Ughtred sprang to his feet. He was half asleep and a little dazed—wholly bewildered at the apparition which was suddenly sharing the solitude of his chamber. It was Marie of Reist who stood before him in a wonderful rose-coloured gown tied loosely around her. She was paler than he had ever seen her—her eyes bright with purpose—behind the open panel.

“You bring news,” he cried. “Do you come from Nicholas?”

She shook her head.

“I know nothing of Nicholas,” she answered. “I came to see you.”

He was speechless. Her visit seemed to him amazing, its object an enigma.

“I wished to speak to you alone. Lately it has been impossible. Lock your door.”

He obeyed, but he returned to her with a grave face.

“Marie,” he said, “think for a moment. It is better that I should come to you. To-morrow——”

She interrupted him with an impatient gesture. At that moment the roar of distant artillery was distinctly audible.

“There may be no to-morrow,” she answered. “It is for the sake of Theos I have come. You must hear me.”

“For your own sake, Countess,” he begged, earnestly, “I beg that you will leave me. At any moment we may be interrupted. Messages are brought to me continually—and the hour is late.”

“I am the Countess of Reist,” she answered, proudly, “and the people of Theos know me. I have come to ask you a question. You must hear me, and you must answer me.”

He smiled.

“You are a little peremptory,” he said. “Never mind! The question?”

“There have been rumours, your Majesty, of a marriage between you and the American, Miss Van Decht.”

He looked across at her in displeased surprise.

“These are no times for thought or speech of such things,” he answered.

She turned upon him with a sudden fierceness. A spot of angry colour burned in her cheeks.

“You are wrong,” she exclaimed. “I have come to you resolved to know the truth. Listen, your Majesty. There are those who say that in your long exile you have forgotten all that is due to your birth and your country. They say that you are at heart a democrat. That it is in your mind to marry this daughter of an American tradesman, to offer her to the people of Theos as their queen.”

“It is true,” he answered. “What of it?”

She looked at him for a moment as though stricken with a sudden blow. To her the idea was heresy, rank and foul. A storm of indignant passion swept through her.

“It is impossible,” she cried, fiercely. “There is not a lady of Theos who would attend your Court. Do you think that I—Marie of Reist, would kiss the hand of this Van Decht woman—I, or any of the others? Oh, it is madness.”

“Countess,” he said, quietly, “we will choose another time for the discussion of this matter. You must forgive me if I beg that you will leave me.”

“Another time,” she answered. “Oh, listen! You depend at this moment on the loyalty of Theos to defend your throne. Do you believe that you could command it if this were known? In the mountains the Turks are gathering a great army, in the city there is treachery. Ah, you start, but my words are true. If the words which you have spoken to me had been spoken from the balcony there your throne would have been lost forever.”

He looked at her curiously—not altogether unimpressed. Treachery! What did she mean by that? She moved a step nearer to him. Underneath her loose gown her bosom rose and fell quickly. Her face was flushed and her eyes brilliant.

“Your Majesty,” she said, “do you know that by all the traditions of Theos you are betrothed to me—that the people of Theos wait day by day for the announcement?”

He looked at her in blank amazement. He was bereft of words. Her eyes flashed fire upon him.

“It is an insult—this purpose of yours,” she cried. “You and I have drunk together from the King’s cup. It has been the betrothal ceremony in the royal House of Theos for generations. You a stranger, who owe your very throne to us, have dared to ignore it—you, who propose to raise to the throne of the most ancient kingdom of Europe a woman of unknown birth. It is an infamy.”

“Countess,” he answered, “you know quite well that I was ignorant of your custom, of the history of that cup.”

“There are times,” she said, fiercely, “when ignorance is worse than crime. No man yet, even a king, has lived to break faith with the House of Reist.”

He had recovered himself—and he remembered. He addressed her steadily, yet with a growing coldness in his tone.

“Is it your wish then, Countess, that I fulfil the obligations which you say I have incurred?”

Her face burned, her eyes were lit with fire. He had gained an advantage. He had made her angry.

“It is a brutal question,” she cried, “but quickly answered. You know quite well that if it were so I should not be here. No! I would not marry you—not even to be Queen of Theos.”

“Then why——”

“Oh, but you are blind,” she interrupted, passionately. “You understand nothing. I repeat that I would not marry you to be Queen of Theos. I am willing to be your friend. I am willing to forget your broken pledge. But listen! Theos is the dearest thing on earth to me. I am jealous for my country, not for myself. I will not have this tradesman’s daughter Queen of Theos. Do you think that I, Marie of Reist, would follow her from the room, would bend my knee to her, would call her Queen? It is madness inconceivable. I speak for myself, but there are others who feel as I feel. It would be an insult to every royal family in Europe. These are the things which I have come to say. You must abandon your purpose, or——”

“Or?”

There was a moment’s deep silence. She shook her head very slowly.

“There is not a noble of Theos, your Majesty, who would not consider himself justified in rescinding his oath to a king who could stoop so low.”

Ughtred eyed her gravely.

“Marie,” he said, “you are a peeress of Theos in your own right, and as such you yourself have taken an oath of allegiance to me.”

“It is true, your Majesty,” she answered, coldly. “And I tell you now that the announcement of your betrothal to Sara Van Decht would in my opinion and before my conscience justify me in breaking that oath. And your Majesty must remember further that those who are not with you are against you.”

The King sat down and leaned his head upon his hand. Was this really how the people of Theos would regard his marriage, if indeed it should ever come to pass? The girl was so terribly in earnest, and of personal feeling it seemed after all that she had none. A cloud crept over his face.

“It is a threat,” he said, quietly. “Countess, I beg that you will leave me. I will think over all that you have said, and I will discuss it fully with your brother, and my other advisers. Forgive me if I add that I think it would be more fitting.”

He pointed to the open panel. She held up her head as though listening, but Ughtred heard nothing. Then she looked once more at the King. Something in his face reminded her for the moment of the man whom he resembled. He was tired, and his distress touched her heart. She moved suddenly over to his side and dropped upon her knee. The heavy sleeves fell back from her wrists, her white fingers touched his arms. She remembered that they had been young together, and after all the destinies of Theos were largely in his hands. He looked into her face and was amazed at the change. Her tone no longer shook with anger. She pleaded to him.

“Your Majesty, you and I were children together. Listen to me. I have lived in Theos all my life, and the love of my country has become a religion to me. For her sake, listen. You must not think any more of Sara Van Decht. Your marriage would be impossible. The House of Laws would not permit it, the nobility of Theos, of whom alas there are but few left, would not tolerate it. I am speaking the truth to you. As for what has been between you and me it shall go for nothing. I—listen—I love another man. Wait for a few years, and then seek for a wife where the royal House of Theos has the right to seek. I, who know, tell you that this is your duty—that even now your throne is in peril that you know nothing of.”

For the fraction of a second Ughtred hesitated, seeking about in his mind only how best to terminate a painful situation. And that brief period became almost a fatal interlude, for she saw what was passing in his mind. Then a low, fierce cry came to them from the shadows of the room. Nicholas of Reist stood on the threshold of the open panel, his drawn sword quivering in his hand.