Behind the Throne

by William Le Queux

hisruin."

  "Then you can save him by exposing their plot?" she cried, utterlyamazed at his words. "You will--will you not?" she imploredbreathlessly.

  "I can save him--yes, I can, within twelve hours, cause the very men whonow seek the downfall of the Ministry to fly in fear from Rome," hesaid. Then, after a pause, he added, "I know the truth."

  "And you will tell it?" she urged breathlessly, advancing towards him."My father's future, my own future, the honour of our house all dependupon you." He had examined her father's private papers, and undoubtedlyknew the truth on both sides. He had acted with the enemy, and yet hedeclared himself to be her friend? "You will save my father?" sheimplored.

  With a sudden movement he took her hand in his and whispered in a quick,earnest voice into her ear--

  "Yes, I will save him--on one condition. Of late, Mary, I have noticedthat you have avoided me--that--that you somehow appear to shun me insuspicion and mistrust. You doubt my good intentions towards you andyour family. But I will give proof of them if you will only allow me."

  She felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and trembled.

  "Save my father from the hands of these unscrupulous office-seekers,"she panted. "His honour--his very life is to-day at stake."

  "Upon two conditions, Mary," was his low, quiet answer, still holdingher hand firmly in his. "That he gives his consent to our marriage, andthat you are willing to become my wife."

  "Your wife!" she gasped, drawing her hand away, starting back, andlooking blankly at him with her magnificent eyes. "_Your wife_!"

  "Yes. I love you, Mary," he cried passionately, taking her hand again,"I love you. You must have seen how for months past I have lived foryou alone, yet I dared not, until to-day, reveal the truth. Say oneword--only say that you will be mine--and your father shall crush thosewho intend to wreck and ruin him."

  "You--then you make marriage the price of my father's triumph?" shefaltered hoarsely, as the ghastly truth gradually dawned upon her.

  "Yes," he cried, raising her inert hand to his hot lips. "Because Ilove you, Mary!--because I cannot live without you! Be mine. Speak theword, and I will reveal the truth and save your father from ruin."

  But, realising the cleverly laid trap into which she had fallen, shestood silent and rigid, her eyes fixed upon him in an agony of blank,unutterable despair.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  THE SACRIFICE.

  The glaring afternoon had drawn to a close.

  Camillo Morini, after a heavy day's work in the silence of the big oldlibrary at San Donato shaded from the sun-glare, rose, and joining Mary,went out along the hill to enjoy the _bel fresco_ of the departing day.The Italian habit is to go out and wander at sundown, and when up at hisvilla His Excellency always made it a rule to take a stroll through thecool pine woods, generally accompanied by Mary; for his wife was not agood walker, and seldom ventured far. Therefore father and daughter, inthe two hours preceding dinner, frequently made excursions on footthrough the smiling vineyards and great pine forests around themagnificent old mansion.

  They had skirted the mediaeval walls of the village and passed down theold cypress avenue, saluted on every side by their _contadini_, thenstriking off on a bypath through the wood they halted at a point knownby the countryfolk as the Massa del Fate--or Fairy's Rock--where thereopened suddenly before them a magnificent view--Tuscany, the paradise ofEurope, in the sundown.

  Surely nothing could be so beautiful as the lines of the Arno valley,the gentle inclination of the hills, and the soft fugitive outlines ofthe mountains which bounded them. A singular tint and most peculiarharmony united the earth, the sky, and the wide winding river. All thesurfaces were blended at their extremities by means of an insensiblegradation of colour, and without the possibility of ascertaining thepoint at which one ended or another began. It appeared ideal,possessing a beauty beyond nature; it was nevertheless the genuine lightof old-world Tuscany.

  The Minister of War, in his white drill suit and straw hat, a triflenegligent of attire as he always was when he was up there in that remoteretreat, halted at the break in the high dark pines, gazed out upon themarvellous panorama, and inhaled a deep breath of the cool, refreshingwind that came up from the valley with the sundown.

  After hours of intricate work in his darkened study he stood there torefresh himself, while Mary, in pale blue with a big straw hat, was athis side, her eyes turned away up the valley, reflecting upon somemeaning words he had just uttered.

  Mary often came to that lonely point on the high-up estate to enjoy thegrand scene of departing day. In that hour, when the evening bells cameup from the white villages dotted far below, the summits of theApennines appeared to consist of lapis-lazuli and pale gold, while theirbases and sides were enveloped in a vapour which had a tint now violet,now purple. Beautiful clouds like light chariots borne on the wind withinimitable grace that came from seaward made one easily comprehend theappearance of the Olympian deities under that mythological sky. AncientFlorence seemed to have stretched out all the purple of her Cardinals,her Signori, and her Medici, and spread it under the last steps of theGod of Day.

  "Well?" asked the Minister, as he watched the girl's beautiful face setfull to the dying sunset and saw the far-off look in her wonderful eyes.

  "I have nothing to say, father--nothing," was her quiet answer as sheturned to him, and he saw that she was on the point of tears.

  "Then you are content that it should be so? I mean you will permit meto give a favourable reply to the count?" he said, not without somehesitation. He had aged visibly since those quiet days in ruralEngland, and the lines upon his pale brow gave him an expression of deepanxiety.

  She sighed, and for a few moments made no response.

  "Is it your wish that I should marry him?" she asked in a low,mechanical tone, her face pale, her hands trembling.

  "I have no desire to place undue pressure upon you, my dear," he said,placing his hand kindly upon her shoulder. "I merely ask you whatresponse you wish me to give. He came to me while I was sitting alonein Rome three nights ago, and requested permission to pay his court toyou."

  "And what response did you give?" she inquired in a voice scarcely abovea whisper.

  "I told him that I desired to hear your own views before giving him ananswer."

  She was again silent, her face turned to the darkening valley. Thesundown in Italy disappears less quickly than in England, for when thetints are on the point of vanishing they suddenly break out again andillumine some other point of the horizon. Twilight succeeds twilight,and the charm of closing day is prolonged.

  "And what is your wish, father?" she asked presently, still lookingblankly before her; for those grey fading lights seemed to be but thereflection of her own fading life and happiness.

  "Well, Mary," he said, his hand still upon her shoulder, "let me speakfrankly and candidly. This morning I discussed the matter fully withyour mother, and we both came to the conclusion that the count is a veryeligible man. Neither of us desire you to marry if you entertain nolove for him, but both in England and in Italy we have noticed for ayear past that you have not been averse to his attentions, and--well, Imay as well tell you quite plainly, my dear--we have been much gratifiedto think that the attraction has been mutual. Yet," he added, "it lieswith you entirely to accept or to reject him."

  "It would please you, father, if I became the Comtesse Dubard, would itnot?" she asked, tears that were beyond her control springing to hereyes.

  "It would please both of us," he said in a low, earnest voice. "But youyourself must decide. That he will make you a good husband, I have nodoubt. Yet, as I have already said, as your father I would be the verylast to endeavour to force you to marry a man you do not love."

  She did not reply. He stood gazing upon her face, and his own thoughtswere sad ones. Soon, very soon, the blow might fall, and then his wifeand daughter would be left alone. He was, therefore, anxious to see hermarried before that catastrophe, which h
e knew was inevitable.

  When the count had sat with him that evening making his request, herecollected the strange story Mary had told him regarding the secretexamination of his papers. It was curious--so curious and so utterlydevoid of motive that he could see no reason in it. Yet if thatFrenchman had really discovered certain things concealed behind thatgreen-painted steel door, it was to his interest that he should becomehis son-in-law and so preserve the secret.

  Yes, he was anxious to see his daughter married to that man to whom hehad taken such a personal liking, yet he affected to leave the decisionentirely in her own hands.

  She spoke at last in a hard, tuneless voice, as though her youth andlife were slowly dying just as surely as the day was fading.

  "If it is your