‘UPON THE GREAT WORLD’S ALTAR-STAIRS.’

It is a commonplace that selfish natures, balked of gratification, seek relief in making the unhappiness of others, preferably of those who are helpless to resist or to resent. Therefore Count Sagan employed the interval before going to the Palace to procure the signature of the Duke to Rallywood’s death-warrant in paying a flying visit to his wife, whom he had not seen since the morning of the boar-hunt at the Castle.

He found several other people calling upon Madame de Sagan, who was not fond of solitude. Numbers gave the pretty Countess courage. She took no notice of her husband’s entrance, although the soft colour left her face instantly as a candle-flame is blown out. But Count Simon had only five minutes to spare and something to say in them. Isolde’s feeble rebellion escaped him; he strode to her side, and with a single glance dispersed the little coterie of guests about her, the only one who kept his position being Baron von Elmur.

Sagan stood before his wife, an evil smile on his coarse bearded mouth. He nodded at Elmur.

‘I have news of interest for both of you.’

‘Ah! it is over then?’ Elmur asked at once. He discerned the Count’s intention and would have averted its fulfilment if possible. The thought that he was about to make a woman unhappy never deterred Elmur from any course of action whatsoever, but he preferred not to see them so. He delighted in pretty women, and Isolde of Sagan was exceptionally pretty; therefore, for the sake of the next half hour of her society he would have spared her the tidings her husband’s malice designed to thrust upon her in public. Afterwards the deluge might come, but what matter? Have we not all our deluges in private that submerge our world in tears? ’Madame has kindly promised to assist in the tableaux vivants next week,’ he added hastily.

The Count grinned his contempt.

’You should reproduce the death of a traitor. Come to see Rallywood shot in the morning by way of an object lesson.’

Madame de Sagan’s hand flew to her throat with a quick gasp of horror; for a second the room seemed to swing round, then slowly settle again.

‘Why, what has he done?’ she asked; her lips were dry but she spoke deliberately.

’Nothing new, only he happened to be found out this time. Well, au revoir!’

Elmur stood up and followed him.

‘The signature of his Highness?’ he asked in a low voice.

’I go to get it and other things also. I have arranged the interview with Selpdorf.’

Elmur bowed and returned to his place by the side of the Countess. Isolde’s blue eyes, dewy as a child’s with unshed tears, appealed to him.

‘It is not true?’

Elmur reflected that he had never before seen her look so pretty. Most women with tears in their eyes repelled his fastidiousness, but this one was delicious. He bent towards her and said as much with a fervour that surprised her. She smiled tremulously. She had always considered the wary German worth capturing, but he was an elusive bird. Admiration had never before got the better of his self-possession; now for the first time he appeared to be carried away by it. The keenness of conquest thrilled her. Jack? ah, yes, poor Jack! But he was practically lost to her for ever. She sighed a little; she had been fond of Jack, but the love that can stand against the inevitable was not hers. She reminded herself that Jack had preferred Valerie but, why, so had Elmur! A temptation came to her; she glanced again at Elmur. He was personable though advancing to middle age, and handsome as men go, though his eyes were close-set and cunning. He was not like poor Jack no, she would never find anyone perhaps quite so good to look upon as Jack, with his broad shoulders and corn-coloured hair, and those dear frank eyes! No, but

’Madame, what are you thinking of? I wish I dared flatter myself that I could ever draw tears to those exquisite eyes,’ Elmur said again with warmth. He wanted excitement and Isolde was yielding. There are women who will sacrifice the most sacred things, God’s word itself, on the altar of their vanity. Isolde withdrew her slight hand from his touch, but it was the withdrawal that invites advance. She hesitated no longer.

’There are other eyes whose tears will be bitterer than mine; are you not jealous of them? I am sorry for Captain Rallywood, of course, but poor Valerie what am I saying?’

‘Whatever you say interests me,’ he urged, his eyes following hers.

She pouted coquettishly.

‘Yes, because I speak of Valerie!’

‘No, it is because you speak!’ he declared amorously. ’Tell me of Mademoiselle Valerie if you will,’ this as a concession, ’though you could tell me something more interesting.’

‘Not more interesting to you than this,’ she exclaimed, nodding her golden head at him with her little air of foolish wisdom. ’It is lucky that Captain Rallywood is is about to furnish an object-lesson, for ’ she raised her slender finger and laid it on her lips, smiling at him.

He looked round. They were alone in a smaller drawing-room; it was not possible for the guests in the other saloon to see them. He drew the finger from her lips and pressed it to his own. He would woo the truth from this beautiful fool. His words meant one thing, his looks another.

‘And Valerie?’ he questioned, seeming to count her fingers on his palm.

‘Valerie loves him she told me so,’ whispered Isolde, since there was no longer need to speak louder.

‘And you, my dear lady?’ And it may be the speech was the more impassioned because in his heart he was damning the picturesqueness of the captain of the Guard.

And Rallywood? Rallywood sat in his quarters thinking thoughts that, like music, lead sometimes on to exaltation. His earthly life was done, and he looked out into the dim beyond fearlessly. His eyes were set and sad, for he should see her face and hear Valerie’s voice no more, but he would be waiting in that somewhere for her. A man in the supremer hours often turns again to the faiths of his childhood; so now Rallywood, at the summit of his life, found himself given back all those lost dreams.

He did not know how she came there. He heard no footstep enter. And when he knew, neither spoke.

There was nothing to say; it was all understood so well. She stood beside him, her hands in his in a strange lull of mutual knowledge.

‘How did you come?’ he asked her at last.

‘Anthony,’ she answered, ‘he knows all.’

‘How like him! But,’ with a man’s ready thought for the woman he loves, ‘you must not be found here. Say good-bye to me, Valerie.’

‘John,’ she clung to him, ’how can I let you go? You are dying for Maasau for my father for me yes, yes, I can guess all!’

’Valerie, do you know what your love is to me? I need nothing more. I have not thought of what there is beyond, but when you want me you will find me waiting.’

In the long silence life itself might have been suspended.

‘When?’ said Valerie, in a sudden recollection of anguish.

‘To-morrow,’ he answered, understanding the broken question.

Valerie raised her wet eyes.

’In my life there can be no to-morrow. God may not let me die, but my life will always be one long remembrance of to-day. I shall live in to-day always. To-morrows are for happier women, John. And yet I am wicked to say that. I would not change my lot with any other. For have I not my memories? And I will learn to have my hopes. And whenever that blessed day of release may come to me, I will bring my heart to you as it is to-day, my king!’

Rallywood looked into the beautiful tear-dimmed eyes. He was too wise to say that he had spoilt her life, that had it been possible to set the wrong right by any sacrifice he would have done so. Of this he said nothing. He only kissed her.

’Next to living to be with you, darling, I am in love with dying for you, Valerie!’

The silence grew again between them, the best and saddest silence upon earth the silence of all’s said.

’And yet, John, I have one thing left to live for. I will live to see your name stand where it should. For men like you are only understood and honoured afterwards,’ she said presently.

Another man might have disclaimed all praise. Rallywood, who believed he deserved none, kept silence. He knew that to deny would be to wound. And he was fain to say to her a thing which was hard to say and hard to hear. But he was looking out into the troubled future, and his anxiety for her grew bitter upon him. So he nerved himself to the greatest sacrifice of all. And Valerie’s next words gave him the opening he desired.

‘Your sword ’ she began.

‘Is broken.’

’No, no! Anthony brought another to Count Sagan, not yours. Yours was not the sword of a traitor! That also I will keep.’

’Unziar I thank him. And Valerie, listen! When they condemned me there was one vote in my favour. You can guess whose.’

‘Anthony’s?’

’Yes, Valerie, and he loves you, and I will not blame I wish I would ask ’

Valerie’s glance met his. She understood.

‘No,’ she said; ’I will thank him, and like him dearly and pray for him, but not that no, not ever that!’

A quiet knock on the door.

‘And now it is good-bye.’