University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
THE PLOT THICKENS.

AFEW months drifted by. All men published
the praises of the young Conrad's
government and extolled the wisdom of
his judgments, the mercifulness of his sentences,
and the modesty with which he bore himself in
his great office. The old Duke soon gave everything
into his hands, and sat apart and listened
with proud satisfaction while his heir delivered
the decrees of the crown from the seat of the
premier. It seemed plain that one so loved and
praised and honored of all men as Conrad was,
could not be otherwise than happy. But strangely
enough, he was not. For he saw with dismay
that the Princess Constance had begun to
love him! The love of the rest of the world
was happy fortune for him, but this was freighted

with danger! And he saw, moreover, that the
delighted Duke had discovered his daughter's
passion likewise, and was already dreaming of
a marriage. Every day somewhat of the deep
sadness that had been in the princess' face faded
away; every day hope and animation beamed
brighter from her eye; and by and by even
vagrant smiles visited the face that had been so
troubled.

Conrad was appalled. He bitterly cursed himself
for having yielded to the instinct that had
made him seek the companionship of one of his
own sex when he was new and a stranger in
the palace—when he was sorrowful and yearned
for a sympathy such as only women can give
or feel. He now began to avoid his cousin.
But this only made matters worse, for, naturally
enough, the more he avoided her, the more she
cast herself in his way. He marvelled at this
at first; and next it startled him. The girl
haunted him; she hunted him; she happened
upon him at all times and in all places, in the
night as well as in the day. She seemed singularly
anxious. There was surely a mystery
somewhere.

This could not go on forever. All the world
was talking about it. The Duke was beginning
to look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming
a very ghost through dread and dire distress.
One day as he was emerging from a private
ante-room attached to the picture gallery, Constance
confronted him, and seizing both his
hands in hers, exclaimed:

“Oh, why do you avoid me? What have I
done—what have I said, to lose your kind opinion
of me—for surely I had it once? Conrad, do
not despise me, but pity a tortured heart? I
cannot, cannot hold the words unspoken longer,
lest they kill me—I love you, Conrad! There,
despise me if you must, but they would be uttered!”

Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated
a moment, and then, misinterpreting his silence,
a wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she flung
her arms about his neck and said:

“You relent! you relent! You can love me—
you will love me! Oh, say you will, my own,
my worshipped Conrad!”

Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor over-spread
his countenance, and he trembled like

an aspen. Presently, in desperation, he thrust
the poor girl from him, and cried:

“You know not what you ask! It is forever
and ever impossible!” And then he fled like a
criminal and left the princess stupefied with
amazement. A minute afterward she was crying
and sobbing there, and Conrad was crying
and sobbing in his chamber. Both were in despair.
Both saw ruin staring them in the face.

By and by Constance rose slowly to her feet
and moved away, saying:

“To think that he was despising my love at
the very moment that I thought it was melting
his cruel heart! I hate him! He spurned me—
did this man—he spurned me from him like a
dog!”