ty to me----? Is that nothing?"

Renwick smiled into the darkness. Had he been told six months ago that
he would be bandying the interests of England against the plans of a
pretty woman he would have laughed the idea to scorn.

"What do you wish me to do, Marishka?" he asked gently.

With a swift impulse, she threw her arms about his neck, whispering in
his ear.

"O Hugh, I cannot bear that there should be a difference between us,
today, the first of our _fiancailles_. It will perhaps make no great
difference that you should tell what we have heard, for your country,
thank the Holy Virgin, is at friendship with mine. If you would but wait
until I give you permission."

"And if something happened to me in the meanwhile----?"

"Nothing can happen. No one at Konopisht can know. I am sure of
that--sure."

Perhaps the moment of danger that had threatened their happiness had
made each more considerate, and the two great secrets that they
possessed, their own and the other more terrible one had strengthened
the bond between them.

"I will wait until you have been to Schoenbrunn," he decided.

"Until I give you permission," she insisted.

He kissed her. She believed it to be a promise and the tight pressure of
her hand rewarded him. In that moment of _rapprochement_, the destinies
of nations seemed a matter of little moment to them.

"You will marry me soon, Marishka?" he murmured.

"Perhaps," she whispered gently.

Morning brought the pair in a _fiacre_ into the Schottenring, Marishka
weary but resolute, Renwick somewhat dubious as to their appearance at
this early hour alone in the streets of Vienna. But at his suggestion
that they drive first to the house of Marishka's aunt and guardian,
Baroness Racowitz, where some excuse could be made for the girl's
unexpected visit, Marishka only shook her head and gave the town address
of Prince Montenuovo, who, as she knew, was still in residence, the
Emperor not being expected at Ischl until the middle of July. Nor would
she permit Renwick to accompany her within the house, and so he sat
alone in the humble _fiacre_ for what seemed an interminable time, until
a man in livery came down the steps and gave him a note in Marishka's
hand.

"I have succeeded in getting an audience. Go to the Embassy and
await word from me. Silence."

And so at last he drove away to his hotel, sure at least that for the
present he had done his duty to Marishka. But this was no bo