.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 53804
   :PG.Title: The Red Fox's Son
   :PG.Released: 2016-12-25
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Edgar \M. Dilley
   :MARCREL.ill: John Goss
   :DC.Title: The Red Fox's Son
              A Romance of Bharbazonia
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1911
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE RED FOX'S SON
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      :alt: "*As often as we drove the front rank back upon its fellows, a new set of swords took its place*" (*See page* 337) From a Painting by John Goss

      "*As often as we drove the front 
      rank back upon its fellows, a new 
      set of swords took its place*" 
      (*See page* `337`_) 
      From a Painting by John Goss

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      THE RED FOX'S SON

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      A Romance of Bharbazonia

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      By
      Edgar \M. Dilley

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      *With a frontispiece in colour by*
      John Goss

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      Boston ::: \L. \C. Page & 
      Company ::: Mdccccxi

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      *Copyright, 1911*,
      BY \L. \C. PAGE & COMPANY
      (INCORPORATED)

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      Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

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      *All rights reserved*

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      First Impression, June, 1911

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      *Electrotyped and Printed by
      THE COLONIAL PRESS
      \C. \H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.*

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      TO
      MY MOTHER

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      THAT GENTLE LITTLE MENTOR OF MINE WHO HAS
      GROWN MORE DEAR WITH ADVANCING YEARS,
      WHOSE UNSHAKEN FAITH AND UNSWERVING
      AFFECTION HAVE BEEN MY INSPIRATION
      THIS BOOK IS
      AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

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   FOREWORD

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   |  A word with you, who lift me from my place among the Books,
   |  Before you take or leave me, pleased or displeased with my looks;
   |  If you are seeking knowledge of a scientific kind,
   |  If you would delve in pages full of wisdom for the mind,
   |  Although I stand a Slave Girl upon the Public Mart,
   |  Leave me!  Leave me!  Oh, my Masters!  I can never reach your heart!

   |  But, if you love the glamour of the Palace of the King,
   |  And find your pulses quicken when intrigue is on the wing;
   |  If you would see the Lover and the Maiden he would wed,
   |  The flight, the fight upon the stair, the rich blood running red,
   |  The last despair, the rescue, hero acting well his part—
   |  Take me!  Take me!  Oh, my Masters!  I can ever reach your heart!

   |  EDGAR M. DILLEY

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   CONTENTS

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I.  `David and Jonathan`_
II.  `The Return of Nicholas`_
III.  `Off for Bharbazonia!`_
IV.  `At the Turk's Head Inn`_
V.  `The Red Fox of Dhalmatia`_
VI.  `Solonika's Summer-House`_
VII.  `The Story of the Sacrilege`_
VIII.  `The Twins of Dhalmatia`_
IX.  `The Kiss in the King's Garden`_
X.  `The Discovery`_
XI.  `The Hidden Passage`_
XII.  `The Renunciation`_
XIII.  `The Rivals`_
XIV.  `The Abduction`_
XV.  `The Forest of Zin`_
XVI.  `Marbosa's Hunting Lodge—The Flight`_
XVII.  `Before the Storm`_
XVIII.  `The Coronation`_
XIX.  `The Sacrilege`_
XX.  `The Failure of Friendship`_
XXI.  `The Fight on the Stairs`_
XXII.  `The King is Dead—Long Live the King!`_
XXIII.  `The King's Offering`_
XXIV.  `L'Envoi`_





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.. _`DAVID AND JONATHAN`:

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   THE RED FOX'S SON

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   CHAPTER I

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   DAVID AND JONATHAN

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   |      We still have slept together,
   |  Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd together,
   |  And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
   |  Still we went coupled and inseparable.
   |              —*Shakespeare: As You Like It*.

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As I write in my quiet library the history of those
stirring events which began and ended while the
bells of 19— were ringing in the New Year in the
Kingdom of Bharbazonia, I am interrupted on my
literary journey by the sound of a sweet voice
singing, in the room below, the robust melody of "The
King and the Pope," my favourite song.

The sweet music sets me dreaming of the day I
first met Solonika in her quaint little Dhalmatian
summerhouse; of the time when she would have
killed me in the Red Fox's Castle; of the night of
suffering when I was lost in the Forest of Zin; of
the race for life with Marbosa's men; of the
sacrilege in the Cathedral of Nischon; of that last
awful scene at the Turk's Head Inn, when friendship
was put to the test—and I marvel, not so
much that a man may be placed in danger of death
in this, the Twentieth Century, from the religious
superstitions of a mediæval race; but that I should
owe my life to that fortunate occurrence, years
before, when Dame Fortune's handmaiden, "Chance,"
made Nicholas Fremsted my friend.

I often wonder at that friendship which came to
mean so much to me.  It began when Nick and I
were seventeen years old, and, although we are past
thirty now, it has but grown stronger with advancing
years.  We were first attracted to each other as
a result of a college prank.  Like most youngsters
whose parents make great sacrifices that their
children may be permitted in a class-room, my whole
ambition in life was to absent myself from lectures
as much as possible.  Nor was I alone in my folly,
for most of my fellow students joined with me,
knowing that the dread day of reckoning, examination
day, was far distant.  It is difficult to be a
faithful student when the football season is
gathering momentum!

Our professor was old and almost blind; and we
young rascals unfeelingly took advantage of his
infirmities.  Before we were Freshmen a week,
grown wise under the evil counsel of our elders,
the Sophomores and Juniors, we had become adepts
in dodging all his lectures.  Because he could not
see, it was easy for us to answer to our names at
roll call and slip out the rear door, leaving the kind
old man to talk to empty chairs.  Sometimes, when
it was not convenient for us to leave the athletic
field, growing bolder with success, we commissioned
one "man" to answer "Here" for all of us.  He
was careful to use different tonal qualities for each
name.  When his mission was safely concluded he,
too, would rejoin us, leaving a few of that despised
set of boys known as "grinds" in the front seats
to sustain the appearance of a full class.  They,
fearful of the wrath to come, diligently minded
their own business.

It was on one of the occasions when I had been
sent up to answer for the class, and was standing
just inside the doorway impatient to be off, that
I first heard Nick's name.  The professor, his nose
close to the sheet, lead pencil in hand, called it out
and waited for the answer which did not come.  I
glanced hastily down the list I held, but Nick's
name did not appear there.  Again the professor
called:

"Nicholas Fremsted."

"Here," I cried on the spur of the moment, and
the roll call proceeded, keeping me in continual hot
water running the scale of "Here, Here," until it
was over.  To this day I cannot tell why I
befriended him then.  He might have been a "grind"
with a bona fide excuse for his absence which when
presented later might lead to discovery.  I hoped he
would be one of the "good fellows" who were, I
suppose, very bad fellows indeed.

The roll call over, I did not wait to see if he came
late to lecture; but that same evening he visited me
in my rooms.  He was a tall, well made lad about
my own height and build, with sleepy brown eyes
and waving black hair.  His skin was as dark as
an Italian's, but when he spoke it was with a marked
French accent mingled with something that smacked
of a Russian or Slavonic flavour.  There was the
pride of ancestry in his easy bearing, and he spoke
with the decision of one whom the habit of taking
care of himself had rendered self-reliant.

"I am come to make my thanks to you, sir," he
said, "for your kind offices this afternoon in
replying to my name for the roll call."

"Do not mention it," I replied, bidding him be
seated; "you came to class then after all?"

"Yes.  Soon after the rest they are gone, I
advance to the fine old professor to explain my
lateness.  He informs me I am not tardy."

"You didn't give the snap away?" I cried, realizing
more fully the chances I had taken, for, if this
foreigner were of the stripe of human beings who
would rather be right than President, I should be
made to suffer for my kindness.  My classmates
would never forgive me for breaking up the little
deception which other classes had practised
undetected for years.

"Snap?" he repeated, puzzled by the colloquialism.

"I mean you did not tell him some one answered
to your name?"

"Oh, no, I did not; although it is peculiar to be
told by inference that one lies.  When the instructor
he says you are here since the beginning of the hour,
and shows me the mark on the roll beside my name
I only thank him and say 'Ah.'"

"Good boy," I cried, knowing that our secret was
safe in his hands; and I took him to my heart then
and there.

In five minutes we were smoking our pipes in the
easy chairs, engaged in the pleasant occupation of
getting acquainted.  I told him all about myself and
learned that he was not a Frenchman nor yet a
Russian.  That much he told me, and a great deal
more, but he did not volunteer any information as
to his nationality.  There was that about him, too,
which discouraged familiarity and he remained a
man of mystery, even to me with whom he came to
dwell at the end of that week, and with whom he
continued to live for eight years.  After we passed
through college, I persuaded him to study medicine,
and we both graduated from the medical school
at the age of twenty-five.

He was one of the most remarkable linguists I
have ever met, and with good cause.  From his own
account, he was sent away from home by his father
for political reasons, the import of which he himself
did not know, when he was eleven years old.  He
spent two years in St. Petersburg at school, two in
Berlin and one in Paris before he came to Philadelphia,
and, as far as I could learn, had never been
home in all that time.  His ample quarterly
remittances came through a Paris broker's office.

When first we knew him we called him "François
Fremsted" because we believed him French.  But,
after he joined the football squad and finally won
his place on the team, having developed into a great
strong fellow, we nicknamed him "Lassie."  because
that was the most absurd name we could think of
for a man who was as intensely masculine as he.
Nicknames, like dreams, you know, usually go by
contraries.  Of course the appellation was derived
from the last syllable of his first name.  To
unsympathetic ears it may at first have been misunderstood,
but "Lassie" himself liked it best of all the
names we gave him.

His knowledge of languages did not extend alone
to Russian, German, French and English.  I
remember, on one occasion, when we were celebrating a
football victory with the usual foolish college
abandon and found ourselves among the docks on the
Delaware River front, Nick spoke in a peculiar
dialect to a Slav stevedore, who was much surprised
to find an American so addressing him.  For some
reason Nick became angry, and hurled the jargon
at him imperiously; whereupon the labouring man
removed his cap and knelt on the Belgian blocks
of the street.  So great was his humility that he
would have kissed Fremsted's hand had not Nick
brushed him aside and walked away.

Again, I frequently accompanied him to the
Italian and Russian quarter of the town, when he
wished to transact some mysterious business with
certain residents there, and found that he got on
equally well with them.  It was also true that the
Bulgarian consul was, next to me, Nick's most
intimate friend and adviser.

What Nick's business might be I could never
determine, owing to the fact that his negotiations were
always conducted in different dialects, while French
was the only language I found time to learn—thanks
to Nick's assistance.  Whatever he was doing,
he did not permit it to interfere with his
college work, except on two occasions; once he was
absent for a week in New York and once he made a
flying trip to San Francisco.

Beyond leaving a note for me saying he would
not be home for a week or so, he never volunteered
any information about these journeys and I never
questioned him.  Had it not been that he was such
a handsome fellow, not averse to the society of the
ladies, I might yet be in ignorance as to his
destinations; but on both occasions letters with
illuminating post marks followed his return and told me that
Nick had found time to make social calls after
business hours.  There was never anything serious
about this sporadic feminine correspondence, and it
soon fell away, possibly because he presently forgot
to answer—a most reprehensible, though not
unusual, fault in young men.

So the years went by and we became inseparable.
The boys on the campus, whom nothing ever
escapes, remarked the friendship and dubbed us
"David and Jonathan."  They eagerly watched for
the advent of the woman, for they desired to know
what would happen if the eternal feminine should
come between David and Jonathan.  But she never
materialized and our lives went peacefully on.

After graduation Nick and I hung out our
shingles together in Philadelphia.  I persuaded my
widowed mother to take a larger residence on West
Spruce Street where there was ample room for all.
Some of his clothing is still hanging on the hooks
in his room and I suppose the key to the front door
is still on his key-chain.  We were scarcely
comfortably fixed in our new quarters when Nick went
away on one of his sudden and mysterious journeys.
At first I thought he would soon be back,
but he did not return for four years.

During that time I received an occasional letter
from him, each one mailed from a different part of
the globe.  In one of his missives he told me his
father had died, necessitating a change in his
attitude toward life.  In a letter from Paris he said he
had been home for a season, but the country life of
a gentleman did not appeal to him.  He assured me
he would soon return, and one morning, when I
awoke, I found him in his bed-room next to mine.
He had crept in quietly, while the house slept, and
retired as if it were the most ordinary thing in the
world for him to be home.

My joy at seeing him, as you can well believe,
was great; but at the end of one short month he
was suddenly away again, and his letters began
arriving.  This time he had a commission in the
Russian army of the Far East, and was in Vladivostok
when the war with Japan was declared.  It
was his misfortune to be transferred to Port
Arthur, where he was captured when the stronghold
was surrendered.

At the conclusion of hostilities he resigned his
commission, but remained in Japan because he was
interested in the country and the language.  Then
he drifted over to the Philippines in search of that
will-o'-wisp called "Something New," and thence to
California.  In his last letter he said that he was
coming eastward by easy stages and that there was
a chance that I would soon see him in Philadelphia.
In this hope I was not disappointed, for Nicholas
shortly made his appearance.  And here is where
the story begins.





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.. _`THE RETURN OF NICHOLAS`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   THE RETURN OF NICHOLAS

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   |  Returning he proclaims by many a grace,
   |  By shrugs and strange contortions of the face,
   |  How such a dunce that has been sent to roam,
   |  Excels the dunce that has been kept at home.
   |              —*Cowper: Progress of Error*.

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It was on the evening of November 17, 19—,
that Nicholas returned.  I recall the date distinctly
because it was the opening night of the Philadelphia
Opera House.  I was standing against the wall in
the red carpeted promenade, marvelling at the
magnificent display of gowns and the wonderful beauty
of the women, both of which were a revelation to
me, native born though I am, when I saw Nick
sauntering through the crowd.

Older, a trifle heavier and more matured, I
thought, than when I last saw him, but in all else
the same old Nicholas.  He was attired in the
perfection of evening dress, for perfection was usual
with him, and, although I least expected to find him
here, I knew I could not be mistaken.  There was
the same mass of dark waving hair, soft, sleepy
brown eyes and smooth olive skin; the same
well-built athletic figure—proud heritage of the
American college man—the same generous full rounded
mouth and even white teeth enhanced by contrast
with the darkness of his skin.

Waiting long enough to assure myself that he
was alone, I made my way through the crowd, none
too gently I fear, trampling on many beautiful,
slow-moving trains in my eagerness to reach him.

"Lassie!" I called.

"Rude person," said the angry owner of a ruined
dress; but I maintained my reputation for rudeness
by ignoring the pouting beauty in my frantic effort
to keep Nick in sight.

At the sound of the college name, which he had
not heard for years, Nick turned and examined face
after face within range of his vision until, over the
undulating sea of the hair dresser's art—and
artifice—our smiling eyes met and he recognized me.
So effusive was our meeting, and so genuine the
display of affection, that we became the centre of an
interested circle of bare-shouldered observers who,
mayhap, imagined that we were fighting.  And not
without reason, for we were alternately shaking
hands and punching each other forcibly, but
affectionately, upon our white shirt bosoms.  As the
lights were dimmed for the next act our audience
scattered as silently as possible to recover their
places in boxes and pit.

"Are you alone?" asked Nick.

"Yes."

"Good.  Then you will spend the remainder of
the evening with me, now that I have found you."

The blare of the orchestra drowned further talk
until we emerged from the opera house, leaving the
cigarette girl, Carmen, and her Spanish lovers to
their fate.

A huge dark green automobile with some sort of
a foreign monogram on the door, and a small Japanese
boy enveloped in a great fur coat at the wheel,
drew silently up at the curb.  Nicholas pushed
through the aisles of waiting carriages and the
crowd of spectators that lined the street and
sidewalk on that famous opening night.

"To the Bellevue?" I asked noting the direction.

"I would rather take you home.  We can have
more quiet in your back office, Dale.  I want to hear
you talk.  The sound of your voice is the best music
I have heard since I returned to old Philadelphia."

"Have you seen mother?"

"Yes; I got in just after you had gone to the
opera.  She told me where to find you."

When we arrived home the Jap boy put the car
in a neighbouring garage and I got out my Scotch
and seltzer in the back office.  Nick fled upstairs and
brought down a mandarin's coat of many colours
which he had picked up in Japan for me.  It was
indeed a beauty and I was proud of it as I strutted
around viewing myself in the mirrors.  Nick made
himself comfortable in my old smoking jacket, and
threw himself into a chair, his glance wandering
about the room.

"Just to think of it," he said; "all these years
have gone by and everything here is unchanged.
Not a piece of furniture, not an ornament has been
moved.  In the midst of it you sit, the very
personification of immovability, working away, doing the
same thing yesterday, to-day and for ever.  While I
have looked upon a new scene with every changing
hour, have seen cities rise and fall, have watched
men die by the hundreds.  Doesn't the *wanderlust*
ever grip you, Dale; don't you ever want to get out
and see something of the world?"

"Some persons have to earn their living, you
young gadabout," I said, smiling; "and, after all,
what have you accomplished with the fleeing
years?"

"Humph," said he, "nothing worth talking
about.  What have you done?"

"I have been practising my profession, distributing
with a free hand my pills and physic to the
residents of Philadelphia; I have written a medical
book or two and I have extended the lives of a few
men and women, bringing joy into the homes of
their loved ones.  That is more than you can say,
perhaps."

"True," said Nick, "I have done nothing.  Are
you married, Dale?"

"No."

"Going to be?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Nor I, either; but I never stayed long enough in
one place.  Why haven't you?"

"Been too busy with my work to think about it,
I suppose.  Besides, there's mother, you know.
Nick, I wish you would write to me oftener; your
letters were so few and far between that I
sometimes felt you had forgotten me."

For answer he put his hand into the pocket of
the mandarin coat I was wearing and handed me a
leather case.  I opened it and recognized the
meerschaum pipe I had given him as a graduation
present.  Pure white it was then, but now it was stained
a beautiful reddish black, showing the years of
comfort it had given him since that time.  Nicholas
never wasted words and I knew by this silent action
in handing me the relic of our old, happy days, that
he was telling me in his characteristic way how often
he had thought of me.  I was much pleased.

He took back the meerschaum, filled and lit
before he replied.

"I know you have never forgiven me, Dale, for
giving up the practice of medicine.  I wish I could
make you understand that it was not entirely my
fault, and that there is no place for the medical
profession in my country."

"I never could understand that, Nick, for it
always seemed to me that a young man could make
his best start where he was known."

"It is difficult to make you Americans understand
that *tout le monde*, as the French say, is not
American.  In the first place there is no city, town or
hamlet near my home place; and in the second the
people—although I say it who love them well—are
not progressive.  They still live under the laws
of the middle ages and the wonders of modern
medicine would appear as witchcraft in their eyes."

"Your country must be most peculiar," I said.
Such was the rapport between us that Nick took my
reply as I meant it, a gentle suggestion that he tell
me more about his mysterious native land.  Deep
down in my heart I always resented his secrecy in
the matter, and could never understand his reason
for keeping anything from one who loved him like a
brother.

A frown gathered upon his brow as he studied
the carpet.

"If you still want to make a mystery of yourself,"
I said when he remained silent, "you need tell
me nothing and I shall not be offended."

"When I first came to you, old friend," he said,
"I kept my own counsel for various reasons.  One
was because I desired you, and all who knew me, to
like me because I was just Nick Fremsted and not
the descendant of an old and illustrious family.
Another was because you Americans are inclined
to smile at anything smaller than your own country
and my Fatherland is not any larger than the state
of Delaware."

"Let it pass," I replied, "and instead tell me
what you have done since last we met."

"All right," said he.  "Where shall I begin?"

"The last time you were here your father had
died and you had arranged your estate and continued
your travelling.  You went to St. Petersburg
on secret business for your government—the Turks
were pressing you hard and you needed assistance
from your guardian angel, the Bear of the North.
After that you spent a month with me and then
came the Russo-Japanese war.  Tell me about that."

He took up the account from the day he left
Philadelphia and held me spellbound with the tale
of his experiences and the dangers he had escaped
until I felt that my own quiet existence was a mean
little life after all.  The entrance of Teju Okio,
returned from the garage, led the story in his
direction.

"I found the Jap boy in front of Port Arthur,"
said Nick.  "He was one of the little brown men
who captured it.  But, a month before they caused
us to surrender, I captured him.  It happened in
this way.  I was in command of one of the
numerous defences which had to be taken before the
city fell.  The Japs, like little moles, burrowed in
the ground, driving trenches toward us until they
could win a position from which they could drive
us out.  We made frequent charges on their works,
captured and put to death many of their soldiers
pick and shovel in hand.

"One night, as I was accompanying an attacking
party, the ground caved in beneath my feet and
I fell on my back into a tunnel filled with Japanese
within a hundred feet of the foundations of our
redoubt.  Before I could arise they recovered from
their surprise and attacked me.  I put up the best
fight I could for my life but they were too numerous.

"The only light in the hole was a smoking oil
torch which was soon kicked over, giving me the
advantage of darkness.  They were afraid to strike
in the dark for fear of hitting friends, but I had no
such compunctions.  I fought my way to my feet,
using both fists and feet, and escaped the crowd,
leaving them fighting together.

"I knew that the open end of the tunnel must be
opposite from the fort, so I went in that direction
only to encounter more Japanese, running with
lights to learn the cause of the disturbance.  The
top of the tunnel was so low that I had to stoop
and there was no room to use my sword.  I dashed
the leader of the relief party back upon his
comrades; three or four of them fell and the rest
blocked up the passageway.  Before I could fight
my way through, the first party came up in the rear
and I was knocked down by a blow on the head with
a shovel.

"They tied me hand and foot and held a council
of war.  Most of them were naked to the waist,
and, as they gathered around the torch, with the
sweat running from them in streams, they looked
like little demons to me.  Most of them were for
killing me at once and be done with it, and I
suppose I should have died then and there with a
pick in my brain if one of their number, little
Lieutenant Teju Okio, the only officer among them, had
not interceded for me.  He stood over me with a
revolver in each hand and ordered them back to
work.  And they went reluctantly.

"In the meanwhile the Russian attacking party
went on without noticing my absence.  As luck
would have it, they stumbled upon the very ditch
which communicated with the tunnel, found the
opening and came through it, cautiously firing in
front of them and feeling their way.  Okio heard
them coming and knew that his men were caught in
their own trap.  At his command the Japs attacked
the side walls with their picks and shovels and
blocked up the passage with soil.  Then he retreated
with his men, leaving me alone and bound beside
the barrier.  He had forgotten to gag me and,
when my companions came to what they imagined
was the end of the works, I shouted my orders
to them to dig through.  Willing hands fell
upon that hastily constructed barrier and in
five minutes I saw a Russian hand come through,
followed by the face of one of my own lieutenants,
who paused in surprise when he saw me
lying on the ground with a torch burning beside me.

"'Heaven help me, captain,' he cried, 'what does
this mean?'

"'Cut me loose.  Hurry.  They are in the far
end of the tunnel.  Get your men through and
capture them.'

"Man after man crawled through the hole until
we were in sufficient force to advance with
assurance of success.  I led the way at double quick,
but, when we came to the end of the work, there
was only one man there and that one was Teju
Okio.  He was squatting before his miner's lamp
calmly lighting a cigarette, his uniform and hands
covered with mud, as if an army had walked over
him, his little chest heaving like a victorious
runner's after a gruelling race, a smile of satisfaction
upon his face.  He knew it was not our habit to
give or ask quarter, yet there the brave little fellow
sat smiling into the eyes of death.

"But I had not forgotten what he had done for
me and I repaid my debt of gratitude by interposing
my body between his enemies, just as he, a short
time before, had done for me.

"'Leave this man to me,' I cried; 'get the rest.
They are not far away.'

"But, search as we would, we could not find
them.  Neither was there another tunnel and the
one we were in ended right there.  I was mystified
and turned to my prisoner for the explanation.  He
was furtively watching the ceiling above his head.
Looking in that direction I saw the starry sky
twinkling down through the hole in the roof of the
tunnel which I had made in falling.  The heroism
of Teju Okio was apparent.  Obeying his
instructions, every one of his unarmed companions had
mounted Okio's shoulders and escaped through the
opening, leaving him to face the fury of the
Russians alone.

"But I saw to it that they did not harm him,
making him my own personal prisoner.  We
retreated that night before the Japs finished their
tunnel and blew up the fort and, when Port Arthur
fell, Teju Okio got his freedom and I was taken
with the rest of the survivors to Japan.  Hostilities
concluded, I resigned my commission and stayed in
Japan to study the language.  Teju Okio was only a
poor farmer's boy and he gladly came with me as
my servant.

"I wrote you from the Philippines and California,"
he concluded, "didn't you get my letters?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, "every one of them."

"Well, to bring it up to date, I arrived in New
York last Saturday, a week ago to-day; I left there
this morning and motored over here.  So there, my
friend, you have the record of my meagre years
wherein you observe I have been seeking amusement
all over the earth.  Sometimes I found it and
sometimes I was bored to death."

"Going to stay long, Nick?"

"As far as I now know I shall remain with you
for some time."

My expressions of happiness were interrupted
by the ringing of the front doorbell.

"Somebody requires a pill," said Nick, as I
answered it in person.  "My, what a practice we
have built up!"

But the visitor was not one of my patients.  He
was a man of about five and fifty with snow white
hair which he wore rather long.  His heavy
moustache, also white, was tightly waxed and turned up
at the ends after the manner of the German
Emperor.  His eyebrows, in contradistinction to his
hair and moustache, were black.  They were heavy
and overhung a fine pair of alert, far-seeing black
eyes, giving to his face a distinction which made it
cling to the most casual memory.  His skin, like
that of Fremsted, was dark and showed the effect
of an outdoor life.  He seemed to be a bluff, hearty
old gentleman with whom Nature had dealt kindly.
On the whole there was something most pleasing
about him.

"I wish to see Nicholas Fremsted," he said.

I hesitated, wondering who he might be and how
he knew of Nick's presence in my house.  It
was then nearly two o'clock in the morning, an
unseemly hour for a call whether of business or
pleasure.

"Tell him General Palmora is here," he continued,
and the ring of command in his voice left
me no alternative but to obey.

With some misgivings I ushered him into the
reception room and called Nick, feeling somehow
that Nick's promised visit with me was at an end
before it was begun.

The General was evidently an old friend of
Nick's, for when the two men saw each other they
embraced, kissing each other on the cheek like
foreigners and mingling their cries of delight.
When their effusive greeting was over, Nick led the
old man to a chair and they began a spirited
conversation in a strange tongue, while I for the moment
was forgotten.

I wandered about the room making a pretence of
examining my own pictures and keeping my eye on
the proceedings, but I could make little out of them.
The General did most of the talking.  He handed
Nick an official looking document engrossed with a
red seal from which was suspended blue and gold
ribbons.  Nick held it under the hanging lamp, and
the black and the gray hair mingled as the two
bent their heads together over it.  The General
frequently tapped the paper with his slender
fingers and talked rapidly, combating every argument
which Nicholas seemed to advance.  Finally he
produced from his overcoat pocket a chamois bag
which he deposited upon the table.  Judging from
the jingle I concluded that it contained gold coins.
The argument ended when the General won some
sort of a promise from Nicholas.  Then, having
effected his purpose, he rose abruptly, bowed low
over Nick's hand and made his way to the door,
which I opened for him.  He bade me "good
night" politely in English, and went down the steps.

When I returned to the reception room, Nick was
deeply absorbed in re-reading the parchment with
the red seal.  His face wore a troubled look.  As I
went around to his side and placed a hand on his
shoulder, he started like a man suddenly awakened
from a deep sleep.  The message before him was
written in a foreign language with peculiar
characters the like of which I had never seen.  They
might have been Russian or Hebrew.  From the
arrangement of the seal I imagined the screed was
intended to be read from right to left.

"Can you make anything of it?" asked Nick,
noting my glance.

"All Greek to me," I replied; "Has it something
to do with your country?"

"Yes.  It is an official command to Grand
Duke—that is, I should say it is a summons to
Nicholas Fremsted "to be present at the Cathedral
in Nischon on New Year's Day, January 1, 19—,
to bear witness and attest to the legality of the
coronation of Prince Raoul as King of Bharbazonia,"
said Nick, reading the scroll.  "It is signed
by Oloff Gregory, the present king, who is
eighty-two years old, and desires to abdicate."

At last the secret of Nick's nationality was out,
but I was not concerned with that so much as I was
with the fear that I was to lose him so soon.

"Of course you are going?" I asked.

"Yes; I gave my word to the General."

"I have never heard of this country of
Bharbazonia; where is it, Nick?"

"No, of course not," said he.  "It is one of the
many small provinces of southeastern Europe which
is generally summed up and dismissed with the
expression—one of the Balkan states.  My country
threw off the yoke of the Turks about the same
time Bulgaria obtained her freedom at the Battle
of Shipka Pass, thanks to Russian intervention and
their great fighting chief Grand Duke Alexoff.
During that struggle Bharbazonia sent her best
fighting men and all her money to Bulgaria's aid
and many of the fiercest battles for the extermination
of the red fez were waged in the mountains
which surround the Fatherland.  When the treaty
was signed Bulgaria and Bharbazonia were free.
Gregory was made king and the nobles, banished
by the Turks, returned from exile in friendly
Russia and resumed control of the land of their
forefathers."

"Was the General's news the first you had of the
proposed abdication?"

"No, I knew of it; but did not feel called upon
to be present.  He convinced me that it was my
duty."

"Who is General Palmora?"

"He is one of the first men of Bharbazonia,
commander-in-chief of her army.  Upon his shoulders
fell the brunt of the fighting which resulted in
our freedom.  My father and he were like brothers;
a friendship like ours existed between them, Dale,
and, now that father is dead, Palmora loves me like
a son.  All my affairs are in his hands at home.  He
was visiting America on business of state.
Bharbazonia's interests are in charge of the Bulgarian
consul in Philadelphia and, since I always leave my
address with him, General Palmora experienced no
difficulty in locating me."

"When do you sail?"

"I must return with the General on the *Koenig
Albert* from Hoboken next Tuesday."

"Just one week from to-day?"

"Yes.  We will be in Naples, if all goes well, a
week from the following Tuesday.  There the
General's yacht will meet us."

"What a beautiful trip you will have," I
exclaimed, something of the *wanderlust* engendered
by Nick's story getting into my blood.  "How I
should like to go with you."

"I wish you would, Dale.  We could be back in a
month or so, and you will see one of the prettiest
little countries in the world.  The coronation
services, too, are well worth the journey.  Come now,
make up your mind and say you will go."

The more I thought about it the more feasible it
became.  I had arranged to take a month in Florida,
my first extended vacation in eight years, and it
would not be a difficult matter to rearrange the
trip and go with Nick.

And so it was agreed that he should book passage
for me.  Had I been able to look into the future and
see what was to befall in the Kingdom of Bharbazonia,
and that Nick would never come back with
me, I might not have taken my decision so lightly,
nor have looked forward to the trip with so much
pleasure.

And here is where the story *really* begins.





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.. _`OFF FOR BHARBAZONIA!`:

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   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   OFF FOR BHARBAZONIA!

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
   |  He that but fears the thing he would not know,
   |  Hath, by instinct, knowledge from another's eyes,
   |  That what he feared is chanced.
   |                            —*Shakespeare: Henry IV.*

.. vspace:: 2

When the big ocean liner swung clear of her
dock the following Tuesday under the propelling
influence of a pair of optimistic tugs which,
undaunted by her huge bulk and their diminutive size,
dragged her slowly into the current of the Hudson
River, and set her face toward Europe, Nick and I
were leaning over the guard rail watching the sea
of upturned faces on the dock and the mass of
waving handkerchiefs.

My preparations for the voyage had been quickly
made.  After expressing my steamer trunk to the
boat, writing a few letters and turning my practice
over to my hospital colleague, I was at liberty to
accompany Nick in his swift trips about the city
while he transacted the business which brought him
to Philadelphia.

He first visited the Russian consul; then he held
a long talk with a white-bearded black-robed priest
of the Greek Church and an Armenian shoemaker
in the Lombard Street district.  Everywhere he was
received with considerable show of respect, and I
began to suspect that his early education in the
languages had not been entirely a matter of taste or of
chance.

During all this time I had no glimpse of General
Palmora in Philadelphia, and he was not on board
when we drove on the dock in Nicholas' automobile,
having made the trip from home in it.  Nick
intended to take his car with him.

"It will be the first one they ever saw in
Bharbazonia," he laughed, and, when I suggested that
it might be cheaper to buy a car in Europe and so
avoid the duties, he said that automobiles were
unknown at the place where we would disembark from
the General's yacht and that there would be no
duties.

"Looks as if I had fallen in with a band of
smugglers," I said banteringly.

"Worse, oh, much worse," he replied in the same
spirit.

On the second night out General Palmora made
his appearance on deck, and Nick introduced him.
He paid me the compliment of saying that he had
often heard Nicholas speak of his chum, Dale
Wharton; and tried to communicate with me in several
languages, much to Nick's amusement.

"Try English, General," he suggested.  "Dale
is an American and probably knows only one language.

"You mustn't forget my French," I reminded him.

"Why, of course," replied the General, resuming
his beautiful London drawl, which revealed the
source of his English education, "how stupid of
me.  I should have known as much."

But the probability that he was trying to
determine what language to use with Nick in my
presence, did not escape me.

"This is not the first time I have had the pleasure
of seeing you, General," I reminded him, opening
the conversation after we were comfortably seated
in our steamer chairs, protected from the wind by
our rugs, "I was present with Fremsted the night
you called at my house to see him."

"Ah, indeed?  I do not remember you.  I must
apologize for my seeming rudeness in thus interrupting
you, but the meeting with Nicholas was of great
importance.  I could think of nothing else."

"I presume Nicholas would never have attended
the coronation if you had not urged him.  He tells
me in that event his estates might have been
confiscated."

"Although such is the law in Bharbazonia," said
the General laughing, and regarding Nick with
affection, "I do not believe it would have been
enforced in his case.  Nicholas has friends at court
who are powerful."

"Then why drag me away from the work
of the Order?" exclaimed Nick with so much
sudden heat that even the General was astonished.

"Gently, gently, my son," he answered in a
conciliating tone, "I wanted you in Bharbazonia
because I fear that we will have need for you.  The
'Red Fox of Dhalmatia' was never known to run
straight, and all may not be right with the succession."

"You mean that you suspect some trick may be
attempted in connection with Prince Raoul, who is
to be king?" I asked, eager for news of this strange
country.

"It is one of his hobbies, Dale," said Nick.
"You will soon find that his suspicions have not a
leg to stand upon."

"It is true, Dr. Wharton," said the old man
sadly; "I have only the vaguest ideas on the
subject, although I have been watching and waiting,
and, I might add, hoping, these past twenty years.
The boy Raoul I know to be a capable youth.
Although he is but twenty-two, he takes an interest
in the work of the Order, which his father the 'Red
Fox' never did.  For that I like the boy.  It argues
well for his independence of thought.  But, because
he is the son of his father, I—cordially dislike
him."

"Yes, General," I said, "but what are your suspicions?"

"If you will bear with me, young man, I will tell
you the story.  It goes back to the time when the
Prince was born.  Nick was then a lad of eleven or
twelve and he was not interested in affairs of state.
It was the year I believe that his father, acting on
my advice, sent him to school in St. Petersburg.  We
were then only nine years away from the consummation
of the Treaty of Berlin by which Bulgaria,
Eastern Roumelia, Thessaly and Bharbazonia
achieved independence, protected by the Powers.
Now in Bharbazonia, as in many Eastern countries,
the succession to the throne falls only upon the first
male child of the ruler.  Oloff Gregory, the king,
even then an old man, had no son, which grieved
him much, for he feared the throne must go away
from his immediate family.  His only child was his
daughter Teskla.

"On the other hand his younger brother, the Red
Fox of Dhalmatia, was more than pleased with the
condition of affairs.  He knew that, if he should
have a son, the boy would reign in Bharbazonia, not
because of any rights of succession, but because
there was no other.  Although, he, too, was no
longer young, the 'Red Fox' took unto himself a
young wife and it was soon noised abroad that the
stork was expected to visit his castle."

The point which the General made of the male
succession in Bharbazonia did not strike me as
unusual, because I recalled that in England during
Queen Victoria's reign, her uncle, the Duke of
Cumberland, was made King of Hanover by virtue
of the law which excluded females from that
throne.

Before continuing his story Palmora lit his cigar
with a wind match, and, turning to me, said:

"I trust you will pardon the length of my tale.
I do not wish to bore you."

"Please go on, General, I am much interested,"
I hastened to assure him.

"In our country, Dr. Wharton, it is still the
custom to notify the peasantry of the birth of a castle
child by ringing the tower bell, and, in the event of
a male, to proclaim the sex by five strokes of the
tongue, and in the event of a female by seven.  The
news is then carried by word of mouth and so
spreads over the country.

"On the night the stork brought its precious
burden to Dhalmatia I was playing chess, if I
remember correctly, with my great friend, Nicholas'
father, in his library, when we heard the brass bell
of Dhalmatia give voice.  With the fate of even
more than the future king in the balance, we forgot
our game in our intense interest, counting the
strokes.

"'One; two; three; four; five; six—'tis a
girl,' said Nick's father, much relieved, for he
shared my dislike for the 'Red Fox,' and was
pleased that the succession would not go to
Dhalmatia.  There were other reasons why we were
delighted with the failure of the 'Red Fox's' hopes,
but they were locked in our breasts by the events
which followed.  Scarcely had the bell completed
its toll of seven, when to our astonishment it began
again.

"'One; two; three; four; *five*,' we both
counted aloud, looking into each other's eyes over
the table between.

"'*Five*,' we shouted, springing to our feet and
scattering the chessmen broadcast.

"'A boy at Dhalmatia?' I cried, scarcely believing
my ears.

"'Is he playing with us?' said my friend.  'By
the first ring he tells us it is a girl, and then he
changes his mind and it is a boy?'

"'Let us solve this mystery at once,' I suggested.

"We took our lantern from the hooks and saddled
our horses.  It was about nine of the clock
when the bell began ringing and I warrant it was
not more than fifteen minutes later when we drew
rein in front of Dhalmatia.  It was as dark as the
pit and not a light was shining from the windows,
which on such a festive occasion should have been
illuminated.  From the direction of the servants'
quarters came the sound of sobbing which grated
horribly upon our ears.

"We pounded upon the heavy oak door with the
hilts of our swords but only the echoes answered us;
the weeping continued.  Presently the door swung
back a little way, slowly and it seemed to me
cautiously, and the 'Fox' himself stood in the narrow
opening, muffled to the eyes in his long black cloak.
When he saw who his visitors were, he was not
pleased and made as if to shut the door in our faces,
but we placed our shoulders against it, defeating
his purpose.

"'Well?' he growled ungraciously.

"'The bell; the bell!' cried Nicholas' father
with some anger, out of breath with hard riding,
'what means this curious ringing of the tower
bell?'

"'Curious?' he sneered; 'curious?  I like not
your words, Framkor.  There is nothing unusual
about it that I can discover.'

"'Did not you announce the birth of a
daughter?'

"'The bell rang seven times,' returned the Fox.

"'Then Bharbazonia is without an heir in your
house?'

"'Not so, my kind and most considerate neighbour,'
he replied sarcastically, 'you must still wait
a little longer.  Did you not hear the bell ring also
five times?'

"'The meaning!  The meaning!' we both exclaimed.

"'It is perfectly clear, noble sirs,' he said.  'The
house of Dhalmatia has been honoured this night
with the advent of both a daughter and a son.'

"'Twins!' we cried, looking at each other and
wondering why we had not thought of it before.
We saw that we had been hoping against hope, and
our worst fears were realized.  I suppose our
chagrin showed in our faces for the 'Red Fox'
seemed to enjoy our discomfiture.  It was not in
our hearts to congratulate the old rogue.  We could
not lie for the sake of an empty courtesy.  We
mounted our horses and rode away with the
discordant chuckle of the lord of Dhalmatia ringing
in our ears."

"Nothing very suspicious in all that," drawled
Nick, flicking his cigarette into the sea.  He had
probably heard the story so often that he had no
interest in it.

"If I could only make you understand," sighed
the General.

"But why were the servants crying?" I asked.

"That came out the next day," continued the old
man, glad at least to find one willing listener; "it
seems that the old midwife, who was the only
person with the mother when the children were born,
had fallen from the tower in some strange way
when she was tugging at the bell rope to announce
the birth of the girl.  Her neck was broken."

"Who then rang the bell the second time?"

"The Red Fox."

"How great was the interval between the ringing?"

"There was scarcely a pause; it was almost
immediate."

"Then the 'Red Fox' must have been very near
the nurse in the tower."

"He must have been very near."

Both Nick and I smoked in silence, while the
General took a turn around the deck to still his
excitement caused by his narration.  Below, the sea
slipped swiftly, softly by as the liner throbbed her
quiet course through a vacant ocean.  Overhead,
the wireless spit and sputtered as the operator talked
to his fellow aboard an unseen ship possibly a
hundred miles away.  It was as if the mocking voice of
modern times were laughing at the mysteries of the
long dead past.  If there was any hidden meaning
in the General's story it was exceedingly vague at
best.  When he resumed his seat by our side I
ventured to open the subject again.

"Have you ever seen the Twins of Dhalmatia, General?"

"Oh, yes; many times," he replied.

"They exist, then."

"Oh, yes," he said, and from his manner I judged
he would have added "unfortunately" had he not
hesitated to shock me.

"Well then, my dear General, be frank with us.
What do you suspect?"

"My sentiments exactly," joined Nick lightly.

"I wish to Hercules I knew what I suspected,"
he answered with a sigh.  "All I know is that I
have the feeling that all was not as it should be the
night we talked with Dhalmatia.  It is with me still.
Wait until you know the 'Red Fox' as I do and
you will understand."

"Bah," exclaimed Nick, "you gossip like an old
woman.  Do not put much faith in what he says,
Dale, about the master of Dhalmatia.  Prejudice
is like a disorder of the blood; it sometimes causes
hallucinations."

"Wait and see," returned the General.  "I still
believe that murder will out."

"But even if your wild imaginings should prove
true, why am I desired in Bharbazonia?"

"That," said the General, "is your father's secret.
Some day you shall be told."

On different occasions during the voyage, I drew
the General into a discussion concerning the birth
of the heir to the Bharbazonian throne, but gleaned
very little more information.  The General described
the various times he had met the Prince and
Princess.  He was present on both occasions when first
one and then the other was christened at the
Cathedral of Nischon.  These two events happened a week
apart.  He entertained quite a friendship for the
Prince, who was a great boar hunter and horseman.
The Princess he scarcely knew.

"I have never seen them in each other's society,"
he said, "because when one was home on a
vacation the other was usually away at school in
England or France.  Most nobles of our little kingdom
believe in the boon of education for their children."

At Naples the General's yacht came alongside the
liner at her dock and we were transferred to the
cramped quarters of still smaller staterooms.
Although it was midnight, and the passengers were not
permitted to land, the General seemed to possess
sufficient authority to have the automobile hoisted
from the hold of the vessel and lashed securely to
the deck of his little craft.  In the morning when I
awoke I found that we were well on our way toward
the toe of the Italian peninsula.

For several days we steamed quietly along, the
blue Mediterranean beneath and the bluer sky above,
until we entered the Dardanelles and passed in front
of the Turk's capital, the city of Constantinople.
When we came in sight of the white, flatroofed
town, the captain hauled down the white flag with
the blue diagonals of the Russian navy and hoisted
the stars and stripes.  What he meant by the
deception I could not imagine and, when I ventured to
ask him, he laughed and said:

"What a man dinna' see he canna' forget."

A sunny old Scotchman was Captain MacPherson,
and he took a great liking to me because I knew
his friend Thomas Anderson, who had charge of the
dissecting room at the University.

"Tamas was e'er a gude hand with those as could
na answer him back," said the Captain.  "His first
occupation at hame was as an undertaker's assistant.
He comes by it honestly."

He pointed out the fortresses on both shores of
the narrow channel, which was only a mile wide in
front of the city, and told me that the Turks had
mounted them with the most improved modern
guns.

"They could e'en blow us out of the water," he
said, "had they a mind to."

Constantinople was like an open book to him and
he showed me the Sultan's Palace, standing white
and high like an office building, the Mosque of
St. Sophia, and various points of interest as the city,
thrusting its myriad minarets to the sky, slipped
swiftly by like a beautiful panorama.  Somewhere
along these shores both Leander and Byron swam
the Hellespont, and Xerxes, the Persian king, smote
the waves in a rage because they, troubled by a
storm, forbade for a time the passage of his Greek
conquering army.  I was awakened from my historic
reverie by hearing the voice of Nicholas.  He
and the General were leaning over the railing with
their eyes fixed on the Palace of the Sultan.  There
was an expression of intense hatred on the faces of
both.

"Oh, Thou, who holdest the destinies of nations
in thy hand; Oh, Thou, who gavest the land of
Canaan to thy chosen people; how long must we
wait the coming of that glad day when thou wilt
send a Joshua to us, that we may become the humble
instruments of destiny to drive the Turk from
Europe back to the sands of Bagdad whence he
sprang?"

"Amen," came the deep bass of the General.

"Amen," said the voice of Captain MacPherson
at my elbow.

They watched the city in silence until distance
and darkness swallowed it up as the yacht continued
its way up the north coast of the Black Sea.  So
intent were the three in getting all the pleasure they
could out of their mutual hate that they forgot my
existence entirely.

"French became an accomplishment rather than
a necessity in the English court in the fifteenth
century," I said to Nick that evening at table.

"What do you mean?" he said with a frown.

"It is still the language of the Russian court.
But why are you so interested in fighting Russia's
battles, you a Bharbazonian?"

"Archaic though she may be, I love Russia,
Dale," he said, "for without Russia there would
have been no independent Bharbazonia to-day.
Even now she is paying into our treasury 24,000
rubles a year, which we in turn must pay as tribute
to the Turk."

"How soon shall we reach your little kingdom, Nick?"

"We should be there day after to-morrow."

Sure enough, on the day set the little yacht's
engine came to a stop early in the morning while we
were still in our berths.  All the gloom had vanished
and Nick was in high spirits when he came to get
me up.

"All ashore for Bharbazonia.  Change cars for
the Belle of the Balkans.  This train doesn't go any
further.  Come, come, out of bed, you lazy one.
We are home at last!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AT THE TURK'S HEAD INN`:

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   CHAPTER IV


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   AT THE TURK'S HEAD INN

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Oh, Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream,
   |  A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
   |  And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
   |  With which the Roman master crowned his slave
   |  When he took off the gyves.  A bearded man,
   |  Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand
   |  Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,
   |  Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred
   |  With tokens of old wars.
   |                      —*Bryant: Antiquity of Freedom*.

.. vspace:: 2

When I came on deck I found the Black Sea
had disappeared and we were at rest in a deep,
narrow river which ran swiftly and noiselessly through
a sombre gorge between two high mountains that
almost shut out the light of day and hid the ocean
from our sight.  The sudden change of scene from
the hard white glare of the sea to the soft black
sheen of the land was startling.  The foliage was so
close to the ship that it seemed one could almost
reach out the hand and touch it, although the yacht
was moored at the end of a long dock.  I experienced
a foolish fear that the high hills were about
to fall upon the little vessel and crush it.  That
impression wore off in a short time as the motion of
the ship left me.

At the other side of the dock, set down upon a
narrow space of rocky level land between the mountains
and the river, was the little fishing village of
Bizzett.  In the rear the houses rose on terraces
along the edge of the mountain and in front the
town extended into the river on piles.  There were
no windows in the houses looking upon the street.
If windows existed at all, they opened upon an
inner court.

All the women and children of the town were on
the dock, curious to see the travellers, filling the air
with the babel of strange voices.  It was plain that
the landing of the yacht was an event.  A few
of the fishermen, who had not gone seaward upon
their daily toil, were watching us from their boats.

Some of the women, after the manner of Turkish
women, wore veils over their faces, having nothing
but the eyes exposed, but the girls went about
uncovered, their long black hair braided and
ornamented with coins.  The few of the male peasantry
in sight were dressed much alike, in brown
sheepskin caps, jackets of undyed brown wool, which
their women folk spin and make, white cloth
trousers and sandals of raw leather.

The natives were lively and hospitable.  They
greeted General Palmora with loud cheers as soon
as he stepped on the dock and several of the older
men came forward to shake him by the hand.  The
General, in anticipation of his reception, had donned
a splendid uniform richly embossed with sparkling
shoulder epaulettes and much gold braid.  Nick, on
the other hand, stood beside me attired in a plain
dark blue serge suit which he had purchased in
America.  The women, walking two by two with
their arms around each other's waists, examined us
curiously, but the men never glanced once in our
direction.  Two young girls, without the least
timidity, stopped in front of us and examined us as if
we were tailors' models.  That is to say, our clothes
appeared to interest them more than the men inside
of them.  They talked and laughed and even went
so far as to feel the texture of the goods.  Their
remarks made Nicholas frown.

"What are they saying, Nick?" I asked.

"They are saying, 'The English dogs have well
trained wives who weave such fine cloth,'" he
replied.

"You seem to be a stranger in your own country.
These people take you for a foreigner."

"They do not know me," he sighed.  "The
penalty one pays for being a nomad.  How they
love the General!"

But the General's popularity faded when the
automobile was placed upon the dock, and Teju Okio
became the centre of attraction.  The townsfolk
crowded around the Jap boy, honked the horn with
all the delight of mischievous newsboys and watched
each piece of baggage as it was stowed away in the
tonneau.  But they departed with much speed and
many frightened cries when Okio started the
engine, running in all directions as if a demon had
fallen from the sky in their midst.  In a twinkling
the dock was vacant and the village apparently
deserted.  They only came to the doors of their houses
to watch us leave the village in a cloud of dust.  But
our attention was brought to the front by an
expression of surprise from Teju Okio.

"Very dam-fine," he said, referring to the hill
which the machine had to climb.  Teju's English
vocabulary was limited to three words which he used
to express every emotion.  This time it was
admiration and respect.  And the road was worthy of both.
It ran diagonally up the side of the mountain until
it reached the top at a depression or gap caused by
two mountains pressing their foreheads together.
One could see the end from the beginning, for it
was a singularly straight road laid out as if the
builder had placed a schoolboy's ruler upon the
mountainside, drawn a line from the village to the
gap and said, "Build ye here the way as I have
drawn it," just as the Tzar is said to have laid out
his eighteen-day railroad across Siberia.

A perfect arbour of tall trees lined both sides of
the way, interlocking their branches overhead.  The
foliage on the lower side of the mountain was
trimmed so as to give a view of the sea; the early
morning sun streamed gratefully in, taking the chill
from the air and casting long shadows across the
road in front.  As we ascended we looked back and
saw part of the village still in sight.  The peasants
were standing in the streets, marking the progress
of the strange vehicle which had within itself the
power to conquer the hill of Bizzett without the aid
of oxen.

At the top was a stone fortress, called Castle
Comada.  It came in sight suddenly as we reached
level ground and turned our back to the sea.  Castle
Comada was a spacious building completely filling
up the gap and extending across the road as far as
the eye could reach among the trees.  The roadway
ran through the centre of it in a sort of tunnel of
solid masonry and over this archway the main part
of the castle rose higher than the rest, supported on
the four corners by square watch towers.  A fifth
tower, even more lofty, sprang from the centre,
and from this tower snapping gaily in the wind was
the flag of Bharbazonia, alternate stripes of light
blue and gold.

Beneath the castle walls, lining both sides of the
way, were five regiments of cavalry, their horses'
heads forming a perfect line and each man sitting
erect in the saddle.  As we came in sight, the
garrison band burst forth in the national air and, at
the given order, hundreds of bared sabres flashed in
the sun and came to rest in an upright position
before each man's chin.  The salute was for the
General; the army of the kingdom was welcoming
home its commander-in-chief, warned, possibly, the
night before by the sharp-eyed watchman in the
tower who had sighted the yacht.

It was sure that the defences of the government,
ever watchful of the Turk, were in modern hands,
and, if one noticed the look of pleasure on the old
General's countenance at the visible signs of a well
oiled system, one had not far to seek the master
mind.

Nicholas preferred to remain in the car with me
while the General paid his respects to Governor
Noovgor of the Southern Province.  I was very
glad of that, because he was able to explain the
country, whenever the band was stilled long enough
to permit conversation.

"This road is known as the Highway of Bizzett,"
Nick said.  "Sometimes it is called the 'King's
Highway.'  It traverses Bharbazonia from north to
south almost in a straight line over several hundred
miles of fertile, rolling country.  The mountain
range, running east and west as you see, gradually
turns toward the north until both arms meet at the
other end of the highway in a similar pass, guarded
by a similar fortress.  Thus Castle Comada, on the
Black Sea, and Castle Novgorod, on the Russian
border, are the Beersheba and Dan of Bharbazonia.
No man may enter or leave the country unless he
pass under the guns of one or the other; and let me
tell you, Dale, there is no fortress in America, or in
any other country, which is the peer of these for
modern disappearing guns, garrison equipment, or
perfection of discipline."

As the General seemed in no hurry, Nick and I
killed time by strolling around the grounds and
inspecting the castle from all sides.  I found that its
guns commanded not only the Black Sea and the
harbour of Bizzett, but also the approaches from the
inland side; for the mountain formed a precipitous
wall at the castle foundations, which left us standing
on a high promontory, viewing, like Moses, a land
flowing with milk and honey.  Below us lay a level
country, which even in its winter garb showed
evidences of being in an excellent state of cultivation.
Here and there were villages clustered along the
great limestone pike—the straight white way of
Bharbazonia.

An army attacking the fortress from either side
would be equally powerless.  Nicholas had every
reason to be proud of his country's war craft, but,
in spite of the modern atmosphere of the cavalry,
there was something about this Bharbazonia that
smacked to me of the fourteenth century, when men
slept at night behind the barred gates of their walled
cities.

The General was already in his seat beside Teju
Okio when we returned.  He was impatient to be
off; but, before we were able to enter the Kingdom,
ten soldiers put their shoulders to a pair of solid
iron gates that blocked the road through the Castle,
and swung them open.  The guns fired their salute
to the commander-in-chief, the band struck up a
lively air, and the Jap boy threw in his high speed
clutch.

As we raced through the tunnel and down the hill
on the other side, I looked back and saw the men
close the gates, those relics of the hundred years'
war against the terrible Turk, and knew that we
were locked in the Kingdom of Bharbazonia.  The
sun shone warmly down upon us, the peaceful valley
lay invitingly below, but somehow I felt as a mouse
must feel as he peers between the wire openings of
his trap and realizes that he cannot get out.

Once free of the mountain, we sped along through
a country as beautiful as any in America.  Farmers,
working in the fields, paused at their labour to watch
us go by.  Teju made the most of a fine road and
lifted us along at the rate of sixty miles an hour,
leaving many slain chickens behind to mark his swift
passage.

Fortunately there was little travel along the
highway that morning, for we frightened every human
being and every animal we met.  Patient plodding
horses, dragging creaking carts in the same direction
in which we were going, were too surprised to
continue their journey.  They stood still in their tracks
unable to move until we disappeared over the crest
of the next hill.  The drivers, open-mouthed, were
too startled to urge them.  But the horses we met
coming toward us had more time to watch our
approach and thrill with fear.  All of them lowered
their heads, pricked up their ears and, like the cows,
showed signs of confusion as to which side of the
road they should take; then, as we came opposite,
they bolted across the front of the speeding machine
into the adjoining field.  Their frightened owners,
slowly gathering courage in a ditch, shook their fists
and hurled Bharbazonian epithets after us.

It is amusing to play havoc in a country where
there are no license tags, no mounted policemen and
no fines to pay.

At noontide we made our first stop at a fine old
road-house called the Turk's Head Inn.  It was a
queer little brick and red stone structure approaching
the colonial style of architecture in its small,
leaded glass windows and white paint, with the
curious addition of Byzantine doors and windows,
the result of Turkish influence.  The main doorway,
with its huge circular top, was in the centre of the
building and formed an imposing entrance, reaching
to the second floor.  On an iron arm, extending from
the top of this doorway, hung the signboard after
which the inn was named.

It presented no written words; only a terrible
life-sized painting of a Turk's head, dripping with
blood and resting on a spear point.  A red fez sat
jauntily over one ear, giving the head a gala appearance;
but the eyes, wide open, staring eyes, speedily
dispelled any such thought.  They were filled with a
terrible expression of pain and horror, as if the head
still breathed and felt the agony of the spear
piercing its inmost brain, while its lips moved in the
throes of cursing its tormentors, even in the face of
death.  The frightful signboard sent a shudder
through me which the General noticed.

"What a grewsome thing," I said.

"It is the head of Helmud Bey," he replied,
looking into the suffering eyes without a show of
compassion; "he ruled over my sad country for
forty years, the creature of the Sultan.  So great
was his ferocity that even now the peasantry tremble
at the mention of his name.  He was killed in this
Inn thirty years ago by Oloff Gregory, the king.
Clad in suits of French mail, they fought on
horseback with sword and spear, while the Turkish and
Bharbazonian army looked on, drawn up out there
on opposite sides of the road.

"It was agreed that whichever champion won,
his forces would be declared victorious without
further fighting.  It was the Turks' last stand after
Shipka Pass and, had Gregory lost, Bharbazonia
might not now be free.  At the first shock Gregory
unhorsed Helmud Bey and was himself thrown to
the ground.  Then the fighting was continued with
heavy swords until the Turk, badly wounded, fled
within the inn where Bharbazonia's champion killed
him by cutting off his head.

"For a long time the head was displayed on the
victor's pike before the roadhouse door.  The Turks
surrendered and the war was over.  By this feat of
arms Gregory became king, for, when Russia tried
to rehabilitate the kingdom, she found that the Turks
had killed or driven into exile every member of the
royal house of Bharbazonia which was reigning in
the fifteenth century before the time of the
conquering Salaman the Magnificent.  Gregory, you know,
was only a soldier and a noble.  His house never
laid claim to royalty.  And that is why his brother,
the 'Red Fox,' is still a Duke although his children
by special grant of the King are Prince and Princess
of the land."

At the inn were the usual number of idlers.  They
gathered around the car at a respectful distance
and watched us dismount.  The innkeeper, in white
apron and with bared head, appeared in the high
doorway, scattering the crowd to make a passageway
for us.  He was a jolly old Frenchman.

"Back, ye hounds," he shouted in his native
tongue, "cannot ye give the gentry room to alight?"

If the Bharbazonians understood they made no
sign; neither did they give back a pace, standing
their ground like stolid cattle.  The reign of the
invader had left the common people in a condition
little above the brute.  Gone was the warlike spirit
of their Slavonic ancestors who inhabited the banks
of the Volga in the seventh century.  I experienced
a feeling of pity for them.  Ignorance, poverty and
suffering had been their birthright.  I could scarcely
bring myself to believe that Nick and the General
were their countrymen.

"Welcome home, my General," exclaimed the
Frenchman.

"Thank you, Marchaud," returned the General.
"What news have you?"

"Ah, sir; such coming and going.  The coronation
is all the talk.  The Grand Duke Marbosa was
here yesterday with the young men.  You know,
General," he added, winking slyly.

"Yes, I understand," said Palmora.  "What then?"

"He was impatient for your return.  He has a
plan which lacks only your approval."

"Humph.  How goes the dinner?"

"You are just in time.  Will you enter?"

Again he made a passageway through the
peasants with angry shouting and waving of hands.
They were all respect for the General; some bowed
in the dust before him and others raised a feeble
cheer.  He paid no particular attention to them.

The innkeeper led the way to the interior of his
hostelry.  Once past the door, we were immediately
in the large room of the inn.  On one side was a
broad stairway which communicated with a balcony
which in turn had access to all the sleeping rooms
on the second floor.  Off from the main room were
smaller rooms, like booths, where the dining tables,
covered with snow white linen, were invitingly set.
He placed us at one of these tables and, with the
assistance of two of his waiters, soon had a splendid
feast spread before us.

The General was the life of the party.  He was
hungry and, judging from the amount of native
wine he indulged in, thirsty, too.  The change in
Nick was also remarkable.  Ever since his eyes fell
upon the flag of Bharbazonia, and the well set-up
cavalrymen at the castle, he seemed to grow in
stature.  Usually lazy and indolent, he became alert
and active, as if the sleeping tiger within arose at
the call of the setting sun to go forth to the water
runs.  Here, indeed, was a new Nicholas.  The
American youth whom I knew was becoming a
Bharbazonian.

"Everything goes well for the great event," said
the General, when we arrived at the coffee and
cigarette stage of the repast.  "Governor Noovgor tells
me that he and Governor Hasson of the Northern
Province will have 25,000 men before the Cathedral,
both infantry and cavalry.  The Tzar will be
represented by a regiment of Cossacks from Moscow,
and the Grand Duke Alexoff will come from
St. Petersburg as the Emperor's personal representative.
The first day of the new year will be a great
day for Bharbazonia, my boy."

"You couldn't be more interested in the crowning
of the Red Fox's son than if it were I you were
honouring," said Nick, a bit petulantly.

"My boy; my boy," said the old man, patting
his favourite on the back with a show of affection,
"little prejudices must fall before patriotism."

"I wish you knew how repulsive this incognito
business is becoming to me," said Nick.  "I
could scarcely keep myself from swinging my
hat in the air and shouting for the flag when I
saw those splendid fellows drawn up in front of
Comada."

"All in good time," purred the General, pleased
at Nick's reference to the army; "for the present it
is best that I should be entertaining two American
travellers.  I do not want the Red Fox or his
following to know who you are.  If they suspect you, your
usefulness to Russia would come to an end.  For
what they know is soon talked of in Constantinople.
You must not forget that you are more than a
Bharbazonian.  You are of the Order."

The General's words had their effect upon
Nicholas.

"I shall be glad when the day arrives that I can
fight in the open," he said, much mollified.  "I
never felt so weary of this secret work as I do
to-day."

"Am I to understand, General," I said, "that
Nick is supposed to be an American?"

"Such is the intention, Dr. Wharton," he replied.
"Should occasion arise, we will appreciate it if
you will tell your questioner that Nicholas is a
countryman of yours."

"Come," said Nick, "let us get started."

"How much further do we have to go to-night?"
I asked, as we arose from the table.

"We will not reach Framkor until to-morrow
evening," put in the General, but Nick interrupted
him with a laugh.

"Why, General, we are at the Turk's Head Inn
now, and it is not yet two o'clock.  We shall be home
before nightfall."

"So it is," murmured the old man.  "It is the
machine.  I cannot become used to it.  We usually
consume two days coming from Bizzett on horseback."

Leaving the inn, we struck off into the country
roads to the right and the travelling was not as
luxurious as on the smooth government pike.
Nevertheless, Teju Okio made good time.  Toward
evening, when we were near enough to our journey's
end for Nick to recognize the country and point out
some of his childhood haunts, we met a horseman
on the road.  It was just after the Jap boy lighted
his two gleaming headlights, for the day was almost
done.  It may have been the glare of the lamps or
the suddenness of our approach around an unexpected
corner that caused the accident; for, as soon
as the horse caught sight of us, he reared on his
hind feet, stood upright in the air a moment and
toppled over backward, crushing his rider beneath
him in the fall.

Teju Okio stopped the machine as soon as he saw
the frightened horse and we all shouted directions
to the horseman; when they fell, Nick and I leaped
from the machine to render what aid we might.
Before we could grasp his bridle the horse struggled
to his feet and was off like the wind, the empty
stirrups pounding his ribs at every jump; but the
rider lay motionless.

He was a youth of about eighteen or twenty years.
His wide riding breeches and neat fitting coat of
black velvet were covered with dust; but they were
not torn, neither did they show any evidence of
blood which would have shown had the horse kicked
and cut him.  Although he lay crumpled in a heap,
I was able to see that he was tall and slender and
that one arm was either dislocated or broken.  His
eyes were closed and his face was exceedingly pale.
His most distinguishing feature was the mass of
red hair, which he wore as long as Nick's, and which
was of a dark rich shade.

Nick tenderly raised the sufferer's head, while I
tried to get some whiskey down his throat.  But
the boy showed no signs of returning consciousness.

"Better get him into the car, Nick, and take him
to the nearest hospital," I advised.

"Hospital?" smiled Nick.  "The nearest approach
to one is at the Castle barracks.  You are
the best medico we have in Bharbazonia, Dale.  Get
busy yourself."

Teju Okio edged slowly up with the car until his
white lights shone upon the scene in the road.

"Is he badly hurt?" called the General from his
seat beside the driver.

"We do not know the extent of his injuries, General,"
I said, "he is unconscious."

"Who is he, Nick?"

"Haven't an idea."

The lamplight fell upon the boy's face.

"Good heavens," exclaimed the General, "get
him into the machine as quickly as possible.  We
must procure medical assistance at once.  On, on,
to Dhalmatia Castle.  This is the Red Fox's
son, Prince Raoul, the future King of Bharbazonia.
He must not die.  Hurry!  Hurry! for
God's sake!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RED FOX OF DHALMATIA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE RED FOX OF DHALMATIA

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  He entered in the house—his home no more;
   |  For without hearts there is no home;—and felt
   |  The solitude of passing his own door
   |  Without a welcome.
   |                              —*Byron: Don Juan*.

.. vspace:: 2

Castle Dhalmatia proved to be but a short
distance ahead.  I held the unconscious Prince in
my arms while Nick leaned forward and called road
directions into the Japanese driver's ear.  General
Palmora remembered a byway which was a short
cut across the Red Fox's estate and we saved several
minutes thereby.  The walls of the Prince's home
loomed up black and sombre against the sky line
on the top of a hill vacant of trees.  Like Castle
Comada it was a fortress built for defence rather
than for comfort.  Its battlements and
watchtowers were stern and forbidding.

Rapid as were our movements, the news of the
accident preceded us, borne no doubt by the
returning horse with the empty saddle.  Stable grooms
were coming down the road toward us carrying
lanterns; house servants were arousing the master.
Some were weeping aloud, running wildly about;
others were shouting orders and talking, like
persons who desired to do something but did not know
what to do.  Lights began to show in different
rooms of the castle and, when we drew up with a
rush and a grinding of brakes under the *porte-cochère*,
a crowd of retainers were there to meet us.

As soon as they caught sight of the limp figure in
my arms they imagined the Prince dead and their
wailings broke out afresh.  In the midst of the
excitement, which even the commanding voice of the
General failed to quell, a little, bent, old man with
a weazen, wrinkled face, but with a certain virility
of manner which proclaimed him master, appeared
in the doorway.  His voice vibrated through the air
and forced obedience.  He called to his servants in
the Bharbazonian dialect and a silence fell upon
them, in which there was more of fear than of love.
I knew at once that I was in the presence of the Red
Fox of Dhalmatia, the father of the Prince.

Standing in the lantern light he made a curious
picture.  He was attired in black from head to foot.
On his head was a black fez that only partially
concealed a mass of hair which, though darker in shade
and streaked with gray, was the same colour as his
son's.  The first part of the Red Fox's name was
derived no doubt from the colour of his hair.

Around his neck was a broad lace collar of white,
extending to his narrow shoulders.  He wore a
close fitting coat buttoned up the front with a row of
large ornamental buttons.  Knee breeches with
buckles at the side, silk stockings, and buckled shoes
made up the rest of his costume.  Over his shoulders
hung a long Spanish cloak which partially concealed
the hilt of a jewelled sword suspended from his left
hip.  There was that about him which suggested
the stern, hard, old Pilgrim fathers who conquered
the Massachusetts wilderness and burned witches
three centuries ago.

If he felt any emotion at the condition of his son,
he did not permit himself to show it, but, with a
gesture in which was the majesty of command, he
bade me enter with my burden.

I carried the Prince to the nearest couch in the
spacious hallway, followed by Nick and the General.
The Red Fox shut the door in the faces of his
servants and dismissed them with a few terse words.
The only one he permitted to remain was an aged
man whom I recognized was the butler.  The room
was dark and this old fellow held a lantern close to
the boy's face and fell into a fit of weeping.  As soon
as I placed the Prince on the divan, and before I
could make an examination, I was rather rudely
brushed aside by the boy's father and the old butler,
both of whom seemed suddenly crazed by the accident.

They crowded me away and bent over the Prince,
together making a rapid, superficial examination of
the boy for broken bones, and finding none.  There
was a slight wound above the right ear and a cut
on the left arm above the elbow.  The right arm was
dislocated.  With the old servant's assistance, the
father experienced little difficulty in slipping it back
into place.  I was rather impressed with the Red
Fox's deftness and sureness of touch.

During the examination, General Palmora explained
that I was a physician and that I could give
the Prince the best of treatment.  He made his
explanations in French, which I think was for
my benefit, and the Red Fox replied in the same
tongue.

"A doctor," he queried, "what have we to do
with doctors in Dhalmatia?"

"But, my dear Duke, the boy is seriously injured."

"So?  So?" cried the Fox, "and is that any reason
why I should permit strangers to intrude upon
the privacy of my house, especially friends of yours,
Palmora, to run things as they please?"

"I would have you understand, sir," replied the
General with dignity, "that only such untoward
circumstances as the present would have permitted me
to enter your house, and to so far forget the respect
I owe my friends as to allow them to cross your
threshold."

"'Tis unfortunate," said the Duke, still working
over the boy.  "The General should remember that
the House of Dhalmatia can take care of itself."

"The General did not forget," replied the soldier,
hotly; "but in this case he begs the Duke to consider
that the Prince is not the son of Dhalmatia—"

"What!" shouted the Duke, going suddenly pale
with extreme agitation and advancing threateningly
toward the General, who did not seem to mind the
feelings the remarks were stirring up.

"Not the son of Dhalmatia, but the heir to the
throne of Bharbazonia, and therefore he is my liege
lord and master.  As a patriot I must care for him.
Beside, it was our automobile which caused his
accident."

The Duke sank down on his knees beside the
couch at his son's feet as if his strength had
forsaken him.  He offered no further objection to our
presence and watched as the old servant attempted
to revive the patient.  When at last, under the effect
of the restorative, the boy opened his eyes the first
person he saw and smiled upon was his father.
Then his eyes met mine.

They were the most beautiful I have ever seen in
a boy's head, and they thrilled me with the look of
quiet suffering in them.  Large and expressive, they
reminded me of Nicholas in his best mood, when he
sang his Balkan love songs.  From the colour of the
Prince's hair I expected his eyes to be a pale blue,
but, on the contrary, they were a deep rich brown,
almost black.  Shining in their mysterious depth was
something akin to sorrow, which I could not
understand but which became clearer later.

The old Duke did not seem greatly relieved when
his son recovered consciousness; possibly he realized
that the boy had been nearer death than he imagined;
possibly there was another reason.  At all
events, he waved us all back from the couch and
gathered the Prince in his arms.

"My son!  My son!" he repeated again and
again, sometimes in French and sometimes in his
own language.  But it did not seem to me to be the
agonized cry of a broken-hearted father; there was
a note of caution in it, as if he would say, "My
son, be careful; the enemies of your father are
present."

The Prince lay still, studying each face in the
room over his father's shoulder.  He recognized the
General with a bright friendly smile.  The General
returned the salutation with a frigid ceremonial
bow.  Nick seemed to puzzle him.  He looked at the
handsome youth a long time as if trying to
remember where they had met before, and yet not sure
they had met at all.

"If you are satisfied, Dr. Wharton, that the
patient is on a fair way to recovery," broke in the
General, still chafing under the impoliteness of the
Duke, "I suggest that we take our departure from
this ungrateful house."

But his voice was gentle and caressing when he
added to the Prince:

"I trust your Highness will experience no further
evil results from your unfortunate fall."

"We also crave the Prince's pardon for causing
his fall, and will do ourselves the honour of calling
with the doctor in the morning to inquire after his
health."

While Nicholas was speaking the Duke shifted
his head so that he could see the young man's face
over his shoulder without appearing to do so.  All
the time he seemed to be devoting his whole
attention to his son.  The movement was secretive and,
I thought, uncalled for; but it revealed why those
who knew him called him "The Fox."

"Before we go," I said in my character of
physician, "I would suggest that the Prince remain in
bed for the next few days in order to rest the arm
which was dislocated and to determine the presence,
if any, of internal injuries.  With your permission,
Duke, I will take the liberty of calling again.  I
trust, if anything develops which you may not feel
equal to coping with, that you will not hesitate to
make use of my services."

With the Grand Duke's cry of "My son!  My
son!" as our only answer, we bowed our way
through the doorway and entered the car which
was still chug-chugging away at the door, the tired
Jap boy asleep at the wheel.  It was very dark
when we resumed our journey, which was quickly
at an end.  Two miles from Dhalmatia we turned
through a high stone archway of a private estate
and came to Castle Framkor.

It was too dark for me to see anything of the
outside of the castle except the *porte-cochère*, under
which we stopped, and the open front door from
which the servants trooped with cries of welcome.
If there was a similarity about the entrance there
was none in the spirit of the two castles.

A tri-colour collie dog was the first to greet us.
He ran wildly about the car barking at the engines
and sniffing at the visitors.  He recognized the
General and tried to get into the seat with him.

"Down, Laddie; down, sir," commanded his
master as he sprang to the ground, to be
overwhelmed by the excited dog, which leaped against
his shoulder and tried to caress his face.

Willing hands opened the tonneau door and Nick
and I descended.  The dog sniffed at our legs and
growled at us.  Smiling women servants gathered
around the master while the men, in obedience to his
commands, carried our trunks and hand luggage
into the hall.

"Welcome home to Framkor, Nicholas," cried
the General.  It was the first word he had spoken
since his farewell speech at Dhalmatia.  But all his
gloom had left him.

Nicholas made no reply.  Not a single servant
knew him and no one welcomed him back to his
own home.  While it was indeed a splendid homecoming
for the General, I pitied Nick and realized
what he had been sacrificing all his life for the sake
of his country.  It is one thing to choose a vocation
for yourself and quite another to have some one
choose it for you.

The hall room was comfortably warmed by an
open grate fire which burned under the mantelpiece.
Above hung a full length picture of a man about the
General's age in scarlet regimentals.  He bore a
striking resemblance to Nick.

"That's dad," said the boy as we gathered round
the fire to drive out the cold of the night.  He looked
long and earnestly upon his father's portrait.  What
moody thoughts were passing in his mind I could
not imagine.  But the sternness of the pictured face
was reflected in the living one beneath.

"What we need most of all is dinner," said the
General.

"Hear, hear," I cried lightly.

The thought was scarcely expressed before a
servant bade us enter the dining room.  The meal that
followed could not have been surpassed by the
French chef at the Turk's Head Inn.  Bharbazonia
might be archaic, but Framkor Castle under the
direction of Nick's father's executor was delightfully
modern.  I promised myself considerable gastronomic
enjoyment during my vacation in Bharbazonia.

After the feast, which we all ate with a hunger
born of our long ride in the bracing air, the General
and I settled ourselves in the drawing room for a
long, comfortable chat before bedtime.  I was
burning to learn more about the Red Fox, now that I
had seen the Castle tower from which the old nurse
fell the night the Prince was born.  The General
was still suffering from his injured feelings.

"Can you wonder, now, why I hate the Fox?"
he said.  "The ingrate, to return our kindness with
such discourtesy.  The low-bred hound, better we
had left his son in the road to die.  Never again will
I find myself under his roof and you boys, too,
would do well not to visit that castle again.  He will
insult you if you attempt it; now mark my words."

Nick, who did not share my interest in the Red
Fox, had gone on an exploring trip through the
house, recalling childhood memories.  He came into
the music room adjoining and began fingering the
keys of the piano.

"I am glad, at all events," he called, "that the
young fellow was not seriously hurt."

"Humph," grunted Palmora under his breath,
"you would have more reason to be happy if the
horse had made a good job of it."

At this remarkable outburst I stared at the regicidal
old person, who, seeing my surprise, leaped to
his feet and paced the floor, pulling on his long pipe
to keep his temper down.  No doubt he felt that he
had overreached himself, for he came back with an
apology.

"There are things in this Kingdom that are
unknown even to Nicholas," he said mildly, lowering
his voice.  "I trust that the time will come when
it will be given him to know.  Then I would like to
be the messenger."

"The Prince," I said, "is the handsomest boy I
have ever seen."

But the General did not reply.  He was listening
with rapt attention to the fine whole-souled barytone
voice of his Bharbazonian boy, singing a folksong
in the language.  The expression on his face partook
of the look of a devout worshipper before his best
loved shrine.

"*Volt nekem egy daru ssoru paripam*," sang Nick.

The accompaniment he was playing was in that
weird minor strain which always sends a shiver
down one's back.  The words of the song told of
the sorrow of a nation in bondage.  It was an old
favourite with me, for Nick often sang it when the
lights were low and the schoolroom problems were
laid away for the night.  I admired it so much that
Nick gave me the music, written by Francis Korbay,
and it was even now lying on my piano at home.
In English the song runs:

   |  "Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;
   |  But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.
   |  E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.
   |  But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.

   |  "Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;
   |  Don't know even where the spot may now be found.
   |  In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;
   |  But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.

   |  "Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;
   |  Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.
   |  Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;
   |  But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."
   |

As Nick poured his soul into the rendition of the
war song of the Balkans, a song which he told me
every native knew and revered as he loved his Bible,
I could almost picture the little handful of 25,000
men who fell before the overwhelming force of
200,000 Turks on that fateful day, August 29,
1526, when "Mohacsnal" became to the Slavs
what "Don't give up the ship" was to the Americans
hundreds of years later.  I was not surprised
to hear the General's deep bass join in the single line
refrain at the close of each verse:

   |  "No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"
   |

With such a spirit abroad in the land, I could
understand how the defeated but unconquered
Hungarian and Balkan warriors continued the struggle
until there is little left of the dwindling empire of
the "unspeakable Turk" in Europe to-day except
the dissatisfied country around his capital city of
Constantinople.

"Great song," panted the General when Nick
concluded, but the light of battle died out of his
eyes when Nick, after a few preliminary chords,
broke into the popular American songs of the day
and cleared the atmosphere of its political heaviness.
We were all in the best of spirits when we retired.
Although there were many rooms in the castle, I
found to my delight that Nick and I were to sleep
together in his boyhood chamber.  Possibly it was
the association of ideas, but believe it who will, we
romped about like children and did not get to sleep
until the General came to the door to interrupt our
pillow fight with the natural complaint that he was
unable to sleep, and the dry suggestion that we
repair to the lawn to finish it.

At sight of the bristling old warrior in his pink
nightcap and pajamas to match, we scurried beneath
the covers with such a perfect imitation of two
naughty boys who expected to be spanked and put
to bed, that even the General, forgetting his irritation,
was forced to lose his gravity and join in the
general merriment.

Long after the lights were out and we were
quieted down, too tired to laugh any more, I heard
Nick drawl sleepily in memory of our college days:

"Let's go over to Woodland avenue and steal a
lamp post."

Outside a gentle wind rustled the ivy vines clinging
patiently to the Castle wall.  Not another sound
disturbed the stillness of the country night.
Overcome by the silence I drifted away in the arms of
sleep well content with my first hours in the
Kingdom of Bharbazonia.

The next day we met Solonika.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`SOLONIKA'S SUMMER-HOUSE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   SOLONIKA'S SUMMER-HOUSE

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  And when a lady's in the case,
   |  You know, all other things give place.
   |                            —*Gay: Fables*.

.. vspace:: 2

The General's was one of those angelic, choleric
dispositions that frequently blow up under pressure
of sudden anger, but emerge smiling from the havoc
of the explosion, bearing no malice.  When we met
him at the breakfast table the next morning, the
only reference he made to the boyish escapade of
the night before was concealed in his pleasant greeting.

"Good morning, children."

"Good morning, sir," we unisoned like a Greek
chorus.

"What new deviltry are you two planning this
morning?"

We assured him that we felt our age and the
responsibilities of life, and that we intended
henceforth to be very good boys indeed if he would cease
reminding us of our youth.

The talk about the table was of the impending
coronation.  The General was impatient for
news as to how the preparations for that great
event were progressing.  During his rapid journey
to America, in search of Nicholas, much had
been done, but he had no doubt much remained
undone.

"How would you both like to run down to
Nischon with me?" he asked.  "We will be back
by nightfall if we take the machine."

To my surprise Nicholas did not immediately
acquiesce.  He usually found it agreeable to do
what the General proposed, but for some reason he
did not grow enthusiastic over the coronation.  As
for myself, it did not suit my purpose to go to the
capital city, much as I desired to see it.  I had other
plans, but I could not tell the General for fear of
risking his displeasure.  For, notwithstanding his
admonition to the contrary, I intended to go over
to Castle Dhalmatia and see the Prince.  Down in
my heart I suppose was the hope that I might also
make the acquaintance of his twin sister the
Princess Solonika.  Ever since I heard their romantic
story from the General's lips, I experienced a great
desire to get to the bottom of the mystery and prove
the General right or wrong.  The opportunity of
seeing Nischon was mine any time, but the chance
of visiting the inhospitable Castle in the guise of a
physician was not to be lost.

"The king has set his heart upon making this
occasion one long to be remembered in Bharbazonia,
and we must stand ready to help him," continued
the General.  "He will be happy to see you, the heir
of Framkor, Nicholas.  He loves the young men
of his country and was much interested in my trip
to find you."

Still Nicholas remained silent.

"Don't you care to go?" asked Palmora.

"If my preference is to be considered,
Godfather," said Nick, "I would rather stay at home.
I will gladly accompany you another time.  But
to-day I am tired after our long journey."

"And you?" said the General turning to me.

"I would rather stay here with Nick."

"All right," he replied, "I will go alone,
provided I may borrow your car, Nick."

"Gladly," said Nick, relieved at being let off so
easily.

Teju Okio brought the big machine under the
*porte-cochère*, and we were preparing to see the
General off when a lone horseman cantered up the
driveway among the trees, his long Spanish cloak
waving in the breeze and his sword jangling at his
side.  He was a good looking black haired youth,
and he rode his charger with the ease of a cavalryman.
It took all his horsemanship to get his restive
animal to face the running engines, but by dint of
a liberal use of spurs and much coaxing he finally
came within hailing distance.

The General seemed to recognize him and
returned his salute graciously.  Upon the rider's
breast, under his wind-tossed cloak, was the same
kind of a Greek cross, two parallel bars and one at
an angle, which I had seen both the General and
Nicholas wearing upon the yacht.  Whatever his
business was, it was speedily transacted.  He
shouted a question at the General, received a reply,
waved a parting salute, and was off like the wind,
his struggling steed showing a fine pair of heels to
the demon in the *porte-cochère*.

"The Grand Duke Marbosa seems much concerned
for my safe arrival," said Nick.  "His
messenger is here early."

"I suppose Marchaud, the innkeeper, has spread
the news of our return," said the General.

"What have I to do with Marbosa?" said Nick.

"I'll tell you about that when I see you to-night,"
replied the General, waving his hand to Teju Okio.
The Jap boy threw in his clutch, the General's head
went back, and they were off for Nischon.

"There is some mystery here," said Nick,
watching the car thoughtfully until it was gone from
sight.

"Who is Marbosa?" I asked.

"He is the recognized leader of the nobles of
Bharbazonia and a great friend of the General's.
He is about Palmora's age, but as hot-headed and
impetuous as a youth."

It was too fine a day to be indoors, and I
suggested that we employ the morning by riding about
the country on horseback.  Nick forgot the weariness
he had offered the General as an excuse for
remaining behind and readily assented.  The stables
were in the rear of the castle and we found them
full of the finest horses money could buy.  Nick
conversed with the stablemen by means of the sign
language, remembering his American character, and
we were soon upon the road astride the best
travellers I have ever seen.

"Wither awa'," I cried gaily as we left the
estate, coming into the public road by the porter's
lodge and gates which I recognized from the
evening before.

"Let us go to Dhalmatia and see how the Prince
is this morning," said Nick.

I turned my head to hide the smile.  So he, too,
was interested in the Prince?  I wondered if the
General's suspicions had at last awakened in Nick's
breast a desire similar to my own, or was it that he
wished to improve his acquaintance with the future
king?

"On to the lair of the Red Fox," I said.

Nick's estates, I found, were on one side of the
road and the Red Fox's on the other.  The entrances
were at opposite ends and about two miles apart.
I remembered that it must have been over this very
highway that Nick's father and his friend the
General had hurriedly galloped that memorable night
twenty years ago drawn by the strange ringing of
the natal bell.  Our journey was made more
decorously, but upon a strangely similar errand as far
as I was concerned.

The castle on the hill was visible from the road.
Although it stood bathed in sunlight in the clearing
high above the woodland, it retained all its
sombreness.  And the General's remarks came back to me
with renewed force.  Had I been alone I might have
turned back.

No one came forward to take our horses when we
dismounted.  The silent battlements grinned down
upon us as though to warn us away.  I held the
bridle reins while Nick beat upon the oaken door
with the handle of his riding crop.

The butler who answered was the old man who
had held the lantern the night before.  He
resembled his master in grimness of manner and secrecy
of method, opening the door slightly and blocking
the aperture with his body, as if he suspected we
had come to filch the bric-a-brac, or make way with
the Prince.  As soon as he laid eyes upon us he
addressed himself to a task he appeared to relish.

"The master bids me thank you," he said in
French, usual in Bharbazonian households because,
as I afterward learned, it was the court language,
"for the expression of good will which your
presence implies; he is sorry that the custom of
denying himself to visitors, which has been his for years,
compels him to refrain from entertaining you.  To
Monsieur le Physician, he desires me to say that his
son has so far recovered as to make any further calls
unnecessary."

The insult took our breath away and we could
manage no words to reply.

"I wish you a very good afternoon," said the
doorman, gravely.  Then he gently but firmly closed
the door in our faces.

What little hold Nick retained upon his temper
was lost when, in remounting, owing to the restiveness
of his horse, he twice missed his stirrup.  The
animal was one of those high-spirited fellows that
show much white around the eye and cannot stand
the approach of a rider.  Nick made matters worse
by belabouring him both with his riding whip and
the toe of his boot, so that I had to pull up on the
road and wait for him.

I scarcely knew what to make of our unceremonious
reception, and could attribute the Duke's action
to one of two things.  Either as an offspring
of Bharbazonia he was mediæval and unused to the
polite usages of the present day; or he had
something to conceal.

"My respect for the General increases," I said
as we rode off together.

"Why?" growled Nick.

"The General knew his man better than we did."

"What makes you say that?"

"He strongly advised me not to visit Dhalmatia,
and said the Red Fox would insult us."

"Humph," said Nick, "I wish you had told me.
I should not have given him the opportunity."

"Well, after all," I suggested, "the Fox has a
right to exclude us if he is so minded.  A man's
castle is his home, I take it."

"Bharbazonians do not treat each other with
such scant courtesy."

"You forget that we are two Americans to him.
But even Bharbazonia is known to Baedeker, I suppose."

"Can you, the rejected physician, who yesterday
stood ready to treat his son, forgive him so
lightly?"

"Assuredly, when I remember that I was also
one of the party which contributed to his son's fall."

"You are too good-natured, Dale.  I could choke
him with pleasure.  One of these days when his son
is king I shall compel an apology."

By common consent when we reached the highway
we turned away from Framkor and rode past
the Duke's estate, the length of which was plainly
marked by an almost endless hedge.  As we came
opposite a pretty little summer-house, enclosed in
glass and used as a winter conservatory, I caught
sight of the prince's face behind the glass.  His
profile was toward us and, as he was sitting, only
his head and shoulders were visible.  Not hearing
our hoof beats on the soft dirt road he did not look
up as we passed.  Here was an opportunity of
accomplishing our purpose in spite of the Duke.
Nothing loath I embraced it.

"If you are minded to talk to the Fox's son
before he is king," I exclaimed, indicating the
summer-house, "here is your chance."

Seeing the Prince, Nick put his horse to the hedge
without a word and I followed.  As we struck the
ground on the other side, the Prince looked quickly
up.  He watched us tie our horses to a tree, but
made no effort to rise when we burst open the door
and unceremoniously entered.

On the threshold we both stopped in surprise, our
hostility giving place to embarrassment and a
natural consternation.  We suddenly found ourselves
not, as we expected, in the presence of the Prince,
but standing stupidly before a surprised and
beautiful young woman.  She was about the Prince's age
and bore a striking resemblance to him.  She had
the same sleepy brown eyes.  Her hair was of the
same titian shade, but it was long and gathered in
a soft knot at the back of her head.  It was her
crowning glory and she wore it without a part after
the manner of the French pompadour.

Her dress was one I had not expected to find in
Bharbazonia.  It was a tailor-made suit of the then
fashionable "smoke" colour and beneath her short
skirt peeped a pair of patent leather shoes with tops
to match the colour of her dress.  Could she have
been transferred from her summer-house to the
Rittenhouse square promenade, she would not have
been out of the picture nor have caused comment
except for her great beauty.

With well-bred composure she calmly looked from
Nick to me without altering her position in her
comfortable chair or even lowering her book.
Although apparently unmoved, she was alert to our
every move, questioning with her glance the reason
for our intrusion.  Many another girl under similar
circumstance might have cried out, but she was
neither overcome with feminine modesty nor afraid.

For my part I was conscious of feeling like a
small boy caught with a pocketful of stolen apples.
Nick must have been afflicted in a like manner, for
our hats came off simultaneously, and we bowed as
low as the difference in our training would permit.

"We beg your pardon," began Nick, recovering
his composure.  "We expected to find the Prince
here—the resemblance is so wonderful—we beg
your pardon."

There was another awkward pause as she waited
for him to continue and then, seeing that he had lost
his voice, she spoke.  I shall never forget the
feeling that went through me as I listened to her
ringing contralto, full of Homeresque quality, clear as a
bell.

"From the manner of your entrance, one would
imagine you meant him harm," she said.

Nick's composure forsook him entirely and I
came to the rescue.  There was nothing timorous
about this young woman.  She looked me frankly
in the face.  The subtle charm of her femininity
came to me with the odour of the surrounding
flowers and took a firm grasp upon my heart.

"We are just come from the castle," I hastened
to say, "where we sought to inquire after the health
of the Prince.  The Duke turned us from the door."

"And may I inquire who you are?"

"I am Dr. Dale Wharton and this is Mr. Nicholas
Fremsted."

She returned the compliment.

"I am Solonika, the Prince's sister," she replied.

We both bowed again like two automatons
controlled by the same string.

"I see that you are not English," she added.

"No," Nick replied quickly as if he were not
sure of my answer, "we are both Americans."

"So?" she said, looking at Nick as if she were
trying to place him in her memory.  Her quizzical
expression reminded me of the Prince when he had
watched Nick in the same manner.

"Now that we have been introduced most properly,"
she continued with the shadow of a smile,
"perhaps you will sit down and have tea with me.
Perhaps also I may make amends for my father's
seeming lack of hospitality."

"Therese," she called to a French maid who
promptly emerged from behind a Japanese screen in
the rear of the room, "chairs for the gentlemen."

While Nick engaged the Princess in conversation
I had opportunity to examine the summer-house.
It has always been my belief that one reveals
character in the arrangement and decoration of one's
favourite rooms.  The little den had the atmosphere
of a college man's smoking room, except for the
flowers that were banked high at the windows which
formed the wall of the summer-house on the side
toward the road.  Here and there convenient
openings were left for a view of the highway.  If the
Princess had fitted up this lounging place out of a
feeling of monotony which remote living in the
castle brought her, she succeeded admirably in
arriving at privacy and at the same time avoiding
loneliness.

The other three walls were done in dark red burlap
richly hung with pictures.  Drinking steins of
every nation, together with valuable china and
porcelain ware, adorned the plate rail around the
sides.  But what caught my eye was a lifesize,
full-length picture of Solonika herself dressed in the
bright-coloured garb of a Bharbazonian peasant
girl, poised upon the tips of her dainty toes in the
midst of a native dance.  Close beside it was another
canvas of the Prince in the pure white finery of a
most gorgeous court costume, covered with lace and
furbelows sufficient to arouse the envy of a French
king.

In one corner was an artist's easel on which stood
a half finished landscape of the King's Highway,
showing the Turk's Head Inn in the foreground.
The room was neither masculine nor feminine and
I was at a loss to find a reason for the presence of
a large copy of Wehr-Schmidt's painting of "Down
Among the Dead Men," which occupied the entire
rear wall, unless it might be that the Prince also
had a hand in the decorations.  Else why should
such prominence be given a scene in which a number
of reckless swordsmen were forcing a frightened
clergyman to drink an abhorred health, singing as
they threatened him with their levelled points:

   |  "And he who will this health deny,
   |  Down among the dead men let him lie."
   |

Therese, the maid, was serving the tea when I
came back from my mental wandering and began
to take an interest in the conversation.

"Brother is much better this morning," the Princess
was saying.  "Father has difficulty in keeping
him in bed.  Although his arm is still painful, he is
a lively youth and hard to keep down."

"He will not suffer any further inconvenience
from his fall?" asked Nick.

"None whatever.  After all, it was his own
fault.  He sometimes is such a careless rider.  When
the colt reared at sight of your conveyance, Raoul
says he made the mistake of pulling him back.  The
sight of your car was so unexpected; I suppose he
was as much surprised as the horse.  Think of it!
An automobile in Bharbazonia!"

She threw back her head and laughed heartily at
the thought, and we could do nothing else but laugh
with her.  The charm of the girl was contagious
and we forgot the Duke's unpleasantness.

"Why, it was only a week ago they burned a
witch at the stake for some offence against the
Church.  I was not a bit sorry when I heard it, for
she was the one who prophesied that Raoul would
never be King of Bharbazonia—and behold along
comes this automobile, chug-chugging through the
middle ages almost making that prophecy come true.
We are growing modern."

"Dear old Bharbazonia," sighed Nick, off his
guard for the moment.

The Princess heard the remark, and I saw her
compare my own blond head with Nick's black
curls, while the puzzled look returned.

"Dear old Bharbazonia," was all she said, but I
fancied her interest in him increased from that
moment.  It was the call of the blood.

"Do you know Bharbazonia?" she asked him later.

He admitted that he had visited the country on
different occasions, always as the guest of General
Palmora.

"On one of my trips I had the pleasure of meeting
the Prince at Nischon.  He was visiting his
uncle the King."

"Ah," she said, "I thought so."

She nodded her head several times as if his remark
explained many things.

"But I never had the pleasure of meeting you
before," he added.

"I have seen you," she hastened to say.  "If I
remember correctly that was four years ago.  You
and the General rode by these windows frequently
on that occasion.  That was the year the Grand
Duke of Framkor died."

Nick made no reply at this mention of his father's
name.  And, if she were trying to discover his identity
under directions from her suspicious father, she
made nothing out of him.

"I suppose, if one could trace it back, I should
be found to be a relation of his," he said.  "My
family is Russian.  I was born in St. Petersburg
and later became a world wanderer and finally an
American.  Dale and I were chums at the University
of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia."

"Friends," she mused.  "I have always been
interested in friendship.  I never had a friend."

"You have had no opportunity, living here all
your life."

"Oh, but I have been away to school.  I have
met those there whom I would have called friends,
but father you know is a curious man, and I cannot
have them visit me here."

"You have missed a great deal in life," said Nick.

"Have I?" she laughed.  "I do not think so.
Friendship between men is not lasting.  I wonder
if a woman could not loosen the bonds of affection
between you two at any time she chose?"

"I doubt it," said Nick, staunchly.

"I have often wondered what would happen if a
woman had come between David and Jonathan, or
Damon and Pythias or any of the famous chums
of history," she said.

"A woman is only a woman," said Nick with a
smile, "but the world holds nothing so dear as the
friends one makes in youth and cleaves to until the
end.  I do not think the woman lives who could part
Dale and me."

"Don't be too sure," she smiled back between
half closed eyes.

It was almost dark when we arose to take our
leave after a most pleasant afternoon.  Nick, true
to his Bharbazonian instinct, made his leave-taking
consist of a sweeping bow, but I put out my hand
in American fashion.

"Good-bye, your Highness," I said, "I trust that
we will see you soon again."

She hesitated for the fraction of a second before
extending her hand.  Perhaps she was not familiar
with hand-shaking as a leave-taking habit.  For the
first time during the afternoon she seemed timid.
When I released her hand the arm fell to her side.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as if in pain, although I
could have sworn that I had not used more strength
in my leave-taking than one would with a Dresden doll.

But, when I reached the door and bowed myself
across the threshold, she was standing by her chair
smiling brightly.

"Good-bye," she said, "I have had such a pleasant
afternoon.  Please do not cherish resentment
and come to the castle.  The Prince and I will be
glad to see you both.  I shall tell father he must
apologize."

She came to the door and watched us mount and
put our horses over the hedge.  We both waved our
hands to her as the bend in the road shut her from
view.

It wasn't until we turned in at Framkor gate that
a possible explanation of the significance of
Solonika's suppressed cry of pain came home to me and
I exclaimed aloud:

"It was the right arm of the Prince that was
dislocated!"

"Well," said Nick, "and what of that?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE STORY OF THE SACRILEGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE STORY OF THE SACRILEGE

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |                  The nimble lie
   |  Is like the second hand upon a clock;
   |  We see it fly; while the hour hand of truth
   |  Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen,
   |  And wins, at last, for the clock will not strike
   |  Till it has reached the goal.
   |                      —*Longfellow: Michael Angelo*.

.. vspace:: 2

Nicholas and I were not good company for each
other that evening.  The General, we found, had not
returned from Nischon and we ate our evening meal
in silence.  After dinner we repaired to the smoking
room, there to follow out our musings each in his
own way.

Nick, with his elbows on his armchair and his
chin resting on his interlaced hands, watched the
fire leaping and dancing among the burning chestnut
logs until, moved by its magnetic influence, he
drifted away on the wings of reverie, leaving "the
world and all" far behind.  Once he spoke aloud,
oblivious of my presence.

"What a magnificent creature she has grown to
be," he said.

My thoughts also were of the Princess Solonika,
but they did not dwell upon her remarkable beauty.
They had a totally different trend.  I carefully
went over the events of the afternoon and the poison
of suspicion, implanted in my mind by the vague
words of the General, gave colour to everything I
had noticed in the summer-house.  Nick's steady
refusal to countenance the idea had lulled me into
the belief that the General was visionary; but the
incident of my leave-taking from Solonika brought
me up with a sharp turn.

It seemed impossible to imagine that any such
masquerade as the General implied could exist these
twenty years undiscovered, and, for its successful
fulfilment, go on existing thereafter for an indefinite
period.  I realized, of course, that this was an
Anglo-Saxon point of view.  In a civilized country
with its freedom of intercourse, its newspapers and
reporters in search of sensations, its international
social life moving always in the limelight of
publicity, such an extremely grotesque secret would
soon be dragged from hiding and held up to public
ridicule.  But this was not America.  This was
barbaric Bharbazonia.  Here, shut up in a well
protected castle, cut off from the world, hidden from
prying eyes by the might of power, anything were
possible.

Just what did I suspect?  I scarcely knew and
I experienced difficulty in making my mind
contemplate a proposition so absurd.  Why should I not
continue to believe that the Prince was the Prince
and that Solonika was Solonika?  But two other
hypotheses forced themselves upon me.  Suppose, I
said to myself, that on that eventful night, when the
bell of Dhalmatia announced the birth of twins,
only a daughter had been born.  What would the
Duke, controlled by an overmastering desire to
wrest the succession of the throne from his heirless
brother, have done in his despair and excitement?

I had seen the Red Fox and knew that the keynote
of his character was craftiness.  On the spur
of the moment, given no time to consider what
suffering his action might entail upon the newborn
babe, he would have dashed upon the rope in a
frenzy and tolled the bell a second time declaring
the advent of a son.  Perhaps during the long
months of waiting he had planned some such deception
should the fates go against him.  The truthful
nurse, unaware of his desire, had complicated matters
and had paid the penalty for her lack of wisdom.

After his rash act, as the Fox sat down to think,
gloating over King Gregory's chagrin when he
heard the news, he would find two courses open to
him.  He must either adopt a boy to take the place
of the Prince who was not, or he might bring up his
daughter to assume the rôle of both Prince and
Princess.

Well pleased with my theory I began to test it
and found to my delight that it satisfactorily
explained many things.  If the girl and boy were one,
the remarkable physical resemblance would be
natural and the expression of pain on Solonika's face
when I shook her hand would be explained.  What
would be more natural than the Duke's action in
denying his castle to visitors?  When Nick and I
called that morning he could not let us in to see the
Prince because Solonika was in the summer-house!

Then Doubt came knocking at my door.  After
all, the Red Fox might have been discourteous to us
because we were the avowed friends of his enemy,
General Palmora.  Under the circumstances I could
not blame him for what he did.  And had he not
explained everything when he declared the birth of
twins?  It is not unusual for twins to look alike.

"But," whispered Suspicion in my ear, "how
about Solonika's half suppressed cry of pain?"

Here was I back to my starting point.  It was too
baffling a problem for one man to solve.  I felt that
I needed help; some one who might shed more light
upon the subject, and I turned to Nick.  He had
never taken any stock in the General's talk, and
always ridiculed the efforts I made to point out
that which I believed lent colour to Palmora's
suspicions.  That he had some reason for his faith
was evident, and I determined to risk his displeasure
to learn it.

"Nick," I said, startling him out of his dreams
by sitting beside him on the arm of his chair and
putting my elbow under his head, "have you ever
been able to learn what the General suspects about
the Red Fox and the succession?"

"Did you ever talk with a brighter woman in
your life, Dale?" he replied.

"Solonika?"

He nodded.  Here was the same old susceptible
boy, who indiscriminately decorated our rooms at
college with pictures of chorus girls, or leading
women, who temporarily queened it over his fickle
fancy and who faded away into the forgetful mist
of passing years.  Was he never going to grow up,
I wondered.

"She's pretty enough," I replied, "but I wish
you would answer my question."

"Pretty enough," he echoed.  "Oh, you stone
man.  When a woman like Solonika cannot make
your heart beat faster, I begin to despair for you."

I did not tell him how much the Princess had
interested me, and that it was the light of sadness
deep down in her eyes, which had escaped him,
that made me wish to clear up the mystery and help
her if I could.  If she were a masquerader what a
terrible life she had before her.  I pitied her.

"Surely," I said, "the good General had some
serious reason for bringing you back."

"Serious he may think it," said Nick, "but I
see no reason for coupling my return with the
General's suspicions of Dhalmatia.  I think, from
what I saw this morning, that Duke Marbosa had
more to do with it."

"I suppose you would not entertain the thought
for a moment that the Prince and the Princess were
the same person?"

Nick looked at me as if I were suddenly become a
madman.  Then he threw back his head and laughed
so loud and long that I, feeling uncomfortably small,
shook him to make him stop.  His answer I thought
most curious.

"Great heavens, Dale, this is Bharbazonia."

"All the more reason for believing it possible,"
I retorted.

He laughed again.

"Oh, no," he said, "you have reckoned without
the Church."

"Come now, Nick, answer me straight.  Cease
talking in riddles.  What has the Church got to
do with it?"

Nick suddenly became sober.  He saw that I
was serious, and addressed himself to the task of
enlightening me.

"Listen, Dale," he began, like one entering into
a long argument, "I will tell you all about it and
when I am through you must accept what I say as
final and forget these romantic American notions
of yours.  The Greek church of Bharbazonia has
everything to do with it.  To begin with, for the
sake of argument, we will admit that the General
and you are right—the Prince and the Princess are
one, and that one is a woman.  I believe that is
your theory?"

"Go on," I said, nodding.

"Now, do you know what that would entail?"

"The woman's life would be a hell on earth, I
suppose."

"It would mean death if she were ever detected,"
said Nick, solemnly.

This was going farther than I expected.  I looked
at Nick, but his face was immovable.  He was not
joking.

"Yes, but how?  Why?" I exclaimed.

"In the first place the clergy in this country, as
in many other European lands, stand before the
nobles in power.  The king, the nobles and the
peasantry are all subject to their will.  Here, church
and state are not divorced as they are in France and
America."

"But how would Solonika come within the power
of the Church?  Why should it wish to harm her?"

"Every coronation service, like marriage, is a
deeply religious ceremony," Nick continued steadily.
"As you know, it takes place in the Cathedral at
Nischon.  It is conducted by the Patriarch, the front
of the Greek Catholic Church of Bharbazonia.
When this woman, who in your fancy is masquerading
as the Prince, takes the oath of office, becoming
at once the head of the Church and the ruler
of the kingdom, she must ascend the altar and
stand within the Holy of Holies, where it is a
sacrilege for a woman to go!"

"Good heavens," I exclaimed, rising to my feet
in consternation.  Nick smiled at the effect of his
words and continued:

"Granting that the Red Fox of Dhalmatia would
go to great lengths to procure the throne, do you
think that any father would take such risks?  Do
you think that a woman like Solonika would affront
her religion for the sake of being king?  You may
trifle with the superstitious beliefs of the highly
civilized, if they have any, but you cannot play
tricks with the primitive.  The populace of
Bharbazonia, if they ever found her out, though she be
king, would rend her limb from limb, urged on by
the religious frenzy of the outraged priesthood.
Are you answered?"

"I am answered," I replied.

But Nick was not satisfied that he had convinced me.

"I will tell you this, Dale," he added, earnestly.
"If Solonika committed such a sacrilege against my
Church and her people, I, a Bharbazonian, might
forget my Occidental cultivation, and, though I
might love her, would strangle her to death with
these two hands."

He stretched his hands toward me and crushed
his fingers together over an imaginary throat.  I
watched him fascinated; here was a new Nicholas
and one that I did not like.  I was not so sure that
David knew the innermost secrets of Jonathan's heart.

"So, that is Bharbazonia," I said.

He detected the detraction in my voice, and came
to the defence of his Fatherland.

"Yes, that is Bharbazonia," he replied.  "And
can you expect more of a people who have suffered
as we have from the persecution of the merciless
Turks?  There is nothing gentle, nothing refining
in the traditions behind us.  Do you know what it
means to come home and find the body of your
wife, nude and desecrated, lying in its blood in the
doorway of your once happy, happy home?  Do
you know what it means to the stunted mental
growth of a community to have its little earnings
taken for taxes for the support of luxurious
Mohammedan harems, when its children are without
schools?  And can the religion of a country
be more enlightened than its followers?  Do
not blame Bharbazonia for what she is.  She is
crushed, she is broken, she is bleeding; but she
lives."

"With your education and training, Nick, why
do you not take a leading part in helping your own
country?  You love your fellows, I know."

"Oh, if I had the power; if I were only king in
Bharbazonia; what would I not do?  I would ask
nothing better for my life work, but, as it is, I am
doing the next best thing, not alone for my country
but also for the entire Balkans, in furthering the
work of the Order of the Cross against the power
of the Crescent."

The noise of the engine along the driveway
announced the return of the General in the car.  He
came bounding into the room like a boy, full of his
trip to the capital and the magnificent preparations
for the coronation.

"I met a certain young woman who was much
disappointed because you had not come, Nicholas,"
said he.

"Who was she?" asked Nick.

"The Princess Teskla."

"I trust you gave her my best regards."

"I did.  And further, I promised not to return
to the Palace until I brought you."

From the General's manner I judged that Nicholas
and the king's daughter were very good friends,
and that the General was more than pleased.  He
became so enthusiastic in recounting the charms of
the young lady that I began to suspect him of being
a matchmaker.  Nick had spent much of his time
at the palace after his father died four years ago,
but had not seen the Princess since.  He corresponded
with her in his desultory fashion, and I
smiled as I recalled how letter writing languished
with him.  The General, in his rôle of Cupid, let
fly dart after dart from his quiver.

"Do you know, my son," he insinuated, "I
think Teskla is in love with you?"

"Think so, Godfather?" said Nick, shrugging
his shoulders.

"A splendid girl, sir; a splendid girl I believe."

But Nick abruptly changed the subject.

"You promised to tell me why Grand Duke
Marbosa was so interested in my return," he said.

"You are referring to his messenger of this
morning?" replied Palmora, becoming again the
diplomat and statesman.

Nick nodded.

"The Duke is anxious to enroll you with the rest
of the nobles under his leadership in opposition to
the Red Fox's son.  He is planning something
desperate, I feel sure.  He will not be frank with
me.  But I know that he will strike before the
coronation."

"What have I to do with Marbosa and the nobles
of Bharbazonia?" said Nick.  "The Order is not
interested, is it?"

"He has not gone as far as to make our Bharbazonian
succession an international affair.  He
would not dare."

The talk drifted aimlessly, I thought, upon the
poverty of the people and their lack of education;
Marbosa's stern patriotism and his willingness to
shed blood for the good of his country; the General's
opposition to Marbosa in favor of peace.  I
ceased to follow their discussion until I heard the
General say:

"Nicholas, I desire to tell you a story."

"But you cannot convince me, General," said
Nick.  "I think Marbosa is right.  He has the
good of Bharbazonia at heart."

"I believe he has," said the General.  "But
listen.  There once was a high minded man who
was a descendant of a long line of kings.  His
ancestors, for centuries, had not lived in their
Fatherland since it fell into the hands of a
conquering host from another country.  Many of
them, leading ineffectual armies of restoration, were
killed; and private assassins in the pay of the
conquerors murdered any member of the royal family
they could find even in exile.  To prevent his
enemies from killing him, this king, as his father and
grandfather before him had done, assumed a
fictitious name and went into a far country.  There,
like any other man, he worked, dreaming of the
time when he should come into his own, hoping
against hope.

"So completely did he hide himself, that he
rarely received news of his home.  But one day he
learned that the land was free and that his
countrymen, deeming the last of their kings dead, had
placed a noble upon the throne and thus established
another royal family.

"He came back to his Fatherland intent upon
proclaiming himself.  Through all the years he had
carefully preserved the proofs of his identity, and
he had no difficulty in convincing a few of the nobles
whom he took into his confidence that he was the
king.  They were intent upon a revolution; but the
fame of the present ruler was great; he had been a
wonderful soldier in the battles for freedom and
the people loved him.  The fight which would follow
must disrupt the Fatherland, still suffering under
the poverty and vice of the years of bondage.  An
internal quarrel would have destroyed it.

"The king was a great man, greater than the
world knew.  He restrained his friends in their
efforts to win the throne for him.  He refused to
take it, holding that what his beloved country
needed most of all was peace—peace to bind up its
wounds and win prosperity and happiness.  His
friends urged him, but he remained firm.  He went
away and never pressed his claim.  Love of country
with him was greater than love for a throne.

"Later he married and a son was born to him.
Then his heart misgave him.  Had he done well to
rob the boy of his birthright?  The thought troubled
him.  Yet he remained true to his better impulses,
and still held that his country needed peace.  He
sought out the oldest friend he had in the county,
a man of considerable influence who was in
sympathy with the great sacrifice his liege lord was
making.

"'Although I have given up my throne,' he said,
'I want my boy some day to reign.  The time may
come after I am dead when you may see a way to
give him his own again without injury to the
Fatherland.  When that time comes, old friend, will
you do it?'

"'I will,' said the friend.

"'The youth is impetuous.  He may not be able
to see the right as I have seen it.  He may not be
able to control his selfish motives as I have done.
Therefore do you keep my secret from him.  But,
if the boy wax strong and is able to follow the right
course, you may tell him the truth.  Until that time
shall come keep the secret from him, for the love
you bear me and our Fatherland.'"

In this world, where one sees so much of sordidness,
it was refreshing to hear the General tell of
an action so high-minded as to be almost beyond
belief.  I liked to feel that such things still existed.

"I have told this story often to Duke Marbosa.
But he is not impressed," continued the General.
"The Red Fox's leanings toward the Turk are, to
Marbosa, like the red flag before the eyes of a bull.
He does not like Prince Raoul's father and in that
I cannot blame him.  But I cannot make him see
that Bharbazonia needs peace just now.  What do
you think, Nicholas?"

"I am rather in sympathy with Marbosa, Godfather,"
said Nick.

The General was watching Nick closely, his eyes
half concealed beneath his bushy eyebrows.  A look
of disappointment passed over his face at the
answer.  He said something half to himself, which
I did not clearly catch.  It sounded like "The time
is not yet," but I could not be sure.

"You are very young, my son," he said aloud,
"and the Duke of Marbosa is old enough to know
better."

Both of them relapsed into the Bharbazonian
speech and I went off to bed alone.  I do not know
what time Nick came in, but I was aroused a little
by hearing the General calling across the hallway
from his own room:

"Now, remember, son, we meet at the Turk's
Head Inn.  It is important that you be there, for I
believe we will make history to-morrow.  So, do not
oversleep."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE TWINS OF DHALMATIA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE TWINS OF DHALMATIA

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  The flying rumours father'd as they rolled,
   |  Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
   |  And all who told it added something new,
   |  And all who heard it made enlargements too;
   |  In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.
   |                              —*Pope: Temple of Fame*.

.. vspace:: 2

When I awoke the next morning Nick's side of
the bed was empty.  In answer to my ring the
butler served breakfast in my room.  Mr. Nicholas
and General Palmora he said had eaten before dawn
and gone out in the wonderful machine, leaving
word that they would return for dinner in the
evening.  He knew not where they had gone.  For
once in my life I was thankful I knew French, else I
might have starved.

There was no reason why I should arise, so I lay
in bed thinking of this curious country, trying to
imagine what secret business would have caused
Nick to leave me without explanation.  The face of
Solonika came repeatedly uppermost in my thoughts.
Could one so beautiful, so gentle, so feminine, be a
party to such a terrible deception as my fanciful
suspicions made necessary for her?  Those steadfast,
honest eyes could not belong to one who carried
within her breast a secret so grave.

Nicholas's talk of sacrilege opened a new line of
conjecture.  If the Red Fox were playing so huge
a joke upon his countrymen, he was laughing in
the face of a danger most appalling.  I had seen
him once and I knew that he was crafty.  If his
ambition were equal to it, he might not hesitate
even at sacrilege.  The very danger might add zest.

Always there recurred to me the memory of
Solonika's pain when I took her hand.  Here I was
travelling in my endless circle.  If I could go over
to Dhalmatia and see the Prince and Princess
together all doubts would be at rest.  This vain
pursuit of garbled rumour, garnished and re-garnished
in the telling, was worse than useless.

Time hung heavily on my hands during the
morning.  Castle Framkor seemed deserted without
Nicholas and the General.  By lunch time my
loneliness became unbearable and I went for a walk.
Subconsciously my feet carried me toward Dhalmatia,
and I came out of my musings on the steps
of the summer-house.

No one answered my knock and I could see
through the glass partitions that the cosy den was
vacant.  Should I go to the castle?  I took to the
driveway, but, when I emerged from the trees and
came in sight of the turrets, my resolution failed
me.  I remembered the Red Fox's discourteous
treatment and did not care to brave the animal in
his lair.  I retreated to the steps of the
summer-house and sat down to think.

To be sure Solonika had invited us to renew our
visit.  She had promised to have an interview with
her father, and from her assurance she led us to
believe that she could not fail.  Doubtless if I
knocked at the castle door I would be admitted, but
I could not forget my pride.  On the other hand, if
I did not go to Dhalmatia, how was I to solve the
mystery which was baffling me?  How was I to see
the Prince and Princess together?

"Please, sir," said a woman's voice at my elbow,
"the mistress desires to see you at the castle."

It was Therese, the maid.  Solonika had seen me
a moment before standing in full view of the castle;
had watched my retreat, and guessed the cause.
Opportunity lay ready to my hand.

"Thank you; I will go," I said.

"To the *porte-cochère*, and knock upon the
door," she said, as she vanished behind the
summer-house.

Evidently the persuasive Solonika had been at
work and won her expected victory, for the grim,
old butler smiled graciously and bade me enter.

"Would Monsieur the physician desire to see the
Prince?" he asked.

Somewhere in the castle the Princess was waiting,
expecting my coming.  Why not first see the Prince
and then call upon her?  Thus might I satisfy my
great desire without arousing suspicion.

"Yes, I would see the Prince," I answered.

The old man bent his back in a half bow and
smilingly led me with all the dignity and speed of a
turtle to the Prince's quarters, which fortunately
were but a short distance from the reception hall.
If the ways of those who love the darkness are evil,
the Red Fox's ways must certainly be evil, for the
interior of his castle was very dark.  The windows
were screened with heavy curtains, permitting little
daylight to enter.  My eyes, fresh from the sunlight,
had to become accustomed to the lack of light
before I could see my way about.  I hung close
upon the heels of my slow guide until he paused
in a doorway and announced in a stately manner:

"Monsieur le doctaire for the Prince."

There was the sound of a chair being moved back
as if some one arose.  I bowed upon the threshold,
looking swiftly about.  The Duke and the Prince
were before me, but Solonika was nowhere to be
seen.  The Duke was standing beside a table
acknowledging my bow.  He was dressed in the
same quaint manner as when I had seen him two
days before.

His son, the Prince, remained seated on the
opposite side of the table.  His back was toward
me, and he did not turn.  He was attired in a long,
full-skirted coat of black, black knee breeches with
buckles at the knee, black silk stockings and
silver-buckled, low black shoes.  Leaning against the arm
of his high-backed carved chair was his sword.  It
had evidently been uncomfortable, and was laid
aside belt and all.  The Prince's right arm was in
a sling.

The two had been interested in a game of cards
when I interrupted them.  Judging from the
formation of the pasteboards upon the green cloth,
they were playing "double solitaire," that
paradoxical game for one which two or three can play.
It is also one of the few games of cards which can
be played with one hand.

The Duke placed a chair at the table beside him
and waved me into it with a gracious smile.  When
I was seated, the Prince ceased scanning the cards
on the table and looked at me as one would at a
stranger.  He was so like Solonika, and yet acted
so unlike her, that I was uncomfortable.

"Raoul, permit me to present Dr. Wharton who
took such good care of you when you were thrown,"
said the Duke in London English.

The young man and I nodded coldly.  Above all
things I desired to hear his voice.

"Do not permit me to interrupt the game," I
said, lightly, but it was the Duke who replied.

"I am more than pleased to see you, Dr. Wharton,
if only to extend my apologies for the affair
of yesterday.  Servants make sad mistakes sometimes."

Servants and Grand Dukes were somewhat alike
in that respect, I thought, but I ventured no remark.

"When you were gone, I gave orders to Dajerak,
the butler, never to permit General Palmora to
enter this house again.  He understood it to apply
to the General's party.  I did not know of his action
until my daughter told me of it."

So Solonika had kept her promise to give the old
gentleman a talking to.  I was secretly amused at
the hard work the Fox was making of it.

"I am pleased you overlooked my boorishness
and returned," he concluded.

"It is nothing," I assured him.

"We have few visitors at Dhalmatia," he sighed,
"and we would be most happy to entertain you and
that other—American."

Was there just the shadow of a pause mere and a
slight narrowing about the eyelids as he said this?
Solonika's efforts were not confined alone to me.
She desired to have the handsome Nicholas call
upon her as well.

"Perhaps, in your professional capacity, you will
look at the Prince's wounds," he said.

"If the Prince has no objections," I said.

He was idly toying with his cards, listening with
a half smile to the conversation.  When I pointedly
addressed him he looked straight at me with
Solonika's eyes.  My heart thumped against my
ribs, but, when he spoke in a voice like, yet unlike,
his sister's, and in halting broken English where
hers had run smoothly, the illusion was spoiled, and
I was more than half convinced that my quest was
a fool's errand.

"I have objections," he said, drawing away.

The Prince, I could see, still suffered considerable
pain when he moved his right arm, which was to
be expected.  The slight contusions on the head
were healing nicely; and the Duke said that no
complications or internal injuries showed signs of
developing.

"Your son will suffer no inconvenience at the
coronation," I said in reply to the Duke's anxious
question.  "He will be entirely recovered by that
time, I should think, if he remains perfectly quiet."

"You hear, Raoul, you must not run about so
much," cried the father.

"I hear," said the boy, with one of Solonika's
brightest smiles.

The Duke, seeing that the Prince replied only in
monosyllables, became talkative.  He could not do
enough for me.  He served his best wines and
insisted that I accept several packages of his
Turkish cigarettes, because I happened to praise them.
The Prince so far unbent as to accept a light for
his cigarette from my hand.  As the blue rings
ascended we became more sociable, and I ventured
to ask why the Duke disliked the General, a
character whom I thought all men should admire.

"Palmora," said the Duke, affably, "belongs to
the Old Party of Bharbazonia.  In fact he and the
Duke of Marbosa are its leaders.  They believe that
the safety and future of the Balkans lie in the aid
which Russia can give.  Of course they are not
blind to the fact that their benefactor is acting from
a selfish motive; that, year by year, Russia wrests
principality after principality from the Turkish
domain so that one day she may absorb the city of
Constantinople and so gain control of the
Bosphorus and a southern way to the sea.  But they
do not seem to understand that when that day comes
Russia will also absorb the little kingdoms she has
set up as her cats-paws to pull her chestnuts from
the fire.

"That will be a sad day for Bharbazonia.  I do
not look to Russia for future peace and prosperity,
but rather do I reach out toward a Germo-Austrian
alliance.  And there is where the Old Party and
the New Party find their point of difference.  In
attempting to break down what little influence I had
with the people they tell them I have 'Turkish
tendencies,' but that is not true."

It flashed through my mind, as I compared the
General's statements with the Duke's, that there
were two sides to the shield.  Perhaps there was
something to admire in the Fox after all.

"But the rock upon which we split is the Church,"
continued the Duke.  "Russia is of our religion—the
Greek Church—while Germany and Hungary
are Lutheran and Roman Catholic.  I can assure
you, Dr. Wharton, that the Church Patriarch of
Bharbazonia does not look with favour upon the
ascension of my son to the throne.  Rest assured he
would do anything in his power to prevent it.
Hence you understand why I remain within my
castle, seeing no one and being seen by few.  But
you, sir, are a foreigner, an American; it does me
good to speak with you."

He led me on to talk of the United States, its
wealth, resources and activities.  Even the Prince
showed signs of interest at my description of the
Great American game of baseball.  He said he was
familiar with cricket, having seen it played in
England when he was at school.  Fox-hunting was not
new; although boar-hunting was the Bharbazonian
pastime.  Would I care to go boar-hunting some
time with him?  I expressed my delight.  He would
be happy to have me and also my friend Fremsted
join his party in the last hunt he would have before
he was crowned.

I told him that I would broach the matter to
Nicholas, but that I knew he would gladly accompany
the expedition.  Would the Princess be of
the party?

"Oh, no," exclaimed the Prince, "women do not
hunt the boar.  It is much too dangerous."

During this conversation with the Duke and his
son I had not forgotten the real purpose of my visit.
If I did not permit myself to be put off with
subterfuge, now was the time to have the laugh on the
General.  I remembered, too, that somewhere in
the castle Solonika was waiting, expecting Therese
to bring me to her.  "Faint heart ne'er won fair
lady," I thought and I boldly attacked the citadel.

"I should like very much to see your daughter,
sir," I said as innocently as I could.  I was watching
them closely when I spoke.  Not a movement
escaped me.  But, if I expected any hesitation or
other evidence that I had trapped them, I was
disappointed.  There was no quick look between them;
not even the lifting of an eyebrow.  Had my request
been the most ordinary in the world they could not
have acted more naturally.

"Raoul, where is your sister now?" said the Duke.

"In her apartment, I think," he replied.

"Do not disturb her," I said, to see if they would
accept a loophole of escape.

"Not at all," returned the Red Fox, "Dajerak
will escort you.  She would be disappointed at not
seeing you."

In the Bharbazonian dialect he gave the butler
the necessary orders and I arose to follow him.

"We will await your return here," said the Duke.

At the Prince's doorway we turned from the main
entrance and continued into the heart of the castle
through darkened corridors.  We were going to
the other side of the building, as far as I could
judge.  From the number of rooms and archways
we passed I fancied that the Princess lived a long
way from the Prince.

Why she wished to seclude herself from the
family I could not imagine.  Perhaps my conception
of distance was lengthened by the lack of haste on
the part of my guide.  Old Dajerak plodded along
at his top speed, which would not have caused a
competing snail the least inconvenience, and at last
knocked upon a panelled door.  Therese's voice
bade us enter.

"Mistress is expecting you," she said as she took
my card, and disappeared through a far door to
announce me.  Dajerak bowed and retired, and I
listened to his footsteps dragging over the velvet
carpets.

Solonika's reception parlor was totally different
from her den in the summer-house.  It was
strictly a French room of the Empire period.  Red
satin, hand-painted chairs and rococo furniture,
heavy and shining with gilt, gave the prevailing note
of elegance.  The high walls were decorated with
priceless gobelin tapestries and overhead hung two
glass pendent chandeliers.

I found myself trembling with suppressed excitement.
Here was I upon the eve of a discovery.  If
there were only one child, that one was now seated
at the far end of the castle playing cards with his
father.  But perhaps, after a show of searching for
the other, Therese would reluctantly bring back
word that Solonika was out, or indisposed.  If, on
the other hand, there were two children Solonika
would see me.

The maid was scarcely gone a minute when she
returned with my card still in her hand.  The
Princess was out, then?

"Mademoiselle bids you enter, monsieur," she
said with a bow and a smile.

My heart leaped as I made ready to follow.  She
led me into a cosy little dressing room.  There,
quietly sewing on some fancy needlework beside
the window, sat Solonika.

In her pale blue, loose-fitting house gown, lazily
dangling one fairy-like slipper from one tiny foot
crossed above the other, she looked more beautiful
than ever.  It takes laces and loose things to bring
out a woman's femininity.  She was looking up at
me laughingly, mockingly I thought.  My feelings
overcame me for the moment and I found no words
to greet her.

"Ah, Dr. Wharton," she cried gaily, "welcome
to my little boudoir.  You must pardon the
informality.  But I found myself too lazy to dress when
Therese brought your card."

Her pure, perfect English fell upon my ear in
marked contrast with the heavy halting phrases of
the Prince's.  Could this be the girl, so light hearted
and happy, whom I accused in my thoughts of
contemplating a terrible sacrilege against her
church?  No, no, no!  I was content; aye even
happy to find that I was mistaken.  But a moment
ago I had seen the Prince on the other side of the
Castle, and now I saw her here before me calmly
sewing.  General Palmora was a fool.  I could
only stare at her, my joy shining from my eyes.

"Come, come, Dr. Wharton," she laughed, "have
you lost your tongue?  Sit down and tell me what
you have been doing since last we met."

"I am so glad," I said, "so happy at finding
you here."

"Why," she laughed, "where did you expect
to find me?"

"No, no," I said, "it's not that.  I didn't expect
to find you anywhere—"  I paused fearing that I
was making a bungle.

"Perhaps I should not have let you come here,"
she said, the smile fading.  "But somehow I cannot
make a stranger of you.  I seem to have known you
a long time.  But if you prefer that I entertain you
in the drawing room—"

"Please do not," I hastened to say.  "I like it
very well here."

"You were a long time coming," she pouted.

"Yes," I said, "the butler took me into the
Prince's apartments instead of yours, and your
father talked me to death."

Even while the Princess laughed at my expression
I fancied I heard the sound of a cough.  Could it
be that the Duke himself was listening behind one
of the many doors?  I must be more guarded in
my conversation.  Then again, a man's imagination
will play him many tricks in a strange castle.

"He apologized, did he not?" asked the girl.

"Handsomely," I said.

"What did the Prince have to say?"

"Nothing much.  He is so different from you."

"Is that so?  Most people find us very much alike."

"In appearance, yes.  But not in dispositions.  I
think I should know you were you even in his
clothes."

"Do you?" said she.  "Some day I shall put
them on and try you."

"I wish you would," I said.  "You will see that
you cannot fool me."

"Where is your Jonathan to-day, David?" she asked.

"Nicholas?  He went off somewhere with General
Palmora.  Perhaps to Nischon to see Princess
Teskla.  The General is quite a match-maker.  I
verily believe he would like to see Nick married to
that young woman."

"You interest me.  But since when did Americans
hope to mate with Princesses of the blood?"

"But Nick—" I began—and checked myself
just in time.  Then another thought struck me and
perhaps came to the surface in the look which I
gave her.  "Americans never hope to mate with
Princesses of the blood.  They mate with the woman
they love.  If she happens to be a princess, that is
her misfortune, not his fault."

"The woman they love," she echoed, turning
the phrase over in her mind.  Then she flew away
on a new tack.  "Have you ever met Princess
Teskla?"

"No, but I expect to, shortly."

"The Prince will be interested to hear this," she
said.  "Do you know, the king, her father, is most
anxious to marry his daughter to Raoul?"

"Why, they are first cousins!"

"True, but that makes no difference in marriages
of state.  His object is to unite the two houses and
keep the throne in his own.  When he made Raoul
and me Prince and Princess he had that in his mind,
I do believe, for he did nothing for his own brother,
my father.  Does Teskla favour this friend of yours?"

"I cannot say as to that, never having seen
them.  But Nick has known her for a number of
years."

"Raoul will be pleased, for he detests her."

Therese brought the tea and we chatted away
with our small talk until I remembered that the
Duke and the Prince were awaiting my return.  I
arose to go.

"When will you be in the summer-house again?"
I asked.

"I will be there to-morrow afternoon," she
replied.  "Will you come?"

"Yes," I almost whispered, and she dropped her
gaze before mine.

Therese acted as guide on the return trip and
the way did not seem so long, following her light
steps.  The Prince and the Duke were still seated
at the table engaged in their game of cards.  While
I made my adieus the young man, who looked so
much like Solonika that I could not forbear staring
at him, lit his cigarette with his uninjured hand
and returned my stare coldly, almost insolently.
His face was wreathed in smoke as it curled gently
upward and vanished in the air.

"Do not forget my invitation to the hunt," he
said in his bad English.  Once more I remarked
the great contrast.

"We will be glad to see you soon again," said
the Red Fox.  His smile was positively warming.
If he had been a victorious commander surveying
the wreck his guns had wrought, he could not have
appeared more genial.

I thanked them both and found my way to the
open air with my illusions gone.  How silently and
swiftly had my house of cards come tumbling about
my head.  I thought of Solonika, and Nick's fingers
coiling about an imaginary throat, and I was glad;
oh, I was glad to find myself mistaken.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE KISS IN THE KING'S GARDEN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE KISS IN THE KING'S GARDEN

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |                    O, that a man might know
   |  The end of this day's business, ere it come!
   |  But it sufficeth that the day will end,
   |  And then the end is known.
   |                    —*Shakespeare: Julius Cæsar*.

.. vspace:: 2

Nick and the General were not returned when I
reached Framkor Castle, but they came puffing in
for dinner on schedule time.  Where they had been
they did not divulge, nor did I question them,
feeling that their rapid comings and goings had to
do with the politics of Bharbazonia with which I
was not concerned.

"Sorry to have run away from you, Dale," said
Nick, "but needs must when the Devil drives."  He
jerked his head in the General's direction.

"Humph," grunted the General.

"What did you do with yourself all day?" asked Nick.

"I have had an enjoyable time.  I've been over to
Dhalmatia."

"What?" exclaimed the General.

After his warning to me, I suppose the old fellow
imagined I would not care to visit the Red Fox.
Neither Nick nor I had told him of the result of
our first visit.  Had he known that, the storm
clouds gathering upon his brow would have been
twice as dark.

"Yes," I continued, "and I have seen both the
Prince and the Princess, General.  The Red Fox
was not tricking you when he announced the birth
of twins."

Then I told the story of my afternoon as rapidly
as possible.  But the General was not impressed.
The aged, as the homely old expression has it, are
frequently "sot in their ways" and I suppose the
General had hugged this favourite delusion to his
breast so long that he could not let it go.  When I
was through he remarked dryly:

"Then you did not see the Prince and the Princess
together, after all?"

"I did not see them standing side by side," I
admitted; "but it was practically the same thing."

"I always told you, General," chimed in Nicholas,
"that you were wrong.  I agree with Dale,
and you might as well surrender as gracefully as
possible."

But the General refused to surrender.

"'Tis some trick of the Red Fox," he stoutly
maintained, and no amount of argument could move
him.  He met every advance and escaped every
tight corner with the same reply.  In his mind
Ananias was a truth-teller compared with the Duke
of Dhalmatia.  We finally dropped the subject, and
talked of other matters.

"We are going down to Nischon in the morning,
Dale," said Nick.  "Do you want to go along?"

"Indeed I do," I replied.  I was anxious to see
the capital of which I had heard so much and more
especially the Cathedral in which the Prince was to
be crowned.

Accordingly, when the General awakened us before
daylight, I dressed with alacrity.  The sun was
just rising when we passed Solonika's summer-house,
but, early as we were, others were abroad
ahead of us.  Drawn up on the side of the road, as if
to permit us to pass, were six horsemen, muffled up
to the eyes in long Spanish cloaks, their spirited
horses backing, dancing and rearing as we passed.
I could not be sure, but I received the impression
that they were not riding forward upon the road, but
waiting.  One of their number recognized the
General and saluted him with a familiar wave of the
hand.  But the General refused to return the salute.
We passed swiftly on.

Although their action was military, the horsemen
did not strike me as being soldiers; for one thing
they were not dressed in uniform.  Perhaps they
were a party of young nobles out for a lark.  They
resembled Duke Marbosa's messenger who had
inquired about Nicholas's return.  But what could
the gentry be doing on the road at such an
unearthly hour in the morning?

It was a perfect automobiling day, one of those
sunshiny mornings when one is glad to be alive.
We passed many estates and small villages on the
way, and the townsfolk had a smile and a hearty
cheer for the General.  As we whirled by a roadside
tavern a bystander waved his hat in the air and
shouted a greeting.

It sounded as if he said "Long live Palmora!"
and the crowd joined in the general cheer that
followed.  But all was not love and good fellowship
in this country.  We received a rude shock on the
outskirts of this very village.

There, beside a small chapel of the Greek Church,
standing in the midst of a crowded graveyard, was
a charred pyre of wood, from the center of which
rose an iron post pointing to the sky.  On the top
of the post a gilded Greek cross glistened in the
sunlight, unharmed by the smoke and flames which
had raged below.

Tied to the post, blackened and burnt until the
flesh had dropped off in places, exposing the bones
beneath, was the naked body of a woman.  Although
the fire had been out for days, smoke still found its
way upward, like a gentle blue vapor, fading quickly
away.  One or two villagers were leaning against
the stone wall that surrounded the graveyard, but
they were more interested in the automobile than
in the terrible scene behind them.

"Look," I cried, pointing it out to Nick.

He touched Teju Okio on the shoulder and the
machine was brought to a standstill as quickly as
possible; but we had so far overrun the place that
we had to back to bring it opposite.  The General
talked with the idlers and translated their story to
me.

"It is the witch of Utrepect," he said.  "The
priests burnt her at the stake a week ago for
blasphemy.  She had considerable influence over the
minds of the villagers, and was undermining their
faith.  The Patriarch at Nischon warned her to
keep silent.  The church excommunicated her and
forbade her to come upon church property.  She
defied them and last Sunday cursed the priest of the
chapel upon the spot where she now is.  He seized
her, aided by his congregation, raised the pyre and
burnt her to death as an example for all men who
refuse to listen to the church.  No one is permitted
to touch her on pain of death.  So there she hangs
until the dogs devour her."

Could it be possible that such barbarism existed
in the name of religion in any European country in
this the twentieth century?  Had anyone told me
this a few hours before, I would have laughed at
him.  But here was the concrete fact before my
horrified eyes.

"Drive on, Okio," I cried, sick of the sight.  The
Jap obeyed.

"That must have been the witch Princess Solonika
spoke of as having prophesied that Raoul
would never be king," said Nick, smiling at my
show of disgust.  Neither he nor the General
seemed to think the priest's action at all unusual.
Cotton Mather had his following even among the
Pilgrim Fathers.

Nischon was a matter of fifty miles from Castle
Framkor, but Teju Okio manipulated his levers to
such good purpose that, in spite of the stop at
Utrepect, we came in sight of the ancient city before half
past nine.  Nischon in the sunlight was a beautiful
city.  It burst upon us as we reached the top of a
high hill and we could thus look down upon its roof tops.

It lay in a valley on both sides of the river they
call the Kneister, the only waterway of importance
in Bharbazonia, which flows away to the south and
empties into the Black Sea, at Bizzett, by means of
a subterranean passage through the mountain wall.

The two hills which formed the valley sloped
gently down on both sides to the water edge, leaving
no level land anywhere.  On the tableland, on top
of these hills, we could see the numerous castles of
the nobles, thrusting their proud stone turrets above
the trees like self-appointed watchdogs of the city.

In all the myriad hives of houses below, one building
caught my eye before the rest and I did not need
to be told that it was the Cathedral.  It was a huge
structure, standing alone upon a terraced green
square on our side of the river.  Four minarets, one
on each corner, piercing the sky, first riveted the
attention.  They bore aloft great gilded Greek crosses
that flashed the blinding rays of the reflected sun in
our eyes as we moved along the road.

Four great domes made up the main body of the
structure, three huddling together in a single row
in front and the fourth rearing its huge bulk high
above the rest in the rear.  Like the crosses, the
tops of the domes were gilded and the whole effect
was that of a building of gold.

"The Cathedral," Nick informed me, "is one of
the oldest buildings in the country.  It is similar in
architectural design to the mosque of St. Sophia
which we saw from the yacht as we passed
Constantinople.  St. Sophia, considered the oldest
Christian church in the world, was converted by the
Mohammedans into a mosque in the sixteenth century."

The palace of the King was also a noticeable
building.  Like the Cathedral it was surrounded by
its green terrace gardens which held it aloof from
the rest of the houses.  It was on the other side of
the river close to the bank.  In fact a wall of ancient
masonry enclosed the grounds and rose sheer from
the water on the river side.  Turrets were built in
this wall at regular intervals, as a protection for the
castle itself, which stood alone in the centre of the
grounds, built more for warfare than for beauty.

The progress of the General in the machine
through the streets of Nischon was like the approach
of a conquering hero.  Everywhere carters drew
respectfully aside to let us pass.  Men stood with
uncovered heads, and women at the windows held
their children up to see the great man.  Thirty
years had but enhanced the glory of the General's
achievements as the conqueror of the Turks at the
head of the Bharbazonian army.  Old men, who had
seen service with him during that campaign, cheered
and blessed their leader as he passed; and to these
the General kissed his hand and shouted friendly
greeting.

"I would give all I possess," whispered Nick, "to
have the love and respect of the people as the
General has."

"Do not despair," I replied; "one day the opportunity
may arrive when you will win their esteem.
We are all children of chance."

Green uniformed soldiers guarded the drawbridge
which spanned the river and led to the King's
palace.  They stood at attention as the heavy car
rolled over the creaking planks.  The iron doors in
the castle wall swung back on their rusty hinges,
and we passed over a driveway winding between
green well-kept lawns until we came to the palace.

A lieutenant of the King's Guard opened the tonneau
door and assisted us to alight, and a uniformed
courier ushered us into the presence of the King,
the mighty hero of the battle at the Turk's Head
Inn.  Gregory was seated at the council table with
another old man who I learned was called Nokolovich,
a prominent member of the king's official
family and his chief advisor.  I suppose in any
other country he would have had the title of Prime
Minister.

Both greeted General Palmora effusively and
were gravely attentive to Nicholas.  From their
manner toward him it was clear that he was known
as a Bharbazonian among them and that he had
their respect.  I was formally presented to the
King, in whose eyes, curious to say, I found favour
because I was a countryman of General Grant.

"I take great pleasure even now," said the King,
"in reading the history of his battles.  His example
inspired me in our own wars."

In due time all four plunged into the mysterious
business of state which brought them together,
conversing in the Bharbazonian dialect and I had ample
opportunity to observe the great warrior.

Gregory was indeed a commanding figure.
Nature meant him to be a king, for she had given
him a stature above his fellows and a lordly mien
which even old age could not destroy.  And he was
very old.  His great beard, long and white, fell
almost to his waist; his snowy locks were brushed
back from his forehead and curled in silvery ringlets
upon his broad shoulders.  Time had bent him but
little, and had not taken from him that penetrating
glance which suggested his shrewd brother, the Red
Fox of Dhalmatia.

But the King looked like a man who ate and
drank too well; in whose veins the red blood ran
too full.  And Mother Nature it seems had sent
him her first warning, if one might judge from the
lack of control existing along one side of the body,
most plainly visible in the halting way he moved his
left arm and leg.  His determination to abdicate,
and bring his life work to a happy conclusion after
thirty years of ruling, showed that he intended to
heed the warning and take a well-earned rest.  It
was just as well, for the hand that adjusted the
glasses to his dim-visioned eyes shook with a great
trembling; it was clear to my medical mind that he
could not withstand a second stroke.

I was glad when Nick's part in the proceedings
came to an end, and he suggested that we take a
walk in the gardens overlooking the river.  But I
was not long in Nicholas's company.  In the
gardens we encountered Princess Teskla, the King's
daughter.  She came suddenly from the shrubbery
at the side of the gravel walk and stood in our
pathway smiling, her eyes on Nick.

Seldom have I seen a more handsome young
woman, and handsome is the word, for "pretty"
or "beautiful" would be too weak to picture her.
Like her father she was cast in a generous mould.
There was no denying the physical attraction of her
voluptuous figure and finely chiselled face, wherein
was the suggestion of Spanish beauty due no doubt
to her swarthy skin and coal-black hair.  Such
beauty as this might Juno have possessed to dazzle
the eyes of the gods on Mount Olympus.

"Nicholas," she cried as she extended her arms
toward him, red roses mantling her cheeks and a
smile of happiness parting her full lips.

"Teskla," cried he with equal warmth.

As I watched the friendly greeting it dawned
upon me that all Nick's journeys in the automobile
during our stay in Bharbazonia had not in the past,
and would not in the future, be to meetings of the
Order at the Turk's Head tavern.

Has it ever been forced upon you that the old
saying is true, "Two is company and three is a
crowd?"  If you have ever been so unfortunate
you will understand why I quietly stepped from the
path and slipped into the bushes; and why it was
that I continued my walk alone.  When next they
thought of me, if they remembered me at all, I
had disappeared and I do not blame them if they
were glad.

For my part I too was well content, for I found
a comfortable seat on the low wall overlooking the
river.  Below me the water rippled over the pebble
bottom, reflecting the flat-roofed houses on the
further shore.  It was pleasantly warm in the sun.
A few more weeks, and Solonika, with the Prince
and her father, might be walking in these gardens
while I—I should be preparing for my journey
back to America to resume my prosaic practice of
medicine.  My vacation in Bharbazonia so far had
been pleasantly ideal.  Somehow I did not view with
joy the idea of leaving Framkor, the summer-house
of Dhalmatia and, last of all, Solonika.

From my position on the wall I had a view of two
walks in the garden which joined at right angles
in front of me, one leading from the palace and
the other corning from the depth of the garden.  My
reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps
upon the gravel pavement.  The King, General
Palmora and the Prime Minister were approaching.
Looking down the other walk I saw the Princess
and Nicholas.  Although I could see both parties,
they could not see each other for the foliage.

Just as the King and his friends arrived at the
junction, and turned to go down the walk toward
Nicholas and the girl, Nick bent his head and kissed
the Princess upon the mouth.  They were totally
unaware that they were observed.  She gave a little
cry and struggled, not too vigorously, I thought, to
free herself.  The three old men stood as if transfixed,
watching the love scene.  Nicholas refused to
release her, although she playfully boxed his ears,
and in return he kissed her again.  Then they stood
apart, looked at each other and laughed aloud.

"Teskla!" shouted the King.

They jumped as if a bomb had been exploded
between them, their happy smiles fading.  The
Princess acted as if she were about to faint, but she
recovered herself.  I could see that she was speaking
quickly and in a low tone to her companion, and
that he was heeding what she said.  Then, instead
of fronting the King, as I fully expected him to do,
Nick slipped away into the shrubbery and
disappeared, leaving the woman to face her father
alone.  Truly Nicholas in America and Nicholas
in Bharbazonia were two entirely different fellows.

But there was method in the Princess's madness.
That rosy young woman came timidly to her
father's side.  He was fumbling with his glasses
but he did not get them adjusted until Nick was
gone.  But he held them to his eyes and looked
coldly at his daughter.  She, too happy to care,
saucily returned his angry stare.

The King asked her one question, which, being
in the dialect, I could not understand.  She
continued to face him bravely and spoke two words in
reply.  It sounded as if she said "Prince Raoul."  Whatever
her answer, it had a great effect upon the
General and the Prime Minister.  Those two
worthies threw up their hands in astonishment, or
remonstrance, but they were silenced by a look from
the Princess.

The two words also had a remarkable influence
upon the angry father.  He dropped his glasses from
his eyes and laughed, his former passion forgotten
like an April shower.  He nodded his old white
head, rubbed his hands as if the news pleased him
beyond expression, and kissed his daughter, not
where Nick had kissed her, but upon the brow.
Together they retraced their steps.  It was all a
mystery to me.

When they were at a distance I quietly slipped
from my position on the wall and joined them.  But
I could not learn what had occurred to please the
King so highly.

"Are we to congratulate Nick?" I whispered to
the General, who had dropped behind with me.

"Shut up," said he, rudely, and then I saw that
he was very angry.

On the palace steps we found Nick waiting for
us.  The Princess waved her hand to him as if to
signal that all was well, and he came fearlessly
forward and walked beside her.  He met the General's
scowl with a smile.  The King seemed totally
unaware that Nick had been the offender.  It was plain
that we had to thank a clever woman's quick wit
for saving a difficult situation.

But at what terrible cost I was to learn later!

The King was in high spirits during the luncheon,
but the General and the Prime Minister were
inclined to be moody.  Princess Teskla and Nicholas
behaved scandalously, I thought, openly "making
eyes" at each other across the table.  But on the
whole the meal went off as smoothly as a marriage
bell.

It was not until we were homeward bound in the
machine that I was able to get to the bottom of the
garden mystery.

"What did the Princess tell the King?" I asked
in a whisper, that the General might not start his
lecture again.  He had given his godson a piece of
his mind in the home language for the first ten
miles, and it is best to let sleeping dogs lie.

"She is a clever little rogue," whispered Nick,
rather proud of the girl's achievement, "she told
him it was Prince Raoul."

"But why was he so pleased?"

"He would like to see Teskla married to Raoul."

"So?" I replied, remembering what Solonika
had said.  "But does the King think Prince Raoul
is in the habit of visiting her in the gardens
clandestinely?"

"Yes; she has often used that excuse before."

"You are a lucky dog," I said.

But Teskla's little white lie was destined to grow
big and bear unexpected fruit.  We had not mastered
the secret of the King's great joy.  A little
thing like a kiss, it is said, was the cause for one
exodus from a garden; or was it a purloined apple?





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE DISCOVERY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE DISCOVERY

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Can this be true? an arch observer cries,—
   |  Yes, rather moved, I saw it with these eyes.
   |  Sir!  I believe it on that ground alone;
   |  I could not had I seen it with my own.
   |                          —*Cowper: Conversation*.

.. vspace:: 2

In spite of his recent flirtation with Princess
Teskla, being a roomy-hearted youth, Nick could not
refrain from casting his eyes in the direction of
Solonika's summer-house when we passed Dhalmatia
that afternoon about four o'clock.  She was
seated at her accustomed place by the window,
and smiled at us in recognition of our friendly
bows.

I looked around for the strange horsemen of the
morning, but they were nowhere to be seen.  You
may believe that I had not forgotten my promise to
meet Solonika in her little den.  And I flattered
myself that she was there waiting for me.

"Stop the car, Nick," I said, "and I will find out
when the Prince intends to go on his boar hunt.  He
will be glad to know that you also accept his
invitation."

"Don't be late for dinner, young man," cautioned
the General, whose worst fault, perhaps, was his
worship of promptness.  I promised to be on hand at
seven o'clock and stepped into the road.  A few
yards brought me in sight of the summer-house,
but, when I knocked for admittance, no one
responded.  Solonika's chair was empty and the den
deserted.  Seeing me pass in the automobile, she
had imagined that I would not return and had
evidently gone back to the castle.

I hurried along the driveway toward the castle,
keeping a sharp lookout for the Princess, but she
was not to be seen standing or walking on the lawn.
I stopped at the clearing just before you reach the
top of the hill, thinking I had missed her among
the trees below and knowing that she must soon
come in view on her way home, but, although I
tarried there long enough to consume two cigarettes,
Solonika did not appear.  How she escaped me was
a mystery, but, since my fancied excuse for the
visit had to do with the Prince, I determined to go
to the castle directly.

Dajerak, the old butler, greeted me with a smile
and bowed me through the door.  I dispensed with
his willing but slow services, and made my way to
the apartments of the Prince without standing on
ceremony.  Satisfied as to my destination, he went
about his business and left me to my own devices.
The Red Fox might not have been pleased had he
known it.

The Prince was not in his apartments.  Neither
was he in the room beyond, whither I ventured to
go, calling his name.  I retraced my steps to the
hallway, but Dajerak was nowhere in sight and I did
not know where to find the Red Fox.  Clearly, if I
wanted to see the Prince, I would have to search
for him myself.  Perhaps the butler had gone to tell
him?  I returned to the reception room and sat
down in his highback chair to wait.  Then I heard
a voice singing a little French love song.  It came
faintly to my ears as if the singer were in a room
beyond the Prince's dressing chamber.  Entering
that apartment I heard the singing more distinctly
and made sure that it was either the Prince or
his sister—their voices as you know were much
alike.

"Your Highness," I called, using the title which
applied to both, but the singing went on uninterrupted.

Surely the youth was playing with me, and, for
aught I knew, might even now be laughing behind
a curtain.  I was positive that the voice came more
particularly from behind a portière in front of me.
Possibly it screened a door.  I pulled it aside and
came upon nothing but the panelled woodwork
which formed the walls.  The singer in the room
beyond seemed now to be at my very elbow.  I was
not long in determining the cause—the centre panel
of the wall was on a hinge; the automatic lock had
failed to catch, and the perfectly fitting secret door
was partly ajar.

I stood on the borderland of a great discovery,
hesitating to continue my search.  What right had
I, a foreigner, to inquire into the secrets of these
Bharbazonians?  With Byron, I, too, "loathed
that low vice, curiosity."  Trouble walks hand in
hand with those unfortunates who have not
acquired the art of minding their own business.
Besides, I owed something to the clear-eyed girl
by whose favour I had been received as a friend
within the castle.  At the remembrance of her
trust in me I formed my resolution.  Dropping
the curtain I retired to the outer room and again
seated myself in the Prince's chair to wait until
he found me.

Can you go back to the time when you were a
child playing the game of hide and seek with other
children of your age?  Do you recall how difficult
it was for you to refrain from "peeping" through
your little fingers when you were "hiding your
eyes," being that important individual known as
"it?"  How you blindly faced the wall, your ears
alert to catch the direction of the sound when one
of your playmates should shrilly pipe "all out?"  So
it was with me.  With a recurrence of those
childish feelings I sat holding the arms of the chair,
listening to the voice as it came faintly to my ears.
Truly men are but children of a larger growth.  I
found it difficult to maintain my place.  Except
for the singer the castle seemed deserted.  My desire
to know what lay behind that curtain grew and grew.

Like the mariners who steer their boat upon the
hidden rocks, charmed into carelessness of their
danger by a siren voice, I was irresistibly drawn
again toward the secret door.  It was so tantalizingly
near; the singer surely was Solonika.  An invisible
power unloosed my grip upon the chair, I
threw diffidence to the winds, crossed the room with
swift strides, pulled the curtain aside, opened the
inviting panel and stepped through.

But once inside I regretted my rashness and would
have given all I possessed to be back in the Prince's
chair.  The unexpected sight that met my astonished
eyes brought me to an abrupt standstill.  One
swift glance around the room was sufficient to tell
me that I had come into Solonika's little boudoir,
where the day before I found her engaged in fancy
needlework.  There were the familiar gobelin
tapestries, the pendent chandeliers, the red satin
hand-painted chairs.  Beside the window was the same
easy chair in which she sat while entertaining me,
and in front of it on the window sill was the very
piece of embroidery upon which she had been working.
I recognized it by the centre piece, held tightly
as the head of a drum with the little wooden ring
beneath.

On the couch against the wall in front of the
portières lay Solonika's large French hat and red
parasol; beside them was the long tailor-made coat
she wore in the summer-house.  In the centre of the
floor was the skirt crumpled in a circular heap just
as she had stepped out of it.

In front of the dressing table, close to the window,
with her back toward me stood Solonika herself!

Or was it the Prince?

For a moment I was puzzled as to the identity of
the figure before the mirror.  There were the same
black silk stockings and black satin knee breeches
which I recognized as belonging to the Prince.
Tucked into the trousers was the white shirt with
cuffs attached which Solonika wore under her
tailor-made coat.  Her white collar and smoke-coloured
four-in-hand necktie completed the nondescript costume.

Although she had only to slip on her black coat
and buckle shoes and fasten her sword to her side
to be dressed as the Prince, I knew that the person
before me was not the Prince but Solonika.  For
the long red hair, gathered in the familiar psyche
knot at the back, was still upon her head, making
her look absurdly, but daintily, feminine, like a
pretty woman upon the stage who is acting a boy's
part without sacrificing her hair.  But the Princess
I suppose had long since cut off her beautiful locks,
and had her luxuriant schoolgirl tresses made into a
wig.  The short hair of the Prince was all she had left.

So this was the secret of Dhalmatia?  The General
had been right after all.  Only one child had
been born to the Red Fox, and the old nurse had
forfeited her life for telling the truth.  This was
why the Duke had attempted to exclude Nick and
myself from the castle; this was why he appeared
so anxious when I tried to examine his son upon the
couch in the hallway after the accident, and why
he strove to remind her of her sex by his prolonged
cry of "My son! my son!" so that, recovering
consciousness, she might not betray herself.  This was
why the Duke hated the General, knowing him to be
suspicious.

A great pity welled up in my heart for this slip
of a girl with the big, brown, loving eyes, who had
been compelled to live such a life of deception
through the long years of the past; a life in which
every act must be studied and every moment filled
with fear; a life in which the womanhood, in which
I knew she gloried, must be put aside for the mock
manhood of the boy.

But I would not do anything to render her burden
heavier.  My only hope was to retreat as silently
as possible, so that she might not know she was
discovered.  And I would keep my own counsel.
But even as my mind reverted to the secret panel,
I saw Solonika bend forward and gaze deeply
into the mirror.  Her face became reflected
upon the glass and her eyes were wide open with
horror.  I saw that my presence in her room was known.

What must have been her feelings when she saw
me?  Naturally her first thought must have been that
I was a spy sent by General Palmora to do the work
which I had done.  Her own doors were locked, as
I soon found out, and she knew that I had come
stealthily in through the panel door.  If I should
escape by the same means and carry the news of
my discovery to my friends, Bharbazonia would be
ringing with her shame in the morning.  Was this
to be the end of her years of work?  Perhaps she
thought of her father's sorrow at missing the great
ambition of his life on the eve of its fulfilment.
God knows what terrible pictures rushed before her
mind in those few swift seconds.  One thing only
must have been clear to her.  The intruder must not
leave the palace.  But how was she to stop me?  If
she came forward I had but to step backward one
step to be in the other room, and then my way lay
unobstructed to the castle door.  Once on the lawn
I would be able to escape before her father's
servants could run me down.

She was quick-witted as she was clever, and she
had much at stake.  She withdrew her face from the
mirror and steadied herself against the dressing-table
while she rapidly thought out a plan to get
between me and the secret door.  She could not see
me now, but I knew she was listening to the slightest
sound which would indicate that I was retreating.

"Therese," she called to her maid, who no doubt
was in one of the rooms beyond; the control she
had over her voice was wonderful.  But the maid
did not reply.  Solonika waited, and spoke aloud as
if to herself, but it was for my benefit.

"Where is the girl?  Why doesn't she come and
dress me?  I suppose I shall have to pick up my
own skirt."

With her eyes turned toward the skirt, lying
between us, she came toward me as if to pick it up;
but, as she reached for it, she suddenly straightened
up and sprang between me and the panel.  There
she stood defiantly at bay, guarding the
passage like a magnificent young lioness defending
her cubs.  Her eyes gleamed with hatred
as she faced me, and I saw that she held in
her hand the long-bladed hunting knife which
served as a letter opener upon her dressing-table.

I watched her fascinated, temporarily unable to
lift hand or foot in my own defence.  Her face was
working with a passion so terrible that she no longer
looked herself, but like some deeply moved insane
person wrought up to such a pitch of excitement
that murder becomes easy.  Her lips were tightly
compressed and her eyes blazed with an intensity
of feeling.

With a half articulate cry of a wild beast she
flung herself suddenly upon me, grasping her knife
in both hands and raising it high above her head
to give more power to her blow, aimed at my
heart.

Had I not been warned by the expression upon
her face when she saw me in the mirror, and been
thus partially prepared for her swift attack, I might
have died there at her feet.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HIDDEN PASSAGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE HIDDEN PASSAGE

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |                A crown! what is it?
   |  It is to bear the miseries of the people!
   |  To hear their murmurs, feel their discontents,
   |  And sink beneath a load of splendid care!
   |  To have your best success ascribed to fortune,
   |  And fortune's failures all ascribed to you!
   |  It is to sit upon a joyless height,
   |  To every blast of changing fate exposed!
   |  Too high for hope!  Too great for happiness!
   |                            —*Hannah More: Daniel*.

.. vspace:: 2

When Solonika hurled herself upon my breast
she found me ready for her.  I was not overborne by
the shock of the encounter, and my eye never lost
track of the knife in its descent.  Instinctively I
protected my heart with my elbows and caught her
wrists with both hands in a grip of iron.

She struggled like the mad woman she temporarily
was, but her recently dislocated arm robbed
her of much of her power and she finally, under
the pressure of my fingers, released her hold upon
her weapon.  The knife fell to the carpet between
us.  I crushed her against my chest as tightly as I
could without hurting her, just as a boxer will run
into clinches with his nimble antagonist to keep from
getting hurt.  The pain in her arm, and the
knowledge that she was powerless against my strength
in a physical encounter, and weaponless, brought on
a quick reaction.  Her body relaxed in my arms and
she broke into a torrent of tears, more hard to bear
than her desperate anger.

"Solonika," I whispered, "will you listen to me?"

"No, no, no," she sobbed; "let me go!  Let me go."

"If I let you go will you promise not to attempt
my life again?"

Sobs were my only answer.

"Solonika," I said, "there is no need for all this
show of feeling.  I am not here to harm you or
yours.  Your secret is safe with me."

Her weeping continued, but I knew that she was
listening.

"If I meant to escape, it is in my power to do
so.  I need but thrust you aside and leap through
the panel.  You could not stop me before I reached
my friends.  To prove to you that I mean you no
ill, I will release you and permit you to do as you
will with me."

I set her upon her feet as I spoke, but I was careful
to pick up the knife and put it in my pocket.
Dazed, she stood looking at me through her tears.

"You know; oh, my God, you know!" she cried.

There was the same look in her eyes which I
noticed when she first detected my presence.  But,
seeing that I made no move, her old courage
returned.  She ran to the wall and pressed an electric
button that rang a bell somewhere in the castle out
of hearing.  Then she possessed herself of a
silver-mounted revolver which she took from her
wardrobe.

Although I knew that, never as long as I lived
and she reigned upon her throne, could she feel that
her secret was safe; that at the least I might be
imprisoned for life in the family dungeon, and at
the most condemned to death by her angry father, I
made no move to stop her.  I pinned my faith to
the hope that I would be able to convince her, and
if necessary, her father, that I would not betray
them even to my friends.

"Stand in the centre of the room," she ordered,
and I promptly obeyed.  She took up her position
against the panel and we faced each other, waiting.
My ready compliance with her curt commands
aroused her suspicions instead of allaying them as
I wished.  She thought I must have good reason
not to fear her.

"Your friend Nicholas no doubt is waiting you
in the Prince's room?" she flung out.  "He too has
seen, and you wish to give him time to escape."

My object was not to escape, else I might have
lied to her.

"No," I said, "I came alone."

She smiled pityingly upon me, but there was no
mistaking the look of relief which passed over her
face.  The secret was still within the keeping of
the battlements and there it would stay.

"You fool; oh, you fool," she said.  Her contempt
was unbearable.

"Aye, fool indeed," I rejoined bitterly, "ever to
hope that you would see and understand.  It is true
that my presence here indicates that I have been
spying upon your movements.  It is true that I
suspected you.  But have my subsequent actions
been those of a spy?  When you were powerless in
my arms a moment ago, did I try to escape?  Don't
you see that the show of supremacy you now have
over me, I have willingly given you?  Does not
your better judgment tell you that I am speaking
the truth?"

"I wish I could believe you," she said; "it would
make things easier."

"Do believe me, Solonika," I pleaded.  "Palmora
did not send me here.  I came alone to see
you in the summer-house as I promised, and, not
finding you there, I followed you to the castle.  In
the Prince's room I heard you singing and came
here without knowing what I was to see."

"I cannot understand you, Dr. Wharton," she
said, and I could see that my words were taking
effect; "it is not fear of the consequences that
makes you say this."

"What consequences?" I asked, wishing to learn
what she intended doing with me.

"Of course you know that you can never leave
this castle again," she said.

I nodded.

"I do not know what method my father will take
to insure your silence.  The future is in his hands."

"It is likely then that my fate may be similar
to that of the old nurse whose neck was broken,"
I said.  She was startled.

"You know that, too?" she said.

"Yes, I know."

"How do you a stranger in Bharbazonia know this?"

"General Palmora has always suspected something.
He told me."

"When father learns of this I fear for your life, sir."

I bowed; there was nothing to say.

"Perhaps you will explain, Dr. Wharton, why
you are willing to withhold from your friends that
which they would give much to know," she asked.

"Why should I wish to tell?" I asked her in return.
"I have no interest in Bharbazonian politics.
Neither have I any friends in this country who
would be benefited by my information.  But I tell
you frankly that, if there were any way by which
I could prevent you from continuing this dreadful
masquerade, I would gladly make use of it."

My answer staggered her.  But I wished her to
understand me thoroughly.

"Why?" she gasped.

"Because I pity you."

It was a tense moment for me.  If I had read this
girl aright she was a womanly woman and her heart
had often rebelled against her lot.  If I was to
convince her of my sincerity, I must show her that I
understood; that I knew how much she detested
playing the part of a man; that I sympathized with
her.  Knowing that I felt this interest in her, she
must appreciate that I would be the last man in the
world to make the performance harder for her to bear.

She looked at me in wonder, while her assurance
in herself vanished.  Her knees became weak and
she suddenly sat down.  But it seemed as if fate
were against me.  Just when I needed her undivided
attention most, there came a knock upon the door
that startled us both.  Solonika recovered her
composure instantly, remembering the business in hand.

"Who's there?" she called, watching me for any
move to escape.  But I made no sign.

"Your Highness rang,"—it was the voice of
Therese, the maid.

"Tell my father to come here instantly," ordered
the Princess.  She was determined to carry out her
original plan of submitting everything to her father.
Therese ran upon her errand, for there was that
in Solonika's voice which lent the maid the wings
of fear.  The Duke would soon be here; there was
not much time left me.

"Your friends will miss you," smiled the Princess.

"Yes," I returned, although I knew that I was
wasting time on the wrong track, "and they know
that I came here.  They will search for me in the
right place."

"But with little success," she replied; "Dhalmatia
knows how to keep its secrets."

"Nicholas will not rest until he has found me,"
I said.

"But David will never find his Jonathan.  They
left you in the roadway.  No one saw you enter the
castle and no one will see you leave.  You mayhap
were captured by highwaymen.  Bharbazonia is full
of them."

"You forget Dajerak.  He let me in."

"He is incorruptible.  He will say he never saw you."

"But my friends will not rest until they have
found me."

"We will invite them to search the castle if they
become insistent, but they will not find you."

"This is idle talk," I said, "beside the purpose.
I knew when I placed myself in your power that I
ran this risk.  If it be necessary to pay such a price,
I will pay it.  But one of these days I will convince
you that I mean it when I say that your secret is
safe with me."

"You said a while back you pitied me," she suggested,
and my heart jumped that she had not forgotten.
"Perhaps you will tell me why."

The Duke would be here any moment.  I had
come to my last stand.

"You have asked for an explanation.  I will give
it to you," I said.  "I pity you because you do not
enter into this masquerade of your own free will,
nor because you like it, but rather because you love
your father and desire to further his ambition.  So
far, am I not right?"

"I love my father," she replied, soberly, "he is
all I have in the world."

"And to that affection you have sacrificed
everything in life that makes life worth the living.
Where are the girl friends who should be yours?
You dare not bring them here for fear of discovery.
The young nobles of this country cannot come to
see you.  Here you live in loneliness, you who
were made for better things.  You had a taste
of happiness when you were away at the English
schools, and you know what you are sacrificing.
And for what?  To gratify an old man's whim."

"No, no," she cried, as if she would not hear.

"Have you stopped to look at the future?  To
me that will be worse than the past.  The time will
come when you may no longer be a woman but
must ever be a man.  Once you have taken up the
sceptre the door is shut behind you.  You can never
marry; you can never have a lover and a husband;
you can never have children.  All this to gratify an
evil ambition."

A look of deep agony drove the light of battle
from the poor girl's eyes.  She followed each word
until her pent-up feelings could no longer be
restrained.

"Stop, stop! for God's sake!" she cried, beating
upon her breast with her clenched fists.  "Don't,
don't talk so.  I cannot bear it.  Haven't I known
all this?  Oh, haven't I seen it often in the night?
Sleep flees from me and these thoughts come and
will not let me rest.  The years that are past have
been unhappy enough, but the years to come will
be worse.  To be always watchful lest I betray
myself! to go on acting—acting—ever acting, never
able to be just myself—"

"Never to love as other women love," I said, gently.

"Oh, you don't know," she cried, vehemently,
"you don't know all the agony I have suffered.  I
have seen peasant women in the streets of Nischon
suckling their dirty babes; I have seen the love in
their eyes for the stalwart men at their sides, and
I have hated them.  Hated them, do you hear?  I
could have killed them for daring to be happy while
I am so miserable—I, a princess of Bharbazonia.
They point me out to their little ones and hold them
up to see the great lady riding by—they envy
me—me!—me!  Oh, God, how little they know that
I would give everything to change places with the
humblest of them."

Sob upon sob seemed wrung from her soul by
the grief that was deeper than I ever suspected.  She
was totally unconscious of my presence when I
placed my hand upon her head in a gentle caress.
She rested against me with a sigh.

"I have thought about it so much of late.  I think
my heart is breaking.  I try to tell father, but he
cannot understand.  But you can, you do understand."

"Yes," I said, "I do understand.  And I know
that the worst is still before you."

"Oh, no, nothing can be worse," she cried, as if
she would ward off a blow.

"Your father is old.  He must some day leave you."

"Alone!  I shall be alone?" she cried.  "I cannot
go on alone.  I cannot do it, I tell you!  When
he is gone I shall die also.  I shall be old then, and
I shall welcome death when he tardily comes."

It was awful to hear a young woman with all of
life before her talking like this.  I permitted her to
weep until her tears ceased to flow of their own
accord.  When she became quieter she looked up in
my face, and wonder was written on her countenance.

"You understand!" was all she said, but there
was something like awe in her voice.

"It was because I understood that I would do
all in my power to prevent you sacrificing yourself.
It was because I understood that I would not escape,
when I could, to give you additional cause for
worry.  It was because I understood that I will keep
your secret forever.  Now, do you understand at last?"

"But, how do you know all these things?  You
have read my very soul and made me say that which
I never dreamed I should say to any one."

"It is because—I am your friend," I said.

In a voice full of excitement the Red Fox,
pounding upon the outer door, demanded admittance.
Like the knocking on the door in the play of Macbeth,
the interruption brought us back to a realization
of the things of the world without.  We sprang
to our feet and faced each other.

"Do you believe me, Solonika?" I whispered.

Noiselessly she pushed the curtains aside at the
head of the couch upon which her large French hat
and red parasol were lying.  Behind the curtains a
door stood open, revealing a pair of stone steps
leading down into the darkness.

"Go, go!" she whispered in turn.  I knew how
much she was risking in thus giving me my freedom.

"Good-bye, Solonika," I said, pausing upon the
top step.

She held out her hand and I pressed it reverently
against my lips.

"Good-bye, my—friend," she said.

The curtain fell, shutting off the light, but I did
not go down the steps.  I waited behind the curtain
and heard her open the door to the Red Fox.

"What is the matter?" he cried, rushing into the
room.  "Therese said something had happened to you."

"Nothing is wrong, father," said she.  "I needed
you because—I am afraid to be left alone."

"Now, daughter, control yourself.  You will be
in a nervous condition during the coronation if you
permit yourself to go to pieces thus.  Son of my
soul, you will soon reign as King in Bharbazonia,
then you will forget these womanly weaknesses!"

"Yes, I shall be King and forget my womanhood,"
she replied, listlessly.

I had heard enough and crept away.  The stone
steps were very dark and, for fear of making a
noise, I removed my shoes.  The Duke must not
know.  Presently, by feeling my way along the wall
at the side, I came noiselessly to the end of the steps
and found that I was in a narrow underground
passage.  Judging from the interminable number of
steps, I was deep under the castle foundations.  The
tunnel led away from the castle, if I was any judge
of direction.

I followed it slowly, still feeling my way along
the wall and watching for pitfalls under my feet.
Subterranean passages I knew were always full of
dangers.  I might even now be in the dungeon with
which Solonika threatened me, where my friend
would never be able to find me.  Not that I
doubted her, but she might have sent me here to
protect me from her father, and her father from me.

The passage kept continually dipping downward
as if it were going far under the earth, but it also
led me further and further from the castle.  Of that
I was sure.  Its sides were beginning to drip with
water, and I put on my shoes after stepping into a
puddle.  My progress was slow and, although I
listened, I heard no sound from the castle.  At last
my outstretched hand came in contact with a wooden
door.  Softly I felt for the knob and cautiously
turned it.  What was I to find at the end of the
passage?  Was sudden death lurking there?  The
door was unlocked and yielded to the pressure of
my hand.  I opened it slowly outward and was
greeted with a flood of light.

A tall Japanese screen was the first object that
met my view.  Beside it was a picture of Solonika
standing on the tips of her dainty toes in the midst
of a Bharbazonian dance.  Close to it was another
picture of Solonika in the costume of the Prince.
There was her easy chair close to the flowers by the
windows—I was standing in the summer-house—free!

Solonika was trusting me!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RENUNCIATION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE RENUNCIATION

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour,
   |  I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
   |  I never loved a tree or flower,
   |  But 'twas the first to fade away!
   |                      —*Moore: Lalla Rookh*.

.. vspace:: 2

When I returned to Castle Framkor that evening
and joined Nicholas and the General my difficulties
began.  No longer was I the care-free youth who
had come to Bharbazonia in search of recreation.
I shared another's secret now and it weighed
heavily upon me.  How it was to bear me
down, and make my life unhappy while I remained
in this cursed country, I was soon to
learn.

The General was delivering a lecture to Nick on
the heedless folly of youth, referring to his
"unseemly conduct" in the gardens of the palace of the
King.  Nick refused to take him seriously and the
old man, who felt that the subject was full of grave
possibilities, was very angry.

"What is Teskla to you," he said, "that you
should kiss her before all the world?  I could
forgive you, my son, if you expressed any affection for
the girl who truly loves you.  But you are simply
playing with her."

"What makes you think the Princess cares for
me?" asked Nick.

"Good heavens, man! can't you see it?  Does a
woman lie for a man unless she loves him?  Yes,
sir, lie is the word.  Don't you contradict me, sir;
I will not stand it."

"Well, what if she did tell a little fib?" returned
Nick.  "She saved herself from her father's wrath.
There is no occasion for so much heat, Godfather.
Can't a fellow kiss a pretty girl in Bharbazonia
without all this fuss?"

"But, the consequences!  Have you figured them
out?" said the General.  "The King believes that
he saw Prince Raoul embrace the Princess in
public, before witnesses.  And he was pleased.  Hark
you, pleased!"

"He certainly was.  A blind man could have
noticed it."

"A cloud no bigger than a man's hand; but the
storm will break.  You know the King's dearest
wish is to see his daughter married to Prince Raoul.
He is up to something.  That scene in the garden
meant more to him than appears on the surface.
He has figured out some way to effect his purpose
and, when the dénouement comes, and the Prince
denies he was in the garden, where will you be,
facing the royal wrath?"

"I hope it will not come to that," said Nick,
gravely.  He knew the General well enough to feel
that the old man did not jump at conclusions, and
that he was almost always right in his judgment.
My entrance at that moment was grateful to Nick
for it broke up the lecture.

"I am glad to see you back, Dale," said Nick,
putting his arm around my neck in the old affectionate
manner.  Then came the shock of the feeling
that something had happened to me.  I resented
Nick's friendliness!

"How about the boar hunt?" he continued, not
appearing to notice how I avoided his arm and drew
away from him.  "When do we start?"

His question brought back the memory of my
original purpose in visiting the castle.  Was it only
two hours ago that I had left them in the automobile
to walk to the summer-house?  So much to change
my life had happened in such a short time that I
could scarcely believe it possible.  It seemed as if
a month had elapsed.  I had forgotten all about the
boar hunt.

"I do not know," I replied, truthfully enough.
"I saw the Princess but did not see the Prince."

The boar hunt did not materialize for many days
and in the interim all three of us found plenty to
occupy our attention.  The General and Nick
frequently left me alone now, when they went to
meetings at the Turk's Head Inn and to Nischon.
Although they often invited me to accompany them I
always refused.  Most of my time was spent in the
summer-house with Solonika.

How I worried when she did not appear for the
next two days!  I haunted the vicinity of the little
den and even went as far as the clearing in the hope
that she would again see me and send me word by
her maid.  I dared not go to the castle until I knew
how it stood with the Red Fox.  If she had
reconsidered her action and told him, he might not view
my escape in the same light as she did, and in that
case I was safer out of his hands.  But, on the third
day, I found her sitting in her easy chair looking
pale and ill.  She seemed more than pleased to see me.

"I shall have to ask you to prescribe for me,
Dr. Wharton," she smiled.  "I never went to pieces
like this before.  I have been in bed for two days
and I cry a great deal.  What is wrong with me?"

"I cannot prescribe for Your Highness," I
replied, "because you will not take my medicine."

"You haven't given me any yet."

"Then here is my prescription.  It will make you
whole again; of that I am positive.  Go this very
hour to your father and tell him that you cannot
continue this deception.  Tell him that it is killing
you and ask him, for the sake of the love he bears
you, to permit you to go away out of this country
at least for a year."

"You are a good physician,"—she laughed a
little and shook her head; "but I cannot take your
medicine.  If, after all these years, I refused to go
on, what would my father do?  How the nobles
would ridicule him!  He would die of grief and
shame.  No, no, there is no escape; I must go
on—forever!"

The light and the bright sunshine soon brought
her spirits back, and she became the old happy
Solonika.  That morning she was like an April day,
alternating between showers and sunshine with
astonishing rapidity.

"Do not imagine, sir," she said, "that there is
nothing but woe in the situation.  Let us talk of
something more pleasant.  Do you recall the time
when you were permitted to see both the Prince and
the Princess in the castle?"

"Yes," I said, "and I have often wondered since
how you deceived me so cleverly."

"We all had a good laugh after you were gone.
You see there are compensations.  Shall I tell you
how we did it?"

"If you will."

"It began when you hurt me shaking my hand.
I knew that you were studying me and that you
were suspicious.  Your friend Nicholas did all the
talking and you listened and watched.  I had
nothing to fear from him, but I knew I had from you.
That evening I talked it over with father.  He was
positive that Palmora had poisoned your mind
against us and that it was time we prepared an
antidote.  We waited for your expected visit, but you
did not come.  I was watching you when you
appeared at the top of the hill and turned back, and
I understood that your pride would not permit you
to knock again at our door.  I sent Therese and you
fell into the trap."

"'Will you come into my parlour said the Spider
to the Fly,'" I said.

"Exactly.  Dajerak brought you to the Prince's
room where father and I were pretending to play
cards.  Oh, it was hard not to keep from laughing
at you.  You looked at the Prince so suspiciously,
and how gently you hinted that you would like to
see the Princess!  Father enjoyed it immensely.  It
had been a long while since we had done anything
of the kind.  Not since King Gregory called to see
the twins."

Her laughter was not easy to bear.

"Then Dajerak, the slow old Dajerak, took you
all around the inner court in order to give me time
to dress.  I only had to put on this long hair—its
my own anyhow—slip a loose dressing gown over
my boy's clothes and I was ready for you.  My,
what a long time you were in coming.  I was afraid
you would shake hands with me again.  That's why
I did not lay down my sewing.  You did not notice
that my blue slippers and my black stockings—I
had no time to change them—were not altogether
in keeping, did you?"

"I did not notice."

"I was afraid you would."

"The tunnel to the summer-house was also part
of the game?" I asked.

"Yes, that was to enable me to entertain visitors
there and appear before them afterward in the guise
of the Prince in the castle.  You must not think
that we allayed the suspicions of Bharbazonia
without a struggle.  It was by means of the underground
passage that we won over the Grand Duke of Marbosa.
Palmora poisoned his mind, too, and he paid
us a visit.  He saw me in the summer-house and
asked for the Prince, then he rode off to the castle.
I had to run with all my might to get there in time.
You should have seen his face when he met the
Prince.  You see there is lots of fun and excitement
in the life.  I should die of *ennui* without it."

"I suppose it is full of innocent fun now, Solonika,"
I said, "but after you are king it will be serious.
Did you ever think of the sacrilege your
coronation in the Cathedral will entail?"

"I have thought of it," she replied, gravely.

"If you are found out now, people will laugh,
after the first blush of excitement is over; but if
you are found out then—"

"They will put me to death," she said, simply.

There was something sublime about her courage.
Everything that I could suggest as a future
possibility she had thought out before me.  Nothing was
left unconsidered.  As I talked with her day after
day, always upon the same fascinating subject, my
respect for her loyalty to her father increased.  So
absorbing was her love for him that she was ready,
aye, willing to lay down her life to further his
ambitions.

She knew full well the meaning of the vengeance
of the Church.  I could not frighten her with the
story of the fate of the Witch of Utrepect.  While
the fire was still alight around the body of that
unfortunate woman, Solonika, as if impelled by a
terrible fascination, had ridden over to the village on
her black horse and watched the dying embers
complete their fiendish work.

She could think; she could feel.  And how dreadful
must have been her thoughts if she permitted
herself to believe that in case of discovery her fate
might be similar.  If the Church, backed by the
peasantry, would punish blasphemy in such mediæval
fashion, what would they not do to one who
defiled the altar?

As frequently as we talked of these things, we
always arrived at the same conclusion; but we
always returned to the discussion, when we were
alone.  When Nick came along, which he did as
often as he could, we hid our feelings, and
Solonika shone at her best.  I could see with some
dismay that she enjoyed his society.  He was
bright, cheerful, smiling, while I was inclined to
be gloomy.

"Something is the matter with Dale," said Nick
to her one afternoon.  "He is preoccupied and
moody.  Every night he goes to bed early, leaving
the General and me to our arguments.  What do
you suppose is wrong with him?"

"You should know better than I," she replied,
banteringly; "perhaps he is pining for the girl he
left behind him."

"How about it, Dale?" said Nick.

But on these occasions I found no ready answer.
I was not as adept in the art of intrigue as the
Princess.  I could only leave the summer-house abruptly,
with Nick watching my strange action in open-mouthed
astonishment.  Rebel against it as I would,
I could see the breach widen between Nick and me
day by day.  We had never had a misunderstanding
in our lives before.

As if the secret I was hiding were not enough
for any man to bear in silence, Solonika insisted
upon flirting outrageously with Nick, always in my
presence.  But I felt that she relied upon me for
the true companionship which had always been
denied her.  Once or twice she unconsciously called
me by my first name, and she clung to my arm in
a tantalizing way at parting.  Why she acted with
Nicholas as she did I could not understand.  But
what man ever did fully fathom the heart of a
woman?  Never once did she reprove me when I
called her Solonika.  She seemed to like it.  So,
one day I ventured to bare my inmost feelings to
her.  It was at the close of one of our most intimate
talks, when I was urging again the necessity of
throwing up the whole dangerous business.

"Solonika, why will you not go away from here
and leave all your worries behind?" I said.

"Where shall I go?" she returned.

"Anywhere.  Only go; surely you have friends
in England where you went to school."

"I have no friends anywhere but here."

"Don't say that.  You have me.  I am your friend."

"Surely you do not urge that I fly with you?"

My feeling got the better of me.  I determined
to make an attempt to save her, even against herself.
There was nothing to bind her to her country
except the great love she bore her father.  It was
worth the try.

"Solonika, we must come to an understanding.
You surely have guessed how I feel toward you.  I
do not want to give offence; neither do I care to
appear absurd in your eyes.  You are a Princess.
You 'sit upon a joyless height, too high for hope;
too great for happiness.'  I am an American lacking
title and position.  But what I have is yours to
command.  If a love that shall live forever can do aught
to make your life happier, and lead you away to a
humble home full of peace and happiness, it stands
ready at your bidding."

She understood as I knew she would.  I could
feel it in the light hand that rested on my arm; in
the sad, gentle look within the depth of her brown
eyes.  She could not bear to face me and turned
away, apparently to watch the setting sun of the
dying December day as it sank amid the thousand
colours of a glorious finality.

Even as I watched her I knew there was no hope
and that she was forever removed from me.  Her
feet were set in the pathway she was destined to
tread before she was born.  She must go her way
and I mine until the end.  She would continue
acting the boy before the world.  She would be
crowned and reign as King in Bharbazonia.  In
spite of all I could do she would live her unsexed
life, guarding her secret carefully until death
released her.  I was powerless to save her even from
herself.  The love she had for her father was
greater than any affection she might have even
for me.

"We will not talk of it any more, my—friend,"
she said.  And thus did she sacrifice me also upon
the altar of her devotion.

It was Nick who brought about the boar hunt
which was fraught with such important events,
and which had not been spoken of since the day
I stumbled upon the skeleton in Dhalmatia's
closet.

"What has become of the Prince, Your
Highness?" he asked Solonika when one day we were
taking our leave together.

"He does not look with favour upon you two
young men," she replied.  "You have not accepted
his invitation to hunt with him."

"That was Dale's fault," Nick replied; "he forgot
all about it.  Tell the Prince we will be glad
to hunt with him any time."

"He will be delighted," said she.  "I do not
believe he has left the house for ten days.  After
the coronation he will be very much occupied.  The
air in the woods will do him good."

"Four days more and he will be King.  Tell
him he had better make the most of his freedom,"
Nick said.

"Very well," said she, "be ready in the morning
and he will come over to Framkor for you."

Thus easily did Solonika plan to appear in the
Prince's clothes and forget her womanhood.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RIVALS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE RIVALS

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  He is a fool who thinks by force or skill,
   |  To turn the current of a woman's will.
   |                            —*Tuke: Five Hours*.

.. vspace:: 2

The winding of the hunting horn and the barking
of dogs upon Castle Framkor's lawns the next
morning told me that Solonika had kept her word.
We were at breakfast.  Looking through the long
low windows of the dining room, I saw the Prince,
in all the gaiety of a red hunting costume and
high-top, varnished boots, dismount among his pack.

What argument Solonika had used with her
father to procure his permission to go abroad in
the character of the Prince four days before the
coronation, I could not imagine.  I had told her
of the coming and going of the black-cloaked men;
the Red Fox knew that some plot was in the wind
and shrewdly suspected that it was directed against
the Prince.  For that reason Solonika had left off
going abroad as the Prince for the past ten days.
It was easy for her to pass the time with me in the
summer-house.  Once, while riding out in my
company and Nick's, she met the cloaked men.  They
recognized Solonika and let us pass with scarcely a
glance in our direction.

All this, I say, the Red Fox knew; but I suppose
he found it impossible to control the girl.  He
indeed is "a fool who thinks by force or skill to
turn the current of a woman's will."  When
Solonika made up her mind to do a thing she generally
did it.  But the Duke had recorded his protest in
the number of men he sent with her.  Twenty-five
well-mounted retainers from the Red Fox's retinue
surrounded the Prince, holding the dogs in leashes
of four, and twenty-five more, I soon learned, had
preceded us to the hunting grounds.

Solonika turned her horse over to one of her
men and entered the breakfast room.  Both Nick
and the General stood upon their feet to their
Prince as he entered.  They urged the Prince to
join them at table, but the Prince insisted that he
had already partaken of food and could eat nothing.
He, however, took the chair which the General
courteously drew up for him and accepted a cup
of coffee.

I was glad that Solonika did not look in my
direction for my agitation would have made it hard
for her.  It was the first time I was present when
she was under the fire of the General's sharp eyes,
and I trembled for her.  I felt myself grow hot and
cold by turns, overcome by the fear that she would
betray herself.  Although she was attired in the
Prince's hunting raiment, how different she looked
to me now.  It seemed impossible that the astute
General could not tell that Solonika and not the
Prince sat before him.

But the daring girl had the confidence born of
years of success.  As I became accustomed to the
novelty of the situation, I began to take pleasure
in watching her superb acting.  She carried it off
with so much relish and in such a high-handed
manner.  Never once did she forget the quaint little
burr in her English speech.  Knowing how perfectly
she could speak it, I marvelled she did not
sometimes forget.  But I also realized why she elected
to make the Prince talk brokenly; it gave the Prince
a difference in character which disarmed suspicion
and kept the individuality of Solonika and the
Prince apart, not only in the minds of her hearers,
but also in her own mind; for the difference in
dialect acted as a constant reminder that she was
no longer a woman but a man.

"I am deeply sensible of the honour which you
have bestowed upon Castle Framkor by your
presence to-day," said the General, humbly.
"Bharbazonia has seen but little of her future king."

"I have been taking my ease against the great
day not far distant," replied the Prince.  "It will
be a long time before I may again enjoy the pleasure
of a hunt."

"I wish to apologize, Your Highness, for my
seeming discourtesy in not accepting your
invitation two weeks ago," said Nick.  "The truth of
the matter is that I did accept with pleasure, but
my messenger failed to mention the matter when
he arrived at your castle.  He is not usually
forgetful, so I imagine he was well entertained."

Nick's remark brought back the remembrance of
the day when I left the automobile and discovered
the secret of Dhalmatia.  The Prince also remembered
the occasion but did not betray the slightest
emotion.

"You refer to Dr. Wharton as your messenger,"
said the Prince.  "I have not seen him except on
the single occasion when he visited my father and
me.  But I understand that he and my sister
Solonika have become great friends."

"Ah, ha," laughed Nick, "and so the cat is out
of the bag.  He and I are now rivals."

The General permitted his fork to fall heavily
upon his plate as he stared at Nick, remembering
that young man's flirtation with Princess Teskla,
and something akin to a groan escaped him.  But
Nick only laughed.

"I know nothing of any cat," said the Prince,
gravely, with well acted simplicity.

"It is an idiom," explained the General, "which
means that you have betrayed your sister's secret."

I straightened up in my chair at the old man's
solemn words.  Had he purposely touched upon
the thing which was making me miserable, or did
he do it unconsciously?  The Prince's nerve was of
iron.  He sipped his coffee unmoved, but his eyes
never wavered from the General's face as he asked
innocently:

"What secret, General Palmora?"

"The secret that Dale, here, is much interested
in Solonika."

"Is he?" he asked, sweeping me with his half
closed eyes.  I was forced to drop mine while I felt
the colour rise to my cheeks.

"I do not know," said the General.  "Nicholas
has just said so."

"A man is beginning to fall in love when he
shows signs of forgetfulness," said Nick.  "He is
most forgetful of late."

"I warn you, Dale," he continued turning to
me, "that a woman will come between us yet.  If I
am not mistaken the Princess Solonika will be that
woman."

"The Princess can never be anything to me,"
I replied.

"She is the brightest woman I have ever met,"
said Nick to the Prince.  "Why don't you travel,
Your Highness, and acquire her gift of languages.
Your English, for example, is not as good as hers."

"No?" smiled the Prince through his nose, like
a Frenchman's "*Non*."  "Wherein is my English
not perfect?"

"It is good enough for Bharbazonia, Your Highness,"
said the General, pushing back his chair.
"After you become king you will never speak such
a useless language.  Your French is all you need at
court and you speak that perfectly."

"Thank you, General Palmora," said he.  Then,
turning again to Nicholas, he added: "Are you
serious in saying you admire Solonika?  Pray,
what do you find to admire in her?  To me she
seems like an ordinary girl."

Oh, Solonika, deliberately fishing for a
compliment, the eternal feminine being ever present!  I
could scarcely believe my ears; but this was my
first day under fire and I lacked her confidence.

"Ordinary girl?" echoed Nick.  "She is in the
first place extraordinarily handsome.  I have
travelled all over the world, and seen all kinds of
women; some were beautiful and some were clever,
but few were both handsome and bright, as she is.
I mean to become better acquainted with her when
you are king."

"But my sister thinks of going away after I am
crowned," he said.

"Going away?" Nick returned.  "Very good;
the world is small; I can readily find her.  I trust
that you will speak well of me to her."

"But you haven't told me wherein lies her
wonderful charm which seems to have captivated both
you and Dale—Wharton, I think you said your
friend's name was?"

"How about it, Dale?" cried Nick, "has she
bound you to her chariot wheels, too?"

"To me she is the most wonderful woman in the
world," I made answer, looking straight into her
eyes.  Solonika flushed a little and gave me a quick
sign of *camaraderie* that made me very happy.

"A woman has come between David and Jonathan,"
said Nick.

"The woman has come," I replied, and for the
first time I realized as I gazed in his face that Nick
was not joking.  I, who knew him, could read
there plainly the intensity of his feeling, and I
suppose he could read my heart as well.  The spirit
of contest was lit in our eyes.  We looked at each
other like two young animals meeting face to face in
the spring-time.  Yet there was a note of regret in
Nick's voice when he slowly repeated:

"The woman has come."

"But, wherein is her charm?  You have not
told me," reiterated the Prince.

"Your Highness has never been in love, it is
plain to see," said Nick, "else you would not ask
such a question.  Her particular charm is that she
is she.  A man goes through the world meeting
many women.  Although he may not know it, he
carries an ideal within his heart.  How his ideal is
formed, who can tell?  But it is there, nevertheless.
Unconsciously, he measures all women by this ideal;
one after another falls before it, until as time goes
by he loses hope of ever finding her.  But one day
he meets the woman.  He may not recognize her
immediately, but after the meeting his thoughts
follow her.  They meet again and after her
departure comes loneliness which is a part of him
except when she is near.  One cannot put it into
words; it lies below, too deep for utterance.  Why
she is she I cannot tell.  I only know the Princess
Solonika affects me so."

"I cannot sit here and listen to his fool talk any
longer," exclaimed the General, rising from the
table in some heat.  "If you boys are going to stir
up the game it is time you were about it.  Princess
Teskla would be delighted to hear your definition
of love, Nick."

"Life's fires burn low in the aged," smiled Nick,
looking at me.

"So?" said the Prince, whom nothing escaped,
"why should Teskla be interested?"

"We have reason to believe that the King's
daughter is suffering from loneliness, such as young
Nicholas describes," said the General grimly.

"Why should she?" said the Prince.  "She is
surrounded by the court at Nischon.  If any one is
lonely I should think it would be my sister.  She
has often complained of living in the country, seeing
no one.  How can one be lonely in the city?  Teskla
has all the gentlemen of the world's consulates to
help her while away the time; she may travel at
will; while my sister must always be by my father's
side; she may not travel; she may not see any one."

The Prince either purposely refused, or actually
failed, to see the import of the General's words and
the General was too loyal to make them clearer.
So, drifting from one subject to another, we
followed the old man to the castle door where the
hunters and their dogs were idling away their time.

While waiting for their young master, the large
army of hunters had been amusing themselves at
their own discretion.  They were dark-eyed,
handsome Bharbazonians, the finest horsemen in the
world, riding with all the ease and abandon of their
Cossack brethren.  For the saying in Bharbazonia
is, "Scratch a Russian and you will find a
Cossack; scratch a Cossack and you will find a
Bharbazonian."  They were all dressed alike in the
favourite green cloth of the country, and all carried
clusters of long-handled spears or pikes, by which
the wild boar was to be killed as he broke cover and
charged the horse and rider.

The Prince, unaided, mounted the black which
had thrown him at sight of our automobile.  He
waited for Nick and me to mount the animals which
the groom had saddled while we breakfasted.  Our
horses were apart from the rest and Nick and I
were out of ear-shot of the Prince when we met.

"What chance have you with Solonika?" he
said, in a low voice.  "She is a Princess and you
are only an American."

"None whatever, Nick," I said.  "You are right;
Princesses of reigning houses do not wed Americans."

"But you have not given up hope?"

"I never had any."

"Dale, old chum," said Nick, "you have beaten
me at chess; I have beaten you at billiards.  It's a
draw with the gloves.  But, after every defeat or
victory, we have always shaken hands.  It was
always a fair game.  I know you, Dale.  You never
give up without a struggle.  Therefore there will
be a battle.  We are older now and we strike harder.
But, here's my hand on it—that no matter which
way this may end it will make no difference between
us.  As far as I am concerned a woman can never
come between David and Jonathan."

"As far as I am concerned she never can either,
Nick," I said.

The grip of friendship we exchanged was sincere.
Whatever of disappointment the future has
in store for me, Nick's place in my heart would
always remain as fixed as Polaris.  And I know
that nothing could alter his feeling for me.

It was plain that his position in his own country
was such as would enable him some day to aspire
to the hand of a Princess, a privilege denied to me, a
plain American.  By the accident of birth, then, he
had an advantage over me; but in one thing I had
the advantage over him.

When we mounted to follow the pack, he rode
after the Prince while I rode after the Princess.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE ABDUCTION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE ABDUCTION

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  He thought at heart, like courtly Chesterfield
   |  Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes,
   |  And what not, though he rode beyond all price,
   |  Asks next day, "if men ever hunted twice?"
   |                            —*Byron: Don Juan*.


.. vspace:: 2

Hunting foxes with a pack of hounds is an
English and American pastime; hunting wolves with
borzoi dogs is a Russian amusement; hunting the
boar, the national entertainment of Bharbazonia.
The alacrity with which the men started, when we
were at last in the saddle, revealed their impatience
at the delay.

"Keep an eye on the Prince, Nick," called the
General from the castle door.  "Remember
Marbosa's oath.  Only three days are left."

"All right, Godfather," Nick replied.  But he did
not offer any explanation to me as to what the Duke
proposed to do, and deftly changed the subject.
All he would say was that the General was talking
politics and that one is wise who does not bother
his head about what does not concern him.

Nevertheless, I secretly concluded that it would
be just as well for me to keep as near the Prince as
possible during the day.  Some political plot was
coming to a head of which I knew nothing.  What
this danger was that seemed to threaten I could not
imagine, but I connected it with the horsemen who
rode in the early hours of the dawn, and who
loitered around the summer-house in their long
Spanish cloaks.

The Prince, riding at the head of the pack as
perfectly erect as a cavalryman, was surrounded by
his father's retainers, and close under the eye of the
Master of the Hounds, when we joined him.  Like
the good-natured boy he seemed to be, he was
enjoying the ride to the full.  His cheeks were flushed
with the healthy outdoor exercise and his eyes were
bright with excitement.  It was an ideal day with
just enough of the brisk cut of winter in the air to
keep the blood a-moving.

"It is good to be alive," he said, darting a quick
look over his shoulder as we came up.

"Where have you planned to hunt, Prince?"
asked Nicholas, ranging on one side of the black
horse while I took the other.

"In the Forest of Zin."

"On the Framkor side of the river, or on Marbosa's?"

"My camp is pitched beside the Big Spring."

"Then we hunt on Marbosa's estate," said Nick,
and I could see that he was not pleased at the prospect.

The Prince seemed highly amused at Nick's reply,
and laughed as if he deemed he had made an
important discovery.

"For an American, Mr. Fremsted," he smiled,
"you know the Forest well."

Nick was nettled.  He realized that he had almost
committed himself.  I saw him covertly glance at
the Prince under his eyebrows as if he wondered
how this slow-brained, broken-English-speaking
youth had found the wit to trap him.  But he was
equal to the occasion.

"Oh," he replied, easily, "General Palmora
during the past ten years has often had me
hunting with him in this forest.  I should know it
well."

"So?" said the Prince, and the subject was
dismissed for a time.

The Forest of Zin, as I soon found, was not far
distant.  In fact it began at the rear of the Framkor
estate and extended, so they said, for some fifty
miles to the north.  All the nobles who owned the
adjoining land had established a game preserve over
the entire territory and the peasantry was not
allowed within its sacred precincts.  According to the
Prince, many of them had broken the law and, when
caught, were "bastinado'd"—severely beaten on
the soles of the feet, a method of punishment
inherited from the Turks.

So great was the density of the forest when we
plunged into it along a narrow bridle path, and so
magnificent the height of the trees, that the light of
the sun filtered through with difficulty.  The resulting
gloom was like that of a cloudy day and had its
necessary effect upon my spirits.  Long narrow
roads opened vistas of wide clearings, beyond,
which never materialized.  All about was the mystery
of silence as if the wild things watched in awe
the human destroyer march by.  Even the dogs,
held firmly in leashes of four, lolled their red
tongues from their mouths and ceased to give voice
to their impatience.

The further we progressed the denser became the
growth until at times we were compelled to bend
over our horses' heads to avoid the wide arms of the
giant oaks, gnarled and twisted, which hung low
over our path.  Speed at times was impossible and
our progress was necessarily slow.  The Forest of
Zin was no place for a careless rider.

The Big Spring, of which the Prince had spoken,
was the fountain head of a little brook that issued
from the roots of the largest oak in the forest.  We
found a score of the Red Fox's men there, preparing
a hunter's meal over many wood fires.  The
odour of the cooking was pleasant to the nostrils.
When we dismounted I found that it was nearly
eleven o'clock and that it had taken the forenoon
to arrive at the hunting grounds.

Squirrels, rabbits and wild birds broiled on
revolving spits before the fire, or baked in clay
coverings in the heart of the embers, formed the body of
the meal.  We sat upon a bed of dry leaves and ate
with good appetites.  Nick and the Prince were in
the best of spirits.  They examined the spears and
talked of the coming hunt with considerable
enthusiasm.  The black locks and the red curls were
frequently commingled and my jealous heart again
suffered many pangs at the sight.  The Prince had
not forgotten the episode of the morning, and it was
not long before he again trapped Nick.  This time
the Prince asked him a quick question in the
language, and Nick replied quite naturally before he
realized what he had done.  When he found himself
caught he laughed at his own discomfiture as
heartily as did the Prince.

"You are a most interesting man to me," the
Prince said gayly.  "You have been everywhere;
you know so much.  You speak so many languages.
But why have you learned Bharbazonian?  You
speak it like a native."

"It is second nature to one who knows the Russian
of the south," he replied.  "After all, it is
only a Slav dialect.  I have been perfecting it during
my visit here.

"Mysterious man," the Prince replied, "not to
have permitted me to know before.  Here I have
been talking with difficulty in your tongue when
I might have been using my own speech all the time."

Thus the Prince broke down Nick's reserve and
they ran off into the dialect where I could not
follow.  To my disgust they seemed to be growing
more interested in each other through the medium
of the common language, and I was glad when the
bush-beaters with their dogs left the party to
commence the hunt.  But it was a half hour after the
hounds had gone that the Keeper of the Spears
began his distribution of the weapons.  After
presenting one to the Prince and Nicholas, he gave me
one.  The spear was about twelve feet long with a
sort of bayonet at one end.  It was exceedingly
strong and well made, and I marvelled at its
lightness.  Where the steel met the stock there was a
cluster of flowing ribbons, which lent a festive
appearance to our band when the riders rested the
stock in their stirrups and held their spears
vertically in air.  Each man seemed like a standard
bearer.

Trained to precision of action by experience, the
hunters rode to the appointed clearing in the forest
whither the bush hunters were tending, and spread
out in a long line.  Nick and I, with the Prince
between us, formed the centre of the line and the rest
were placed so that each man could see his neighbour
and thus both could watch the woods between
for the fleeing quarry.  I suppose our party thus
covered a distance of two miles and each person in
the line was practically alone.

We had not long to wait before the faint baying
of the hounds reached our ears from the forest in
front.  The noise came gradually nearer and nearer.
The horses became restive at the sound.  The hunt
was on in earnest.  The first boar broke cover so
far away that we had no part in it.  We could only
sit silent and listen to the chase and the squeal of the
boar when the lance pierced him.  Similar sounds
drew our attention to other parts of the line and
then our turn came.

The first wild pig I had ever seen in his native
woods trotted swiftly out of the bushes in front of
Nicholas and the Prince.  It was a large black
fellow with wicked-looking yellow tusks that curled
up at the ends.  When it saw the horsemen it was
not afraid, but stopped with curiosity and grunted
softly to itself in a familiarly domestic fashion.  At
sight of the boar, however, the horses began
rearing and plunging, so that it was some moments
before Nick, who was nearest, could urge his mount
to the charge.  The Prince's black was ill-behaved
also, but the rider had no difficulty in keeping his
seat.

Nick, I suppose, must have been an adept in the
use of the spear at one time, but he was badly out
of practice then.  When he came on with his swift
rush he missed the vital spot behind the foreleg, or
in the centre of the chest, and succeeded only in
inflicting a wound along the animal's spine, which let
much blood but only angered the beast.  His horse
carried him some distance beyond before Nick could
force him to turn, and in the meantime the Prince
with lowered lance entered the fray.

With a sure hand he guided his terror-stricken
black after the boar, which, squealing with pain and
rage, was charging Nick.  The hilt of the Prince's
lance rested in the leather socket of the saddle under
his knee; the sharp point raced over the ground, its
ribbons whipping in the wind.  Out of the corner
of its wicked little eye the boar saw the approach of
its new enemy and wheeled to the attack.  If it could
gore the horse and unseat the rider, it might easily
dispose of the enemy on foot.

But the Prince's stroke was swift and sure.  Before
the boar had gathered speed the point took him
full in the centre of the broad chest.  If the Prince's
aim was to strike the little white spot there it could
not have been more perfect.  The force of the blow
caused the horse to swerve suddenly in his course,
nearly throwing the rider, but the boar stopped in
its tracks.  The lance came free as the horse leaped
over the game, which reached up in a faint effort to
strike.  With his life blood following the lance, the
victim sank slowly to its knees and filled the woods
with its dying squeals.

"Well done, Your Highness," shouted Nick in
high glee, "'twas a master stroke."

"I am ashamed of you," cried the Prince with an
eye on the struggling quarry.

The bush-rangers had evidently done their work
well.  The game was plenty.  Everywhere all along
the line came the sound of the chase, the shouts of
riding men, the squeals of dying pigs and the barking
of dogs let loose to bring a fleeing animal to
bay so that the horsemen following slowly might
kill it.  It seems that only the most intrepid horseman
will take his life in his hands attempting to ride
at full speed under the trees.

A wild-looking animal darted under the horse
Nick was riding and set off at a rapid pace for the
other side of the clearing.  With a shout Nick
started in hot pursuit.  At the same moment my
turn came.  The boar showed in front of me so
suddenly that I pulled my horse's head sharply to keep
from stepping on it.  The animal rushed by while I
stupidly stared, making no motion to stop it.

"I am ashamed of you, too," cried the Prince at
my elbow as he dug the spurs into his black's side
and sped away like the wind.

"Solonika, be careful," I cried, but she was
beyond the sound of my voice.  As quickly as I could
I followed to watch her in action.  I had no desire
to try my hand with the lance.  It required a better
training than I possessed.

The boar had a good start and was not long in
reaching the sheltering trees on the far side of the
clearing.  Solonika bent low over her black's neck,
and without hesitation followed the game where
cooler riders would not dare go.

"Stop," I shouted, but I knew that she would not
heed me even though she heard.  The excitement of
the chase had entered her blood.

There was nothing left for me to do but try to
keep her in sight.  When I reached the place where
she rode in I could still see her going at the top of
her speed through the trees.  Her lance point
pursued the fleeing pig whose speed was incredible.
Do what she could the boar kept just a little ahead.
Deeper and deeper we went into the forest.  The
sound of the hunters, the baying of the dogs
and the squeals came fainter and fainter to our
ears and finally ceased altogether.  We were alone.

My horsemanship was not as excellent as Solonika's,
and she gradually outdistanced me.  I almost
despaired of keeping her in sight.  Finally, when
I was about to give up, when my horse was blowing
hard and I was well-nigh spent, I saw her suddenly
rein in, throw up her head and look to one side as
if she heard someone calling.

While she stood thus intent, four horsemen in
black Spanish cloaks, coming from behind the trees,
rode up to her side.  One wrenched the lance from
her hands, another threw his cloak over her head
and arms, rendering her powerless, while the third
grasped her horse by the bridle and the three set
off at a gallop with their prisoner.  The fourth drew
his sword and waited for me to come up.

I stared in amazement at this extraordinary
scene; my heart stopped beating with fear as its
full significance burst upon me.  I convulsively
pulled my horse to a standstill, not knowing what I
did.  Only my grip on the saddle horn kept me in
my seat.

Oh, if Nick were only here; but he was far away
with the hunters.  It would be hours before they
would miss us.  What was I to do?  Was it better
that I should ride back and tell him, or follow the
Princess?  My brain was stunned.  I could not
think clearly.

But stay! these were not ordinary highwaymen.
Of this I felt sure.  I remembered seeing them, or
men like them, on the road in front of the
summer-house.  Were they trying to kidnap the Prince
then?  Were they members of that mystic band,
the Order of the Cross?  Nick and the General
belonged to that.  What good would it do to ride back
and tell Nick of something which he, perhaps,
already knew, or at least expected?  Deserted by
both Nick and the General, I felt suddenly alone.
My God, alone; with Solonika in the hands of her
enemies.  What would they not do to her?  How
could she keep her secret from them?  I must save
her.  I must act quickly.

"Solonika," I shouted, hoping that she might
hear and know that she was not deserted.

As I uttered the shout I spurred my horse
furiously and he leaped forward to do my bidding.
My boar lance was my only weapon; but surely I
was better armed than the lone rear guard.  He
seemed to have only his short sword.  Solonika and
her captors were still in sight, although far ahead.
I must ride fast and free if I would overtake her.

I rode high and recklessly watching the young
noble put his horse in motion toward me so as to
avoid my spear and make the attack more difficult.
I bore down upon him with all speed, shouting as I
came.  He took hold of his weapon with both hands,
preparing to cut my wooden shank with one bold
stroke as I made to pierce him.

But, before I reached him, I received a violent
blow on the forehead.  The branches of the trees
hung low about my upraised head.  The heavens
seemed to have fallen.  My enemy vanished as if
by magic amid a field of glowing shooting stars
darting hither and yon in a field of purple night.
A great weakness seized me.  The saddle slipped
from between my knees, the reins from my nerveless
fingers.

I toppled over backwards—unconscious.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FOREST OF ZIN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FOREST OF ZIN

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |                        Hear it not, ye stars!
   |  And thou, pale moon, turn paler at the sound!
   |                          —*Young: Night Thoughts*.

.. vspace:: 2

It was still daylight when I recovered consciousness.
The setting sun was just dipping below the
western horizon, and the cathedral light of the
forest of Zin was slowly changing with lengthening
shadows to the darkness of the coming night.  Save
for the whir of some heavy bird, flying to roost
or the cry of a number of crows far overhead,
there was no sound.

The gay coloured ribbons of the boar spear,
lying among the dead leaves, brought me back to a
slight realization of my position.  I abruptly tried
to rise.  But, when I attempted to move, the trees
began to glide around like giant feathers in a
motionless atmosphere, and I became aware of an
aching head and burning pain in the back.  I lay
quiet examining the branches overhead.

A little red squirrel, frightened by my sudden
movement, leaped from the ground near by and
clattered up the trunk of the nearest tree, being
careful to put the tree between me and him in his
flight.  He reappeared high up among the branches,
where he rested ready to run, watching me
curiously.  Was that the trunk of a fallen tree or a
man?  He concluded that I was an enemy and
awoke the echoes with his chattering warning cry,
in which there was something of rage.  When I
again struggled weakly to arise, he fell silent, hid
behind a crotch and, from his safe retreat, watched
with one little prick ear and one little round eye
cautiously exposed.

This time I managed to get to my knees, although
the world swayed before my eyes.  A spring bubbled
coolly among the leaves near-by.  I dragged
myself to it and, like the rejected soldiers of Joshua,
drank with my nose in the water.  Greatly
refreshed, I rolled over on my back and again tried
to think.  The little watchman in the tree shifted
his position so as to bring his one little eye to bear
again.  My head was becoming clearer.

Let me see, what had happened to me?  Somebody
or something had struck me on the head.  I
put my hand to my aching brow and found my hair
matted with dried blood.  There was a bad cut just
above my forehead.  How had I been so injured?
Had the swordsman reached me?  The swordsman
with the long black cloak and the Greek cross upon
his breast—what had he done.  Ah, yes, I knew.
With a rush the whole picture came back.

Solonika had been stolen by the Order of the Cross!

It must have happened only a moment ago.  My
enemy still fronted me and might even now be
waiting to continue, or rather begin, the fight.  I
came to a sudden sitting posture, but the woods
were deserted.  The rider had long since made good
his escape.  My own animal, too, was gone and I
wondered if he could find his way back to Framkor
stables and give warning of my predicament.

But of what use would that be to Solonika, if, as I
strongly suspected, General Palmora and Nicholas
were in the plot.  True, they might rescue me from
the dangers of the forest, but they would not help
me rescue the Prince.

Not so fast.  Perhaps I might be doing my two
friends an injustice in thus accusing them.  After
all, the men I had seen might be highwaymen.  A
highwayman's calling in all Balkan countries, I
knew, was an ancient and an honourable one,
because he never robs his own countrymen but preys
upon the inhabitants of border states; also because
he is a well-trained rider and a valuable
cavalryman in time of war—which in this section of
eastern Europe is nearly all the time.  But, if the
Prince's captors were highwaymen after a rich
bounty from the government for the return of the
future king on the eve of the coronation, they were
the most gentlemanly brigands that ever sat astride
a horse.  The highwaymen idea was not tenable.
Even in Catholic countries, robbers do not go about
with large Greek crosses of gold suspended from
their necks.  The words of the General came back
to me.

"The oath of the Duke of Marbosa.  Only three
days are left."

Three days to the coronation, that was it.  The
oath of Marbosa?  Perhaps the Duke had sworn
that Prince Raoul should never be king.  Oh, why
had I not paid closer attention to the politics of this
infernal country?  I would know then what this
meant; I would not be compelled to guess.  Surely
politics was behind the kidnapping of the Prince.
It was evident, too, that the movement did not have
the active support of my two friends, although the
General and Nicholas might be forced by stress of
circumstances passively to acquiesce.  But what did
the Order of the Cross hope to gain thereby?  It
was possible that they were counting upon the
feeling of resentment which the populace would
naturally feel if the Prince failed to appear at the
Cathedral.  An insult like that might go far toward
changing the succession at the last moment.  If
that were so, the Order of the Cross, or some of its
members at least, were not pleased with the son of
the Red Fox as the next ruler.  It would necessarily
follow that they had another favourite.

The General was not enthusiastic over the heir
of Dhalmatia, but he did not seem to have an
interest in this affair.  If my conclusions were
sound, Palmora would have led the men who did it.
Evidently they were not sound.  Besides, I had
never heard him speak of a possible successor of the
Prince and, if there had been one, I ought to have
heard of it.

Whatever was in the wind, I felt much relieved.
If, as I suspected, the Prince was in the hands of
the nobles, he had nothing to fear from personal
insult.  But I trembled to think of his position if
his captors learned the truth concerning his sex.

Growing darkness warned me that I must think
of my own safety.  My position in the wild forest
of Zin was fraught with danger.  With returning
strength, I gathered up my useless boar spear, my
only weapon of defence and, going forward, examined
the ground where I had last seen the Prince.
Here I found the hoof marks of the four horses,
galloping side by side, plainly visible, leading off
toward the west.  It was an easy trail to follow.
I recalled that the greatest length of the forest was
from the north to the south.  If one wished to leave
the woods, the quickest course would be to the east
or west.

A strong wind forced its way through the tree
tops with a moaning sound.  Its cold blast chilled
me as it blew in my face; its voice was like the
voice of a lost soul, wandering forever through the
gloom around me.  The sun dipped below the trees.
If I would follow after the Princess I must hurry,
for the light would soon be gone.  Mile after mile
I walked and ran, keeping my eyes on the ground,
bending lower and lower as the darkness fell.
Finally I could see the hoof marks no longer.

How I rebelled against my fate.  How I cursed
the night, and how it seemed to answer with its
thousand voices, reiterating the one awful word
"Lost."  Oh, the wasted hours I had lain
unconscious in the woods while Marbosa's men were
carrying their prize farther and farther away.
Crushed and hopeless though I was, I would not
give up.  There must be some way to follow the
trail even in the dark.  But how?  How?

I raised my head and looked about.  Interminable
forest surrounded me on all sides.  Nothing but
giant oaks met my limited view on every side.  To
my heightened imagination they seemed to stretch
their crooked arms as if to crush me in their bony
embrace.

Again the wind went sweeping through the
branches and one clear high voice of the night
seemed to say "Behold, I am the way.  Follow
thou me."  The wind it must have been, but how
was it to help me?  Then hope returned for I knew
it was a west wind.  The trail I longed to follow
had never altered from its western course.  The
wind came from the same direction.  There was
the solution.  If I followed the course of the wind,
if I kept it always in my face, I would be able to
hold to the trail even in the dark.  I shouted aloud
for joy at the discovery.

But my progress was distressingly slow.  As I
went on and on, it became so dark that I was forced
to come down to a cautious walk, swinging my boar
spear before me, like a blind man on a crowded
thoroughfare, to keep from walking into the trunks
of the silent trees.

Often through the night I lay down to rest and
once I slept, but each time I took the trail I held
my moistened finger to the breeze to get my bearings.
During one of these enforced rests I built a
small fire of dried leaves and ignited a torch of pine
wood to help me on my way.  After a little searching
by means of its feeble light, I made out the fresh
marks of the trail on the ground and knew that the
west wind held to its course.  My tread was as
silent as the animals that glared at my camp-fire.
I frightened them away with a shower of burning
embers.  My head ached and my limbs became
heavy with a weariness that caused me to rest
longer each time I halted.

Once I struck a match and found that it was only
eleven o'clock.  I had been vainly hoping for
daylight and the time went so slowly.  How far I had
gone I had no means of knowing.  But, shortly
after I looked at my watch, the moon, great and
round and white, came up and shed its soft light
through the trees.  The sight of it brought me up
with a shiver.

The moon was in *front* of me!

A moon rising in the *west* I knew was an impossibility!
If this were the moon, then by all the laws
of nature I must now be facing the east.  The *east*!
Was it possible that I had been following the wrong
trail?  Had the wind, while I blindly yielded to its
invisible touch, been veering gently to the south
and finally to the east?  In that case I had been
walking in a half circle and must now be somewhere
near my starting point.  All my weary walking had
gone for nothing.  Solonika and Marbosa's men
were as far away as ever.

My despair overcame me and my knees gave way
beneath me.  I sank gently to the ground with a
half articulate moan, like a drowning swimmer who
feels his strength deserting him.

What was that I heard?  Was my mind leaving
me under the fearful strain?  Surely that sound
was not the sound of voices?  I listened distraught.
There it was again, and this time there was no
mistaking it.  Close beside me somewhere men were
talking and laughing!  Then high above all I
distinguished one voice singing.  And I knew that voice.
It acted upon my tired body like the electric waves
from a galvanic battery.  There could be no mistake.
Through the Forest of Zin, mingling with the
tinkle of a piano, came the voice of Solonika singing
the words of Mohacs' Field.

   |  "Volt nekem egy daru szoru paripam,
   |  De el adta a szegedi kapitany;
   |  Ott sem voltam az aldo mas i vas nal;
   |  No, de sa baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"
   |

I listened spellbound to the entire verse and
heard at the end a chorus of fifty or more male
voices join boisterously in the refrain; "No, de sa
baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"

There was no doubt about it; I had found her.
Thanks to blind chance and my own perseverance I
had stumbled upon the hiding place of the Secret
Order of the Cross.  It gave me new life to know
that she was so near me.  A few steps further
forward, and another of my difficulties was solved.  I
found myself under a high stone wall which
surrounded the hunting lodge of the Duke of
Marbosa.  The round white "moon" that had filled me
with consternation was a circular window set in
the end wall of the lodge.  There must be lights
in the lower casements, but the only one I had
seen over the high wall was this single rose window.

I walked slowly around the wall, seeking an
entrance.  After a time I came to the main gate.
It was made of iron grating and afforded a view
of the interior.  The lodge was a great stone house,
standing in the middle of a clearing within an
enclosure.  In the rear were the stables.  Not a
soul was within sight and the gate was locked.
Close beside it, however, was a smaller gate which
was used as a foot passage.  It yielded readily to
my hand, opening inward.  Fearing the silent
presence of a guard I moved the door back slowly, and
finally gave it a push as if it were disturbed by the
wind.  There was no movement.  I crept noiselessly
through the opening and closed the door so that my
figure might not be outlined from the house.

Black shadows of men passed to and fro across
the lighted windows, behind closed blinds, like
shadowgraphs in a theatre.  The singing continued
and I frequently heard Solonika's voice.  I crept
close to the house and cautiously tried the front
door; it was locked.  Searching for some way to
effect an entrance, I skirted the building, keeping
close to the stones, and found a door in the rear.
It also was locked.  I examined each window as I
passed; they were covered from top to bottom with
heavy wrought-iron screens.  The lodge was as
tight as a prison house.

I turned my attention next to the roof.  Perhaps
there was a means of entrance in that direction.
Close beside the lodge grew a great oak tree.  All
its forest neighbours had been cut down when the
place was built.  Its wide branches overhung the
roof.  Even though I failed to find a trap-door there,
I would be safer in the branches than on the ground
in case the Duke had his dogs in the stable.  I
quietly swung myself up by means of a low-hanging
limb, and drew the telltale spear after me.

As my head came clear of the coping I saw the
roof was somewhat flat and that a small watch-tower
stood in the centre of it.  It was composed of
nothing but windows.  One branch of the tree,
which had threatened to grow through the tower,
had been sawed off close to the windows.  The limb
made a natural strong bridge for me, and I could
have shouted when I tried the nearest frame
and found it slide quietly up under my hand.
I was soon standing safely on the floor of the
tower.

Feeling in the dark with my feet, I discovered a
steep uncarpeted stairway leading down into the
house below.  The door at the other end was
unlocked.  As I opened this door the sound of singing
and laughing came faintly to my ears.  The Duke's
men were enjoying themselves with the utmost
abandon.  Passing down another stairway I came
to another door and found myself in a richly
carpeted bed room.  The bed was empty.  I struck a
match and saw two doors on the same side of the
room.  One communicated with another bed room
and I tried the other.  As I opened it, the noise of
shouting and laughing was suddenly almost
deafening.  Heavy fumes of tobacco smoke and hot
much-breathed air filled my nostrils, almost choking me.

I stepped softly out on to a dimly lighted balcony
upon which twenty or thirty bed rooms, similar to
the one I had just left, found exit.  One swift step
to the railing and I was looking down upon the
Duke's men.

The main room of the lodge was a hunter's
paradise.  All around the balcony railing over which
I leaned hung at regular intervals handsomely
mounted heads of bears, wolves, boars, deer and
other animals from the forest of Zin.  At the end
of the room where there was no balcony, under the
circular window which had been my "moon," was
a mounted lion about to attack two crouching tigers,
trophies of the Duke's expeditions to India and
Africa.  Lying at full length on the lion's back, with
his arms loosely around the neck of the animal, was
a young trooper fast asleep.

The head and antlers of a large deer, suspended
from the balcony in front of me, obscured my
vision of the centre of the room below.  But it also
protected me from any one who might look my
way.  As I moved cautiously aside for a better
view, I saw a long table spread with a white cloth,
upon which were the remains of a feast.  Standing
in the centre of the table among the scattered dishes
was the Prince with a sword upraised in his hand.
He was singing at the top of his sweet voice that
seventeenth century profanation "Down among
the Dead Men."

The Duke's men, evidently in the "heigh-li
heigh-lo" stage of a merry evening, were giving
the Prince their undivided attention.  They entered
into the spirit of the song and were doing their
best to reproduce the pose of the picture I had seen
in Solonika's summer-house.  One of their number,
with his black coat collar turned up, was flattened
against a pillar which supported the balcony.  An
expression of mock fright was upon his face.  The
rest of the ribald jesters were threatening him with
drawn swords.  A goodly number were lying on
the floor, as if they had refused the toast and had
suffered the consequences.  But they were in excess
of the number required for a faithful reproduction
of the picture and I suspected that many of them
were there because of the empty bottles.

As I looked around the room I understood why
the Duke of Marbosa had not stationed guards at
his gates to see that the Prince did not escape.  The
main door which I had found locked was under the
balcony opposite the wall in which was the circular
window.  If the Prince attempted to flee that way,
he would have to do it in full view of every one in
the room.  Two broad stairways, one on each side
of the hall, led up to the balcony and to the bed
rooms beyond.  Escape in this direction was
impossible on account of the wrought-iron screens.
But I knew if I could communicate with the Prince,
he would be able to leave the lodge with me in the
same manner I had entered it.

Once outside, unless we were tracked with dogs,
the forest would hide us while we made our way
back on foot to Dhalmatia.  We could travel by
night and hide, like the Babes in the Woods, under
a covering of leaves in the daytime if necessary.
I remembered that, while I had heard the horses
pawing in their stalls, no dog barked and the
recollection cheered me.  If only I could attract the
Prince's attention.

But, even if I did make him see me, how was I to
let him know how to escape?  I must write him a
note and get it into his hands somehow.  Searching
my pockets I found a small piece of paper and a
lead pencil.  I rested the paper on the top of the
railing and indited my first letter to Solonika.  It
read:

"Ninth room on south side; stairway to
attic; stairway to watch tower on roof.  Come.

.. vspace:: 1

"DALE."


I knew if I permitted the sheet to flutter to the
room below, it would be seen and read by
unfriendly eyes.  I must have some way of weighting
it so that I could throw it where I willed.  I
examined every pocket carefully and went through the
search three times but failed to find anything which
would answer the purpose.  The only thing I
considered was my penknife.  I might roll the note up
and slip it beneath one of the blades.  But my better
judgment told me it would not do.  The noise of
the knife's fall would attract attention.

I was almost in despair when my hand came in
contact with the diamond ring which I wore upon
my little finger.  It was the very thing.  I could
roll the note up into a small wad and insert it in
the ring.  That would give it the required bulk and
weight, and my message would not be seen as it
flew through the air.  Then too the tinkle of a ring
upon the stone pavement would not be heard above
all the noise of the revellers.  Quickly I drew the
circlet from my finger and fastened the wad of
paper securely within.  Then with some impatience
I awaited my opportunity.

A loud knocking upon the main entrance created
the diversion I craved.  So loud and unexpected
was the call from the outside world that the noise
within was instantly stilled and every man arose
and drew his sword.  All eyes were turned toward
the door but no one moved to open it.  Who could
have found the lonely lodge in the forest at this
time of night?  Could the Red Fox of Dhalmatia,
already apprised of his son's capture, be here with
his retainers seeking vengeance?

One of the men nearest the door shouted a
question and a voice outside replied demanding
admission.  A busy hum of conversation began to fly
about the hall and the Duke's followers crowded
around the door.  The Prince alone remained in his
place.  He stood apart in the centre of the room
almost directly below me.

Now was the moment to act.  I stood upright
and leaned far out over the railing in full view of
any who might be watching.  Taking careful aim,
I tossed the message toward him.  The glistening
gold circled gently to its fall and struck fairly in the
centre of the empty cup which he held upright in
his hand.  The Prince gave a little cry of
astonishment and looked over the rim of the goblet.  The
ring, with its note attached, lay within.  Knowing
from which direction it must have come, and realizing
that it fell from the hand of a friend, he looked
quickly up into the balcony.  Our eyes met.

Solonika recognized me as I leaned out into the
light.  The smile which illuminated her face more
than recompensed me for the night of terror I had
passed through for her sake.  No one else in the
room saw the incident.  So far we were safe.

I was just congratulating myself on my cleverness
when I heard a bed room door open close
behind me somewhere on the balcony.  I dropped to
my knees for shelter and crouched in the dim light.
An elderly man stepped from a front room over the
main entrance.  Something in his dignified manner
told me that it was the Duke of Marbosa.  He had
heard the knocking and had come forth to inquire
into the cause.

If he descended by means of the stairway on my
side, he could scarcely fail to discover me.  Either
stairway was open to him.  I lay flat on my stomach
and waited with a beating heart.  A fight was
useless, for, even though I escaped, I must leave the
Prince behind.

The noise in the room below increased in volume.
The visitors without were impatient at the delay.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MARBOSA'S HUNTING LODGE—THE FLIGHT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   MARBOSA'S HUNTING LODGE—THE FLIGHT

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  There was an ancient philosopher
   |  That had read Alexander Ross over
   |  And swore the world, as he could prove,
   |  Was made of fighting and of love.
   |                    —*Butler: Hudibras, Part I*.

.. vspace:: 2

"Marbosa!  Marbosa!" shouted several voices
at once.  A score of young men ascended both
stairways to summon the Grand Duke.  As I
glanced along the carpet I could see the heads of
the leaders appear above the level of the floor and I
gave myself up for lost.  There was no time now
to hide myself in the nearest bed room without
being seen.  The danger, coming so suddenly, found
me unprepared.  My only chance of safety lay in
remaining quiet.  Perhaps in the dim light, if they
did not stumble over me, they might pass by, too
occupied with their errand to notice a recumbent
figure on the floor.  There was also the chance that
they might mistake me for a tired reveller.

But, just when the tension was at the breaking
point, I heard the Duke's voice.  Judging from the
sound, for I could not see him, he had stepped to
the edge of the balcony, where the light fell upon his
face, for the men paused on the stairs and stood
looking at one particular spot.  They shouted their
message across the intervening space and, receiving
a satisfactory reply, turned back, retracing their
steps to the common room.  I still heard the Grand
Duke talking to some one who had reached the
balcony by the other stairway.  I followed the sound
and was overjoyed to find that Marbosa was walking
toward his companion and that the two would
descend by the other stair.  The danger of my
immediate discovery was over, and I breathed a
prayer of thankfulness to the lucky chance which
had protected me.

As the Duke joined his men, I arose to my feet
to steal another look below.  The Prince had not
moved far from the spot where I last saw him.  The
empty goblet was standing on the table and he was
busy reading the note concealed in his hands.
Would he understand it and be able to find a way to
reach the watch-tower unnoticed?  I watched him
read and re-read my message, and saw him tear the
paper to fragments and carelessly throw them into
the fire.  Then he glanced at the excited company to
see if he were observed.  Finding he was not, he
looked quickly up into my glowing face, nodded his
head to signify that all was clear and smilingly
slipped my ring on his finger.

While this episode was going forward, the Duke
had reached the front entrance and given orders to
unbar the door.  The heavy irons rattled loudly
against the stone floor while the nobles made way
for the visitors to enter.  The door was immediately
closed with a bang and the bars reset.  Following
the Grand Duke, with whom they were earnestly
talking, two men stepped into the light and I could
scarcely believe my eyes when I saw them.  They
were the General and Nicholas.

What they hoped to accomplish by their visit I
could not imagine.  But it was evident that they
were regarded in the light of friends.  Several
young men slapped Nicholas on the shoulder, greeting
him with affection.  The rest gathered around
the General and the black-bearded Grand Duke, and
listened with great respect to their conversation.

The General was tired and worn.  He was not
pleased with the turn of events and I judged he was
not hesitating in expressing his opinion.  The
Bharbazonian jargon ran back and forth, for the
General had met his match in the Duke.  That
distinguished personage was not moved by the hot
words of his fiery friend.  He gave as good as he
received, and remained firm in his intention.  The
argument bade fair to consume the rest of the night.
As soon as Nick saw how it was going, he quietly
disengaged himself from the circle and sought out
the Prince.  That brought him close under the
balcony where I was hiding and I was pleased to
hear him speak English that the company might
not readily understand.

"I am glad to see that no harm has been done
Your Highness," he said.

But the Prince pretended to ignore him.

"I wish to assure you, Prince, that the General
and I are in no way responsible for this high-handed
affair," he continued.

I felt like hugging him for his good news, but
the Prince was not so generous.

"Your friends," he said pointedly, "were most
happy to see you."

Nicholas bowed, accepting the situation.

"The majority must rule," he replied.

"The Grand Duke Marbosa seems to be in
command here."

"He has carried out his plan against the wish of
the General."

"What does he hope to win thereby?  What
does he intend to do with me?" asked the Prince.
I listened eagerly so as not to miss a word.

"He hopes to keep you hidden until after the
coronation.  He feels that your absence from the
Cathedral will be taken as an insult by the people.
Thus would he set public opinion against you."

"To what end?  Is there another he would have
reign in my stead?"

"Yes, Your Highness.  Grand Duke Novgorod."

"Novgorod?  Who is he?  I have never heard
of him before."

"Nor I, either," said Nick; "but Marbosa has
been secretly working in the interest of this man for
years.  The nobles are with Marbosa to a man.
He seems to be sure of his grounds.  From what I
can learn this proposed new ruler is the only living
descendant of the royal house of Bharbazonia which
was thought to have been exterminated by the
Turks.  Oloff Gregory is only a soldier and your
house, as you know, is not royal.  Many influential
persons in the kingdom believe that this Novgorod
should be restored to power.  Had you not been
born he would have come back to his throne without
this revolution which is threatened."

"Strange," said the Prince, thoughtfully, "my
father never knew of the existence of this man."

"All the old men of the country seem to know
it," said Nick.

"He seemed to think that Bharbazonia would be
without a king if I did not continue," as if thinking
aloud.

"Dhalmatia knows," said Nick positively.  He
did not notice the troubled frown on the Prince's
face; neither did he guess, as I did, the feelings of
distrust he was stirring up.  Here was an added
burden to carry; the throne by right of heredity
belonged to another.  The Red Fox, fearful for his
son's peace of mind, had kept this important piece
of information to himself.

"We just left him," said Nick.

"Who, father?"

"Yes.  For the first time in his life he visited
Framkor Castle and, almost on his knees, begged
the General to tell him what we had done with you.
I never saw a man so moved.  He actually wept."

"Poor father."

"He was well-nigh distracted.  His visit was the
first intimation the General had that Marbosa had
carried out his intention.  I imagined that
Dr. Wharton and you had ridden home to Dhalmatia
after you became separated from us at the hunt, and
rode home after you.  I arrived there just as the
Red Fox came to the door.  He became like a crazy
man when we told him we could not help him.  I
had to forcibly restrain him to prevent him from
doing the General harm.  He seemed very much
afraid of me.  When he left, alternately pleading
with us and cursing at us, we set out for the lodge,
knowing you must be here."

"What will father do?  Will he not think of the
lodge also?"

"No; he fancies the Order has stolen you.  He is
more likely to go first to its headquarters at the
Turk's Head Inn.  He is in touch with the underground
and said he had been expecting this."

"He did.  He refused to permit me to hunt
yesterday.  Begged me not to go, when I would not
submit.  How I wish he had been more frank and
told me why.  But he was ever afraid of frightening me."

Yesterday?  The Prince referred to the hunt as
if it were long past.  Surely he meant to say
"to-day."  I looked at my watch.  The hands
pointed to ten minutes of four.  It would soon be
growing daylight and the coronation was now only
one day distant.  The Prince was right; it was
Wednesday, December 30.  The New Year fell on
Friday.  There was no time to be lost.

"If the General's arguments with Marbosa
prevail, we may take you back with us," said Nick.
"In that case you will not object to spreading the
rumour that you were lost in the Forest of Zin all
night.  But I have little hope."  He shook his head
doubtfully as he listened to the high voices of the
two elders deep in their discussion.

"Can nothing be done?" suggested the Prince.

"There will be the devil to pay in Nischon to-day.
Your father will inform the King and his friends.
The entire Alliance party will arm themselves and
take the road.  There will be bloodshed and civil
war."

"That disaster may be prevented," said the Prince.

"How?"

"If I should escape."

Nick's eager expression of interest altered itself
into a smile.  He detected a hint in the Prince's
words.  I alone caught the meaning.

"Believe me, Your Highness, I can do nothing.
I admit that I dislike this method of fighting, but I
cannot be traitor to my comrades.  As an illustrious
patriot once said, 'We must hang together now, or
we shall hang separately later.'  In fact, sir, if I
should see you making off, I would feel it my duty
to stop you though it cost me my life."

"I admire your loyalty," said the Prince.  "How
does my sister bear up under this trial?"

"I have not seen her," Nick replied.  "But I
shall take the liberty of calling upon her when I
return and assure her of your safety."

"Do so.  I wish you would."

I found myself smiling at the difficulties which
would prevent Nick from keeping his word.  Then
I heard my name mentioned.

"What have they done with Dale?  I don't see
him anywhere."

"They may have killed him," said the Prince,
smiling into my eyes over Nick's shoulder.  "I last
saw him following me through the trees.  He saw
your friends carry me off, for I heard him shout.
But they did not bring him in with me.  I infer that
he is either dead or lost out there in the jungle."

"Great heavens!" he exclaimed.  "I must find
out about this.  They would not harm him, I know.
He is only lost.  I must make up a party to find
him."

He moved away toward the group.

"Good night," the Prince called after him.  "If
they ask for me say that I have retired."

While Nick hurried to the General to tell him of
my supposed plight, Solonika, leisurely and boldly,
came up the stairway to my side.  She trailed her
hand idly along the railing as she mounted the
steps, but I knew that she was watching for some
sign of disapproval from the company.  They
heeded her not and in a moment she stood beside
me and placed her hand trustingly in mine.

The time for action had arrived.  Neither she
nor I spoke a word until we had ascended the two
flights of steps and come to the tower on the roof.
The first blush of the new day was showing itself
behind the trees of the Forest of Zin.  The early
morning birds were still silent in their nests.  It was
dark enough for our purpose.

"Can you do it?" I asked as I crept into the
branches and helped her up.  It was a dizzy height
over the sloping roof to the ground and I knew
that few girls would dare attempt such a perilous
climb.

It seemed easy for Solonika.  Unhampered by
skirts, she moved quickly and silently.  No matter
how rapidly I descended, she was always close
behind urging me forward.  Once on the ground, I
lifted her tenderly out of the branches because I
wished to avoid the noise she might make jumping
without knowing the distance and—well, because.

The never-ceasing murmur of voices in the lodge
room told us that the Prince had not been missed.
We ran swiftly over the grass and had gained the
protection of the wall on our way to the little gate,
when the door of the lodge opened, sending a broad
stream of light down the pathway.  By that cruel
fate which runs through the lives of all of us when
Mother Nature uses even love to encompass our
destruction, we were in danger of losing our
new-found freedom before it was fairly won.

Nicholas, bent on rescuing me from the forest,
rushed out of the open door, followed by a number
of Marbosa's men.  By that time he must have
learned from the lone horseman of the blow I had
received and the subsequent fall from my horse.  As
far as his knowledge went, I was lying dead in the
forest; or, if the blow had not killed me, I was
wandering about dazed and bleeding, lost.
Although I appreciated his kindly motive, I would
have loved him none the less if he had delayed one
moment longer.

We crouched against the wall fearing to move.
While the men, laughing and talking, rolled around
the corner of the lodge in the direction of the
stables, Nicholas stood in the light on the steps,
looking so steadily at me that I thought he must
see.  But his eyes were not yet used to the gloom
and he was turning something over in his mind.
He was aroused from his deliberations by the bang
of the door as it was shut behind him, the iron bars
rattling into place.  Following his friends he, too,
disappeared around the lodge corner.

"Quick," I whispered to Solonika, "now is our
chance.  The little portal is unlocked."

We slipped quickly through and came face to
face with another but far more agreeable surprise
than the last.  Before us, tied to a ring in the wall,
were the two horses Nick and the General had
ridden.  With a body of men ranging the woods in
friendly search, I realized that our escape on foot
in that direction was difficult, if not impossible, but
here was an easy way open to our hand.  I suppose
Solonika to this day thinks I planned it.  She took
our good fortune as a matter of course and was soon
in the saddle.  I leaped on the back of the General's
big roan and we were off.

For the first few rods we walked our horses over
the leaves.  Nick and his band would naturally take
an eastward course, back into the heart of the forest
toward the boar-hunting grounds.  We therefore
turned toward the west and placed the lodge
between us and the main entrance to prevent possible
discovery when he issued from the gate.  I
wondered if he would notice the disappearance of the
horses, but concluded that, if he did, he would
imagine a groom had stabled them.  At all events,
when he did come forth, he did not stop, for
we heard his party noisily gallop away into the
woods.

"One fortunate thing; there will be fewer men
to pursue us when they discover my escape,"
whispered Solonika.

"Ride," I commanded curtly, "we will talk later."

If she was surprised at my manner, she showed
it by driving the spurs into her horse's flanks, which
put her in the lead.  It was getting light enough
now for us to see the road, if the half-outlined path
we were following could be termed a road.  Solonika
never hesitated; she seemed to know the forest
well, for she found a sort of bridlepath between
the trees and kept to it unerringly; whereas, had I
been left to myself, I must have missed the way
frequently.

For an hour we rode steadily without speaking,
although I would have given much to have heard
her voice again.  But, when the sun came up,
driving away, as I fondly imagined, plots and fear
of sudden death, I could no longer resist the
temptation.  I knew that we were not out of danger by
any means, for the horses were plainly tired, having
covered the journey once that evening.  Now I
understood why Nick deliberated upon the steps.
He was making up his mind not to use his own
horse, but to take a fresh mount from the Duke's
stable.  When we emerged at last from the forest,
and found ourselves in a pleasant country road, lined
at intervals with farmers' houses, I signalled to
Solonika and drew down to a walk.

"How far to Dhalmatia?" I panted.

"Thirty miles."

Thirty miles on tired horses!  I was aghast.  Our
only hope now was that our escape had not been
discovered.  I recalled that it had taken only three
hours to ride to the hunting grounds, but Solonika
explained that I had walked sixteen miles in the
night.  If my calculation was correct the poor
beasts we rode would have to cover some eighty
miles from Framkor to the lodge and back.

"And furthermore," she added, "if your friend
Nicholas takes the back track in search of you, he
will come out on the Framkor lawns and we may
meet him on the road ahead."

"He will have to pass Dhalmatia to do that," I said.

"Well, he promised to assure my sister of my safety."

She threw back her head and laughed, while I
forgot my weariness, my aching head, my empty
stomach, and laughed with her for the pure joy of
laughing.  To rest our horses we dismounted,
walking hand in hand down the middle of the dusty
road like two school children coming from school.
We stopped occasionally at farmhouses where
Solonika begged milk and bread for me, saying, as
she fed me with her own hands, that the good
things of this world were not equally divided, since
she had had too much to eat and I too little.

I told her of America, my own United States,
and described it to her as a land where there were
no kings or queens but where every man was a king
and every woman a queen.  My description was so
glowing that she promised to visit the States, after
she was crowned and grew tired of being always a
man.  One day, she said, she would run away
incognito, put on her loved woman's finery, which
she could not forsake altogether, and send me
her card from her hotel.  Would I have forgotten
her by that time?  Would I be pleased to see her?

Ah, would I indeed?  As well ask an aquatic fowl
if he can navigate in water.  How could I ever
forget her?  She would always be in my thoughts
waking or sleeping until "the leaves of the
Judgment book unfold."  She was pretty, witty and full
of airy fancies; a witch of the road, she interested
me with her graceful charm.  How was I to know
that she exerted herself and talked so much in order
to keep me from remembering how tired and ill I
was?  Twice, she said afterward, I would have
fallen had she not held me up in her strong young
arms.

But all dreams come to an end, and our
awakening was rude enough.  The General's roan, which
I was leading with the bridle rein tucked under my
elbow, was the first to give the alarm.  He stopped
deliberately and looked behind with a friendly
whinny, nearly dragging me over backward.  In
plain view over the rise of a hill our pursuers came
thundering along, not a mile in the rear.  The tread
of their horses shook the earth.  Had we not been
so interested in our conversation, we would have
heard them long ago.

"Solonika!" I shouted, but she was already in
the saddle, waiting as usual for me.

"There are only twenty of them," she said.
"Your friend Nicholas is not among them."

"Can you make out the General?"

"No, he is not there.  Duke Marbosa is leading."

Only twenty; small comfort in that, for, if our
horses could not stand the strain, unarmed as we
were, five would have been too many.  But the long
rest seemed to have done them a world of good.
Both were carrying lighter weights than they were
accustomed to, and for the next five miles we
increased our lead considerably.  It was only
momentarily.  The tide slowly turned against us
and yard by yard the Duke's men gained, until it
seemed we must fall into their hands almost in
sight of home.

Peasants stopped their carts as we galloped past
and, after a hasty glance at the cavalcade blackening
the road behind, drove quickly into the neighbouring
fields, regardless of ditches to avoid the
trampling hoofs.

I reeled in the saddle twice for some unknown
reason, but, ride as we would, we could not hold
our lead.  My poor old roan was dripping with
blood where I drove the spurs into his heaving
sides, and his face was white with the foam that
dripped from his mouth.

Solonika kept ever close to my side, reporting the
progress of the enemy and calling out words of
encouragement to me and my wavering animal when
her own beast was staggering as well.

"Ride! ride!" she shouted, her voice drowned
by the noise behind.  "They can never catch us.
We are almost home.  Do not lose courage, Dale.
Oh, my brave Dale, do not give up."

Once, when I thought that human strength could
stand no more, I looked around me.  Our pursuers
were not a hundred yards behind.  Their angry
voices came plainly to our ears, ordering us to stop.
The Duke of Marbosa, still far in the lead, was
within three horse lengths of the Prince, eagerly
reaching forward to grasp his rein.

"Faster," I cried, turning my stumbling beast in
behind so that the Duke would have to pass me
before he reached his quarry.

We turned into a road which I recognized as
leading to Dhalmatia.  The castle and safety were
only two miles away.  Could we hold out?  After
the long journey, it seemed such a trivial distance.
The Duke's horse commenced to lap mine.  I could
see the red eye, the straining neck, the
foam-flecked mouth.  I must soon throw my poor
animal across his path and prepare for the
terrible shock of collision, if I would save the
Prince.

"Look!  Oh, look!"  It was a shout from Solonika.

I looked ahead, and there, drawn up in our
pathway, completely blocking the road, was another
body of horsemen, more numerous than the pursuing
host.  Hope fled out of my finger tips, but
by a supreme effort I kept my seat.

"We are lost!" I cried in despair.  These could
be none other than Nick's men and he would have
no mercy.

"On! on!" cried the brave girl.  "Do not give up!"

I could see the Duke's horse no longer out of the
corner of my eye.  For some unaccountable reason
he was slackening his pace.  What need to ride so
hard when his men headed us?  What hope was
there in riding on?

"Ride! ride!" still rang in my ears.  Solonika
had not given up.  Yes, my good girl, I would
ride!  But to what purpose?  Do not give up!
Aye, that was the spirit.  But oh, how bitter was
this defeat.  Blind, splitting headache, but the
deadly ache at the heart was worse.

In sight of home, and yet to fail!  God, what
suffering!  What agony of soul!  Ride!  Yes, I
would ride into the very mouth of Hell.  God pity
the poor brute and the worse brute of a rider who
stood in my path.  If their bullets did not find my
heart, or the heart of the faithful old roan, I would
strike that mass, that solid mass of men and
animals ahead.

Ride!  Aye, Solonika, I was riding like a madman,
not thinking or seeing clearly.  Oh, if only I
had brought my automatic Colt's revolver along,
some of them would go with me before I was down
in the dust beneath their feet.  As it was, only one
would remember the impact as long as he lived,
if he did live afterward.

"Stop," I called to her, feeling dimly that there
was no need for her to die among kicking, struggling
hoofs.

"Ride!" was all I heard as answer.

She was still beside me.  She was not slackening
her pace.  Our pursuers seemed far away and the
solid phalanx in front deadly near.  They shouted
to us.  What were they trying to say?  It sounded
like a cheer.  But why should they not cheer?  Had
they not trapped us within sight of safety.  Oh, for
five minutes more.  Had they been only five
minutes later we would have gained the hedge that
surrounded the Red Fox's estate and been able to
beat them to the castle.

It was all a horrible dream.  Yes, it must be
that.  Else why did it seem to me that the ranks in
front of us wavered as if to let us through.
Cowards!  They dare not face a naked horse and an
empty-handed rider.  I held my breath for the
shock, but it did not come.  Could I be mistaken?
The ranks in front *did* give way.  We were passing
between them.  Not a hand was stretched out to
detain us.  That was surely a cheer.  A cheer of
conquerors!

Then came the sound of musketry.  Oh, my head;
my poor head!  It was blinding me with its aching.
But I was not hit.  No! no! they were trying to
save me alive for future torture, these Bharbazonians.
But my horse was done.  Surely they had
riddled him with bullets.  He wavered under me.
His noble head went suddenly down between his
forelegs.  He had stopped and all my efforts to pull
him to his feet were vain.  I felt myself slipping
downward as if in a dream.  I did not feel that I
struck the hard earth.  I did not know that I was
rolling in the dust.

"Ride! ride! we will run through them!" I
dimly heard myself shout.  Was that my voice, or
was another soul crying like a lost, blind thing in
Hell?

"Father, dear darling old father," it seemed to
be saying, "is it you?  Yes, I knew it must be you."

Then the noise of battle ceased and I drifted down
into the blackness of the pit and suffered the pain
of it.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`BEFORE THE STORM`:

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   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   BEFORE THE STORM

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Farewell!  God knows when we shall meet again.
   |  I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
   |  That almost freezes up the heat of life.
   |                        —*Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet*.

.. vspace:: 2

By degrees I became conscious that friendly
hands were lifting me into the saddle and holding
me there while the journey continued.  Even though
I suffered a physical collapse on account of
weakness, my brain refused to die and I knew what was
passing.  Out of the confusion of battle and the
thud of horses' feet I was aware that somehow
Marbosa's men had been put to flight and that I was
on my way to Dhalmatia.

How this miracle had been wrought I knew not,
neither did I care.  It was pleasant to know that I
was in the hands of the Red Fox's men and that
Solonika had slipped from Marbosa's outstretched
hands.  When at last I got a grip on myself, I found
that I was in the precious little summer-house and
that Solonika, safe and uninjured, was on her knees
beside me, watching me.  Oh, the anxiety in her
face, and the happy smile she gave me when I
opened my eyes and reached out my hand.

"You are better," she said, gripping me hard.

The Red Fox, himself, stood over us.  He was
dividing his attention between giving me a drink
from the brandy bottle he held, and taking one
himself.  The nervous old man was also sadly in need
of a stimulant.  Tears of joy were running down his
cheeks.

During our ride home, Solonika had evidently
told him of her capture by the Duke of Marbosa
and our escape.  He was profuse in his thanks to
me.  But my eyes were for Solonika and I paid little
heed to what he said.

"Solonika, Solonika, you are safe," I repeated,
as if it were too good to be true.  Knowing her to
be safe, I threw caution to the winds.

If the look of intimate understanding that passed
between us was not sufficient to arouse his suspicion,
the manner in which I addressed the Prince left no
room for doubt.  The Duke lost his graciousness,
and spoke in tones of icy coldness.  Thus easily does
gratitude take wing.

"He knows?" he demanded, ever mindful in
spite of everything that she was in the dress of the
Prince.

"Hush," said Solonika softly, laying a restraining
finger upon her lips, and indicating with a sweep
of her hand the group of retainers at the door.
They appeared to be watching the road, but she
knew they were drinking in every word of the
conversation.  The Duke waved them aside and shut
the door.  When he again faced me I saw that
the look of rage had changed to cunning.  In my
mental vision as I watched him an old woman fell
with a shriek from the top of the battlements
and lay mangled on the rocks below, silent for
ever.

"Yes, he knows," admitted Solonika.  "He has
known for a long time, but he has kept the secret.
He is one of us now, father.  I swear that you have
nothing to fear from him."

"Nothing to fear from Palmora's guest and that
mysterious Fremsted's friend?  Daughter, have you
gone mad?"

"No, father, I have not gone mad," she replied.
"I know Dale Wharton.  After what he did for
the House of Dhalmatia to-day you should know
him too.  Think, for a moment, how many opportunities
he has had to play us false if he so intended.
Think, father, how easily he could have betrayed my
sex among all those drunken nobles in Marbosa's
lodge.  How they would have gloried in it.  But
did he do it?  No; instead he sent me his message
of escape with this ring."

As she pointed to it she remembered that she had
failed to return it.  It fitted the third finger of her
left hand perfectly.  She tugged to take it off, but I
restrained her.

"Keep it to remember me by," I said feebly.
"After the coronation I expect to leave Bharbazonia
for ever."

On the third finger of her right hand was the only
other ring she wore that day.  It was in reality
three rings welded together on the inside of the
finger.  Each ring contained four rubies, four
diamonds, and four sapphires.  She slipped this circlet
off and placed it gravely upon my little finger.

"It lacks only the stars to be the flag of your
country," she said.  "Think of me and our ride
from the forest of Zin whenever you look at it.
And I will think of you."

In the meanwhile the Duke walked to and fro
with his hands clenched upon his breast, in great
agitation.  If one considers the fact that this old
man had been consumed with one idea for twenty
years until it had a stronger hold upon his affections
than even his only child could ever claim, one can
understand his struggle.  He must have felt that
his little world was tumbling about his ears.  But
there could be no doubt about my loyalty.  I had
proved that unmistakably.  Only one day remained
and then he would see his child upon the throne of
his brother.  How long had he waited for that
happy day!  Call it madness if you will.  All men
are somewhat mad who harp for years upon one
string.  He was forced to trust me, and he finally
accepted the inevitable.

"Again I thank you for what you have done," he
brought himself to say, almost graciously.  "In the
years to come, you will always keep the secret?"

"After to-morrow, more than ever," I said.  And
he was satisfied.

"Father," interrupted Solonika with sudden feeling,
"who is the Grand Duke of Novgorod?"

The old man straightened as if he had received
an unexpected blow from which he needed time to
recover.  He smiled cunningly at his daughter to
conceal his lack of pleasure.

"The Grand Duke of Novgorod?" he echoed,
thinking hard.  "Who spoke of him?"

"Ah," said she, "then there is a royal house in
Bharbazonia.  Nicholas Fremsted was right."

"Fremsted, the American?"

"He is not an American.  I have done as you
wished.  I made him speak in the language.  I think
he is Bharbazonian."

"As I suspected," murmured the Duke.  He resumed
his walk thoughtfully, stopping now and then
to exclaim: "Ah, I see!  I see!  That would
explain it."

But what he saw, or what had been explained, he
kept to himself, and came out of his reverie only
when Solonika repeated her former question.

"Oh," said he, "Novgorod?  'Way back in the
fifteenth century there was such a royal house in
Bharbazonia.  But it has been long since extinct."

"But it is said one of them still lives.  The nobles
have a plot to place him upon the throne."

"I know what they hope to do, my daughter.
But they will not rob me of my own.  There is no
such man alive.  I have sent my envoys all over the
world for him, but they cannot find him."

I had the feeling that it would not have been well
for the unlucky heir if the Red Fox had found him,
but I may have wronged the old zealot.

"You are speaking the truth, father?"  She
gripped my hand unconsciously, and watched him
almost breathlessly as he replied:

"Yes, yes, daughter.  As far as I am able to learn
it is the truth."

"It is bad enough, this deception," she said,
"but I do not wish to rob another of his rights."

"Let me suggest again, Solonika," he replied,
"that you leave matters of state entirely in my
hands.  You are too soft-hearted.  When the House
of Dhalmatia rules in Bharbazonia you will find
yourself surrounded by more serious complications.
Always remember you have a father who loves you
and stands ready to lend his aid."

"I must be going now, before my friends return
to find me out," I said, feeling my desire for sleep
overcoming me.

As he realized that I must carry his secret back
into the presence of General Palmora, the Duke
renewed his suspicions.

"A word before you go, sir," he said.  "I am
willing to accept you at my daughter's valuation—I
can do no less—and I want to thank you for what
you have done.  You must now share for life the
burden which we have borne so long alone.  I shall
feel that I can trust you with more assurance if you
will swear upon this cross to remember your promise."

It was not a Greek cross that he held before my eyes.

"I have given my word to Her Highness," I said,
rising, "but, if it would give you greater peace of
mind, I will swear."

"Swear," he repeated solemnly.

And I did so.

"Thank you," he said.  "Now I shall give you
safe escort to the gates of Framkor Castle."

I found, when I arose, that I could walk quite
well, much to my surprise.  Solonika insisted that I
stay for luncheon, it being near the noon hour, but I
held to my determination.  I felt sure that neither
the General nor Nick yet knew of the part I played
in the rescue and they could not know until Marbosa
returned to the lodge.  In order that the presence
in his stable of the horses we had stolen might not
betray me, I asked the Duke if he would keep them
hidden until after I had left the country.  When the
old man caught the drift of my thoughts his eyes
twinkled with merriment and he readily consented.

He offered to send his men with me for safety,
but I refused for fear I might be seen on the road.
It was only a short walk across the fields, and, much
against Solonika's earnest protestations, I set out
on foot alone.  Her father forbade her to ride even
to the gates with me.  He had had his lesson and
would not permit her again out of his sight.

"Good-bye, my proven friend," was all she said
as I held her hand long at parting.  Parting! aye,
this we both knew was our final parting.  I would
see her again as she rode through the streets of
Nischon, but never again, perhaps, would I speak
with her, or hold her hand as I did at this moment.
The palace of the King would swallow her up on
the morrow.

"Good-bye, Your Highness," was all I dared
trust myself to utter.  But I know she was reading
my inmost thoughts.

"Not 'Your Highness,'" she said, "but always
'Solonika' to you, Dale.  I shall visit that America
of yours some day."

She came through the hedge in front of the
summer-house with me, her hand resting upon my
shoulder, and my last view of her was the glimpse
I received as I turned at the bend and looked back.
There she stood in her little torn riding breeches,
covered with dust and dirt.  The picture will never
fade from my memory while life shall last.

When I arrived at the castle, as I expected,
neither the General nor Nick was home.  The
butler served me with food and I ate with the
abandon of a half-starved dog.  Hunger appeased,
sleep overtook me in my chair.

My dreams were not restful.  For a time I fought
wild boars, my only weapon being an absurd little
toothpick.  Fortunately for me the animals appeared
much afraid of my little pike and I chased them
over the forest of Zin with joyful shouts.  But my
joy turned to sudden rage when an unseen enemy
took me in the rear in its enfolding arms from
which there was no escape.  It bore me swiftly to
the edge of a terrible precipice, tore my clothing
from me and hurled me violently into space.  I fell
down and ever down, my invisible enemy chuckling
horribly as if my fall were a jest.  But somehow
I never reached the bottom and gradually ceased to
fall.  Instead, I floated away peacefully upon a
cushion of down, lying full length upon the restful
bosom of the atmosphere in a dreamless sleep, where
only Solonika walked.  She held a stilling finger
to her lips; there was an expression in her eyes
that is found only in those of a watchful mother
who bids the whole world walk quietly that her
cradled babe be not disturbed.

Once I awoke to find it night and I closed my
eyes again.  But when next I opened them sunlight
was streaming into the room and Nick's curly black
head was on the pillow beside me.  He was watching
me intently.

"Happy New Year," he cried quickly with all the
pleasure of a schoolboy who "says it first."

I looked and said nothing.  I feared that this
would be a most unhappy new year for me and
that none of the succeeding years would be any
happier.

"How do you like the forest of Zin?" he
continued gaily.

"'Tis an extensive place," I replied.  "Happy
New Year to you, Nick."

"Footsore and weary he treads the wild way
through," carolled he.  "At least you will have
something to tell when you get back to America.
I spent a devil of a night in the forest looking for
you."

"Did you?" I asked, innocently enough.  "What
did they do with the Prince, those highwaymen?"

"Highwaymen?  Humph, do not give yourself
any concern about the Prince.  I happen to know
that he is in safe hands.  They will not harm him;
only, he will be unavoidably detained and not be
able to attend the ceremonies to-day.  Do you
realize, old pal, that I killed a horse looking for you
and all the time you were sitting in the dining
room peacefully asleep in your chair.  Most
inconsiderate of you."

"I'm sorry," I said, but I was not.

"How did you get home?"

I told him I had walked a great part of the way,
which was true as far as it went.  He said he knew
that, from the condition of my shoes and clothes
which he took off when he carried me to bed at three
in the afternoon.  Also, he had found my horse
wandering in the woods.

"Where's the General?" I asked.  It was evident
that Nick had not returned to the lodge and did
not know the latest news.

"In his room, I suppose.  I heard him come in
early last evening.  But like you I needed the sleep.
So I guess I did not greet him very cordially and
he went away."

Even as Nick spoke the General, dressed in his
finest green uniform, emblazoned with much gold
braid over the shoulders and broad chest, strode into
the room, his long sword dragging over the carpet
behind him.

"Get up, you boys," he commanded; "there isn't
much time.  Nick, Nick, I have brought your uniform.
It was your father's court dress.  I want you
to look your best this day of all days."

"Happy New Year," we both shouted, neither
ahead of the other.

"Thank you," he returned gravely.

"Then you succeeded?  You have made Marbosa
relent?  There will be a coronation?" cried Nick.

"I did not succeed.  But there will be a coronation
at Nischon to-day, never fear.  But whether it
be the Prince of Dhalmatia or—some one else who
is made king, I am not certain.  The Prince gave
Marbosa quite a scare shortly after you left the
lodge.  He escaped."

"Yes, yes?" I cried, eager to hear the end of the
tale.

"Hurrah for the Prince.  There is good stuff in
that lad," cried Nick.  "Tell me all about it."

"There is nothing to tell, except that the rascal
made off with my roan that I wanted to ride in the
parade to-day—also with your mare."

"What did he want with two horses?  Was there
any one with him?"

"No one knows.  We had arrived at that stage
in the discussion when it was necessary to have a
word with the Prince as to his policy with the
Turkish problem.  If he would consent to continue the
present cabinet, and keep his father at home, he had
a chance of going free."

"You got that far with Marbosa?"

"Yes; we sent for the lad, but could not find
him.  Some one said he had probably retired.  We
searched all the bed rooms.  The Prince was not in
the lodge.  It is a great mystery how he escaped.
At first the absence of my horse at the gate did not
disturb me.  I thought your party had taken it in
their haste—"

"Not I," said Nick; "they were too tired."

"But when the grooms assured us that you had
mounted your friends from the stable and we
counted the horses, we knew there was little use
searching around the premises.  Marbosa was
furious, as you may well imagine.  He swore that he'd
kill the Prince when he overtook him.  Marbosa
is a man of his word, as we all know.  My roan is
a good horse, but he is not equal to eighty miles in
a day."

"He was caught then?" said Nick.

"Probably," said the General.  "At all events I
would not be surprised if some one else were made
king of Bharbazonia to-day."

"Novgorod?" asked Nick.

"Novgorod," said the General, with a look I did
not understand.  "Now get dressed, you two, as
quickly as possible."

"A pretty stew Marbosa is getting us into,"
growled Nick, but the General went away without
replying.  I longed to tell dear old Nick that the
Duke had failed in his effort to capture the Prince,
but I felt that the time was not yet.  Silently I
thanked God for our lucky escape from Marbosa's
awful temper.  It had been more serious than we
thought.

When he finally struggled into it, Nick looked
every inch a king himself in his father's court dress.
It was a Grand Duke's uniform, he told me, of
scarlet with green facings.  The double-breasted coat
reached to the knees and fitted him splendidly,
although to my modest American taste there was too
much gold braid and "ginger-bread" about it.
Close-fitting knee boots with wide fluted tops joined
the coat at the knee and almost hid the tight trousers
beneath; they had green stripes down the side.  A
military helmet of green with scarlet and gold
trimmings, a lengthy sword that trailed like the
General's upon the ground, numerous medals and
insignia of ancient orders pinned upon his breast,
made Nicholas of Framkor look as if he had come
into his own.

My own neat-fitting dress suit and silk hat were
very republican compared with Nick's kingly costume,
but Nick said it was perfectly correct to wear
it to the coronation; that he had often ridden
through the streets of Berlin so attired at eleven
o'clock in the morning to make a formal call.

"Oh, king," I cried mockingly, "have mercy
upon thine humble subject.  Deign to cast one
kingly, kindly eye upon his plebeian, tear-stained
countenance, before thou shalt send him to his
deserved doom."

"What ho, varlets," he shouted, catching the
spirit of the play, "bind yonder rascal and cast him
from the castle wall."

"What," I cried, "hast no pity?  Then listen,
varlets, while I insult him who once was my dearest
friend.  Wouldst know what he looks like?
Wouldst?  He looks to me like one of those paper
soldiers I used to shoot spit-balls at in my nursery."

"I do, do I?" shouted Nick.  "For that thou diest."

But I refused to die easily, and he chased me all
around the room until his long sword got ignominiously
between his legs and sent him face downward
to the floor.  The noise brought the General upon
us in a rage.

"Stop that, you—children!" he hurled at us.
"Will you never grow up?  Come to breakfast."

In the main hall of the castle the General stopped
before the great picture of Nick's father in the
scarlet uniform.  I was struck with the likeness.  There
were the same large dreamy eyes that could become
so terrible when the owner was angry.  Except for
the snow-white hair and the other usual signs of
age, the man in the picture might be standing by
my side.  Every old person in the kingdom who was
acquainted with the elder Fremsted would be sure
to recognize Nicholas in that uniform to-day.  The
General beamed with happiness.  He tarried in front
of the picture after we entered the dining-room and
I heard him say:

"I will do the best I can for you this day, old
friend.  But I shall also remember my oath."

The sun shone hot and the air was balmy as a
spring day when, with Teju Okio at the wheel, we
three friends set out for Nischon and the coronation.
But, instead of beating high with pleasure at the
thought of seeing a bit of barbaric royalty for which
I had crossed the ocean, my heart was heavy in my
bosom.  Although I had no doubt as to who would
be crowned king that day, knowing Solonika safe,
I dreaded the ordeal she must pass through.

Marbosa would not give up without a struggle
and some further attempt might be made in the
interest of this mysterious scion of royalty, who
permitted his friends to fight his battles for him, while
he enjoyed himself elsewhere.

I remembered, too, the sight of Nicholas's face
when he spoke of the sacrilege; the witch of
Utrepect haunted me and I was afraid—afraid!





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.. _`THE CORONATION`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE CORONATION

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..

   |  Knights, with long retinue of their squires,
   |  In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires;
   |  One laced the helm, another held the lance,
   |  A third a shining buckler did advance.
   |  The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet,
   |  And snorting, foam'd and champ'd the golden bit.
   |  The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride,
   |  Files in their hands and hammers at their side;
   |  And nails for loosen'd spears and thongs for shields provide.
   |  The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands;
   |  The clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands.
   |                                —*Palawan and Arcite*.

.. vspace:: 2

Nischon was in holiday attire.  Hundreds of
blue and gold flags were suspended across the
streets and every house was draped with bunting.
The largest of the flags was fifty feet wide at the
top; they were triangular in shape and came to a
point so close to the ground that they brushed our
faces as we passed swiftly under them.

Every shop was closed; the peasantry, not only
of Nischon but also from the surrounding towns
and villages, were upon the street dressed in their
best gay colours, waiting for the grand parade,
hungering for a sight of the Prince and the nobles.
The parade was all the populace would see of the
ceremonies, for only the nobles of the land, the
personal representatives of the kings and queens of
Europe, and the foreign attachés of the court of
Bharbazonia were to be permitted within the Cathedral.

On the façades of several houses I saw the same
emblem of sinister meaning—a red fez with a
dagger run through it, draped in black—and beneath,
the motto which Nick translated from the dialect,
"Down with the Osmanli;" the national hatred for
the Turk must protrude itself even when Bharbazonia
tried to be happy.

The two ancient fortresses on the opposite hills
fired blank charges from their heaviest guns and
from every noisy street came the sputtering reply of
small arms in the hands of the peasantry.  For only
the lower classes were permitted to carry firearms
that day.  They took keen delight in displaying
these weapons before the nobles, who found equal
pleasure in carrying swords, a privilege denied to
peasants.

Although the General took us toward the Palace
by the quieter streets, he was greeted with cheers
from all sides.  The wave of sound followed our
flight like a wall of water, ready to topple over, but
never quite able to overtake us.

The roadways were full of richly attired nobles
on horseback, riding rapidly toward the Palace
where the pageant was to start.  There were
hundreds of victorias and open carriages coming and
going.  Within were seated beautifully gowned
women, some attired in modern Paris gowns and
others in Bharbazonian gaudy finery.  Our conveyance
played sad havoc with the equilibrium of these
noble dames when horse after horse caught sight
of us and tried to break away from the attending
grooms.

The courtly General, forgetful of the use he had
made of the machine during the past three weeks,
cursed Teju Okio every time such an accident was
threatened, but the boy, ever smiling, replied:

"Very dam fine."

Although the General made several attempts to
get out, his martial dignity forbade him going on
foot and he subsided.  Matters were adjusted to
his satisfaction when he caught sight of a gay young
colonel of his regiment and ordered him to bring
two horses as quickly as possible.  When they came,
the General and Nicholas rode away to the Palace,
ordering Teju Okio to take me to the Cathedral
where I might procure a position near the great
door before the crowd of vehicles blocked the way.

The green grass under the minarets and shining
domes of the high church were black with people.
They gathered around the car when we took our
position before the entrance, feeling the hard tires
and caressing the shining paint of the tonneau,
making me feel as if I were part of the parade placed
there for their amusement.

Hour after hour crept slowly by and I began to
regret that I had not accepted the General's offer to
ride with him, although I should have felt out of
place in the procession and lost the position for the
automobile, which, as it afterward transpired, was
of value to me and made easy that which might have
been otherwise impossible.

I amused myself by idly smoking endless cigarettes
and buying cakes and sweets from the street
venders.  About two o'clock the blare of a powerful
band somewhere near the Palace told me that the
procession was moving at last.  In order to give the
common people their full share of the festivities,
the pageant wended its way through all the principal
streets of the city, beginning with that part which
lay on the opposite side of the river.

From our elevated position, half-way up the hill
on the Cathedral side, we were able to follow the
line of march until it reached the bridge and began
the circuit on our side.  Shouting, confetti-throwing
and detonating fireworks marked the progress of
the entourage.  The forts high overhead seemed
to go mad with joy.  It was four o'clock when the
head of the procession turned into the street which
led to the Cathedral grounds.

First came an army of mounted troops—five
thousand in number—with General Palmora riding
proudly at their head.  This was only the vanguard
intended to clear the way around the entrance.  As
it came on it formed into two solid lines of
horsemen from the massive doorway of the Greek Church
extending back along the avenue as far as the eye
could reach.  The soldiers wheeled their horses, the
two lines facing each other, and backed their
animals into the crowd behind, leaving a wide pathway
vacant for the procession.  Everything had to move
back before them, but the General saw to it personally
that the automobile was permitted within the
enclosure.

I thus had an unobstructed view of the proceedings.
The regimental band again scattered the
crowd and took up its position on the plaza before
the Cathedral and the King's Own Guard in scarlet
uniforms, which distinguished them from the General's
fighting men in their green cloth, followed.
These red soldiers were about two thousand strong.
They lined up in front of the cavalrymen, thus
making a double barricade of horses around the
entrance and lending their brilliant colour to the
entrancing military picture.

Close behind his Guard, riding a quiet black
charger covered from head to foot with a black
riding cloth emblazoned with gold so that only his
pointed ears and flashing eyes were exposed, peeping
from small apertures in the head-dress, came old
King Gregory.  At sight of him the populace
shouted with joy and the legion of mounted men
flashed their thousand swords in the air held at
salute.

For all his eighty-two years and flowing white
beard, the King was magnificent.  One could readily
believe him capable of winning his encounter thirty
years before in front of the Turk's Head Inn.  He
sat his horse firmly and carried his head erect,
looking neither to the right nor left.  His face was
gravely serious.  Only when he came opposite the
General did he show that he saw or heard.  He
acknowledged Palmora's military salute, dismounted
and walked with great dignity up the Cathedral
steps.

Behind him were his Prime Minister and cabinet,
followed by the Grand Dukes of the realm and the
nobles.  Nicholas in his scarlet uniform was among
them, but he did not notice me.  Beside him rode
Marbosa.  There was a scowl upon the Duke's face
and I knew he had learned that the Prince had not
disappointed the people.  He looked none the worse
for his hard ride.  Around him I recognized many
of the young nobles who had been with him in the
lodge.  They were sober now, but the look of
determination on their faces brooded ill for the Prince.
Oh, if I only knew what they intended to do in the
Cathedral!

The foreign attachés and representatives of the
European potentates came next.  They were headed
by a band of long-skirted Cossacks.  Riding before
them was a stern gentleman in a brilliant Russian
uniform whom I took to be Grand Duke Alexoff,
the personal representative of the Tzar of all the
Russias.  Among the crowd of attachés I had no
difficulty in picking out the blond head and red
uniform of the Englishman, the court dress of the
Frenchman and the modest dress suit of the
American consul.

As each detachment dismounted before the Cathedral,
under the admirable system of the General,
their horses were taken to the rear by the soldiers,
so that there was no congestion about the entrance.

The women of the court, and the wives and
daughters of the nobles and foreign dignitaries,
followed in their open carriages, and it was upon these
that the populace showered confetti and flowers.  At
any other time this fine display of magnificent gowns
might have interested me, but I was anxious to see
Solonika.  I chafed under the delay occasioned by
the long line of carriages from which the women
leisurely disembarked and ascended the steps with
many glances behind at their long trains.

As it happened, Solonika brought up the rear of
the procession.  Surrounded by her father's
retainers in such number that even Marbosa's men
might hesitate to attack them, she came, mounted
on a snow-white, prancing horse, whose pink muzzle
and dainty pricked ears pronounced him an Arab.
Her waving red hair reflected the departing kiss of
the setting sun and her eyes were bright with
excitement at the murmur of admiration which the
peasantry could not suppress.

Like the King's horse, her magnificent animal was
covered with a similar riding cloth.  Except for the
absence of the red cross and shield, she might have
been a Crusader about to set out for the Holy Land,
or Sir Lancelot of King Arthur's time.  Nothing
but the eyes and ears of her steed was visible; and
the white cloth was stiff with heavy golden embroidery
worked, I thought, by her own hands, during the
long years of waiting.  Over her shoulders, fastened
with a golden buckle under her chin, hung a long
flowing white cloak similarly embossed; it melted
into the riding cloth and gave the impression that
horse and rider had been carved out of one piece of
white marble.  White satin knee breeches and white
buckled shoes and silk stockings completed the most
magnificent picture of Solonika my memory treasures.

The Red Fox, in the crimson uniform of a Grand
Duke, rode nearest her; but I knew that the smile
of satisfaction on his face concealed his apprehension
of the outcome of the day and the strain under
which he was labouring.  For the present there was
nothing to fear from Marbosa.  The Red Fox's
strong retinue was followed by the entire garrison
of Castle Novgorod of the province of the North,
the other half of the army of Bharbazonia.  Governor
Hassan led them, and they were fully ten thousand
strong, filling up the entire avenue with horses.
General Palmora, I know, controlled them and, until
he joined with Marbosa, the nobles would be powerless.

The Red Fox had good cause to be uneasy, not
so much because of his secret, but because of the
sullen attitude of the peasantry.  For, while they
had greeted King Gregory with rapturous applause
and cheered the General and every dignitary in the
long line, they were ominously silent as Solonika
passed.  Some it is true did attempt a greeting,
but they were promptly put down by rival cries of
"Down with the Osmanli."  Duke Marbosa's
sympathizers seemed to be everywhere in the crowd.
The years he had spent in educating the people to
believe in the Red Fox's Turkish tendencies were
bearing fruit.  It was only too plain that, had not
the Prince appeared to-day at the Cathedral, the
wily Duke of Marbosa would have easily had his
way in proclaiming his favourite, Prince Novgorod.

I did not envy Solonika her reign in Bharbazonia.

As she came in sight of the automobile standing
in front of the steps ahead of the line of horsemen,
she looked straight at me as I leaned forward
in the seat and removed my hat.  Although she made
no sign, I knew that she saw me and was glad that
I was there.  Poor little Solonika, you were going
to the life you abhorred with a smile on your face.
How sweet you looked upon your splendid palfrey,
and how I longed to pick you up in these strong
arms and bear you far, far away, out of all this
meaningless pomp and ceremony!  How great a
sacrifice you were making I alone of all that crowd
knew.

She passed without a further glance in my direction
and entered the Cathedral.  Was she thus to go
out of my life for ever?  As she ascended the steps,
and lingered for a moment under the gloomy arch
of the portal, the sun went down behind the western
hill and the dark promise of approaching night fell
upon the thousand upturned faces below.  I shivered
as if I saw an evil omen in the trivial incident.  Set,
you golden sun over yonder hill, for what cared I?
Without the woman I loved, without the companionship
of that glorious creature who was to sit upon a
throne as far above me as the stars, the world would
be for ever dark.

Within the sombre entrance of the Cathedral I
saw her again.  She was buckling her sword to her
side and waiting for her father to come up.  Again
she looked me full in the face, and I fancied her lips
moved and a voice whispered "Good-bye, Dale."  But
I could not be sure she had spoken and I dared
not address her in the midst of her retainers.  She
would need her undivided attention and all her fine
courage to carry her through the coming ordeal.

"Any news of Marbosa?" the Red Fox whispered
in my ear.

"None," I answered, "except that he and his
men are in the Cathedral.  They mean business.
Keep your retainers close at hand."

The Cathedral was crowded, and, since the
entrance of King Gregory, the entire assemblage was
standing.  The only vacant space was the wide aisle
which led from the single door to the altar.  The
best positions for sight-seeing were the places lining
this aisle.  Without exception these were filled with
women.  The nobles were against the side walls,
and the Grand Dukes and foreigners were standing
on the right and left of the open spaces before the
altar.  I was glad to note this disposition of the
audience for it left the aisle free to any one who
wished to leave the church.  The men would have
to thrust the women aside before they could reach
the door.

A gorgeously attired attendant, with one glance
at my plain dress suit, led me to a place among the
foreigners and I found myself between the American
consul and the French diplomat.  After the trying
ordeal of walking up the aisle with the eyes of
the court ladies upon me came to an end, I was well
pleased with my position for I would be within ten
feet of Solonika when she was crowned.

I looked around the Cathedral.  The interior was
entirely of stone; it echoed and re-echoed with the
slightest movement of the crowd.  There were no
nave or side aisles.  Overhead, arching domes rested
on pillars and sprang anew from them to other pillars
in an almost endless succession.  The result was
row upon row of heavy stone pillars extending both
lengthwise and crosswise through the body of the
church dividing it up into a giant checker-board.
But, up near the altar where I stood, the pillars
ceased and the high roof reared itself into a single
massive dome.  I judged that I was under the tallest
of the domes which from the outside I had seen
at the rear of the edifice.

Under this dome every sound was intensely magnified
and the voices of an invisible male choir
thundered and reverberated above my head in the solemn
movement of an endless Greek chant; the replies
were sung by a surpliced boy choir within the
sacred altar.  The Cathedral was ablaze with lights
which came from groups of long candles along the
walls and clustered about the heads of the pillars.
The altar was one brilliant flame of fire glistening
against solid walls of serried candles placed one
against the other, outlining the arches, niches and
the high altar itself, until to my mind it looked like
a miniature exposition building at night.  The air
was heavy with the smoke of burning candles and
the choking odour of Oriental incense.

Moving about through the body of the church,
swinging the incense burners of beaten brass and
lending their voices to the chant, were scores of
lectors, hypo-deacons, deacons and arch-priests.
They were dressed in white and from their raiment
had received the name of the "white clergy;" these
were the priests who were permitted to marry.
Gathered around the altar were the priests, bishops,
archbishops and metropolitans.  They were attired
in black and were called the "black clergy;" they
were not permitted to marry.  The monks from
whom they were chosen were not in evidence, but
I supposed it was their voices that were raised in
the chant.

High above all, dignified, solemn, majestic, his
sable robes wrapped closely about him, his tall
mitred hat set firmly upon his gray head, stood the
Patriarch, the "pope" of the Bharbazonian church.
As I soon had cause to learn, he was equal if not
greater in power than the King himself, having not
only a spiritual but also a temporal jurisdiction over
the people, who paid him an annual tribute in
proportion to their incomes.  He stood motionless, like
a man of stone, within that sacred space known as
the "Holy of Holies" where, thanks to our pagan
ancestry of phallic worship, no woman may come
and live.

"They couldn't do better at the Hippodrome,"
drawled the unimpressed American consul in my
ear, but I pretended not to hear him.

My thoughts were upon this Patriarch with his
hard, superstitious face.  The Greek Church is not,
like the Catholic Church, under one single pope.  It
has a patriarch in every one of its countries and the
moral tone of each division of the church depends
upon the education and enlightenment of this leader.
What the Greek church was in Russia, Turkey, or
the other Balkan states was of no interest to me.
This was Bharbazonia.  And one of this Patriarch's
priests had burned a woman at the stake, unrebuked.
I prayed that Solonika might not be discovered, for
I felt sure she would suffer the same terrible
punishment as befell the witch of Utrepect.

A murmur of women's voices and the sound of
rustling skirts, such as one hears in a fashionable
church when the bride appears at the foot of the
aisle, told me that the Prince was coming.  The
priests and choir boys, regardless of the ancient
chant, broke into a spirited litany, and the Prince,
with head erect and eyes fixed upon the High Patriarch,
walked slowly up the aisle.

He had thrown aside his cloak and looked slender
and weak in contrast with all the strength and power
of the kingdom assembled to see him made ruler.
How pale his face under the red hair brushed neatly
back from his forehead.  How like a sacrifice his
white garments made him appear.  The women
hung over the ropes that guarded the aisle, with
admiration for the beautiful boy written upon their
countenances.  The young girls were entranced.  To
them he no doubt was a little prince out of a story
book.

On, on he came until he stood in front of the
stone railing facing King Gregory, who had taken
up the position of honour at the feet of the
Patriarch.  The Duke of Dhalmatia followed his son at
a respectful distance, and halted behind him when
he reached the altar.  The King fixed his glance
upon his brother, but the Red Fox did not notice
him.  Dhalmatia was watching the Duke of Marbosa
on the right among the crowd of scarlet Grand
Dukes.  Nicholas was beside Marbosa and, when
the Red Fox saw him, I knew by his sudden start
that he recognized the Grand Duke of Framkor's
son.  But whether his knowledge went further and
told him where to expect Marbosa's blow, I could
not say.  The Red Fox cast a look over his shoulder
as if to measure the distance to the door where he
had left his own men.

Every sound in the vast Cathedral was hushed.
The stolid Patriarch had raised his hand for silence.
The choir boys were dumb and the invisible monks
ceased their dismal chant.  The audience stood
breathless.  Two black-robed metropolitans
ascended to a position just below the pope.  They
faced each other and bent low over the feet of the
Patriarch, who stood with one hand raised toward
heaven.  The black clergy began a chant in Greek
and went through a mysterious service during which
the candles were put out and lighted again.  The
Patriarch faced the north, south, east and west.
Then the bent metropolitans arose and descended
to the side of the Prince.  They unbuckled his sword
belt and gave the weapon into the keeping of the
Red Fox, and solemnly led the Prince past the King,
up the steps to kneel at the feet of the Patriarch.

The Prince was within the Holy of Holies!  The
sacrilege was complete!  Up to this time, perhaps,
the masquerade had been an amusing play.  Now,
discovery meant death!

The Patriarch then took an active part in the
ceremony.  In a strident voice he intoned the leads in
the service, the black clergy and the choirs replying;
the babel of sounds became deafening; it was
apparent that the festival was approaching its climax.
With his own hands the "pope" baptized the kneeling
Prince with oil and vinegar, and blessed his
future reign by touching his head and shoulders
with the sacred wand of Moses, taken from its
resting-place within the arch in the Holy of Holies.  He
laid his own black robe upon the shoulders of the
kneeling figure in token that the Prince now shared
the leadership of the Church with the Patriarch, and
lifted a golden crown from the altar to place it upon
the Prince's brow, the insignia of his kingship.

All sounds were hushed; the chanting again
ceased; the audience stood spell-bound, awaiting the
final act which would make Prince Raoul, son of the
Grand Duke of Dhalmatia, King of Bharbazonia.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, came the interruption.
From somewhere in the Cathedral, I knew
not where, a voice, not the voice of any priest, cried:

"Stop!"

I dropped my hand to my side pocket, and felt
my fingers close over the handle of my revolver, and
looked toward Grand Duke Marbosa.  He was
standing among the scarlet uniforms, his hand upon
his sword hilt, looking with startled attention at the
Patriarch.  He did not move, and I knew that the
interruption had not come from him.  The Red Fox,
his eyes starting from their sockets, his thin lips
moving as if in prayer, his bloodless hands grasping
his son's sword, was staring at King Gregory.

Then I realized that it was the old King who had
spoken.  He was facing the multitude with upraised
hand, his red face growing redder under the stress
of excitement.

"Teskla, my daughter, come hither," he said.

The strain was too great for the Red Fox's shattered
nerves.  He unconsciously released his hold
upon the Prince's sword, and it fell with a loud
clatter to the floor.  An audible sigh of broken
suspense went wavering through the entire length
of the huge Cathedral at this second interruption.
The High Priest paused, holding the crown
suspended above the Prince's bowed head.  The two
might have been turned to stone.

"Holy Patriarch," began the King, addressing
the altar, "I crave your pardon most humbly for
this intrusion.  But, before you place the crown upon
the Prince Raoul's head, before I cease to be King in
Bharbazonia, there is one last act which I wish to
perform.  I will not long detain you."

While he spoke, Princess Teskla, surprise and
dread written upon every lineament of her handsome
face, walked haltingly toward the King.  He placed
one arm affectionately over her shoulder and faced
the nobles.

"You men of Bharbazonia, Grand Dukes and
nobles assembled," he said, "have not forgotten the
ancient law of the Virgin.  You are aware that he
who salutes one such publicly upon the lips, under
the reading of that law defiles her.  For such an act
there is but one reparation."

"We know," thundered the nobles in chorus.

"Holy Father," continued the King, facing the
Patriarch, "will you tell us what that reparation is."

"The offending man must wed the maid if he be
a fit mate for her.  If not he may choose between
exile or death," pronounced the "pope" in chanting
tones.

"Such defilement has been thrust upon my
daughter," shouted the King so loudly that his voice
reached every ear within the vast Cathedral.

The Prince within the altar turned his head
slightly, as if to catch the eye of his father.  The
Duke had been watching, and returned the look as if
to say, "Fear not, my child, this has naught to do
with us."

"There must be witnesses," droned the Patriarch.

"Speak, Nokolovitch," commanded the King of
his Prime Minister.

"I am witness," said the Prime Minister.

"There must be another," said the Church.

"Speak, Palmora," cried the King.

"I am witness," said the General as if the words
were being dragged from him.  He cast a despairing
look at his beloved Nicholas, who stood with bowed
head.  The scene in the Garden of the Palace came
vividly back to us all.  How serious are jests when
viewed through sober eyes.  What a scurvy trick
the King was playing upon Nicholas and his
daughter in thus publicly disgracing them.  The
law which he had invoked must have been one of
the old forgotten "blue laws" of the country which
even the General had not remembered when he
searched for some explanation for the King's show
of delight in the Garden.  But it still seemed in
force if the King chose to wield it.

"Another!  There must be a third," said the
Patriarch.

"I am witness," the King promptly replied.

"Enough!  The law is fulfilled," intoned the
Church.  "Name thou the man!"

"Name thou the man, Teskla," adjured the King.

But the Princess was crying bitterly and wringing
her hands.  She fell upon her knees at her father's
feet.

"I cannot!  Oh, my father, I cannot!  I cannot!"
she wept.

The King shook her roughly by the arm and
reiterated his command.  Seeing no way out of her
dilemma, the Princess brushed away her tears and
stood upon her feet.  She looked imploringly at
Nicholas, who bit his lip and frowned.  He could
not, or would not, help her and, when she realized
that she stood alone, her look of fear returned.
Then she turned toward the kneeling Prince behind
the altar and seemed to make up her mind.  She
lacked the courage to tell her father the truth.  She
determined to travel along the line of least resistance,
trusting to the future to come to her aid.  Her
little white "lie" had assumed Brobdingnagian
proportions.

"Speak, I command thee!" called the Patriarch,
wearying of the delay.

"Teskla!" warned her father in a voice that made
her tremble.

She straightened herself with an effort to her full
handsome height and, pointing an accusing finger
at the Prince, cried:

"*Thou art the man!*"





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.. _`THE SACRILEGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE SACRILEGE

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..

   |  I hold it true, whate'er befall,
   |    I feel it when I sorrow most;
   |  'Tis better to have loved and lost,
   |    Than never to have loved at all.
   |                      —*Tennyson: In Memoriam*.

.. vspace:: 2

"*Thou art the man!*"

Could I believe the evidence of my senses?  The
Princess Teskla was pointing at the Prince!

General Palmora, Nicholas and I knew that the
Prince had nothing to do with the affair in the
garden.  The King's intention was clear.  He was
only pushing to a happy conclusion his cherished
scheme to wed his daughter to the head of the new
reigning house, and thus keep the succession in his
own family.  His daughter had caused him to
believe that the Prince was a favoured suitor.  That
knowledge may have led him to abdicate in favour
of his hated brother's son.  His plot had been deep
laid, and it seemed that, aided by his unscrupulous
daughter, it must succeed.  But why had she,
loving Nicholas as I thought, denied that affection?
Was it for fear of her father's wrath?  The truth
would make a fool of him before all the kingdom.
Or did she think that her outraged father, when he
learned the truth, would consider Nicholas unfit to
mate with a princess and urge his exile or death in
blind rage?

I grew weak at the terrible shock and breathed
a prayer for the safety of the poor, little, kneeling
woman in white at the feet of the Patriarch.  What
would she do?  How make answer to the unjust
accusation?

Then the enormity of the situation burst upon
me.  If she submitted to the law and married the
Princess, discovery of her sex by Teskla and death
at the hands of the outraged Church were sure.  If
she dragged her skirts from the detaining grip of
the law, and admitted her womanhood to escape this
marriage, death sure and swift lurked there.
Incited by the Patriarch and the black and white
clergy, the mob without the Cathedral and the
nobles within would rend her limb from limb.

But could I do nothing to save her?  I, too, was
a witness; an unseen one it is true, but nevertheless
a witness.  If I told the truth, would my word be
believed against the statements of the King and his
Prime Minister?  How would I be able to prove
that I was present, sitting upon the wall of the
Palace garden when the event took place?

If I came forward with my story, Nicholas, I felt
sure, would tell the truth.  But Nick was my friend,
the one man in all the world I loved and would die
for.  Surely something was due him from me.  If
he chose to keep silent would I be acting the part
of a friend if I forced him to speak?

There was also General Palmora.  He had
declared himself a witness to the "defilement" of
Princess Teskla, under Nick's caress.  Now that
events had taken such an unexpected turn, would
he hold to his position or tell the truth?  There
might be reasons of state which would influence him
to remain silent or even deny my statement.  He
was pure Bharbazonian, and I could not trust him
to act where the interests of his country were involved.

I felt that I stood alone.  Clearly, this was neither
the time nor the place for me, a foreigner, to
interfere in an affair which the nobles would consider
did not concern me.  There was a way of escape
for Solonika.  She had but to accept the issue
temporarily.  If the King demanded an immediate
marriage, she could stand upon her right to request
a reasonable delay.  He could not deny her that.
As soon as the coronation ceremony was over, I
could easily have her prove that she was not present
in Nischon at the time the King and his witnesses
would set.  Palmora would then be forced to speak,
and Nicholas would have time to get out of the
jurisdiction.  I could best serve Solonika and my
friend Nicholas by inaction at this time.  The way
was not so dark.  There was one avenue of escape.

The church was thrown into confusion by the
dénouement.  Everybody talked at once and no
voice was raised to restore order.  The women were
more wildly excited than the men.  Grand Duke
Marbosa was whispering to the nobles behind him.
Was he, too, preparing to strike?  The Prince had
been discredited, but, if this proposed alliance of the
two houses were effected, the Prince would grow
too strong for him.

The General had his hand on Nick's shoulder.
He was tugging nervously at his heavy moustache,
but was not speaking.  Both he and Nick were
looking at Princess Teskla who was facing Nick with
her arms at her side; only the presence of the people
seemed to keep her from running to him for
protection.  She had done all that love could do for
him.  The King was as highly pleased at the result
of his plan, as he had appeared in the garden when
Teskla lied to him.  The Red Fox's face was a
study.  He stood with one arm covering his eyes,
as if to shut out the sight of his brother's face, and
the other extended to the high altar toward his child.

"My son! my son!" he kept calling, just as he
did in his library when he strove to remind her of
her rôle of Prince.

But, even before I decided upon my course of
action, events were going forward which took the
solution out of my hands for ever.  I can now see
that the situation appeared in a totally different light
to Solonika, ignorant as she was of the truth.  She
must have felt that she was being trapped; that
discovery was sure; that there was no solution.

When the full import of Princess Teskla's words
came home to her, Solonika crumpled up at the feet
of the Patriarch.  Her courage left her.  She
clutched his sandalled ankles in abject terror.  She
did not seem to notice her father's cry of "My son."  I
feared that she had given up in despair.

"Courage, Solonika!" I shouted, loud enough
for her to hear, knowing that the import of my
words would not be understood in the babel around us.

She *did* hear me.  Almost before the cry left my
throat she raised her head and looked straight into
my eyes.  Oh, the suffering and appeal in them.  I
have never seen and hope never to see again a look
like that in eyes of any one I love.  I smiled with
encouragement and tried to telegraph the hope that
was in me.  I fancied she understood and I mistook
the expression that passed over her face as one of
resolve.

Her old courage seemed to return and, with it,
full control of herself.  She arose and stared down
at me in her old dignified, regal manner.  She was
once more the brave Solonika who had sung "Down
among the Dead Men" in Marbosa's lodge.  I no
longer feared for her, for I thought her able to meet
this, the greatest crisis of her life.  She came down
from the high altar, unrestrained by the motionless
Patriarch.  I watched her drawing near to Princess
Teskla who shrank away in fear.

"I could not help it, Cousin Raoul," cried Teskla,
cowering before her.

"Thou art a liar," said Solonika without a look
in her direction.  She came through the railing,
passed her father who tried to clutch her arm, and
stood before Nicholas.  Could it be possible that she
knew?  That she intended to force Nicholas to speak
in her defence?  If so, I could help her with my
pleading.  I crossed the intervening space and
joined them.

"Nicholas Fremsted," she was saying solemnly
in English.  I was appalled at her colourless voice.
It was as if she believed she had been sentenced to
death.  "You told me once you loved my sister
Solonika.  I, her brother, ask now that you do
something for me.  It is as though Solonika asked
it of you, herself.  Will you do it?"

"He will, Your Highness.  I will answer for
him," I said.

"Then, listen.  At this moment your automobile
stands at the Cathedral door.  Go, order your man
to start his engines and be ready to move at a
moment's notice."

"Go, Nick, go!" I urged.

Feeling perhaps that he was making some slight
amends for the unintentional injury, Nick went
swiftly down the aisle to do as he was bid.

"Dale, oh, my faithful friend.  There is something
you can do.  Go to the door of the Cathedral—the
only door—and place the key upon the
outside—and wait."

Although it was not clear what she intended
doing, this was no time to argue.  Without a word
I flew to obey her orders.  Because of her use of
English not a word of her intention filtered through
to the court.  Only her father who was nearest
understood her words, and gathered some inkling of
the meaning.  As I hurried down the aisle,
unimpeded, I heard him cry in an agony of suspense:

"My daughter—my son—my only child—what
would you do?  Speak, speak to me I implore
you.  Tell me what is your purpose."

"It is the end," she replied without spirit.  "The
end!  *The end*!  We are trapped and undone.
We cannot go on.  We are lost—lost—lost!  As
God is my Judge, I will not live this horrible lie
another moment.  I did not foresee this mockery.
Oh, God, my heart is breaking!"

"Aye," he replied, "but the sacrilege!  Think
of the sacrilege!  You cannot go back.  The only
safe way is to go on!  There must be a way out
of this difficulty.  There must be; trust me, your
father; I will find it for you."

"Let them kill me if they wish.  I know, now,
what the life means which you have doomed me
to.  If there is a God and He is Love He will take
care of me."

"But, think, child.  They will kill you.  They
will torture me, your father, who has always loved
you.  Surely you do not purpose to tell!  Oh, my
God, do not do that!  Do not do that!"

Both the King and the Patriarch, impatient of
the delay, put an end to the pleadings of the Duke
of Dhalmatia.

"Make answer to this charge.  Confess that you
are guilty," they exclaimed, and the nobles took up
the cry.

Solonika bent over and lifted her sword from the
stone floor.  Drawing herself up to her full height,
she made a sign that she would speak.  Silence
fell upon the assemblage and every eye was fixed
upon her face as they waited for the words to come.

But Solonika did not utter a sound.  With her
upraised hand she stood listening.  Listening for
what?

From my position beside the door I had an
unobstructed view of her.  The Red Fox's retainers
were all about me.  They were absorbed in watching
the proceedings, and did not notice me when I
placed the huge brass key on the outside.  Neither
did they seem to hear the sharp report of the
explosions as Teju Okio, acting under his master's
orders, turned the sixty horsepower engines over
with a loud whir.  The sound rang through the
Cathedral in strange contrast with the mediæval
scene.  It was the voice of the twentieth century
making itself heard where for unnumbered ages
only the chants of the hooded priests had echoed.
It sounded like sweet music to my ears.  It seemed
to be what Solonika had been waiting for.

"Gentlemen of Bharbazonia," she began, in the
court language, "with such an array of formidable
witnesses against me it were useless to deny that
I am the man who affronted this woman.  It would
avail me nothing to say that she does not tell
the truth; but that which I now tell you will
avail, although it bring with it surer retribution."

"No, no!" cried the Red Fox, distraught with
fear, "she—he, my child is not himself.  His
excitement has overtopped his mind.  You must not
heed his raving.  He will marry the Princess.  I
swear it to you, nobles of Bharbazonia.  All will
yet be well.  But do not let him speak that which
is not true.  Go on with the ceremony.  I would
yet see him king before I die—I, his poor father,
who have suffered so much against the glories of
this day."

"Cease your wild words and permit us to hear
this boy's reply," thundered the Patriarch from his
high altar.  The Church spoke and all men trembled
at the sound.

"I will be brief, O, Most High Patriarch,"
continued Solonika, without a glance in her father's
direction.  "Your ancient law declares that a *man*
must wed the maid he salutes with a kiss before
witnesses.  I have not broken that law.  For I am
*not a man, but a woman!*"

"It is not true!" cried Dhalmatia.  "I, her
father, ought to know!"

"It is true!" cried Solonika.

"Thou art a woman?" thundered the Patriarch above.

"A woman?" exclaimed King Gregory.

"I swear it," replied Solonika, but, even as she
spoke, she turned and sped swiftly down the wide
aisle toward the door, where I waited.  Before the
company had fully grasped the meaning of her
words, the great voice of the Patriarch thundered
and rose above the wild babel of sounds with the
one clear word of dread significance:

"SACRILEGE!"

I saw the King with a scream of agony fall
forward on his face, while the Red Fox, beaten and
undone, dropped to his knees upon the railing in an
attitude of prayer.  Fortunately for Solonika the
armed men, who might have stopped her, were
behind the women.  No one appeared in the aisle.
The court ladies were overcome with terror.  On,
on, she came running swiftly and lightly toward the
door which I prepared to shut behind her as she
passed.

One of the white clergy stood beside me with a
brass incense burner in his hand.  He dropped the
burner to the floor as the Patriarch's cry came to
him, and prepared to stop the fleeing Prince.  Just
as Solonika was within his grasp I struck him a
heavy blow and felled him in the aisle.  She dashed
by and I sprang through the great doorway with
her.  Both put our shoulders to the heavy oaken
portal and swung it shut with a loud bang.  I
grasped the ponderous key in both hands and the
rusty bolt found its iron socket.  Even through
the door I could hear the bellow of the high
priest.

"Sacrilege!  A woman hath defiled the altar."

We ran down the steps hand in hand and found
Nick, all unconscious of the tragedy which had been
enacted within, standing beside the tonneau door,
waiting.  The black cloth of the Church which hung
from Solonika's shoulders served to disguise her
in the growing dusk from the soldiers who were
still drawn up in front of the Cathedral, ready
to conduct the new-made King to the Palace.
The engine was playing havoc with their equilibrium.

"Is the ceremony over?" asked Nick, entirely
ignorant of the true situation.

"It is over now, thank God," Solonika replied,
but her real meaning escaped him.

The noise in the Cathedral became pronounced.
Added to the bull-like tones of the Patriarch were
women's voices high and shrill, calling upon the
empty air to "Stop her."

"What's the trouble in there?" asked Nick.
The cavalrymen nearest the steps looked anxiously
toward the building.

"The audience is preparing to come out, Nick,"
I said as quietly as I could.  "Please get under way
as rapidly as possible."

I helped the trembling girl into the machine and
leaped in beside her.  Nick took his place beside
Teju Okio.

"Let her go," he commanded.

"Very dam fine," returned the boy, and we
started like the wind.

We passed through the wide pathway held open
by the wall of mounted men and were well up the
hill before we heard a sound from the Cathedral.
From our elevated position we had a dim view of
the plaza in front of the church, and saw that the
excitement had been communicated to the street.
All became confusion among the soldiers and the
waiting crowd.  They ran about and looked to me
like little black ants that have been disturbed in
their hill by the careless foot of man.  As long as
we remained in sight no one emerged from the
Cathedral to take command and order a pursuit.
Evidently the door was holding well.  But I did not
take much comfort at our easy escape for I knew
that before morning the entire army and every man,
woman and child in Bharbazonia would be seeking
Solonika.

"Where would you go, Sire?" said Nick.
"Dhalmatia?"

"No! no!" she cried, and I felt her shudder.
"Any place but there."

"His Majesty," said I, thinking it best to keep
Nick in ignorance for a while at least, "is much
over-wrought after the strain of the ceremony.  It
would be well to ride for a time.  The night air
will do him good."

"Let's make it the Turk's Head Inn, then,"
suggested Nick.  "We may get something to eat
there.  I have not had anything since breakfast."

"Neither have I.  Make it the Turk's Head," I
replied.

Nick turned his attention to directing Teju Okio
toward the King's Highway which led to the inn,
and Solonika settled against my shoulder with a
satisfied sigh.  I stole one arm under her head to
make her more comfortable.  We rode silently on
into the growing darkness.  In an hour it would be
as dark as that terrible morning when we rode
through the forest of Zin.

"What are your plans, Solonika?" I whispered.

"Do not speak.  Do not move," she said.  "I
am so happy."

Happy?  This was no time to give way to
happiness.  I realized the supreme danger she was in
and felt that we lost time by aimlessness of action.
I, too, feeling her soft cheek against my arm, was
strangely happy.  But fear would not let me enjoy
the pleasure her proximity gave me.  Of course,
being possessed of the only automobile in
Bharbazonia, we were safe from pursuit for the moment.
But there was Nicholas to be reckoned with.  He
must be told the truth.  When he knew that the
Prince was Solonika, how would he act?  I
remembered his curving fingers around an imaginary
throat when he told me of the sacrilege.  Would
he still be of the same opinion when he knew
Solonika had committed that great crime against his
church?  And then my heart stopped beating, and
I sat up with a gasp.

The gates! there at the end of the highway stood
Castle Comada with its battlements and its closed,
barred doors!  What good was our flight at all if
we were to be stopped by the guard at the end of
our run?  The government had wires to all its
outposts and by this time, perhaps, the two castles.
Novgorod on the north and Comada on the south,
would be on the look-out for the automobile.

"Solonika, you must tell me what you propose
doing.  You must realize the castles will know of
our coming and will not let us through.  How are
we to get out of this cursed country?"

"It is so plebeian to be happy," she murmured,
like one in a dream.  "I never knew, I never
dreamed it would be like this.  It is so good."

I began to fear for her reason.  This obliviousness
to fear, when she knew that death inevitable
was hanging over her head, like the sword of
Damocles, was not entirely natural.  But I did not
disturb her again until we drew up in front of the
tavern about nine o'clock.  We had met no one on
the road who disputed our progress.

Nick ordered the meal and I followed Solonika
to a comfortable chair by the fire.  She clung to my
hand with all the appearance of a frightened child
and would not let me go.  I stayed to comfort her
while Nick and Teju Okio examined the car which
had brought us safely thus far on our journey.

The French landlord was overjoyed.  Business
he said was very bad.  Everybody was at the
coronation.  There was not a single soul about the inn
but his wife and the servants.  I arranged for a
room at the head of the stairs for Solonika, and
urged her to lie down a while before supper.  She
consented, and I led her to the foot of the stairs.
We were alone for the moment.  On the first step
she stopped and held out her arms to me.

"Oh, Dale Wharton," she whispered, "it is so
beautiful.  I wonder that I never knew it before.
It came so suddenly, when you looked at me in the
Cathedral.  There seemed to be a stone wall ahead.
I could not go forward and I could not go back.
Then, somehow, you came to me and I realized what
a lonely life I should lead thereafter.  Without you
I did not want to live.  You made me tell.  And
now I am free to die."

"Hush, sweetheart, you must not talk of dying.
I will save you if I can.  There must be a way."

"No hope.  No hope.  Though I turn to the east,
west, north, south, there is no hope.  The Greek
church—my church—is hedging me about.  I
have given up.  I will fight no more.  For my
sacrilege I must die.  In the sight of God I am
accursed.  I must die.  I must."

"No, my own, you must not die."

"But, before they come, Dale, I want you to
know that I love you.  I want you to kiss me once
upon the lips, and I shall be content."

I tried to rouse her; to make her see that we
could escape if she would only help me, and that,
when we were free, there was a life for us together
in America where, undisturbed by kings or creeds,
we might be happy.  She listened patiently, but
without interest.  Much against my will I was
forced to realize that she felt the enormity of her
offence and that she had condemned herself to
death.

"Will you not kiss me, Dale?" she pleaded.

"Listen, dearest," I said, hoping to force her to
help me through the love she bore me, "you must
not give up in despair.  For, if you die, I must die
also.  You will not condemn me to death, will you?"

"Oh, no," she replied, "they will not hurt you.
You have not harmed them, as I have."

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me
long and passionately.  Our lips met in their first
kiss and possibly their last.  Then she walked
weakly up the steps, entered her room and closed
the door.

I stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her
until she was gone from sight.  Then I turned and
came face to face with Nicholas.  From his
expression I knew that he had seen the Prince's caress.
So bitterly did he look at me that I scarcely
recognized my old friend in him.  And I needed his
friendship now so much.  Plainly he suspected the
truth.

"Well, Dale," he said coldly, "perhaps you will
be good enough to explain."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FAILURE OF FRIENDSHIP`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FAILURE OF FRIENDSHIP

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  There was a laughing devil in his sneer,
   |  That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
   |  And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
   |  Hope withering, fled, and mercy sighed farewell.
   |                                    —*Byron: Corsair*.

.. vspace:: 2

The supreme moment in the lives of both Nicholas
and myself had arrived.  But Solonika's strange
behaviour had unnerved me, and I felt unequal to it.
The presence of the landlord in the room, directing
his servants as they placed the steaming dinner upon
the table, gave me an opportunity for delay.

With Solonika obdurate and my own ignorance
of the country, escape was impossible, unless
Nicholas would help.  He was my only hope.  If I could
win his sympathy and cause him to place his
knowledge, power and influence at my disposal, for the
sake of our friendship, there was a chance that we
might win our way out of this terrible country in
safety.

While we had been riding toward the inn, I had
mapped out a plan of escape.  There was the
General's yacht lying at Bizzett with steam up, ready
to take Nicholas and me to Naples in the morning.
If we motored as near the gates as possible and
bought or stole horses from a neighbouring farmer;
if we disguised Solonika in a peasant girl's costume,
changing the description of the party, we might
ride under Castle Comada to freedom.  Attired as
he was in his Grand Duke's uniform, Nicholas's
orders to the officer in charge would be promptly
obeyed.  This officer would have instructions to
stop an automobile party, but he would not stop us.

Once out to sea on the yacht we were safe.  No
Bharbazonian would ask a Turk a favour; consequently
our passage through the Bosphorus past the
fortresses of Scutari and Constantinople would not
be interfered with.  Nick could go with us, hastening
his departure one day, thus escaping any retribution
his countrymen might desire to wreak upon
him for lending us aid.

If we had been in any other country under the
sun, I had no doubt but that Nicholas would stand
shoulder to shoulder with me and gladly fight it out
to the bitter end.  But this was Bharbazonia, and
Nicholas was a Bharbazonian.  Would he be a
friend first and a patriot second?  Politically, the
dénouement in the Cathedral and the flight of
Solonika might be a great aid to the Secret Order of the
Cross.  The lack of an heir played into their hands.
It might serve the purpose of Nicholas and his
countrymen to get Solonika out of the country.

Again, the love he professed to bear Solonika
should urge him to save her from the infuriated
mob which, he would shortly know, was even now
riding furiously after us clamouring for her
innocent life.  How much stress this love would stand
I could not guess.  He had seen the Prince's
affectionate parting with me at the foot of the stairs and,
when the full import of that scene burst upon him,
as it surely would when I told him of the truth, how
would he be able to control his jealousy?

Above all, the sacrilege!  A woman had defiled
his altar.  Nick as I knew and loved him in
America, was not deeply religious.  But what was he in
Bharbazonia?  How deeply engrained in his nature,
through centuries of ancestry, was his respect for
the Greek church, the protected creed of his loved
country?  I seemed to see again as I looked at his
frowning face, turning these things over in my
mind, a pair of strong hands clutching an imaginary
throat.

As against all these deep-rooted motives, of
patriotism, jealousy, religion, the only faintly shining
star of hope to which I might look was the weak
little star of friendship.  Friendship, the most
beautiful love in the world, the most disinterested, was
to be put to the test.

Nicholas! he alone could save Solonika; he alone
could get us through the gates to the yacht.  He
had never failed me before, would he fail me now?
I faced him, determined to make one supreme
effort to save the life of the woman I loved.

"*Dîner est preparé*," announced the landlord.

I was glad of the interruption.  In the struggle
which was to follow there was little in my favour.
Better take advantage of everything chance
afforded.  A man well fed is a man half convinced.

"I will explain while we are eating, Nick," I
said, taking my place at the table and waving him
into the opposite chair.  The third seat remained
vacant.  "Landlord, we will wait upon ourselves.
You and your servants may retire."

"*Très bien*," he murmured as he drove his
hirelings from the room like a woman shooing
chickens, and closed the door.

Nick ate with the appetite of a hungry, healthy
boy.

"Hadn't we better call the King?" said he,
indicating the vacant chair.  "He must be very nearly
starved, also."

I knew that the "king" could not eat, and
assured Nick that something would be sent to his
room.  At last I hit upon a way to begin my
explanation.  For the sake of policy I chose to start
it by putting Nick on the defensive.

"Nick," I said, "why did you not tell Gregory
and his half-blind Prime Minister that they were
mistaken; that you were the principal actor in that
little scene in the Palace Garden, and not the
Prince?"

He flushed to the eyes with shame, just as he did
when caught by a policeman, in the old days,
appropriating a Woodland avenue sign for purposes of
room decoration.

"It came too suddenly," he replied.  "I had no
time to think.  I admit I acted like a cad, Dale, but
I shall do my part like a man to-morrow.  How
would you like to be placed in such a position before
such an audience and have to own up that you
had been behaving like a naughty little schoolboy?"

"What do you propose doing?  Confessing to
the new King?"

"That is my intention now; but I must see the
General before I act.  This is a matter which
concerns Bharbazonia, and there may be good and
sufficient reasons why the Secret Order may desire
things to take their course."

"And in that event your love for your country
would render you passive in the face of such an
injustice?"

"Yes; but do not misunderstand me, Dale.  I
have been trained all my life, as you know, in the
diplomatic service of both Russia and Bharbazonia.
I have lived long enough to see that the man who
"would rather be right than be President" is
frequently right, but never President.  Of course deep
down in our hearts we all desire to be right; it is
the only safe, sure foundation; as a matter of policy
it is best.  But, there is such a thing in this world
as power.  I have noticed that the idealist who
desires to be right all the time, who makes no
concession to the wrong, is frequently crushed under
the wheels of power.  Thus has the army of Right
lost the services of many valiant soldiers.  A better
policy, I have learned, is to temporize; to shut one's
eyes sometimes.  By so doing one gains in strength
until one becomes a power and is in a position to
order lines of right action—"

"A dangerous policy, Nick," I interrupted.  "By
that time you will have connived so often with
wrong that you are able no longer to combat it.
Your moral fibre will have deteriorated and there
will be nothing left of you but that which you have
sacrificed all for—power."

"It is the difference between the ideal and the
practical; the ideal fails; the practical succeeds.
When the world becomes ideal this order will be
reversed.  But, until that time, I for one will
endeavour to be practical.  Therefore, if my brothers
deem it best for me to marry Princess Teskla, I
shall abide by their decision.  If not, so be it."

Here was a side of Nick's character with which
I had not reckoned.  Before such devotion to
organization, simple friendship might be thrown
overboard to struggle in the depth with the other
idealistic stripling Truth.

"How did the new King take it?" asked Nick.
"From what I could see he did not lose his presence
of mind.  What did he do?"

Nothing was to be gained by further evasion.  If
I had to depend upon the stability of his affection
for me, I might as well put it to the test now as at
any other time.  I plunged in boldly.

"You are mistaken, Nick," I said.  "The Prince
did lose his nerve and made a terrible mess of the
whole affair.  Instead of accepting the inevitable—of
standing pat as it were—he revealed a secret
which he should have kept, and to-day his father
and he stand in the shadow of the valley of death."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the vague suspicions of
General Palmora which we talked of coming over on
the boat and which you scoffed at as absurd?"

"Something concerning the remarkable likeness
existing between Solonika and her twin brother,
coupled with the suggestion that the two had never
been seen together?  But, you, yourself, told me you
exploded that theory."

"The more I see of General Palmora the greater
grows my respect for him and his opinions.  We
laughed at him when he told us that King Gregory
was planning to make capital out of your flirtation
with Princess Teskla.  But we now know he was
right.  We also laughed at him when he told us he
suspected there was only one child born to the
House of Dhalmatia the night he and your father
rode.  But again he is right."

"Speak plainly, Dale," said Nick with contracting
brows, "you mean—"

"That the midwife who died announced *the truth
when she tolled the bell seven times!*"

Nick's hands gripped the edge of the white cloth;
his eyes stared into mine with a look I could not
fathom.  Slowly he arose, his overturned chair
falling with a crash to the floor.  I, too, came
reluctantly to my feet, not knowing what to expect,
but desiring to be ready for any emergency.

"A daughter!" he cried, as if he could not
believe it.  "A daughter and no son!  Then the
person who was made King of Bharbazonia to-day is
a—woman?"

Amazement deepened upon his face as the full
significance of my words came home to him.  It was
a condition of affairs which he had always refused
to countenance, and his brain worked slowly.  But
it was too absurd.

"Surely, Dale," he cried, "you do not mean this?
You are joking?"

"I would to God that it were not true.  But it
is no joke, Nick.  The Prince is a woman."

"Bosh!" he exclaimed.  "I refuse to believe it."

I saw that I must convince him.  His attitude
showed me how safe Solonika's secret had been.
Oh, if she had but listened to the advice of her
father and kept her own counsel!

"Listen, Nick," I said.  "I am not the only one
who knows this.  General Palmora knows it now.
In fact all Bharbazonia knows.  They had it from
the lips of the Prince in the Cathedral.  After you
went out he denied that he had kissed the Princess
and said that, even if he had, he could not
have broken the law because he was not a man,
but a woman.  Then we fled to you and came here."

"Good God," cried he aghast.  "That explains
the cries in the Cathedral.  The Patriarch's voice!
What was he saying?"

Slowly he arrived at the inevitable conclusion.
I felt the crisis coming, and nerved myself for the
shock.  Violently he struck the table a heavy blow
with his clenched fist and shouted the one word
uttered by the High Priest, in a voice startlingly
like the bull-like bellow of the Patriarch:

"*Sacrilege!*"

I watched him tensely as his glance left my face
and travelled swiftly up the stair until it rested on
Solonika's door.  His soul was in the grip of a
hatred so deadly that I feared it would get beyond
his control.  He wore a more fearful expression
than when he told me in the library that, if such an
outrage were committed against the church, he
would be the first to strangle the offender to death
with his own hands.  The vengeance of Bharbazonia
was at hand.  But, quick as was his sudden
spring toward her room, I was quicker, and stood
ready for him, blocking the way on the bottom step.
We faced each other like young tigers over fallen
prey.

I must not lose my temper.  I needed my coolest
judgment and my calmest presence of mind.  But,
as I stood there with clenched fists, I could feel the
powerful magnetic waves of his deep passion
surging through me with all the force of an electric
current.  I seemed to hear the sound of rushing wind
through tense wires.  I clenched my teeth and felt
that the cords of friendship were snapping one by one.

But there was one more brand to be hurled among
the burning.  Depending upon the way Nicholas
would take it, it would either add to the fire or help
to put it out.

"Would you harm *Solonika*?" I said.

Just as the glow of the flame leaves the darkened
sky when new wood is added, so died down the
burning light of hate in Nick's eye when I
mentioned Solonika's name.  Here was something upon
which he had not counted.  Up to now in his mind,
the woman who had affronted the trust of the
Kingdom, who had put insult upon the church, had been
only a woman.  I had given her a name and, in so
doing, had brought him suddenly face to face with
the appalling fact that the guilty one was the woman
he loved.

Skeptical as I had been of the depth of his
affection in view of his conduct in the Palace garden,
I soon found that I was mistaken.  Where a woman
is concerned men do not wear their hearts upon
their sleeves.  True, Nick had smilingly told me
that we were rivals long ago in the summer-house.
He had always been unnaturally diffident in
Solonika's presence, and treated her with unusual
consideration.  Every moment which had not been
occupied with business of state had been devoted to
her during our stay in Bharbazonia, and he had
been with her almost as much as I.

There could be no doubt that my words had a
wonderful effect.  His former passion left him weak
and trembling.  Staring at me like one convinced
against his will, he backed away from the steps and
sank into a chair.

"Solonika," he whispered.  "Oh, God, do not
tell me it is Solonika."

So firm had been his faith that even now he did
not connect the Prince and Solonika in this tragedy.
To him they were separate persons.  It had not
occurred to him that the Prince who had committed
this sacrilege could possibly be Solonika.

"It cannot be true.  There must be some mistake,"
he said.  The suffering in his voice touched
my heart.  Could it be possible that he, too, loved
this woman as deeply and truly as I did?

"There is no mistake.  She who is in yonder
room is Solonika," I said.

"How could she do it, Dale?  How could she do
it?" he repeated.

"She had no alternative, Nick.  The Red Fox,
her father, was as ambitious as Brutus said Cæsar
was."

Thank God, he *did* love Solonika.  He would help
her to escape.  Surely his love for her would urge
him to do what I, without hope of reward, had done
in Marbosa's lodge.  I risked my life for her and
he could do no less.  Now was the time to strike.

"Nicholas," I said, speaking quickly, "Solonika
is pursued by the peasantry, the nobles, the army
and the church.  Even as we talk they are coming
down that road from Nischon searching for her.
You know what they will do if they find her.  They
will rend her limb from limb, before our eyes.
There is only one man in Bharbazonia can help her
to-night.  The gates of Comada are shut against
us.  Beyond them is the General's yacht.  It is ready
to sail with us in the morning.  I am powerless to
win the way to the vessel.  The captain would not
sail without orders from you or the General.  I am
unable to save her.  You and you alone can do it!"

"I understand," said Nicholas.

"For God's sake, do not fail me now.  If you
love her as I do you cannot stand idle and see her
die in this horrible manner.  Will you do it, Lassie?
For the sake of the love you bear me, of the friendship
that is ever ours, help me to save her.  She is
so little; she is so weak; she is so innocent.  Her
father is the guilty one.  He drove her to commit
this awful sacrilege against your church.  Nick, oh
my friend, you have never refused me anything.
You will not refuse me this!"

"It's true," he cried, leaping to his feet.  "She
may yet escape.  I can save her.  They are still a
long way behind."

He ran to the door and called into the night air:

"Okio!  Okio!  We leave here in two minutes."

The victory of friendship was complete.  Nick's
love for Solonika had overcome his Bharbazonian
respect for the Greek church; he seemed to have
forgotten the sacrilege.  He was eager to help her
in her time of dire distress.  Good old Nick, I
knew that he would not fail me!  Already I saw
the dread gates of the trap swing open, and felt the
kick of the screw under me as the little yacht rapidly
left the shores of this horrible land behind.  My
face was radiant.  I rushed forward to thank him,
full of gratitude and affection.

But, even as Nick closed the door after directing
Teju Okio, a change came over him.  He walked
back into the room slowly, thoughtfully.  There was
coldness in his manner.  The gates again swung
shut, the yacht no longer held to her swift course.
I stopped with my unexpressed thanks upon my lips.

"What is the matter?" I cried, my joy turned to
fear.  Nick had become a Bharbazonian.

"I must have time to think," he said coldly.

"Think?" I cried.  "What is there to think
about?  Surely you have not changed your mind?"

"No, I have not changed my mind.  I have not
fully made it up.  You took me off my feet a
moment ago.  I must consider this from all sides.  I
have a duty to perform to my country and to my
church.  Solonika has committed a great sacrilege
for which she merits death."

"Nevertheless, Nick, you cannot stand still and
see her die.  You love her, do you not?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "and so do you."

I felt it coming and stood still, awaiting the blow.

"I saw her kiss you as she went up the stair," he
said.

Jealousy, impure, merciless jealousy had claimed
its own.  Nick had guessed the import of Solonika's
last act and knew that she loved me.  So strange
is the human heart that in the midst of the pure
and the noble it can still harbour the most sordid
of feelings.  I had never dreamed this of Nicholas.

Should I lie to him and permit him to learn the
truth after we were far out to sea?  I must save
her, no matter what the cost.  But, try as I would
to frame my reply at variance with the truth, I could
not.

"She kissed me," I admitted.  "Furthermore,
Nick, she has told me that she loves me.  There was
no need for her to have thrown away the right to
rule in Bharbazonia.  Had she kept silent she might
now be King.  For weeks I pleaded with her to
leave it all before she went too far, but she did not
love me then.  It came to her suddenly as she knelt
at the feet of the Patriarch; she condemned her
father to exile; she sentenced herself to death; she
told the truth—because she loved me."

Nick glowered upon me and the old look which
I dreaded returned.  He fingered his long sword
nervously and glanced repeatedly toward the stairs.
I feared his old rage was coming back and that he
meditated harm to Solonika.

"Not that, Nick," giving up all hope of his
assistance.  "If you have not forgotten the old days,
if there yet remains some vestige of the affection
you used to feel for me, let it have weight with you
now.  I love you, Nick.  I do not want to raise my
hand against you.  But I will, if you threaten her
life."

"Dale," he cried, "you do not mean this!"

"Your course is plain.  If you will not help us,
you have only to wait.  Your countrymen will soon
be here seeking vengeance.  For God's sake, Nick,
let them take it!  Not you!  Now that you have
deserted us, we have no hope.  There is no way out.
She will die before sunrise.  All I ask of you, Nick,
and the friendship which seems dead, is that you
permit another hand to wield the sword.  Do not
make it harder for me to bear."

Nick walked up and down the room in great agitation.
But he did not again have recourse to his
sword hilt.  I held my position at the foot of the
stairs until he should arrive at some decision.

"I will do as you ask," he said, stopping before
me.  "I will wait."

The die was cast.  The trap had closed around
us.  A woman had come between Jonathan and
David.  It was the old story over again.  But I was
glad even for the little crumb of kindness which the
hand of friendship had given me.

"Thank you, Lassie," I said, and we shook hands
as near tears as two strong men permit themselves
to get.  The waiters brought our coffee and we sat
at table together sipping the hot beverage and
smoking our last cigars.  I sent food to Solonika by a
maid, but I do not know whether she tasted it.

"What are you going to do?" asked Nick, after
an hour of silence.

"I shall die with her," I said dully.  This
suspense was worse than the tortures of hell.  I prayed
that they would soon come and end it.

"Nonsense," said Nick, "they will not hurt you;
you have not harmed them as she has."

He was using the words of Solonika.  She could
not understand and neither could Nick.  How little
both knew me.

We did not again refer to the events of the
evening.  I do not think Nick spoke.  He only watched
me curiously.  Toward midnight the landlord closed
up his hotel and retired with his servants for the
night.  They little dreamed how soon and with
what fright they would be awakened from their
peaceful slumbers.  The innkeeper placed candles
on the table between us before ascending the stairs.
With what assurance men go to their slumbers
knowing that they will wake up in this world in the
morning.  I would not be here when he again
opened his little hotel.

About one o'clock Nick and I raised our heads
at the same moment and listened.  We heard the
beat of horses' feet on the hard stone highway,
coming steadily nearer and nearer.  As the sound
increased in volume, it became evident that more
than a thousand cavalrymen and others, detailed to
search the main road, were upon us.

"They are here," said Nicholas.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend;
   |  The world's an Inn and death the journey's end.
   |                            —*Dryden: Palamon and Arcite*.

.. vspace:: 2

The agony I suffered during the long hours of
waiting left me without feeling.  If I experienced
any sensation as I heard the approaching sounds of
pursuit, it was not of excitement, but rather of
elation.  The terrible hours of waiting were at an end;
here at last was the opportunity for action.  To sit
and think on approaching death is more difficult
than to fight it.

Nick's decision to wait for the priests and soldiers;
his refusal to help, when the automobile was
ready at our call and the road deserted, had
rendered me callous to the future.  I remained seated
at the table until the frantic yells of the approaching
mob told me they had sighted the inn and expected
to get news of the hated woman.

"Good-bye, Nicholas," I said, extending my hand.

He took it hesitatingly, but did not speak.
Wonder and doubt as to what I intended to do were
written on his face.  He could not bring himself
to believe that I really meant to defend Solonika
against such overwhelming odds.

"Do not be foolish," he said when I turned at
the foot of the stairs and put my hand in my pocket
to feel the revolver there.  There was no reply on
my lips.  Nick continued to watch me with the same
curious expression.  Men may have looked with pity
upon the French nobles as they mounted the guillotine
to surrender their heads upon the block without
a murmur.

The soldiers drew rein before the inn.  The car
standing at the door told them they had run their
quarry to earth.  They shouted aloud as if they
knew the victory was theirs.  I heard the officers
give their orders; the tavern was speedily
surrounded.  Then came an awful knock upon the door
and a loud voice in bull-like tones demanding
entrance.  With a last look at me, Nick arose from his
chair and opened the door, permitting the soldiers
to pour into the room.

As I expected, the first man to enter was the
outraged Patriarch.  He was still uttering at intervals
his Bharbazonian cry of "Sacrilege."  His black
robe was torn by hard riding and covered
with dust.  He was like a madman—his eyes
glaring, his fingers clutching—as he sprang into the
light.  Pressing close behind were most of the black
clergy who officiated within the chancel.  They
were loud in their cries and horrible in their
expression of mediæval hatred.  Within their souls was
one thought and that was kill—kill—kill!  How
much like those who erected the cross on Calvary,
nineteen hundred years ago, were these deluded
men.  How little had they learned of the spirit of
their Master, the Prince of Peace.

It was small wonder, under the influence of such
teaching, that the soldiers, who pressed into the inn,
were wrought up into a similar religious frenzy.
There was no pity even in the face of the colonel
in charge.  The innkeeper and his serving men and
women, aroused by the fearful din, appeared upon
the landing above in night robes.  They lent their
excited voices to the uproar.  As soon as the
Patriarch saw the landlord he called to him in French:

"Where is she—this woman?"

"What woman, your Reverence?" cried the
bewildered Marchaud.

"She who fled hither in that devil car?"

"No woman came with that party.  They were
only three men."

"Who were they?"

"Oh, Your Holiness have mercy upon me!
What is it you intend to do?  You will ruin the
fair reputation of my house.  No one is here but
these two gentlemen you see before you and the
King, the new King."

"Bah!" cried the Patriarch and his priests.
"Where is she hiding?"

"*Mon dieu*!  *She*?  The King is in yonder room."

He pointed to the door at the head of the stairs
and they made a rush toward me, but halted when
I drew my revolver and held it in their faces.

"Do not do that!" cried Nick, when my intention
of holding the steps even against such odds
became clear.  After opening the door to the
pursuers he had not taken part in the search of the
ground floor and had refused to answer all
questions.  By my act he knew that I was dooming
myself to Solonika's fate.

The Patriarch and his followers drew back at
the first show of resistance.  They were afraid to
mount the steps while I faced them.  I might have
held them at bay much longer, had not Solonika
appeared beside her doorway.  The first intimation
I had that she was there came from the crowd.  The
Patriarch and his priests went mad with rage and
pressed me hard.  They seemed to have lost their
fear of me and every one shouted at once, pointing
behind me.  Before their frenzied rush I was
compelled to fall back a little to avoid being struck by
swords from the side toward the bannisters.  I
glanced over my shoulder and saw her.  She had
discarded the black robe of the Patriarch and was
pale and white in her coronation costume.

"Go back! go back!" I called, but instead she
came down the steps until she touched my shoulder.
"Give over, my friend.  They will only kill you.
You cannot save me," she said.

"Go back, Solonika.  You are making them mad.
I cannot hold them."

"Please let them come and end it, then."

One priest, braver than the rest, crept up the
stair with his eyes gloating over Solonika, his
religious fanaticism having overpowered his
judgment.  Something of the spirit of the Mohammedan
urged him to the attack with no weapon but his
empty hands.  He sprang toward the woman he
hated; he almost clutched her.  But I was watching.
I brought the butt of my revolver down upon his
tonsured head and, as he crumpled up under the
heavy blow, I kicked him with all my force so that
he fell back into the arms of his brethren,
unconscious.

In the sight of all Bharbazonia I had raised my
hand against the Church.  There was no mistaking
my intention now.  I had announced my position
and chosen my fate.  Solonika realized it.

"They will kill you, Dale," she said.

"They will have to before they reach you," I
replied.

The old fire came back to her.  She lost her
listlessness.

"We shall die together," she said, and I think
the thought made her happier.  "It is better so.
Perhaps God will forgive me and permit us to
meet in the other world."

She drew her sword, which I knew she could use
with all the vigour of a well-trained swordsman, and
faced her enemies, ready for the impending battle.
If, by my action, I had convinced Solonika of my
intention to die with her, I also made it clear to
Nicholas.  Perhaps it was the sight of two against
such unequal odds that moved him—the heart of
man demands fair play—perhaps it was his love
for a fight; give him what motives you will, my
reader, I know that it was his friendship for me
and his desire to save me that was his moving
passion.  The fact remains that he acted almost
before the priest's body fell.

Belabouring the Patriarch's followers at the foot
of the stairs with the flat of his broadsword, he
forced a passage for himself and stood in the
clearing in front of me.  I appreciated the generous
spirit his foolish act showed.  He had kept the
faith and preserved my idols unbroken.  Here was
a friendship which even the love of woman could
not kill.  But, oh, but how useless was his sacrifice!
One hour ago, had he listened to my plea, his
service had not been in vain.  One hour ago he might
have led us through the gates.  But, now, we were
surrounded.  The automobile was in the enemy's
hands.  The pleading voice of friendship had made
itself heard—too late!

Nick's scarlet uniform of a Grand Duke had its
effect upon the soldiers.  They fell silent when he
lifted his hand.  But the priests, working themselves
momentarily into a greater frenzy, continued
their cries of "Kill! kill, the woman!"  What was
the power of a Grand Duke to them who were more
powerful than the nobles?

Nicholas raised his voice above their howling;
he spoke in the mother tongue and seemed to be
exhorting the soldiers not to kill me or the woman,
but to take us alive.  The Patriarch frequently
interrupted, urging the fighting men to finish the
work he had brought them to do.  Between the
two the ignorant cavalrymen stood irresolute until
the frantic High Priest threw himself upon
Nicholas and, assisted by his men, bore him down the
steps and surrounded him.  The hesitating soldiers,
seeing the Grand Duke attacked by the priests,
obeyed the Patriarch and sprang up the stairs
swords in hand.  The crisis was upon us.

As they crowded up the incline I took careful aim
and pressed the trigger of my automatic gun.  Like
the sputter of an alarm clock eleven reports
followed in rapid succession.  The steel-jacketed
projectiles went forward upon their deadly mission.
Every bullet found its mark and, boring through
the first rank, wounded many in the rear.

In these days of smokeless powder there was
nothing to obscure my view and I saw the front
rank fall down upon its face and the less severely
wounded struggle backward to escape another
volley.  The havoc I had wrought was terrible.
The soldiers broke in a panic, leaving their dead
and dying where they had fallen.

For a moment the attack was over, but I had
shot my bolt.  I had no more ammunition.  My
revolver was empty!  There was not even a bullet
left for Solonika and myself!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE KING IS DEAD—LONG LIVE THE KING!`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE KING IS DEAD—LONG LIVE THE KING!

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  This, and in this, my soul I give,
   |  Lodged where I know 'twill ever live.
   |  For never could myself or mine,
   |  Fall into kinder hands than thine.
   |                          —*Bohn: Mss*.

.. vspace:: 2

Solonika stood with her hand upon my shoulder,
looking down at the retreating men with fascinated
eyes.  I threw the useless weapon to the floor and
turned to her.

"I have done the best I could," I said, "but I am
powerless now."

"Empty?" she said.

Quickly she sped down the steps to where the
body of the nearest man lay.  She took the long
sword from his nerveless grasp and came back.

"Can you use it?" she cried as she thrust it into
my hands.

"A little," I said.  Broadsword work was one
of Nick's favourite pastimes at college, and I had
become interested in it on his account.

"Look!" cried Solonika, pointing toward the
foot of the stairs.  Were they about to renew the
attack so soon?  I looked in the direction indicated
and saw Nicholas backing slowly toward us step
by step.  At my first fire the frightened priests had
run to cover, leaving Nicholas free.  His sword
was in his hand and he was watchful.  My heart
beat with renewed hope.  With three defenders we
might hold the stairs for an indefinite period.

But Nick was not to arrive at our side without a
struggle.  To the soldiers, now recovered from
their first shock, his method of joining us looked
like a retreat.  They recognized that he was going
over to the other side, and sought to attack him
while he was yet alone.  Before he had gone two
steps upward, feeling for a foothold among the
bodies under his feet, they were upon him.  Nick's
flashing sword flew from stair-rail to wall with
blinding rapidity, holding them at bay.  He
continued backing.  Although their weapons clashed
against his, I thought their strokes lacking the
force which, had their attack not been directed
against a Grand Duke's uniform, they might have had.

I stood ready to help him if I thought he needed
it.  My chief concern was that they might attack
him from the side over the railing.  But the men
gathered there seemed to be too much interested in
the battle to take any part.  He won to my side
unhurt.  But with him came the enemy, and I could
not tell him how much I appreciated his foolishly
generous act.

The stair was about twelve feet wide; consequently
there was room for the three of us to stand
abreast and wield our swords without interference.
Nick fought on the outside against the railing;
Solonika was in the middle and I near the wall.
The soldiers crowded up the stairs five at a time.
They hampered each other and were interfered with
by their eager comrades pushing up behind.  Nick
and I readily took care of two of these, leaving the
middle one to Solonika.  But she did not require
any assistance from me, easily handling her own
man and one of mine.

I could see that she was taking care of me and
exposing herself to great risk in the hope of saving
my life as long as possible.  Although she fought
with spirit I knew it was without hope.  After I
had made the last great sacrifice she would hold to
her original intention of delivering herself into the
Patriarch's hands.

.. _`337`:

The first rush of battle over, our work became
almost routine.  As often as we drove the front
rank back upon its fellows, a new set of swords
took its place.  It soon became apparent to the
colonel in command that he could not take us
without resort to strategy.  In spite of the entreaties
of the priests he gave the order to cease the attack.
When our enemies withdrew all three of us
showed the effects of the desperate battle.  Solonika
had been wounded in several places.  There were
blood stains upon her trousers and stockings.  From
a cut on her right shoulder the blood had run down
her arm and dyed the grip of her sword hilt.  She
was pale and weak from her long fast and loss of
blood, and sank upon the steps with her weapon
watchfully ready.  Thanks to her excellent care I
was not much hurt.  But I was tired from my exertion,
and glad of the opportunity to rest.  I sank
down beside her.

If Nick had been struck, it did not show on his
scarlet coat.  Panting heavily, he leaned upon his
father's sword and watched the soldiers clear the
stairs of the wounded, preparing the way, perhaps,
for another attack.

"Thank you, Lassie," I called to express my
gratitude.  Without his strong arm where would
we be now?

"You are a fool, Dale," he replied gruffly.  He
did not look at Solonika.

We were too tired to talk more and, beside, we
needed our strength for the future.  I turned my
attention to the room below.  Over the railing I
saw the Patriarch, surrounded by his priests, in
close consultation with the colonel in command.
Between them they had Marchaud, the innkeeper.
Attired in his nightcap and scanty *robe de nuit*,
he was the picture of abject terror.  The last time
I had seen him he was on the balcony behind.  His
wife and servants were still there.  How he had
reached the ground floor without passing us I did
not know.

"Oh, my beautiful hotel," he shrieked.  "Who
will pay me for the damage?  Look at the blood
upon the walls.  Oh, I am ruined."

The colonel slapped him over the mouth to still
his noise and motioned two soldiers to drag him
from the room.  The Patriarch and the
commanding officer followed Marchaud out.  The
Patriarch had admitted himself beaten and the rest
of the fight would be conducted upon military lines.
I watched the door until the colonel reappeared.
He evidently had formed a plan of action.  A captain
took charge of the men at the foot of the stairs,
while the priests looked on in silence.  A bugler
with his horn in his hand, stepped to the centre of
the floor.  No doubt he would give the signal for
the renewal of the battle.  The captain's men
prepared to leap up at us again.  What did they intend
to do?  Surely they did not hope to wear us out
until, overpowered by numbers, we were at last
forced to surrender?  It might be costly, but it
could not fail.

"Here they come," I cried as the young bugler
raised his shining instrument to his lips.

Weary, but undaunted, we sprang to our positions
to await the expected attack.  Outside, on the
road toward Nischon, there was the sound of
galloping horses.  Reinforcements were coming to
the enemy, as if there were not sufficient men to
wear twice our number down.

At the silvery call of the bugle, sounding the
advance, the green uniforms surged up the stairs
with a happy shout.  They came with so much
confidence of success that we feared we could not
stop their mad rush.  But, when our swords met,
we discovered that the charge strangely enough
lacked spirit.  As steel clashed against steel, I heard
the clear note of the bugle again.  Was he sounding
another advance?  Did the attacking force need
further encouragement?

We were not long in ignorance of the meaning
of the second signal.  Scarcely was the note begun
when the serving women on the landing behind us
began shrieking in terror.  Their high voices
mingled with the hoarse cry of men coming to the
attack.  Those below pressed us hard, with renewed
vigour.  The colonel, guided by the landlord, had
sent a second attacking squad to the balcony by
means of a back way.  They were even now
running toward us with shouts of victory.  Had we
been twice our number our case had been hopeless.
We were surrounded and undone.  We were lost.

Slipping my sword hilt through my hand, I
grasped Solonika about the waist and ran swiftly
up the few remaining steps in the face of the
oncoming enemy.  I reached the door and thrust her
safely inside before the flanking party arrived,
leaving Nick to fight it out alone on the steps.  By
this move I placed myself on a level with my
enemies and forced them to come through a narrow
doorway, one at a time to get me.  I awaited the
final attack—which never came.

Instead a loud voice reverberated through the
inn and brought every man to a pause.  The
soldiers dropped their swords to their sides.  Those
in front of me moved to the edge of the balcony
and looked over.  In the sudden silence that
followed I heard the tread of horses' feet outside the
tavern.  There were horses inside as well.  Their
iron hoofs rang loudly upon the stone floor.  I
came to the edge of the stairs and looked anxiously
down.  The room below was thick with horses and
red-coated men.  The nobles had come at last.
Without dismounting, they had ridden into the inn.
Among them I saw the Duke of Marbosa with his
long black beard and the members of the Secret
Order of the Cross.  And in their lead stood
General Palmora.

"Stand back!" he was crying, and every man
obeyed the commander-in-chief.

He saw Nicholas in the spot he had cleared for
himself against the railing.  The General was
amazed.

"What are you doing, sir?" he called.

"These fools were trying to kill Dale," Nick
replied.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

The General's face was shining with a look of
happiness that lifted the weight of years from his
shoulders.  Something had happened.  He turned
to the soldiers and began an address in their
language.  I could not follow him, but what he said
acted with magical effect.  As he spoke, Solonika
stole to my side and watched the proceedings.  She
translated his every word.

"Men of Bharbazonia," said the General, "the
King is dead."

He removed his helmet in honour of the dead and
every man stood at attention with bared head.

"Under the unusual stress of excitement, he was
stricken with apoplexy in the Cathedral.  The
Kingdom of Bharbazonia was without a ruler.  At that
moment the nobles and Grand Dukes assembled
proclaimed another king in Gregory's stead.  That
other is Grand Duke Novgorod, the only living
descendant of the ancient royal house which was
banished by the Turks.  I, representing the army,
have taken the oath of allegiance to the new King.
And I urge you to accept him."

"Long live the new King," shouted the men in a
deep chorus.

"Long live King Novgorod," shouted Marbosa
and the nobles.

Both the General and Marbosa dismounted from
their horses and advanced toward the stairs where
Nicholas stood watching the scene with interest.
They knelt upon the floor and presented the hilts of
their swords to him, in token of fealty.

"Sire," said Marbosa, humbly, "herewith I
pledge to you my loyalty and that of all the nobles
of Bharbazonia."

"Nicholas Fremsted, Grand Duke of Framkor,
Novgorod the Tenth, I pledge to you the loyalty of
the army of Bharbazonia."

Nick clutched the railing in front of him and
straightened up in amazement.  Following their
two leaders, every man present dropped to his knees
in the presence of his King.  Nick, Solonika and I
alone were left standing, except for the Patriarch
and his priests.

"No! no!" shouted Nick in English.  "My
God, General, there is some mistake here!"

The effect upon me was equally great.  Could
this be possible?  I ran over in my mind the story
which Palmora had told of the king who had
relinquished his throne for the sake of his country's
peace, who had kept the secret of his kingship from
his only son.  Solonika put her hand in mine.

"It is so," she whispered.  "I have always felt it."

"No, Sire,"—the General was speaking—"there
is no mistake.  Thou art thy father's son.
I have this day kept my oath to him and given you
your own without bloodshed."

"There is no mistake, Sire," said Marbosa.
"We have seen the proofs in the Cathedral and
we *know*."

"We *know*," said the Grand Dukes and the nobles.

I was overjoyed.  If this were true, and there
seemed no doubt of it, the future loomed bright
for me.  With Nicholas King in Bharbazonia, what
had I to fear?  To think that I had lived all these
years with him without knowing.  But how could
I know when the General had kept the secret even
from Nick?  His father's plan in sending him to
various countries to educate him had been to prepare
him for this very day.

Nick walked down the steps and bade his two
kneeling subjects rise.  They gathered around him
and explained everything until he was convinced of
the truth.  The Patriarch also entered the discussion,
and I could see that he did not accept Nicholas
as readily as had the army.  Even with the army
and the nobles on his side, his throne was not safe
without the cooperation of the all-powerful Church.

"The Patriarch is urging him to deliver us into
the hands of the church," whispered Solonika.

"He'll never do it," I replied confidently.

Whatever was the outcome of the conversation
it was Nicholas that spoke to me.

"I trust, Dale, that you and—this woman will
submit to arrest," he said with a dignity that was
new, but which was rightly a part of his kingship.

"We will surrender to you, Sire," I replied.

"General Palmora, take charge of your prisoners,"
said Nick.

Before sunrise I was under lock and key in one
of the dungeons beneath the Palace of Nischon,
having been conveyed thither by a strong guard
which even the church would not dare assail.  We
rode to Nischon in the automobile alone with Teju
Okio.  Nick and the General used horses.

"Teju," I said, in high good humour, "your
master Mr. Fremsted is King of Bharbazonia."

"Very dam fine," he smiled.

And I agreed with him.

But, when we arrived at the Palace, Solonika was
taken from me and placed in a dungeon in another
part of the huge building.  I did not know when I
should see her again or what disposition they would
make of her.  The King, Marbosa, and the General
were diplomats used to playing the politics of a
nation.  They had felt the scourge of power and
feared it.

The Patriarch, I knew, still demanded her life.
What would happen if he made it the price of the
church's submission to the new ruler?





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE KING'S OFFERING`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE KING'S OFFERING

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  I praise thee while my days go on;
   |  I love thee while my days go on;
   |  Through dark and derth, through fire and frost,
   |  With empty arms and treasure lost,
   |  I thank thee while my days go on.
   |                    —*Mrs. Browning: De Profundis*.

.. vspace:: 2

For two long weary days I languished in my
cell without word from the King.  Three times a
day food was given me by an old turnkey who knew
neither English nor French.  Although I questioned
him by signs, I could get nothing from him.

What were they doing with Solonika?  Oh, the
torture of those sleepless nights!  I paced my cage
like a restless lion in a circus.  The Kingdom of
Bharbazonia was burying the old King and greeting
the new.  There were a thousand duties demanding
Nick's attention.  I could scarcely blame him for
having apparently forgotten me.  And yet, I did
blame him.  Even now, as I lay helpless behind my
bars, they might have tricked or forced him into
giving his consent to her death.  What was the life
of one woman compared to the peace and prosperity
of a state?

Perhaps already she had been given over to the
Patriarch to suffer the last pangs in whatever
manner the barbaric religion of the country demanded.
If the Church's vengeance had fallen hers had been
a terrible end.  I was indeed a madman, locked in
with my fears.

I cursed her inhuman father for trading on his
child's love to bring her to her death.  I railed
against Nicholas for his faithlessness in yielding to
the church.  I railed against the General for keeping
Nick away from me.  The General, with his state
business, must have done it, else Nick would have
come.  I railed against the day when first I set
foot in this fearful country.  But I softened my
words when I remembered that I would not then
have met Solonika.  I was in a frightful state of
rage and mental anguish when the jailor opened
the door and ushered in the General.

I sprang at him like a wild animal and shook
him with a torrent of wrath for greeting.  He
warded me off as best he could, and even the old
turnkey had to come to his assistance.

"Where is she?  What have you done with
her?" I raved.

But he waited patiently until I stopped from
exhaustion.  I could see that he sympathized
with me.

"Calm yourself, my boy," he said in the tone a
mother uses to still a squalling infant.  "There is
no need of all this."

"Solonika!  For God's sake, tell me, does she live?"

In my terrible frame of mind I know I should
have leaped upon him and borne him to earth, had
his news been bad.

"She is safe, as yet," he replied.

"Thank God," I cried, and became calmer.

"But the situation is serious," he continued, as
if to drown my rising hope.

"How serious?"

"It threatens the foundation of the government.
Nicholas is not firmly seated yet."

"But hurry, General, tell me what to expect for
Solonika."

"Concerning her there is yet no decision.  The
Patriarch is firm in his demands.  He has consented
to imprisonment for life for the Red Fox, together
with the confiscation of all his property in Bharbazonia."

"Yes."

"At Nicholas's request the Holy Father will
permit you to leave the country unharmed, provided
you promise never to return—"

"Tell him with my compliments that he need
have no fear on that score," I interrupted.

"But he will not yield one hair's breadth
concerning the woman."

"Death?"

"Death," he repeated solemnly, "in any manner
the church elects.  It may be by the stake, publicly,
as was the fate of the Witch of Utrepect; or the
slower and more painful death on the rack.  I do
not see how we can save her."

"Oh, my God, General, do not say that.  I shall
go mad.  You must save her!" I cried in anguish.

"The King is fighting hard for you, Dr. Wharton—for
you and your Solonika.  He has surprised
me at the concessions already won.  You
must appreciate this.  The odds are great.  Our
Patriarch has been in communication with the
Patriarch of all the Russias, the man who stands next
to the Tzar.  Nicholas had him wire this man, after
sending his own representative in the Secret Order
to state the case and plead for you.  What little
concessions he won came from this more enlightened
Patriarch.  But he, too, demands that the
woman be given to the church she has wronged."

Solonika's fate seemed sealed.  After our bitter
fight upon the stairs, and all the heartburnings,
she was lost.

"Tell Nick how much I thank him," I faltered.

"I will bear your message to the King," replied
the General.  "Acting under his instructions, I am
here to ask you to be ready to leave at a moment's
notice.  Your steamer trunk and suit case at Castle
Framkor have been packed, and are now aboard
my yacht at Bizzett.  In a few hours it will be dark.
We can smuggle you out very easily without being
seen."

"Why all this secrecy?" I asked, aghast at the
thought of leaving Solonika to her fate.

"The peasantry will tear you limb from limb if
they see you."

"The priests have that much hold over them?"

"Aye.  Do not underrate the power of the
Church.  It is the one thing I fear."

"They are taking you away from her," was all I
heard my heart say.

"Once safe on the yacht nothing can harm you.
You will reach Naples and take passage to your home."

"Is that the best the King can offer?" I asked,
my resolve taking form.

"Absolutely."

"Then this is my answer.  Tell that King that I
cannot live without Solonika.  Tell him, though he
banish me from Bharbazonia, I shall return when
she is dead and betray myself to the populace.  If
the church must take her life they can have mine
also.  Tell him that I thank him for all he has done
for me and that I do not hold him guilty for that
wherein he has failed."

Palmora looked at me in amazement.  "Was this
man sane?"  He shook his head sadly.

"I will tell him," he said.

"Furthermore, General, I give you fair warning
I shall not leave this country willingly.  If the King
insists that I shall go, send your strongest men to
the task."

"Is this woman then so much to you?  Do you
really mean to do what you say?" he asked.

"As sure as there is a God in heaven, I do."

"I cannot understand it," he murmured, as he
departed to bear my threat to the King.

He left me alone with my bitter thoughts.  Then
my worst fears were realized.  Solonika could not
escape the outstretched hands of the Church.  I fell
upon the floor and wept bitterly.

But the General did not come back that day as
he promised.  Something may have happened to
change his plans.  I grasped at a straw.  But I was
doomed to disappointment.  On the following day
four stalwart Bharbazonians fell upon me suddenly
as I lay asleep.  They bound me securely hand and
foot, placed a gag in my mouth, wrapped me in a
blanket and carried me out like a log.  Evidently
the General had taken my advice.

They threw me none too gently into the bottom
of the automobile, which was waiting with revolving
engines at the Palace door.  It must have been
night, for I heard no sound of carts upon the road.
I knew we crossed the wooden bridge that spanned
the river and felt us ascend the hill on the other
side.  I was leaving Solonika behind in the city
of Nischon.

Hour after hour we sped along the highway.  At
last we stopped before the gates of the fortress.
My captors exchanged a few words with the guard
and I heard the doors clang open.  Oh, if only
Nicholas had come to my aid at the tavern when I
implored him to save Solonika!  If I could have
made him believe that I meant to risk my life to get
her out of the country, how easily would the gates
have swung back for us.  How happy would I have
been.  But now—

We descended the Hill of Bizzett and thundered
out on the wooden planking of the little pier where a
few short weeks before we had landed full of
care-free happiness.  How great the change in such a
short time!

They lifted me out of the car and carried me
aboard the yacht.  Down the companionway they
lifted me and placed me on my back in one of the
staterooms.  Then I heard them go out and shut
the door.  Almost before they had time to leap
ashore, I heard the grinding of the engines.  The
yacht was under way.  The General's plans were
working well.  Against my will, I was leaving
Bharbazonia behind.  Solonika was abandoned to
her fate.  The vessel ground its way through the
sea.  Two hours later some one entered the room.

"I love a lassie, a bonnie hie-lan' lassie," sang
Captain MacPherson in a hearty bass voice.  He
grated horribly upon my nerves.

"Weel, weel," he said, laughing till the cabin
shook, "look at the lad.  Is it a mummy I have
for cargo?"

I had rolled the blanket from my face and lay
there trying to tell him with my eyes to take the
gag out of my mouth and release me.  He took a
huge knife from his pocket and cut my bonds.  My
hands and arms were numb and my tongue was so
swollen that I could not speak.

"My eyes," said the Captain, looking at my
blood-covered, disarrayed dress suit, "they've been
showing him the country, and he's been singing
'I won't go home until morning.'"

I held out my hands in mute appeal and he
understood.  He rubbed me with alcohol and gave me
brandy to drink.  When I found my tongue I
rewarded him by berating him soundly.

"Take me back to Bizzett this moment, you
scoundrel," I cried.

The Captain was astonished.

"Listen to the ijit," he said.  "Young fellow,
you're cargo; and cargo don't gie orders.  When ye
land ye land at Naples."

I pleaded with him, but he laughed at me.

"Better take a bath and ye'll feel more like a
mon," he said.  "I know there be na bath tubs in
that one horse country, but that is na excuse.  They
ha' water."

He drew the water in the tub for me and helped
me into it.  Then he got out his medicine chest and
patched me up where I had been wounded.  He
opened my trunk and helped me dress.

"There, my lad," he observed after I was shaved
and ready, "the best gal won't know ye now."

"May I go on deck?" I asked.

"Go anywhere ye please," he smiled.  "Oh, I
forgot.  Here's a letter for ye.  It came by our
rural free delivery over the automobile route."

It was in Nick's familiar handwriting.  I broke
the seal eagerly.  Perhaps there was news of
Solonika.

"Dear Dale," it read, "I am sorry I cannot keep
my promise to return with you, but, as you know,
fate has otherwise ordained it.  My place is here in
Bharbazonia.  My life work is cut out for me.
How I shall work for the good of my people, you
know full well.  The time will come when it will be
more like your own United States in prosperity and
freedom of education.

"I have done the best I could for you.  Forgive
me for not coming to see you.  If you ever are a
king, you will know why I could not find time.
Wishing you happiness in your new-found joy I
am as ever,

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   "Your friend,
       "LASSIE."

Dear old Nick.  I knew that his heart bled for
me.  I knew that he had long since conquered that
bitter jealousy which had been our undoing.  I sat
down upon the bed and re-read the letter several
times.

"I wish you happiness in your new-found joy."  What
could he mean by that?  What happiness did
the future hold for me?  When the yacht touched
Naples I would come back as surely as there was a
sun in the sky.  Happiness!  The word had a
mocking sound.  Nick would not do that.  Surely
he would not make a jest of such a matter.

"Going on deck?" asked the Captain with a
curious smile.

"Yes," I answered.

"All right," he replied, "but first ye must
promise me not to spoil that brand new shirt by
jumping overboard."

We went up the steps and came to the railing.
There was nothing but the black night overhead
and the deep-running sea beneath.  In the east,
over the darkening waters the first rosy flush of the
coming day was beginning to appear.  Twenty miles
away were the high hills of Bharbazonia, their tops
faintly visible.  Behind those hills I pictured the
long white highway, the ancient city of Nischon,
the Palace of the King, and Solonika, my poor,
doomed Solonika, lying forsaken in her dungeon.

The Captain was no longer at my elbow.  He had
softly crept away.  I heard him chuckling as he
went forward in the darkness.  I walked moodily
to the stern where the busy propeller was cutting
the water into swirling eddies.  I could not swim
that distance.  There was nothing left to do but
watch the hated country fade from sight.

As I came to the end of the deck cabins a woman
arose from her chair and threw herself into my arms.

"Dale," she cried, "Dale, my beloved!"

It was Solonika!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`L'ENVOI`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   L'ENVOI

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  But Friendship, like a noble river,
   |  Rolls its stately waters by,
   |  Tempest tossed and troubled never,
   |  Gliding to eternity.
   |                —*Bohn: Mss*.

.. vspace:: 2

There is little left to tell.  When we arrived at
Naples, the Captain "stood up" with us at the
nearest church and kissed the bride even before the
"meenister."  Our honeymoon we spent on board
the ocean liner that brought us back to the United
States.  And what a warm reception Solonika
received when she arrived at Spruce street to find
my mother awaiting us at the door.  How the poor
girl wept upon that good lady's broad bosom,
Solonika, who had never known a mother's gentle
caress before.

Our first news from Bharbazonia came by letter
from General Palmora.  The affairs of that little
Kingdom are going smoothly and well.  For reasons
of state it has been decided to unite the two
reigning houses and very shortly the wedding bells will
ring for King Novgorod and Princess Teskla,
an arrangement, the General slyly adds, "which
is not at all disagreeable to Nicholas, who, as
you may have guessed, always fancied the girl."

The King has made his peace with the Patriarch
by paying a considerable sum of money to the
Church.  Every contending faction has been united
and every one looks forward to a prosperous reign
for the young ruler.

"You would be surprised to see how steady and
earnest Nicholas has become," continues the
General.  "He will be the best king Bharbazonia has
ever had.  He is taking the advice of his elders
now, and never once has he broken away as he did
the night I brought him your message from the
dungeon.

"'Are you sure, godfather,' he said to me, 'that
Dale used those words—"as sure as there is a God
in heaven I'll come back?"'

"I assured him that you had spoken thus.

"'Then,' said he, 'something has to be done.'

"Something was done that very night.  The
King himself put Solonika aboard the yacht, getting
her out of the palace by stealth.  No one but that
rascally profane Japanese boy knew anything about
it.  The next night, following his instructions, I had
you taken aboard, and you know the rest."

When Solonika read this part of the General's
letter she was very much surprised.  During that
entire ride to Bizzett Nick had never made his
identity known to her.  They had bound her hand
and foot and chained her to the car while he rode
forward with Okio.

Another piece of news which makes Solonika
very happy is that plans are under way to procure
the release of the Duke of Dhalmatia.  We hope to
have the old man with us in the near future.

"I am sorry to say," adds the General in concluding,
"that Nicholas is not as good a member of
the Secret Order of the Cross as he used to be, and
the Turks are still in possession of Constantinople."

.. vspace:: 2

Heigh-ho! how quickly time flies when one is
supremely happy!  Since we were married the
autumn leaves have turned to yellow and gold
and the summer birds are making their southern
flight.  But the roses are coming back to Solonika's
cheeks.

As I write in my quiet library it is her sweet
voice I hear singing in the room below my favourite
song, "The King and the Pope."  How well the
words fit the adventure I have been through.  It
would almost seem that the poet who wrote them
must have had a similar experience.  I little
thought, when my friend Megarge gave me his
adaption of the original from the German, that one
day it would have such meaning for me.

Listen and you may hear her singing.  How
clearly she pronounces each word,—

   |  "The King and the Pope together,
   |    Have sent a message to me;
   |  It is signed with the Royal Signet;
   |    It is sealed with the Papal Key.
   |  The King wants me out of his eyesight
   |    And the Pope wants me out of his See.

   |  "The King and the Pope together,
   |    Own thousands of acres of land;
   |  While I do not own the foot of ground,
   |    On which my two feet stand.
   |  But the prettiest girl in the Kingdom
   |    Walks with me—hand in hand.

   |  "The King must marry a lady,
   |    Of exceeding high degree;
   |  The Pope can never a true love have,
   |    So a cardinal pours his tea.
   |  Very few stand 'round me at table.
   |    But my sweetheart sits by me.

   |  "The King hath scores of soldiers,
   |    Who will fight for him any day,
   |  The Pope hath Priests and Bishops,
   |    Who for his soul will pray.
   |  I have one little sweetheart,
   |    But she'll kiss me when I say.

   |  "And the King with his Golden Sceptre,
   |    And the Pope with Saint Peter's Key,
   |  Can never unlock the one little heart,
   |    That is open alone to me.
   |  For I am the King of a Realm!
   |    And I am the Pope of a See!
   |  In fact I'm supreme in the Kingdom
   |    That frequently sits on my knee."

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center

   THE END.

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::