full time that I should assume control of my daughter.”

“As your Highness pleases,” I answered, formally.

*’ Where is Celia ? Can you send for her at once ? “

“She is at Leamington. Would you prefer to go to her?”

“No; she had better come to me, and I should like to see her here. She had better first be told who I am. I do not wish any scenes. I am not very strong. Will you send for her and I will see her here to-morrow ? She will, of course, go with me at once to Crudenstadt.”

“There is another important matter you should know,” I said; and I told her as concisely as possible about my interviews with the Count von Kronheim and the fears I entertained in regard to his persecution of Celia.

To my surprise and dismay she seemed to regard his proposal in any but a hostile light.

“You seem very ready to take for granted all that is said against him, Sir Stanley. For my part, I am not at all sure that he has not thought of a very likely plan to carry out our object. You must not let yourself be biased by your own feelings, however natural it may be for you to feel an objection. Such a marriage would have many advantages; very many.”

Her obvious intention to sacrifice Celia for the furtherance of her plans so filled me with anger and concern that I could not trust myself to make a reply.

“Could you arrange for me to meet the Count without his knowing who I am ? “

“I can give you his address in London.”

“I would rather meet him here. I am sure your uncle, Sir Henry, would have been anxious to help me in this matter.”

“I will arrange for him to be here to-morrow some hours before your daughter arrives. But I cannot do this without warning you that in my opinion you are running great risks.”

“I shall know how to protect my daughter, Sir Stanley,” she replied, coldly, and I said no more.

As soon as she had left I telegraphed to Celia, asking her to come to London on the following day and sent also a longer message to Schwartz, telling him what train to come by, and urging him to use the utmost caution on the journey. I wrote also to von Kronheim, saying that if he would call at my house on the following day there was some one wishful to see him; and in answer to his letter I told him that I was quite willing for our quarrel to be settled in the way he suggested, and that he would always find me ready to meet him.

Having done that I sat down to think over the interview with Celia’s mother and the change which the new development meant. My feelings were bitter enough, as may be supposed. It was clear that the Duchess’s leading motive was a desire to avenge herself upon her husband for his treatment of her. Through the long years of her punishment she had been nurturing this one hope. The impending death of her son had not drawn from her a single syllable of regret; and the one idea in regard to Celia was to use her to anger her husband, while she felt a slighter satisfaction that by securing her daughter’s recognition as heiress to the Duchy her own character and innocence would be amply vindicated. But her main thoughts were fixed on revenge.

I remembered all that my uncle had written. The Duchess had been, in truth, innocent, so far as he was concerned, but more than guilty with her real lover, and her object now was to use this guilty innocence to procure her end. For that, she was content to sacrifice Celia in a marriage with a ruthless scoundrel like von Kronheim.

My own part, too, had its full share of irony. I felt bound in all honour to endeavour to clear my uncle’s name from the taint of that old scandal, and thus was constrained to help the Duchess in making clear that part of the truth. But to effect this I was to be made a kind of party to an arrangement by which Celia’s happiness was to be destroyed and her life ruined by union with such a man.

I can say, with all sincerity, that I did not think of myself or my love in all that tangle. I loved Celia well enough to place her happiness before my own wishes. If I could secure that, the rest might go. But help to secure her marriage with a sensual scoundrel like von Kronheim I would not. I would rather see her dead than his wife. And the knowledge that the Duchess could contemplate it calmly, could look upon it in the callous impersonal light of a stroke of cunning policy, calculated to help the fulfillment of her own scheme of self-vindication and revenge, was maddening.

What Celia herself would feel and say as to this development of the “comedy,” I could judge well enough, and, indeed, I was to know sooner than I had expected; for that night she arrived, all happiness and smiles at being with us once again.

“I got your telegram and came at once, Stanley. I knew it must be something important; and although that good but dreary man, Schwartz, told me he had instructions for us to wait until to-morrow morning I would not. I could not. If I’ve done wrong I’m very sorry, but I could not.”

She tried to simulate penitence, but the sunshine of her smiles burst through it, and my eyes were so glad to rest upon her face again that I could not find heart to tell her that she had not done well, and that her coming might cause some embarrassment.

Blossom, who was delighted to see her and made much of her, carried her away to her room at once, and it was not until some time later that we two were alone together.

“Now tell me, what is the new act in the comedy? But first, please, are you glad to see me ? “and her eyes challenged me.

“I am always glad to see you, Celia,” I said, looking away. “But “

“Look at me, Stanley, don’t turn away like that. I want to see for myself that you are really glad.” I looked at her, and saw the love and pleasure that were sparkling radiantly in her eyes. “I am satisfied,” she said, quickly, and ostentatiously kissed her ring.

“I hope you don’t forget the part I am cast for in what you call our comedy.”

“Not in the least. We are playing at not being engaged. And now tell me. Have they sent over the crown for me to see if it fits my head ? “And she laugh mischievously. “Of course, if it’s very becoming it will be all the more difficult to refuse.”

“There are a good many other things to fit before the crown,” said I.

“I don’t see why there should be — in a comedy.”

“A good deal has happened since you have been away.”

“You said that as though they had made a very serious impression on you, at any rate. Do you wish me to be serious already? “

“There is enough to make us both serious, Celia. You ought not to have come back until to-morrow for one thing.”

“I know that; but it’s only a very small act of disobedience. A few hours can’t make much difference, and when I knew that I really was to come I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. I did so long to see — Blossom. Oh, I will be serious directly, but I can’t for a few minutes. Give me a quarter of an hour. Remember how long it is; how many long, long days since I saw — Blossom,” and she laughed again, and she filled more than the quarter of an hour with her pretty little jests and rallying, making all too plain how glad she was to be with me. Then breaking off suddenly she said: “There, now let me have the disagreeable news. What is it ? “

The very impetuosity of the change in her manner increased the difficulty of my task, and I hesitated how to tell her and what to speak of first. Then I plunged:

“There is someone who wishes to many you, Celia,” I said.

“Is there ? “And her eyes had the challenge I had noticed before.

“Celia, you are incorrigible.”

“I am all attention,” she cried, with mock gravity.

“This is all really serious. It is a Count von Kronheim, a member of a high Saxe-Lippe family, the family standing next in succession to the throne indeed, she wishes this.”

“Having heard that I may possibly sit on the throne he desires in his disinterestedness to share it. Ought I to be honoured, Stanley ? And what did you tell him ? I should like to know. That you thought such a match highly desirable for political reasons, and that you were sure I should feel the same as yourself. That would all be in the comedy, you know. And as true as the rest of it.”

“He has found a supporter very unexpectedly, and one who has ample right to a voice.”

“Who is that ? “She put the question earnestly, detecting a different tone in my voice.

“There is a great surprise for you.”

“There has been little else lately.”

“This will perhaps be the greatest of all. I have had news that your mother is not dead after all.”

“You have seen her,” she cried, quickly, “I know you have. I have been thinking so much of her during the last few days; I can’t understand things at all. When did you see her? To-day? Is that the reason of the telegram. O Stanley, tell me, how ought I to feel towards her ? Why have I been nothing to her for all these years ? “

“The story is a very sad one, Celia,” and I told her all, except the part which concerned the old tragic love-story of her mother’s youth, leaving her to think that the whole punishment was undeserved.

“My poor mother ! “she said, in a tone of infinite compassion. “We must try to make up for some of the suffering she has endured. Tell me all you can about her. Poor mother! “

It was no easy task she set me, but I tried to impress her as favourably as I could, dwelling upon the sorrows which had clouded the unfortunate woman’s life, and saying little or nothing of the plans and projects which she now entertained beyond the fact that she wished Celia to take the position to which she was by birth entitled.

“You have rather frightened me, Stanley,” she said when I finished. “I don’t know what to think. I am longing to see her, and yet afraid. She may not care for me, after all; especially if I cannot enter into these plans of hers. What is my duty? Tell me. Poor mother! What a terrible life. And now, if after all her sufferings I cannot do what she wishes ! I don’t know what to think. What ought I to do ? “

Before I could answer my sister came into the room, and so for the time no more was said; but my knowledge of Celia and what I had seen of the Duchess made me look forward to the meeting between them with doubt and foreboding for both.

In the morning the “Countess Klafter” was announced before we had finished breakfast, and Celia shot at me a glance of troubled perplexity as I rose from the table.

“Shall I come with you, Stanley ? “

“No; I will let you know,” I said. But she followed me into the hall, and I could see that she had come to a decision.

“Hold out no hope to her that I can do what she wishes,” she said, firmly.

“You had better not wear that ring when you see her, Celia,” I said, for she was fingering it nervously as she spoke.

“How can I wear it always if I take it off now?” she answered, smiling. “I am quite resolved.”

I went to the Duchess, who offered an apology for her early call.

“It is much better so,” I said. “Celia came last night and is here now.”

Her look signaled suspicion of some under-play, but she did not voice the thought.

“I will see her at once, then, and perhaps all this business can be arranged this morning. We can see Count von Kronheim together when he comes.”

Celia was very nervous when I went to fetch her.

“Come with me into the room,” she pleaded.

“Certainly.” And as we went in together she was trembling.

“This is Celia,” I said, quietly, almost formally, and the Duchess looked at her critically as I thought, and certainly without an outward sign of emotion.

“Mother!”

The cry came from Celia’s heart as she went forward quickly with hands extended, her face aglow with mingled feelings of love, compassion and nervous yearning. To me her face seemed eloquent with the offer of her heart, until the coldness of her mother’s unresponsive greeting dashed her hopes. She paused in her advance and stood still, embarrassed, distressed and pained by the reception.

It was truly a strange meeting, and the auguries were ill enough to fill me with dismay when, by the stupidity of a servant, the situation was infinitely complicated.

We were standing in this momentary pause of em-

barrassed silence when the door was thrown open and the Count von Kronheim entered. As his eyes fell on Celia I saw him start with surprise, while his face lighted with a gleam of triumph.

CHAPTER XI

A FAMILY COUNCIL

At the announcement of the Count’s name Celia’s mother started in surprise and glanced at me for an explanation, while Celia herself, remembering my words of the previous evening, drew herself up and returned his look of insolent interest with one of disdain.

“I have interrupted a family council, 1 fear,” said von Kronheim, who seemed to enjoy the embarrassment caused by his arrival. “But it is not my fault. Shall I withdraw ? “

“I think you had better,” I answered, and turned to the door.

“Is it necessary ? We know the Count von Kronheim’s mission,” said the Duchess.

This turn took me completely by surprise, and I saw Celia start and look in swift astonishment at her mother. To her, as to me, it was inconceivable that the Duchess should show not the slightest desire to be alone with Celia at such a moment. I was at a loss even how she wished to be known to von Kronheim.

“The Countess Klafter, of “I began, when she interrupted me.

“There can be no need to maintain my incognito y

Sir Stanley.” At this von Kronheim looked at her shrewdly and started as if recognizing her. “I am

Celia’s mother,” she added.

“Your highness will pardon me for not having recognised you at once,” said the Count, bowing very low. “Yet I might have known that the place to seek you would be in your lovely daughter’s presence. Permit me,” and he crossed the room and lifted to his lips the hand which she held out. “I have not yet had the honour of being presented to my cousin,” and he bowed to Celia, who returned his bow with just the slightest inclination of her head.

“Sir Stanley Meredith has told me of the proposals you have made, Count, and it was to discuss them that I wished to see you here this morning.”

“I am more than honoured, your Highness. Had I known you were in England of course my first approach would have been made to you. Sir Stanley did not tell me.”

“Sir Stanley did not know until yesterday. You say the match finds favour in Crudenstadt ? “

“It is the earnest desire of all who are interested in the welfare of Saxe-Lippe, and animated by a desire to see reparation made to you for what you have suffered at the hands of the Duke.” This was of course a falsehood coined at the moment; but it had its carefully calculated effect. “Unless it be arranged the prospects of unsettlement and strife over the vexed question of the succession are infinite. It will be hailed with delight by the whole Duchy, and many men of note and consequence in the country see in it the one completely satisfactory solution of the problem. In consequence of the somewhat unexpected opposition of Sir Stanley, whose position as his uncle’s successor and thus my cousin’s guardian — of course, in your Highness’s absence — I have come with ample proofs of this general wish,” and he took from his pocket a bundle of letters which he handed to the Duchess.

I did not believe a word of it, and I could see that Celia shared my opinion. She had been watching him closely while he spoke, and every feature spoke of her distrust and dislike of him. As the Duchess was examining the letters Celia turned to her and my heart ached as I saw the shock of pain and distress, which the disappointment at her mother’s extraordinary reception of her had caused.

“As for myself,” said von Kronheim, when the Duchess had finished with the letters, “I can only say that while before I was anxious, for patriotic reasons, that the arrangement should be carried out, now that I have seen my cousin it has become the one desire of my heart.” But this was a false note for the strange, austere woman to whom it was addressed.

“These marriages have nothing to do with the heart, Count. Celia will, of course, understand that. She will recognise that the first considerations are those of policy and expediency.”

The Count glanced at Celia in some dismay. He read her better than her mother.

“My cousin’s life has not yet brought her in contact with the rules of life that prevail in Courts, your Highness,” he said, as if to excuse the opposition which he saw in Celia’s attitude.

“It does not appear to be of much importance what my own opinions or wishes are,” said Celia.

“To me they would always be everything,” he protested, bowing.

“You have much to learn, Celia,” said her mother, sharply, “and the sooner you commence the better.

The manner in which you have been brought up was decided upon hurriedly and at a crisis when the future could not be foreseen. The illness of your brother has changed everything for you. I trust you understand that. I hope, too, that it will not prove a mistake to have kept you so long in ignorance of your rightful position.”

Celia’s face hardened and she bit her lip.

“I shall always endeavor to do that which your Highness desires.”

“That is no more than your duty,” was the cold reply, spoken sternly, with the air of one who meant to compel obedience. “It is a great misfortune for you that I have not been able to be with you before, for I doubt whether you have been trained to obedience.”

There was not a trace or sign of anything faintly approaching gentleness in her manner, to say nothing of affection; not even a gesture or tone of the voice to suggest that she was even glad of the meeting. Had Celia herself been the cause of the long separation her mother could scarcely have been more repellent and harsh. The unnaturalness of her attitude was tragic in its cruelty, and I knew how deep into Celia’s heart the wounds would sink.

Even von Kronheim understood something of this and regretted it; not because of the cruelty but because he felt how it would set Celia against him and increase his difficulty. Had he dared, he would have protested, but he knew that while such a protest would help him very little with the daughter it might do him infinite harm with the mother.

“Sir Stanley has told you the peculiar circumstances of your case, Celia, and you will thus understand what

A family council is required of you. Your brother’s illness and probable death “— she spoke of this as indifferently as if the boy had been a stranger instead of her own son — “has made it imperative that your position should be defined accurately and your succession to the throne made secure. Added to this is the necessity of reinstating me in my rightful position in the eyes of all in the Duchy and in Europe; and our one consideration, yours and mine, must be how this can best be accomplished. You understand this, of course ? “

Celia glanced at me in dismay, and for a moment did not reply.

“There can be no need for you to seek advice from Sir Stanley Meredith,” said her mother, with aggressive harshness, as if resenting the tacit appeal. “He has told me of the mistake which has been made, and, of course, you will see the absolute necessity for putting an end to everything of the kind. Any engagement or understanding of that sort is out of the question, and I shall expect you to recognise this instantly. If that ring on your finger has any sort of connection with the matter take it off at once.”

Count von Kronheim looked at me with a smile of malicious triumph. He had now what he thought was the key to my conduct.

Celia made no attempt to do what her mother said. Her expressive features showed something of the struggle in her mind, her fealty to her love for me battling fiercely with her desire not to oppose her mother, while the pain caused by the Duchess’s most unexpected and indeed almost hostile coldness, heightened her agitation and perplexity.

You do not make a very auspicious beginning. If you intend to set me at defiance in this way it argues ill for your training. You heard what I told you. Why don’t you answer me ? “

Her mother was growing more insistent and imperative each time she spoke.

“I heard your Highness,” said Celia.

“Did you give that ring to Celia, Sir Stanley, when you knew the position of matters ? “

“When I gave the ring I had heard nothing from my uncle, as I have before explained to you, madame.”

“And when you had heard, why did you permit it to be retained ? “

Alas for poor Celia’s comedy ! The remembrance of the scene flashed into my thoughts as I answered: “I have already explained to your Highness that I told Celia of the difficulties of our position.”

“Then I am surprised you should have allowed her to retain it. You have been untrue to your trust, sir. As for you, Celia, you should be ashamed to wear it,” she said, sternly. “Give it back at once to Sir Stanley; at once.”

“If Stanley really wishes it I will give it him. Otherwise, I cannot.” Her tone was low, but her voice very firm.

“This is rank disobedience to me. Return it, I tell you,” cried the Duchess.

“If Celia wishes to retain it I certainly do not ask for it,” I said.

“Do you intend to join in this conspiracy against me, Sir Stanley ? It is indeed time that Celia came into my charge.”

“Will you permit me to withdraw, your Highness ? “said von Kronheim. “This is a very unexpected and very painful scene to me. I now understand Sir Stanley Meredith’s conduct.’

I could have struck him for the leer of malice with which he accompanied his words.

“No, Count. This concerns you very closely now, and there must be an explanation. It had better be in your presence.”

“I must be allowed to say that I am not conscious of having been in any respect untrue to my trust,” I said. “Let me explain. When I asked Celia to be my wife, I was not aware of any obstacle between us; and when I learnt the facts, I explained them to her. They could, of course, make no difference in my feelings for her, and they have not.” Celia welcomed this avowal with a swift glance. “Our position then was this. If it was found to be really impossible that my hope could be realised, I was prepared to stand aside if it would help her happiness and advancement. But until that impossibility became absolutely clear, Celia’s honour was in no way touched by her retention of the ring.”

“It was most indiscreet, most unpardonable, most indecent,” exclaimed the Duchess, vehemently. “Of course, a marriage of the kind is an impossibility, and, being for the moment in the position of Celia’s guardian, it was your imperative duty to have put an end at once to all semblance and pretence of an engagement. However, I will see to it now. Give me the ring, Celia, and get ready to come with me from this house.”

Instead of doing this, Celia crossed to my side.

“I am sorry if I offend your Highness, but I will not give up the ring. I gave my word to marri

Stanley and I will not marry anyone else to gain fifty thrones. I love him with my whole heart.”

She raised her head proudly as she made the declaration, and looked steadily at her mother.

“You dare say this to my face ? “cried the Duchess. “To me, your mother.”

“If that appeal wakes no echo in my heart, it is you, not I who must take the blame. I came to you hoping more than I can tell you from the interview ready to bare my heart to you, and trusting to find, at last the mother’s sympathy and love that my life has never known. And instead of that, you have met me coldly, with harsh words, reproaches, repulses, and an angry command to give up what is more to me than life itself — the love of the man I love. I cannot do it; and if you force me to say it, I will not dt.”

“You are an unnatural child to presume to speak to me in this way. You will be betrothed to your cousin here, the Count von Kronheim. The marriage is necessary for reasons of State, which even Sir Stanley Meredith must appreciate.”

“The Count von Kronheim will scarcely wish for a bride whose love, to his knowledge, is given to another. But in any event I will not marry him.”

The Count’s face wore a scowl as dark as night, despite all his efforts to hide his anger.

“Believe me, that I deeply sympathise with you in the embarrassing position in which you find yourself, cousin,” he said, bowing. “But there are so many and such high reasons of policy and expediency for the marriage, that even if I were not attracted by yourself I could not put my own feelings in the foreground.

It shall be the desire and object of my life to make you happy.”

“Such a shameless avowal as yours, Celia, is scandalous. But it is useless to set yourself in opposition to all the high interests involved, and I shall find means to convince you. Get ready to accompany me at once.”

“Must I go, Stanley ? “cried Celia, putting her hand on my arm and looking into my face.

“You would scarcely remain in the house of the man for whom you have thus wantonly proclaimed your love,” cried the angry Duchess.

“Must I go, Stanley ? “repeated Celia. “I will do what you tell me.”

“Sir Stanley will scarcely interfere in this matter,” said von Kronheim, scowling at me in his rage.

“On the contrary, I have something to say,” I replied, maddened on my side by his interference. I had borne with the farce of his pretensions long enough.

“I think it is a matter in which you should say nothing, sir,” said the Duchess, haughtily. “ I cannot recognise any pretensions of yours.”

“Do I understand, your Highness, that you intend to accept the proposals of the Count von Kronheim for Celia’s hand ? “

“A question I decline to answer. Celia, you will come with me at once. I can trust you no longer in this house.”

“Celia herself has asked me what she shall do,” said I, biting my lips at this deliberate insult.

“I decline to allow Celia to remain here. She must come with me. Get ready at once, Celia.”

“Then with all respect to your Highness, I shall decline on my side to let Celia leave.”

“You would not dare “exclaimed von Kronheim.

“Unless, of course, Celia herself wishes to go,” I continued, ignoring his interference.

“I shall not go, Stanley,” she said, readily, in a tone of relief.

“I am pained to have to act in this way, your Highness, and I should not do so had I not the strongest reasons. I know much about the intentions and schemes of the Count von Kronheim, and I am on the eve of learning much more. But what I know already is more than sufficient to convince me that I am taking the right course.”

“Do I understand that you dare to compromise Celia in this unmanly fashion, and to prevent the exercise of my right and just authority?” cried the Duchess.

“I shall take immediate steps to inform his Royal Highness, the Duke, of what I have done, and leave him to deal with this gentleman,” I said.

“You are taking a very insolent and very dangerous course, sir,” said von Kronheim.

“I am prepared to face all the consequences,” I answered, coldly.

“You are a most unnatural daughter, Celia,” said her mother, rising. “I bid you again to come with me. Do you set me at defiance ? “

“I cannot come with your Highness,” answered Celia, scrupulous in her avoidance of the word mother.

“Give me your arm, Count. I will find the means of bringing you to a sense of your duty, Celia,” and, with that parting threat, uttered with great vehemence and with a look of deep anger, the Duchess went away.

Celia’s clasp tightened on my arm as her mother passed us, and she caught her breath quickly. But as the door closed she looked up in my face and smiled wistfully.

“Our comedy is getting near a tragedy now, Stanley. But I will not give way.”

CHAPTER XII

AT THE EMBASSY

Celia slipped her arm from mine and crossed to the window to see the Duchess and von Kronheim leave the house.

“What can they do next, Stanley?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” I answered. “But I shall have to do something on my side.”

“What ! Shall you have to send me off again ? It seems so useless, and so absurd. Why cannot they leave me alone ? “

“The position is very serious,” I said, irrelevantly.

“What a time they are in leaving the house.”

At the words a thought struck me, and I opened the door and went into the hall. I saw something to make me serious. Schwartz and the Duchess were absorbed in conversation, and the man was more moved and agitated than I had ever known him. They were so engrossed that they did not notice me, and I re-entered the room and closed the door again.

“They will have an ally inside the house, Celia,” I said, quietly. “Schwartz has evidently recognised the Duchess, and they are in close conference in the hall. I don’t want to play the spy, but I confess I should like to know what has passed between them.”

“They are going now,” exclaimed Celia at that moment, and we saw them cross the pavement and enter von Kronheim’s carriage, Schwartz in close and obsequious attendance.

“Can that really be my mother, Stanley?” asked Celia, with a quaver of sadness in her voice. “ She had not even a kind look, to say nothing of a kind word, for me the whole time. I can’t understand it.”

I understood it, but was loath to tell her. “Count von Kronheim’s arrival prevented her from showing her feelings,” I said.

“Don’t say things to try and mislead me. She could have sent him away; while as a fact, she asked him to stop. Could a mother behave in such a way ? Don’t you think she may be someone sent here by the Count to act as my mother? 1 thought so more than once.”

“If so I think the part would have been played differently. Besides, Schwartz has recognised her. At all events, we can ask him that. He hates von Kronheim, and is not likely to be duped.”

I rang the bell, and sent word for Schwartz to come to me.

“Do you know the lady who has just gone out, Schwartz ? “

He looked at me in surprise at the question.

“Certainly, Sir Stanley. It is her Highness the Grand Duchess of Saxe-Lippe.”

“You are sure ?”

“Quite positive, sir. I should know her Highness among ten thousand.”

“What was she saying to you in the hall ?”

“I had asked permission to express my delight at seeing her again, and she graciously accorded it. She was good enough to recognise me, sir, as Sir Henry’s confidential man in the old days in Crudenstadt, sir.”

** Yes, and what else ? “

“There was nothing else, Sir Stanley.”

A slight hesitation in his manner, a dropping of the eyes, and something in his tone told me me was lying. My first impulse was to question him, but I thought it better for the present not to let him think that my suspicions were roused.

“I wished to be assured that it was the Duchess,” I answered, lightly. “You may go. It was the Duchess, you see, Celia,” I said, when the door closed behind him.

“I should not have thought it possible,” she cried. “Can she be utterly without a mother’s feelings towards me ? O Stanley ! I would have given the world for a single look or word of love. I would have done my utmost to try and be a help to her. But her heart is shut against me, and she has no wish or thought about me, except to use me for these ambitious plans. And to order me to marry that man ! I would die first ! “

“You must make allowances for what she herself has suffered, Celia. For nearly the whole term of your life she has been kept in close custody by the Duke’s orders, brooding over her wrongs and nursing her desire to be revenged, and also to reinstate herself in the eyes of the world.”

“Do you mean that she should sacrifice my whole life for her revenge, and condemn me to an even worse fate than her own ? I would far rather live alone in a prison cell than be free as the wife of such a man as the Count von Kronheim. What a disillusion ! I have often dreamt of what my mother would have been could I have known her, for I have always thought of her as dead. But all the strangest fancy pictures of even my gloomiest moods have had so moved in them. But this, the reality “And a sigh mingled bitterness and sadness welled up from the depths of her disappointment.

** It may all come right yet,” I murmured. It was a feeble consolation and had no consoling effect upon Celia.

“How come right ? Would you have me do what she wishes ? “She put a hand on my arm and turned her eyes full upon me. “Do you wish it ? “

“I wish nothing but your real happiness, Celia; and though I do not know what you ought to do, I know that the wife of such a man would bid good-bye to all chance of any.”

“How do you think I should be happiest ? “

“You mean outside the Forbidden Land?”

“I like that,” she cried, smiling. “Or better in the gloom beyond the walls of the city of Forbidden Happiness.”

“I hope it will not always be gloom. The sun can shine there as well as in the city, even if not with such dazzling brightness. But I do not know what you ought to do next.”

“I think I know. I have a mind to go myself to Crudenstadt and see the Duke himself. Will you take me?”

“I had not thought of that — of your going. But you have given me an idea and I will act on it. I will go to the German Embassy here and try to learn something reliable about the position of Saxe-Lippe matters. You can stay here with Aunt Margaret and Blossom for a while. I think you will be safer here now that Schwartz has gone over to the enemy. But you must be very careful. The house is sure to be watched closely, and with Schwartz inside and spies outside it is easy to see how your movements may be dogged.”

“I may really stay here ? “she cried, gladly, her face lighting rarely.

“You must be very cautious,” I said, earnestly.

“I will be on my best comedy behaviour, and will not brood more than I can help on the tragedy; and I will religiously remember that the walls are thick and the gates heavily barred.”

“The walls thick?” I repeated, not catching her meaning.

“Yes,” and she smiled at my perplexity. “The walls of that city. But it won’t be gloomy here.”

Then I laughed with her, and despite the net of troubles and complications we felt happy enough then.

Blossom came in as we were laughing.

“You seem very happy over your mysteries, you two,” she said. “I heard you were alone.”

“May I tell Blossom ? “asked Celia.

“Yes, if she’ll promise to keep the secret. But don’t tell Aunt Margaret yet, she might forget and say something.”

Blossom looked at us each in turn and then laughed.

“Oh, you needn’t tell me. I can assure you I know well enough, and I’m awfully glad about it. I shan’t be a bit jealous of you, dear,” and she kissed Celia, who blushed and smiled at me.

“It’s not that at all, Blossom,” said I, with a slight flush of confusion, “but Celia will tell you everything,” and with that I packed them out of the room.

As soon as they were gone I ordered my carriage and sent for Schwartz. It occurred to me that I might need his testimony at the German Embassy, and I was not unwilling that our opponents should know that I was at once communicating with the Duke. I told him merely that I wished him to accompany the carriage as I might need him.

At the Embassy I had to wait some time and then saw a high official, Count Bursten, who received me courteously, but, on the plea of many engagements, urged me to be brief.

“I will be as brief as possible, but the matter is somewhat urgent. My business is concerned with the SaxeLippe succession, and I wish to know whether I can be placed in communication with his Serene Highness, the Grand Duke. I am the nephew and heir of Sir Henry Meredith, who was formerly known as Colonel Rothen, in the service and confidence of the Duke.”

My words created an immediate impression.

“On that business I can give you any time you require, Sir Stanley. It is just now a burning question. Pray tell me what you know.”

“What is the latest news of the young Duke ? “I asked.

“Very bad; worse than the bulletins imply, and his Serene Highness is in despair.”

“What are his Highness’s plans as to the succession ? “

He raised his hands and smiled politely as he replied: “Why do you ask ? “

“I wish to know what his intentions are with regard to the second child of the marriage, the daughter.”

“And why ? “

“Because she is in my care, and the responsibility threatens to be a very heavy one.”

“In your care ? “he exclaimed, in manifest astonishment. “There was a second child, we know — I have been looking very closely into the matter recently — but she disappeared, and we understood she was dead. Do you know anything of the unfortunate events of that time ? “

For answer I put into his hands all the papers and statements concerning Celia which my uncle had left at the bank. They made a somewhat bulky parcel, and he looked at it at first in some dismay, but he had not glanced at more than a few lines when he exclaimed:

“This is most important. I will read them at once,” and he plunged into them, becoming deeply absorbed.

I sat and watched him with a feeling of relief. It was now certain that we should at least have a clear head to give the counsel we needed to ensure Celia’s safety; but with the relief was mingled a tightening fear that the interview would result in heightening and widening the obstacles that divided Celia from me. As the minutes passed and he turned from paper to paper, and then referred to others which he sent for, my patience was tried until the long delay began to chafe and irritate me.

“It is to be regretted that you did not bring those to us before, Sir Stanley,” was his comment at the close.

“They have been in my possession only a few days, your Excellency; only since my uncle died.”

“I understand,” he said, and then he went back to them again to refer to certain points, making notes of them as he read.

“They are very important, very critical indeed. Is there any person in existence who can give any evidence in support of what is here written ? It would be valuable.”

“My late uncle’s confidential attendant can give such evidence, I believe. His name is Schwartz, and I have brought him here to-day.”

“Can you send for him at once ? “

“I can if you wish. Eat before doing that there are other matters you should know. They concern Celia closely, and also her mother, the Duchess.”

“Ah ! What do you know of her Highness ? “

“She is in London, and had ai interview with her daughter at my house this morning,” and I told him then all that had occurred in regard to the Count von Kronheim, my interview with the Duchess, and the interview that morning, and lastly, my suspicions in regard to Schwartz.

“That young man is playing a dangerous game,” he said. “Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, he told me himself he was the younger son, and that there are reasons why his elder brother cannot take the throne.”

“Of course there is only one — that he wishes it for himself. Were he married to the Duke’s daughter he might succeed. Is the young Duchess in perfectly safe keeping? “

“She is at my house. I think I can trust myself to take good care of her,” I replied, and something in my tone seemed to strike him for he looked up very sharply at me.

“For the present that may, perhaps, be the best thing,” he said, slowly, after a pause. “But you muse well on your guard. There is no lack of risks to be run. I need scarcely tell you that this question of the Saxe-Lippe succession is causing much anxiety at Berlin, and it is quite possible, I do not say certain, that if these papers are substantiated, and the young Duchess herself is recognised by the Duke, her cause would be espoused there.”

“What is the attitude of the Duke? “I asked.

“He regards his daughter as dead. Whether he believes her to be dead or whether the feeling is merely the outcome of the peculiar and tragic circumstances under which she was spirited away, I cannot decide, of course. But that is the key to his present policy and attitude.”

“Would it be of any service for her to go to Crudenstadt and seek an interview with him ? “I asked.

“None whatever, none,” he replied, instantly and emphatically. “No result could follow but an interview vastly more painful for the young Duchess Celia than that which has taken place this morning. On the one point of his wife’s infidelity he remains absolutely inexorable. I am speaking very confidentially to you. The matter can only be dealt with through the ordinary channels of diplomacy and will require most careful handling.”

“Equally useless for me to go, then ? “

“Worse, probably, in its effect upon his Highness. You must remember he has nursed his imaginary betrayal at the hands of your uncle for nearly twenty years, and that he is hard, stern and morose by nature. The mere fact of your being your uncle’s nephew would madden him. Indeed, I may tell you that probably the fact that his daughter has been in your charge may be one of the greatest stumbling blocks to any reconciliation and acknowledgment of her claims. The fact of that relationship must indeed be kept carefully secret.”

“There is little hope of that, then. This von Kronheim knows it.”

“True, but we may find means of dealing with him.”

“The Duchess herself knows it, too. And Celia has always felt under too many obligations to my uncle to wish to conceal it.”

“If the young Duchess wishes to gain her rights she must be prepared to place herself in our hands.”

“But that is another point. She does not wish it.”

He started and looked at me in surprise.

“Does not wish it, Sir Stanley ? “He thought a moment, and then, as if recalling his former flash .of suspicion of the truth, he said, very seriously: “I trust there has been no indiscretion in the form of any attachment to anyone.”

“I have not come to conceal anything,” I replied, meeting his keen glance steadily. “Before Celia and I had any knowledge of her true position I had asked her to be my wife and she had consented.”

He pursed up his lips and frowned.

“That is the reason of her objection ? “he asked.

“That is the reason of her objection.”

“No one knows of this but yourselves? “

“Yes, I conceived it my duty to inform the Duchess.”

He drew in his breath sharply. “That was an exceeding indiscretion. And this von Kronheim ? “

“He learnt it this morning. The Duchess told him.”

The Ambassador passed his hand across his forehead, frowned again, and said nothing for some moments.

“Well, we must act at once,” he said then. “I will see him — if I can find him, that is; for when he learns you have been closeted with me we may look for a change in his methods, and. . . .” He paused to think, then breaking off, asked: “What was your impression of her Highness, judging by your interviews with her ? “he asked, suddenly.

“At first I thought she was a much-injured woman, but this morning my opinion was that no sane woman could behave as she did towards her daughter.”

“Your view was not unnatural, perhaps, in your circumstances, and it was a true one. Her Highness’s mind was undoubtedly affected years ago. And instead of passing away, as all hoped as the result of her detention, it developed into that most distressing form of homicidal mania. This is for your ears only, Sir Stanley. Twice she tried to lay violent hands on her own life and was with difficulty prevented. Then in one of her violent moods, which come so suddenly that no one can detect the symptoms, she killed the woman in attendance upon her. I tell you because you have, for the moment, the charge of the daughter, and you must be warned of the imminent peril of allowing her for one hour to get into the hands of her mother.”

“Thank God I didn’t let her go this morning ! “I exclaimed, vastly moved at this.

M It will not be for long that you will have to watch so carefully. She had escaped all our vigilance, and we did not know where she was until you told me she was here in London. Means will at once be taken however — within an hour indeed — to secure her again; but should they fail I warn you by all you hold sacred to be ever on your guard. You cannot tell what form her mania may take nor when it may show itself.”

He rose then to end the interview and shook hands.

“I will communicate with you the instant there is anything to tell, and meanwhile I will keep these papers and will not see this man Schwartz — stay, better let him come in and be detained here on some pretext until we have taken action.”

He rang the bell and told the secretary who came to have Schwartz brought in. We waited, and a minute later the reply came that he was not with my carriage.

What did it mean ?

CHAPTER XIII

THE SHADOW OF A NEW DECISION

The news that Schwartz had left the carriage was at first disconcerting, and it was difficult to reject the conclusion that it was in some way connected with the Duchess, and that having taken alarm at my long conference with the German Ambassador, he had rushed away to warn her.

This was Count Bursten’s view; and after I had given him the address at which I had seen the Baroness Borgen and von Kronheim, he urged me to return home at once to take measures against any surprise efforts to get Celia out of my hands.

“One question before I go,” I said. “Do you think it probable that Celia’s birthright will be recognised ? “

“I cannot, of course, say anything positive as yet. I am doubtful, but “— and he gave me a very keen, meaning look as he spoke — “it would be highly impolitic for you or for her to take any decisive step, except on the assumption that the due recognition will be made.”

I understood him well enough, and was chewing the cud of his words on my way home. He had been shrewd enough to read the under thought that was already battling for its life deep down in my heart — that I would risk all, and marry Celia hurriedly, and so pun end to the intrigue that way. The temptation to take this step was almost overpowering; and the thought of the dangers to which she was exposed so moved me that I found myself planning how easily such a marriage could be arranged.

In one respect, all those concerned in preventing her from becoming my wife were alike. They were all looking upon her as a mere pawn in the game of high politics that was being played. Her mother was anxious to sacrifice her from motives of revenge; von Kronheim would make her a mere tool for carving out his personal ambitions; those at the German Embassy thought nothing of her own feelings, and fixed their eyes merely on what they deemed the exigencies of policy; and were ready to trample on her happiness as though it were a matter of the flimsiest insignificance.

Was I any better? Or rather, did I appear, in her eyes, to differ from them ? I had prated of her duty; I had half persuaded myself that her self-suppression was right, and that she was bound to regard the duties of her position rather than to follow the dictates of her heart. But was it all anything more than cant ? Had she not a right to decide for herself? Was I really justified in bidding her break her heart and lay desolate her life for those who cared nothing for herself and thought solely of what use she could be to them ?

A wave of almost passionate rebellion rose in my heart and threatened to sweep away all other desires but those prompted by my love. I could not give her up; I would not, I told myself. Let these people plot and plan their own intrigues as they would, they should not thwart our love. Let them settle their affairs as they would, but they must do so without Celia.

The truth was that this interview had brought me more closely face to face with the actualities of the case than anything which had yet occurred. The first impressions created upon me by my uncle’s words, and afterwards confirmed by what he had left in the papers, had worn faint. The suddenness with which the knowledge had come to me had stabbed me, and at the moment I had formed my somewhat lofty conception of Celia’s duty. In my present mood, I called it mere high-falutin’ nonsense. But I had never realised until now — until this official’s stern, business-like, definite methods had driven home the conviction — that Celia and I must be parted. It had been hitherto rather a vague fear; a probability; a break in the even course of our love-making; in my heart, I had never before realised that it would be permanent and inevitable.

But Count Bursten had succeeded in forcing home the certainty of it, and against that my heart rebelled with all the force of love. I could not, and would not, submit.

At the house I was surprised to find Schwartz in the hall evidently waiting to see me at the first moment of my arrival.

“Why did you leave the carriage, Schwartz ? “I asked, angrily.

“I have to humbly ask your forgiveness, Sir Stanley. I was taken suddenly ill. Your uncle may have told you, sir, that I suffer badly with my heart. I had to rush away to get a remedy, and then I came back home, fearing I was going to have one of my bad attacks, sir.”

“What time did you leave the carriage, and what time did you reach here ? “was my next question; but he had evidently prepared his explanation carefully, and told me that he had walked slowly home after leaving the chemist’s where he had obtained the remedy; and he now asked permission to go to bed. It was a lie, of course, the whole thing; and he invented the story of the walk, so as to account for the time which it had taken him to get to the Duchess.

“Yes, you can go to bed. I am sorry you are ill. Let me know when you are better,” I said, thinking it best that he should not suppose I suspected him.

“I am deeply grateful to you, Sir Stanley,” he replied, and walked away, staggering slightly as though from weakness.

It was a daring move to return to me fresh from his act of treachery; but the time to settle with him had not come yet.

Having ascertained that Celia was at home and closeted somewhere with my sister, I went to my study to try and fight out my way to a decision as to whether I would dare to take my fortune in both hands and marry Celia at once in spite of everything.

At lunch Blossom rallied me on my earnest looks, and, to my surprise, followed me into my study.

“Celia has told me all this strange story, Stanley. Is it true?”

“Unquestionably it is. She is “

“I don’t mean that,” she broke in, impetuously. “I mean, is it true that you are going deliberately to break her heart for all this rubbish ? “

“Rubbish ? I don’t exactly see “

“And your own heart, too,” she broke in, paying no heed to my words. “You know how deeply she love

you, and I know how you love her. Do you want her to believe that you think more of having a reigning Duchess for a broken-hearted friend than of having Celia for a happy wife ? Do you suppose a girl like Celia cares two-pence-half-penny about this Saxe-Lippe business ? Why should she ? At any rate, she doesn’t; and if you don’t want to make her the most miserable girl on earth, you ought to act sensibly. Do you want her to think you’re afraid to marry her? ““Celia will scarcely think that, Blossom.” “Fiddlesticks ! Do you suppose girls are fools ? “she said, crossly. “I’ve no patience with you. Here’s this horribly unnatural thing of a Duchess, calling herself a mother, coming here just to sell Celia to a man you all agree is a scoundrel, and doing it without a stitch of care for Celia’s feelings, or a shred of natural affection for her. What is Celia to think, I should like to know, when she sees you taking that woman’s side ? ““I have not taken the Duchess’s side.” “Oh, yes, you have. She forbade Celia to marry you, and you gave way like a lamb, without even a bleat of protest. If you think that’s the way girls’ hearts are won or kept, you have odd notions, I can assure you. I tell you, Celia is breaking her heart over this matter, although she makes such a brave show of everything and carries it off so calmly. But I know. And it’s you who are breaking it. Don’t think that it’s her mother, or her position, or anything of that sort — it’s you, Stanley, and you only, and you ought to be positively ashamed of yourself — and at such a time when the poor girl has had the shock of being claimed by such a mother. You men are positively brutal in your blindness.”

I think you’d better not “

“I know what you’re going to say, so don’t trouble. I know you’re angry with me, and I don’t care. When Celia told me this morning, and I saw how she was suffering, I made up my mind to speak out plainly to you. I tell you her heart is breaking, and you, and no one else, and nothing else, are breaking it. And now that I’ve said it, I won’t stop to be scolded.”

And she did not, but went off, leaving me staring after her in sheer amazement at the outbreak.

But her words left their impression. They confirmed the vague fears I had had, and something more. They started the fresh fear that, unless I acted promptly, I should not only lose Celia, but also her love. I felt helpless and over-weighted, and the only vent for my feelings was to indulge my anger against Blossom for having pointed out to me this new phase of matters, and started this new dread.

In the end, however, it quickened my resolve to cast all other considerations to the winds, and when dinner came my sister, with a shrewd intuition which I had not thought she possessed, seemed to divine something of my determination.

“Have you got over your anger with me ? “she whispered with a smile, as she was leaving the table and had let my aunt and Celia get ahead. “I think I can see you have.”

“I don’t think I showed any anger, Blossom.”

She paid no attention to this, but, glancing very shrewdly into my eyes, said:

“If you want to be alone with Celia this evening, I’ll see that Aunt Margaret is safely out of the way,” and, without waiting for any reply, she kissed me,

laughed, and ran away. I smoked my cigar meditatively, and as the blue rings curled upwards I sought to balance the probabilities of the course I was going to take.

When I went to the drawing-room Celia was singing, and Blossom playing the accompaniment. My aunt was not there, and a swift, meaning look from my sister told me that her absence was the result of that lively little matchmaker’s diplomacy. I threw myself into a chair and listened while Celia finished the song and sang again. Then Blossom shut the piano, lingered a moment by it, and, with the lame pretence that she must go and see where Aunt Margaret was, left us. I smiled, and Celia, seeing me smile, asked:

“Why are you smiling, Stanley ? “

“I was thinking of Blossom’s affectionate solicitude for Aunt Margaret.”

She had taken up some fancy work, and as she bent her head over it I saw that she smiled too, from which I gathered that Blossom had also been diplomatising with her.

“She told me you wished to speak to me,” she said a moment afterwards, looking across to me. “Is it about anything that has happened since this morning ? “

M I have been to the German Embassy and have seen Count Bursten, and have told him all about things.”

“About my — about the Duchess? “and she sighed.

“About everything,” I replied, pointedly.

“Is anything going to be done, then ? What ? “

“He is going to communicate with your father, the Duke, to try and get your rights and claims duly admitted.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Claims, Stanley ?

Scarcely claims. I claim nothing.” There was a note of reproach in this. “And I want none of these rights j there is too much pain and too much sorrow in them, as we found this morning.”

“Do you think you appreciate all that you would lose in renouncing them ? “

“As the Count von Kronheim’s wife ? “

“No, that would never be necessary. The Ambassador will know how to deal with him. He will not trouble you.”

“He does not trouble me now. I have too much contempt for him,” she answered, warmly. “Oh, you mean in renouncing this Saxe-Lippe succession. Is the .succession certain ? Is the Duke also anxious to force me to Crudenstadt ? “

“No, Celia. The Embassy tells me it will be necessary to approach him very delicately on the matter.”

“Then why approach him at all ? Does no one think of me in the matter ? I should have thought “

“Well ? “I asked, as she paused.

“Did you tell this Ambassador that I have not the remotest wish even to go to Crudenstadt?”

“I told him — everything,” I repeated.

She looked up quickly, smiled, and let her glance fall again.

“I am glad of that. What did he say to that ? “

“He said very little except that I had been indiscreet to say anything about it to the Duchess, because of the use she and von Kronheim might make of it. He appeared to take it for granted that, being a false move, we should be only too glad to recall it.”

“We ? Not you only ? “

It was a little feminine thrust which she could not resist, but when I made no reply she was quick to regret it.

“I beg your pardon, Stanley, I ought not to have said that.” I crossed over and sat down by her side on the couch.

( * I am desperately puzzled, Celia,” I said, quietly. “I want to do what is the right thing, and I want to find the right thing for you to do; but I am desperately perplexed. I have been so pained for you all day.”

“I am sure of that. You must have suffered as much as I did in that terrible interview; and in regard to it, I have had a curious thought — and an uncomfortable one.”

“What is it ? “

“Did you tell me everything about the Duchess? I mean, why she was kept shut up ? Was she in prison ? “She let her work fall on her lap and looked at me steadily.

“They don’t put duchesses in prison for nearly twenty years, Celia,” I answered, scarcely knowing how to reply.

“You needn’t be afraid to tell me. I think I would rather have my own thought confirmed. Was she out of her mind? “

“She experienced a very terrible shock at the time, and was kept under close supervision.”

“I thought so; and I don’t know whether I feared or hoped it,” she answered, pensively. “If there had not been something of the kind, she could never have behaved to me as she did this morning. I wonder “

She paused.

“Well?”

“I wonder if I could cure her ? “and she sighed. “I should like to try. I have been very unhappy about it all day. She has never had a chance, you see, of getting cured. To be shut up and treated as a lunatic for nearly twenty years! If she were not actually insane, it would be enough to make her so.” I would not encourage her to think about the subject of her mother’s madness, and made no reply; but the idea had taken a strong hold upon her.

“If we could get her to remain quietly in England we might perhaps cure her.”

“I fear it is hopeless,” I said, hurriedly, remembering what I had heard at the German Embassy. But the words troubled Celia.

“Hopeless ? Why hopeless ? There is no hereditary insanity, is there ? If so, I myself should have to fear it. Have you thought of that? That would be terrible.” A servant came into the room then, sent by Blossom in search of some work materials. “An awful thought,” exclaimed Celia. I could not answer until we were alone, and in the pause Celia sat looking troubled and thoughtful.

“There is no fear whatever of that kind,” I replied,, speaking very emphatically. “Your mother’s unhappiness when she was married to the Duke — she was not eighteen at the time — led to all the trouble. She was most unfortunately allowed to take opium, and in this way so weakened her mental powers that when the shock of her great trouble came, they gave way. That is the whole story of her insanity. There was no hereditary taint, and there is not the least doubt that if she had had proper treatment instead of the long term of rigid confinement, she would have recovered.

But she was more driven in upon herself than ever, and brooding and the nursing of passion did the rest.”

“But isn’t my brother afflicted in the same way? “

“No, Celia. It’s not a pretty story, but you’d better hear it. He was never brilliant — I mean, he was a very average sort of lad mentally, and physically only a weakling; and his .ways of life were all of the wrong kind. He was kept very strictly in Crudenstadt, but came to England about five years ago, and plunged at once into a life of shocking dissipation and drank, well, awfully. The consequences upon his feeble health may be judged, and the end was constant delirium. But it was delirium from drink. These things don’t get known outside, you see, and hence all the mistaken rumours. The public are always left to guess a lot; and those who remembered the old trouble about your mother, and then heard of your brother’s delirium, put one and one together and made fifty. I’m glad you asked me.”

“It is indeed a shocking story,” said Celia, thoughtfully. “I’m not a bit morbid, Stanley,” she added, brightly, “but I wished to know the truth. I should think it was a fortunate thing for me that I was brought away from Crudenstadt as a child, and that it would a ——” She paused, and with a glance at me picked her work.

“Shall I finish the sentence for you ? It would be unfortunate if you ever had to go back.” She didn’t lift her eyes from her work, and left me to draw my own conclusions as to whether that was how she would have finished the broken sentence. “And that’s what I mean, Celia, that I’m desperately perplexed.” And I got up and walked about the room.

“Yes, I think I can understand how much harder it is for you to know what to do,” she said, presently. “And I don’t quite see how to help you. You must be blamed, whatever happens, and I admit it’s hard on you. But on one point my mind is absolutely made up — absolutely.”

“What’s that ? “

“I shall not go to Crudenstadt — I mean, in my official capacity,” and she gave one of her bright laughs. “I would go there if I thought I could help to cure my mother’s insanity; but that means she would have to change her plans entirely — if those are really her plans she announced to us this morning. I would no more dream of marrying that horrible man than of marrying Schwartz, and that’s not probable, although I would rather marry him of the two.”

“The people at the Embassy are ready enough to knock the bottom out of the marriage scheme.”

“But I don’t intend to trouble the people of the Embassy. I don’t wish them to interfere at all. I prefer to remain a private and quite inconspicuous person, with no ambition or intention of any kind to meddle with Saxe-Lippe or any other Duchy’s affairs. I know it’s hard on you, I say, because you are sure to get the credit of having induced me to make such a decision. I am very sorry for you, Stanley, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped,” and she laughed merrily.

“You’re getting to be a very willful ward,” I replied, smiling, as I sat down by her again.

“Yes; in the comedy, I’m a regular rebel.”

“I can imagine a condition of things in which that blame you speak of would sit very lightly on me.”

“A condition of things?” she repeated, in som

perplexity, till her face cleared, two little spots of colour flashed into her cheeks, and with a challenge in her smiling eyes, she asked: “What condition of things?” She understood me and had to lower her eyes.

“I was thinking about it to-day, and I believe Count Bursten half guessed my thought. I asked him very pointedly whether it was certain that you would be acknowledged in Crudenstadt and he was answering me with diplomatic caution, when he suddenly grew very earnest and declared that it would be in the highest degree impolitic for you or me to take any step except on the assumption that the recognition was certain.”

“What step could he mean ? “asked Celia, in a very innocent tone, but not venturing to look up.

“The thought of it has been dizzying my wits with its temptation and perplexities ever since. Do you think you would dare to take it, Celia ? “My voice dropped to a whisper, as I watched her profile bent over her work. She gave a little start.

“Oh, here is a tangle ! “she cried then. “See, here is my silk twisted itself up all round my ring. Can you undo it or cut it? “and she held out her left hand as if in trouble.

“Yes, very easily,” I answered; and I captured the hand and held it while I cleared away the tangled skein. “I have done it, Celia, look up.” But she would not. “Are you willing to take that step ? Dare we ? “

“I am a rebel only in the comedy,” she murmured, with such a happy low laugh.

“This is earnest, not comedy,” I said.

For a moment she hung her head, then laughed again; glanced up into my eyes, her own radiant with the light I loved to read there and cried:

“A ward must not disobey her guardian in earnest; “and she hid her face against my shoulder. And after that there was no more talk of work or of anything except the new and fateful decision we had taken.

CHAPTER XIV

ALMOST THE MARRIAGE EVE

Although the decision was taken and neither Celia nor I had a thought of shirking it, we* both had our qualms of doubt and moments of uneasiness. But in each the cause was different.

Celia had no doubt whatever about the decision being wholly right and justifiable, and she laughed to scorn the thought that she ought to sacrifice her happiness for what with wanton irreverence she dubbed the empty fripperies of a small German Court; but she was anxious lest something could be done to punish me and separate us.

On my side I was not so certain that the decision was right. I could not wholly stifle the feeling that I was sacrificing Celia’s future to my own happiness; that my duty was to have made sure she quite realised what it was she was renouncing; and that, although in the end her decision would be guided by her love, I was hurrying her. And I was also uneasy about possible pains and penalties to her.

“What can they do to us, Stanley ? “she asked once with a half whimsical, half anxious smile. “Can they do anything ? And who are the ‘they ‘we talk about ? “

“I suppose ‘they ‘are the Duke and his advisers in Crudenstadt; but I don’t know what they can do. I don’t think they can do anything. They certainly can’t hurt me. I’m a British subject; and a small German Principality is not very likely to claim the legal power to interfere in the marriages of Englishmen. So you needn’t worry about me. It’s about you I’m anxious.”

“But I don’t care a jot about that.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how they could touch you. They might, if we were to go to Crudenstadt; but that’s just where we shan’t go. And even if we were to accept the theory that you’re a subject of SaxeLippe and not English, it’s not an extradition crime for a German girl to marry an Englishman.”

“Not even an English baronet, I suppose,” she cried, laughing.

“Even supposing they were to declare the marriage morganatic, I can’t see that that would hurt us. It won’t unmarry us in England, and as for Saxe-Lippe, it doesn’t count for much. I’m half inclined to think indeed that our marriage will tie things up in such a ghastly tangle they won’t be able to do anything at all.”

“I think I rather like the position. We’ve always had such a lot of difficulties and obstacles put in our way that just a commonplace marriage might seem quite an anti-climax in a way. But this laughing at authority is like old times; and the notion of all those solemn old bigwigs scratching their heads and puzzling their brains over the problem of the marriage of us two rebels is just delightful.”

“Yes, but it isn’t that part of the business which worries me so much. When I think of all that you arriving up just to. . . .”

“Yes, it is rather serious, isn’t it ? “she interposed, quickly. “When we think what a happy life I might lead with such a delightful husband as that Count von Kronheim or some other abomination of the kind, a little better or worse, and then consider what a — what shall I call you, Stanley ? — what a horrid Blue Beard you will be, how can I be anything but sad and wretched ? I really don’t think I should have courage to do it if there weren’t a remedy always at hand.”

“Remedy ? “

“Of course; ready made; you suggested it just now.. When I get tired of your brutality I shall only have to go to Crudenstadt, acquiesce in the morganatic business, and be unhappy ever afterwards.”

“But I am serious,” I said.

“And so should I soon be, I expect; “and in this way she laughed my doubts to the winds, and in doing so always managed to convey a little tender assurance that under no conceivable circumstances could she regret the decision to give up the Crudenstadt possibilities, and that her choice was unalterably made.

“But I have one little scheme I haven’t told you, Stanley,” she said once. “I haven’t given up the hope of being reconciled to my mother and of trying to make her life happier. I can’t do it in her way, but I shall try in my own.”

“Don’t build too much on the hope. She will scarcely be brought to forgive you for marrying me in defiance of her.”

“I shall try, and try hard. What I should like to do would be to get her to come to us when we come home again. How long shall we be away? “

“I propose to stop away until the whole of this Crudenstadt business has blown over. Nothing ties either of us to London or England or even Europe; and six months or a year spent in rambling about the world can be put in very enjoyably, don’t you think ? “

“Lovely, Stanley,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “And when we come back and all this nonsense about Saxe-Lippe is done with, we can get her to us.”

“We shall see.” I was not enthusiastic, remembering Count Bursten’s phrase about the Duchess’s “homicidal mania.” “We shall have plenty of time to plan all that and a lot more when we are once away. But we’ve something to do first; “and in truth there was a technical point in connection with the marriage formalities which was threatening to cause some trouble.

Celia was not of age; and although as my uncle’s successor I called myself her guardian, I had no legal status in that character, and the question, not lacking in humour as well as perplexity, was whether I could give a valid consent to my own marriage with her. The difficulty was not insuperable, but before it could be overcome some delay might be inevitable; and this made me somewhat anxious.

Every hour of delay was so much gained to Celia’s mother and those who were acting with her. Fortunately their machinations had received a serious check by the interposition of the German Embassy, and they could not take any open step without drawing down on them those attentions from the Embassy which they were particularly desirous to avoid. That they could do any harm without open steps was not in the least probable; for we were all on the alert for anything that threatened danger. But the delay chafed us.

Moreover, there was the probable action of the Ger-

man Embassy toward us to be considered. They were pushing forward the negotiations for the official acknowledgment of Celia as the Duke’s daughter; and if that was conveyed to me before the marriage, it could not but tend to embarrass my position. Delay was even more dangerous in this respect than in that of von Kronheim.

All the preparations for the wedding were pushed forward vigorously; my own private affairs were put on a footing which would allow me to be away from England for one or even two years if necessary, while Blossom and Celia were hard at work to get such trousseau ready as was requisite. This was not to be a very large matter, but it was the more difficult because of the great secrecy which I considered essential.

Unfortunately, despite our care something of what was going on got to the ears of the Duchess Marie, and a regular storm of protests came dinging about my ears. Happily this did not occur until my difficulty in regard to the other matter had been overcome; and I was laughing and chatting with Blossom and Celia, having just told them the good news and that the wedding would take place on the following Monday — this was the Friday — when a bomb fell in our midst in the shape of a wildly indignant letter of most vehement protest against the marriage, from Celia’s mother.

It was followed by a visit on the following day; and a very stormy interview it was. I would not let her see Celia, and in the end she had to leave, having done no more than to threaten to do Heaven alone knew what to stop the marriage.

We held a council of war promptly and decided, of course, to disregard the protest altogether. But the Duchess, and those with her were full of fight; and having failed herself to stop me, she caused a letter to be written to the German Ambassador, telling him of the intended marriage ; and he sent Count Bursten post haste to interrogate me and get at the truth.

I received him courteously, of course, and he put the letter into my hands. It was anonymous, I saw.

“Of course this cannot be true,” he said, after he had shown it to me, “but I thought it best to come here to give you an opportunity of denying it.”

“I do not attach any importance to anonymous letters,” said I.

“No, no, Sir Stanley, of course not, nor do I. I have your word, then, that you do not propose to do anything of the kind? Of course, you know that such a marriage would be a flagrant breach of all precedent and would be instantly annulled.”

“I do not wish even to discuss the consequences of such a marriage. But if I had resolved upon it, believe me, such a thought would not have the slightest effect in deterring me.”

“But you see the impossibility of such a thing? “

“Frankly I do not,” said I, with a smile.

“But, my dear Sir Stanley, you told me the other day that you were quite aware of it, and in consequence had broken off the engagement which had been made in ignorance of the facts.”

“Yes, that was so,” I replied, blandly. “But I understood from you that there was little prospect of Celia being recognised by her father, the Duke, as his successor. Her mother has an insane intention of marrying her to a scoundrelly pretender, so that she may be the center of a tumult causing Heaven only know what ferment and trouble in the Duchy. Her father will have nothing at all to say to her. What, then, is Celia’s own position, and where the bar to her choosing her own line of action ? “

“Then you do propose to marry her? “

“I say neither ‘Yes’ nor ‘No’ to that question. I simply claim the right of freedom of action both for her and myself.”

“This is very serious,” he said, biting his lip. “Very serious indeed. Can I see the young Duchess?”

“Certainly. I will fetch her.”

I went in search of Celia, and in a few words told her the position of matters and the line she had better adopt — refuse to say “Yes “or “No “as to what she meant to do.

He made a very profound bow when I led Celia into the room and declared that it gave him at once pleasure to see her and regret to have to come on such an errand, and then looked at me as if expecting me to retire.

“You wish to see Celia alone? I have not the remotest objection. Of course, I have explained the object of the interview, and she is quite willing to hear all the argument and persuasion you would wish to use, but any attempt at intimidation will be the signal for her to leave the room,” and I went away feeling perfectly certain that he might argue for hours without producing the least effect.

It was fully an hour before I was called into the room, and I found that he had made no progress whatever. But he took his defeat with a smile of diplomacy.

“You have an apt pupil in the art of non-committal replies, Sir Stanley, but, of course, I can only conclude from the fact of your not denying the intention, that you have decided upon this most rash act.”

I bowed and said not a word.

“I do not think you realise the full gravity of the step. You will incur, not only the anger of those at Crudenstadt who are interested in the matter, but also the grave displeasure of the Imperial authorities at Berlin.”

“I am an Englishman,” said I.

“You have not even the consent of either of the young Duchess’s parents, and such a thing will invalidate the marriage.”

“In Germany perhaps it would,” I corrected.

“It must be, of course, my business to make every protest to the authorities in this country, and to exhaust every means at my command to prevent you.”

“I do not dream of interfering with your fullest liberty of action.”

“And I would appeal to you earnestly not to take a step precipitately which may involve you both and so many others in consequences of a most far-reaching, painful, and probably dangerous character.”

“I will consider the appeal in the same earnest spirit in which it is made. I can say no more, since I have said nothing as to what my real intentions are.

“Will you promise me to do nothing, say, at least, for a week, until I can communicate with Crudenstadt and Berlin ? “

“If I had such an intention as you credit me with I should be foolish to give you further time for intervening, Count,” and at this answer he shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands.

“There will inevitably be a heavy day of reckoning. It is a mad thing, stark staring mad thing, that you are doing.”

At that I rose to end the interview.

“There is nothing more to be said,” and I bowed.

“Only one word as to our last interview,” he replied, rising also. “I am already in communication indirectly with Crudenstadt as to the recognition of the young Duchess’s rights, and I have not succeeded yet in finding the whereabouts of the Duchess Marie or the Count von Kronheim.”

“I am perfectly aware of that; but I think I shall be able to help you,” I said, and with a few more merely formal words he took his departure, baffled and discomfited, but suave.

As soon as he was gone I turned with a smile to Celia, but she was looking a little scared.

“We’re keeping your conditions about difficulties with us to the end, Celia.”

“He told me he could make it impossible for the marriage to take place, that I was not of age, and he threatened all sorts of things. Can they stop it ? “

“I don’t like to say no, definitely; but as you and I are now absolutely resolved, they will have a very heavy task. If they succeed in stopping it here, I’ll carry you off to America and marry you there. A hue and cry across the Atlantic would be a spirited wind-up to the fun of the comedy.”

“I think the fun is getting quite furious enough as it is,” she said. “Count Bursten is so polite that he almost frightens me. He suggests so much reserve power.”

“The power is not in operation or in reserve either that shall stop me making you my wife the day after to-morrow, Celia,” I cried resolutely; and she soon banished her passing apprehension.

We both had a very busy day and a delightful evening and were in the highest spirits.

“Only one full day more, Celia ! “I whispered when bidding her good night. “Only one full day more, and then “

She blushed, laughed joyously and looked at me with love brightening every feature, as she broke out of my arms and ran away up-stairs.

“Only one full day more,” I repeated to myself, glad indeed that the suspense would so soon be over; for, in truth, I was not a little troubled at the thought of what the embassy might yet do to stop us; and I wished with all my heart the marriage had been even hurried on faster. But in forty-eight hours at most we should be man and wife, and well away on our long journey. And that was my last thought as I went to bed an hour or so later.

But I little knew what was to happen that night while I was sleeping like a happy fool, confident of my coming happiness. I did not learn it till the early morning, indeed, when I was awakened by a loud clatter at my door, and opening it found my sister there, her face white to the lips with alarm.

“Celia is not in her room, Stanley, and not in the house ! “she cried, excitedly. “What does it mean ? “

“Not in the house ? “I exclaimed. “She must be.”

“Come and see,” and Blossom turned and ran back to Celia’s room.

In a minute I had flung on some clothes, and, half crazed at the news, I followed her.

“I go into her bed sometimes early in the morning,” said Blossom, in whose eyes the tears were now standing, “and I went to her room this morning and it was empty. I have searched everywhere and cannot find a trace of her. And see, there has been some sort of struggle, and the bed is cold and has not been lain in for hours. Stanley, what can it mean ? “

And she stared in blank dismay into my face, which was to the full as white and troubled as her own.

CHAPTER XV

GONE

With a strenuous effort, I pulled myself together to face the most unexpected and critical development.

“When did you find this out, Blossom ? “I asked.

“Only a few minutes before I rushed to give you the alarm.”

It was then just six o’clock. I had bade Celia goodnight at eleven — seven hours in which the mysterious disappearance or abduction had taken place.

“Did you go to Celia’s room last night ? “

“For a few minutes only; directly we came up-stairs.”

“Run and dress at once,” I said, and I hurried back to my room. As I was dressing quickly, I summoned my servant, Wilson, and questioned him as to the time the servants had gone to bed. He told me he had remained up until the last in case I should need him, and had gone to bed at one o’clock.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the house ?”

** No, sir. It was all dead quiet. I went round the last thing to see that all doors and windows were closed for the alarm to be set on, sir, according to your orders. Everything was in order.”

“Go and call Schwartz, and wait with him till he comes to me,” I said. I had forgotten about the alarm until Wilson had mentioned it; but I had switched it on as usual, and it was still on. If it had fulfilled its purpose, no door or window could have been opened to let anyone out without raising a deafening noise. That meant that Gelia must still be somewhere in the house; and for an instant I hoped we had frightened ourselves needlessly.

But a minute later Wilson came back to say that Schwartz was not in his room, and that apparently his bed had not been slept in.

“Go round the house, and see if any of the outer doors or windows are open, and let me know. Be quick.”

Schwartz gone ! I knew what this might mean, and bitterly repented having allowed him to remain in the house at all after his treachery that morning when I was at the German Ambassy. I was thus prepared for Wilson’s report when he came hurrying back, just as I had finished dressing, to say that the window of a lumber-room opening on to the roof was unlatched and slightly open.

I went up with him to see it for myself, and needed little more evidence to understand something of what had taken place. The window was sufficiently open to have caused the alarm to ring had everything been in order; but a minute’s examination showed me where the wires had been cut and the alarm rendered useless.

“I am going to get into the next house, Wilson. Go down at once and watch the front of it until you see me, and get Miss Flora to watch at the back. Quick as you can, man ! “I cried, as I scrambled out on to the leads;

The place might have been made for such a business. There was a broad gutter running in front of the window, and between my house and the next there was merely a low brickwork division, over which I could step without the least difficulty. It would have been the easiest matter in the world for even one man to have carried a heavier burden than Celia from one window to the other.

The window of the next house was closed and fastened, but I broke a pane of glass and thrust back the catch and got into the room. It was without furniture of any kind, and I crossed it, and went out on to the landing and listened. The whole house appeared uninhabited. I ran downstairs, looking into all the rooms as I passed, and found it empty from garret to cellar. It had been used merely as a safe hiding-place for the spies, and as a means of getting Celia quickly away from my house, supposing her to have been carried off, as I believed.

“What can it mean, Stanley?” asked my sister, still very pale and agitated, as she came with me to my study.

That I have been a blind fool and ought to be shot for my carelessness,” I exclaimed, bitterly reproaching myself.

“But where has Celia gone, and why?”

“There is one probable, one possible, and one impossible reason. The impossible is that she can have gone away of her own accord; the possible, that the German Ambassador has sent his agents to stop our marriage in this way; and the probable, that by the treachery of the man Schwartz, she has been taken away from us and placed in the care of her mother, the Duchess.”

“But how ? “

“My dear girl, how can I know that ? “I said, impatiently. “That scoundrel Schwartz, may have had, and most probably had, someone in league with him, someone in the pay of the Duchess or von Kronheim — a woman, as likely as not — and he may have let her into the house last night, and together they may have drugged Celia and got her away in that fashion. Good heavens! I feel like a madman when I think of it. But I’ll find her and punish them, if I use up my life in the effort. It’s no use sitting here and uttering empty threats, however. I must do something, though heaven alone knows what ! “I cried, in despair.

“Let me help,” said my sister, eagerly.

“Yes, you shall help if we can only find the means. But where are we to look?” and I tugged at my moustache viciously.

“You must have some breakfast first,” said Blossom, practically; and she went away to give the order, regardless of my protests that I could not think of food at such a time.

By this time the whole household had learnt the strange news, and I had the servants in one at a time to question them and to enjoin upon them the greatest secrecy. They had nothing to tell me that was of the least consequence. How should they ? If I, to whom Celia’s safety was as dear as my life, had slept through the hours of her peril like a dull-witted fool, how should their blunter instincts have been awake to the danger? And if I had no thought where to look for a clue to the mystery, how was it possible they would have ?

In truth, for a time 1 did not know what course to adopt, what steps to take, scarcely what to think. The one burning fear of the possible consequences to Celia, had she really fallen into the clutches of that mad Duchess, scorched up all other considerations, and for the time seemed to deaden even my power to act, despite my desire to be at work.

If Celia should continue to resist her mother’s wishes, as I knew she would, of course it was impossible to tell to what lengths the Duchess’s mania might not impel her. I remembered Count Bursten’s warning and words, and shuddered at the fears they raised. Yet how was I to set about the work of tracing her ?

I thought first of the police; but I could not go to them. Their first questions would reveal the doubt as to my right to keep Celia away from her mother’s control; there would be inquiries, processes, who could tell what; and in the end nothing would be done.

I did not think highly of private inquiry agents, but such as they were, I must use them, and, as soon as I had settled upon this course, I drove to a man named Pollock, whose reputation stood highest in London, and laid the case before him. He listened attentively, asked many questions, complained that so much time had been lost, and then with one of his sharpest assistants drove back to Cromwell-road with me to examine the house and commence investigations.

“I think we can soon solve the problem,” he said, sanguinely. “We know whom to look for, and I shall expect to have something to report, at most, in a couple of days,” and with that I left him at the house while I drove to the German Embassy to tell the news there. In making the visit I had a double purpose — to let Count Bursten know what had occurred, and to ascertain whether his agents could have had any hand it. I did not think so, but I kept the possibility in my thoughts.

He met me courteously, but manifestly on a footing of semi-hostility, and he sounded his note in the first sentence.

“I hope you have come to say that you have abandoned this projected marriage, but I must tell you before you speak that I have, on my part, taken active and vigorous steps to prevent it.”

“What steps ? “I asked, quickly, with a flash of suspicion that after all he knew something of Celia’s disappearance.

“I am afraid I cannot say more than that they are such steps as I considered would be effectual,” he replied, with a wave of the hand.

“I bring grave news. Do you know what has happened ? “and I watched him closely.

“I can have no idea of your meaning.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of the Duchess or of that villain, von Kronheim ? “I could not keep the anger out of my voice.

“I told you yesterday that I did not. I have learnt nothing since.”

“The worst has happened. Celia has been carried from my house, and, I fear, has fallen into their hands,’’ I said, bluntly. He did not appear astonished, but first looked at me intently and then fell into thought.

“That is a very singular coincidence,” he said at length, dryly.

“Coincidence ? Why coincidence ? “

“That she should disappear on the very eve of the marriage which I had warned you should be prevented,” he returned, with the same dry significance. “Will you tell me the circumstances?”

“I am here for that purpose,” and I told him the facts so far as I knew them. He listened without interrupting me, and was apparently weighing carefully every word I spoke.

“A very extraordinary thing to occur in London in these times,” he said, and I began to catch his meaning. “It seems to have been very shrewdly planned and very daringly carried out. But it is a very dangerous step to have taken, Sir Stanley. Young ladies of reigning Ducal houses cannot be spirited away with impunity.”

“So these people shall find,” said I. “But I think you had better speak plainly.”

“Your theory is that the Duchess and Count von Kronheim have done this ? “he asked, looking keenly at me the while.

“With the connivance of the man Schwartz, who has also disappeared.”

“He appears to have a knack of disappearing. Last time it was from your carriage, when I was to have interrogated him.”

“You think I have had a hand in doing this? “

“You have been in the habit, I think, of saying where the Duchess Celia should go.”

“We shall only play at cross-purposes, if you persist in this belief. I know no more than I have told you. Indeed, I came here with half a thought that you yourself might have had some knowledge of it.”

“We do not keep kidnappers at the Embassy, Sir

Stanley,” he answered, with evident anger.

“Yet you do not hesitate to suggest that I am one,” I retorted.

“I have made no such suggestion.”

“Your words, your manner, your looks, what are they but a suggestion or insinuation ? “

“You have made up your mind to marry the Duchess Celia in spite of my protests. You would not admit to me that was the case, but put me off with equivocations and generalities. I warned you that the marriage was impossible and that I should take every means in my power to prevent it; and at the moment when I am commencing to do so, she is spirited away. I do not say that you have kidnapped her, that would be an insulting and quite needless charge; but I cannot see that since you were so bent upon this marriage it would be at all an unlikely step for you to remove her secretly from London. If that suggestion, which is very different from anything of the nature of kidnapping, is distasteful to you, really you have only yourself to blame.”

“I give you my word of honour, Count Burstcn, that I know nothing whatever of this unfortunate matter, more than I have told you. I give it you without qualification or reservation of any kind. Of course, if you cannot accept that, there is an end of all matters between us,” and I rose.

He paused a moment before replying, but then said, frankly: “I accept it, of course; and, frankly, I am sorry to hear it. I could have dealt with you and have brought arguments to bear which I am sure would have weighed with you, had you been responsible. But I know not what to say in regard to the Duchess, if your surmise is correct that the mother has been privy to the stealing of the daughter. God alone knows what rash step that desperate, demented woman may take.” He spoke with genuine concern and was manifestly deeply moved.

“We must find her,” I said.

“Ves, I know. But how ? If this were Germany I could do it, because we have there some attempt at a police system. But here, what have you ? You can regulate your street traffic and catch a man sometimes whose crime is committed under your nose, but how can you deal with a thing like this ? Your personal responsibility is indeed a heavy one. It must be that the news of the marriage got out somehow; perhaps, as you suggest, through the spy, Schwartz, and it drove these people to this course. But if we know that, of what use is it ? It will not bring back the young Duchess. It will not prevent her being coerced into a marriage with this von Kronheim; it will not give me an answer to send to the Duke when he asks me to produce the daughter who shall be his heiress. It will do nothing, in short,” he cried, jumping from his chair and beginning to pace the room excitedly. “It will do nothing.”

I myself was too cast down not to be affected by his mood, and my eyes followed him despondently; nor could I find a gleam of hope in the situation.

“You will have to bear the responsibility for all this mess, Sir Stanley,” he said, almost fiercely, when at length he threw himself down in his chair. “What are you going to do? “

“To find Celia,” said I, curtly.

“Yes, yes; but how ? “

“I have already a number of agents searching and inquiring, and every clue that comes I shall follow up personally.”

He laughed shortly, almost contemptuously.

“You could not guard her when she was in your house and charge.”

“Can you offer any suggestions ? They will be more valuable and more practical than this indulgence in sneers,” and as there was nothing to be gained by any continuance of the interview I prepared to leave.

“I can offer you none. I shall, of course, take such steps as I can,” he said, in his previous antagonistic tone. “But if any ill happen to her through the mania of her mother I shall hold you responsible, and you will have to answer for it to those at Crudenstadt.”

“Had you done what you said and laid hands on von Kronheim, this would not have happened,” I retorted angrily.

“Had you not indulged in this contumacious thought of marriage nothing would have happened,” he cried, with equal warmth. “I warned you of the Duchess’s madness, remember,” and with this ringing in my ears I left him.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SEARCH

I had gained nothing by my interview at the Embassy, except the assurance that no one there had had a hand in Celia’s disappearance; and this I had scarcely needed. The chief effect of the conversation indeed had been to heighten my fears of the danger to Celia, which was to be apprehended from her mother’s madness.

I drove back to my house in the forlorn hope that the private detective might have discovered some clue. There was nothing from them, however, but I experienced a genuine surprise when I reached home, for the first news I heard was that Schwartz was in the house. I sent for him immediately.

“Where have you been ? “I asked him, sternly.

“I was taken ill in the early morning, Sir Stanley, with another of my heart attacks, and had to go out for fresh air. I went out between four and five o’clock, sir, and walked and sat in the park until I recovered.”

“Your attacks appear to come at peculiar junctures.”

“I never know when they are coming on, sir,” he replied, looking at me stolidly and meeting my look firmly enough.

“Of course, you heard and saw nothing unusual in the house when you left your room ? “

“No, Sir Stanley; nothing.”

“You know what has happened ? “

“I have heard of it since my return, sir.”

“Do you tell me you know nothing of the cause of all this trouble?”

“I have my fears, Sir Stanley.”

“What are they?”

“It was at just about Miss Celia’s age that her mother showed the first signs of her malady.”

“You scoundrel ! “I cried, my anger breaking out of control. “You dare to have a hand in all this black business and then come canting back to me with this lie on your lips. I have found out much about you, and you shall repent. You were the first to give the alarm when I went to the German Embassy, with the result that these people escaped us, and now you have dared to plot against me in my own house, to connive and help at placing Miss Celia in the hands of those who mean nothing but ill for her; and having done your evil work you come back to me with a series of smooth lies rolling off your tongue to try and hoodwink me further. But you have made a mistake, my man.”

“I don’t understand you in the least, Sir Stanley,” he answered, doggedly.

“I will give you one chance. Tell me where they have taken her and you shall go your own way ; any way, so long as it’s far enough from me. Refuse, and I’ll hand you over to those who will know how to make you speak. Now, where is Miss Celia ? “and I went across and stood over him.

“I do not know, sir. I know nothing about it,” he said, in the same dogged, sullen tone.

“Don’t lie to me ! “I thundered, fiercely.

“I do not know, sir,” he repeated.

“Where is the Duchess Marie, or the Count von Kronheim ? “

“I don’t know, sir.”

“When did you see them, or hear from them, or communicate with them last ? “

“In the hall here, Sir Stanley. That is the only time.”

“Well, we will see about that.”

I opened the door and called one of the servants to send Wilson to me. While we were waiting Schwartz stood biting his lip and glancing now and then in fear at my face, wondering what I meant to do. I paid no heed.

“Wilson,” I said, when he came, “get one of the men and get ready, both of you, to go out immediately.”

“What are you going to do, Sir Stanley? I hope you will do nothing to let the public know of all this ?” asked Schwartz.

“Will you tell me where these people are to be found ? “

“I don’t know, sir,” he said again, doggedly. And after that we neither spoke until Wilson and the groom arrived.

. “Call a cab and take this man, Schwartz, to the German Embassy. I will give you a letter, and mind, do not lose sight of Schwartz until you have handed him over to Count Bursten himself. If he makes any resistance you have my full authority to take any necessary measures.”

I sat down and wrote the letter, expressing my conviction that Schwartz could give the information we needed if means could be devised to force him to speak, and that, in any event, he should be kept under the closest surveillance.

His suggestion, like the rest of his story, was a lie of course; but it had its use. It showed me what these people might pretend to regard as the reason of Celia’s disappearance. No one but Schwartz, however, could have cut the wires which had silenced the alarm. I would not believe him guiltless. Not only the facts but all the probabilities pointed to his being implicated; and what I had to do was to move Heaven and earth to trace the movements of the Duchess and von Kronheim,,and I decided to make efforts of my own to follow the trail.

The private detectives had done nothing. As I was getting ready to go out again one of them came to me with a story that they believed they had a clue already, and he spun me a yarn about someone who had seen a carriage stopping near the house in the night, which it was believed had been used for the purpose of the abduction, and that he was hopeful of tracing it. He expressed great confidence, and was full of mysterious suggestions and insinuations of the secret means at his disposal. But I found no difficulty in reading between the lines of his words that he was merely using the tricks of his trade to impress me with his and his employers’ great astuteness and resource.

I listened to him and encouraged him, as it was not my cue to show any lack of confidence. But the result of the conversation was to make it plain that I should have to rely much more upon myself than upon him.

I began my search at the point where my previous inquiries as to the mysterious tenant of the next house had stopped. I saw the agents and questioned them again closely, and went again to the bankers who had been given as references. But I learnt nothing. The account at the bank had been closed almost immediately after the reference had been given in regard to the house, and not a soul there could give me any information.

I wired to the house in Germany which had sent the introduction to the English bank, but they knew nothing. It appeared that they had been used pretty much as the English bank — for the sole purposes of establishing a reputation for the anonymous character in which von Kronheim had evidently designed to carry on part of the intrigue. It was obvious that there was no lack of money, and this circumstance would certainly add to my difficulty in tracing the people.

I went then to the house where the Countess Borgen had stayed, but only to draw a complete blank. She and her daughter had left very suddenly on the day when I had first seen the Count Bursten at the Embassy, and immediately after receiving a telegram. At von Kronheim’s hotel I had the same story, and it was clear to me, therefore, that when Schwartz gave the alarm it had been the signal for a general flight.

Nor was there a trace left anywhere of their movements. I was told in both places that the boxes and trunks were always kept ready packed, and that they had prepared the people for the probability of a hurried departure of the kind. No one had seen them since, nor had a letter or message been received for them.

The only clue I got out of the whole of my inquires the removal of the luggage. This had been bycabs, and I drove to the private detective’s to give him the facts and tell him to trace the cabs with all possible speed.

I returned home, wearied, dispirited and utterly discouraged, as the result of my long day’s work. The search appeared hopeless, and they seemed to have vanished completely, as though they had all been spirited away as mysteriously as Celia herself.

At the house Blossom was waiting for me impatiently.

“Oh, I am so glad you have come, Stanley,” she cried, meeting me in the hall. She had been watching for me. “There is news from Celia. A telegram came for you two or three hours ago, and as I thought it might have something to do with this terrible business, I opened it, dear. It is from Celia herself,” and she gave it me as we hurried into the library. “But I can’t understand it.”

“I am well. Do not try to find me. You know why I cannot marry you. My only course was to leave you. I am grieved to the heart to wound you in this way. Have courage and forget me. Celia.”

For a moment the message gave me a pang of genuine alarm, but I rallied quickly and recovered myself.

“Quick! Tell them to keep the carriage. I want it at once ! “I cried, so excitedly that Wilson, who had come to report to me about Schwartz, stared at me in amazement. “Quick, man! — quick!” and he ran off at once.

“What does it mean, Stanley ? “asked my sister.

“I can’t stay to tell you now, dear. I am going to find out who sent this message. I will tell you the moment I get back,” and a minute later I was back in the carriage again, hurrying as fast as the man could drive to the post-office in the Strand, where the message had been handed in.

If it had been dispatched by Celia herself I felt I might almost give up the search. But I believed that the whole thing was a mere blind — part of the abominable plot which these people had woven.

So much turned on the identity of the sender that I was almost afraid to put the issue to the test. But the more I thought over the matter the more improbable did it seem that Celia could have sent such a message. The message had been dispatched at half-past three, and for Celia to have sent it would mean that she had been wandering aimlessly about London through the night from the time she left Cromwell-road and all through the day. If she had fled voluntarily I felt that her instinct would have been to hurry out of London as soon as possible.

At the post-office I gave in my card, asked for the chief of the telegraphic staff, and explained to him my errand.

“It is very unusual to give any information, Sir Stanley,” he said, in a dry, official manner, “and we cannot show you the original telegram without the proper order.”

“I have reason to believe this is a forgery and part of an exceedingly ugly conspiracy with far-reaching consequences. I assure you the matter is of the gravest importance.”

He was impressed by my earnestness, and, after a few moments’ thought, he said:

“Will you give me the telegram?” And he went out of the room; and when he returned brought with him a younger man. “This is the clerk who took the message, Sir Stanley. Would you like to ask him any questions? “

“Do you remember receiving the message?”

“Perfectly,” he answered. “I was struck by the length and the very unusual character of it. The sender was a tall, dark, military-looking man, who spoke with a slight foreign accent.”

This answered to von Kronheim himself, and when I questioned him further his answers left no doubt in my mind on the point.

“I asked him for the sender’s full name and address,” added the clerk, “and he seemed surprised at the question, hesitated, and then said there was no address. I pointed to the regulations at the back of the form, and then, as it appeared to me with some confusion, he wrote down Shall I say, sir?” asked the clerk, turning to his chief.

“No, that will do,” and the clerk was sent away. “Does that assist you at all, Sir Stanley ? “asked the chief.

“Most materially, and it confirms my suspicions.”

“You understand that, officially, I cannot let you see the original telegram, but if you will give me your word not to make use of it I will show it you as a matter of courtesy.”

“I give you my word, certainly, and thank you cordially,” I replied, as he handed me the message, not a word of which was in Celia’s handwriting.

I returned it with another word of thanks and a renewed assurance of confidence, and left.

It was as plain as anything could be that the message had been intended as a blind, and when in the light of this knowledge I studied its words I saw something more. It was clear that someone had overheard some of our conversations about the Duchess’s insanity and had misunderstood us; and that an ingenious use had been made of the knowledge to refer in the message to a subject of which Celia and I might reasonably suppose no one but our two selves had any cognisance. It explained also Schwartz’s suggestion.

When I reached home I told my sister only that I had discovered the truth as to the sender of the message, and that it left no room for doubt that Celia had fallen into von Kronheim’s hands.

But all this carried me no further on the road to tracing her, although it removed the racking torture of the doubt that the disappearance was due to any sudden, morbid impulse of Celia herself.

I spent the night trying to devise means to find her, and the next day was passed in an agony of uncertainty and baffled, impotent anger. The private detectives did nothing, the Ambassador did nothing, and I myself was equally unsuccessful. Schwartz had been allowed to go, but was to be kept under the closest watch, a vigilance which he succeeded in eluding within half-a-dozen hours of his leaving Count Bursten, with whom he had maintained the same attitude of dogged ignorance as with me.

The suspense of that day was intolerable, and the night that followed was the most wretched of my life, for despair was already clutching at my heart-strings.

The next morning brought light, however, and how I hailed it may be imagined.

Among my letters was a somewhat bulky one addressed in a strange hand of a foreign character with the Calais postmark, and I tore it open with mingled feelings of foreboding and hope. It contained a letter and two sealed but unaddressed envelopes.

The letter was from Katrine Borgen — strenuous, terse and grimly earnest.

“Sir Stanley,

“Before you break the seals and read a line of either of the enclosed letters, remember your promise — that no harm shall ever come to Karl through you. I put you on your honour not to say a single word to any one, nor to take a single step of any kind that will harm him. If you will not give that pledge I charge you by all you hold sacred not to read a line of these letters — not even to break the seals.

“If you break the seal of either, it will be your acceptance of the pledge, your oath of honour, to hold him harmless.

“Katrine Borgen.”

I did not hesitate an instant but tore open the envelopes. One contained a letter from Celia, and the other a second letter from Katrine herself.

CHAPTER XVII

THE LETTERS

I first ran my eye rapidly over the two letters, gathering the pith of their contents, and then read them carefully and deliberately; Celia’s first, of course.

“My Dear Stanley,

“Katrine Borgen says she can get this posted to you, and as she seems, from motives I cannot fathom, to be most friendly to me, I am trusting her. Just now, indeed, I have no one else to trust — here, of course, I mean.

“I do not wish you to be over-anxious about me. I am not afraid, and promise you I will not lose courage: but I have decided to take the somewhat strange course of appearing to acquiesce in the plans which the Duchess Marie — I wish I could call her mother, and think of her as mother — has made to marry me to the Count. Do not fear for me. I shall not marry him; no entreaty, no power, no threat, shall ever make me do so. But we had one violent scene in which the Duchess went so far as to threaten my life if I continued to disobey her; and to pacify her I said I would leave the matter over for consideration. This occurred in London before we left for Saxe-Lippe, where we are going, so Katrine says. I had again, in regard to the journey, to appear to fall in with their plans. I said, yes, I would accompany them without trouble; and I agreed to this, because I thought; *: would give you time — and I resolved to communicate with you somehow — to follow and upset these plans.

“So now we are on our way to the Duchy, and my comfort is that you will soon be in pursuit. With this thought to cheer me, I am not a bit afraid. I do not believe they will dare to do me any harm. I am treated kindly in fact — except by the stern Duchess Marie herself; and she, poor soul, is not, as we know, in her right senses. So long, however, as I appear to be doing what she commands — and she has a habit of commanding even in trifles — she is satisfied. But, of course, there must come the hour of trouble, when they attempt to make me marry Count von Kronheim. Katrine swears to me, however, that she can and will prevent this; and so together we comfort one another. She tells me that Schwartz has been the traitor throughout; that he arranged for the Countess Borgen to get into the house; that I was drugged and when quite unconscious, dressed and taken through the house next to yours to a carriage that was kept in readiness close by. I was then carried to the house where the Duchess Maricwas staying in London, and kept there until we started.

“I know you must have been terribly alarmed at my disappearance; but as I say, I do not think there is any cause for serious fear for some days yet, until indeed I have to throw off the mask altogether, and show them I will not make this hateful marriage. But you will have found me before then; so we need only have courage and faith in each other — such as I have in you and in myself — and all must come right. But lose no time. Even now I will not accept the view that it is anything but comedy.

“Auf wiedersehen, Stanley,

“Celia.”

Katrine’s letter was in a quite different tone:

“You have now pledged me your honour and I hold you to your word religiously. Whatever you do must be done in such a way that Karl comes to no harm; any step that clashes with that, I appeal to you on your honour not to take. On that understanding I give you the following information and send you Celia’s letter. We are going to Saxe-Lippe, I believe to Karl’s home in the hills near Crudenstadt; but I am not certain. When we reach there, I will find the means of communicating with you at your sister’s house. Follow with all practicable speed — but be on your guard, for you are likely to be followed in your turn and may be in danger.

“The present scheme is to get Celia to Crudenstadnd to force or trick her into a marriage with Karl, and then to put forward a claim to the succession in her name. I will do what I can to prevent this: God knows, I am resolved to do so: but at times I am powerless; and I have fears of a scheme so vile, that I dare not even put it on paper. Celia does not know the danger in which she stands. She is brave and I would have her keep up her courage, for she may need every ounce of it. If she knew, poor girl, Heaven knows what effect it would have upon her. More than life depends upon your hurrying to Crudenstadt to the rescue. God help us all.

“Katrine.”

These letters, Katrine’s especially, set me on fire. I believed so thoroughly in the rascality of the man in whose power Celia now was, that my imagination suggested half a hundred interpretations of Katrine’s vague but terrible words. I pictured vividly enough the many dangers which might encompass Celia while in his hands and those of her insane mother.

But it was certain that I must act both warily and promptly. Go to Crudenstadt I must at once, of course; but if von Kronheim’s agents were still shadowing my movements, I must find the means of putting them off the scent. I summoned my man, Wilson, therefore, and told him that I believed I had a clue to Celia’s movements; that she had been seen in Cheltenham, and that I was going there at once. He was to pack me enough clothes for a month and to be prepared to come with me, and meet me at Paddington station for a train I named.

“You need not keep my journey too secret, Wilson,” I said, significantly. “Don’t blab it about indiscreetly, of course; but others may guess where I am going.”

“Yes, Sir Stanley,” he answered, quietly, and I saw he understood.

I told Blossom and my aunt that I had had tidings of Celia, and said that Wilson was to meet me at Paddington in time for the Cheltenham train. I deemed it best to keep even them uninformed for the present.

I then drove to the German Embassy and asked for Count Bursten. I had come to the conclusion that if his help could be obtained it would be the surest means of rescuing Celia, and in face of Katrine’s letter, that rescue was now the paramount consideration. The swiftest means of saving her must be adopted, even if recourse to them meant that she would be taken out of my care and placed in that of the Duke’s agents.

The madness of her mother, the desperate character of the Count von Kronheim, and the undisguised mention of the vile scheme contemplated or actually concocted to accomplish her ruin, subordinated even the plan of our marriage to the need for her safety.

I found Count Bursten full charged with his suspicions of me. His manner was abrupt and almost discourteous; he was in a bad temper, and he listened to me with obvious and most unpalatable impatience.

“If you have come to renounce your pretensions, Sir Stanley, I am at your service,” he said, doubtingly.

“I have come in regard to that matter, and I am afraid my mission is a little unusual.”

“What is it ? Pardon me if I say I am much pressed for time.” His tone was cold, unbending and impatient.

“I have news of my ward,” I said.

“Of the young Duchess Celia?” he corrected, but a momentary light of eagerness in his eyes contradicted the severe formality of his manner.

“We need not quibble about her description,” I retorted. “I think I can say I shall know where she will be to be found in the course of a couple of days.”

“Where ‘she will be to be found,’ “he said, repeating my words. “Where is she now? That is a much more important question, and I must remind you that save for your fault Ave could answer it. But if you have come to bring me news of her, pray tell it me.”

“I can secure that she shall be in your hands, or in those of your agents, if you will agree to a certain condition.”

He made a gesture of dissent.

“I am not accustomed to agree to unknown conditions, nor to fetter my power of action in such a way. If you have anything to say, I beg you to say it frankly.”

“Your use of that term, sir, is scarcely called for,” I answered, not without warmth. “I have never dealt otherwise than frankly with you.”

“I meant no offence, and you need take none. If you claim always to have been frank, I must remind you that when I pressed you to tell me your own intentions in regard to your marriage, you would not do so. But, excuse me; I have neither time nor mind for bandying words.”

“I have learnt in a singular manner which much fetters my actions and my tongue where my ward is being taken. I can tell you, and I wish to do so; but it is a necessary condition that I have a pledge from you that whatever may happen, or whatever means may have to be taken to get her out of the hands of those with whom she is, no ill consequences of any kind shall fall upon the Count von Kronheim. Can you give me such an assurance ? “

The question puzzled and surprised him, and he looked at me very searchingly.

“You making stipulations in favour of that man ? “He said this as if half to himself, and then asked, sharply: “Are you really serious, Sir Stanley?”

“The request is from no good-will of mine towards its object,” said I, bluntly. “My hands are tied. I can only use or give the information on that condition.”

“Ah, you get it from that woman’s daughter, and she wants to shield the man,” he said, promptly and shrewdly.

“Yes, that is exactly what has happened.”

“Well, you might have saved yourself the trouble of this visit. It would take me weeks of negotiation to secure such an immunity for that young man; weeks,

and possibly even months, and meanwhile “Hinished with an expressive wave of the hands.

“Then I can give you no information,” I said, decidedly.

“Do you mean you will tell me nothing just because a scatter-brained, love-sick young woman has suggested such a preposterous condition?”

“I have pledged my word. I have obtained the knowledge I possess on those terms, and I hold myself bound by them to the letter.”

“To the letter, yes, of course,” he said, and after looking very shrewdly and earnestly at my face, he took three or four turns up and down the room in silence. Then in a tone of much greater confidence he added: “I should not think of asking you to commit a breach of that pledge, Sir Stanley,” he said, after the pause, turning on me again his sharp, reading, penetrating eyes.

“I am sure of that,” I replied, a little drily; “and you are equally sure that it would be of no avail.”

“This is a very weighty matter of the first importance to many great and grave interests,” he continued meaningly; “and you are now, I believe, quite in earnest in your wish to render us all the assistance you can ? “

“Quite in earnest.”

** Exactly so,” and he smiled, keeping his eyes y face all the time. “Of course, you must not give any direct information, but “he paused, as if foe to speak; but I held my tongue, and he added: “There are perhaps some indirect means by which we could achieve an end we both desire. The safety of the young Duchess is a crucial matter, and I can take instant, drastic and effective steps to secure it, which you, of course, cannot. A hint would be sufficient.” I smiled.

“What would be the consequences to the Count von Kronheim in such a case ? “I asked.

“You see, my dear Sir Stanley, my own hands are rather tied in a matter of that sort. Personally, I would give you the assurance you ask in a moment, but “

“But what ? “

“It would depend entirely upon where the Count were found. If here in England, he would go scot free, because we can control our agents here. But if, for instance, he were in Saxe-Lippe “ — here he paused — “supposing him to be so unwise as to venture into the

Duchy “He paused again and looked eagerly foome indication from me. It was cleverly done, but my face was as expressionless as a marble bust.

“If he were so unwise?” I repeated, stolidly; and then he accepted defeat with the customary smile he used to cover his chagrin.

“I do not press you, of course.”

“If I cannot tell you directly and plainly — that is, if you will not give me the guarantee — I cannot allow myself to be drawn into making admissions indirectly. I deeply regret your decision — but it is yours, not mine; and I will not trespass upon you longer.”

“You will take steps on your own account ? “he asked.

“Yes, certainly. You have surrounded my task with great difficulty when you could have made it light. But the responsibility is yours, not mine.”

“On the contrary, Sir Stanley Meredith, the responsibility is altogether yours, and you must be prepared to bear with the consequences.” He spoke so sternly with such heat and sudden anger that I was greatly surprised. “I consider you have taken a very dangerous and wholly unwarranted action, and if harm comes of it to the young Duchess or to anyone else, you must be prepared to answer for the course you have adopted. Heaven alone knows the mischief that may come of your unwarrantable conduct.”

With that he sounded his table bell fiercely, and dismissed me.

I left the Embassy very thoughtful and ill at ease. I could not break my pledged word, and yet I perceived well enough how Katrine’s reservation might lead to some of those evils which Count Bursten, shrewd and far-seeing as he was, clearly anticipated.

CHAPTER XVIII

AT CRUDENSTADT

The arrangements I made for preventing anyone from following me were very crude and simple, and as it turned out quite superfluous. I met Wilson at Paddington, and instructed him to put our luggage on to a cab and send it across to Victoria.

“I have reason to think we are being watched, Wilson, and you must therefore act with caution. Fuss about and seem to be looking after me; but as soon as I am settled in my compartment, lose yourself in the crowd on the platform, and then follow the luggage to Victoria, take it down to Dover and put it on the Ostend boat, and wait for me. We are crossing to-night to the Continent; and mind — not a syllable to a soul.”

He carried out my instructions cleverly enough. I watched him drop back from my carriage window, loiter a moment by the bookstall, and then leave the station. I had by design taken my place in the last compartment of the train next the guard’s van, and made a great parade of preparing myself for a long journey, while I scanned very curiously the gradually thinning groups of people on the platform, and speculated whether among them anyone had been told ofo shadow me.

I did not see anyone who looked to me in the least like a spy; and when the train started I was quite unconvinced whether it carried one or not. But I had my plan ready and put it into effect.

That plan was to leave the train at Westbourne Park, where we were due in five minutes — the next stoppage being at Reading, nearly an hour later; and to leave it in such a way that no spy would be able to follow me without at least my getting a sight of him. We pulled up and I waited until the guard’s whistle had sounded for the train to leave again and it was already in motion when I opened the carriage door and jumped on to the platform, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone who might do the same.

But no one else alighted, and I guessed therefore that I had succeeded in breaking the scent. I gave some lame excuse to the station people for my act and a few minutes later was in a hansom bowling over to Victoria, to catch my train for the Continent, with a considerable sense of satisfaction at having so easily checkmated pursuit.

The run to Dover and the passage across the Channel were sufficiently uneventful to leave me plenty of time to think; and then I began to realise how many obstacles there were in my way, and the enormous difficulties which Katrine had added by her conditions.

I seemed so feeble, single-handed; while the gravity of the issue to Celia, should I fail, filled me with anxiety. I thought with rare pleasure of the courage and spirit with which she was facing the crisis, and the phrases of her letter as they recurred to me, breathing trust in me and dauntless resolve not to be driven from allegiance to our mutual love vows, spurred my wits in the search for some scheme to rescue her. But behind this picture of her smiling courage loomed the dark background of Katrine’s forebodings and the grim assurance that Celia did not know the dangers by which she was surrounded.

I was pacing the deck in this whirl of thought when I was suddenly seized with the conviction that I was being watched. It is a profoundly discomforting sensation, and I glanced with some gathering suspicion at such fellow-passengers as, like myself, were enjoying the fine night. No mental fungus grows so fast as this suspicion; and I was in a morbid, apprehensive mood which would almost have allowed me to believe that every soul on board was there from a motive that concerned me. I began to shake it off after a time, but not until I had scanned every man of them closely enough to be able to identify them should the need arise.

“What a fool I must be,” I exclaimed, suddenly, to myself. “As if a spy, now that I am on board the boat and can’t get off until we reach Ostend, would be such a jackass as to shadow me, and so let me be able to identify him ! “

The thing was preposterous, but the obvious absurdity of it did not entirely reassure me, and when we reached the Belgian port I kept my eyes all about me, and told Wilson to do the same. I noticed nothing, however, and should have gone on my way supremely unconscious of anything unusual but for an incident at the telegraph office.

I went to send a message to my sister in Crudenstadt announcing my arrival, and a traveller who had just handed in a message at the small window moved away as I approached with my written telegram. There was a moment’s delay and then the telegraph-clerk came back to the window and laid a telegram before me. “You have made a mistake here,” he rapped out, obviously taking me for the man who had just left, and pointed to it with his pencil.

“It is not my message,” I said, and he snatched it up again with a quick, angry exclamation.

But I could not help reading the contents of the message, and saw to my profound astonishment that it concerned me and reported that I had crossed from Dover, was going to Crudenstadt, and that the sender was going on by the same train. It was addressed to “Margravine, London.” I handed in my message and then hurried out in search of the man who had sent the other.

I found him without any difficulty; he was in fact waiting outside for me in a conveniently shaded corner, and I went straight up to him. It was obviously useless for me to attempt any longer to conceal my movements.

“I should like a word with you,” I said, bluntly. He was a little whipper-snapper of a fellow, thin and feeble, and I think he was a good deal afraid. He muttered some gibberish, threw up his hands, turned very pale and pretended not to be able to even speak English.

“You write a very good English hand and no doubt can speak it just as well. Be good enough not to try and fool me. You have just sent off a telegram about me, you are spying on my movements, and I wish to know on whose instructions you are acting. I don’t blame you for being a spy; it’s nothing to me what you are; but I intend to know who has set you to follow me. Will you tell me without any trouble.”

He made a number of fresh grimaces, flung his arms about in protest, and mumbled more gibberish.

“Oh, you mean you would rather not tell me on the platform. Very well; “and I slipped my arm through his, held him as in a vice, and called Wilson to take his other arm. “This gentleman has a fancy to go our way, Wilson, and he will travel in the same compartment. I have a first-class compartment reserved,” I said to the fellow whose puny limbs were now trembling with fright; “and you can run to Cologne with us — if you reach as far; for I swear to you on my honour I’ll have the truth out of you if I have to choke you in the getting of it.” I muttered this last in a tone that a melodramatic villain might have envied; and it had due effect.

“What do you wish to know, Sir Stanley ? “he quavered.

“That’s better,” said I, relaxing my grip of him somewhat. “Quick, now; in whose employ are you ? “

“I am a servant of the German Embassy, sir,” he said.

“Prove it,” I rapped out; and fumbling in his pockets he brought out a number of papers and letters showing his name to be Adolphe Guerre, a Swiss, retained as a sort of interpreter and detective at the German Embassy in London. It was a relief to find at any rate that he was not one of Count von Kronheim’s creatures. “To whom did you send off that wire just now?” I asked.

“To London, sir.” He was thoroughly frightened, and answered promptly, but with trembling lips.

“Well, I’ve had enough of your company, M. Guerre. I think you are too ill to travel any further in the same train, or you will soon become so, you understand ? You are trembling now, you see. You have done your work well enough, and you will be good enough to stop here at Ostend instead of shadowing me any farther. Wilson, you will see that M. Guerre remains behind, and if you have any difficulty let me know.”

I went off then to my seat, and when we steamed out of the station, we left the little Swiss standing on the platform staring disconcertedly after us.

On the whole, the incident was a relief rather than an embarrassment. I did not much care about the Ambassador’s knowing that I was going to Crudenstadt. I had feared lest von Kronheim might get wind of my movements, and learn that I was in pursuit. Compared with that, any action the authorities of Saxe-Lippe might take was unimportant. But I resolved nevertheless to alter my route lest any attempt should be made to interfere with me at the frontier, or at least to follow me; and I therefore entered the Duchy by a round-about route.

The moment I was across the frontier my spirits began to rise. I was getting to close quarters with such danger as there might be in the undertaking, and was once again within the sphere of action; and the knowledge braced my nerves and energies and dissipated the self-distrust which had momentarily shaken me on my journey.

I arrived without interruption at my sister’s house, and she was as delighted as she was surprised at my visit. But her husband, whom I had cordially dislike from the hour we had first met, was as stolid and ungracious as ever. I could not afford now, for Celia’s sake, to make any unnecessary enemy, and I tried to force into my manner towards him some appearance of warmth.

“You have come on political business, of course,” said my sister, after a few minutes, “and were expected earlier.”

“What makes you think that?” I asked, seeing she had a very good reason for the question.

“Because General von Eckerstein has already sent once and been himself for you. You should feel honoured. He is our all-powerful minister just now. I was quite proud.”

“Were you?” I replied, drily; and I thought I could catch the outline of a dry smile on her husband’s dark, sombre face. “I did not expect quite so speedy a welcome,” I added.

“It must be very important,” said Alice.

“I’ve no doubt it must,” I agreed. “But as a matter of fact I have no political mission at all.”

“Perhaps it concerns the great question of the hour in Saxe-Lippe — the succession ? “ suggested my brother in-law, with a glance.

“I am scarcely likely to become a claimant for the throne,” I replied, smiling. “Is that the great question ? How does it stand then ? “I continued, indifferently.

“Unless rumour lies we may well come to you for news, Sir Stanley,” he answered, ungraciously.

“Then perhaps you are right and your all-powerful minister has been misled by the rumour; “ and I laughed.

“You will soon know, for I heard his carriage draw up at that moment.” He was right, and a servant came to say that His Excellency General Graf von Eckerstein desired to see Sir Stanley Meredith.

“News travels fast in Crudenstadt, and he has been quick to learn my arrival here,” I said with a meaning glance, half-suspecting how the news had been conveyed, and I followed the servant to the room where the minister was awaiting me.

He was a smart, dapper-looking, well set up, grey little man in uniform, with a fierce moustache, and black beady eyes that took careful note of everything about me with one sharp glance. He advanced to meet me and held out his hand with a smile.

“I am charmed to meet you, Sir Stanley, as the heir and successor of one whose services at a critical point of our history the Duchy of Saxe-Lippe will not readily forget. And the more especially because I am assured that you come to us with the most friendly intentions. The German Embassy has made me acquainted with the object of your visit to us and I am only too anxious to have your help. Let me welcome you to Crudenstadt.”

“It is very gratifying to receive so cordial a welcome on the threshold of my visit,” I said, quietly, as I shook his hand. “I have to thank Count Bursten for his attentions on the journey, as well as his forethought in preparing such a reception for me; “and I looked him straight in the face.

“Ah ! yes, you mean the little formality by which he assured himself of your route.”

“Did your Excellency say formality or informality ? “I asked, with a careful accent on the words. Hmiled airily and threw the question on one side with a gesture.

“What matter, Sir Stanley? surely we need not discuss that now. I welcome you because I understand you have most valuable information concerning the young Duchess Celia’s whereabouts, and that you can impart it to me ! “

“From whom do you understand that?” I put the question blandly.

“Is it true ? “he flashed, accompanying the question with a penetrating look. But I was in no hurry to assure him.

“Before I reply to that question I would suggest the desirability of your telling me just how the matter stands here in Crudenstadt in regard to the young Duchess.”

“Surely there can be no difficulty whatever in your giving me all the information in your possession; that if you come in a friendly spirit. If not——” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders significantly.

“If not ? “I repeated.

“Well, if not, you must come either with some hostile intent, or in the hope of carrying out a project that you must excuse me for calling selfish.”

“You mean ? “I threw in sharply, when he paused.

“I refer to an impossible projected marriage that I hoped had been abandoned.”

“And in that event, what then ? “

“We are counted a pleasant and hospitable people, Sir Stanley, but, of course, there are limits. We do not take to our hearts those who contemplate wounding us in a fatal spot.”

“In plainer words, you would turn me out of the Duchy ? “I said bluntly, but with a smile.

“In plain terms your continued presence here would be impossible.”

“And if I should refuse to go ? “

“You would not refuse.”

“On the contrary, I should refuse flatly,” I said, firmly.

“You would be very ill-advised, and we should either have to place you across the frontier, or request the British representative to procure your departure. It would pain us to take such a course, but——” Again he finished his sentence with one of his significant gestures.

“It strikes me,” I said after a pause, “that yours is a very rough and ready diplomacy. Because I will not tell you what I don’t know, you would turn out of your country the only man who may be able to save the young Duchess Celia from a very ugly fate. But at least you’ve been frank with me, and I’ll be frank with you in turn. I don’t yet know for certain anything that it would help you to know, and if I did I would only tell it you on two conditions — one that the man principally concerned in the young Duchess’s detention should come to no harm, and the other, that both the Duchess Celia and I are left absolutely free to act as we please in regard to our projected marriage.”

He listened earnestly to every word, and at the close started in apparent amazement at my outspokenness.”

“Do you mean “he began, and stopped.

“Yes, every syllable of every word I’ve said. My cousin — for Celia has always been regarded by my sisters and myself as a cousin, and she is my cousin first, and the young Duchess a long way afterwards. My cousin Celia and I stand pledged to marry, and my part of that pledge neither you nor any man must ask me to break. If you can stop the marriage, or if you can prevail upon my cousin to renounce it, you are of course at liberty to do so. But give a pledge or even suggestion, that I will not marry her if she will marry me, I will not, your Excellency, not for all the considerations under the sun. I have come out in search of her, because I love her and she loves me, and we are betrothed to one another. I mean to find her, and find her I will, put what obstacles you may please in the way. And when I have found her, I’ll make her my wife if the means can be found to do it, and she remains of the same mind in which she was before she was taken from my care.”

I spoke quite quietly, but with absolute firmness, and looked for an outburst of anger; but instead of it, the minister smiled very frankly and put out his hand.

“You are a brave and honourable man, Sir Stanley, and on my honour I would help you if I could. But believe me this must not be, must not be. I have daughters of my own, and I trust Heaven will send them as gallant men as yourself when their marriage time comes. I am not surprised the young Duchess loves you. But I must be your enemy if you persist. Come, sit down and let us talk it over,” and he drew up a chair.

“I will talk as long as you like,” said I, sitting down also; “but nothing will change me.”

CHAPTER XIX

NEWS FROM KATRINE

The discussion between General von Eckerstein and myself was very lengthy and to me absorbingly interesting. He tried every method at his command to induce me to yield to his wishes, tell him where Celia was to be found, renounce all idea of marrying her, and join hands with him in putting the succession question on a firm footing. He flattered, cajoled, persuaded, argued, and threatened in turn; but he would not promise to protect Katrine’s lover on the one hand, and on the other he declared over and over again that any thought of marriage for Celia and myself was impossible.

He brought up the battery of threats last.

“I am sorry you range yourself against us, for I would do much to serve your interests; but you drive me to act, and I am compelled to tell you that you must leave the Duchy. Don’t make it necessary for us to resort to any measures of compulsion, but be advised and go. Will you ? “he asked as he held out his hand.

“I think you will make a generous antagonist, General, and as you have more than once referred to the claims my family have upon the goodwill of your Government, I trust you will remember them now. Frankly, if I were to go openly, it would only be to return secretly. I am prepared for any consequences.”

“My agents are not likely to be so long suffering as myself,” said the old man, significantly.

“Neither should I be so frank with them,” and I laughed. “I will make a pretence of going if you wish, but I shall not go so long as Celia remains in this danger.”

He frowned with a gesture of annoyance.

“Then you will drive me to force, Sir Stanley.”

“As you please,” I said; and with that the interview ended.

I was disappointed at the result. I had of course known that the Minister would oppose our marriage with all his force, but I had counted upon his help in checkmating von Kronheim. I had pointed out to him the fact that if we rescued her, Celia would be in the Duke’s power and out of the range of my personal influence. But he would not help me and no argument of mine could induce him to promise immunity for von Kronheim.

This refusal filled me with inexpressible indignation. Not that I did not know he richly deserved to be punished: indeed I myself had a heavy score yet to reckon with him. But the deliberate refusal, despite my pleading, to make Celia’s safety the first consideration appeared to me alike monstrous in its unwisdom and in its gross callousness. It hardened me against the Government, showing as it did how entirely they were prepared to regard Celia as a piece in their State games to be utilised for certain purposes, but utilised only as their sense of expediency suggested.

It was clear, therefore, that I should be left to my own resources and expedients; and the prospect was serious. This started another suggestion. It was practically certain that von Kronheim would have sufficient channels of information in Crudenstadt to keep him thoroughly posted in the progress of matters there. He would thus learn of my arrival, and it was a question whether it would not be prudent for me to pretend to comply with the Government request to quit, and then go into hiding and carry on my plans in secret.

Celia’s captor would probably rub his hands in glee at the apparent irony of a State intervention to remove what he would consider the most serious obstacle to his schemes; while I could mature my plan and swoop down upon him with all the greater effect.

The Government lost no time in acting, and within an hour of the General’s visit I received a peremptory request that I would leave the Duchy. I was glad of it and showed it with a laugh to my sister and her husband, and when she and I were alone I took her as much into my confidence as necessary.

“I am going to obey the request, Alice, and it is better that you should know no more of my plans. My servant, Wilson, will leave with me, but he will return to Crudenstadt. I am expecting a confidential communication to come through you; and if anything comes give it to him instantly. But say nothing of this to anyone — not even to your husband.”

“You don’t “she began quickly, with a protest voice and manner, when I hastened to interpose.

“No, I don’t suppose for a moment that he would breathe a word; but this is not my secret and no one but you yourself must know — even so much as this. It is very serious,” I added, impressively. “Issues of life and death may turn upon your doing implicitly what I say.”

Influenced by my manner and earnest words she gave me the necessary promise; and when her husband came in I told him merely that I was going to leave the Duchy, and I took him with me to the railway, so that he should see me start, hear me take my ticket for Berlin, and be able to report the facts, should he wish to do so.

I did not travel very far, however, and the same night I was back in Crudenstadt and had taken up my abode in an obscure hotel as an English tourist under the slightly disguised name of Mr. Stanhope.

I knew that Katrine would communicate with me soon, and was indeed not without anxiety that nothing had come from her already. Von Kronheim’s party must have arrived in Saxe-Lippe fully twenty four hours before me, despite the haste with which I had travelled; and I had half hoped to find some news from her awaiting me on my arrival.

It came on the following afternoon, when Wilson brought me a letter which had arrived for me under cover to my sister. It was from Katrine; and its tone argued her great distraction of mind as clearly as it showed the difficulties to be overcome.

“We are here in Mempach, in a house called Blumenfeld. It is a lonely place about a mile out of the village on the road farthest from Crudenstadt. It is a large solitary house and strongly guarded by Karl’s men and friends. I don’t know what to do. I am afraid you can do nothing alone ; but I will not have Karl given over to his enemies. The plan of the marriage is going forward rapidly; but it shall not be. It shall not be, I swear, even if I (these last words were partially obliterated and the writing very wild and scarcely legible). If you can do anything, come here at once. I will watch for you and let you into the house and try to help Celia to escape. It is all I can think of, but we must try it. I will not have Karl betrayed to his enemies. I will not; nothing shall make me. But I am beside myself when I think of it all. Come at once.

“K. B.”

I read the letter two or three times seeking to get at the full meaning which lay between the lines. The poor girl wrote like one out of her senses; and the writing was here slow and laboured, there rapid and all but illegible, all through full of erasures, as though she had stopped herself in the act of setting down impulsively her wild thoughts.

She was conscious that she had set me an all but impossible task — to rescue Celia without assistance — and yet was impelled by her strange infatuation for this scoundrel to enforce the restriction. But whatever the difficulties might be, it was certain that I must answer the appeal at once.

Mempach was a small village about twelve miles out of Crudenstadt, and I deemed it best to go there by road rather than by train. I rode and Wilson drove a light gig, so that in the event of my rescuing Celia, we should be able to get her away quickly.

On my way out of the place, I considered very carefully my best course; and I could see nothing for it but to take my chance of a surprise visit. It appeared hopeless to attempt to communicate with Katrine. The house was sure to be watched and guarded with sufficient vigilance to prevent my establishing any secret communications with her; while even if I did so successfully, she herself was more than doubtful of being able to place Celia into my hands.

I had my own reasons, moreover, for not wishing to make more noise over the affair than was actually necessary. I had no taste for melodrama of any kind; and my great object was to get Celia away with the least possible disturbance; so that we could hurry out of the country and back to England. As soon as I had found out which was the house, I drew rein and called to my servant.

“I am going to that house, Wilson, and I expect to find Miss Celia there. If all goes well, I shall soon be out again and she will be with me. You must find some place where you can fasten the horses and be within earshot to bring them up the instant I call. You must wait for me however long I may be — all through the night if need be; but don’t go away unless either Miss Celia herself or I come out to you. If she should come, do whatever she tells you; otherwise wait for me.”

Although I had a keen distaste for melodrama, I was not blind to the fact that I was running a considerable risk in venturing alone into the house where von Kronheim was contemplating the execution of his plan. I had taken the precaution of providing myself with a revolver therefore, and as I approached the gloomy sombre place I was glad I had done so.

It was a strongly built, square house of roughly hewn stone, with small windows, the lower ones barred; and in none of them was there a light, although the dusk had commenced to gather. A formidable looking place enough, and as I glanced at the windows on the possible chance of seeing some signal from Katrine, I experienced a singular foreboding of impending danger.

But my first experience was a stroke of great luck. I clanged the bell and thundered at the knocker, and when a man-servant opened the door I stepped in at once, as though I were expected. To my surprise the man fell into the same error.

“You are the doctor ? “

“Where is the patient ? “I asked in the brief curt tone of a busy professional man, laughing to myself at the fortunate chance which had timed my arrival at the moment a doctor was expected. The man showed me into a small room close to the wide hall and begged me to wait a moment.

But this was not at all to my liking and the instant he had left the room I opened the door and finding the hall clear, crossed it and mounted the staircase.

I would have given a hundred pounds for a sight of Katrine’s face then, and when I reached the top of the stairs I stood a moment in sheer perplexity what to do. I could see the doors of half a dozen rooms or more, but they were all shut and formed so many conundrums to me.

The light was now dim in the house, and no lamps had been kindled, so that if only I could have guessed which was Celia’s room I could have made a dash with her for liberty.

It was no time to be squeamish, however, and taking the doors as they came I knocked lightly and opened them in turn. The first four were empty and as I paused at the fifth I heard men’s voices within and laughter. The key was in the door, and thinking that the fewer men I had to deal with just then the better, I turned it softly.

Just then I heard steps cross the hall below. I guessed it was someone going to the “doctor,” and knew my time was growing short. I hurried to the next door; it opened just as I reached it, and to my intense delight Katrine Borgen came out.

Her astonishment on seeing me was profound. She started, stared open-mouthed at me for a moment, and would, I thought, have uttered a cry; but she recovered herself very quickly, put her finger to her lips with a gesture of warning, closed the door behind her and then whispered :

“How did you get here ? “

A moment sufficed for me to explain the servant’s mistake as to the doctor and that the mistake was on the point of being discovered in the room below. Cunning sharpened her wits, and telling me to hide in one of the empty rooms, she ran downstairs and across the hall to the room where the servant had left me.

“Where’s that doctor?” I heard von Kronheim’s sharp strident voice say. “That fool of a man said he left him here.”

“He’s with mother, Karl, I found him here and took him up,” answered Katrine, readily.

“Why did you do that ? Haven’t I said often enough that I must see everyone who comes to the house ? “

“Shall I go and fetch him down to be inspected ? “she asked snappishly and with a short dry laugh. “Is it more important for you to see him or for him to see my mother ? “An excellent piece of acting.

The answer was an angry muttering as he left the room and re-crossed the hall. Katrine remained there half a minute and then singing unconcernedly came back to where I was waiting in such feverish anxiety.

“Where is Celia?” I asked instantly. “We have not a second to lose. The real doctor may arrive at any moment and this trick may be discovered.”

“It will take time to get her away. The Duchess watches her like a lynx, and that awful man, Schwartz, is also on the look-out. If I had only known you would be here ! “and she wrung her hands helplessly.

“You couldn’t know that. So be quick and see what you can do,” said I, insistently. “We may still be successful. Quick, which is her room ? “

“On the floor above; but the only way to it is by a staircase leading through that room “— and to my dismay she pointed to the door which I had locked, — “and in that Karl has three friends always on guard. But I may get her down, I will do my best.”

“Well, be quick,” I cried, and unlocking the door quietly, I stood aside as she went in. The men were playing cards, but they stopped as Katrine entered, and one of them spoke to her with a familiarity akin to’insolence, which was eloquent enough of the footing she occupied in the house.

Katrine made no reply, and I heard her run up a flight of stairs as I turned back to the room to wait with a restless impatience that was barely endurable. It seemed an all but hopeless quest, well as matters had gone so far; and as I realised it I could have cursed von Kronheim and all his precautions.

Even now that I was in the very house itself, I wall but powerless. I could not hope to do anything by force, unless Katrine would relax her hampering condition; while the guardianship of Schwartz, the lynx-eyed vigilance of the Duchess, and the presence of von Kronheim’s three friends, threatened to be more than sufficient to thwart any efforts of mine which cunning could prompt.

More than that, I had placed myself in a position of possibly extreme embarrassment by the manner in which I had entered the house. The moment the real doctor arrived, the trick by which I had gained admission would be discovered, and I should find myself compromised in a degree which von Kronheim would know well enough how to turn to my discomfiture.

These and a hundred other disquieting thoughts chased each other through my mind as I waited, and the minutes of Katrine’s absence lingered like hours until every nerve in my body tingled with fretful irritation, and I was at length driven to risk everything and commence a search for Celia by myself. I could not keep quiet a moment longer.

I crept out on to the landing-place on a scouting expedition, when I heard a sound that made my heart stop and then rush on wildly with excitement.

“Good-evening, gentlemen.” It was Celia’s voice, and I heard the men in the room move and murmur a reply, and the next moment the door was opened as I drew back hastily to my shelter.

How she had accomplished it, I know not, but Katrine had brought Celia from her prison, and an instant later the two came out into the corridor, Katrine throwing back a jest to one of the men and speaking with a light raillery that was a splendid mask for the seriousness of the crisis. In the laugh that followed, she locked the door.

When Celia and I were once more side by side, hands, eyes and hearts too, rushed together for the moment that was far too full for any words. She was looking well; beautiful, radiant, confident and full of courage as ever.

“I knew you would come, Stanley,” she murmured, with such a trusting, happy smile that set me longing to kiss her. But it was no time for such demonstrations.

“There is not a moment to lose,” cried Katrine, who was now very pale and trembling. “I will run down first and see that the way is clear; “and she hastened on in front.

Celia and I were hand in hand; she was smiling and quite calm and cool. I confess I was not. I was too full of excitement even to appear cool. I was half dizzied by the sudden lifting from the depth of despair to the height of confidence. Everything had gone well and another moment would see us out of the house. Celia free and once more in my care. Katrine reached the top of the broad square staircase, when she stopped suddenly.

“Karl ! “she whispered, and held up her hand; and we stood breathless as his heavy tread crossed the hall from one room to another. It was a moment of grim suspense, and the sense of danger steadied me instantly. Knowing the risk that at any moment someone might come upon us from behind or might raise the alarm in that locked room, I signed to Katrine to run down at once, and open the door for us to take our chance. She hesitated and for half a minute she stood listening; and peering to ascertain whether von Kronheim was coming back.

The delay was fatal. There came a loud knocking at the front door, and clanging of the bell.

“The doctor,” cried Katrine, with a great catching of the breath, as she reeled and had to steady herself by the balustrade rail.

“Come, Celia,” I whispered, and we ran down the stairs to the door.

As we neared the bottom von Kronheim who was standing in the doorway of one of the rooms caught sight of me, and with a loud oath and cry came rushing forward.

I drew my revolver. “Out of the way. Don’t you dare to try and stop me,” I cried fiercely and levelled the weapon at his head.

CHAPTER XX

THE CHALLENGE

For an instant von Kronheim stood staring at me half afraid, half defiant, and then he showed signs of giving way.

“You won’t murder me in my own house ? “he cried.

“Stand aside, or take the consequences,” was my reply, hotly spoken. His motive was to gain time — mine to get away. If Celia and I were not outside before the men upstairs could break open the door, at which they were now battering and kicking violently, we should not escape at all.

Von Kronheim glanced up the staircase in angry and anxious impatience, and then back to me.

“They are caged in your own patent gaol,” I said, “and you may look in vain for their coming ; “but at that moment I heard ominous sounds of the door above splintering and giving way under their attack, and I knew there was not a moment more to lose.

“You can shoot me if you please, Sir Stanley, but you shall not pass here,” said von Kronheim, gathering his courage and resolution. “It will be murder.” And he stood by the door and barred our way.”

“Is there any other way out of this house?” I asked Celia, for I was all loth to fire in cold blood.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Count von Kronheim, you will surely let us pass,” she added, to him.

I turned to Katrine for the information, but in her lover’s presence she seemed helpless.

“I would do anything else for you, Celia, but this is impossible,” he said.

“You drive me to this, then,” I cried. “I would rather avoid any trouble of the kind, but Celia’s liberty is everything to me, and if you don’t move away I shall fire.” I spoke with such deliberation that he saw I was in grim earnest.

But Katrine saw this also, and with a cry she threw herself upon me, clung to my right arm and struggled for the possession of my weapon, her fear for the man she loved overcoming every other thought and feeling.

In an instant the position was reversed. Surprised by the sudden attack, I let the revolver fall clattering to the ground, and as von Kronheim picked it up, I realised with inexpressible chagrin that the whole chance of Celia’s escape was destroyed. The look on my antagonist’s face changed instantly from hesitating fear to malicious triumph, as he turned on Katrine who was exhausted by her effort now, and leaned against the wall white and breathless, and said with a sneer:

“Your repentance comes a little late, Katrine, but it’s very useful, none the less, and I shan’t forget it. Meanwhile, as the little drama is over, hadn’t you better go back to your room, Celia, and leave Sir Stanley and myself to settle our differences together? “

“I shall not go back to my prison ! “cried Celia, with great spirit; and darting forward she tried to undo the fastening of the door. Von Kronheim seized her arm roughly to prevent her, and the sight so infuriated me that in my turn I sprang upon him and thrust him violently backward. At the same moment I heard the door above give way, and the men from there came streaming down the staircase followed by the Duchess Marie and old Schwartz. We were beaten, and recognising that matters had taken a turn in which no good could come to Celia from any personal encounter between von Kronheim and myself, I threw him off and stood to await developments.

At that moment the person outside, who must have been sorely puzzled by the noise which we had made during the long time he had been kept waiting, gave another rousing peal at the bell and thundered once more impatiently on the knocker.

One of the men who had come from the room above made a movement as if to open the door, but von Kronheim, who in the midst of the excitement kept a very cool head, checked him with a gesture.

“Keep silence, if you please, and get the hall clear. Go into the room there — all of you,” he said, in a low, quick tone. But Celia was in no wise disposed to obey, and perceiving the possibility that help might come from the stranger, upset his plans and disconcerted him by sending up loud cries for help.

He turned upon her furiously, and thinking he meditated force, I stepped between them. It was a bad move, for it allowed the Duchess Marie to seize and drag her away, and before I could interfere the Count’s three associates closed round me.

“It is useless to resist, Sir Stanley,” said von Kronheim, but as at that moment Celia called to me in a tone of despair, I shouldered the foremost of them out of my path, thrust the second a vigorous blow in the face with my elbow, and was dashing after her when von Kronheim and the third man threw themselves upon me. The other two promptly joined them, and such a rough-and-tumble struggle began as I had not had since my football days.

It was hopeless, of course. I could not fight half a dozen men, and as Schwartz and the servant also took part, I was compelled to give in.

But I did not yield until I had given more than one of them abundant proofs of my strength and that I knew how to use it; while the noise we made as we floundered and dashed about the place, and the shouts I sent up must have caused the man outside to think murder was being done. But they got me down at last.

“Will you give me your word to offer no more resistance, Sir Stanley?” asked von Kronheim.

“No, I won’t ! “I cried, furiously. “You are an infernal scoundrel and a cursed coward to boot; “and I sent up another loud shout for help, until one of the men clapped an impromptu gag over my mouth, while the others bound my hands and legs; and in this fashion I was carried upstairs and flung on to a bed, two of von Kronheim’s men being left in the room to keep watch.

I was beaten — utterly and hopelessly beaten; and as soon as the inevitable sting of humiliation at my physical defeat subsided and the wildness of my rage abated sufficiently to enable me to think collectedly, I realised with bitter mortification the rash blunder and folly of the attempt I had made.

Nothing could have been more fatuous than to provoke such an absolutely unequal trial of strength. The worst that von Kronheim could have done could not have been so bad as the result I had achieved; and I lay gnashing my teeth and groaning in spirit as I fed my imagination with thoughts of what might have happened and how much better things might have gone had I kept my temper and relied on my wits instead of my muscles to defeat my antagonists.

It was small consolation to know I had hurt them more than they had hurt me, or to form bitter resolves to punish every man who had taken part in my overthrow. This would not help Celia; and while I lay chewing the bitter cud of failure, heaven alone knew what might happen to her.

The thoughts of the probably sinister results to her of my blundering hot-headedness was my most poignant trouble in that most troubled night. Her bright conspicuous courage, her unfailing trust in me, the love which had shone in her eyes as she had greeted me when we met, and the despairing cry for help which had been the sorrowful dirge of our parting, all came in turn to plague me and fill the cup of my self-upbraiding and remorse to overflowing.

I had had the chance to save her and had failed; she had been actually in my hands, and I had let her siip away; we had been on the threshold of escape when I had let the door close upon her faster and tighter than ever. The very effort I had made to rescue her had but added to the tightness of the bonds that held her, and had in all probability hastened the execution of the infamous scheme of the marriage which it was all in all to us to prevent.

I lay some hours racking myself with the tortures of these thoughts, until Nature mercifully came to my relief and I fell asleep.

How long I slept I do not know, but when I awoke was to find some one removing the gag from my mouth, while another man unfastened the cords that bound my hands and legs. This was being done by von Kronheim’s orders, who stood watching while they were carried out.

“You can leave us and wait in the corridor. If you hear me call, come at once,” he told them; and as soon as we were alone he said to me:

“I am sorry you made this necessary, Sir Stanley, but you have only yourself to blame.”

The mere sight of him was enough to give spurs to my rage, and if my limbs would have obeyed my will I could have found it in me to throw myself upon him then and there and renew the struggle on equal terms. But the rush of the released blood, when the tight cords were taken from my arms and legs, robbed me of all capacity to move. And in the interval while feeling and power were returning, I had time to reflect, to see the uselessness of a policy of sheer force, and to curb my temper. I would have no more recourse to violence until Celia was either free or lost to me forever, and then I vowed there should be a reckoning.

I held my tongue therefore, and made no reply.

“You won’t help yourself by being stubborn. I have come to propose terms. You had better listen. I suppose you can see now that violence won’t pay you any more than sneaking like a thief into my house.”

His tone and words were both deliberately provocative, and for a moment I did not see his object. Unscrupulous as I knew him to be, he was not the kind of man to come for the mere purpose of jeering and sneering at me because I was helpless.

“I have no need and no desire to make any terms with you,” I answered, and then by a curious trick of memory something which until that instant I had entirely forgotten in my agitation, recurred to me.

The fact that Wilson was waiting for me close to the house. When I did not appear he would be certain to take some step or other; what, I did not know, but it would assuredly be something shrewd that would bring me help. “You don’t suppose I am quite so foolish as to venture in here without making due arrangements to secure my getting out again,” I added, following up this thought.

“I neither know nor care what you have done. Whatever it is, it will be useless for the purpose of stopping me.”

“Possibly, I am content to wait and see,” I said curtly.

“You mean you’re content to wait somewhere else than in Saxe-Lippe,” he retorted, with a sharp, shrewd glance. I affected to shrug my shoulders in indifference. “I know that you have been ordered out of the Duchy,” he added.

“Anywhere is better than here,” said I; but his knowledge of the fact irritated me.

“May be. But before you speak so lightly, you had better know more about what has happened. I don’t pretend that this visit of yours has been a welcome surprise, and it has necessitated a change in our plans. The Duchess Marie has taken her daughter away from here already, and I am going to join them where you will not easily find us. That is one result. The second is, that my marriage to Celia will take place a little earlier than we intended — a pleasant thought for you, no doubt; and if you decline to agree to my terms, I shall let the Duke’s people know where you are to be founo that you will be crossing the frontier in their charge while I am making Celia my wife. Any later steps you may take will be useless — too late.”

The man knew how to play on my feelings in all truth, and for the moment -I was so mad with rage, that I had to put the strongest curb on my tongue, to keep back the angry words that rushed to my lips. But Celia had already suffered more than enough through my hot-headed folly, and I made no answer, though he waited, for one with a sneer.

“You English have accommodating tempers, on my soul ! “he exclaimed, in his disappointment. “But when Celia is once in my arms and her kisses on my lips, I may perhaps find consolation for your cowardice — or shall I call it prudence, in keeping your temper under provocation ? Sweet Celia ! “

I could have choked him for his words, but I saw his object now, and was not fool enough to walk into the snare he spread before me. Instead of fuming I began to grow cool at sight of the danger ahead.

“I have told you once, before, Count von Kronheim, that I would meet you when and where you pleased, and so I will when my cousin’s safety is assured. Until then, my life is not mine to risk. You can keep back your taunts until the time when a tithe of them will be more than is needed to provoke me. Celia will never be your wife.”

“A most prudent Englishman, certainly.”

“I have made one mistake through losing my temper. I will not make another.”

“You would rather be put across the border by the police than have a chance of freeing her. In God’s name, a. plucky fellow.! “. .

“What chance do you mean ?” I asked, coldly.

“I will give you the chance if you are not too much of a coward to take advantage of it.”

“What chance do you mean?” I repeated in the same level tone.

“We will fight for her,” he cried hotly, his eyes flashing and his face reddening suddenly, “ and I will make you eat the insults you heaped on me in the recent struggle.”

“Thank you, I have had experience of your methods of fighting. Put Celia in safety and you will not need to seek me.”

“I am not an assassin, Sir Stanley.”

“I am not so sure of that,” said I deliberately. “A man who is coward enough to kidnap an innocent girl and base enough to put her in the charge of a mad woman for his own foul purposes, is not very likely to stop very far short of murder, if the need arises. And you have done that and worse.”

He clenched his fist and raised it as if to strike me, but started and checked himself, while a look rich in devilish malice spread over his face and glanced from his dark evil eyes.

“Aye, worse than that, perhaps,” he said, viciously, in a low tone, his teeth set close. “ How much worse perhaps even you scarcely guess yet. You forget how long Celia, my Celia, my wife that is to be and despite all you can do shall be, has been in my power, mine, alone here. My wife that shall be, do I say, rather my wife that now — must be.”

No pen can paint the look which accompanied the words and their foulness and evil accomplished his purpose, for my passion broke its bonds and with deep oath of rage, I sprang from my bed and was throwing myself upon him when with a loud cry he called his companions to his assistance, and stood back with them.

“I’ll choke that lie in your throat if I die for it,” I cried.

“Now will you fight ? “

“Yes, where and as soon as you like,” I cried passionately, reckless of all else in the world but the burning desire to punish him for his foulness.

CHAPTER XXI

THE NIGHT

The instant he had succeeded in getting me to accept his challenge, von Kronheim’s manner changed completely. He dropped his tone of sneering insolence so promptly that I saw it had been assumed in order to goad me into fighting him, and for the moment I half regretted that I had allowed myself to be so stung into fresh rage by his lies as to have agreed to fight.

He spoke in a calm and level tone, bore himself with a cool self-possession and treated me with a studied and almost dignified courtesy of manner which constituted a striking testimony to his powers of self-command.

“This gentleman, Sir Stanley Meredith, and I have an old quarrel, gentlemen,” he said to his two companions, “and we have agreed to settle it here and now. Unfortunately, Sir Stanley has no friend with him, and circumstances make it impossible that one should be sent for. I trust you will need no assurance that your interests will not suffer on that account,” he said, turning to me. “These gentlemen are both well-known supporters of my family, Captain von Unger and Captain von Schimmell, and either of them will act for you as honourably as for me.”

The two men bowed and twirled their moustaches as I looked at them both and liked the appearance of neither.

“It is desirable in your interests that in case anything should happen to me there should be someone able to speak to the facts from my side, and as my servant is almost within call, he had better be present,” I replied in a tone as level as von Kronheim’s. “He will be an independent witness.”

“He is alone?” he asked, after a pause.

“He is alone.”

“I have your word that you will return with him at once if you go to fetch him ? “Nothing could have shown so pungently as this the change in him, or have so tended to restore my confidence that treachery was no longer contemplated.

“Certainly, I will give you my word,” I replied.

“Captain von Unger, will you see that Sir Stanley can leave the house to fetch his servant? “ and with a bow the two stood aside forme to pass, while the third man escorted me downstairs, opened the front door and allowed me to leave the house alone.

The chill night air cooled me refreshingly as I walked quickly to the gate of the grounds and called out for Wilson. The faithful fellow was close at hand keeping his vigil patiently, and came at once.

“I’m glad it’s you, sir, I hope you are safe. There have been strange doings in the house and I thought something must be the matter when you didn’t come and I saw Miss Celia drive away.”

“I want you in the house, Wilson,” I answered. “There have been strange doings as you say, and they are not finished yet. What time is it ? And how long since Miss Celia left ? “

“Almost five hours, sir. It was just ten when she went; and it’s close on three o’clock now. I didn’t know whether to follow her, Sir Stanley, or, in fact, what to do.”

“I wish you had; but you were right all the same to obey my orders.”

“Thank you, sir. I was sorely puzzled.”

We said no more then and went back to the house, and I was returning to the room upstairs when Captain von Unger said:

“If you wish me to act for you, Sir Stanley, I will do so; and we can go into the room here to consult.”

“As well you as another,” I answered, ungraciously, but added: “I am obliged to you for the offer, sir.” He bowed and led the way into one of the rooms on the ground floor.

“You will probably desire to make some arrangements in view of possibilities, and after we have settled preliminaries 1 will leave you alone with your servant for that purpose. You are the challenged party. Do you choose pistols or swords ? I presume from the turn matters have taken the fight will beá outrance?

“We will fight with pistols and under any usual conditions that ensure fairness to both parties.”

“There is no chance of avoiding the meeting?” he asked, as though the question were little more than a necessary formality.

“None whatever, so far as I am concerned,” I replied. “The thing has to go through, and let it be done as speedily as possible.”

“I gathered that would be your wish. I will see von Schimmell. Excuse me; “and with a formal bow he left us, Wilson staring after him in consternation. His face was as pale as if he had seen a ghost when he turned to me and asked:

“Are you going to fight, Sir Stanley ? “

I told him very briefly so much as I deemed necessary of what had led up to the meeting with von Kronheim and that he was to be an independent witness that everything was fairly and honourably done on both sides.

Then I hurriedly completed such preparations as I had to make and wrote letters which I gave to him to deliver in the event of my being killed.

To my sisters I penned very brief notes, charging them with certain requests; then I sent my lawyers instructions as to certain affairs that remained unsettled, and lastly tried to write to Celia.

This was the most difficult task of the kind I had ever essayed. As I sat in dire perplexity how to begin the letter, I seemed to realise something of the shock which the blow would cause should the letter have to be delivered, and my heart failed me at the thought. At last, when the time was running short, I wrote hurriedly:

“MY DEAREST.

“I may call you that now surely, for before you commence to read this, Wilson will have given you the news which brings the letter to your hands. I fear I have proved a sad moral coward since I had not the courage to resist certain taunts of the Count von Kronheim, but must needs rush into a meeting of which this letter is the epilogue. I have served you badly, Celia; and as my uncle foresaw, have proved a most indifferent guardian of yourself and your interests. Heaven knows it has not been through lack of love for you that I have blundered, and it is of the irony of things that when I would have served you best I have served you worst. My last word to you must, therefore, be an apology, a plea for forgiveness; a regret that my power to help and cherish you has proved so woefully short of my desire that my love is almost shamed. It is a small thing to say my last thought will be of you — for all my thoughts are of and for you — of the love I bear you and the love that I know you bear me. May God be good to you, and uphold your brave spirit and mercifully spare you from the fate which my feeble hands and wits have proved so incapable of averting, and, indeed, seem to have brought nearer. My one love, good-bye.

“STANLEY.”

I did not stay to read through what I had written, but closed the letter and sealed it, and placed it and the others in a large envelope, sealed that, endorsed it, “To be opened only in the event of my death,” and gave it to Wilson with strict instructions how he was to act in case I fell.

The good fellow was much affected. I knew that he was attached to me; and the business being strange to him, he was very nervous and had considerable difficulty in maintaining his self-composure.

When I had completed my arrangements and had given him all my last instructions, I sent him out of the room to wait by the door, and call me the moment Captain von Unger returned.

I do not think I was afraid. I was not conscious of any fear, but I certainly was full of regret that I had allowed myself to be forced into meeting von Kronheim before Celi:.‘s safety had been secured. That was certainly the most pungent of my feelings at the moment; and could I have drawn back with honour and have postponed the fight, I would certainly have done so.

But it was impossible; and I had to consider, therefore, how I should act towards my opponent. Should I do my best to kill him ? I had no desire to do so; indeed, I had the strongest repugnance to the thought of taking a fellow-creature’s life. My rage was gone now, although the memory of his foul words burned in my soul like a branding iron on the soft flesh. His offence was of the rankest, and merited any punishment that could be inflicted. Moreover, I knew that he was bent upon killing me if he could, and however loath I was to spill blood, the instincts of self-defence prompted me to do my utmost.

If I were to fire in the air and he were to miss me, we should only have to fire again, and the thing would go on until he assuredly would kill me in the end; and I was no Quixote to endure that.

Another thought in this connection was the certainty that if I were to kill or even seriously wound him, Celia’s safety would be secured, even if I myself fell. Matters had reached such a pass in Saxe-Lippe that any long delay in von Kronheim’s schemes would certainly cause its overthrow. The whereabouts of the Duchess and Celia could not be indefinitely concealed from the Duke’s agents, and the discovery would mean the instant collapse of the scheme.

Upon this reflection came another that startled me. To attempt to kill my antagonist from any such motive was murder, not dueling. To go outside the facts which had led to the duel for an incentive to kill von Kronheim amounted to murder, and the thought disconcerted me and plunged me into a whirl of casuistical self-communing, from which I had not freed myself when Wilson knocked at the door to tell me of Captain von Unger’s return.

“Everything is arranged, Sir Stanley,” said the officer; “von Schimmell and I have settled everything. The fight will take place in the ball-room of the house; a large, empty room, well lighted, and we have made the conditions as exactly equal as possible. Your witness here will of course be present, and can examine everything for himself on your behalf if you wish. Shall we go there ? “

I assented briefly and followed him.

“You will each use your own revolver,” he told me. “And both weapons are loaded in one chamber only; the distance will be ten paces, and if after the first shot is fired neither is hit, the weapons will be loaded again, and the fight will continue until one of you is incapacitated.” He gave the details with a businesslike brevity and directness that was distinctly welcome. It was clear that he was no novice in such matters.

We were first to reach the room and a glance showed me that it was as described, well enough suited for the grim work that was to be done in it. It was a large square room, and a number of lamps had been arranged along each side of it, so that there would be no glare behind either von Kronheim or myself, either to help or hinder our aim.

“The fixing of the lamps caused the long delay, Sir Stanley,” said my second, with the air of a man who has had a difficult job to do and feels he has done iell. “It was awkward to prevent reflections in some of the mirrors from interfering with the sighting, but I think we have succeeded now. You will take your positions where those chalk marks are on the floor “— two large crosses had been chalked on the bare boards — “and of course the choice will be decided by toss. Here is the Count.”

Von Kronheim came in then with his second; and I noticed he had changed his dress and in place of a shooting jacket was wearing a long closely buttoned frock coat. It was significant of his mood of set deliberation to leave no chance of success unutilised; but as my own jacket was black, there was no reason for complaint.

He bowed very formally to me, looked closely at Wilson, who was pale and nervous enough to make me half ashamed of him, and crossed to the other side of the room. His second explained to him the arrangements just as mine had to me and he bowed his assent to them.

The two seconds then stood together in the middle of the room and beckoning Wilson to approach, handed him a large silver coin.

“You will spin the coin and let it fall to the ground,” said my man, “and Captain von Schimmell will call while the coin is in the air.”

Wilson’s fingers trembled so that he could scarcely toss the coin up, and I saw von Kronheim smile disdainfully. But after a couple of ineffectual efforts he sent it spinning up almost to the ceiling. “Head ! “cried von Schimmell, and then down it fell with a ring and clatter on the bare boards and rolled almost to my opponent’s feet. Wilson examined it.

“It is head, sir,” he said, almost apologetically, as he glanced at me, and picked up the coin.

“The Count will take this end,” said his second, and Captain von Unger looked round to me to take mine.

“I think von Schimmell has made a mistake,” he interposed to me, “I should have chosen this end had I won; “and his tone was only a little short of gleeful.

Up to this moment von Kronheim had not spoken, but before he took up his position he addressed me.

“I suppose your witness knows the reason “

“Excuse me,” interposed Captain von Unger, quickly, “but is not this quite irregular? Considering how far matters have now advanced, any communications should take place through us.”

Von Kroeheim frowned and made a gesture of impatience.

“I have no objection,” said I quickly.

“I say I suppose your man knows the cause of this business, Sir Stanley. You have told him ? “

“So far as I deem it necessary.”

“Earlier in the evening your master called me an 1 infernal scoundrel ‘and a ‘cursed coward ‘; and as soon as I was at liberty to do so, I challenged him. You ought to know that. I will not live with that insult unavenged.” The last words were like an uncontrollable burst of passion, in the strongest contrast with his apparent self-control.

Wilson looked at me for instructions but I made no sign and did not say a word; and he answered for himself, somewhat inconsequentially:

“Very well, sir.”

“I have one word to say to you, Sir Stanley; “and he showed us all a crumpled envelope which he had been

holding in his clenched hand and then laid it on the large stove covering. “I told you there was something I would give you a chance of fighting for. In that envelope is the information you will need. Gentlemen, you are witnesses, if you please, that if I fall that envelope is to be immediately given to Sir Stanley Meredith. I am ready,” he added to his second, and immediately took his place.

Captain von Unger then brought me my revolver, showed me that it was unloaded, asked if it was mine, and when I assented took it away to Wilson, and told him to load it. He was then shown von Kronheim’s weapon, loaded also in one chamber only, and they were then handed to us.

“You will be good enough to stand with the weapons lowered, gentlemen,” said my second, “ until the signal is given to you, when you will raise your weapons and fire. I shall give the signal by counting one, two, three in the customary way, and at the word three you will fire. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” we said both together. We stood staring steadily each into the other’s eyes and von Kronheim’s face was hard set and his brow frowning -heavily. For my part at the supreme moment I had no recurrence of any of my former doubts about doing my utmost to shoot him. The sight of him had scattered all my qualms and weakness. He was dead set on taking my life if he could possibly do so; I had seen it in his change of dress; I had read it in his passionate outburst ; I read it again now in his look of deadly concentrated hate; and I was no tame fool to be shot down in cold blood without an effort.

“One, two, three,” came the signal in measured tones, and at the last word I took a rapid but careful aim and fired. The pistols spoke almost together; but in the excitement and strain of the crisis we had both fired wide of the mark, and neither of us was injured.

Von Kronheim hailed the result with a scornful laugh and a muttered curse. Then as soon as it was manifest that we were untouched, the pistols were loaded again, and we made ready for a second shot.

Again the signal came in the same measured tone; again for a critical second I glanced along my opponent’s pistol barrel, at his evil, sinister face, and again the weapons rang out almost simultaneously. To my profound relief I found myself uninjured, although I caught the hiss of the bullet, and felt the wind of it, as it whizzed past my head.

But von Kronheim was hit; his weapon fell with a loud clatter, and he uttered a furious oath as his right arm dropped helpless at his side. My bullet had gone a long way from where I had aimed, but had struck him as we afterwards found on the forearm, about an inch from the elbow, breaking the bone and making a horrible smash of the whole joint.

It must have caused him intense pain, but he clenched his teeth and forced every sign of it — except a deepened pallor — out of his face, while he demanded that the fight should go on, that neither of us was incapacitated, and that he could shoot as well with his left hand as with his right.

I was altogether unwilling to fight a crippled man, and Captain von Unger, though afraid of offending his patron, was of my opinion. But the Count was strenuous in his demand.

“It shall go on. It was so settled. Those were the terms. I protest against any other result. I am perfectly able to shoot and” But even as he spoke decision went against him. Despite his desperate effort, speech failed him. He swayed unsteadily and had to lean for a space on his second. Then he made another frantic attempt to stand alone, collect his strength, and to assert himself. But his wound would not be denied, and with a last horrible curse on me and his ill luck, he reeled against Captain von Schimmell for the second time, and slipped to the ground.

CHAPTER XXII

TRICKED

The cause of von Kronheim’s collapse was plain the moment we examined his wound. My ball had not only smashed the bones of the arm but had also damaged the artery and he was losing blood at a rate which would soon have cost him his life.

Fortunately I knew enough about things to be able to improvise a tourniquet, and so stop the bleeding until the doctor should arrive, and as soon as I had finished the task I got ready to leave. No attempt was made to detain me, and Captain von Unger went so far as to offer me an apology for the part which he had taken earlier against me.

“Do you know the nature of the work that has been going on here?” I asked him, pretty sharply.

“I am an old friend and close associate of von Kronheim,” he replied, with a half apologetic, half evasive air.

“You will have to answer for this business some day. There will be a big bill to pay when the reckoning comes; and the old Duke is not the man to exact less than the uttermost farthing.”

“I am a Prussian; “and he shrugged his shoulders.

“And Berlin takes a keen interest in the matter too.”

He did not like this and winced a little.

“What makes you think that, Sir Stanley? “

“I have my information direct from the German Embassy in London.” • He changed colour slightly.

“At least I have done my duty honourably by you. You can bear testimony to that.”

“And I am obliged to you; but that does not affect the rest of the affair.” He paused a moment, glanced at me, frowned and then shrugged his shoulders again, as he replied:

“Well, I must take my chance. We do not yet know how the matter will end.”

I understood him. If von Kronheim could yet get the throne with Celia as his wife, he would be in a position not only to protect but also to reward those who had assisted him in this scheme.

At that moment Wilson came to me and asked if he should go for the horses. He was still very nervous, I thought, and when he repeated the question because I did not reply instantly, I noted signs of suppressed excitement in his manner. No sooner had I assented than he rushed away at once, leaving me to follow.

I walked leisurely after him, thinking closely of all that had happened and what had better be my next move. Matters had gone much better than at one time seemed probable. Von Kronheim was badly wounded and would probably be incapacitated for some days at least, if not longer; but I had lost Celia none the less certainly; and where to look for her, I could not even hazard a guess.

Moreover, I was no sooner out of the house than I reflected how important it was for me to learn the doctor’s opinion about von Kronheim. I was profoundly glad I had not killed him; but I hoped very sincerely that his wound would lay him by the heels a sufficiently long time to enable the tangle to be set right.

I stood *by the gates revolving these things when Wilson came hurrying up with my horse and the gig, and urged me with an impatience quite strange to him to mount and ride away at once.

“There’s no need for your hurry, Wilson. No one is likely to stop us now. You needn’t be nervous. I am not sure indeed that I oughtn’t to go back to the house and wait for the doctor’s report.”

“Don’t do that, Sir Stanley, don’t do that, sir, pray,” he urged with such insistence that it annoyed me into injustice.

“Well, my good fellow, if you’re afraid, be off with you. Only don’t worry me.”

“It’s not that, sir, I’m not afraid, but “he checkeimself and added: “Of course, I’ll wait if you wish it, sir.”

Remembering that his nerves had been badly shaken by the events of the night I mounted my horse and rode off slowly. But I was so anxious to know the doctor’s report, and to learn how the wound would affect von Kronheim’s movements, that before we had covered half a mile I drew rein.

“Wilson, one of us must go back and find out what” the doctor says of the Count’s condition. It’s the key to everything just now, and I must know it.”

“Begging your pardon, Sir Stanley, I don’t think you’ll find it necessary.”

“What are you talking about, man ? “I cried angrily. “What do you mean ? What is it that’s making you like this?”

“I think I know where to find Miss Celia, sir,” he replied, to my utter amazement.

“Where to find Miss Celia ! Why, how on earth did you find that out ? How can you know it ? “ and then he told me.

“I didn’t want to say yet, sir, but I suppose I must. While you were all busy with the Count von Kronheim I took that letter which he put on the stove before you fought, sir, and — and here it is; “and he held it out to me.

“You have acted very wrongly, Wilson. You don’t understand these things, I suppose, but I wouldn’t take that letter and read it for any consideration on earth; “I spoke as indignantly as I felt. “You have served me very badly in this, very badly indeed. You must drive back at once to the house and give it back to Captain von Schimmell and explain.”

“I was afraid you’d take that view of it, sir, so “

“What other view do you think I could take ? “I cried angrily.

“So I read what was in it, Sir Stanley.”

“What, read it ! That’s the act of a scoundrel, Wilson, and I’m ashamed of you,” I cried. I was furious at this breach of honour. “Don’t tell me what you learnt, and come back at once and explain.”

“I thought of Miss Celia, sir, and wanted to save her.”

“She is not to be saved by dishonourable tricks of that kind. You have done me a shameful injury; “and without another word we returned to the house where I sent for the two Captains and made Wilson tell his own story.

“He has told me nothing of the contents of the letter,” I said to them at the close, “and all I can suggest is that you detain him here until after the time when the information thus gained can be of any assistance to me. You have brought this on yourself, Wilson, and you have robbed me of your help at the moment of all others when I most need it. Let it be a lesson to you.” He was terribly downcast and woebegone; and the two Captains did not know what to do.

“You have acted as I should have expected you to act, Sir Stanley,” said my late second; “ but I really would rather not take the responsibility of keeping your servant here.”

“How is the Count von Kronheim ? Can you ask him ? Is the doctor here yet ? “I asked.

“Yes; and he gives a half-and-half account of his patient. The loss of blood weakened him, but there is no danger to life. He will carry a stiff arm, for the injury to the joint is irreparable; but he hopes to save the arm.”

“He will be confined to bed for some time then,” I suggested.

“An ordinary man would be, but von Kronheim is not an ordinary man; and that is all I can say. He certainly is not well enough yet to be asked about your servant.”

“Well, do as you will,” I said, “but the matter is one he ought to settle; “and I rode off by myself then very much disturbed by the incident. The loss of Wilson’s help at such a juncture was infinitely embarrassing; and it increased enormously the difficulties of my task.

I had but one step that I could now take. I must keep watch in person on the house until von Kronheim left it, and then follow him wherever he went. He was certain to go to Celia sooner or later. It did not seem possible that he would run the risk of being moved until at any rate his wound had been rested for some hours; but as Captain von Unger had said, he was no ordinary man, and I was sorely perplexed what to do.

It was all but essential that by some means I should let my sister know where to send to me, in the event of any further communication coming from Katrine, but the time necessary for me to go to Crudenstadt and return to Mempach would be more than enough for von Kronheim to slip away from the village and so escape me. And if I once lost sight of him, I might whistle for the chance of rinding him again in time to thwart the scheme I knew he was meditating

Wounded and partially disabled as he was, he would still be formidable to Celia when backed by the support of her mother; and this consideration made me stop and turn back.

No sooner had I formed the resolve to watch the house than the practical difficulties of the task became apparent. It was a secluded house shut in by trees, and although I could watch the front, I could not at the same time know what went on at the back. For all I knew there might be a dozen ways of escape from the place by the back, and all my vigilance might be the merest waste of time.

It was broad daylight when I got back to the house and commenced my watch. At first I sat in the saddle in full view of anyone who should enter or leave. I soon perceived the fatuity of this and fastened the horse to a gate some distance away, and went back to watch on foot, concealing myself as best I could considering the circumstances. Then came another trouble.

As soon as matters were quiet, the want of sleep and the fatigue and excitement of the night’s doings overpowered me with drowsiness, until only the strongest exercise of will prevented me from falling sound asleep. At length I could only fight against my fatigue by walking up and down. The moment I stood still or sat down a desire to sleep fastened on me, and fight against it as I would, my eyes closed, my muscles relaxed, and I had to move about again.

In this exhausting conflict with sleep some hours seemed to pass and the country folk began to come out to commence their daily work. Then both hunger and thirst attacked me and I was beginning to speculate how to deal with the problem of keeping at my post and yet getting food, when my faculties were all suddenly quickened up and my attention claimed by certain movements at the house.

A man whom I recognised as the servant who had admitted me in the first instance came out from the gate, looked sharply up and down the road for a couple of minutes, and seemingly satisfied with the result of his scouting, went back to the house, leaving the gate standing open. Something was going to happen; and all thought of sleep, food and drink was merged in a feeling of intense gratification that I had taken the precaution to conceal myself.

Then I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and carriage wheels near the house; and it occurred to me instantly that von Kronheim, despite his wound, meant.

to make a bolt of it. He concluded I had rushed off to Crudenstadt and he meant to be away before I could get back to set any watch upon him; and I hugged myself upon my shrewdness in returning at once instead of giving him some hours’ grace.

After some minutes Captain von Schimmell came to the gate and like the servant looked sharply up and down. They were resolved to get away without being observed, and were obviously growing anxious to be off. Having satisfied himself that the coast was clear, he went back and the next moment a large heavy travelling carriage drawn by a couple of horses came swinging out into the road at a sharp trot and turned in the direction away from the village.

At the possible risk of being seen I strained my eyes to catch sight of the inmates; but the windows were both up and all that I could see was that one of the persons in it was lying across the seats, swathed in rugs or bedclothes. But that was enough for me. Von Kronheim had been patched up by the doctor and was taking the risks of the journey; and as soon as the carriage was well away down the road and no one was to be seen about the house, I ran to my horse, mounted, and set off in pursuit, at a pace which allowed the carriage to keep some two or three hundred yards ahead.

The pursuit was of course the easiest thing in the world. The carriage was too heavy to travel quickly and my horse was good enough to have kept up with it had the pace been twice as fast. My one consideration was to keep far enough in the rear not to rouse suspicion, and as there was only the driver on the box this was a simple matter. He was a dull clown too, for he never once turned his head to see if anyone was following; and I might have ridden up to within fifty yards of him without exciting suspicion.

As soon as we had put a couple of miles between us and the house, the pace slackened considerably. The man probably had instructions to go gently on account of von Kronheim’s weak condition; but fast or slow was all one to me.

The morning air was refreshing; the ride was doubly welcome after the strenuous events of the night; I was in action once more, doing something for Celia’s sake; and was moreover so certain of being able to keep the quarry in full view, that my spirits rose with every half mile we covered.

I could have laughed aloud at the easy way in which I had been able to dupe von Kronheim and in anticipation of his chagrin when he discovered that I was close on his heels, despite his promptness in wishing so much to elude me by this hurried flight.

Hurried indeed it could scarcely be called, however, and after we had travelled for some two hours and had covered perhaps ten miles, I began to feel surprise that he should be content to move so slowly. But the choice of pace was his affair, not mine, and so long as I knew where he was going, it was a matter of indifference whether we travelled at fifteen miles an hour or five.

Presently, however, the carriage came to a dead stop. The coachman got down from the box and examined the harness of one of the horses; and apparently found something very much amiss, for he stopped so long in putting it right that I was amazed von Kronheim should endure the delay. This occurred at the foot c somewhat long hill, and when at length the man mounted to the box again, I saw him look back along the road and then deliberately light his great pipe before urging his horses to mount the hill.

They went so slowly up the ascent that I began to get impatient, for the road was very straight and I could not venture to follow until they were close to the top; but as soon as practicable I followed at a much brisker pace.

That the man should smoke while driving his master struck me as a very curious fact. Von Kronheim was about the last man in the world, I thought, to allow such conduct in his coachman, and I was conscious of a feeling of uneasiness as I followed up the long dragging hill. But I was soon to understand things. When I reached the top, there was no trace of the carriage. I spied a turning on the right some little distance further on, where a belt of trees stood at the corner. I hurried to this and found the carriage drawn up, the horses browsing the grass at the wayside, and the coachman lolling on the box smoking contentedly and lazily.

When he saw me, he grinned knowingly.

“A fine morning for a ride, sir,” he said drily, touching his cap.

I made no reply but rode up to the carriage window and looked into it; and he turned round and watched me and grinned again, this time more broadly, and not liking the look on my face he straightened his features.

“What does this mean?” I asked angrily. But I had no need to wait for the reply. I had been tricked and like a fool had fallen into a trap that a booby might have expected to be laid.

“I was told to drive straight away for a couple of hours or so, sir; that’s all I know.”

I jumped from my horse and opened the carriage door. The rugs were as I had seen them and Von Kronheim was not and never had been in the carriage.

“Where is your master, fellow ? “I cried.

“How am I to know? “was the sullen reply. “He was at the house when I left; perhaps you’ll find him there now.”

I waited for no more. I had been thoroughly fooled; and I mounted again and set off on my return ride as fast as my horse could travel, wild with myself for my blindness and stupidity at having been caught by so shallow a trick, and lamenting with bitter vexation and anxiety, the loss of the valuable time and the now certain escape of von Kronheim.

CHAPTER XXIII

A STRANGE DEVELOPMENT

The scene had been carefully planned to outwit me. Some one had no doubt seen my return and had easily guessed my intention to follow Von Kronheim should he leave the house. They had therefore laid this little trap, and I had blundered head over heels into it like a wooden-brained fool.

The ride back was a bitter experience indeed: suggesting as it did at every step the contrast between the mood of exultant self-satisfaction in which I had pursued the leisurely carriage, chuckling to myself like an idiot on my astuteness, and my present smart of shamefaced humiliation at my defeat.

I am afraid 1 was coward enough to vent some my anger on the poor patient brute that carried me, urging him constantly with whip and heel to great exertions, and grumbling and cursing him when he lagged in the swift pace I wished to maintain. The beast was hungry and unrested, and lacking the incentive which made me oblivious to the claims of nature, and must have bewailed the evil stars that had brought him out on such a luckless expedition. But I expected him to show as keen a relish for the work as I did; and when at length his strength began to give out and I was perforce compelled to let him walk, I railed at him as though he and not myself was the cause of all the trouble.

But his very fatigue stood me in good stead. It was the first sign of my returning good fortune and saved me from what might have been an even greater embarrassment than any I had yet experienced. Before we reached Mempach he had been for some distance too tired to travel faster than at a jog trot, and just as the house came in sight he fell into a walk. My intention had been to ride in hot haste to the house and ascertain for myself whether von Kronheim was still there; and if he had gone to endeavour to get some clue to the direction he had taken; and had my horse been able to travel fast I should have dashed up all unsuspecting to the door. The slow pace gave me enforced opportunity of looking about me, however — an opportunity which fortunately I used even while it girded and irritated me; and what I noticed caused an abrupt change of intention.

As I drew near the house I saw one or two men moving warily among the trees and bushes which skirted the side of the grounds; and this circumstance struck me as so strange, that instinctively I checked myself as I was in the very act of turning my horse into the gate. Next I observed two or three saddled horses standing half-concealed among some bushes; the saddles and bridles being of the regulation police pattern, and the horses of the heavy stamp of military or police animals.

The meaning of this discovery flashed upon me instantly. Either the police had got wind of von Kronheim’s whereabouts and were hunting him, or in addition to having fooled me away from the place he had prepared this reception for me on my return. In either case I must keep out of their way, and with a fervent self-congratulation upon my own shrewdness, and no thought that in truth I owed it to my horse’s fatigue, I held on my journey and breathed a silent prayer that I might not be seen.

But they had seen me and no doubt had been watching my approach with close interest. I had barely passed the first gate before a man sauntered out and looked at me with a studied unconcern that was obviously assumed; and before I had gone another twenty yards two others came out from a gate in front and crossed the road to speak to me.

“Good-morning,” said one of them, and I reined up and returned his greeting. “You seem to have traveled far and to have had a rough time of it.” Considering all I had gone through in one night, his comment was no doubt more than justified by my appearance.

“Yes, my poor brute is nearly done up. We’ve covered some fifty miles without a rest. Isn’t there a place somewhere here where I can get him a feed, and myself a breakfast ? I think I passed a village about here on my way out.”

“Where have you come from ? “

“Along the Lebenstein road; “and I pointed back. Fortunately I knew the name of the road. The two men exchanged glances, and one pointed to a mark on the horse and whispered to his companion.

“What is your name, please, whose horse is that, and where are you going? “

“I am an Englishman named Stanhope, staying at the Sonne Hotel in Crudenstadt and I hired the horse from there. I am on my way back there now.” It was fortunate I had told the truth, for the man had recognized the horse as coming from the Crudenstadt Hotel. “There is a village here, isn’t there ? “I added, quietly.

“Did you come this way ? “was the next question, ignoring mine.

“Oh, yes — but it looks so different in daylight,” I replied with a smile, as if to explain my ignorance.

“What time did you start ? “

“About three o’clock, I fancy.” This was true in the letter, but it had been three o’clock en the previous afternoon; and when he appeared more satisfied with the answer, I added with another smile: “I am woefully hungry, gentlemen, if you would like to ask me any other questions I wish you would put them to me over breakfast at the inn of the village — if there is one, that is.”

“What was your business in taking a long ride at such an unusual time?”

“I had no business to take it at all,” said I, laughing broadly, “and have gained nothing by it unless we call a most unusual appetite a gain. I have that. But one does these eccentric things on the Continent; and then goes home and talks about the wonders of sunrises and all the rest of it. But, upon my soul, I should have been much more comfortable in my bed at the Sonne than in watching the sun rise.” I spoke quietly and naturally, and the two men smiled.

“Your name is Stanhope?”

“Yes, and if you will call on me at the Sonne, any time this afternoon I shall be delighted to see you; or, if you will ride back with me now, I shall be more pleased, for it will give me company at the fag end of a tiresome journey. But I must breakfast first.” •

The two men whispered together a moment and then drew aside.

“You will find an inn in Mempach about a mile further on, and while you are at breakfast, I will join you and ride with you into Crudenstadt.”

“Good ! auf wiedersehen, then,” I returned, and I urged my horse into a trot, as the two men went back to the house. I knew I had had a narrow shave of arrest, and that the danger was not yet over, and so soon as I was out of sight I hustled my horse into a semblance of a gallop, getting out of him the last remaining ounces of strength.

At the inn I sent him to the stables and ordered breakfast; but finding from a time-table sheet that a train started for Crudenstadt in a few minutes, I left the house at once and hurried to the station and was in Crudenstadt before the police official would probably have reached the inn at Mempach.

I drove to my hotel hurriedly, settled my bill, arranged in regard to the horses I had hired, and on the plea that I was called in all haste to England, I had my luggage carried to the station. In this way I broke the trail when the officials should come in search of Mr. Stanhope; and the same afternoon went to the Rheinhof, a larger hotel where guests were more numerous, taking now the name of Blyth.

I knew that the risks of discovery were now vastly increased; but it was impossible for me to leave the Capital until I had communicated with my sister, and recommenced my search for von Kronheim. I was afraid to trust a letter to Alice to the post; the telegraph was out of the question; a messenger might be equally dangerous; and I saw nothing for it but to risk being my own messenger. Accordingly I stayed in the hotel until it was dusk and the hour came when her husband would probably be away at the restaurant which he frequented in the evening, and then making such changes in my dress as I calculated would help to prevent my too immediate recognition, I wrote a note to her and went to the neighborhood of her house and loitered about on the remote chance of catching sight of her.

This kind of loafing hide-and-seek work in semi-disguise was profoundly distasteful to me, and they were bitter minutes I spent looking furtively for a spy among the people who were in the streets and keeping an eye upon the door of my sister’s house. The knowledge that I was being hunted by the police was the main cause of this uneasiness; and the sense of degradation, combined with the stinging consciousness that I had so disastrously fooled away my advantage in the morning rendered me extremely unhappy.

The feeling became at length intolerable. I grew to dread the glance of every man in the street, and to expect every minute to feel a policeman’s hand on my shoulder. I ended it therefore by crossing the street, knocking at my sister’s house and asking for her.

To my chagrin she was not at home, and the servant who opened the door to me was one whom I knew to be too closely in her husband’s confidence for me to entrust either a message or letter to his care. Neither was I willing to enter the house lest the man should have some instructions either to go and tell his master at once of my arrival or to apprise the police. Saying, therefore, that I would call later, I turned away, and then had a most annoying and humiliating experience.

Chancing to stand a moment in one of the streets near and glancing back I found that the servant was following me. It was coming to a nice pass when one was to find spies in one’s own sister’s household, I thought indignantly; but it was easier to be indignant than to shake the fellow off, and he stuck to me doggedly for an hour and more, until I began to think seriously of driving him away by force.

But chance favoured me. He was so intent on keeping me in sight as I hurried through one of the busy streets, that he ran against a burly working man who by a happy chance was full of either beer or temper. He seized my spy in his rough strong grip, pinned him against the wall with one hand while he menaced him with the other and growled out a quantity of very loud angry abuse. When I turned the corner the altercation was still in the shrill stage, so that I escaped, and jumping into a carriage was soon far away from the scene.

I drove back to my sister’s house and delivered my letter, and returned to my hotel dispirited, worn out, and profoundly ill at ease.

Despite my anxiety I slept heavily till daylight, when I lay revolving the events of the previous crowded hours and trying zealously to see a way out of the maze. It seemed hopeless to continue the quest for von Kronheim single-handed; more than once it occurred to me to go on the morrow to General von Eckerstein and seek his aid, let the price of it be what it might.

It was my hour of weakness. The sense of failure lay heavy on me. I was full of alarm for Celia. In my then mood it seemed so selfish to prolong the danger to her in the mere hope of gratifying my own wishes. Heaven knew I loved her well enough to set her happiness and safety above my own pleasure and desires.

Then as a counterpoise came the remembrance of her own unflagging bright courage. If I felt troubled and uneasy and allowed myself to be dispirited, how much more cause had Celia ? And yet how determined and quietly dauntless she had been; with what pride she had resisted those who would have coerced her; with what steady resolve she had stood her ground; and how unconquerable her love ! Was I to reward her by running to the Minister in trembling haste to give her up ?

The thought of her steadfastness after all she must have gone through, shamed my hesitation and scattered the cobwebs of my indecision to the four winds of heaven. I would find her, if I had to search the Duchy from end to end, and the coming day should see me hard at work again, let the difficulties be what they might.

As I lay planning the steps I could take, and rating myself for my faint-heartedness, it occurred to me that after all my search would not have to be over a very wide field. And in this regard my surprise visit to Mempach would almost certainly bear fruit.

It was not likely that von Kronheim would have provided more than one house as a refuge in the neighbourhood of Crudenstadt, and as I had driven him out of this it was most probable that he would have been compelled to send Celia and her mother either to his own house — which was a considerable distance from the capital — or to that of some one of her friends.

The number of these was not likely to be great, and a little ingenuity might soon discover any probable ones; and I was fortunately able to set inquiries on foot at once.

My sister came to see me and I found her brimful of curiosity about my plans and anxiety for my safety. Her great gift for assimilating the concerns of her neighbours promised to stand me in good stead, for I found that she knew almost everything about “that horrible creature, Karl von Kronheim,” as she termed him; and she gave me readily a number of places where I could usefully begin my search, and promised to get me several others. But what was even more valuable, she told me of a man in Crudenstadt, named Stein, who would be able to render me great assistance in my search.

But I had to pay a price for the information by taking her largely into my confidence. I told her what had happened at Mempach, what my fears were concerning Celia, and a good deal more.

“You’ll not do any good, Stanley,” she said, very gravely and earnestly. “You can’t fight against all these Court influences. You can’t do it. You don’t know Crudenstadt and I do. The old Minister, von Eckerstein, is a man who is never beaten. If you were to succeed in actually getting away with Celia scot-free from Saxe-Lippe, he’d have her back again by fair means or foul, and your marriage would be declared void or morganatic or some such horrible thing; and you’d be worse off than ever.”

“I don’t take him quite so seriously as that, Alice,” and I was inclined to smile at her exaggerated notions of his power. “At any rate I shall try; but I don’t wish to compromise you.”

“You will fail; and what’s more, I don’t think you ought to succeed. The question of the heirship to the throne here is vastly more important than your marriage; you must see that. And Celia herself would probably see it, too, six months hence. If I were found to be helping you it would get both me and the Major into an ugly complication.”

“The Major is sufficiently aware of that, I fancy,” said I, drily, and my sister looked sharply at me. “I mean that he considers it his duty to report my movements to the authorities.”

“It is his duty, in a way; but Rudolf would never do anything to injure you, Stanley.”

“My dear girl, pray don’t think I mean to set you two by the ears; but if you feel that you must tell him anything that passes between you and me about this matter, then we’ll act no more together. He is a Saxe-Lippe officer, I’m an Englishman, and our interests in this clash; and that’s all about it.”

“I shall help you all I can, of course, and as you don’t wish it, I won’t say anything to Rudolf. But it’s skating on thin ice for us all, and we may go through at any moment. But I’m your sister, and you don’t suppose. . . .”

“No, I don’t, Alice,” I interrupted, with a smile, “it’ll all come right in the end,” and I said no more, deeming it best to leave matters where they stood after her declaration. A day or two at the most must surely see the climax of the matter.

As soon as Alice left me I went in quest of Stein, and not finding him at his house left word for him to come to my hotel; and I went back there to wait. It was better to lose an hour or two than to attempt a search by myself and although I found the enforced delay very irksome, it turned out most luckily.

I had been waiting some two hours when a note was brought me from my sister with an enclosure which I recognised with infinite relief to be in the handwriting of Katrine. I tore it open and the contents filled me with greater amazement, I think, than anything which had yet occurred.

“DEAR FRIEND,

“All is well. A most remarkable development has occurred, and in a few hours — a day perhaps, or at most two days I shall, I believe, be able to restore Celia to you. Be patient. I cannot tell you where we are; nor is it necessary for you to know. There is to be a marriage, but it will be mine; for Karl will marry me, not Celia. I am the happiest girl now, who once was the wretchedest. It is wonderful. I can scarce believe it. But it is true — all true. And you know you can trust me. All the blackness is passed and the sun shines again in my life. Patience, and you shall know all.

“KATRINE.”

CHAPTER XXIV

THE WORK OF RESCUE

I was still studying this most unexpected letter, marvelling at the news, and speculating whether it was genuine or another turn of von Kronheim’s cunning, when Stein arrived.

He was a keen looking little fellow with the reddest hair I had ever seen. The mention of my sister’s name was a ready passport to his good graces.

“I need your services for a time,” I said to him. “I cannot say how long, but I will pay you well if you serve me well, whether the time be long or short. The friend who has given me your name, Frau von Haussmann, assures me I can depend absolutely upon your confidence.”

“Absolutely,” he said, nodding his head with a jerky emphasis. “I would do anything to serve that lady. She saved the lives of my wife and child by her kindness and help when I needed both, and I don’t forget. In what capacity can I help you.” I liked his quick, intelligent, direct manner.

“I have to make some inquiries and want your assistance.”

“I, am at home in that work. What are the facts ? “

“Since I sent for you I have received a letter which may much simplify matters, but unfortunately there is no address to it.”

“The post-mark?” he asked quickly.

“Unfortunately I haven’t the envelope. It was sent under cover to another person who forwarded it to me.”

“Can I go and see that person ? “

“Yes, of course, you can; I had not thought of it. It is the Frau von Haussmann herself. Go and see her and ask for the envelope in which the letter came that she has just sent me. You will, of course, speak to no one else.”

His answer was a sharp glance of rebuke, as though I had reflected on his shrewdness.

“I will go to her house and follow her if she is not at home. Will you wait for me here ? “ and without hearing my reply he was off.

The promptness with which he acted instead of wasting time in talking was distinctly pleasing, while his foresight in anticipating the possibility of Alice’s absence and his condensed statement of an intention to follow her and a request that I should wait for him was full of promise.

In half an hour he was back.

“Frau von Haussmann is out, has been called away somewhere, and will not be back until the afternoon,” he reported with the same condensed directness. “I thought it best to come back and you can tell me some of the facts. I can then, with your consent, of course, make my arrangements.”

Alice’s absence was disappointing, but it was clear we could do nothing to follow the clue of the envelope until she returned, and I therefore told him so much of the facts as I deemed necessary. We had to trace von Kronheim, and I asked him to suggest the best steps to take. I told him, of course, the likely places which Alice had mentioned to me.

He sat twirling a straggling end of his ragged red beard meditatively for a couple of minutes.

“You say the Count is hurt, badly ? “and his shrewd little eyes seemed as if he had already penetrated the secret of the duel and knew all about it.

“Very badly.”

“Bad enough to need a doctor’s help ? “

“Yes. Certainly, I should say.” He smiled.

“Then it will be the simplest thing in the world. A question to the doctors in each of the places you name will tell us all we want to know without going near the Count’s house. Expense is no object, I understand,” he added, as he was running his eye over the list of places, and when I assured him it was not, he was on his feet ready to start.

“We can do these three places and be back here this afternoon in time to look for the direct clue. That may fail us, too, and this will in any case fill in the time usefully; “and in this brief abrupt manner he took charge of the expedition, and we set out at once on the search.

There is no need to give the details of the work he managed to cram into the space of a few hours, but it gave me an insight into his rare energy, method and capacity. We found no trace of von Kronheim, but he was not in the least surprised or cast down in consequence.

“We know three places where not to look,” he said; “and in a hunt of the kind that is a great deal; “and leaving me to find my way to the hotel, he hurried to my sister’s house.

At the hotel I waited an hour for him and he then brought news that Alice had not returned.

“But I didn’t lose my time,” he added, in his jerky manner. “I went in to wait and managed to get left in the room where Frau von Haussmann received her letters and I examined the waste-paper basket which I found in it. She is a careful woman and seems to have torn up the envelope. I did not know what kind of writing to look for, so I brought all away that did not appear to me quite useless.” All the time he was speaking he was emptying torn scraps of paper on to my table from his pockets. “If you can catch a glimpse of any writing you recognise, the rest will be easy,” he said, and in a moment I was deep in the task of trying to discover some trace of Katrine’s handwriting among the waste.

“That is’ it,” I cried, at length, pouncing on a scrap with half the word “Haussmann “upon it.

“Good. It’s a peculiar kind of paper, too, and that’ll help us; “and with a dexterity that to me was truly remarkable, he singled out scrap after scrap of the envelope and pieced them together most cleverly. “My child’s fond of this game,” he said once, and then gave a sudden exclamation: “Ah, here we are— Priesburg is the place we’re seeking, Mr. Blyth; “and he held up the scrap with the obliterated stamp and the postmark, and showed me where and how it fitted to the rest of the envelope.

A reference to the list of places my sister had given me completed the address — Herr von Hoffnung, Schloss Hoffnung, Priesburg.

“Shall we start, sir ? “cried this most indefatigable man. “It’s only fifteen miles or so from Crudenstadt to the southeast. We can drive it in little over an hour, and get there — it’s a few minutes to six now — say by half-past seven at the latest.”

“Yes, go and get the best horses you can hire; “and almost before the words had left my lips he was out of the room, and I was looking forward with a pleasure I can scarcely put in words to striking once more a good ringing blow in Celia’s cause. What a contrast from my overnight despondency ! But there, who could feel despondency with such a man as this Stein to keep one’s confidence at boiling point.

It was a glorious evening for the drive; the air was bright and clear; the horses strong, quick-moving and fresh; I was confident of success; and I thoroughly enjoyed the journey. On the way I took Stein somewhat more into my confidence, and we discussed the best means of procedure.

I had no mind for any more heroics such as those of the preceding night, and did not intend to trust myself alone in the house. I had developed a zest for something much more commonplace, and my intention now was to take no risks which could possibly be avoided.

“I think I had better go first to the house, sir,” said Stein, after thinking things out. “ They can’t do anything to me more than kick me out; and I don’t suppose they’ll be any more anxious for a row than we are. If you’ll leave me to myself for half an hour, I’ll warrant to find out all we want to know and to get a letter inside to either of the young ladies.”

“How ? “But he shook his head knowingly.

“Don’t ask how. If you don’t know, you can’t be responsible. But I’ll do it, somehow, — if it’s to be done, of course; and I’m not easily baffled.”

“No, I should think not,” I agreed, with a smile. The contagion of his confidence was remarkable; and after a little discussion I agreed to the suggestion and that I should write a line to Katrine, merely saying I was near at hand, and would leave it to him to get it delivered.

I found Priesburg was a smaller place even than Mempach. It had once been a large village, but the industry had died out; it was full of empty houses, many in ruins, and presented a most desolate and deserted appearance. The Schloss Hoffnung, we learnt, stood three miles out in a very secluded spot in the hills, wild and difficult of access. Altogether a different place from anything we had anticipated. It had been, in times long past, one of the strongholds of the district, and was an ideal spot for the use to which von Kronheim had intended to put it.

We thought first of leaving the horses at a farmhouse about a mile on the Crudenstadt side — the nearest house to the Schloss we were told — intending to finish the journey on foot, but changed this plan because of what the people there told us.

“There’s been a lot of coming and going there today,” said the farmer’s wife. “Rare doings, I should think.” I pricked up my ears at that and listened while Stein questioned. He had a rare gift of insinuating himself into the good opinion of almost every one he met.

“Very gay, are they?” he asked.

“Don’t know about gay. My boy was up there this afternoon and says it looked more like trouble and fighting than pleasuring.”

“Yes, I heard a couple of parties arrived there early this morning, and somebody was ill. You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Don’t know about nice, it’s as full of damp as a rotten orange. Yes, somebody’s ill, sure enough; but there’s been four or five more gentlemen driving and riding up there not long since ; and my boy says they’ve been carrying on in a queer fashion. I wouldn’t wonder if there’s trouble there before long, I wouldn’t. However I mustn’t grumble, for they’ve cleared me out of most everything I’d got in the house. Milk, and eggs, and fowls. But mayhap you know some of the people there, and of course I oughtn’t to talk.”

“No, we’ve only got a little bit of business to do there, and must get on. I think we’d better drive and not leave the horses too far away from us, sir,” he added to me; and we then resumed the journey.

I couldn’t make head or tail of the woman’s story, unless it was the case that the Duke’s agents had got wind of von Kronheim’s movements and were on his track.

“You can’t think of any second party who might be after the Count, can you ? “asked Stein, breaking a long pause. “It’s quite clear there is a second party.”

“Yes, it’s possible. He’s playing a high game, and it may be that it’s got known.”

“Umph! Well, I’m afraid we’re not going to have just the plain sailing we hoped for. When we get near the castle we’ll hide the trap and go on foot tee what it means. But I don’t like the look

Hullo! what’s this?”

The sound of a galloping horse reached us, and round the bend in the lane came a man riding in hot haste. We drew aside to give him room, and with a sharp cry he reined up, throwing his horse on to his haunches as he recognised me. It was Captain von linger, and the meeting was profoundly unfortunate, I thought.

“This is well met, Sir Stanley, indeed,” he said, riding to my side of the carriage. “Are »you going to the castle? There have been strange doings there. Can I have a word in private ? “ He spoke with an air of great excitement.

“I’ll get out and hold the horses’ heads, sir,” said Stein, with his customary quick grip of the position.

“What do you wish with me?” I asked,*turning then to the captain.

“Will you and your companion»help us, Sir Stanley? I was riding for help. It may seem a strange request, but we are in a terrible mess up there. Von Kronheim’s brother has got wind of what he is doing — I believe Hoffnung here betrayed us — and has sent halfa-dozen of his people to the place, and they are just playing the devil with everything. For the moment they’ve got the upper hand, and are even now getting ready to carry of the Duchess Marie, her daughter and von Kronheim, and so wreck everything. But if you and your companion will help us, we can turn the tables on them even now and save everything. But minutes are precious.”

“Why should I save von Kronheim?”

“Because you can save the young Duchess Celia and take her away. I can’t tell you the reason — I don’t know it myself, or I would, on my honour — but I do know that von Kronheim had given up his intention to make the marriage which had so incensed you, and was going to place the Duchess Celia in your charge again. If you will help, I pledge you my honour that if we are successful, she shall be placed in your charge again at once. If Graf Wilhelm gets hold of her, I need not tell you he will never let her go again — at all events, not until he is firmly on the throne of SaxeLippe. To gain that end he might perhaps marry her; but if you know anything of him, you will know the character he bears — as wine to water compared with that of his brother, my friend. She has never been in such peril as threatens her now, Sir Stanley; and this just when she was on the eve of being entrusted to you.”

“What are the chances of rescuing her ? “

“Excellent. We were taken completely by surprise. Von Schimmell is wounded, and von Kronheim is, of course, out of everything, owing to his wound. But they are only six men, and they caught us one at a time. I escaped by rare luck. And if you will help, we can treat them to a dose of their own prescription. Your servant Wilson is locked up in the castle, but I can release him; old Schwartz will make another; von Kruppen is unhurt, and there are the servants. We can do it easily. What say you ? “

I was ready enough after what he had said. I called Stein to us and explained very briefly the position, leaving him free to decide.

“I’ll take my chance, sir, willingly,” he said; and clambering at once into the carriage we started the horses. He might have been an Irishman for his gleeful anticipation of a scrimmage.

When we had gone a little farther up the lane von Unger led us by a side road to the fields at the fear ohe castle, and we stabled the three horses and trap in a barn there and locked them in.

“We can get into the castle by a small door at this end, and I can in a few minutes liberate Wilson and get hold of von Kruppen and Schwartz. Then we will find out where Graf Wilhelm’s people are, and make our swoop on them as seems best. We are seven to six as it is, and shall have all the advantages of a surprise. They will never dream I can get back with help for some hours to come. I thank heaven I met you,” he broke off, earnestly.

He knew the place well and led us successfully under the cover of the shrubberies right up to the wall of the castle to the postern door he had mentioned.

“We shall have to go cautiously now,” he whispered, when we were inside. “Even if they were»to find us we could make a fight for it, but we can avoid nearly all trouble if we take them by surprise.”

“Where are the ladies’ quarters?” I asked.

“At the other end. I believe the idea is to wait until the light has pretty well gone and then leave the castle. They are a rough, dare-devil lot, and not likely to keep too good a watch. But they will need to be handled cautiously, for they are all armed and won’t stick at much.”

We had now passed up a flight of stairs and along a corridor toward the middle of the building, and we came to a deep oriel window recess behind the curtains of which von Unger took us.

“Below us, just a few feet farther on, is the big hall from which large rooms lead, and I expect the men are now down there in the dining-saloon eating, or more probably drinking. Will you wait here while I go in search of the rest of our party? They will have one man, or at most two, posted somewhere in the neighborhood of the rooms of the Duchess and her daughter, and there is just a chance that while I am away some one may pass either up to or down from those rooms. In that case if there is any trouble will you deal with him?”

He went away then quickly and quietly, and his back was scarcely turned before Stein began to show impatience to get to work on his own account.

“I could slip down the stairs and find out where everyone is in a couple of minutes,” he said, persuasively. “And we could have a plan cut and dried by the time he returns. No one would know I wasn’t one of the servants, for there must be at least two different lots of ‘em in the place.”

“You had better wait. We shall be much stronger when we act all in a body.”

“I could at any rate slip upstairs then and find out where the ladies are and what’s happening to them,” he urged next; but again I vetoed the suggestion.

“If anyone looks in here we shall be in an ugly fix,” he murmured, a minute later; and his desire to be doing something made him so exceedingly restless and impatient that when Captain von Unger had been absent nearly half an hour, I could not. keep him on the leash.

“Don’t get too far away from here, but keep within call, and above all things don’t let anyone discover you,” I said as a parting caution. The long absence of von Unger made me anxious and the suspicion crossed my mind that after all some treachery toward

Celia and myself might be intended. Stein left me his restlessness as an uncomfortable legacy, and as I peered out from the curtains at the side of the recess and strained my ears in vain to catch any sound of the captain’s return, I grew ill at ease.

The evening light was waning fast and heavy shadows began to hang about the hall and corridors enveloping the place in a darkening gloom, and still there was no sign of von Unger. The time was approaching when he himself had declared the attempt was likely to be made to get Celia away; and I began to fret and fume sorely at his delay.

There was no sign of Stein either, and although I was quite ready to believe he would be well able to render a good account of himself whatever happened, I was irritated that he did not return.

Then, just as my impatience was passing beyond control, there came a sudden change. I heard a door slammed on the floor below, followed by the steps of some one running quickly across the hall, the smothered sound of the laughter of men, the opening of a door into the hall, and the finish of the laughter loud and strident. Then a man’s harsh voice cried:

“Hullo, you there. Who the devil are you and what are you doing ? “

“I was going to light the lamps, my lord.” This in Stein’s voice.

“And who the devil told you to ‘light the lamps, my lord?’ “was the mocking reply. “Here, Richter, who’s this fellow ? Come down here, sirrah.”

“It’s my usual duty, my lord,” said Stein, “but if you don’t desire it I’ll tell the others it’s not to be done.” I could hear by his voice that he was coming up the stairs, not going down ; and I felt that a crisis was developing rapidly through his blundering.

“Do you hear what I say, you scoundrel, come down here. Devil take the fool, where’s he gone. Here, Richter, go and bring him back, he’s got no business up there.”

“Let him go: he’s only a blundering idiot of a servant,” said a second voice. “We’ve something more important to do than play hide-and-seek with a flunkey. It’s time we were off. The carriages will be here in a moment.”

The first voice growled out an oath and Stein rejoined me.

“It was a near shave, but I’ve got their plan,” he whispered. “I overheard them. One man has gone round to the stables to fetch up the carriages and their horses; two are upstairs guarding the ladies, and there are three below. If we only knew where the captain was who left us here we could catch. the whole lot in a trap.”

Wilson arrived just at that very moment, and brought me the very information we needed. Von Unger sent word that he and those with him were going to surprise the two men upstairs and wished me to prevent any of those who were below from interfering in the event of anything being heard of the struggle. But this I could not do as Wilson arrived just too late.

One of the three had gone upstairs just before Wilson’s arrival and we had heard him say he would call the other two up if there was any need of their presence.

Then came, all suddenly, a cry of surprise from th£ upper part of the castle, followed by shouts and the sound of a struggle.

“By God, there’s something wrong; come quick,” cried the man whose voice I had first heard, and he and his companion came clattering up the stairs.

I darted to the stair head, followed by Wilson and Stein and drawing my revolver I levelled it point blank at the foremost.

“You can’t pass here, gentlemen. Another step and I shall fire.”

They almost tumbled backwards in their sudden astonishment, and we stood thus for the space of some seconds, facing each other in dead silence, while the noise and crash and cries of the struggle going on above us resounded through the castle.

CHAPTER XXV

TOGETHER ONCE MORE

Whoever the man confronting me was, he soon made it plain that it was astonishment and not fear that had checked him, for he looked me steadily in the face and despite my revolver spoke quite calmly.

“By what right do you try to stop me ? “

“By force,” said I curtly. “I have come to prevent your carrying out the scheme you have formed, and I mean to do it.”

“Who are you ? I don’t know you. What has this to do with you ? “

“No matter who I am, but this business has much to do with me.”

“I shall brook no interference from you; stand aside and let me pass,” he cried, angrily and imperiously.

“You will not pass here.”

At this moment a loud cry for help came from above, and then the sound of a pistol shot, followed by a fresh cry in more urgent tones to the men we held at bay. The leader of the two started and I saw his hand go stealing to his pocket.

“If you attempt to draw on me, I shall fire,” I said.

“Look out, sir,” cried Stein quickly, at that moment. He had fortunately kept his eye on the second man, and I had just time to move aside as the report of his pistol fired from behind the leader rang out. The next moment Stein sprang at him like a terrier at a rat and the two went rolling down the staircase in a wild scrambling struggle.

“Help him, Wilson, quick,” I cried, and in the momentary confusion the leader rushed at me and tried to wrest the revolver from my grasp. But I was both taller and quicker hjian he and stronger too, as it turned out, for after a brief, fierce struggle I mastered him and getting a chance I struck him a blow on the head with the heavy barrel of my revolver which knocked all the fight out of him and stretched him dazed and all but unconscious at the head of the staircase.

Wilson and Stein had meanwhile won their tussle, and telling them to bring their man up to his companion’s side I left them to keep guard over the pair while I hurried upstairs.

Matters there had not been going so well with our side, but my arrival immediately changed the position. So long as the fight below had continued, the men above, though hard pressed by von Unger and his companions, had held out in the hope that help would reach them; but when they saw a fresh opponent instead of the sorely needed friend, they recognised the inevitable and gave in.

The victory came not a minute too soon. Von Unger had been hard put to it. The fight had been man to man; he had beaten his antagonist but one of his companions was hurt, while Schwartz would have been overpowered had not von Kronheim staggered from his bed and winged Schwartz’s man with his revolver.

He was now leaning against a doorway, exhausted, white as his shirt and giving directions for the securing and safe keeping of the prisoners.

“It’s a queer turn of the wheel that brings you to my side, Sir Stanley,” he said, turning to me; “but I’m more than grateful.”

“I’ve not come to help you, but to take away Celia,” I replied curtly. “Where is she ? “

“I suppose you wonder why I let her go,” he said with a smile that was half a sneer.

“I ask no questions, and have nothing whatever to do with your motives. I shall not leave without her.” He looked at me malignantly as though inclined to refuse to let her leave. “If you raise any obstacle now,” I said hotly, stung by his look and the thought of treachery it roused, “I shall know what to do. I hold the balance here and can undo in a minute what I’ve helped to do.”

“I’m not going to stop her, if you’ll promise one thing — to get her out of the Duchy without a moment’s delay. I suppose that’ll suit you ? “

“I make no conditions with you. Where is she? ‘* At that instant there came a loud clattering and thumping at a door close by.

“There’s your answer. That’s the dam’s heels, and the filly’s close by,” he cried, laughing at his coarse jest. “Take her, and the sooner you’re away the better. Wait. Von Unger, you’d better bring her out, or if the mother sees you, Sir Stanley, she may stop you. She don’t love you, and she isn’t pretty in her tantrums.”

But here Schwartz turned round with a look of bewilderment in his eyes, and as if accidentally, put himself in Captain von Unger’s way before the door of the Duchess’s room. Von Kronheim saw this and laughed.

“Get out of the road, Schwartz,” he cried, “ you’re useful fellow in your way but you don’t understand everything. And don’t be an old fool now.”

“If the young Duchess is going to leave, sir, I must go too, and Her Grace must be told,” said Schwartz, doggedly.

“Didn’t I tell you not to be a fool, man ? “this with rising anger.

“You made an agreement with me, sir, and I must respectfully ask you to keep it,” was the reply in the sullen tone I knew so well.

“And I must respectfully ask you to mind your place and not interfere with my arrangements,” was the mocking reply. “Sir Stanley, if you will wait in one of the rooms below, the young lady shall join you within a few minutes. You have my word.”

“I will give you ten minutes,” I replied curtly, and seeing the prudence of avoiding a meeting with Celia’s mother, I went downstairs and took Wilson and Stein with me.

I could not understand the course things were taking nor von Kronheim’s motive for this complete change of plan; nor did I care to waste time in asking him for it. To have Celia again in my charge was all I desired, and 1 had convinced myself that von Kronheim meant to give her up. Katrine had spoken of it; von Unger had assured me the project of the marriage had been abandoned; von Kronheim’s manner had confirmed this; and his short passage with Schwartz had afforded corroboration. Most important of all, however, I was in fact master of the situation; and with Stein and Wilson to help me I knew I was quite capable of getting my own way, by force if necessary.

But there was no need for force, I waited in the hall a few minutes and then Captain von Unger came down escorting Celia.

My heart gave a great leap of delight as our eyes met and she put her hand in mine with a tender little pressure. Despite all she had gone through and all the strain and suffering, she was as confident, proud and radiant as ever. Captain von Unger was tactful enough to leave us at once.

“Believe me, Sir Stanley, this is a pleasant duty to me,” he said. “The Count desires me to say that he urges you to leave the Duchy without a moment’s unnecessary delay.”

“One moment. Miss Katrine Borgen, she is well ? “

“I can answer that,” declared Celia. “She is more than well; she is radiantly happy from some cause. Vastly changed, Stanley. And Captain von Unger, I should like to thank you for the courtesy I have always had from you. The Captain has been a great friend to me, Stanley, when one was badly needed; “and she held out her hand to him.

“You have laid me under a deep obligation, then, Captain von Unger,” I said, as I shook hands with him.

“Take my advice then and lose not a moment in crossing the frontier. The young Duchess has many powerful enemies; she is known now to many of them by sight, and this makes them vastly more dangerous; “and with that we parted.

I sent Wilson and Stein to get the carriage, saying we would follow, and Celia and I were once more alone together. The evening had now closed in and the great hall was shrouded in sombre shadows. Celia glanced at me questioningly and with a delightful ending of diffidence and her old self-reliant buoyancy.

“You have won, Stanley. What are we to do next?”

“Thank Heaven that all is well and that we are together again,” I answered earnestly.

“I have done that already; and I didn’t mean that.”

“I shall never cease to do it all my life, Celia.”

“I like to hear that,” she said, and smiled. “It is promising.”

“Promising?” I echoed, not understanding. She lowered her eyes to the ground and fidgetted with her glove.

“Promising, I mean, from one’s guardian.” Her tone was indescribably significant; and I saw her meaning and laughed in my turn.

“But it is not that kind of guardian who says it.” She glanced up swiftly and as I moved closer to her, drew away with an elaboration of diffidence that was quite unnecessary.

“I have won my battle, too,” she said, looking me full in the face. What play she could make with her eyes, and how lovely and full of love they appeared to me.

“Do you mean in the conversion of a guardian ? “She laughed softly.

“Is it that you won’t understand ? Can you button this glove for me?” and she put her left hand out to me and seemed to challenge me with her laughing eyes. I took it in mine, and as I felt the ring I had given her on her finger, I saw her little ruse.

“Never anything but a comedy,” I said, recalling the old words and pressing the ring through the glove.

“It will never need to come off now, Celia, at least not until “

“It is very dark here,” she interrupted.

“But I think I can protect you now,” and I slipped my arm round her waist and drew her close to me.

“Isn’t that a great lack of self-control — for a guardian, Stanley?” she asked, severely, turning her laughing winsome face up to mine.

“Then what is this? “and I stooped and kissed her on the lips, and for the time all else in the world was forgotten by us both. We were only roused from dreamland by the sound of wheels outside on the gravel drive.

It was Wilson with the carriage.

“I waited and as you did not come, sir, I thought perhaps you wished me to bring the carriage to the door for Miss Celia.”

“Quite right, Wilson, I was detained,” I said; and Celia laughed.

“Have you finished now, Stanley?” she asked with mischief in her eyes and unconcern in her voice.

“No, but I can finish another time,” I answered gravely; and then we both laughed with a happy heedlessness of everything except the new delight of being together in complete understanding.

“Where are we going, Stanley ? “she asked, as we went out to the carriage.

“For the life of me, I don’t know,” I cried with reckless irresponsibility to circumstances; and in all truth I did not. “You have driven everything out of my head,” I whispered. “I am going back to London, of course; but which way, I haven’t at present an idea.”

“I have no things,” said Celia, producing a strong feminine consideration.

We can remedy that in the first town we come to,” said I; “but I wonder “I paused.

“Couldn’t we go to your sister’s house in Crudenstadt,” she suggested.

“I was at that moment thinking about it. But I am afraid of her husband. He is devoted to the Duke’s interest and knows all about things, and would very probably rush off to the Duke’s people and say you were there; yet I don’t see where else to take you. Could you manage without things till we are over the frontier?”

“I could manage without things for twelve months rather than fall into anybody’s clutches again,” was her energetically spoken reply.

“Well, we’ll get out of this first,” and I whipped up the horses, and rattled along the country lane for a mile or two. Then I pulled up and held counsel with Stein.

The nearest point of the frontier was thirty-five miles, he told me, a very difficult road which would be almost impossible to find in the darkness. The next nearest point was at least some seventy or eighty miles, by a better but very circuitous road, also difficult to pick out at night. The nearest station was about eight miles, a little wayside place from which in all probability there would be no trains till the morning. All of which information was infinitely disappointing.

But Stein was ready as usual with a plan. He suggested that we should return to Crudenstadt and that Celia should go to his house, where, he declared, she could remain in perfect safety until it was convenient to leave.

“Mine is only a small house, of course, but perhaps it would be safer than a bigger one; and I’ll pledge myself for the young lady’s safety. My wife will be only too proud to be of help.”

“That will do very well,” said Celia, readily.

“I would rather get away at once,” I declared; but I could not help recognising the difficulties in the way. It was exceedingly awkward for us to be careering about the country together all through the night with a quite indifferent prospect of reaching any place of safety even in the morning.

“I’m a most troublesome ward, Stanley, I’m afraid,” whispered Ceha, dismally.

“I’m half afraid of Crudenstadt,” said I, in much perplexity.<

“The last place people generally look for a thing is under their own noses, sir,” put in Stein. “There would be a lot of curiosity too in any reachable place if we drove up to-night, as we are with no luggage and proposed to stay. Every official would want to ask no end of questions.”

“Crudenstadt be it, then,” I agreed. What he says is obviously true, but I could not shake myself from misgivings. Celia laughed at them as cobwebs, however, and was cheerful, confident and so intoxicated with the sense of freedom regained, that my uneasiness had no chance of a long life. It was soon chased clean away by the ripple of her laughter, the vigour of her trust in me, the invincible refusal to look at anything but the bright side of matters, and above all, perhaps, by the hundred and one little means she found of expressing her infinite delight at being once more with me.

“I have heard of people being drunk with pleasure, but I never knew before what it could mean,” she said once. “Upon my word it is almost worth while to have endured the suspense just to feel the sweetness of relief at its end.”

She would not say a word about her experiences with her mother, nor discuss the sudden and remarkable change in von Kronheim’s attitude, and would scarcely hear a word about my plans for her.

“I am living in the present, Stanley, can’t you understand ? “and she nestled a little closer to me. *’ What matters past or future either just now? This is an hour of life, let me revel in it and steep my senses, all of them, in delicious ignorance of everything but now. We shall have years to talk about other things and times, and past and future, and discuss and gabble, and chatter and plan, and all the rest of it. But such an hour as this can scarcely come twice in a lifetime; “and when the lights of Crudenstadt began to show ahead of us she sighed and declared she was sorry.

“I should have liked our drive to go on for hours,” she said, ruefully, and then in one of her quick changes of manner and tone she added with a laugh: “and that shows what a little lump of selfish humanity I am. Heigho, but it has been an hour worth living.” And so in all good truth it had.

At the suggestion of the ever-vigilant and thoughtful Stein, we turned away from the main road some distance short of the town and drove in by a bye-road, which took us in a few minutes to a point near his house where he said they had better alight, so as to prevent remark; and I told Wilson to go with them and join me afterwards at the hotel.

“I shall make all preparations for getting away tomorrow as early as practicable, and if I can I’ll get Alice to come and see you,” I said to Celia. “But I shall be guided only by considerations of safety. Goodnight, sweetheart; and God grant all will be well tomorrow. I shall be able to think more rationally and calmly alone, and will plan everything.”

“Irrationality has been very delicious, Stanley. I rather dread sobriety, I’m afraid.” She went away then, and I watched her till the darkness hid her, and then gathered up the reins and drove on to my hotel.

Just as I reached it a disquieting thought occurred to me. I had forgotten to tell Wilson that he must ask for me in the name of Blyth; and if he came inquiring for Sir Stanley Meredith or Mr. Stanhope and was then found to be my servant, it might be enough to set tongues wagging and cause trouble. This bothered me. I could not make sure that even Stein would think of the point, so small and yet possibly so dangerous; and after considering it, I resolved to wait for Wilson outside the hotel.

As soon as I had changed my clothes, therefore, and ordered some supper, I stepped out into the street intending to smoke a cigar on my watch; but even as I passed the door I heard a voice that gave me a most unpleasant shock. It was that of the police official who had accosted me at Mempach. He was sitting at a table in the front of the hotel in conversation with two or three other men. Fortunately his back was towards me, so that he had not seen me, and I stepped back hurriedly into the hotel, my heart beating uncomfortably fast.

At first, I jumped to the conclusion that he had dis-

covered traces of my movements and was at the hotel in search of me; but this I dismissed on reflection as the fear fantasy of a hunted man — and hunted I certainly felt for the moment. When I had shaken off this exaggerated panic, I saw it was much more probable that nothing more than chance had brought him across my path in this embarrassing manner. But even so, the incident was profoundly unwelcome; and the more closely one examined it the uglier it appeared.

In the first place I must, if possible, avoid being recognized, and clearly, therefore, I must not wait to intercept Wilson. Again, if Wilson arrived and asked for Mr. Stanhope, this official’s presence might prove worse than embarrassing. It was certain enough that von Kronheim would have led him to expect me at the Mempach house as Sir Stanley Meredith; my meeting with him there would give the connecting link between the identity of Stanhope with Meredith; and thus the train was now laid to myself as Blyth; and in a moment it might be fired by an indiscreet inquiry by Wilson,

The very fact, too, that I was masquerading under a couple of aliases was enough, in a place of such machine-like bureaucratic routine as Crudenstadt, to constitute an offence against the police regulations; and altogether I felt quite as uncomfortable as I could have felt had I really been a criminal in fear of arrest. It would be too exasperating now at the eleventh hour when Celia herself was safe if I was to be stopped through such a trifle as this forgetfulness to tell Wilson the change of name.

I hung about the office in the hall in the hope that he would come, but even that position I had to abandon after about half an hour, for the official himself came into the hotel and stood talking there with a friend. What I endured in those minutes of suspense would scarcely be believed, so utterly disproportionate to the circumstances was my feeling; and then as a climax to my ill fortune, I heard some one run quickly up the steps and Wilson’s voice ask in his briskest and most consequential manner for “Mr. Stanhope.”

On leaving the hall I had stepped into the dining room, from which I could easily hear what passed.

“There is no one stopping here of that name,” was the reply.

“Oh, yes; there must be. He is my master, and told me to come here for him.”

“Then he has not arrived yet.”

“Perhaps I can help you,” said the police official, interposing in a dangerously suave tone. “I know Mr. Stanhope. He was at the Sonne, I think?”

But Wilson was no fool, and I concluded that he did not like the new speaker’s looks.

“And who are you ? “he asked with almost impertinent sharpness.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Stanhope yesterday at Mempach, and was to have ridden in with him to the Sonne. He invited me there. An exceedingly pleasant man. Tall, broad, with a quick eye and a shrewd manner. Good-looking Englishman travelling here.”

Wilson laughed.

“Oh, dear, no! My master’s a short, red-haired, pimply-faced man; rather bandy-legged, horsey-looking. You couldn’t mistake him. The first thing he would do would be to have one or two stiff glasses of brandy and water. Drinks, you know, like a regular fish. Wired me he’d be in by train. He’s sure to come later on. Will you have a drink with me ? “

Naturally a good liar, I thought; and though I disapprove strongly of lies, I promised Wilson a five pound note in my thoughts for his readiness.

The official accepted the offer of the drink, no doubt to pump Wilson, and it was ordered to be taken outside.

“Shall I reserve rooms for your master?” asked the proprietor next. “And will you stop here yourself?”

“Safer to wait for the next train in, I think. He’s so eccentric, that a wire may come any moment, telling me to go somewhere else.” Then they went outside, and I heard no more.

I was reassured. Wilson when once on his guard was not at all likely to do anything that would embarrass me, and I ate my supper and went to bed in comparative peace of mind so far as that incident was concerned. But it whetted my anxiety to be out of Crudenstadt, and I thought out as carefully as I could the programme for the coming day. If all went well, the next night would find Celia and myself on the English Channel.

But in that calculation I was unfortunately reckoning, as the issue proved, without a due allowance for the astuteness of the Crudenstadt police; and while I slept the sleep of confidence, they were very much awake and hard at work preparing my defeat.

CHAPTER XXVI

NET MAKING AND NET BREAKING

I was up betimes in the morning and felt in excellent spirits at the prospect of speedy departure. As Wilson was not with me, I packed my luggage and had all in readiness when I went down whistling to breakfast.

I had my plans all cut and dried, and had decided that to ensure our safety, Celia and I would leave Crudenstadt by different trains. The through train left at mid-day and made only one stoppage before reaching the frontier station, Angenheim, and I intended that Stein should take Celia as far as that station, with Wilson in attendance, if he turned up in time. I could leave by a slower train an hour earlier and take Stein’s place as escort when the frontier was reached. ‘

It was a very simple matter — but there was no need for any more elaborate scheme — and all I had to do was to communicate my wishes to Stein and, if I could find him, to Wilson. I decided that there would be no risk in my paying a hurried visit to Stein’s house and telling Celia myself what I proposed.

I had just finished my breakfast when my sister arrived, eager to know whether I had any news of Celia and curious as to Stein’s two visits of the previous day.

She was delighted with my news, congratulated me most heartily and affectionately, and expressed a keen desire to see Celia for herself. But this I did not think advisable.

“I think you had better not, Alice. I don’t say there would be any actual risk, but the position is a very ticklish one and as there is just a chance that a visit from you might be noticed, we had better avoid the risk. You can come and pay us a long visit in London as soon as you like.”

“But I go to the Steins’ house sometimes to see the daughter. She does some work for me — sewing and embroidery.”

“It’s very good of you to wish it, Alice, but I really think it would be better not. I was sorely tempted to bring her to you last night, for I was in a great fix what to do; and she was, of course, very keen to see you.

“I’m glad you didn’t, Stanley. I myself should have been delighted, but “

“Well ? “for she hesitated,

“You know what I said about Rudolf’s views and what you thought and well, I’m glad you didn’t,

that’s all.”

“We’ll leave it there and I can thank him for his kind intentions when Celia and I are married.”

“You needn’t be horrid. He would do no more than his duty,” said Alice sharply.

“I don’t care for people who are over swollen with a sense of duty which drives them to do unpleasant things. But we won’t squabble about it.”

“I should like to have seen Celia all the same,” she said as she rose to go, not altogether pleased, as people are apt not to be when they wish to hunt with the hounds and run with the hare. And then came an unexpected and most unwelcome interruption. I had breakfasted in a small coffee room and the door was opened and my sister’s husband entered.

He affected extreme surprise on seeing us; but it was not very well assumed, and did not impose upon me, although it increased my dislike of him and roused my suspicion.

“My dear Sir Stanley, I did not know you were in Crudenstadt. Alice, Alice, why didn’t you tell me ? “and he shook his head at her with an attempt at a roguish expression, while he held out his hand to me. This was not at. all like his usual conduct, for he was of the order of solemn fools, and waggishness sat ill upon him.

I made a show of cordiality, however, and as we talked for a few minutes, he explained with a great deal of over carefulness, that he had come to the hotel to meet a man about a horse. Then he pressed me not to think of leaving Crudenstadt without going to their house, and imitating his humbug I promised to dine with them that day.

He stayed about a quarter of an hour and with quite needlessly profuse expressions of cordiality shook hands and left with Alice, whose face was a study of genuine perplexity.

That his visit was an accident I wished to persuade myself, but could not; although I did not then see its object But as the time was slipping away fast, I let them get away and started for Stein’s house, taking care to see that I was not followed from the hotel.

I found Celia bright and cheerful as ever. She had already made captives of everyone in the small Stein household and received me with such a flush of welcome that the Steins’ daughter smiled significantly as she left us and closed the door.

“Good-morning, guardian,” said Celia, putting both her hands into mine.

“Good-morning, ward,” I returned, drawing her toward me,

“That smile isn’t quite as free as I should wish, Not more troubles, already, surely ? “and her bright eyes searched my face shrewdly.

“No, not troubles. We are together again,” and at that she let me kiss her and kissed me in return.

“Are you very glad, Stanley ? I am — oh, so glad. I think I am about the happiest girl alive.” Then after a pause — a very sweet pause it was too — she looked up and added: “Was there ever such an energetic man in the world before as that Stein ? Do you know I’m ready to start; have been ready an hour or more. His wife and I last night made out a list of the things I should want for my journey, and the two of them were away early this morning and everything was here ready packed when I came down for break fast.”

“Good. I had plenty of proofs of his energy yesterday. Where is he ? “

“Doing something of course, He simply cannot be still. But tell me, you looked worried when you came; why ? “

“Nothing; at least, I think it’s nothing;” and I told her briefly about the incident of the previous night and of my brother-in-law’s visit that morning; and there seemed so little in both matters and such a remote chance of their being in any way connected that we laughed at it all. We were together, and it was easy to laugh at things then.

I told her next my plan for our journey, and while we were discussing it with delightful little interludes of laughter and confidences, Stein arrived. I told him and he readily agreed to go with Celia for the first part of the journey. Then I asked him if he had seen anything of Wilson and laughingly told him of my omission to tell Wilson in what name to ask for me at the hotel and what had occurred in consequence.

But he saw no reason for laughter in it. On the contrary he looked unusually grave.

“Will you describe that officer to me ? “I gave him the closest description I could, and he nodded his head sagaciously. “I don’t wish to alarm you, Sir Stanley, but he is a very shrewd man and a positive sleuthhound on a trail. I saw him this morning in close conference with Major von Haussmann.”

“The deuce you did,” I cried, taking alarm instantly. “When ? “

“When I was out with my wife making the few purchases for the journey. It would be before his visit to you. And then, where is Wilson ? I don’t like the look of it. I think I can see what it means. That question of Wilson’s last night set Grobler — that’s his name — thinking. He would -go to the Sonne and find out that you had a servant there and his name. A couple of questions would then get him your description at the Rheinhof, and you would be instantly recognised. But he does nothing for the moment, you say ? Why? The; reason is plain. It is no longer Mr. Stanhope he suspects, but Sir Stanley Meredith; and off he goes to the man of all others in Crudenstadt, your sister’s husband, who can describe you best. The Major is devoted to the Duke’s interest, and what is easier than for him to have an appointment at the Rheinhof about a horse, and for a clumsy waiter to show him into the wrong room, where you are breakfasting?”

“By Jove, it never struck me,” I said, in surprise at the manner in which he pieced things together. “At any rate I have got away and no one followed me; and they won’t see me back again,” and Celia whose face had worn an expression of concern, smiled.

“Wait a moment, let us think, let us think. Was there any need to follow you ? Who called to see you at your hotel yesterday ? Stein. Who was twice at the Major’s house yesterday ? Stein. Who went there straight from you and came back straight to you ? Stein. Who hired horses for you when you went out of town yesterday ? Stein. Who went with you in the carriage ? Stein. What business was it likely to be that took you out of town in hot haste ? The same that had taken you to Mempach— the rescue of this beautiful young lady. Who was with you in that business? Stein. All facts point to Stein. And Grobler can read facts as fast as you and I can read a book. What would be easier than for him to make half a dozen inquiries and find out when and with whom, Stein came home last night. While we were asleep, Sir Stanley, Grobler was at work net making; and the question is whether we can even now creep through any of the meshes.”

As he rattled off these points one by one in a quick jerky question and answer form, I felt my heart sink lower and lower as each further point of confirmation was scored.

Even Celia sighed disconsolately.

“It may not be so bad as that,” said Stein quickly, as if her little sigh of sorrow had touched him closely. “Wait, I have an idea. Grobler is clever, cunning, farseeing — but he cannot see everything. If I understand your plans, the thing you wish above all others is that this young lady shall get safely to England.”

“Yes,” I assented eagerly.

“Well, then, you cannot go together. Can you send for any one to fetch her, and will you trust her to my wife to take her to some town out of the Duchy until your friends can arrive ? “ Celia’s face clouded.

“It will be best, Celia,” I said.

“I am not afraid to stay here; but I will go if you wish.”

“Then listen, please,” cried Stein, quickly. “We must not lose an hour. At present Grobler knows probably that you are both in this house at this moment and reckons you will try to go to England together. Grobler has a weakness. He loves sensation. It is his one great fault. He would love to wait until you are on the eve of departure at the very station where there would be a crowd to see him stop you, so that people should exclaim: ‘That is Grobler’s work again. A great man, Grobler. A smart man, Grobler ! ‘He would infinitely rather do that than just come here and fetch you. Now, he knows from your brother-in-law that you have no friends here in Crudenstadt who will help you in such a matter; he has placed your servant for the moment in safe keeping; there remains only who? Stein. He thinks nothing of Frau Stein. Frau Stein shall take charge of this precious young lady, therefore; Stein himself will walk about the streets, will go the railway station to make inquiries, will be a fool, indeed, and you, Sir Stanley, will go back to your hotel; or you will go to your sister’s house to dinner as you arranged; and will make no effort to leave the town. Grobler will thus have an eye on the two people who he thinks are essential, and Frau Stein will just take a quiet country jaunt with a young, very plainly dressed companion.”

“Good, excellent, the very thing,” I cried; but Celia was not by any means so enthusiastic.

“But they will arrest you, Stanley,” she cried in alarm.

“They will only help him to leave, request him to cross the frontier; and he may not then be quite so unwilling; “and Stein wasted two seconds to chuckle and rub his hands. “But this would not be possible if it were not for one trifle that Grobler does not know, and trifles are everything in this world. There are two ways of getting out of this house. The door by which we all came in, and a back way that no one ever uses. I am sorry to give the secret away, for one never knows the use to which one might wish to put it.”

“Couldn’t we both use it ? “cried Celia, quickly.

“No, my dear young lady; no. Grobler would never let you get away from Crudenstadt at all, if Sir Stanley did not help to shut his eyes by showing himself freely. Will you please be ready in five minutes, and write out the telegram which is to hurry your friends from England. I will prepare the good wife.” .

Poor Celia. She was quite woebegone and downcast at the prospect of this fresh parting, and her eyes and face were sad as she asked, putting her hands in mine:

“You think this is really necessary ? “

“It seems the only way, sweetheart. It is a heavy price to pay for just one small slip of not giving Wilson the name of Blyth. But it can’t be for long.”

“Any time will be long that we are kept apart,” she cried disconsolately.

“You trust these people ? “I asked.

“Oh, yes. I am sure they are sincere. But I’d much rather stay with you, come what may. They can’t force me to do any thing I don’t want to do. Even the Duke himself could not.”

“We can fight that much better from England,” said I. “Come, let us draft the telegram. There’s no need to tell you to be brave, for you’re always brave. I’ll wire that Blossom and Aunt Margaret shall come to fetch you; “and I sketched out a telegram very urgent in its terms to that effect.

“I shall eat my heart out thinking what’s happening to you.”

“We’ll arrange to let you hear everything. Stein and his wife can easily communicate with each other.”

“I would give the world not to go,” she said, impetuously. “I am very nearly as much a rebel as I was once before.” Knowing her heart, I loved her the more for her words; but I urged her none the less to go.

Then Stein came in. He had seemingly trained his wife in his own methods — to be ready to go to the world’s end if need be at five minutes’ notice — for he said she was waiting for Celia to go and change in readiness.

While she was away I gave Stein money sufficient for the purposes of the journey and told him to arrange communication to pass between him and his wife; and when Celia came back, he left us just half a minute to ourselves.

She was dressed in a sober, fashionless style, like a country girl, and carried a sort of provision basket. She dropped me a curtsey and with a laughing glance, for all her trouble, she put her free arm akimbo and said:

“Aunt is waiting for me, if you please. Shall I do, sir?

“God bless you, my darling,” I cried, as I put my arms about her, and drew her face to mine.

“These rustic embraces are very rough,” she laughed, though I could see the tears were very close to her eyes. “I’ve dropped my basket.”

“They must go now, please,” said Stein, putting his head in at the door.

Our hands met then in a firm clasp, and for the moment Celia had to fight not to give way.

“Good-bye, dearest,” I whispered.

“It is very hard,” she cried; and then forced up a laugh. “Not good-bye, auf Wiedersehen, Stanley,” and she threw me a kiss and was gone.

“Stand by the window, Sir Stanley, if you will, please, and appear to be talking to some one, while I get them out. There may be some one watching.”

And thus, after Celia had left me, I had to stand humming at the window in make-believe, while my heart was torn by anxiety and the pain of parting. But, after all, that is only life in miniature.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE NET PROVES ITS STRENGTH

Stein was a born stage manager lost to the profession. Even details did not escape him.

He came hurrying back to me after I had been carrying on my dumb show to an imaginary audience for some minutes, and had a fresh idea. He had seen his wife and Celia leave the house safely and his new idea was a sensational exit for me.

“I want you to leave the house hurriedly with some signs of excitement as if you had forgotten something very important. Walk half the length of the street then clap your hand to your pocket, look about you and come rushing back; and then dart off quicker than ever.”

“I don’t quite see the “

“We’ll put Grobler’s men off the scent, if they are watching,” he interposed, “I want you to make them think something important takes you away from the house and that you’re coming back.” He was very much in earnest, but I had had enough of the humming and told him I would rather he took up that role; that I would stay where I was so long as he pleased, and would then prefer to make a less picturesque exit. He was disappointed in me I think; but did not quite appreciate how very anxious my doubts on Celia’s account made me.

I stayed while he told me more in detail the arrangements for Celia’s escape — that she was to leave the town by a conveyance that was half carrier’s cart an J half omnibus, and would take the train from a station some miles out, and would make for Meeren a large town some twenty miles on the other side of the SaxeLippe frontier. From Meeren the telegram would be sent to London.

The picture of Celia riding with a lot of peasants in such a conveyance was not fascinating, and I thought a little more train and a good deal less carrier’s cart would have been an improvement: but the thing was done, and Stein was so proud of his astuteness that I kept my criticism to myself and contented myself with thanking him for his really invaluable help.

I was not a little curious as to the probable developments of the plan in regard to myself, and when I left Stein’s and went back to my hotel, I kept a sharp eye for signs of any change.

I noticed only one thing. When I reached my hotel the great Grobler for whose astuteness I had now a much deeper respect, was sitting at the same table where I had seen him on the previous night; but although I passed quite close to him he did not appear to see me. As I was now not at all disinclined to be seen, and purposely stopped close to his table, this surprised me. Either his shrewdness had been a great deal exaggerated, or he had some further design in taking no notice of me.

The hotel proprietor’s manner was a little strange when I asked for him and said I was leaving that evening and wished my bill made out.

“Mr.— Mr. Blyth, I think ? “he said, insinuatingly.

“Yes, Blyth; “and I spelt it.

“Thank you, thank you,” he returned with needlessly profuse gratitude and a queer sharp look that amused me. I went up to my room then and made a little discovery. In my hurry in the morning I had left a handkerchief unpacked, and it was now laid on one of my bags with the mark of my name in full, “Meredith,” left in open view.

I could afford to laugh at this now, but it might have been a serious matter enough if Celiahad not been safe. I thrust it into the bag, understanding the possible explanation of the landlord’s queer look.

I went out then resolved to show myself openly in the streets of Crudenstadt and give my friend Grobler the opportunity of making his public arrest: and I found what a vastly different matter an arrest is according to the point of view from which it is regarded. An hour or two before, I had been on tenterhooks of anxious suspense, seeing an enemy in every man who looked at me; whereas now I was positively anxious to be stopped, questioned, and carried off to the minister. The sooner I was arrested, the sooner I should be out of Crudenstadt.

But nothing occurred, and I walked about in the most conspicuous and public parts of the city until it was time to go to my sister’s for dinner. Still nothing occurred; and at last even this began to get on my nerves. It must portend something untoward, I thought, the surface was so smooth that devilment must be at work below; and I was disposed to fret and worry because no one took any hostile notice of me.

At my sister’s house I found some satisfaction, however. Her husband was profusely astonished to see me; and his effort at dissimulation was no more successful than his attempt at simulation had been in the morning.

“This is good indeed, Sir Stanley, very good,” was all he could say.

“I accepted your invitation, my dear fellow, what else could I do but come and dine therefore ? “I replied, quietly.

“Of course, yes, of course. We expected you, naturally.”

“I can see that,” I said, drily.

“You are making a stay then in Crudenstadt ? “

“No, I am going to London to-night.” What a luxury it was to be able to tell the truth once more without fear of complications.

“To London ! Oh yes, of course, you would go there; “which meant in plainer terms that he did not believe me. Alice came in at that moment, and the truth of his protestation about having expected me was soon apparent.

“Why, Stanley, you’re the last person on earth we expected to see. We never dreamt for a moment you were coming.”

“So the Major implied — in a way,” I laughed and quite enjoyed his blush of annoyance and confusion. “Tell me candidly,” 1 said to him pointedly, “where did you think I was ? Locked up ? “

11 1 don’t know anything about it,” he answered most ungraciously. His temper was very short.

“If it weren’t ridiculous, one could almost think I had hit the bull’s eye and that you had had a hand in it,” I answered. “Did you meet that man about that horse, by the way, at the Rheinhof ? “Alice’s face clouded, and she threw me a look of warning.

“I don’t know what you mean.” His tone was more surly than before.

“Oh yes, you must. It is one of Grobler’s horses you are after ? I suppose you arranged it, when he called last night. I thought perhaps that having settled terms over night you were to call at the hotel this morning to see the horse — just for formal purposes of identification; “ and I looked at him meaningly. I was enjoying the scene, but he had lost his temper completely and at my last thrust he bit his lip and being very dull of sense could only growl out:

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“Grobler of the police, I mean,” I said airily. “He came to see you last night, you were with him again this morning before you came to my hotel, and afterwards also; you came, you said, about a horse; and I took it for granted that the transaction which brought you to me was connected with Grobler. Surely I wasn’t wrong. Horses, among other things, are to be found at hotels. What was the name of the horse you were after? Blyth ? “

“Are you trying to poke your fun at me? “he stuttered furiously.

“My good fellow, certainly not. Fun’s the last name I should give to any horsey transaction — of that kind,” and I smiled very drily, as I added: “Only as I am a pretty good judge of horseflesh — that kind of horseflesh you know — I think you should have been candid with me and told me the whole transaction.” With that I turned to Alice: “What a glorious day it’s been, and how the poor devils under arrest must lament their imprisonment in such weather. But my brother-inlaw would hear no more and bolted out of the room with an explosion of German oaths of the most florid character.

“What does it all mean, Stanley ? “cried Alice anxiously.

“Apparently that the Major has not come out of that horse transaction of his with quite the satisfaction he anticipated, but you must get the details from him. It means also, I think, that I’d better dine at my hotel after all. I’m not good for the Major’s digestion; “and though she pressed me, I would not discuss the matter further. I told her of my intention to leave Crudenstadt that evening and bade her good-bye.

A glance at my watch as I walked back to my hotel raised my spirits. Celia must be well across the frontier and already approaching Meeren, and I sat down to my dinner with an excellent appetite.

Matters had after all gone better than could have been anticipated, and I reckoned that if I were allowed to leave Crudenstadt without interference that evening, I could easily make my way to Meeren and to Celia by the following morning. I was half disposed to regret, indeed, that we had planned to wire for my aunt to come out and meet her. If I got away, there would be no need for any such steps; and I was considering the advisability of sending a telegram on my own account to stop her, when the move for which I had been waiting all day was opened against me.

The redoubtable Grobler was ushered in by a waiter, and came across to my table.

“Permit me to take a chair here,” he said, with a very suave bow. “I wish to have a word with you.”

“Certainly, I am quite at your service. Will you join me in a glass of champagne? Herr Grobler, I think.” If he.could be polite, so could I. I had beaten him so completely that I should have been a churl not to be courteous. His glass was filled and we clinked in the most approved Saxe-Lippe fashion and drank each other’s good health.

“I had the pleasure of meeting you at Mempach,” he began.

“And I owe you an apology for disappointing you at breakfast there. But in truth I found it necessary to hurry on to Crudenstadt. Pray pardon me.”

“You were then Mr. Stanhope, I think you said.”

“You scarcely caught the name right. I may have mumbled it in the confusion of the moment, for of course I didn’t know your friendly intentions. Stanley, I should have said, Stanley Meredith.”

“And here ? “

“Ah, this was a formality necessary to the occasion. We English often find our titles embarrassing and travel incognito. A very thin incognito, of course, for even our linen generally bears our full name. But these little private affairs are not serious. For all official purposes, of course, and to all high officials like yourself, when we know who you are, we make ourselves quite known. I am Sir Stanley Meredith.” He laughed at my airily given explanation.

“Young ladies will produce more serious consequences and stranger changes than that,” he said. “But as a matter of fact I was looking for you in your real character when I met you at Mempach.”

“What a thousand pities you did not say so ! “I exclaimed.

“I had a message for you and was anxious to deliver.”

“Better late than never, after all. Can«I hear it now.”

“Well, not exactly, but I have something more urgent than a message now. I have a request, somewhat urgently worded, that you accompany me to the Minister, General von Eckerstein.”

“I shall be delighted. He is a most charming man. May 1 fill your glass again ? No ? Well, I have finished dinner, shall we go at once ? “and I rose. “By the way, shall I tell them here what time to expect my return?” I asked, as if indifferently.

“It might be superfluous,” he answered, with a glance and a shrug of the shoulders; and with this vague insinuation we left. He had a carriage at the door and in a few minutes, during which we discussed such matters as the weather, we were over at the Minister’s. I was absolutely confident of course. I had done nothing except resort to an incognito and fool my companions that morning at Mempach, and all that could happen would be my expulsion from the Duchy.

The old Minister had obviously been waiting for me. I was shown in at once while Grobler waited in another room.

“You have given me a good deal of trouble, Sir Stanley,” began the General.

“I am sorry for that, your Excellency, but I fear it was unavoidable.”

“You don’t appear to regret it, I think, judging by your voice. Will you be good enough to give me an account of your actions during the past two or three days — since I saw you, in fact.”

“I think your Excellency’s agents have somewhat anticipated any such recital. Wouldn’t it be a little superfluous ? “It was a somewhat bold line to take, and he frowned and raised his eyebrows, heavy, hanging, irregular brows they were, capable of expressing much.

“You would rather not ? “

“I would rather write such a statement. I could marshall the facts and apportion the details more accurately. I shall be very pleased to send such a statement.”

“Send ? “and he shot a look at me.

“Send — from any place to which you may decide for me to go.” For just a second there was a slight relaxation of the tight thin lips.

“Would you do this from England ? It is very important.” I started and then tried all I could to keep the satisfaction out of my face.

“Your Excellency is not going to carry out your former threat of expulsion ? “

“It is very desirable that you should leave, but not perhaps absolutely essential. I don’t propose to deal at all harshly with you. I should like you to think I am rather sorry for you than otherwise. I am not bitter. What are your plans ? “

“Before coming to you now, I had decided to return to England, to London, to-night, but “I stopped and with a gesture left him to understand I was at his bestowal.

“You think I may interfere with your plans ? “

“I’ve known such things happen,” said I. He paused and seemed to be thinking very busily.

“I don’t think I need interfere with your arrangements. I suppose you have your reasons for this change. You seem now almost as ready to go away as formerly you were eager to stay. Why is that ? “

“The urgency of my private affairs; “I answered promptly.

“Have you had any training in the diplomatic service, Sir Stanley ? “he asked, as gravely as if it were a crucial point in the issue.

“Regrettably no; or my answers might not be so plain, simple, and direct.” I gave the answer in a tone quite as sober as his own; and his eyes seemed to smile at it, although his features were as placid as before.

“I don’t think I need detain you any longer then. You will pledge me your word, that will be quite sufficient, that you will leave Crudenstadt to-night, go straight out of the Duchy, and across the frontier for, say, a twelvemonth.”

I was about to give the pledge congratulating myself hugely upon the course matters had taken, when some instinctive prompting of caution made me pause. I think it was no more than a glance of his keen eyes and a sharpening of his voice suggestive of eagerness; the recollection of my sister’s phrase — that the General always got his way — came to me.

“Is such a pledge necessary, your Excellency? It is not exactly a pleasant feeling to be treated as though one had committed some heinous offence requiring one to be warned off a certain country.”

“Don’t take it too seriously, Sir Stanley. I don’t suggest it in any offensive sense. Not for a moment. But you have given us a good deal of trouble, and if I look on you as a sort of formidable firebrand, it’s rather a compliment to your energy and influence.”

“Such a compliment is of course very flattering,” said I, blandly, “and you will therefore be glad that in any case I am leaving to-night; “I liked the matter less the more he pressed it. “In the ordinary course of things I shall not return. I would rather leave it there.”

“Isn’t it a simpler matter for you to give me your word than that we should have to instruct our agents to watch for you and prevent your return and to start all the worries incidental to making it an official affair ? Surely 7 , it is not much to ask, Sir Stanley.”

“It is more than I can see my way to grant, your Excellency.” I spoke firmly, for I had now made up my mind. He was vexed at the refusal, and sat thinking some moments.

“I think you are a little unreasonable; but I don’t know that your movements are now of so much importance that I need press the point. At any rate you are leaving to-night ? “and he looked for my assent.

“Yes, I told you that was my intention.” The expression in his eyes changed and he regarded me very intently, and then speaking with greater deliberation than ever, said:

“That ‘was ‘has a doubtful sound in my ear. I begin to be half afraid we are going to cross swords again, Sir Stanley, and I dislike nothing more than fighting a once-defeated antagonist. Why not accept defeat, give me the promise I ask, and leave Crudenstadt ? Believe me, I have none but friendly feelings for you.”

“I .am leaving to-night,” I repeated, but his change of manner chilled me.

“For London direct ? You will not travel by — Meeren ? “

“I shall travel by the most convenient route. Why Meeren ? “I tried to ask the question lightly, but the words almost stuck in my throat.

“Because of a telegram that was to have been sent from there, but was not; “and he laid before me the draft of the telegram I had handed to Celia.

I stared at it in dumb dismay. Try as I would, the shock of failure, the ruin of my hopes, the absolute overthrow of my plans, completely undid me. From the lofty pinnacle of victorious confidence, I fell in a second to the lowest depths of humiliated defeat; and the fall left me stunned beyond even the power of protest. I know that I changed colour and could feel myself trembling.

My antagonist was more merciful than I had expected. While I was lying amid the ruins of cherished desires and suffering the pangs inseparable from such a blow, he turned to his table and busied himself with some papers, thus giving me time to collect my self possession.

It was the hardest stroke I had ever endured, and perhaps it was unmanly to show such weakness and not to be able to face it with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders; but I could not; and it must have been a minute or two — it seemed an hour to me — before I could rally my wits.

“This has hit you very hard, Sir Stanley,” said the old man, “and I am honestly sorry to have had to cause you this pain. I had intended to let you leave Crudenstadt in ignorance of it, and send the news after you. But it seemed doubtful whether you were really going, and hence this “— and he pointed to the paper.

“Will you tell me what has happened?”

“Yes, we got wind of the fact that the young Duchess was again with you, and you were closely watched, with the result that we traced her to the house of the Stein family, and the rest was easy. That telegram was found on the woman with the young Duchess.”

“Where is Celia now?”

“I can only answer that she is in quite safe keeping.” “And what do you intend to do with me ? ““I intend nothing. I should wish you to be prudent enough to leave Crudenstadt and not return. You can do no good by remaining, and may cause the young Duchess infinite pain. We know that you have done the Duke a great service by tracing and rescuing her from the younger von Kronheim; and although your motive was no doubt to serve yourself rather than the Duke, we are not indisposed to treat you with every consideration. Now that the young Duchess is with us, your personal movements are not of such importance, and we shall not attempt to interfere with your freedom of action — unless, of course, you make it necessary. But I would appeal to your honour, to your chivalry, to your — regard for the young Duchess herself, to save her and us from the embarrassment of your continued presence.”

“I am free to leave you now,” I asked, rising. I spoke bluntly, ungraciously, for the blow was still unbearable.

“Certainly, and I hope you will return to say you will take my advice.” He held out his hand and I hurried away.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SCHWARTZ BRINGS STRANGE NEWS

The rest of that day I passed in a state of acute depression, aggravated with a stinging sense of humiliation at my failure and intense concern for Celia; but a night’s rest did something to restore the balance of my mind and to arrange the chief facts of the position with some regard to perspective.

That is to say, I ceased to rail against the fates, my own blindness, Grobler’s acumen, which I now respectfully appreciated — and the iniquitous tyranny of the authorities of Saxe-Lippe; and instead of that began once more to speculate whether and how I could, after all, outwit them and get Celia out of their hands.

For one thing, I threw off all attempts at disguise. I removed to the best hotel and took rooms in my own name for myself and Wilson, who rejoined me that evening. I saw Stein, heard from him the story of what had occurred. He told me that he had received a very sharp reprimand for his share in the work, and that, although his wife had been released from custody, she had been thoroughly frightened by threats of serious punishment for the attempted abduction of a member of the reigning family.

The plucky little man himself was as full of fight as ever; but I knew he would be a marked man in the future, and thus of no use to me in any further enterprise, so I thanked him for all he had done, and compensated him liberally.

“We made two mistakes, Stein,” I said, as he was leaving me. “Both were very slight in themselves, but they ruined everything. I forgot to tell Wilson of the change of name, and so put Grobler on the move; and you reckoned he did not know there was a second exit from your house. As you said yesterday — trifles are everything.”

On the day following my interview with the Minister, I made a long solitary excursion in the mountains that lay to the West of Crudenstadt, and spent the whole day in none too cheerful meditation. I thought long and very earnestly over General von Eckerstein’s appeal to me — to give up Celia — and, of course, found many reasons for resolving to do precisely the opposite, and to persevere in my quest of her until she herself called a halt.

I would fight openly, I decided; openly so far as to leave no room for doubt as to my intentions; and when I got back to Crudenstadt at night, I wrote a short note to the Minister telling him that I could not comply with his wishes, and that I should remain in Crudenstadt.

“One thing, and one thing only, will cause me to alter my decision,” I concluded, “and that is the request from my cousin herself.”

I felt better after I had written and despatched the letter, and could take a much more cheerful view of the situation. Celia was parted from me, it was true — but she was not in the hands of either of the von Kronheims; she was in no personal danger; I had unbounded confidence in her faith; I knew her heart would not change, and that her high courage would make it exceedingly difficult for the Duke or anyone else to coerce her into a marriage. My courage must at least be equal to hers, and we would fight on. Love, patience, courage, persistence, and time, must be valuable allies in such a contest as ours, let the Court intrigue be what it might.

On the second day I reached another stage, and began to consider the possibility of getting an interview with Celia — so strong is the mental resilience of a combination of love and youth. I did not know where she was, of course, but I should find that out; and I saw that my best course would be to maintain an absolutely correct social attitude, to make as many friends among the Crudenstadt notabilities as possible, and then push my inquiries and efforts. I went to my sister’s house, therefore, patched up a peace with her husband, announced my intention of remaining some time in the capital, and told Alice I wished to know people.

In three days my plans were beginning to get into shape, and I was preparing for a long siege, when they were once more changed, and the thin veneer of hope with which I had endeavored to cover over the solid substance of my difficulties, was deepened and thickened once again into the glorious confidence of assured success.

The cause was a visit from Schwartz. I was told at my hotel that some one was waiting to see me who would not give his name. I told them to let Wilson see him; but Wilson was out, and with the waiter who came back to tell me this came also Schwartz.

“I did not give my name, Sir Stanley, for fear you would refuse to see me, and I must see you, sir.”

“You run a perilous risk of a thrashing by pressing yourself on me in this way,” I cried, angrily, when the waiter had left us. “I have nothing to say to you; and you’d better go lest the temptation to punish you passes bounds. You’re an infernal scoundrel ! “

“There’s a plot, sir, and you ought to know it,” he said, keeping a wary eye on me and obviously afraid for his skin.

“I’ve had more than enough of you and your plottings, and want nothing more to do with you.”

“It’s about Miss Celia, sir, and Miss Katrine; and the reason why you were allowed to bring Miss Celia away.” I couldn’t help being interested in this, but my contempt for the fellow was so intense I could scarcely look at him and keep my temper.”

“I don’t want to hear a word of it,” I said. “Carry your wares to some other market; I don’t want to buy them or have anything more to do with a rascal who deceived me as you did.” He stood wringing his hands in dismay.

“I’m not trying to sell the information, Sir Stanley. But it affects Miss Celia so closely that heaven only knows what mischief may follow if something isn’t done. Miss Celia isn’t the Duke’s daughter at all, Sir Stanley,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s Miss Katrine; and the Count found it out and let you get away with Miss Celia, in the hope you’d be able to carry her out of the Duchy. Oh, I don’t know what I ought to do ! “And Schwartz, who was usually very reserved and taciturn, was almost as agitated and disturbed as an hysterical woman.

“Shake your wits together, man ! “I cried, sharply. “Is this true? Do you know what you’re saying?’*

There was no longer any thought of not listening to him, I was wild to hear every word he had to say.

“May I sit down, Sir Stanley ? “He was shaking like a leaf.

“Yes, of course you can; “and I rang for a waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne and gave Schwartz a tumblerful. Now, just tell me things in proper order,” I said, when I saw the wine had pulled him together.

“It’s all perfectly true, Sir Stanley. I saw something was in the wind some days ago, but only knew the truth yesterday, and got away as soon as I could to find you. I’ve been shamefully treated because I interfered to prevent your bringing Miss Celia away; and I’m ill with it. I’m too old to stand it now.”

“Well, well; tell me the facts,” said I, for he was beginning to tremble again. He made a big effort and then gave me an account of what had occurred. And a wild and singular story it was.

An old woman named Bade, who was in the Baroness Borgen’s service, had made a confession to the effect that Katrine and not Celia was the daughter of the Duchess Marie. According to Schwartz, the woman had been in the service of the Duchess Marie at the time Celia was born, and the child was entrusted to her care. Her sister had been in the Baroness Borgen’s service; and, when all the Crudenstadt Court was ringing with the scandal about the Duchess and my uncle, these two women had conceived the wild idea of saving the Duchess’s child from the fate which, in the common belief awaited her, by changing the two children. An opportunity had been found without difficulty. The two babies were sufficiently alike in colouring to make the exchange possible, and there was, in fact, no one to discover or even suspect the change that had been made.

Soon after that Bade had found means to get taken into the Baroness’s service, so that she might have charge of the child and watch over her. She had remained with her ever since, keeping her extraordinary secret, and believing that she had saved the child’s life; for, when my uncle had brought away the other child so mysteriously, all Crudenstadt believed that in his jealous madness the Duke had caused her to be put to death.

That belief had sealed the women’s lips, partly from , fear that they would be desperately punished if the fraud were found out, and partly because of their conviction that, if the Duke found his child to be still living, he would kill her as they believed he had killed the other.

Thus the news that the supposed Celia was alive had plunged the old nurse into a condition of the wildest perplexity and embarrassment until she had been driven to make the confession. Her object was no friendliness or even remorse for what she had done. It was her intense devotion to Katrine, and the fear that if she kept silence any longer, Katrine would be deprived of her rightful position and her place be taken by another.

“Do you believe this, Schwartz ? “I asked him, at the close.

“Count von Kronheim has sifted it, Sir Stanley, and declares there is no room for doubt. The old nurse, Barle, has been careful to get together as many proofs as possible of the truth of the tale. Her sister has been found and admits everything.”

The story staggered me with its wild, sensational extravagance. Could it possibly be true? If true, with what relentless coincidence had Fate worked out the lives of mother and daughter, wrecking each in the mad maelstrom of love passion. Katrine’s frenzied love for von Kronheim was a grim companion picture to the fatal love which had broken her mother’s life and destroyed her reason.

And how pitilessly had their own ill deeds worked out the tangle and ruin of their lives. The very man whose ambitious brain would have led him to seek out Katrine from all the world as his wife had ruined her and threatened to cast her off with all the slights of contemptuous contumely.

The mother, too, in the blind, egoistic, selfish craving to restore her own tarnished honour, had connived with this heartless rascal to plunge her own daughter deeper down into the mire of dishonoured neglect and disgrace. It was indeed a tangled skein which the wretched old crones had woven for the undoing of the child whom they had meant to save.

But it was not the eccentric, squalid muddle produced by the attempt to trick destiny away from its appointed track that fascinated me. If the tale were true, the barriers that stood between Celia and myself were swept away and every inducement for others to keep us apart had gone with them.

“Why have you come to me, Schwartz ? “I asked him after a long pause, ‘for I couldn’t understand his object.

“Because of the Count’s new scheme, sir.”

“New scheme ? “

“Yes, sir. What he is aiming to do is to pass off Miss Katrine for Miss Celia, marry her and declare that she was the child entrusted to Sir Henry and that Miss Celia has always been with the Baroness, her mother.”

This was a novel development, indeed. I had not thought of Celia as this blase adventuress’s daughter; and the notion was peculiarly distasteful.

“He daren’t do that, of course. He can’t. It’s absurd.”

“What he daren’t try, no one can say, Sir Stanley, and what he can’t do is not much easier to define. But I don’t believe that Sir Henry would have allowed such a thing for a moment, even for the Duchess Marie’s sake; and so I came to you.”

“Miss Celia is already in the Duke’s hands.”

“The Count does not suspect that. He thinks that she is back in London, and I thought so too, until I heard at Frau von Haussmann’s that you were still here, sir. He meant to do this behind your back, Sir Stanley.”

“We will go at once and prepare the way for him then,” said I, promptly, “and you shall tell the story as you have told it to me, to the Duke’s right hand, General von Eckerstein.”

We drove to the Minister’s house, but when I sent in my name he declined at first to see me. Not accepting the rebuff I sent a message that my business was very urgent; but this had no more effect, and his secretary asked me politely to put my business in writing, or to tell it to him.

I thought a moment and then wrote: “I am prepared to give up my attempt to marry the Duke’s daughter; “and sent that in under seal. It had the necessary effect. We were admitted and the General received me with effusive cordiality, but stared hard at Schwartz.

“I am delighted to get your message, Sir Stanley. Believe me, you have decided as was only possible for a man of honour.”

“There is possibly a misunderstanding,” I answered, quietly; “and before anything else is said, you must hear the story which I have heard within the last hour.”

“This is your handwriting?” and he held out the note.

“Certainly, but things are not quite what they seem. They are very different, indeed, from what they were when we last met.” I explained who Schwartz was and then left him to repeat what he had told me.

The Minister listened to the long recital with an attention that told his deep interest, only interrupting to put a question when any point was not quite clear. He made some notes of the matter and at the end put a further string of sharp, searching questions.

“This is an old servant of yours, Sir Stanley?” he asked me, and I read in a moment his suspicion.

“No. He was my uncle’s servant for many years, entirely in his confidence, and after my uncle’s death he turned against me and took the side of the Duchess Marie in the matter of my proposed marriage. He was the means of my cousin being removed from my house. From then until now he has been against me. The story has come upon me with the same startling suddenness as upon you. I beg you to understand that.”

His face did not lose the thoughtful, impassive, judicial look it had worn throughout, and I had no indication of his opinion until he said with an air of decision.

“I will not believe a word of it. Not a word. It comes too late in the day to impose upon me. It is falsehood, warp and web alike.”

“You will at least test the truth of it,” I said.

** It has no truth to test, sir,” he answered sharply.

“You suggest that it is some kind of conspiracy, then ? “

“I do not suggest anything, Sir Stanley; that is not my business. I don’t care where the tale had its origin, or who dreamed or concocted it. I don’t believe it, and don’t regard it as worth a minute’s serious consideration.”

“You will at least tell my cousin what is alleged.’’

“I do not know your cousin, Sir Stanley. But if you refer to the young Duchess Celia, I shall certainly not disturb her peace of mind by repeating any such fables.”

“You will not find others so readily disposed to be silent,” I said with warmth, for his attitude both surprised and angered me. But it was a mistaken move, since it showed my anxiety and made me pose as a kind of champion of the truth of the story.

“You are rather trespassing upon my indulgence, Sir Stanley, and I am very busy,” he answered coldly.

“Celia shall hear of it by some means. I will take care of that,” I cried. “You have no right to set yourself up as the sole judge in a matter of this kind and to decide without even investigating a single fact.”

He struck his table bell sharply.

“I have no wish or intention to stop and wrangle with you, but I warn your Excellency that I will find some higher authority to whom I can appeal.”

“Sir Stanley Meredith desires his carriage,” he said to the secretary who came in. u I bid you good evening, Sir Stanley. You will probably hear from me;” and with that implied menace I was virtually turned out of his presence.

But I was very confident none the less and full of fight. I had plenty of ammunition now for the heaviest guns and it would be my fault if I did not use them with good effect.

CHAPTER XXIX

CELIA WRITES

My rebuff at the hands of General von Eckerstein did not cause me any very serious apprehension, and the one point that did affect me was the implied threat that he would make me leave the Duchy. This was what he meant, of course, by saying I should probably hear from him. But even on that issue I was quite prepared to fight and to offer a very stubborn resistance.

That he should have peremptorily refused to believe in the strange story which Schwartz had brought was perhaps the only course he could have taken. It had surprised me at first; but on reflection, I did not see how else he could have acted. Whether he did actually disbelieve it or not, was another matter; but having regard to the fact that it spelt disaster to his set plans in regard to the succession, I saw his necessity to make a show of disbelief.

I felt certain, moreover, that despite his words he would be compelled to investigate it; and as investigation would necessarily take some little time, I must control my impatience so far as possible.

True or false, however, Celia and I must regard the story as true, and I must find means to let her know all about it, and must further take action of some kind from my side.

There were three possible courses for me to adopt.

One was to attempt to take proceedings as Celia’s guardian to regain possession of my ward; the second would be to appeal from the Minister’s decision to the authorities in Berlin, even to the Emperor himself; and the third was to start a campaign of publicity in the press, beginning with the English papers.

The position of things in regard to the succession was so delicate and awkward that a vigorous blast of publicity would, I believed, almost certainly blow to the four winds the house of cards scheme which had been constructed over Celia’s claims. But there was one most powerful objection to such a course — consideration for Celia herself. To have her name placarded all over Europe and her romantic history, with the story of the Duchess’s madness and shame, mumbled and mouthed by all the gossipping harpies of a dozen countries was a prospect that appalled me. It might or might not scatter this Saxe-Lippe scheme, but it would make Celia the object of an intolerable blaze of the fierce light of scandal.

I could use the threat, however, even if I could never make good my words, and use it I would for all it was worth; and before I had taken any steps I received news which showed me that such a threat would have far greater effect than I had at first anticipated.

This was from no other source than from Celia herself; for to my intense delight a packet from her reached me through the agency of my sister. It was a very long letter — too long for me to give in full — for she was keeping a strict record of all events; and she sent it me just as it had been Avritten from time to time, with certain additions for my eyes alone. She told me just how she and Frau Stein had been intercepted, and her deep and bitter chagrin in consequence.

“That was my chief thought, Stanley. I could scarcely spare even a moment’s consideration for the poor frau, who sat in trembling expectation of being hauled off to prison for the rest of her life. Her concern was no more for me than was mine for her, and her one exclamation was: ‘ However will poor Stein manage to live without me ! ‘She was not long in suspense, poor soul, for they let her go after giving her such a scolding as one would give in dear old England to a naughty child, and had she been a child in reality she could not have cried more copiously or promised more earnestly not to be naughty again. Poor, honest, homely soul ! — invaluable as a domestic machine, but not very brave,

“Me they treated with the honour due to a notability in disgrace. I did not cry — need I tell you that ? I would not let them see what I felt; but I thought of you and how you would have had me carry my head high and show the boldest of fronts to the world. I did it. But, ah me, what a crushed heart it was I brought back to Crudenstadt ! — so bruised, so sore, so aching, that it seemed to me impossible the officials should not see what a mockery was the smile on my lips and the confidence I strove with all my will to force into my manner.

“If they could only have seen me later when I was alone, when the acting was over, the gewgaws and dressing laid aside, and I was myself, and myself only in the dark hours of that night ! What a miserable little cheat they would have thought me; what a skeleton coward to have been tricked out in all the fraudulent finery and pageant of courage, confidence and pride! Your poor Celia that night was poor indeed, broken, weak and, oh, so desolate !

“But that was my hour of weakness, and I was so miserable that I have never had another. I won’t have one. I won’t let myself give way. Whenever the temptation comes — and I think every woman must have known of such temptation when the thought of relying on somebody else instead of on oneself only is the one consolation — I just laugh at myself, and put it off. I reflect that by and by when you and I are together I may be as weak as I please, for you will fight my battles, and I shall not need to worry.

“By all which you will see I am now as confident as ever. Even more confident, perhaps, for I am finding out many things, and among them — the extreme difficulties that exist in coercing a willful young woman even in Court circles. Shall you think me very wicked if I confess that sometimes I have actually enjoyed myself in my new surroundings ? I can see half a frown on that grave face of yours, and I believe I almost caught the faint echo of a sigh of apprehension as you read that. But you are wrong. It is not that kind of enjoyment. Puzzle that out for yourself, Stanley, and then read on and see the kind of enjoyment I do mean.

“They brought me to a big house in Crudenstadt which I find is the abode of His Excellency, General von Eckerstein. He is the Duke’s confidential adviser, I am told — and I don’t envy the poor Duke in that case. There is a Mrs. General— a feeble, querulous invalid — amiable by nature, but whose amiability has been unfortunately spoiled by her husband’s immense position—immense in his and her eyes. She would have made a capital wife for him had he remained, say a colonel in a marching regiment, where she would have enchanted all who came near; but as her husband seems to be virtual ruler of the Duchy, her health and her limited capacity have proved her undoing. As the General rules the Duke she wants to rule every one else — and she does not take kindly to such a little English rebel as I am.

“But there is another rebel in the house — the youngest daughter — a delightful girl who has become my closest friend, takes the deepest interest in me, has heard from her unwary mother all about a ‘dreadful Englishman named Meredith who persecuted me; ‘and she will go through fire and water to help me. She knows, your sister, and hence our postal arrangements are now organised.

“Now as to my enjoyment. You are the cause of this — as of everything happy in my life. I didn’t hear any sigh when you read that, sir. From the moment of my entering the house, His and Her Excellencies have not ceased to try and instill into me a sense of my ‘high position,’ and its chiefest duty — to accept the exalted mission in regard to the succession and consequently to renounce England — and Englishmen. Here is a typical scene of the kind:

“I am reading in my room — I have lovely rooms and all that luxury can do to make me forget — what I don’t forget, — is done for me. I am indeed a most distinguished person. Enter His and Her Excellencies:

“‘Your Grace is at liberty for a few minutes ? ‘the General always is spokesman — and a dexterous-tongued spokesman too.

“‘Certainly — so far as a prisoner can be at liberty; ‘I sigh with exaggerated emphasis, and lay down my book.

“‘Prisoner is a strange term to come from so honoured and illustrious a guest in my house.’

“‘I am sorry the term grates upon your Excellency’s ears; but it may serve to let you understand how the thing itself chafes me. Guest or prisoner, which you will, is the arrangement to be permanent ? ‘

“‘If your Grace would only see reason, a word would be enough to change everything. Your illustrious father, the Duke, is only too anxious for that word to be spoken.’

“”’ What word is that? ‘and with aggressive provocation I glance down at my finger at a certain ring. And then His Excellency frowns heavily and Her Excellency bridles.

“‘You have but to signify your acceptance of the high mission to which you have succeeded by birth.’

“‘I accept it cheerfully and at once. I have no other desire in life.’ Rut I have played this trick three or four times and the General knows it now. The frown deepens.

“‘I refer to your Grace’s succession to the Throne,’ he says, a little sullenly.

“‘Oh that ! ‘and I try to make my manner especially contemptuous as though Thrones were a drug in the market.

“‘I wish your Grace would be serious,’ he remonstrates. Then I flash fire.

“‘You mean I ought to wear a long face; pretend to be vastly overwhelmed with the honours offered me; believe that this kind of ice-house splendor spells happiness; and play at being ready to give up for it the only real happiness I desire. Put off my talisman, perhaps ‘— and I hold out my left hand conspicuously and defiantly — ‘promise to be false to the man whose truth is pledged to me; break my oath and dishonour myself on the canting Court plea of the exigencies of my high mission. God forbid I should be such a dishonourable hypocrite.’

“‘I am grieved to see your Grace maintains the same regrettable attitude.’

“‘You mean you are sorry to find that I love Sir Stanley Meredith and am a girl who will not pluck my love out at ten minutes’ notice at the false bidding of some dishonourable notions of honour ! ‘Then having been sufficiently indignant, I pause, look at their Excellencies and with a dramatic and rather rhapsodical gesture, exclaim: ‘But what nobler examples could I have than your two selves? I appeal from present words to that dear love which like a glorious sun has warmed and goldened all your lives. You have loved with the love and truth that have defied the years, and would you counsel me to be false ? ‘

“‘That is very different,’ murmurs Mrs. General in a tone that shows she is anything but unmoved. But the General himself is flint against sentiment.

“‘It is the lot of Rulers, your Grace, to enjoy many privileges and blessings, but in return and as a counterpoise, it may be, it is required of them to subject some of their most cherished desires to the welfare of their people; ‘and that is the preface to a long dissertation upon my duty and an appeal to me to yield to the pressure of the position and throw myself at the feet of the Duke. But my answer is becoming stereotyped already.

“‘I have no desire to rule. I will marry no one but Sir Stanley Meredith, unless he bids me. I am pledged.’ I say this very firmly and pick up my book again to end the interview.

“So you see it is still our comedy; and now you know what I mean by rather enjoying it.”

The letter then in the diary form gave me a clear picture of her life at the General’s, and under a two days’ later date had the following:

“In one of my interviews with the General to-day, there was a most surprising admission made. The Duke, it seems after all, does not know of my existence, while someone else is claiming to be me. My gaoler — as I called him to-day to his infinite horror — is as a rule particularly guarded in his speech, but to-day he was worried — 1 believe the Duke is ill, though the secret is werl kept — and he let drop a phrase about my decision being too late if not made at once. Some sort of instinct seemed to push the words of my answer into my mouth.

“‘Your Excellency should have told the Duke about me before, and he would have known my decision.’ I saw in a moment by the way the reply affected him that I had forced open one of the most secret pigeonholes of his thoughts.

“‘I am not quite sure that I understand your Grace,’ he said.

“I mean that the Duke does not even know of my existence, because for some purposes you have been keeping the matter from him: possibly you thought that the difficulty of reconciling him to me would be immensely increased if I were found to be obstinately opposed to the whole thing. You wished, no doubt, to be able to present me to him as a dutiful, obedient and loving daughter instead of what I am, an alien bitterly opposed to you and to the scheme; and now, finding I continue obstinate, you tell me I may be too late. I am glad to hear it, your Excellency.’

“I have never seen him so moved as he was then and I am sure I had guessed right. He stared at me with eyes that seemed to glance fire; I felt the power in him and half trembled even as I smiled.

“‘Your wilfulness is the sown seeds of disaster for the unfortunate people of the Duchy,’ he said sternly, in a voice as hard and harsh as an anvil-ring. • You take a fearful responsibility. There is talk of anothelaim ‘he checked himself, and rising abruptly,

begged me to excuse him. I believe he was half beside himself with suppressed rage.”

A few lines lower Celia told me the chance had come of despatching her packet to me and the letter closed hurriedly.

The news was of the utmost importance. If Celia’s sharp little wits had really penetrated the Minister’s secret I could readily understand his uneasiness, and I resolved to turn it to the best account. His concealment of the facts concerning Celia might cause the claim on Katrine’s behalf to reach the Duke first — for von Kronheim had plenty of means to get at the Ducal ear — and in such an event there was abundant ground for anticipating any amount of confusion and trouble.

I wrote my letter to the Minister at once, therefore, on the lines I had resolved, and added the sting that I sought an interview with the Duke himself to explain Celia’s position; and I sent Wilson with it, giving him instructions to deliver it only into the hands of the Minister or his secretary.

Then I set about making such inquiries as I could concerning the Duke’s health. But as Celia had said, the secret was well kept, and I could find out nothing.

I was in high spirits, however. Celia’s delightful letter with its abundant proofs of her high confidence and undimmed courage, and above all, of her staunch fealty to our love under the ordeal of separation, could not fail to fill me with a belief that we should yet triumph over all the troubles and obstacles.

On reflection I was strongly inclined to think she had found the very kernel of the Minister’s policy. He had known well enough the objection which his master would raise to any reconciliation scheme. The Duke’s hatred of his mad wife had become the consuming passion of his old age; and one almost insuperable obstacle to the recognition of her child as his own daughter and heiress was the abandonment of this moodily nursed and cherished belief in his wife’s falseness.

To acknowledge the daughter now would be tantamount to admitting full belief in the mother’s truth; to sweep away at a blow all the props and foundations of his bitter, relentless hate; to confess himself in the wrong and his wife right; and to show himself to the world as a jealous persecutor, unjustified and with no plea of excuse save that of his wilful, malignant blindness. To wring such a confession from a man whose intolerance of counsel was only equalled by his dogged adherence to a view once expressed and a plan once formed, was a task which might well tax the powers of even so astute a minister as von Eckerstein. The latter’s influence had only increased when the Duke’s powers were known to be waning; but there was one subject — the Duchess — on which his strength of feeling never altered or faltered; and the task would thus, even under the happiest auspices, have been one of infinite difficulty.

But the auspices were anything but happy. If there was one thing the Duke would brook from no man, woman or child, it was open opposition. In his declining years something could be done by a show of yielding and subservience; but the assertion of rights, the formulating of claims, the signs of even mild contradiction and the symptoms of direct opposition found him as hard as basalt against which arguments, facts, entreaties, and invective broke with no more effect than sea spray against the rock.

It was easy to see, therefore, how loth the minister was to take Celia to him in any other than a mood of submissive pliancy; and how utterly confounding to his plans was her attitude of resolute antagonism. The difficulties would have been great enough with a girl willing to throw herself at the Duke’s feet as a suppliant, and ready to promise any and everything in return for the blessing of ducal forgiveness and recognition. But with Celia, the very embodiment of active and stinging antagonism, it was no wonder he had put off the task of telling him that she was in Crudenstadt.

Piecing together the facts I had, therefore, and guessing more, I was not altogether surprised to receive a note in reply to mine, requesting me to call on the Minister the next morning. It was a good sign and pleased me. He had turned me out of his presence less than a week before, with an implied threat of expulsion from the Duchy; but his threat had been no more than air; and now, unless I read the facts all wrong, he was going to ask me to help him.

I was anxious for the interview and I went to it full of confidence. As I was ushered into his presence the recollection of Celia’s description of her interview flashed into my thoughts and I had all I could do to restrain my temptation to smile.

“You have written me a very strong letter, Sir Stanley,” he began.

“I* am glad your Excellency appreciates its strength. I meant it to be strong, because -it appears to me strong measures must be adopted. I mean, of course, from my side,” I hastened to add. “You tried your strong measures, you took forcible and unlawful possession of my ward, and you threatened to turn me out of the Duchy. Under such circumstances a milk and water policy would be useless.”

u The young lady is not your ward.”

“Pardon me, she was my uncle’s ward, and I am my uncle’s heir and successor. She was actually on her way to England under the conditions I had arranged when your agents intercepted her and carried her, where I shall yet find her.”

“She is in my own house.”

“Then you are detaining her most illegally. By what right, I should like to know, do you imprison young girls in your house ? “and I put a good show of indignation into my manner. “ Wherever she ought to be, she should not be here. If she is my ward, restore her to me. If she is the Duke’s daughter, take her to the Duke’s residence. But you have no right to keep her here.”

“Is this necessary? “he asked quietly, with a significant look.

“It is my protest against your conduct,” I cried, warmly.

“Very well, now that you have made it, let us get to other matters. Do you mean that you are going to flaunt the story of the young Duchess and of her illfated mother — who by the way is once more under restraint — all over the world, through the medium of that precious boon of England — your free press ? “

“I can understand your dislike of a power that threatens to be so embarrassing.”

“And you are then going to Berlin? I have no objection to that, and I have no objection to any legal process; but surely your chivalry will not let you persecute with the sword of publicity this young lady whom you profess to regard and esteem.” His taunt, quietly spoken, hurt, and I was sorry I had even used the threat; but I could not show a sign of weakness.

“I hope to gain my end without that becoming necessary.”

“Necessary ! “he said, with a very biting accent. “Well, we won’t labour that point, but will presume you will prefer to act as an Englishman of position, a gentleman and a man of honour.” I relished his irony none the more for the fact that apparently it was merited. “I mean to be frank with you, Sir Stanley, and invite you to be so with me; and I shall give you ample reasons why there can be no publicity. First, let me tell you that the Count Carl von Kronheim has made this claim, on behalf of his wife, whom he now calls the Duchess Celia; and the Duchess Marie supports it. In doing this, they gave me a clue to their whereabouts, and I have placed the Duchess once more in the hands of those who will know how to take care of her; and have provided a place of residence also for the Count and his wife. He says nothing openly of the extraordinary story of the change of children.”

“You have not investigated the story ? “I asked, as he paused.

“Well, in a way, yes. And a fresh complication has occurred. It appears that the adventuress — I can call her nothing better and will for the moment call her nothing worse — who is the mother of the Count’s wife, — the Countess Borgen, has been greatly exasperated by his conduct to her in the last week or two, and has taken a woman’s revenge. She has given me in detail the distressing facts of the past life of the girl through whom the Count makes his claim. I will not go into them “

“I know something of the story,” I interposed.

“Well, I will only say it shows her to be a quite impossible claimant. Von Kronheim is a reckless daredevil — like all his family indeed — and having concocted the fraud is determined to make the most of the claim.”

“Does Baroness Borgen support that changeling story ? “I asked eagerly, for it was the pith of the matter to me.

“She says nothing either way and is contented to have made her other revelations. But my opinion is that von Kronheim, finding that he could do nothing to bend the Duchess Celia to his plans — and she is not exactly pliable in any hands — has hatched this changeling story in order to gain his end that way. It is nothing but impure fable from start to finish, and it may be so regarded,” he said, speaking with very deliberate emphasis.

“I do not take that view of it, nor will my cousin,” I made haste to say. “You have not tested it.”

For a moment he did not reply, but sat fingering his papers and then turning to me he said with what struck me as forced calmness:

“It is that which has induced me to see you, Sir Stanley. I feared you would take the impossible view that this story might be true. As a matter of fact the witnesses have disappeared ; the two women, I mean,” and he stared dead into my eyes.

“Convenient,” I exclaimed, with a shrug of the shoulders.

“Most inopportune and unfortunate,” he returned, in the same dead level tone.

“They must be found, your Excellency.”

“Yes, they must be found,” he agreed, still in the same tone. “But it may be difficult and will take time. The story is none the less a fable, and the young Duchess must meanwhile take her rightful position. And you, Sir Stanley, will help in securing this end.” As he said this his eyes fastened on me with a look of almost fascinating intentness. I seemed in that instant to realise all that Celia had meant about feeling the power in him. I was saturated, so to speak, with the instant and overpowering conviction that he knew he could beat me; that for his confident declaration he had reasons so strong that I could not hope to resist; and that in some way he held both Celia and me fast in his grip. It was a most absorbing, eerie sensation, and I tried to shake myself free from it, as I laughed and cried incredulously:

“I help you ! “but the laugh died away under the set stare of his stern, beady eyes.

“Yes, you will help me, I repeat,” he said, after a long pause. “Not through any thought for the Duke or any of the great interests involved — but because you hold dear the reputation of the young girl you call your ward.”

“What do you mean ? “I asked. I was no longer incredulous, but deeply earnest, full of troubled dread and impatient to know what this strange secret was he was keeping back.

For a moment he played with my impatience.

“If you would not blight her life, you will have to do this,” he said.

“Quick, man, quick,” I cried impetuously and angrily; so deeply had he worked upon my feelings. “Say what you mean.”

He paused even then, and after a moment, speaking with calculated deliberation, he bared the new weapon he had prepared for my undoing.

“If you would not see that sweet young girl whom you cherish and have hoped to marry branded in the eyes of Europe as the daughter of a convicted murderess, you will give the help that is needed. And that is the only alternative before you.”

CHAPTER XXX

DEATH TO THE RESCUE

It was some moments before I could realise the full significance of General von Eckerstein’s words and all that they meant to Celia and me; and I sat staring at the tense, relentless, grim face whose eyes were fixed steadfastly on me as if they would burn their way into the innermost recesses of my soul.

The power of my antagonist positively appalled me, crashed through the barriers of my confidence and stifled the instinctive prompting to doubt the truth of his words; and I sat shrinking from his implacable purpose and overwhelmed by the consciousness of his capacity and intent to force his way to the end he had in view.

“This is not true,” I said at length; but the protest sounded feeble even in my ears.

“Don’t buoy yourself with false hopes. I have myself investigated every detail of the case, although the facts have only recently come to my knowledge. The victim was the child of the girl, Katrine, and the Baroness Borgen put it to death with her own hands to save the reputation of her daughter. The crime was cowardly and callous, and revoltingly barbarous in some of the details of disposing of the body. I will spare you them; but they are such that every mother in Europe would lift up her voice and cry for vengeance upon the murderess, were the story told.” He spoke with clear belief — compelling deliberation. “It is in every respect a terrible story.”

Then I tried to force myself to oppose him.

“This is nothing to Celia,” I cried, passionately.

“Can a mother’s crime be nothing to her daughter ? “he asked, coldly. 4< Is it nothing that all through her life the world would point to her as the daughter of one of the most infamous and inhuman women of the age ? Is it nothing that day after day, week after week, year after year, her own heart is to whisper to her in every hour of weakness, in every moment of that solitary self-communing which no human soul can escape: ‘I am the daughter of a murderess? My mother’s hands were red with blood ‘? Is it nothing that when her own babes are drawing from her breast the life the giving of which is the rarest delight that nature bestows, she is to be haunted by the tainting thought — ‘They are the offspring of a murderess ‘? Ask any woman, Sir Stanley, if your own heart doubts, and then tell me it is nothing — if you can. If she were vile, callous, cruel, infamous like this woman, it might be nothing; but being what she is — God help her!”

“She must never know it ! “I exclaimed involuntarily.

“But it is you who would force the knowledge upon her,” he answered, deliberately. “When the trial takes place and the facts come out in all their bare horror, how can she fail to know what must be common knowledge from one end of Europe to the other ? Nay, where is the daughter’s place but by the side of her mother ? Do you know her so ill as to think she is a coward to shrink even from such an ordeal if she conceived it her duty; or believe that she would take any less standard of duty ? “

His words burned like brands in the grasp of a torturer, and I sat, unable to answer, even to protest. It was nothing less than the horrible truth that he spoke; and in my thoughts I could see her doing just what he said — facing the world with scornful defiance, but suffering, ah, God, as only such a heart as Celia’s could suffer.

“It is you who would put her this,” he added after a moment, weighing his words and watching intently their effect upon me. “It is you who persist in accepting this wild, sensational fable. It is you who, to suit your own purposes, Sir Stanley, repudiate this young girl’s history as given to us by your uncle, and declare that she is not the daughter of the Duchess, but the daughter of — this infamous woman, at least “— here he paused, and his expression changed to one of almost diabolical cunning as he added with slow, deep significance: “That was your belief. She is the daughter of one or the other.”

I knew his meaning well enough and what he was waiting for me to say; and struggle, resist, and fight as I would, I could not slip from the coils he had wound round us.

“She must never know it ! “I exclaimed again, giving utterance to my one all-absorbing thought. Come what might the knowledge must be kept from her.

“You mean then that you will agree with me in disbelieving this changeling story,” he said, with a cold distinctness of tone. “She is not the daughter of this infamous wretch. You see she cannot be? You see now the unnaturalness of the fable ? The impossibility of such a relationship ? In that case, it follows she must be daughter of the Duchess Marie, and as such must take her rightful position. You see that too now. And what is more, you understand how the friends of one so exalted might be willing for her sake to keep silence about even such a crime as this, where the criminal has been falsely associated with her.”

It is impossible to convey a description of the subtlety with which he said this. But it was a blunder. Up to that point I had been stunned by the logic of facts; but this was different. He was proposing a bargain — his silence for my consent. And in a moment the instinct to continue the fight against him revived, and I began by tearing the veil from his pretence.

“Let us speak in plain terms, if you please,” I said, nervously at first, but then with more composure. ** You mean the price of this silence is that I agree to help you to induce my cousin to take her position as the Duke’s daughter; and you propose to force me to pay it by threatening to obtain publicity for this story by prosecuting this woman for the deed you allege against her.”

“The young lady you call your cousin — a mistaken term in either event, Sir Stanley — is the daughter of either the Duchess Marie and so next in succession to the throne, or of the Baroness Borgen, whose crime stands unpunished. I believe she is the young Duchess.”

“And if we will not accept that belief you threaten to proclaim her the daughter of a murderess ! “

“If she be not the young Duchess there is no longer any State reason for saving a criminal from a rightly merited punishment.”

That was another blunder, and I fastened on it instantly.

“No reason ! “I answered indignantly, “on the contrary there is more reason than ever, according to the logic you apply. If we accept the view that this woman is Celia’s mother then her crime was perpetrated to save the reputation — of whom ? “I asked triumphantly. “Of whom but of her who is the young Duchess herself ? And the victim was that same young Duchess’s love child. Surely that is scandal enough to impel even you to silence.”

But he would not yield a jot or tittle of his ruthless doggedness.

“That fact would not transpire, and if it did, the fortunes of that young woman can never affect the State. She is, as I have said, impossible. We have to look only at the effect upon the Baroness’s daughter.” This shuffling evasion angered me, and the anger came as a welcome relief.

“It is infamous, your Excellency, nothing less than infamous. You treat the happiness of this pure and innocent girl as a mere pawn in the sordid game of statecraft about the succession.”

“The exigencies of the young Duchess’s high position render some amount of self-sacrifice inevitable. Think before you decide.”

“I have been thinking, God knows, as hard as I can. I must have the proofs of this wretched woman’s crime.”

“The facts are here at your disposal,” he answered readily. “I have had them prepared for you — without the names of course; but every word set down is capable of the fullest proof.”

I plunged at once into the papers he laid before me.

I need not give the loathsome details of the crime here and it is sufficient to say they were gruesome, barbarous, and utterly revolting, and I rose from the description of them horrified, sickened, and appalled. The deed was all that the minister had described and worse than the worst he had suggested.

The thought that Celia should even have cause to believe herself the child of such an inhuman creature as the fiend whose work was here described was intolerable; and again I resolved that she should never know the story, if efforts of mine could prevent it.

Hot upon this resolve came the passionate conviction of the impossibility of such a relationship. My senses rose in rebellion against the thought; and my former assertions of a belief in the changeling fable became in an instant like black treachery against Celia. Come what might, the falseness of that infernal story must be proved. She was not, could not be the daughter of this infamous Baroness Borgen, and my energies, nay, my life itself must, if necessary, be devoted to proving the falsity of what an hour before I had sought with equal earnestness to believe.

While I was plunged in this maelstrom of troubled thought the Minister had been writing, and when at length I looked up from the papers, I found his eyes bent upon me with an intensely earnest expression.

“You have finished ? You take my word now ? “he asked.

“I would doubt the existence of my God if I thought that Celia could be this fiend’s child,” I cried, some of the passion in me finding vent in the outburst. “The lie of that slander must be proved. I will not rest till it is done.”

“You are right, Sir Stanley, and if I can prove it now?” he asked.

“I will do anything you ask. Anything in the wide world.”

“You will help me to influence the young Duchess ? “The question came rapidly, like the sharp, vigorous thrust of a rapier, and, absorbed by my concern for Celia, I answered quickly :

“With every power at my command;” and then, realising all I was promising, I added — “if that should prove necessary.” The condition irritated him.

“I must have an unconditional pledge, Sir Stanley,” he insisted. But the demand was not warranted. It was unjust, too, and superfluous. “What do you mean by necessary?” he added when I paused.

“I will give no other pledge,” I answered more quietly, “and you should ask none. Your object is gained in our recognition of the real position of the young Duchess — and I will pledge my honour to help in securing that. I have no right, nor have you, to fetter her action when once her status is acknowledged.”

“You must give me your pledge to renounce the scheme for this impossible and preposterous marriage. I can be content with nothing less,” he asserted, with deliberate emphasis.

“What will you do, then, when I say I will not give it ? And I will not. Do you mean you would try to put all this vile and painful slander upon her when she is proved, acknowledged, and proclaimed as the Duke’s daughter and heiress? “

“I must have your word,” he said, sternly, not heeding my remonstrance. “I will have it.” His tone rose almost to passion as he thrust his chair back and began to pace the room. “I will have nothing less. Do you know what this is that I have been writing while you read ? It is the warrant for that woman’s arrest — the signal for all this to commence; the match that shall fire the lurid flames, and if you do not give your word, I will——” he stopped suddenly as the doors opened, and Celia herself came in, followed by the Minister’s secretary, gesticulating in energetic protest. Her face was flushed, her. expression proud and indignant, but her eyes as they met mine beamed with love, tempered, however, by a light of mischievous enjoyment of the scene. I knew the look well enough.

“If I must be a prisoner in your Excellency’s house, I must at least request that your servants shall not interfere with me. Your secretary here has tried to stop my entering the room, and would almost have ventured upon force, I think.”

A wave of the hand dismissed the rather bewildered secretary.

“Your Grace has taken an inopportune step in coming here,” said the Minister, angrily.

“I do not think so,” Celia answered, quietly, and then came and put her hands into mine. “Do you, Stanley ? “

Grateful and sweet as the sight of her always was to my eyes, it must be confessed her arrival was not without embarrassment at that moment. I stood newly pledged to use my utmost endeavours to urge her to acknowledge her relationship to the Duke, and thus even the little innocent action of putting her hands in mine was in its way disconcerting. To cover the pause of thought and also to solve the difficulty, I carried her fingers to my lips with a touch of old-fashioned gallantry, and then released them.

“To me your coming can never be inopportune, you know that ? “

All the assumption of indignation fell from her then,, and with it faded the light of mischief, giving place to some doubt and signals of troubled concern.

“Sir Stanley Meredith and I have been discussing your Grace’s affairs,” said the Minister. “ He sees now that the proofs of your birth are irrefutable, and that your Grace’s duty is to take those steps which are inseparable from your position.”

Cclia was not by any means so impressed as he had expected, but the clouds cleared from her face, and she smiled.

“If Stanley approves any course of action for me, I am sure it will not be a disagreeable one,” she said. “I am very weary of all this talk about my position, which seems, so far, to abound in disagreeable duties without a single corresponding pleasure. But if you have a fresh definition of them, Stanley, I’ll promise to listen patiently,” and with a very pretty assumption of submissive patience, she sat down and looked at me.

“What his Excellency tells you is a fact. I can no longer doubt that you are the Duke’s daughter. It is no longer possible to doubt it, indeed.”

“And that means ? “she asked, looking at me sharply, and ostentatiously fingering her ring.

“That you should take the necessary steps to secur reconciliation with your father, the Duke.” Shtarted as I referred to the relationship, her fingers felway from her ring, and her hand gripped the arms of her chair.

“It is, then, serious,” she said in low voice. Then, after a pause, she added quickly, “What has happened to cause this? “

The Minister was beginning to reply, when she interfered with a peremptory little gesture of authority.

“Pardon me, your Excellency, I prefer to hear it from Sir Stanley Meredith.” She had met *me with my own weapon, and her face wore an expression in which were blended challenge, love, mischief and resentment.

“Yes, it is very serious,” I answered, earnestly. “Certain facts have come to my knowledge — I cannot tell you them — but they make further doubt impossible; and it is my sincere and honest advice to you, to — to seek this reconciliation.” She listened with a strained intent which brought a frown to her face, and it remained there after I had finished, and while she thought.

“You learnt these facts from General von Eckerstein ? “

“You do not think I should urge this if I were not thoroughly convinced ? “and the protest in the question had the effect I desired. It convinced her; but the sight of her sudden pain smote my heart.

“No, I trust you absolutely.” The words came in a low, faltering tone; but she would not let her suffering have the upper hand. “We can speak of that part again. “Does this entail a change in — in everything ? “

Brave as she was, she could not prevent her lip trembling so that she had to press it tightly and hold it with her white teeth.

“Everything, your Grace,” said the Minister, relentlessly. But Celia flamed upon him proudly.

“That is the first word of hope I have had since I came in. When an enemy is so ready to demand everything, I may know the demand is exaggerated and that I can hope.”

“God knows I am not your Grace’s enemy. I have served your house with all my heart,” cried the Minister, stung deeply by the taunt.

“I wish you had done them any other service than this,” she retorted, untouched by his protest; and then a silence fell on us, which Celia broke presently by saying: “Do you say it involves everything, Stanley?” There was no fence now, no playing with words, no pretence, nothing but the plain question straight from her heart; and love, fear, agony and appeal were in her eyes and voice.

“H-is Excellency and I were discussing that very point when you came in, Celia. I had agreed with him that you should certainly take your position here as the Duke’s daughter,but that it was not for him or me to say as to — to anything beyond that.”

“I was sure of it,” she cried instantly, turning on him in triumph, while she pressed her lips to her ring, and added, in a tone of infinite relief: “On that condition I will do anything, everything you wish. Tell me, please, what I am to do.”

“I can best discuss these matters with you privately,” he answered, scarcely attempting to suppress his anger.

“Why? nay, I will not,” she cried in the same tone, gathering confidence every moment. “I am either Sir Stanley’s ward, in which case he has a right to be present, or I am the Duchess Celia, and can claim to have the presence and assistance of my truest friend and most trusted adviser. When your Excellency has done a tithe for me of what I owe to Sir Stanley, it will be time for you to dictate conditions; but not until then.”

His chagrin at this was little short of amusing.

“I appeal to you, Sir Stanley, to withdraw,” he said next.

“With all respect I must decline. You have gained your end, and this is a point which should not be pressed. Indeed, I have a strong desire to know precisely how the matter stands with the Duke.”

Celia took up that and answered promptly and pointedly.

“The truth is, I have good reason to say, that the Duke knows nothing whatever of my presence in Crudenstadt, and probably not even of my existence.”

“Is this so, your Excellency ? “I asked, as if in the deepest surprise, while Celia threw me a swift glance of understanding.

He made no reply, and I repeated the question.

“In a measure it is so,” he said slowly. “You do not understand nor can you appreciate the difficulties of the case.”

“But without the Duke’s recognition, how on earth can you hope to make such a claim as this good ? It is of the very essence and pith of the matter. What do you propose to do ? “

“I shall lay the case before him now with all despatch.”

“And if he will not or does not recognise me, what then?” cried Celia, wickedly enjoying the old man’s perplexity.

“He will do so, your Grace need have no fear.”

“My feeling is not fear; it is hope. But if he does not?”

“There is no such possibility,” he said, doggedly, almost angrily.

“But if he does not ? “she insisted again.

“Your claim would fail, of course. But it is not possible with the influences that can be brought to bear. I must respectfully decline to discuss such an alternative. And now I must suggest that this interview should end. Nothing more can be done.” He spoke very sternly and shortly.

“I shall see you again, Stanley,” said Celia, rising.

“I must respectfully protest against that,” exclaimed the Minister, sharply. “I cannot permit it of my own authority, and such a meeting can only take place with my master’s sanction.”

“I have already asked you to procure me an audience with the Duke,” I declared, for his imperious tone angered me.

“And until that can take place and you can procure the necessary sanction, such a meeting as this is impracticable.”

“You have overcome greater obstacles than this, Stanley,” said Celia, rebelliously and smiling to me as she held out her hand. “Your Excellency now can scarcely think my coming was inopportune,” she said as she passed him. But he made no reply except to bow, as he held the door open for her, his face dark, stern and very angry looking.

“And now, Sir Stanley, we will resume our conference where it was interrupted. You accept my terms ? “he said abruptly.

“The matter is different from what I understood. The Duke himself has given no indication of “

“I cannot discuss that with you,” he interposed, curtly and peremptorily.

“As you please, sir, but I will discuss nothing at alntil I know what the position will be should His Highness refuse to recognise his daughter. And I must protest very strongly indeed against the tone which you are adopting. You are no dictator in the matter, and the assumption of such a role can only increase the difficulties of an already sufficiently difficult matter.”

He didn’t like the protest, but it had its effect.

“I do not pose as dictator,” he said not graciously, but with far less curtness. “But this question of the Duke’s attitude is superfluous. I assure you of that. I do not deny for an instant that His Highness’s avowed recognition of the legitimacy of his daughter’s claims is of the very essence of the affair. Without it, the claim must fail as a matter of course. But I know my master intimately, and how keenly he feels on the subject of the succession; and I can pledge myself with absolute confidence that he will recognise her. It would therefore be grievous were you and the Duchess Celia to build anything upon the chances of his not doing so. That is all. And of course the mere fact of recognition must put all thought of this sadly obstructive marriage quite out of the question. That is why I urge upon you, therefore, the extreme necessity of your abandoning it at once. It must be, Sir Stanley. Facts, not I, dictate the urgency.”

His moderate tone had much more effect upon me than his previous threats, and after a pause I answered:

“I can say no more now, than to promise to think over the situation most carefully;” and I was about to leave him when there came another of those swift almost dizzying dramatic turns which had so marked the latter developments of the struggle.

The secretary entered hurriedly, looking pale and much excited.

“Your Excellency is wanted at once, if you please. There is terrible news. His Highness the Duke is dead.”

“Dead ! “we both exclaimed, in the same breath; and the interchange of rapid glances told how the same thought had been started in each.

“Has died suddenly of heart failure,” continued the secretary.

“Good God ! “exclaimed the Minister, under his breath; and in the excitement of the moment he appeared suddenly to forget all about my presence, and hurried away, leaving me in a condition of great perplexity and scarcely less excited than himself.

I recalled his words — almost the last he had said to me. Without her father’s recognition Celia’s claim must fail. This dramatically sudden death had intervened to make such a recognition for ever impossible. In a moment the whole intrigue about the succession was thus scattered to the winds — and Celia would be free again.

The secretary lingered, looking at me and expecting me to leave.

“Shall I tell them to call your carriage, Sir Stanley ? “he suggested, after a moment or two.

“No,” I answered, firmly, my decision taken. “My ward must know this at once. I must see her.”

“Pardon me. I cannot without authority “hegan, but had no need to complete his protest, for Celia herself came in.

“I wondered if you were still here. Is the news of the Duke true. They tell me he is dead.” She waale and spoke in a low voice with every sign of being much disturbed and nervous.

“Yes, it is true. I have this moment heard it from this gentleman. He died suddenly of heart failure.”

“What will it mean to us ? “she asked, wistfully.

“Everything, I think.”

She closed her eyes, locked her fingers tightly, sighed and then involuntarily crept a step or two closer to me, but remembering the presence of the secretaiy, checked herself. Then a servant came in search of her.

“Her Excellency would be glad to see your Grace,” he said.

“I will come. I had better, hadn’t I ? I shall see you again soon,” she whispered.

“Very soon,” I promised, and our hands clasped.

It meant so much for us, it was not humanly possible to feel sorrow. We were lovers, and although it was death that had swept the barriers out of our way, we could not in that moment think of anything but our love.

CHAPTER XXXI

AT LAST

I was right in my instinctive forecast. The death of the Duke meant everything to us. The days he lay in state were days of continuous intrigue about the succession, and for a time I half feared that Berlin would declare in favour of Celia’s cause. That it was not so, General von Eckerstein had himself mainly to blame.

Berlin had been misled, even as we had, in regard to the Duke’s knowledge of Celia and his recognition of her legitimacy; and the strongest censure was passed on him, both for his lack of frankness and for his procrastination.

A very high and mighty personage came to Crudenstadt and was extremely successful in entirely misunderstanding Celia’s position. The General fell almost into disgrace, and was brushed aside as a person of quite secondary importance who had committed grave blunders.

The great personage saw me and explained the position with much condescension, distant urbanity and delightful misappreciation of Celia’s wishes. At great length he expounded the many weighty state reasons why Celia could not be supported, and when I argued any of them, he elaborated and explained them in an almost apologetic vein.

“I really cannot admit any such claim. It is very painful for the young lady — a very charming young lady, I believe — for I have thought it best not to see her, as we cannot encourage her to hope for support, — but of course very English,” and he smiled as he pointed out this distressing fact. “It would have been all so different had the late Duke admitted the claim and been reconciled to her; it would have changed the whole position. She owes this disappointment entirely to General von Eckerstein, indeed. We should have had no locus standi for interference then. But I put it to you; look at the evidence. Did you ever see such a complication ? “

“It was considered very clear,” I ventured, secretly rejoicing at the line he was taking. “ It is a very serious matter for my ward.”

“Considered ! Yes, it may have been. But what does it rest on? Nothing; indeed, less than nothing. We have the statement of the servant, Schwartz, and we had the confirming assertion of the unfortunate Duchess Marie; but in the first place her mind is affected, and in the second she has changed her ground, and supported somebody else’s claim — a person who is absolutely outside the pale of possibility. What other evidence is there ? “and he spread his hands out with an expression suggestive of the preposterous absurdity of the case.

“There is my uncle’s written statement,” I suggested, looking deeply impressed by his eloquence, but yet bound to urge Celia’s claim.

“Yes, but what does it amount to ? Of course, it is very sad for your ward, and very disappointing, but “

“Very,” I answered, when he paused. “It would be difficult to gauge the measure of her disappointment,” as indeed I knew. “But she must try to bear up against it.”

“If only the Duke had admitted the claim it would have been so different. Of course, you see that ? “

“You have put it now so strongly that she could not fail to see it as clearly as I do,” I said, as if convinced now and able to contend no longer. “And what do you think would be the best course for her to pursue? “

“It is about that I wished to see you; “and for an instant he became very serious. ** The position is very delicate. The Duke’s son will succeed, despite his health, but with a strong Regency. What will be done afterwards I can’t say. But I was going to suggest to you, Sir Stanley — you English are as practical as ourselves generally — do you think it would be possible to prevail upon your ward to leave Crudenstadt and return, say, to London ? “

“It might be possible,” I admitted, doubtfully, with a grave nod of the head.

“Her continued presence here might become embarrassing, you see. I don’t for a moment attribute to her anything but the most prudent intentions, but you can’t answer for what other people might try to do in her name. If you could prevail upon her to absent herself for a time at any rate you would be rendering us and in point of fact her as well, a valuable service.; what think you ?”

“I have some influence with her,” I admitted.

“You will use it I am sure in the best interests of all,” and he beamed upon me through his spectacles; and manifestly plumed himself upon his successful diplomacy and the clever way in which he was handling me and getting all he wanted. I felt quite sorry Celia herself was not present, and after an appearance of reflection, I said:

“The matter is so important that my ward herself ought really to be present and hear what you say. It might strengthen my influence with her, you see.”

“If you think so by all means, but there is just one other point. When the claim is once abandoned, it might be more satisfactory if your ward’s assent to the abandonment were in writing. Only a form, of course, but in these matters some people rather stickle for forms.”

“That might also be possible,” I agreed, after a pause. u If you were to put it to her, I think perhaps I could see my way to assist you; “and I looked very serious indeed.

As the interview took place in General von Eckerstein’s house it was an easy matter to get at Celia, and she came in, looking very pale and anxious, but on seeing me and reading intuitively the expression on my face, her own brightened.

The illustrious Berliner had not seen her before, so I told her in a tone of awe suited to his rank who he was, and made haste to open the matter.

“A crisis has been reached in your affairs, Celia, and His Highness has been speaking to me on the matter. You will have to prepare yourself to receive his communication with fortitude. His Highness has grave doubts whether your claim to the throne of the Duchy can possibly be maintained.” Her eyes which had been fixed on the floor while I spoke, flashed up at me now, and lingered a moment on mine with deep meaning, and then turned upon his Highness. “Such a disappointment as is involved in this decision for you, Celia, may be difficult to bear, but you must be brave,” I added.

“Is it quite decided ? “she asked in a tone which showed me she had caught the spirit of the scene, and she looked almost appealingly in the great man’s face.

His Highness had been looking intently at her, and I was much mistaken if his obviously very impressionable nature had not found her beauty a very great surprise, and a very attractive one. It was perhaps just as well that he had made his decision first and seen the object of it afterwards.

Your ward is much older than I had expected, Sir Stanley,” he said; and the remark showed how badly he had got his facts up; but both Celia and I appeared to find a suggestion of something more than mere surprise in his words, for a very suspicious colour crept into her cheeks, and I could have smiled, if I had not been on my most correct behaviour. “I am distressed to be the means of causing so much disappointment and pain to so beautiful a young lady; but the exigencies of State unfortunately know nothing of such matters.”

“Is it quite decided ? “asked Celia again, eager as I thought to get the fact officially announced.

“I fear I must say quite,” was the reply, and then he went again over the ground of the decision as he had with me. “Sir Stanley tells me,” he concluded, 14 that he has some influence with you.”

Indeed,” interposed Celia, with a glance of excellently assumed surprise.

I correctly understood you, Sir Stanley ? “

As guardian, of course,” I said, apologetically.

Ah, if I were only your ward,” retorted Celia.

“If His Highness decides as he says, Celia, that relationship will revive; I think you must see that,” I explained in an appropriately grave tone.

“Never,” she cried, quite audaciously, as she twirled her ring.

“I shall be sorry if your residence at Crudenstadt has destroyed old associations in the way your protest suggests.”

“I don’t remember that obedience was ever the chief characteristic of my wardship,” and her eyes were laughing at me in flat rebellion right under the eyes of the great personage, who appeared considerably puzzled by this passage.

“You may put it, your Highness,” I said turning to him, “that I will use such influence as I possess to help you in achieving the end you desire.”

He bowed courteously, and then looked in much doubt at Celia.

“I suggested to Sir Stanley that it would be advisable if you could be prevailed upon to leave Crudenstadt, at any rate for a time.’’

“In the unimportant matter of my personal movements I have always allowed my guardian’s decision to prevail,” said Celia, demurely, and with an excellent parody of the great man’s manner.

“Then you will leave ? “he said, and his tone was one of unmistakable satisfaction.

“If my guardian so decides, I shall feel I have no option.” His Highness glanced at me as though he had scored another success.

“There is one other point, more or less a formality,” he said, with an engaging smile. “It refers to the abandonment of your claim. I was explaining to Sir Stanley in your interest that if the fact were put in writing it would tend to clear the air of all possible complications and be so much better for all parties.”

“And does my guardian actually advise me to do that ? “asked Celia, open-eyed as with astonishment.

“I said it was possible you might be induced to do so, Celia. I only spoke as I thought, of course.”

“But if I do this, I am only a girl, what is to become of me ? “she exclaimed in most theatrical dismay.

“You need have no fear on that head,” said the great man. But that was not what Celia meant or desired, and I interfered:

“Of course, if you resumed your position as my ward, your welfare would be again the charge of us all.”

“Of you all ! “she cried again, pressing me most daringly, her face crinkled in perplexity and her eyes dancing with gleeful mischief.

“As head of my family, you would be my special charge, Celia,” I said, and at that direct statement, she had to lower her face to conceal the blush which it brought. “I think I can say that Celia would recognise the prudence of such a step, your Highness.”

“I felt convinced of that and as a matter of form “— this seemed to be one of the stock-in-trade phrases of his illustrious diplomacy — “I had a paper just thrown together. If you would look at it now, Sir Stanley, the matter might be completed, and I could acquaint Berlin.”

I read it through and found it, as I had anticipated, a very carefully drafted renunciation by Celia of all claims to the throne; and it was signed and sealed there and then with all the necessary formalities. When these were concluded, I asked:

“When do you think my ward should leave Crudenstadt ? “

“The sooner the better,” was the prompt reply.

“To-night ? “

“If it be practicable for the necessary preparations to be made ? “he answered with a questioning glance at Celia.

“I could try. I have before now had to travel at very short notice and without any preparations. And if it is really a matter of urgency, I think I could do it,” she declared.

“There’s only an hour to catch the mail,” said I.

“I’m afraid that’s altogether too short a notice,” suggested the great man.

“Still, to serve the State, I’ll make an effort,” cried Celia; and then suddenly her powers of pretence gave way, she laughed brightly and ran out of the room like a happy schoolgirl going home for the holidays.

His Highness stared after her, greatly puzzled.

“She is a very beautiful girl, and a very unusual one, Sir Stanley. Upon my word I almost think she is glad to go.”

“She has a very affectionate nature, your Highness, and likes England,” I replied with preternatural gravity. “She is moreover very much attached to my sister, too.”

“Umph. Your sister is a very lucky girl,” he said drily. “And perhaps of about your own age ? “Which seemed to show that even illustrious personages are not impervious to the truth.

“My sister is years younger than I am,” I answered; u about the same age as Celia herself.”

“Ah ! “he smiled, meaningly, and shook hands very cordially. “I congratulate your sister and — yourself, Sir Stanley. We have been playing a little comedy, it seems, and it might have saved time had you told me before. But you will catch that train, I’ve no doubt, and in any case could not have caught an earlier one; “and with that we parted.

We did catch the train and a most delightful journey it was back to England. Celia had very little luggage, but she was taking a bulk of high spirits and happiness that proved quite unpackable, even in her great heart. The sunshine of her delight defied restraint and bursting out constantly, lightened and brightened every mile of the way, and filled the stuffy carriages, the monotonous stations, our whole world in fact, with a radiance that was like a new life that we were carrying with us home to England.

A quiet wedding six weeks later opened for us the real new life, and we started on another journey to make that long ramble about the world which I had planned once before. In the course of it, four months later, we found ourselves once again in Crudenstadt.

The visit had been made possible by a letter which came to us just before our marriage from the great Personage at Berlin. It brought renewed congratulations and a most lovely wedding present for Celia; and then told us that under the altered circumstances we need certainly not regard ourselves as bound to avoid Crudenstadt.

We were curious to go there. Alice made very much of us both, and even her husband was cordial, having, of course, no reason to be anything else. My sister as usual had much news to tell us.

The succession question was still simmering; young Duke Constans was still alive and nominally on the Throne, but no one ever saw him and he was drinking himself to death. The Regency still held the power and under it, our stern old antagonist, General von Eckerstein, had managed to regain some of his influence. Karl von Kronheim and the Baroness Borgen were dead; the former was killed in an accident when riding, mad with drink; the latter had died within a week of the time of our troubled visit, and with her died the story of her crime. Katrine had disappeared, and although we had our own thoughts, nothing was ever heard of her. It was a gruesome story altogether. The two old women admitted the falseness of the changeling fable; but even this proof of the reality of her claims did not make Celia wish to press them, or even to stay in Crudenstadt.

We left the next day, but not before we had had a last look at the General’s house which had been Celia’s prison, and then at the Duke’s Residenz, which might have been hers.

“It is a splendid place,” said I, “a gorgeous home to have renounced.”

“It has one fatal flaw,’’ answered Celia, pensively.

“A flaw? How do you mean?” She turned and smiled.

“There is no love there, and no Stanley in all the Duchy. I would ten thousand times rather have my own kingdom.”

A preference which, thank Heaven, my dear wife has never repented.

THE END.