y.'

Blivinski considered the dreary landscape.

'We must not believe all we hear. In diplomatic relations, my friend,
ethics cease to exist. Diplomacy is after all a simple game--even
elementary--a magnificent beggar-my-neighbour which we continue to play
into eternity.'

'But there are rules ... even in beggar-my-neighbour,' said the
Counsellor.

Blivinski kicked the rug softly from his feet as the carriage drew up.

'One rule, only one,' he remarked; 'Britain loves to feign the Pharisee.
We smile--we others--because we understand that her rule and ours is
after all the same--self-interest.'

'If that be the case we come back to the law of the Beast,' said the
Counsellor.

The Russian put his gloved hand upon the open door and looked back over
his shoulder at Counsellor.

'Always, my dear friend, by very many turnings--but always.'

CHAPTER XX.

UNDER THE PINES.

It was a day that would be dark an hour before its time. Rallywood rode
out under the gate of the Castle of Sagan as the last trooper clattered
down the rocky roadway in the rear of the Duke's carriage, for upon the
arrival of the squadron from Revonde he had received orders to remain
behind, the search for Colendorp having so far proved unsuccessful.

Rallywood rode slowly down the shoulder of the mountain spur. Under the
gray light of the afternoon the limitless swamps stretching to the
skyline looked cold and naked under their drifted snow. From the sky big
with storm overhead, to the scanty grass that showed by the wayside
blackened by the rigours of the winter, the whole aspect of the frontier
was ominous and forbidding. Before he plunged into the lower ravines
Rallywood turned to look back at the angry towers of Sagan. He was
thinking of Colendorp. Under their shadow that lonely and reckless life
had come to its close. Why or by whose hand might never be made clear,
but Rallywood's mind had worked down to the conviction that the Count
might be able to tell the story.

Well, it was good to know that Colendorp had not died in vain;
indirectly but none the less surely his death had brought about the
defeat of Sagan's plot.

Then he rode away into the heart of the winter woods, where the branches
groaned and thrashed under the driving wind. Through gloomy and
pine-choked gorges he wound his way to the riverside, for he had decided
that if Colendorp had met his death in the river, his body would in time
be beached near Kofn Ford.