It was a curiously deep silence which reigned for many moments in the King’s chamber. Ughtred slowly drew a little apart from Marie and glanced sternly from one to the other. His momentary suspicion, however, died away. The look on the face of Nicholas of Reist was such as no man, even the most consummate of actors, might assume.

“What news do you bring?” the King said, quietly. “Is all well at Solika?”

Reist pointed to his sister.

“There are no fresh tidings,” he answered. “I await your Majesty’s explanation of my sister’s presence here.”

Ughtred drew himself up. The blood of an ancient race asserted itself. He eyed Reist coldly. It was the King who faced a rebellious subject.

“I have no explanation to offer to you, Duke of Reist,” he answered. “Seek it instead from your sister. It is she who should afford it you, seeing that her presence here was undesired by me, and unexpected.”

“Your Majesty lies!” Reist thundered.

There was a deep and awful silence. Then Ughtred turned upon him, a fierce flash of anger in his blue eyes.

“Duke of Reist,” he said, “you are a privileged person at this Court, and I have called you my friend. You will unsay those words, or hand me your sword.”

“I repeat,” Reist said, fiercely, “that your Majesty lies.”

The King pointed to the open panel.

“Countess,” he ordered, “leave us. This matter is between your brother and myself. We can settle it best in your absence.”

She turned to her brother.

“Nicholas,” she said, “the King’s word is truth. I came here without any knowledge of his. I remained here against his will. It was unwise, perhaps, but the fault was mine. I wished to hear from his own lips what truth there was in these rumours of his coming marriage.”

“Was it your place to ask the King these things?” he demanded, fiercely. “Was it dignified or seemly of you—you, his affianced bride?”

“I am not his affianced bride, Nicholas,” she answered. “That was an idle ceremony. It was true we drank together of the King’s cup, but its history was unknown to him.”

He eyed them both with a fierce scorn.

“God alone knows of what cup you have drunk together,” he cried, bitterly. “How often have you found it necessary to seek him here in the solitude of his chamber? How often have you used this infernal passage?”

“To seek the King, never,” she answered firmly. “I used it when I found Brand here. If I had not, Theos might to-day have been a Russian State.”

He pointed with unshaking finger to the opening in the wall.

“Pass away, Marie!”

She hesitated.

“It is the truth which I have told you, Nicholas,” she said.

He thrust before her eyes a piece of paper.

“You are young, Marie, to lie so glibly even for your lover’s sake. Here is the message which summoned you here, written in the King’s handwriting, signed with the King’s name. You left it on the table, so that even the servants might know of the shame which has come upon our House.”

The King crossed the room and looked over Marie’s shoulder. It was indeed his own notepaper, and the writing of those few words strangely resembled his.

“Come now, I am alone.—U.”

The King looked up with grave face.

“It is a forgery!” he said.

“It is a forgery,” Marie echoed, white to the lips.

Nicholas of Reist said nothing. He pointed to the open panel. A look of horror flashed into the girl’s face. She understood.

“Nicholas,” she cried, “that message never came from the King. Where you found it I do not know, but I never saw it before. You must believe me, Nicholas. The King was ignorant of my coming. He was unwilling that I should remain even for a moment.”

“I repeat,” the King said, gravely, “that the writing which you hold in your hands is a forgery, Nicholas. I have never written to your sister in my life. This is part of a plot which shall be sifted to the bottom.”

Still Nicholas stood silent before the panel, and Marie passed out. He shut it carefully. Then he turned to the King, who was still standing with that half-sheet of notepaper in his hand.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I desire to know whether it is your intention to marry my sister.”

The King looked him squarely in the face.

“Nicholas,” he said, “have I ever in my life done or said anything to give rise to such a belief?”

“Your Majesty,” Reist answered, with a bow, “has been ever most discreet. Yet before witnesses you pledged my sister in our ancient betrothal cup, well knowing its immutable record.”

“That is true,” the King answered, “but at the time I showed clearly that with me at least it was a jest. I plead guilty to an act of folly. I came straight here from life amongst a people to whom symbols and ceremonies have become as empty things—a practical and utilitarian people, and I did not recognize the passionate clinging of the dwellers in these more romantic countries to old customs and old ritual. I deeply regret it, Nicholas. I have no other regret.”

Reist pointed to the letter which still remained in the King’s fingers. Ughtred tore it through with a gesture of contempt.

“I did not write it,” he said. “I did not invite your sister’s presence.”

Reist controlled himself with a visible effort.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I beg you for one moment to reflect. I appeal once more, less for your sake or mine, than for our country’s, to your honour. Your throne you owe to me. I have been your faithful servant, and my sword is yet wet with the blood of your enemies. Our name is great throughout Europe. An alliance with us can only strengthen your hold upon the people. It ill becomes me to force these things upon you, but the issue is great. Do you seek the hand of my sister in marriage?”

“I do not,” the King answered. “I never have done. Wait.”

Reist paused with his hand upon the hilt of his sword. The King continued.

“For the sake of my kingdom I do not order you from my presence, Reist. We are in danger, as you know, and I can ill spare a brave man. Listen. On my honour I, Ughtred of Tyrnaus, declare to you that the letter you found is a forgery, that your sister’s presence here was as much a surprise to me as to you, that I never for one single moment failed in the respect which I owe to her as the sister of my best subject.”

“That,” Reist said, coldly, “is your Majesty’s last word?”

“It is.”

Reist drew his sword from his scabbard and bent it upon the ground till the blade snapped. The pieces he threw before the King.

“I resign my position in the army,” he said, “and I withdraw my oath of allegiance. We are on equal terms now, Ughtred of Tyrnaus, and I demand satisfaction from you for this affront upon my House.”

Ughtred eyed him sternly for a moment, but without anger.

“First, sir,” he said, “discharge yourself of your duty. Report to me of the position at Solika.”

“We have withstood a fierce attack,” Reist answered, coldly, “and driven the Turks off with heavy losses. I regret to add, however, that Solika is a hotbed of Russian intrigue, and what we gain in the field we shall doubtless lose through treachery. My force are encamped outside the city, and there are scouts duly posted to warn us of any fresh attack. I desire your answer, Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”

The King’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Be careful, sir,” he exclaimed, “or my answer will be a file of soldiers and the prison.”

There was a brief pause. An angry spot burned on Reist’s cheeks, but he kept silent.

“My answer to you is this, sir,” the King said. “All duties which I owe as a private individual are secondary to those I owe my country. So long as the war lasts I decline your challenge. The day it is over I will meet you under any condition you choose to name. Now go!”

“But——”

“Sir,” the King thundered, “I do not bandy words with my subjects. Go!”

Reist passed out in silence. The panel rolled heavily back. The King was alone! He sank heavily on to his couch and buried his face in his hands.