But the fierce, hardy mountaineers were unconquerable. For centuries
    they had fought, with a fervour and fury that nothing could withstand
    or abate, attacks on their independence. Time after time, century
    after century, they had opposed with dauntless front invading armies
    sent against them. This unquenchable fire of freedom had had its
    effect. One and all, the great Powers knew that to conquer that
    little nation would be no mean task, but rather that of a tireless
    giant. Over and over again had they fought with units against
    hundreds, never ceasing until they had either wiped out their foes
    entirely or seen them retreat across the frontier in diminished
    numbers. For many years past, however, the Land of the Blue Mountains had
    remained unassailable, for all the Powers and States had feared lest
    the others should unite against the one who should begin the attack. At the time I speak of there was a feeling throughout the Blue
    Mountains--and, indeed, elsewhere--that Turkey was preparing for a
    war of offence. The objective of her attack was not known anywhere,
    but here there was evidence that the Turkish "Bureau of Spies" was in
    active exercise towards their sturdy little neighbour. To prepare
    for this, the Voivode Peter Vissarion approached me in order to
    obtain the necessary "sinews of war." The situation was complicated by the fact that the Elective Council
    was at present largely held together by the old Greek Church, which
    was the religion of the people, and which had had since the beginning
    its destinies linked in a large degree with theirs. Thus it was
    possible that if a war should break out, it might easily
    become--whatever might have been its cause or beginnings--a war of
    creeds. This in the Balkans must be largely one of races, the end of
    which no mind could diagnose or even guess at. I had now for some time had knowledge of the country and its people,
    and had come to love them both. The nobility of Vissarion's
    self-sacrifice at once appealed to me, and I felt that I, too, should
    like to have a hand in the upholding of such a land and such a
    people. They both deserved freedom. When Vissarion handed me the
    completed deed of sale I was going to tear it up; but he somehow
    recognized my intention, and forestalled it. He held up his hand
    arrestingly as he said:

    "I recognize your purpose, and, believe me, I honour you for it from
    the very depths of my soul. But, my friend, it must not be. Our
    mountaineers are proud beyond belief. Though they would allow
    me--who am one of themselves, and whose fathers have been in some way
    leaders and spokesmen amongst them for many centuries--to do all that
    is in my power to do--and what, each and all, they would be glad to
    do were the call to them--they would not accept aid from one outside
    themselves. My good friend, they would resent it, and might show to
    you, who wish us all so well, active hostility, which might end in
    danger, or even death. That was why, my friend, I asked to put a
    clause in our agreement, that I might have right to repurchase my
    estate, regarding which you would fain act so generously." Thus it is, my dear nephew Rupert, only son of my dear sister, that I
    hereby charge you solemnly as you value me--as you value yourself--as
    you value honour, that, should it ever become known that that noble
    Voivode, Peter Vissarion, imperilled himself for his country's good,
    and if it be of danger or evil repute to him that even for such a
    purpose he sold his heritage, you shall at once and to the knowledge
    of the mountaineers--though not necessarily to others--reconvey to
    him or his heirs the freehold that he was willing to part with--and
    that he has _de facto_ parted with by the effluxion of the time
    during which his right of repurchase existed. This is a secret trust
    and duty which is between thee and me alone in the first instance; a
    duty which I have undertaken on behalf of my heirs, and which must be
    carried out, at whatsoever cost may ensue. You must not take it that
    it is from any mistrust of you or belief that you will fail that I
    have taken another measure to insure that this my cherished idea is
    borne out. Indeed, it is that the law may, in case of need--for no
    man can know what may happen after his own hand be taken from the
    plough--be complied with, that I have in another letter written for
    the guidance of others, directed that in case of any failure to carry
    out this trust--death or other--the direction become a clause or
    codicil to my Will. But in the meantime I wish that this be kept a
    secret between us two. To show you the full extent of my confidence,
    let me here tell you that the letter alluded to above is marked "C,"
    and directed to my solicitor and co-executor, Edward Bingham Trent,
    which is finally to be regarded as clause eleven of my Will. To
    which end he has my instructions and also a copy of this letter,
    which is, in case of need, and that only, to be opened, and is to be
    a guide to my wishes as to the carrying out by you of the conditions
    on which you inherit. And now, my dear nephew, let me change to another subject more dear
    to me--yourself. When you read this I shall have passed away, so
    that I need not be hampered now by that reserve which I feel has
    grown upon me through a long and self-contained life. Your mother
    was very dear to me. As you know, she was twenty years younger than
    her youngest brother, who was two years younger than me. So we were
    all young men when she was a baby, and, I need not say, a pet amongst
    us--almost like our own child to each of us, as well as our sister. You knew her sweetness and high quality, so I need say nothing of
    these; but I should like you to understand that she was very dear to
    me. When she and your father came to know and love each other I was
    far away, opening up a new branch of business in the interior of
    China, and it was not for several months that I got home news. When
    I first heard of him they had already been married. I was delighted
    to find that they were very happy. They needed nothing that I could
    give. When he died so suddenly I tried to comfort her, and all I had
    was at her disposal, did she want it. She was a proud woman--though
    not with me. She had come to understand that, though I seemed cold
    and hard (and perhaps was so generally), I was not so to her. But
    she would not have help of any kind.