Produced by Al Haines.





[Illustration: "_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]




                          *THE RED FOX’S SON*

                       *A Romance of Bharbazonia*


                                  *By
                            Edgar M. Dilley*



                   _With a frontispiece in colour by_
                               John Goss



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




                           _Copyright, 1911_,
                        BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
                             (INCORPORATED)

                  Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London

                         _All rights reserved_

                      First Impression, June, 1911



                      _Electrotyped and Printed by
                           THE COLONIAL PRESS
                  C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._




                                   TO
                               MY MOTHER

               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




                               *FOREWORD*

    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




                               *CONTENTS*

      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




                          *THE RED FOX’S SON*



                              *CHAPTER I*

                          *DAVID AND JONATHAN*

      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_.


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.




                              *CHAPTER II*

                        *THE RETURN OF NICHOLAS*

    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_.


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.




                             *CHAPTER III*

                         *OFF FOR BHARBAZONIA!*

    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._


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!"




                              *CHAPTER IV*

                        *AT THE TURK’S HEAD INN*

    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_.


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!"




                              *CHAPTER V*

                       *THE RED FOX OF DHALMATIA*

    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_.


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.




                              *CHAPTER VI*

                       *SOLONIKA’S SUMMER-HOUSE*

    And when a lady’s in the case,
    You know, all other things give place.
      —_Gay: Fables_.


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?"




                             *CHAPTER VII*

                      *THE STORY OF THE SACRILEGE*

      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_.


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."




                             *CHAPTER VIII*

                        *THE TWINS OF DHALMATIA*

    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_.


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.




                              *CHAPTER IX*

                    *THE KISS IN THE KING’S GARDEN*

      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_.


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?




                              *CHAPTER X*

                            *THE DISCOVERY*

    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_.


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.




                              *CHAPTER XI*

                          *THE HIDDEN PASSAGE*

      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_.


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!




                             *CHAPTER XII*

                           *THE RENUNCIATION*

    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_.


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.




                             *CHAPTER XIII*

                              *THE RIVALS*

    He is a fool who thinks by force or skill,
    To turn the current of a woman’s will.
      —_Tuke: Five Hours_.


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.




                             *CHAPTER XIV*

                            *THE ABDUCTION*

    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_.


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.




                              *CHAPTER XV*

                          *THE FOREST OF ZIN*

      Hear it not, ye stars!
    And thou, pale moon, turn paler at the sound!
        —_Young: Night Thoughts_.


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.

"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.




                             *CHAPTER XVI*

                  *MARBOSA’S HUNTING LODGE—THE FLIGHT*

    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_.


"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.




                             *CHAPTER XVII*

                           *BEFORE THE STORM*

    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_.


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!




                            *CHAPTER XVIII*

                            *THE CORONATION*

    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_.


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!_"




                             *CHAPTER XIX*

                            *THE SACRILEGE*

    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_.


"_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."




                              *CHAPTER XX*

                      *THE FAILURE OF FRIENDSHIP*

    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_.


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.




                             *CHAPTER XXI*

                       *THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS*

    Like pilgrims to th’ appointed place we tend;
    The world’s an Inn and death the journey’s end.
      —_Dryden: Palamon and Arcite_.


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!




                             *CHAPTER XXII*

                 *THE KING IS DEAD—LONG LIVE THE KING!*

    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_.


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.

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?




                            *CHAPTER XXIII*

                         *THE KING’S OFFERING*

    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_.


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,

"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!




                             *CHAPTER XXIV*

                               *L’ENVOI*

    But Friendship, like a noble river,
    Rolls its stately waters by,
    Tempest tossed and troubled never,
    Gliding to eternity.
      —_Bohn: Mss_.


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."


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."



                                THE END.